deal with here-how the grain route between Canada and England is to be maintained when the ordeal of battle is forced upon the Empire, whose maintenance the best interests of civilisation demand.

From the coast of Newfoundland to the shores of Ireland stretches an unbroken expanse of 2,000 miles of ocean, covered with cargo carriers from the zone south of Cape Race to the rugged steeps of Labrador. This expanse is free to the cruisers of every nation with an Atlantic outlet. When England has to unsheath the sword her grain boats will require to run the gauntlet of this ocean highway, with all the dangers that fact implies. If they are pursued they have now no refuge to which they can fly; if they are under convoy there is no harbour into which they can be herded while their escort beats off an attacking force or repairs damages after a fight. Over 3,000 British steamers are sighted passing Cape Race every year, besides the thousands of others that pass it in fogs, at nights, or beyond the range of vision; and yet, although St. John's is only five hours' run from that headland and is an ideal centre for a naval base, not alone is it undefended, but its original fortifications have been allowed to become partially dismantled. Its availability has already been tested, because in the war of 1812 it was filled with American prizes swept off the Grand Banks by the British squadron operating from the port.

The advantage of fortifying St. John's would be that it would enable England to dominate the North Atlantic absolutely. Twentyknot cruisers should make the run from Berehaven to St. John's within four days, and therefore scouts operating from either side would come in touch with each other when only two days at sea, thus greatly reducing the baleful possibilities of foreign attack. A warship with important intelligence, chased by an enemy, could make St. John's and cable her news, when it would be impossible to reach Halifax. A manœuvre of the greatest moment could be executed by a fleet east of Newfoundland some days before the same could be carried out from Halifax. Battleships would find a fortified coal depot at such a central point within their range of action as St. John's of immense advantage, because Halifax might be too remote for them.

The actual fact to be considered in connection with this matter is that under existing conditions a British convoy or a weak British fleet east of Cape Race has absolutely no chance of escape from a more powerful enemy; whereas with St. John's fortified, an additional assurance of safety would be afforded them. Indeed, the salvation of the Empire might perhaps be achieved at a critical time, seeing that with a fortified base in Newfoundland a British squadron operating on the Grand Banks could do so with the same security as one having the British Isles to fall back upon. To-day, unless such a squadron was within easy reach of Halifax, it could do little or nothing, through want of coal and the inability to keep in touch with the Admiralty. But St. John's would form a connecting link or half-way house between

Halifax and Berehaven, enabling the squadrons attached to the three stations to form a chain right across the Atlantic, and to co-operate with one another in any movements, offensive or defensive, which might be undertaken.

The garrisoning of a fortified base in Newfoundland could be entrusted, in part at least, to the Naval Reserve of that country and of Canada. The Newfoundlanders have proved themselves excellent material for naval service, and are side by side with the regular bluejackets. The Canadian sailors, if similarly trained, would make equally effective auxiliaries, and within a few years some thousands of splendid seamen would be available to aid the mother country in an emergency. But Canada's scheme for a distinct naval organisation threatens seriously to impair the success of any such movement.

This is all the more remarkable, seeing that Canada herself will be the greatest sufferer from an inefficient organisation. She does not contemplate even a naval establishment which would enable her to withstand even a fourth-rate South American Power. She intends to rely for protection for her shipping upon the British fleet when war breaks out. She knows that other strategic movements may have to be subordinated to the need of keeping open the Atlantic searoad so that her grain can be transported to the British Isles. Yet she determines upon creating a makeshift naval engine, instead of contributing her quota to the support of the Royal Navy upon which she has to rely for protection. To make this protection as complete as geographical conditions will permit the establishment of a fortified seaport on the Newfoundland coast is imperative. Imperial and colonial tacticians must recognise the need of it if Canada's increasing supplies of grain are to be placed at the disposal of the British taxpayer, without the risk of his being starved by the successful obstruction of the ocean passage in time of war.

The fact should be remembered, too, in connection with a fortified base in Newfoundland that it would not alone be available for ships traversing the St. Lawrence route, but also for those plying between British and American ports. From all the great shipping centres of the United States seaboard the steamers pass near Cape Race en route to England, and as most of them fly the British flag they would be as great beneficiaries by such an arrangement as those in the Canadian trade. With Bermuda, Halifax, and St. John's then recognised as arsenals, and linked together by the squadrons attached to them, every possible facility which nature affords for effective patrolling of the western ocean would be availed of, and the problem of protecting the grain route would be solved to the fullest extent possible by Great Britain under existing circumstances.

AN ARTIST'S LOVE STORY

DURING the winter days of gloom and fog through which we have recently passed, when men were struggling to grope their way to business quarters, and all the busy world went wrong, there were always to be found certain little corners in the great metropolis where idlers rejoiced in peaceful seclusion, and welcomed the fog as justification for self-indulgence. No need to go out in obedience to the tyranny of exercise! Engagements of necessity fell to the ground when traffic, trains, and locomotion stood still, and the earth itself seemed to stop, unable to move on through the dense atmosphere.

In conditions such as these there was no alternative left for idlers but to settle down philosophically to books and an armchair. Thus, under the midday lamp, I found myself in imagination living in a world of art three centuries back-that is to say, the end of the eighteenth century and onward into the early part of the nineteenth-absorbed in An Artist's Love Story, a tale of Sir Thomas Lawrence and the two fascinating daughters of the celebrated Mrs. Siddons. And as I read, and read, in the unbroken silence, the eighteenth century seemed to step forward and join hands with me in the middle of the nineteenth, making me personally a connecting link between the dead of long ago and the living of the present day.

