not even dispute the possibility of a gentleman feeling solemnly convinced that he can best provide for the spiritual care of a large and richly endowed parish by undertaking it himself. But I do say that it is idle to pretend that nearly one-sixth of the private patrons of England and Wales have exercised their rights in their own or their relatives' favour with the paramount object of promoting the spiritual benefit of the parishioners. No man is a good judge in his own matter, and it seems plain that, if the principle of trust is adhered to at all, as it certainly ought to be, the bishop's authority to check and control the patron's choice must in such cases be a real and not a nominal authority.

The assumption that lies at the bottom of the present system is that every clergyman is not only fit for parochial duty, but fit for any and every sort of parochial duty, which is as unfounded as if one were to assert that all good people are intelligent. The notion, for instance, that a young man of twenty-four just ordained priest, is necessarily competent to undertake a crowded town parish with its manifold agencies, duties and difficulties, is ridiculous. The law works as if age, physical strength, power of voice, energy, intellect, knowledge, tact, ability to preach, experience, earnestness, fortune, and the size of a man's family, were either the same with every English clergyman, or were quite immaterial. The House of Lords in 1887 recognised the necessity of reform in this respect, and following the guidance of Lord Salisbury, asserted the principle that the power of control must, in an Episcopal church, rest with the bishops. Accordingly, the Bill provided that, subject to appeal to the archbishop, the bishop is to have power to refuse institution to the patron's nominee, if less than two years have elapsed since he received deacon's Orders, or if, in the bishop's opinion, he is unfitted for the living by physical infirmity, pecuniary embarrassment, or evil life. This would be a very salutary change from the present state of things in which a bishop has sometimes to endure the misery of seeing the most important benefices of his diocese pass into hands which he knows to be incompetent, without being able to raise a finger, unless indeed he sets to work to examine the presentee in the hope of plucking him. It is said that the late Bishop Wilberforce, to mention no living names, more than once got rid of an unsuitable man by sauvely inviting him to compose a Latin sermon in the episcopal study while the bishop looked on. Side by side with the prevention of scandals, and intimately connected with it, is the question of the right of the parishioners to a voice. Hitherto the law has not thought much of the voice of the parish. The persons most directly interested in the character and efficiency of the clergyman, have neither part nor lot either in the choice of the patron nor in his choice of their priest-a singular anomaly in a democratic country. It is said

that a rural parish feels humiliated when the advowson is sold without notice or consideration of the people whose highest interests are at stake. It may well be so, and if Lord Salisbury's plan, already described, of a Board to examine into the fitness of a proposed purchaser should ever be adopted, I suspect that the House of Commons. will insist that the two elected members of the Board shall be chosen by the parish in vestry, instead of being nominated by the Lord Chancellor, as proposed by Lord Salisbury. Why the Lord Chancellor should be brought in in this context, and not, let us say, the London County Council, it is not easy to understand. Each has as little to do with the matter as the other. The evils which are incident to a popular appointment of ministers, do not seem to arise. when the question is the choice not of the incumbent, but of the patron. I venture to think Churchmen will do wisely if they themselves propose this change, instead of waiting to have it forced on them.

The voice of the parishioners in the choice of their own clergyman is a much more difficult matter. A system of popular election on the lines of a parliamentary contest has existed here and there, but with results so unfortunate that it has no defenders. Again, nomination by a Board, on which the parish is represented by delegates, is now practised in Ireland. It does not work well, as is shown by the writers of several interesting articles on "The Effect of Disestablishment on the Irish Church," recently published in the Review of the Churches. The truth is that the range of view of the parishioners is too limited to give them a fair opportunity of choice. That is the explanation of the familiar petitions to patrons to appoint the curate of the late incumbent to his vacant place. It is almost an article of faith with patrons to reject such appeals, and probably they are generally right, though I think I have known cases where jealousy at supposed interference with the patron's right has prevented concession to the general wish, which would have conduced to the real good of the people. The example of the Prince of Wales, who recently presented the nominee of the parish to one of his Cornwall livings, will have a healthy effect if it leads patrons, I do not say necessarily to adopt, but at any rate to consider respectfully, the views and wishes of the people. But there is no need to discuss the desirability of the parishioners appointing their own parson until, which does not seem likely at present, the patron has been abolished. The real question is what, if any, veto or power of protest the parishioners ought to have. Lord Salisbury's Bill proposes to require publication of the name of the patron's nominee in the parish one month before institution, in order that any parishioner may have opportunity to object to the appointment because of the clergyman's physical, moral, or pecuniary unfitness. The grounds of objection are strictly limited,

and it may be said that this is a timid, halting proposal which goes only a very little way. But at least it is a step forward, and until we have seen how it works, I doubt the wisdom of going much further. Any change in this direction requires the greatest caution. For instance, an unrestricted power of protest might be used to promote the candidature of a parochial favourite by opposing every other, however suitable, with results which would be unfair to the individuals, and destructive to the peace of the parish. Well-meant changes might easily introduce fresh evils without removing old ones. But the importance of doing what can safely be attempted in this direction-the all but unanimous voice of the House of Lords is a sufficient guarantee against revolutionary rashness-is urgent in the interests of not only the parishioners, but the clergy also, and most of all the Church herself. If I may venture to say so, the Church will hold the confidence of the masses neither by flattery, nor vulgarity, nor gifts, but by a corresponding confidence. The very words" National Church" imply a partnership. A partnership presupposes mutual trust, and the Church of a democratic nation must mean that the nation is admitted to a real share of the rights and duties of the partnership. It seems politic therefore, as well as just, that parishioners should have a consultative voice in the choice both of the patron and of the incumbent.

