EDITOR’S OUTLOOK.

AN AMERICAN DIPLOMAT.

There is very general regret, at home and abroad, that the new administration has removed Professor James Russell Lowell from the office of American minister at the court of St. James. There is no disposition to complain; but there is some natural wonderment. Mr. Lowell was an ideal American diplomat; he represented worthily the people as well as the government of the United States. It is no disparagement to his successor to say that no other American can quite fill the place Mr. Lowell has made for himself. It should be remembered that we, fortunately, have very little proper diplomatic business anywhere in the world; and whenever any serious negotiation is to be undertaken, it can be done at Washington. Our important treaties are made in the national capital; and our gravest foreign affairs are always directly administered by the Secretary of State. Since Franklin it has seldom happened that a minister has been entrusted with any grave duties or burdened with any serious responsibilities. Even during the civil war Mr. Seward managed at Washington the more serious business of the foreign department.

In this generation, we have had some successful foreign ministers; but their success has in every case been in non-official or extra-official lines. Mr. E. B. Washburne, our minister in Paris during the Franco-German war, won a high reputation, not as a diplomat of his country, but as an American minister entrusted, by an act of international courtesy, with the rights and welfare of Prussians in Paris. As the agent of the Berlin government during the war and siege, Mr. Washburne endeared himself to the large German population of Paris by his kindness, common sense, and energy in caring for a body of subjects of a hostile country. No one but a typical American could have done this work at all well. A man trained to diplomacy would have failed. It needed a man who could put his character and American office into a breach made by war, and devise means of providing for an extemporaneous necessity. Most men would have failed; Washburne succeeded because he was a typical American of the largest pattern—able, frank, tireless, resourceful.

In England, Mr. Lowell has, under different circumstances, developed a new line of diplomatic representation. He has represented the character and culture of the American people. The average politician supposes himself to be the typical American; the fact that we are ashamed of him is the sufficient proof that he is thoroughly mistaken. In what do Americans broadly differ from most other, if not all other, peoples? Is it not in this, that we are the great reading nation of the world? Our culture goes down to the bottom and reaches out to the extremities of our life. We have no class distinctions, no titled magnates, no rights of birth-privilege; and in the school rooms of the land the rich and the poor meet together, and our great newspapers go into the hands of both rich and poor. We are not so distinctly a nation of commercial people as we are a nation of people under an unexampled influence of general culture. A Professor who was much more than a professor; a man of the world who was also a man of books; an alert and quick, practical man who was also a poet; a gentleman who was, first of all, manly; a diplomat who was at home in a school room, could lecture on any literary theme, could instruct the educated Englishman in the history of his own men of letters; an American who knew Shakspere, Milton, Bunyan, the English Bible, and every shred of English art and song and event by heart—such a man has Mr. Lowell been in England. He was at home there on those levels of life and heights of achievement which are common to us and Englishmen; and his leadership there in literature and learning conferred honor on us in the precisely most honorable things in our character as a people. We simply are not philistines—hard dogmatists of dollars and precedents—we are a thoughtful, informed, studious and brainy people who despise wealth which is not held for the service of truth, well-being and progress. No man could represent us so well as a poet, teacher, essayist and scholar like Mr. Lowell. He could represent us at the level of those ideals and achievements of which we are not ashamed. We despise nothing so heartily as illiterate wealth; no other people on earth equal us in contempt for the commerce which has only sordid aims and results. The American merchant builds schools, museums, churches, asylums, hospitals—if he does not we despise him.

The problem in selecting the best foreign representatives is to secure men who will represent our national character. Our diplomacy is unimportant. Such as we have to do can be carried on at Washington. We want ministers abroad who will be typical Americans, whose conspicuous position will display in them the best and truest results of our unique social and political system. If they are honored abroad, as Mr. Lowell has been in unusual ways and measure, the honor is given to us and glorifies us. There is always a fool to say that our minister is more English than American—simply because Englishmen respect him. It is a poor kind of criticism, and fortunately there is less and less of it in the press. We all stand better abroad, command more honest respect, are better understood in our best characteristics, because James Russell Lowell has represented us in London. May his successor succeed to the full measure of this representative office.

The most distinguished honor ever conferred upon an American has come to Mr. Lowell. The English press, representing the best public opinion of that nation, invites him to remain., in England “as the unofficial representative of American literature, learning, manners, and knowledge of the world.” Nothing like that can be found in the long history of diplomacy. “He has been,” says one great journal, “a sort of guest-friend of England,” and it then describes him as “the most eminent American of this generation,” and adds, “Englishmen of all ranks and stations recognize in Mr. Lowell a faithful and jealous guardian of the interests of his country, and a type of all that is best in its intellectual and moral character.” There is not a word in all these encomiums which is not a eulogy of the American people.

