erpretation
of the personality of the man who sounded its first trumpet call.

Like Lloyd George, Hughes is a Welshman. These two remarkable men, who
have done so much to rouse their people, have more than racial kinship
in common. They are both undersized: both rose from the humble hearth:
both made their way to eminence by way of the bar: both gripped popular
imagination as real leaders of democracy. They are to-day the two
principal imperial human assets.

Hughes will tell you that he was born frail and has remained so ever
since. This son of a carpenter was a weak, thin, delicate boy, but
always a fighter. At school in London he was the only Nonconformist
around, and the biggest fellows invariably picked upon him. He could
strike back with his fists and protect his narrow chest, but his legs
were so thin that he had to stuff exercise books in his stockings to
safeguard his shins.

Hughes was trained for teaching, and only the restlessness of the Celt
saved him from a life term in the schoolroom. At sixteen he had become
a pupil instructor. But the sea always stirred his imagination. He would
wander down to the East India Docks and watch the ships load with
cargoes for spicy climes. One day as he watched the great freighters a
boy joined him. He looked very sad, and when Hughes asked him the reason
he said he wanted to go home to visit his people, but lacked the money.

"I'll lend you some," said Hughes impulsively.

He went home and out of the lining of an ancient concertina he produced
thirty shillings, all the money he had in the world. He handed this
hoard over to his new-found friend and promptly forgot all about it. He
kept on teaching.

I cite this little episode because it was the turning point in a great
man's career. The boy who borrowed the shillings went to Australia.
Several years later he returned the money and with it this message:
"This is a great country full of opportunity for a young man. Chuck your
teaching and come out here." Hughes went.

Three months later--it was in 1884--and with half a crown in his pocket
he walked ashore at Brisbane. He looked so frail that the husky dock
labourers jeered at his physical weakness. Yet less than ten years from
that date he was their militant leader marching on to the Rulership of
all Australia.

In those days Australia was a rough land. Beef, bullying and brawn were
the things that counted most in that paradise of ticket-of-leave men.
Hughes bucked