Other music-hall artists there were who, however disinclined they might feel in the matter, were obliged to follow in the wake of the “star comique.” Arthur Lloyd was a genuine humorist, and had a peculiar velvety quality of voice, which was conspicuous by its absence in the throats of his contemporaries. As an artist he was incomparably the most accomplished, and the most versatile of the music-hall men of his time. But though he got hold of some songs that enjoyed a wide and long popularity, he never made one of those sensational “hits” which have accidentally come in the way of less-accomplished performers. “The Great Vance” was another of the music-hall favourites. This wonderfully overrated person belonged to the Leybourne school of thought, and illustrated the swell of the period as accurately as was possible by a man whose aspirates were scarcely on a level with his aspirations. “The Great Macdermott” came a little later than the trio whom I have named, but was long singing on the same stage as Lloyd and Vance, the popularity of both of whom he was destined to eclipse. Macdermott had been a sailor in the Royal Navy. I remember his giving me on one occasion a most dramatic account of how he came to leave the service. The general details I forget. But there is impressed on my memory the picture of Macdermott being rowed ashore in a jolly-boat, rising in the stern-sheets, and, shaking his fist at his ship, exclaiming: “Her Majesty’s Navy, adoo!” In the fo’castle there is a constant demand for the very class of song which was finding so much favour at the hands of the groundlings when this songster took to the stage. And as a follower of poor Leybourne, the sailor-man-turned-comedian made his first efforts. He was minded if he could to “go one better” than the creator of “Champagne Charlie.” But that wonderful impersonator had already sounded the depths. Macdermott, however, soon asserted his claim to a second place with such compositions as “Moses and Aaron sat on a rock.” These essays in an equivocal genre brought the singer quickly to the front. Yet it was not as an illustrator of pornographic minstrelsy that Macdermott was to make his “hit.” When that wave of patriotism which its detractors called “Jingoism” swept the country, Macdermott was to the fore as the laureate and bard of the patriots. Macdermott, indeed, has enriched the dictionaries of more nations than one with a new word. That is the word “Jingoism,” as used in politics. He sang a chorus in which we hurled defiance at the wide world, and soon the wide world was singing it, too. Macdermott had a wonderfully distinct enunciation, and had a peculiar knack of emphasizing the initial letter of every word he sang. The chorus which created the furore, as sung by the great man, went in this way: “We Don’t Want To Fight; But By JINGO If We Do, We’ve Got The Ships. We’ve Got The Men, We’ve Got The Money, Too!”