unassuming urbanity and charm. His manner with children was patriarchal.
I was strolling one day during my stay in Auckland with that child
actor for whom I had written my comedy of _Ned's Chum_, when we met the
ex-governor of the colony at the foot of Mount Eden, now a green turfed
slope and at one time a volcano. "Look here," said the boy to the
venerable welder of Empire, "you take my ball and see how far you can
throw it uphill." "Certainly," said Sir George. He threw the ball to a
considerable distance and it settled in a hollow on the hillside. The
child raced after it, and before he returned the veteran statesman and
myself had each forgotten all about him and were deep in the history of
Auckland. By-and-by the young gentleman came back again and tugged
at the skirt of the diplomatist's frock coat. "I've been standing up
there," he complained, "for three or four minutes calling coo-ee, and
you never answered once!" "Did I not?" the statesman answered, "now that
was very wrong of me. You try me again and you will see that I shall not
misbehave myself next time." The child sped away in pursuit of the ball
which Sir George once more threw for him, and in a litde while we heard
his call. The old gentleman responded to it and the boy came racing back
to have the game repeated, and throughout the whole of our ramble which
lasted for an hour or two, the game was carried on with a tireless
persistence on the child's side and an unflagging patience on Sir
George's. He was talking to me with great animation about the Maori
legends which he had himself been the first to collect and translate,
but he never neglected to respond to the child's call, and left him, I
am sure, under the impression that he was the one person of interest in
the party.

CHAPTER XV

The Dreyfus Case--Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Opinion--Meeting
at the Egyptian-Hall--Interview with Zola--Maitre Labori--M.
Henri Rochefort--Major Esterhazy.

One of my hobbies for the last forty years has been the study of
character in handwriting. It is pretty much with the various forms of
caligraphy as it is with the human face or with the human voice. The
vast majority of faces that one sees are essentially commonplace,
but each has somehow an individuality of its own. Handwriting has
its physiognomy, and everybody who has been accustomed to a large
correspondence knows how instinctively and unfailingly he recognises a
caligraphy which has been