It only remains to remind ourselves that the responsibilities of partnership are mutual. The state of things described in this article is not only mischievous to religion, but discreditable to the country. Apart altogether from any question of Establishment, it concerns good government to find a remedy for a condition of affairs which offends against public decency and order, as really as overcrowded dwellings or defective Poor Law. The Church of England, by the Bishops in Parliament, through Convocation, and by the voice of Church Congresses and Diocesan Conferences, has again and again exposed the evil, and asked for its removal. The House of Lords has been active, and, so far as it can be, zealous in promoting reform. It remains for the House of Commons to do its part. The Church shares with building societies, railway companies, banks, and every institution in which large classes of the people are interested, the right to look to Parliament for help, when help, which only legislation can afford, becomes necessary to the adequate discharge of its proper functions. The House of Commons cannot continue to refuse assistance without neglecting its proper business. and disregarding its special duties.

LEWIS T. DIBDIN.

REMINISCENCES OF A JOURNALIST.

IN

N the January number of the CONTEMPORARY REVIEW I dealt with the question of the kind of preparatory education suitable for those about to enter on the journalistic career. Once in the struggle, they will have the necessary arms and ammunition constantly provided; but how varied and incessant the incidents which occur in the course of the conflict! None of them can be foreseen. The preparatory education must be completed and supplemented by the faculty of casting a steady and personal glance, by prompt resolution, and by the gift of an accurate perception of men and things, before the young journalist, who has passed through the schools, can become a journalist of the first rank, and one who possesses the art of making his own convictions acceptable to his readers. In this light, journalism must be regarded as a high duty and the fulfilment of a mission. The duty may be arid and exacting, the mission limited, but such as they are they must be looked at square in the face, with no illusions as to the advantages to be got from them, and a complete acceptance of the numberless deceptions and embarrassments which such a vocation implies. For a journalist's satisfactions are always negative; they are always troubled by the hostility which he has aroused against

himself.

And by the side of these apparent successes, bought by exertions of which the world knows nothing, how many hours there are during which he has, as his only consolation, the memory of ingratitudes, treason, or individual miscalculation. And, indeed, how could it be otherwise? The journalist's work is necessarily public and even resounding in its impression. The smallest wound that he makes increases as it is exposed to the air. And yet every piece of serious information has been obtained at the price of efforts almost always

A

out of proportion to the result obtained; and while the journalist, knowing the trouble he has taken, may very likely exaggerate the value of his work, the public, ignorant of his exertions, accepts with indifference or ungrateful lightness the results which mean to him so much. In this situation the journalist must make up his mind to require of the public only one thing, once he has taken it, on this or that matter, into his confidence-namely, to believe in his sincerity and veracity. This is his only and his highest recompense, and with this assurance he may remain stoical and indifferent before the dangers and surprises that beset his way-such dangers and foes, I mean, as the vanities which he can never satisfy, the interests which he can never sufficiently serve, the jealousies that he can never appease.

During my long career it has happened to me only once that a public man, a statesman, has testified with any warmth his surprised gratitude at an act of personal discretion on my part done at the expense of immediate journalistic success, when he himself had, so to speak, furnished me the very element of this success.

One evening in November 1875, I happened to be at the Quai d'Orsay house of the Duc Decazes, who was then French Minister of Foreign Affairs. We were in the billiard-room. The Duke was full of spirit. He was playing at billiards with a friend of the Duchess, who was playing so well that she seemed likely to win. Suddenly the door opened. A Cabinet attaché entered and handed to the Duke a small bundle of telegrams. Opening the packet, the Duke began to read one of the telegrams. Suddenly he became red, then pale, and wiped his temples, moist with sweat. Then, as if maddened, with an irresistible movement he took the billiard-cue which he had put down, struck it on the rim of the table, broke it across his knee, and threw the bits into the fire. The persons present, it may be imagined, were in a great state of mind. Suddenly approaching me, his teeth set with anger, he said: "Do you know what I have just heard? Derby has just bought 200,000 Suez shares from Ismail, while every possible effort has been made to conceal from us, not only the negotiations, but even Ismail's intention of selling them. It's an infamy! It's England putting her hand on the Isthmus of Suez, and my personal failure has in no way retarded the act. I authorise you to say what you have just seen. I even beg you to say it, and to add that Lord Derby will have to pay for that." And he added, half talking to

himself: "Yes, I swear that he shall pay for it." He then quickly On the way I went over the scene

left the room, and I too went out.

in my mind, as I have here described it from my notes of the time. I saw instantly what an impression the story would make when told in my telegram, and reproduced throughout the world to the glory of the journal in which it appeared.

But when I took up my pen to write it out, other thoughts