and when the noise had subsided a little he exclaimed in a jolly, good-natured way:

'See here! Some one give me a chair I can sit down on. I guess I'm tired of standing around.' Whereupon another and more solid chair was brought and forthwith tested, with much good humour and utter absence of formality or self-consciousness. In fact the whole proceedings were utterly unlike what would have taken place had a party of European great folk occupied the platform, for there was no ceremony, no etiquette, and all was indescribably free and easy and even a little disappointingly commonplace. Most of the Senators and Representatives took very little interest in what was going on, and laughed-in whispers with the ladies of the party, while poor Mr. Taft bore the brunt of the official welcome with imperturbable geniality and cleverness. Both these qualities were put to the test by interminable speeches of courtesy and welcome, delivered by leading Filipinos, and interlarded-more than interlarded-with political allusions, even demands, which would have taxed the aplomb of a politician even more adroit than Mr. Taft, if such a man exists. By dint of the phrase which he had years before invented of 'Philippines for the Filipinos,' and by a certain earnest geniality which characterises his oratory, Mr. Taft emerged very well from the polite heckling of his patriotic Filipino hosts. Added to this some of the speeches lost their American fire of strong colloquialisms by being translated, phrase by phrase, by an interpreter who knew his business into the courteous Spanish idiom.

In talking of taxation-for the proceedings were nothing more than a public conversation-the subject of sugar was touched upon, on which Mr. Taft, who was getting obviously bored and was mopping his face freely, rose and said, quite simply: 'See here! We've come right here to talk about sugar. Now, have you got any room where the gentlemen who are with me can meet your representatives? They would like to see a sugar plantation, growing, too, if you can show one.'

We were already aware that a great number of Mr. Taft's party (alluded to, quite as matter of ordinary English, by all the American papers as the Taft Circus) were growers either of sugar, tobacco, or other Filipino products in the U.S.A., and had been reported to be opponents of Philippine interests in their own country, where it was to Mr. Taft's advantage to uphold the new possessions in the Pacific. These are politics, however, and the VOL. XXVI.NO. 153, N.S.

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fact remains that the Filipino presidente of Iloilo, Señor Melizza, replied that this meeting could be arranged and a patch of growing cane was easily accessible for inspection. Both the room for the council and the patch of cane had been prepared weeks before.

'That's all right,' said Mr. Taft. All I care about is to get out of this room and get some of that nice cool wind on me.'

At this everyone rose and filed off, very gladly, for it was then eleven o'clock in the morning, very late for that country, and the sun scorching hot, though the day was considered by us residents as delightfully cool, the thermometer barely registering 88° in the shade.

In the evening a very great banquet took place, at which Mr. Taft's party (I forbear the tempting American epithet) and his hosts and himself all made speeches, not at the end of the meal, after our fashion, but popping up all over the place during or between the courses. The first health we were called upon to drink caught us in the middle of the fish, and, except for the trouble of having to turn about and eat sideways if a speaker got up at the table behind one, the system had its advantages in that the less entertaining orators were easily drowned in the clatter of knives and forks.

At the top end of the room, in the middle of a long table, the huge form and big pale countenance of Mr. Taft towered above all men, like, I remember thinking, some hard ivory idol at a feast. He spoke extraordinarily well, with such inflections of tone, such conviction, persuasion, passion, scorn . . . such skilled gestures that beside him the other speakers, though the Filipinos were voluble and earnest enough, seemed as would a company of village amateurs acting with Coquelin or Wyndham.

He expounded at great length, and in a voice of singular penetration of timbre and manliness of quality, the theory, on which he relies, of the education of Eastern peoples to Western ideals; and spoke on the subject of Independence, that burning volcano which seethes eternally under the peaceful prospect of American administration. The speech wound up with a fine peroration, in which he addressed the Filipino people as 'dear wards from God,' spreading his arms abroad and smiling the 'Taft smile,' and saying sonorously:

"The Philippines are a solemn trust, and the people of America will not fail in this great duty towards humanity.'

