_--VAUVENARGUES.

A great surgeon tells me he has no doubt that Carlyle suffered all his
life from a duodenal ulcer. "One may speculate," he says, "on the
difference there would have been in his writings if he had undergone the
operation which to-day is quite common."

This remark occurs to me when I think about Lord Northcliffe.

There is something wrong with his health. For a season he is almost
boyish in high spirits, not only a charming and a most considerate host,
but a spirit animated by the kindliest, broadest, and cheerfullest
sympathies. Then comes a period of darkness. He seems to imagine that he
may go blind, declares that he cannot eat this and that, shuts himself
up from his friends, and feels the whole burden of the world pressing on
his soul.

It is impossible to judge him as one would judge a perfectly healthy
man.

The most conspicuous thing in his character is its transilience. One is
aware in him of an anacoluthic quality, as if his mind suddenly stopped
leaping in one direction to begin jumping in a quite contrary direction.
It cannot be said that his mind _works_ in any direction. It is not a
trained mind. It does not know how to think and cannot support the
burden of trying to think. It springs at ideas and goes off with them in
haste too great for reflection. He drops these ideas when he sees an
excuse for another leap. Sequence to Lord Northcliffe is a synonym for
monotony. He has no _esprit de suite_. But he has leaps of real genius.
An admirable title for his biography would be, "The Fits and Starts of a
Discontinuous Soul." There is something of St. Vitus in his psychology.
You might call him the Spring-Heeled Jack of Journalism.

A story told of one of his journalists illustrates the difficulty of
dealing with so uncertain a person. Lord Northcliffe invited this
journalist, let us call him Mr. H., to luncheon. They approached the
lift of Carmelite House, and Lord Northcliffe drew back to let his guest
enter before him--he has excellent manners and, when he is a host, is
scrupulously polite to the least of people in his employment. Mr. H.
approached the lift, and raising his hat and making a profound bow to
the boy in charge of it, passed in before Lord Northcliffe. Nothing was
said during the descent. On leaving the lift Mr. H. again raised his
hat and bowed low to the boy. When they were out of earshot Lord
Northcliffe remonstrated with him on his behaviour. "You shouldn't
joke," he