One figure that flits ever and anon across the scene, the interest attaching to it only increased by the somewhat elusive character of the glimpses afforded us, is that of Laurence Oliphant. With him is associated much of the interest of that part of the correspondence dealing with travel and adventures and the wide field of foreign politics. Often not heard of for several months, he would suddenly appear in London from Japan or Poland, or wherever his latest enterprise had taken him. On his return he seemed to slip back as easily as though he had never left it into the peculiar niche he occupied in Society—Society which, as far as he was concerned, may rightly be spelt with a large S, if Prime Ministers, kings, and potentates of all kinds count for anything. They certainly counted for a good deal in his literary achievements, as they were the sources from which he drew his information for the many political papers he wrote. Thus, in one letter to my father from a German watering-place, he says, “I am, as usual, cradled in royalty,” and goes on to say he is indifferent to archdukes, excepting in as much as they could supply him with materials for a new foreign political journal he was interested in. Of his strangely fascinating personality it is easy to write, for his attractive qualities were patent to all who knew him; but it is very much more difficult to try to describe the elusive character of his genius.