been given them. They have been taken out of the control of petty Indian despots, and they have been freed from many injurious and debasing superstitions.

But may not all this enlightenment lead to the expulsion of the Anglo-Saxon conquerors from India? A subject race is never grateful for the benefits of education and a better government. The educated natives continue to demand a larger part in the government, and are never satisfied except with complete control.

For years the British policy has been to increase the opportunities for the educated Hindoos. Formerly the British plan was to give the natives only small government clerkships. Now the educated Indian can aspire to judgeships and important commissionerships. Yet the friction between the Asiatic natives and the British conquerors increases.

Before the Amritsar affair, a prominent Indian jurist had spoken to Sir Michael O'Dwyer of the increasing racial antagonism. The Indian attributed it to the masterful methods of the military. It were better, he argued, that Sir Michael should place more trust in soul-force. On that line of argument the English Knight was in accord with the aesthetic Hindoo and doubling up his fists exclaimed:

"I'd have you understand that there's something more effective in quelling

rioters than mere soul-force. You'd better not arouse it."

Sir Michael showed what he placed most reliance on, when the machine guns and bombs were called into action and the terrified natives of Amritsar were fleeing for their lives.

In Africa as well as Asia the methods of the military have increased bitterness between the natives and the white race. Newspaper readers have not forgotten that affair, where several Egyptian villagers were hanged, because they killed some young officers who were shooting their pigeons. The white subalterns had stationed themselves on the edge of the Egyptian village and were shooting the domestic pigeons when attacked by the native owners of the birds. Those of the young soldiers who were not killed were bound and imprisoned. Their guns were

smashed. To teach the Egyptians a lesson, their head men were either hanged, flogged, or given long terms of imprisonment-some life terms. The affair created a profound sensation in England, and was made the most of by George Bernard Shaw and his associates of the radical Socialist party.

Another African case, where the white man's rule is not over-considerate of the colored man, is now being discussed by the independent journals of England. A colored official, falsely imprisoned for theft, has been denied redress in a way that would have been unlikely had the victim been white.

At Badagry, Nigeria, a sum equal to $175 was stolen from a government office, and an educated African named Philip Croker, who had the office key. was tried before the chief justice and three assessors. By the assessors he was unanimously held to be innocent; but the chief justice, overruled them, sentenced him to nine months' imprisonment. On his release, uined and outcast, Croker entered upon the uphill task of clearing his character. He collected funds, mortgaged family possessions, and appealed to both local and Imperial Governments. His effort was continued for five years; and then, at the end of 1915, the supreme court reviewed the case and, without qualification, declared Croker innocent. In setting aside the conviction, the chief justice, Sir Edwin Speed, said there had been a miscarriage of justice and that the victim was entitled to compensation for a grievous wrong.

Every consideration of fairness would suggest that the victim of wrong imprisonment should receive his pay for all the years he had lost, and should also be restored to the pension list from which his conviction had removed him. After all the years of his struggle for justice he received only $500, given as an act of grace.

Commenting on this unfairness to the colored man, the Manchester Guardian, one of the great newspapers of England, remarked in a recent issue:

We make two comments upon this affair,

which touches the fundamental principle of British colonial rule. First,

that any man, of whatever race or color, who could carry through a fight for self-vindication against odds so heavy has proved himself to possess personal qualities of a noteworthy a noteworthy kind. Secondly, that the refusal of the fullest measure of recompense to a public servant in the position of Croker leaves on the British name a scar which should be instantly and completely removed.

The white man should disabuse his mind of the belief that he is master of the world by divine authority, which takes no count of his deeds against other races or his own. He holds his place in creation only by virtue of his ability to overcome all rivals. But if he should concentrate on himself the bitter enmity of

all Asia and Africa, his throne might begin to totter. Numerically, the colored races outnumber the white, in the ratio of two to one. Intellectually the educated Orientals are as acute as Europeans. Physically the yellow man is formidable in war, and efficient in peaceful industry. In the twelfth century, Jenghiz Kahn, a petty Mongolian chief, born in a tent on the banks of the Onon river in Siberia, conquered Asia and threatened the extinction of white civilization in Europe. The military feat of that medieval barbarian was more difficult than would be the overrunning of war-torn Europe today by Asiatic hordes, equipped with modern weapons and led by another Jenghiz Kahn.

-Westwood Ellis.

ERHAPS few men who excel in one

Pfield do not crave for mastery in

several. This reflection is aroused by the death of William Dean Howells, the celebrated noveltst. For though he was in the forefront of American fictionists, Mr. Howells was not content to write fiction only. He desired also to be successful as a playwright, and accordingly made several excursions into the drama. But in spite of his success as a novelist, his plays remain practically unknown.

In this respect, Howells is by no means unique. Many another novelist has desired to be a dramatist, many a dramatist to be a poet, many a poet to be a novelist. This is perhaps one manifestation of the human propensity never to be contented, the tendency always to wish to be in one's neighbor's place. It is as if a lion should long to be an eagle, and an eagle to be a lion, a shark to be a walrus, and a walrus to be a shark.

Literary history abounds in instances of eminent writers who aspired for positions into which they could not fit. Jack London, according to his own confession, hoped to be first of all successful as a poet, next as a writer of plays and of economic and philosophical essays, and lastly as a writer of fiction. Had his experience and training been different, he might have been eminently qualified to write poetry, and incapable of producing stories with the element of reality; perhaps the ghost of his stifled potentialities was haunting him, and urging him to be a poet.

Likewise, Thomas Hardy, one of the greatest of English novelists, craves primarily for poetic success; having devoted his earlier years to creating masterpieces of fiction, he is now giving himself to poetry exclusively. On the other hand, his younger contemporary, Bernard Shaw, began his career by writing novels that failed, and has since won fame for his

brilliant plays, and their no less brilliant prefaces, which have placed him among the foremost living satirists. Another notable example is Longfellow who, while perhaps the most popular poet America has produced, yearned to be a dramatist as well, and was deeply disappointed by the failure of his tragedies. Still more striking is the instance of the poet Shelley, whose lyrics are unsurpassed in the English language, yet who believed that his real business in life was the writing of philosophical and political

essays.

The examples might be multiplied indefinitely in passing; I might mention Shakespeare, who seemed to regard his sonnets as his masterpieces, and was careless of his unrivalled dramas; Voltaire, who devoted much time to poems of epic dimensions, yet is now remembered chiefly chiefly for his satirical romances; and Dr. Johnson, who toiled over ponderous disquisitions now long forgotten, while his "Rasselas," written in two weeks, is still read and enjoyed.

What is the explanation? It appears that men of genius, like most other men, do not and cannot follow that presumably simple motto, "Know thyself;" they can test themselves neither absolutely nor comparatively; they can ascertain neither the actual extent of their capabilities, nor balance those capabilities against the powers of other men.

Or even when they are able correctly to weigh their ability, men of genius are often led astray by extraneous considerations bearing no direct relation to that ability. Desire for fame, desire for power, desire for wealth, are factors that may explain why we have so many novelists that would be poets, so many poets that would be novelists, so many dramatists that would be essayists, and so many essayists that would be dramatists. Men who are masters in one sphere are induced to become misfits in another.