might be surprised if they knew his list-were put by his bed. He got through all of them in the hour or so over his morning cup of tea. After that he usually took up any official documents that required his personal attention and he was up and shaved and bathed and carefully dressed by his valet shortly after 9. He ate what most people out of England would call a hearty breakfast, of porridge and kipper and bacon and eggs and tea. And then he plunged into the routine of the day. He lunched simply but well-which was the characteristic of all the meals in the Lloyd George household. And when Parliament was in session he was in the House, if not in his seat, by 2:45.

He broke another tradition of Downing Street when he divided the time-honored duties of the Premiership into two by allocating first to Mr. Bonar Law and then to Mr. Austen Chamberlain the routine duties of "Leader of the House." Lloyd George did not sit in the House unless the occasion was particularly important.

The Prime Minister of England is too busy a man to be easy for the ordinary visitor to see and talk to. Yet if Mr. Lloyd George wanted to see a man of any sort or condition, he could make himself approachable to the point of enticement. Aside from the Cabinet and officials it was not unusual for him to

have a score or two of callers a day, most of them in groups and a few singly.

As a matter of fact he loves to chat. One of his favorite diversions is, or was until he became so well known that he attracts a crowd whenever his easily distinguished visage appears in public, to sit on the terrace of an open air restaurant or within a restaurant not consecrated to utter fashion. He confesses he loves to see people.

It is usually well on toward 8:30 before Mr. Lloyd George has an opportunity to think of his evening meal. And then he prefers "high tea" to dinner, an informal little lunch of cold meats or meat pies, and bread and butter and salad and fruit-the sort of thing Americans have on Sunday evening when the cook is out.

He dislikes "society" in the formal sense as does Mrs. Lloyd George. If he can sit about and smoke and chat with a few cronies, men and women, that is what he likes. And he is very fond of the theatre, where he sees everything with a laugh in it. He will not patronize the drama of gloom.

One of his secretaries, Sir Philip Sasson, installed a moving picture plant in his villa at Lympne on the Channel, where Lloyd George spent frequent week ends and where he several times met Premier Briand of France. But Lloyd George is reported no admirer

of the movies. He says frankly he prefers flesh and blood drama. He likes people.

He is usually in bed by 11 and he usually reads himself to sleep with something serious. He is a great reader of Thucydides in the translation, and he has read most of the classics in the same way, though many people still say he is an uncultured man. He is in the sense that he does not read for mere intellectual pleasure or for the mere subjective perfection of his mind. He reads what will be useful in his great game of politics, and no one more than he realizes the high value there of a knowledge of the great minds of all the ages.

Though he lacks the British phlegm, he probably has what is a better conserver of energy, the Celtic facility in that diversion, which is the truest recreation, and the Celtic ability to rebound.

It is thus that the three minutes' walk from Downing Street to St. Stephen's through teeming Whitehall, is more of a relief to him than a trip to Brighton would be for Lord Balfour. A round of golf at Walton Heath-and he is only a twelve handicap player who glories in his duffery, where other members of Parliament treat one stroke off their handicap like a new accession of sanctifying grace through works a round of golf does him more good than a season at Cannes would do Lord Curzon. A swing

through the home counties in his big car is as much to him as a trip to the heart of Africa would be to Winston Churchill.

Down deep in the man is the elemental function of emotion, and it is the strongest note in his character. Hence it is the note he has seized and bridled and bitted and saddled and ridden to success. It was his vehicle in the old days at Limehouse and it was his vehicle when he swung the British people in two short months from calling the Irish a murder gang" to backing almost to the last man his efforts to shake hands with De Valera.

He is emotion, Celtic emotion, but bitted, bridled and saddled with cold, Anglo-Saxon precision. Kipling says England before this has been conquered by the foreigner, particularly the Celt, but has absorbed the Celt and all his worth. Perhaps Lloyd George will yet be smothered in an English mediocrity of

success.

But whatever the future may hold for him it can never take from him the glory of six years at the helm of the Empire when the Empire has never been more magnificent, in travail and in triumph.

There Lloyd George's career stands at the present moment and there stands the British Empire he has done so much to develop into a true industrial democracy. As Sir Henry Lucy has said he has carried

on the torch of two other great Britons, Chatham and Chamberlain, two men who had no patience with the state of things as they found it. Some tomorrow of history will have to tell whether he helped to further glory a British Empire, greater than Chatham's or Chamberlain's despite its wounds, or whether he signalled its first step on the path of imperial dissolution and decline.

The answer will come when events have measured the skill with which he liberalized the British constitution. He gave the coup de grace to feudalism in England; he made the successors of the feudal lords -the great industrial barons-carry a fairer share of the burden of the state that nourished them; he roused the hewers of wood and the drawers of water to a more proper sense of their own rights, and to a greater sense of their own power; he gave the children of the Empire, the dominions, recognition of their manhood. Whether his relaxation of these bonds has crossed the old, unalterable, sometimes tenuous and nowadays unfashionable line between liberty and license will give the final answer to the career of Lloyd George, to the destiny of the British Empire and to much of the future of this world.

AUTHORITIES

Mr. Stuart wrote a part of this paper in London for the New York Sunday Herald and extracts are here reproduced by its permission. Indefinite references as to time-the present moment," etc.-means 1924.