THE CHOLERA.

The disease called Asiatic Cholera is at home in India. It travels, at long intervals, into Europe. There have been eight: or nine of these visitations during the century. The disease travels with man and his belongings; and since intercourse between Asia and Europe has become more swift and abundant, there is a tendency to more frequent visits of the dreaded scourge. In fact, however, this tendency has been overcome by sanitary science. Until last year, cholera had not been in Europe for sixteen years. It arrived the last previous time in 1866 and tarried into the next year. During all the intervening years, there was cholera on the Ganges, and an increasing flow of humanity between the two continents; yet sixteen years elapsed between the visits. Last year cholera landed from ships at Toulon and Marseilles in southern France, and produced general alarm in Europe. It swept around all the European coasts of the Mediterranean, and in the especially filthy towns caused a large mortality. It has doubtless wintered in Europe, and its second year is usually the worst. It can begin early and use the long summer for its desolating work. This is the second summer. It is probable that cholera will be a large feature of the health and mortuary reports of the year. European travel will be restricted by the caution which the prevalence of this disease inspires. American resorts for Americans will be unusually popular.

Will cholera visit us? In previous European visits it has always looked in upon us, sometimes the first, sometimes the second year. In 1866, it did not come, but did come in 1867. But the visit of that year was less baneful than any other we have had. In 1884, we escaped; can we escape in 1885? No doubt exists that we can. It is only a question of effective quarantine. The faithful discharge of their duties by all health officers at ports would exclude the unwelcome guest. And, at our principal port, where the danger is greatest, there is good reason to believe that the fidelity, wisdom and vigilance are equal to the emergency. Cholera is more likely to penetrate to us by some little-used door; the front gate will be securely guarded. At the smaller doors, there ought to be no danger. But there is danger, and it is probably too much to hope that there will be adequate watchfulness. There is, even at New York, a long line of accidents to be reckoned with. It would not be surprising, however, if cholera got a foothold among us from the West Indies, landing in some southern port.

If it comes, what then? It should not be very successful in its work of death. It could be stamped out in any city with a well organized health force. In New York, a few cases would not be cause for any alarm—not half so much as if the cases were in some small and careless community. Still it is most probable that if it effects a landing it will travel over the country. We have had warning enough. It is a filth disease which can be cornered and killed by cleanliness, if the cleanliness foreruns it. If we wait to clean up filthy quarters in our towns until the disease arrives, it will then be too late to clean. We shall have a good measure of the sanitary condition of our cities, if the cholera visits them. It will do its terrible work in the unclean quarters of unclean towns. It will not stop there. Once established in a filthy quarter, cholera easily thrusts its arms into adjacent clean places. If the long and loud warning has been heeded, there will be little to fear from cholera. The cleanliness of our towns will discourage and expel the intruder.

What can individuals do? Keep cool and in good health. All epidemic diseases fix upon the infirm, the debilitated, and the fearful. The mortality from cholera is only about one death for four cases. In some epidemics of it, the rate is one in three cases; but among people who are well fed and in fair conditions of comfort, and have proper care, there are five chances of recovery to one of death. The high rate of mortality in some towns results from want of care and medicine. Popular rumor exaggerates the danger of death from cholera. It is a case of ogne ignotum pro magnifico—we know so little about it that we magnify the danger beyond all warrant of the actual facts. Some of our danger—perhaps most of it—will come from the enthusiasm of the reporters. Last January these enthusiasts discovered genuine Asiatic cholera in St. Louis. They were sure of it. The evidence was perfect, they said. Of course there never was, and never will be, a case of Asiatic cholera in St. Louis in January. But after summer begins, the “Lo here” will begin to alarm the timid. There are sure to be many false reports; the true one may be in the bundle. Let us hope it will not be—and keep cool.

We hope that inland quarantines will not be resorted to if the disease appears among us. They are useless as well as inhuman. They shut the intruder out of the gate, and he crawls under the fence. If cholera gets upon this continent, safety will be secured only by cleanliness of streets and houses. Clean people may die in clean streets, but it will be because there are unclean people in neighboring streets to receive and breed the disease. Nor should the well fly from the sick. The nurses and priests are safest in Italian cities. Those who fly, do so when it is too late, and carry the disease with them. And, after all, cholera may not visit us in 1885.