These words so impressed me that I wrote them down on my

menu, and was very glad I had preserved them, as they did not appear in the voluminous reports of the ceremonies and speeches with which the Manila papers were swamped for weeks after. Perhaps they were already well known, or not suitable for preservation in cold print, but I thought it a pity to lose them and was always glad that I had not done so. In fact I was afterwards very glad that I had made notes all day long, as when we got the Manila and afterwards the U.S.A. papers I found the reporters' accounts did not remind me at all of what had taken place. All day long, with infinite skill and good humour, Mr. Taft had not committed himself to anything definite, and the impression left upon me was of a man of great strength of character and force of purpose, of subtlety and shrewdness, combined with social tact and personal charm. When I had seen and heard him I understood what I had been told, that his influence over men was largely personal, the sheer attraction of such a character for the mass of mankind, for Mr. Taft is a born leader of men, even of that very difficult nation to whom their own wise Emerson said, long ago, 'Humanity loves a lord.'

ENID CAMPBELL DAUNCEY.

A HIGH SCHOOL OF DANISH PEASANTS.

ONE winter morning some ninety men were sitting in the great hall at the Testrup Peasants' High School. It was a bitterly cold day a piercing wind was blowing straight down from the North Pole, sweeping all before it as it came. The whole country side for miles away, right down to the shores of the Baltic, was covered with snow; and the trees stood out from its dazzling white gaunt and grim, the veriest scare-crows as they waved their great lean arms in the air. In summer, Testrup, which is in South Jutland, is a pleasant enough region; but on this special day it was quite uncanny in its barren desolation. Fortunately, however, at the dark season of the year the High School has nothing whatever in common with its surroundings; the contrast, indeed, between their dull silence and its bustle and life and general cheeriness, is quite startling. For, although the building is as plain and unpretentious as can be, little better, indeed, than a great farm house, there is a certain simple comfort about the place, a something homelike and cosy in spite of its size, that is infinitely attractive. Then the very air there seems alive with goodfellowship, and that, too, is most cheering. Eager talk, kindly greetings, are to be heard on all sides; much bandying of jokes, too, sometimes, and hearty laughter. For they who live there live as brothers; no matter whether they be landowners or land tillers, they all fare alike, and do their best to knock off one another's angles, as well as sharpen one another's wits.

The Lecture Hall at the Testrup High School is a fine large room, well lighted, and with plenty of air even when most heated. There are several good pictures hanging on the walls; and dotted about here and there are statuettes and other knick-knacks; flowers and plants, too. These little luxuries give an air of refinement to the room which is oddly at variance with the appearance of those who frequent it. For they are for the most part somewhat rough-looking men of the agriculturist type, hardly a whit better, one would say at a first glance, than our own Hodge. The year I was there, three-quarters at least of the Testrup students were either peasant farmers or agricultural labourers;

and the clothes they wore were evidently the very same as they had worn when following the plough. Half a dozen of them perhaps were landowners, and half a dozen more market gardeners. There were a few pedlars among them too, a few fishermen, two sailors, a pastor's son and a village schoolmaster. In age the majority of them were between twenty and thirty, still a fair number were over forty; and one student would never see sixty again.

It was an odd sight, all these great fellows, in the prime of their life and vigour, sitting there on school benches. Their fingers seemed too big to clutch pens or pencils: Nature in framing them had never intended them, surely, to pass their days conning books. Their faces were sunburnt and weather-beaten; on many of them were lines that told of battles fought and storms faced, of hard toil and scant commons; and in the eyes of some few there was that look those only wear who have scanned the grim wolf at close quarters.

I had watched them make their way into the Lecture Hall, and they had struck me as being physically fine specimens of their class, but nothing much beyond. They looked more alert, certainly, than the average English agriculturist; their eyes were brighter, and they lifted their feet higher as they walked. Still, in the great majority I could at first discern no signs of special intelligence; and about several of them there was something so stolid, nay, sleepy, that I wondered what could have ever induced them to forsake their ploughs for books. No sooner did the lecture begin, however, than I knew that I had misjudged them; for even the dullest among them was as one transformed as he listened.

The lecturer that morning was the founder of the High School, Dr. Norregaard, one of the most eloquent men in all Denmark ; and he was dealing with a favourite theme of his, Alexander the Great. He described Alexander's victorious march to the East, depicting in glowing colours the countries through which he passed, the people whom he encountered. He told of the King himself, of his virtues and his vices, his triumphs and his trials; told, too, how he lived and how he died. Dr. Norregaard has a singularly sweet voice, and he spoke that day with a verve and a fire that thrilled to the very heart's core those who heard him. These great, rough men hung on his words as if spell-bound: their faces flushed, their hands trembled, and they held their very breath