LORD ROSEBERY is one of the few celebrities who are known by sight to all Londoners. In the West End he is a familiar figure. When he strolls in Bond Street in the afternoon, omnibus drivers will turn to the nearest passenger with the remark, "That's Lord Rosebery." If he is caught in a block of traffic in the city, many a glance of recognition meets him. More remarkable are the greetings with which he is welcomed by the dim populations of East London. I do not mean on gala occasions merely, as when he drove with a young daughter by his side to present the prizes to the firemen in Victoria Park, but at ordinary times, when he is not the central figure nor even an expected guest. At the opening of the Blackwall Tunnel three years ago, although his name had no place on the official programme, the crowds recognised him as he drove in an open carriage along the Mile End Road, and the cheering for "Rosebery" was hardly less enthusiastic than for the Royal personages who performed the ceremony. As he leaned back in his landau, smiling and smoking a cigarette, EastEnders compared his cheerful look with the grave and anxious expression of his face when he came to Whitechapel for the opening of the public library. A statesman out for a holiday usually

seems many years younger than the same statesman with a speech in prospect, and in no one is the contrast more striking than in Lord Rosebery.

For the last ten years he has dressed almost invariably in black. His short jacket never varies in its fashion. Frock coats he keeps for ceremonial occasions, such as a wedding reception or a speech in the House of Lords. In the country he is often to be seen in a morning suit of dark serge. On his first appearance as Premier it was noted that he wore a tall silk hat with mourning band, a black suit, black silk tie, and black gloves.

In summer he discards tall hats and bowlers for a white straw, but he avoids the eccentricities of costume which mark the hot season at Westminster. His black silk tie is always in the same knot, though not always (if we may trust the photographers) fastened precisely in the middle. Like several other politicians, he has a partiality for brown boots. His only ornament is usually a signet ring. Once, when addressing a public meeting in London, he struck his ring with accidental violence on the railing in front of him. The jewel broke in two, and was caught by a journalist at the reporters' table. Next morning the reporter called at Berkeley Square to return the broken.

gem. Lord Rosebery thanked him. heartily for having restored to him a stone which he greatly valued, as it had formed his wife's favourite ring. The visitor enjoyed half an hour's pleasant chat with the statesman.

Lord Rosebery has a quiet taste in button-holes, wearing as a rule for his meetings a small bunch of violets. The finest button-hole I have ever heard of his choosing was composed of a red orchid, Parma violets, and a gardenia, and was worn at the football match last spring in the Celtic Park, Glasgow.

The Rosebery collar deserves a paragraph to itself. It is quite as distinctive in its way as the Gladstone collar, and the story goes that the ex-Premier invented it. He found that the sharp edges of the ordinary turn-down collar tore the silk facing of his coat, so he caused the edges to be cleverly rounded, that the silk might not wear out so soon. When he became Premier in March, 1894, the West End shopkeepers filled their windows with "Rosebery" collars, just as bakers invented "Rosebery" biscuits and tobacconists "Rosebery" cigars; but the fashion can scarcely be said to have "caught on." One of the last occasions on which the Earl was seen in the ordinary Byron collar was at the meeting of the Liberal party on March 12th, 1894.

Few southerners have seen him adorned with the green ribbon of the Thistle, but most are familiar with his blue Garter ribbon, which he wears at almost all important dinners and other evening engagements. His uniform as an Elder Brother of Trinity House is occasionally put on during the season. This, if I remember rightly, was his

costume at the Mansion House banquet to the Sirdar. Perhaps he has never appeared to greater advantage than in the picturesque costume of Horace Walpole at the Duchess of Devonshire's ball in Jubilee year. It was said that the diamond buttons sewn on his green velvet coat were alone worth a small fortune. With hair powdered and queued, lace vest and ruffles, silk stockings and buckled shoes, he might have sat for the portrait of a gentleman of the last century.

It would be impossible to give a fair idea of Lord Rosebery's daily routine; his life is too full of change, variety, and incident. The Emperor Hadrian was not more famous as a lightning traveller. The great railway companies have no more profitable passenger than the ex-Premier. Throughout the year he is accustomed to make frequent journeys between London and Scotland, and station-masters are not surprised if they receive a telegram at eight o'clock in the evening asking them to have a sleeping-carriage ready, as he starts by the ten o'clock express. When living at Mentmore he travels constantly between Euston and Cheddington; in the spring he is an almost daily passenger from Epsom to Victoria. In whatever home he may be staying, he begins the morning early. There is no truth in the story that he used to tire out three horses before breakfast-one is enough for him. On fine April mornings Epsom villagers are accustomed to see him riding over the Downs between seven and eight o'clock, sometimes alone, more often with a friend, or, in the holidays, with one or both of his sons. His other amusements at Epsom are driving and