Until this book fell into my hands I knew nothing of the two fascinating daughters, but I had a vivid recollection of their sister, the third daughter, Cecilia, coming to my mother's dinner-parties in my youth, when she was the wife of Dr. George Combe, author of The Constitution of Man, Phrenology, &c. At that time in Edinburgh phrenology excited great interest among the littérateurs and savants of the day, and, living among them, I had often to submit a curly head with vacant interior to knobly fingers, which searched out the 'bumps,' and gave rise to grave speculations on the probabilities of the future. It is a well-known fact that Dr. George Combe had no idea of risking matrimony until he had thoroughly examined his lady-love's head, and only became engaged on finding her 'anterior lobe to be large, her benevolence, conscientiousness, firmness, selfesteem, love of approbation amply developed, whilst her veneration and wonder were equally moderate with his own'; and, needless to say, the marriage proved a happy one.

As I sat gazing contemplatively into the fire, with the book on my lap, it was interesting to reflect that George Combe in his early days was an articled clerk in the office of a writer to the signet in Edinburgh, and that the only other clerk was George Hogarth, whose daughter married Charles Dickens. Thus were the two Georges raised to distinction not only through their own talents, but through the mother-in-law in the one case, and the son-in-law in the other.

To return to the love story, and the day-dreams evoked, I found it by no means easy to identify the stately figure of my youthful recollection with the sketch in this book of Cecilia done by Sir Thomas Lawrence when she was four years of age. But there she sits, a weird, intense little child, curled up, with arms folded, a small tragedy queen, crowned with the quaint cap of the period, and with a string of beads round her neck. Later in life she greatly resembled her mother in features, and walked with her mother's majestic grace. The book is further adorned with sketches of the sisters, who both died early in life, and also contains five sketches of Mrs. Siddons, the first as Zara, very elaborate, drawn by Thomas Lawrence when thirteen years of age. The later sketches show finer art, but are tinged with the sadness which overtook her on the loss of her two beautiful daughters and left her 'a magnificent ruin tottering to its fall.'

The story is tragic for two reasons. First, that the artist fell in love alternately with the two elder sisters, being engaged first to Sally, the eldest, then transferring his affections to Maria, aged sixteen, and again being wooed back by Sally. Secondly, it was tragic in that the germs of consumption were playing havoc with both girls in the days of bleeding, blundering, and absolute lack of knowledge of the vera causa of disease. Hence love, hope, sickness, and despair combined to render life a battleground of the passions, the scene of torn affections, leaving Death the victor, and the great artist for the moment all but mad. Throughout this stormy period the weird baby could have known little of the tempest through which her sisters passed, as she grew up into womanhood sisterless and became the contemporary of my father, mother, and George Combe, who all converged together about the same time in Scotia's ancient capital.

It is necessary here to allow our minds to wander back to the last decade of the eighteenth century, when Mrs. Siddons first recognised in Thomas Lawrence the child of genius,' and befriended him. Between the two there must have been more than ordinary sympathy, for Mrs. Siddons, the daughter of strolling players, had been born in an inn called 'The Shoulder of Mutton,' Brecon, while Thomas Lawrence, the youngest of sixteen children, was born in The White Lion,' Bristol, in 1769. In the former case the Kembles (the parents of Mrs. Siddons) were sternly religious Methodists, and in the latter

the Lawrences owed their descent and religion to a Presbyterian minister, grandfather of Sir Thomas on the father's side, and to a well-connected county family on the mother's. The boy, whose

genius soon carried him away from his sordid surroundings, established a studio at Bath, where he was brought into contact with the fashionable world, and was thereby enabled at ten years of age to support his father's numerous family by painting portraits. With the family planted about him and forming the background of his brilliant life, the boy grew up pari passu with the youthful Siddonses, admiring them, sketching them, and emerging with them into the higher spheres till youthful unconsciousness was shed, and selfconsciousness set in with matured attractions and more fully developed charms. By this time Thomas Lawrence was considered one of the handsomest men of his day, with a face said to be typical of Christ, and the manners of a courtier. According to An Artist's Love Story, Sally was the first of the sisters to yield to the soft graces of her friend 'Tom,' and they became engaged with Mrs. Siddons's consent. Between mother and daughters there was absolute love and confidence from beginning to end. Meanwhile Maria was away at school in France, and there was nothing to disturb the placid happiness of the newly betrothed couple; but Molly came home and burst upon them in the full bloom of rosy sixteen, when a change gradually crept over the spirit of their dream. Mr. Lawrence at this time must have been twenty-six years of age and a full Royal Academician, having already been a Supplementary Associate for four years at the instigation of George the Third. He had his studio now established in Greek Street, Soho, and not far off, in Marlborough Street, dwelt Mrs. Siddons and the two fair objects of his affections. After a period of mental distraction all round, Sally seems to have surrendered her lover to her sister out of unselfish consideration for the feelings of both. So now Maria was engaged to Thomas Lawrence, and possibly in time marriage bells might have rung out the tidings of their joy had not sickness and death intervened. In those days people suffering from consumption were strictly forbidden to breathe the open air. They were confined to one room and bled at intervals in fact, everything the mind of man could conceive was done to hasten the end. Thus was the beloved one treated till love began to wane, and hope to fade away with her ever-shortening life. Mean while the embers of Sally's love began to revive, and even find strength, in the sorrow common to both and the need of keeping her ex-lover informed of Maria's condition. Our dear Maria,' she writes, "has been, thank God, much better to-day; her strength and spirits seem now returning, and I hope in a short time to see the darling girl entirely herself, and when she is well enough you shall come and rejoice with us at the recovery of our sweet Maria.'

Sally had imagined herself strong enough to relinquish her lover