Formerly this defect in the aristocracy was hidden by their own advantages.  Being the only class at ease for money and cultivated in mind they were without competition; and though they might not be, as a rule, and extraordinary ability excepted, excellent in State business, they were the best that could be had.  Even in old times, however, they sheltered themselves from the greater pressure of coarse work.  They appointed a manager—­a Peel or a Walpole, anything but an aristocrat in manner or in nature—­to act for them or manage for them.  But now a class is coming up trained to thought, full of money, and yet trained to business.  As I write, two members of this class have been appointed to stations considerable in themselves, and sure to lead (if anything is sure in politics) to the Cabinet and power.  This is the class of highly-cultivated men of business who, after a few years, are able to leave business and begin ambition.  As yet these men are few in public life, because they do not know their own strength.  It is like Columbus and the egg once again; a few original men will show it can be done, and then a crowd of common men will follow.  These men know business partly from tradition, and this is much.  There are University families—­families who talk of fellowships, and who invest their children’s ability in Latin verses, as soon as they discover it; there used to be Indian families of the same sort, and probably will be again when the competitive system has had time to foster a new breed.  Just so there are business families to whom all that concerns money, all that concerns administration, is as familiar as the air they breathe.  All Americans, it has been said, know business; it is in the air of their country.  Just so certain classes know business here; and a lord can hardly know it.  It is as great a difficulty to learn business in a palace as it is to learn agriculture in a park.

To one kind of business, indeed, this doctrine does not apply.  There is one kind of business in which our aristocracy have still, and are likely to retain long, a certain advantage.  This is the business of diplomacy.  Napoleon, who knew men well, would never, if he could help it, employ men of the Revolution in missions to the old courts; he said, “They spoke to no one and no one spoke to them”; and so they sent home no information.  The reason is obvious.  The old-world diplomacy of Europe was largely carried on in drawing-rooms, and, to a great extent, of necessity still is so.  Nations touch at their summits.  It is always the highest class which travels most, knows most of foreign nations, has the least of the territorial sectarianism which calls itself patriotism, and is often thought to be so.  Even here, indeed, in England the new trade-class is in real merit equal to the aristocracy.  Their knowledge of foreign things is as great, and their contact with them often more.  But, notwithstanding, the new race is not as serviceable for diplomacy as