Two accounts have been given of Mr. Lowe this week.
One is by Mr. H. Cole, who took the occasion of the opening of a School of 'Art in Spitalfields to declare that the late Chan- cellor of the Exchequer had a flinty bosom, was a " wilful 'man," a "man of -very bad judgment," " no statesman whatever," nothing but " a milk-and-water Rabelais,"—perhaps the most profoundly comic expression of contempt ever hurled even at Mr. Lowe. He had actually proposed to put the Museum at Kensington under the Trustees of the British Museum, and so Brut him—him, H. Cole—under the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Duke of Devonshire, and forty-eight other such. Mr. Goschen, who was to be the speaker of the evening, seems to have been quite taken aback by this attack, and admitted that Mr. Lowe was a ferocious guardian of the public purse, but declared him ready, above all thing8, to spend on Art. He was evidently not-prepared for his duty, which was to denounce Mr. Cole as the greatest speiultlirift of public money in the Empire ; nor if he had been, would the Spitalfields audience, which hates Mr. Lowe because lie wanted them not to waste their matches, have allowed him to do so. 'Mr. Gosehen was shouted down, and Mr. Cole went home, let us hope, quite happy'that he had at last relieved his bosom of the wrath which, as he admitted, had been sim- mering for five years. He will find, we suspect, before long, the truth of the great axiom in politics that temper never pays.
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