In no department is the contrast greater between the old world and the new than in municipal government.  In the former the families reside for generations in the place of birth with increasing devotion to the town and all its surroundings.  A father achieving the mayorship stimulates the son to aspire to it.  That invaluable asset, city pride, is created, culminating in romantic attachment to native places.  Councilorships are sought that each in his day and generation may be of some service to the town.  To the best citizens this is a creditable object of ambition.  Few, indeed, look beyond it—­membership in Parliament being practically reserved for men of fortune, involving as it does residence in London without compensation.  This latter, however, is soon to be changed and Britain follow the universal practice of paying legislators for service rendered. [In 1908; since realized; four hundred pounds is now paid.]

After this she will probably follow the rest of the world by having Parliament meet in the daytime, its members fresh and ready for the day’s work, instead of giving all day to professional work and then with exhausted brains undertaking the work of governing the country after dinner.  Cavendish, the authority on whist, being asked if a man could possibly finesse a knave, second round, third player, replied, after reflecting, “Yes, he might after dinner.”

The best people are on the councils of British towns, incorruptible, public-spirited men, proud of and devoted to their homes.  In the United States progress is being made in this direction, but we are here still far behind Britain.  Nevertheless, people tend to settle permanently in places as the country becomes thickly populated.  We shall develop the local patriot who is anxious to leave the place of his birth a little better than he found it.  It is only one generation since the provostship of Scotch towns was generally reserved for one of the local landlords belonging to the upper classes.  That “the Briton dearly loves a lord” is still true, but the love is rapidly disappearing.

In Eastbourne, Kings-Lynn, Salisbury, Ilkeston, and many other ancient towns, I found the mayor had risen from the ranks, and had generally worked with his hands.  The majority of the council were also of this type.  All gave their time gratuitously.  It was a source of much pleasure to me to know the provosts and leaders in council of so many towns in Scotland and England, not forgetting Ireland where my Freedom tour was equally attractive.  Nothing could excel the reception accorded me in Cork, Waterford, and Limerick.  It was surprising to see the welcome on flags expressed in the same Gaelic words, Cead mille failthe (meaning “a hundred thousand welcomes”) as used by the tenants of Skibo.

Nothing could have given me such insight into local public life and patriotism in Britain as Freedom-taking, which otherwise might have become irksome.  I felt myself so much at home among the city chiefs that the embarrassment of flags and crowds and people at the windows along our route was easily met as part of the duty of the day, and even the address of the chief magistrate usually furnished new phases of life upon which I could dwell.  The lady mayoresses were delightful in all their pride and glory.