expressed by those whom he has vanquished. He is very much a law unto himself; he has little to help him to appreciate the future results of his policy; he is exposed to the temptation of thinking that success once achieved palliates all the methods taken to achieve it. The only direct consideration that can tend to check him in pursuing devious courses is that deceit, when detected, begets distrust. But this need not trouble him much. In ordinary life we show our reprobation of a treacherous dealer by refusing to deal with him any more; but a nation has to be dealt with whether we like it or not. It is difficult for a statesman, however upright, not to deal with other countries according to the character which their diplomacy has shown in the past. Such a necessity, in the case of any one country, tends to lower the standard universally.
I fear that I have drawn a sorrowful picture of the difficulties and dangers which beset the statesman's path. Perhaps it is lucky that he does not see them all at once. Few men, I imagine, who became great started on their career with the intention of becoming so. That intention generally accompanies the unsuccessful. The secret of real greatness seems to be a happy knack of doing things as they come in your way; and they rarely present themselves in the form which careful preparation would enable you to deal with.
I once knew a man whose aim was to become a great conversationalist. For this purpose he spent his time in devising repartees, which he carefully entered in a notebook. His undergraduate friends—-