A REVIEW OF THE CHAUTAUQUA YEAR.

A very marked indication of the success of the Chautauqua Idea is the increase of imitations of our work; and this runs parallel with an increase of efforts to promote systematic culture among grown people. Dr. Samuel Johnson used to say that he did all his hard study when he was a boy, and he very properly lamented it. It is one of the strangest things in modern civilization that, except among a small body of professors and specialists, the world does its studying entirely in early life. If the chance to study, or the compulsion to study, be wanting in the first twenty years, the door is supposed to be shut forever. The Chautauqua movement tried to expose the folly of this method, and to show that persons whose education was neglected in youth may secure culture in middle life, or even in old age. History gave us examples enough; but Chautauqua has made thousands of new examples to illustrate the perfect practicalness of adult study. The success of Chautauqua has drawn general attention to the subject. A variety of plans for promoting the education of adults are coming before the public. We do not regard any of them as rivals; they will enlarge our public as well as make smaller centers of such culture.

The members of the C. L. S. C. who have gone with us over the subjects of this year will do well to look back over the road and see precisely what they have gone over. They will probably notice that their study and reading has not interfered with their regular pursuits and duties. They have been able to add these studies to their customary tasks and interests. It is a kind of gratuity, therefore, which they have received. It is so much in addition to other results of annual effort. They will further see that the amount of this study and reading is considerable. Good method has made odd minutes yield a bulk which would require weeks of consecutive and unbroken effort. The effect on the mind is better and more permanent because the study has been continued through a year. A college man of our acquaintance says that Professor Time does better work than any of his colleagues. Our C. L. S. C. members have had the instruction of Professor Time. Those who are finishing the course will do well to remember that they have learned how to learn without a living teacher. This is the best thing the C. L. S. C. has done for you—this helping you to study alone. A power of this sort ought to be cultivated and kept. The contents of any course of education should be small in comparison with the attainments which it renders possible. This large, broad, life-long self-education lies in the power to study alone without the fear of a master or the ordeal of an examination before one. This power colleges fail to give, and it is one of their weaknesses that they can not give it. When the taskmaster stopped, Samuel Johnson said that he stopped learning. We may doubt it, but in a sense Johnson was right. If any reader has acquired the power to go on alone by pursuing the course, he has a rare piece of wealth, a capital which may produce the widest and best culture.

“LIBERTY ENLIGHTENING THE WORLD.”

The New York World has done wondrously well to raise $30,000 by a popular subscription for the setting up of the Bartholdi statue in New York harbor. Our readers know that this colossal statue of “Liberty Enlightening the World” is a present from the French people, but that there has been no provision made for the cost of setting up the great work of French art. Various attempts to raise the necessary $100,000 have yielded but small results, and when the World took hold of the matter the failure had become a very disagreeable joke for the press. Other newspapers have engaged in public enterprises. The New York Herald sent a ship into the Arctic Ocean in search of the Pole. The New York Tribune maintains by the subscriptions of its readers a “Fresh-Air Fund” which gives thousands of children an outing in the country during the hot months. The enterprise of the World is, if possible, more praiseworthy, and its success in rescuing a lost cause is as honorable as it is unexpected. The subscriptions have been made by people of all conditions and fortunes, by boys and girls, by merchants, artists and laborers. A popular interest in the subject has been created, a great deal of information imparted, many mistakes corrected, and a popular support secured for a work of art. The work is in the line of large and healthy philanthropy, and the World deserves unstinted credit. Let us all hope that it will carry the cause through to entire success.

We are, as a nation, still poor in public statuary. We have some good pieces and not a few failures. Perhaps many persons have feared that the Bartholdi statue is another monstrosity. Let them take courage; the World has presented excellent evidence that the work is equal to its mission. The French people are to have a small edition of it set up in Paris, and eminent French critics are unsparing in their praise of it. Of course we can not be too confident of the effect of a statue higher than Trinity steeple or the pillars of the East River bridge, set up so as to face the sea and meet the eyes of the world entering the harbor of New York. On that point there is excellent artistic judgment in favor of the success of the audacious conception of the artist. We may now regard the plan as certain to be carried out at no distant day, and if it succeeds it will be one of the wonders of the world. A statue rising to the height of three hundred and seventeen feet above the waves—the familiar figure of Liberty confronting the world in our chief American city—will be a unique and impressive piece of art, if it be not an utter failure. The if is not a large doubt; only the small doubt which attends the most perfect human work which is as yet untried. The World’s popular subscription had passed $35,000 when these lines were sent to press, on the 28th of April.