One noteworthy excellence President Cleveland's message possesses, which has not excited as much remark as it deserves: we allude to the strenuous endeavor it exhibits to maintain, in spite of some recent difficulties, a peaceable and friendly attitude towards European nations, particularly Italy and Austria. It is not too much to hope that the conciliatory yet dignified tone and temper of the message in this regard may do something as a conspicuous example, to abate the war frenzy, and cool the morbid passion for "gunpowder and glory," which has been such a disturbing and dangerous element in European statesmanship and diplomacy for many years past, and is perhaps more menacing to the quiet of the world and the peaceful advancement of civilization at the present moment than at any period since the days of the first Napoleon. Occupying her proud and promising position between the two great oceans; commanding, as a consequence, these great highways of "commerce, trade and travel"; enjoying a stretch of territory which not only affords scope for unlimited development of her great resources in a hundred different directions, but also acts as a check to any passion that might arise for territorial annexation or conquest; separated from the older nations by thousands of miles, she can afford to regard with comparative indifference the exciting game of European politics, and contemplate the deep designs of jealous and jarring diplomatists without any fear that her own house may catch fire.
There is, after all, something deeply pathetic in the terrible necessity which exposes persons of wealth, culture and exalted station to the unpitying penalties of greatness. A lesson ever needed, ever present, and yet constantly disregarded and defied, has just received a new and somewhat startling illustration in the sudden death of the amiable daughter and much-beloved wife of Secretary Bayard. Can it be necessary that society should sacrifice its brightest ornaments, and literally do itself to death, in order to maintain its existence? "Come ye yourselves into a desert place, and rest a while," reveals a law of health and happiness as inexorable and exacting in its demands, and as universal in its sway and scope, as any at work in the frame of material nature. Let us learn the truth and value of this ancient hint over the tear-bedewed grave of Kate Bayard.
Still streams
Oft water fairest meadows, and the bird
That flutters least is longest on the wing.
The inevitable sequel of the English Parliamentary elections has come a little sooner than the twin foes of Lord Salisbury's ministry had ventured to anticipate. The "Constitutional" party, as English Toryism loves to style itself, has suffered signal and humiliating defeat, after a brief and precarious career of a few months; and the collapse is quite as complete as it is sudden. Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Parnell on the one hand, and the Marquis of Salisbury and Sir Michael Hicks-Beach on the other, must have been equally unprepared for what has happened. The Queen, caring not to conceal her political predilections, hesitated not to give her ostentatious approval and powerful endorsement to Tory management by consenting to open Parliament, as she had previously done for Lord Beaconsfield after his return from Berlin. A phenomenally large and brilliant assemblage of dukes, marquises, earls and viscounts, at Lord Salisbury's parliamentary dinner had made a similar attempt, a few days before, to awe and fascinate by a spectacle of pomp and pageantry the too impressionable Briton. Nothing has been omitted that could in any way buttress the insecure and tottering fabric of aristocratic power. But as the ancient sage shrewdly observed, dementation is the prelude of doom; "whom the gods destroy they first infatuate." The representatives of the nation have taken the earliest opportunity that offered itself of rebuking this formidable attempt to over-ride by an ill-advised and illegitimate use of the "favor of the sovereign" the definitely declared will of the British people. The last Parliament was exceptionally rich in the display of character, in humorous and dramatic incident, and in unrehearsed and unpremeditated scenes of every kind; but undoubtedly the most striking and startling of its scenes was that of the younger Tories, unexpectedly triumphant, hailing with frantic joy and exultation the fall of the Gladstone government. The event was a surprise to both sides of the House, a surprise all the greater as up to the very moment of the appearance of the "tellers" on the floor of the House, no one doubted that the ministry had sufficient strength and vigor to withstand the blow that was aimed at its life. "Lord Kensington," to quote the words of an eye-witness, "came in hurriedly with a face set into determined absence of expression, and sat down by Mr. Gladstone. A few moments more and the paper was handed to Mr. Winn (Conservative whip) amid the loudest outbreak of cheering that the House of Commons has heard for more than a generation. Wild with delight, Lord Randolph Churchill actually leapt on to the bench, waving his hat with the enthusiasm of a schoolboy. His friends clustered round him, caught at him, drew him down, but could not restrain him from the vehement expression of his delight. The example was contagious. The whole House to the left of the speaker roared and shouted and thundered and waved its hats and clapped its hands in a frenzy of general delight. Their hour at last had come, and the fate of the ministry was sealed." Alas for human short-sightedness! How sad a thing the much-vaunted triumph has proved after all.
In little more than seven months the power so greedily snatched at has slipped from their grasp like the shadow of a dream. "They laugh best who laugh last." To the aristocracy and land-owning class generally, both of England and Ireland, the fall of the Tory government will be a cause of apprehension. By the majority of the British public it will be welcomed. The Liberals, as a political party, will, for a time at least, feel embarrassed by the event, while the Parnellites will regard it—whether rightly or wrongly, time alone can tell—as another important step toward the ultimate success of their cause and the consummation of their hopes.
No one who heard the interesting address of the president of the Bostonian Society, Mr. Curtis Guild, at its fourth annual meeting, recently held at its rooms in the Old State House, Boston, could have failed to feel a renewed interest in American history, as especially emphasized by the preservation of interesting memorials.