terms. But as a party liability, or asset,--many a good Republican
wishes he knew which,--he remains an enigma. There is not one of
the array of elders of either political persuasion who, while
laughing at his satirical sword-play, does not watch him covertly
out of the corner of the eye, trembling at the potential ruin they
consider him capable of accomplishing.

With all his weaknesses,--principally an almost hilarious political
irregularity,--but two Republican hands were raised against him in
the Senate when he was nominated for the Court of Saint James. When
he rather unbecomingly filliped John Bull on the nose in his maiden
speech as the premier ambassador, incidentally ridiculing some of
his own countrymen's war ideals, President Harding and Secretary
Hughes, gravely and with rather obvious emphasis, tried to set the
matter aright as best they could. But there was no hint of
reprimand; only a fervent hope that the mercurial Harvey would
remain quiescent until the memory of the episode passed.

The quondam editor, now the representative of his country on the
Supreme Council, in which capacity he is even more important than
as Ambassador, represents a new strain in American politics. His
mental habits bewilder the President, shock the proper and somewhat
conventional Secretary of State, and throw such repositories of
national divinity as Senators Lodge and Knox into utter confusion.

Harvey plays the game of politics according to his own rules, the
underlying principle of which is audacity. He knows very well that
the weak spot in the armor of nearly all politicians of the old
school is their assumption of superiority, a sort of mask of
benignant political venerability. They dread satire. They shrink