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CONTENTS   OF  VOLUME    LVIL 


JANUAllY,  1890. 

Two  New  Utopias.     By  Emile  de  Laveloye 1 

Mr.  Wilkie  ColUns's  Novels.     By  Andrew  Lang  . 20 

Brotherhoods.     By  the  Bishop  of  Ripon 29 

The  Latest  Theories  on  the  Origin  of  the  English,   liy  Edward  A.  Freeman,  D.C.L.  36 

The  Unfaithful  Steward.     By  Julia  Wedpwood 62 

Profit-Sharing,     By  Professor  J.  Shield  Nicholson 64 

Tho  Home  Kule  Movement  in  India  and  in  Ireland,     r.v  a  Rpngal  Slai^'istrntc  .  78 

A  Lamber-Room.     By  Michael  Field .        .                                   ....  98 

Brazil,  Past  and  Future.     By  M.  G.  Mulhall 103 

Kunning  for  Records.     By  J.  R.  Werner 112 

What  Stanley  ha^  done  for  the  Map  of  Africa.   ( Wtth  Mapa.)  By  J.  Scott  Keltic  126 

Robert  Browning,     By  the  Rev.  Stopford  A.  Brooke 141 


FEBRUARY,  1890. 

The  Road  to  Australian  Federation.    By  Sir  C.  Gavan  D»^y,  K,C.M.G.     .        .  153 

Bishop  Lightfoot.    By  Archdeacon  Farrar.  D.D 170 

Oxford  Professors  and  Oxford  Tutors :  The  Examiners'  Reply.    By  ProfesHor 

S.  R.  Gardiner  and  others .  183 

The  Future  of  English  Monarchy.     By  Frank  H.  Hill 187 

Mr.  Barintf-Goald's  Novels.     By  J.  M.  Barrie 206 

The  Critical  Study  of  the  Old  Testament.     By  Canon  Driver,  D.D.   ...  215 

Defoe's  Wife.     By  G.  A.  Aitken           . 232 

The  Eight  Hours  Question.     By  R.  B.  Ualddne,  Q.C.,  M.P 240 

Philosophical  Buddhi^m  in  Tibet.     By  Graham  Sandberg           ....  266 

Recollections  of  a  Voya^'e  with  General  Gordon.     By  Win.  H.  tspence       .         .  272 

The  Taxation  of  Ground  Values.     By  C.  H.  Sargant 282 

Unionist  Fusion.     By  Frederick  Greenwood 290 

MARCH,  1890. 

Communism.     By  Emile  de  Laveloye 301 

Dr.  Von  Dollinger.     By  Canon  MacColl 325 

The  Results  of  European  Intercourse  with  the  African.     By  Joseph  Thomson  .  3S9 

Was  Jehovah  a  Fetish  Stone  ?     By  .\ndrcw  Lang 353 

Tithes.     By  J.  AUanson  Picton,  M.P 366 

A  Plea  for  the  Publishers.     By  Augustus  Jessopp,  D.D 380 

Anglo-Catholicism — the  Old  and  tho  New.     By  Principal  Fairbairn,  D.D.          .  387 

The  Taxation  of  Ground-Rents.     By  J.  Fletcher  Moulton,  Q.C 412 

Reminiscences  of  a  Church-Rate  Struggle.     By  Mrs.  Stcadman  Aldis        .        .  421 

Free  Schook  and  Public  Management.     By  the  Hon.  E.  Lynlph  Stanley   .        .  440 
The  Four  Oxford  History  Lecturers.     A  Letter  to  the  Editor.     By  Professor 

Thorold  Rogers ,         .  454 


ir  CONTENTS. 

APRIL.  1890. 

King  and  Minister :  a  Midnight  Conrerflation 

The  DiscoTery  of  CJoal  near  Dover.     By  Professor  W.  Boyd  Dawkinx,  K.n.S. 

The  New  Watchwords  of  Fiction.     By  Hall  Caine 

Ought  the  Referendnm  to  be  Introdaced  into  England  7    Ty  Professor  A. 

Dicey 

Snnlight  or  Smoke  T    By  the  Bev.  H.  D.  Rawnsley 

Aristocracy  or  Democracy.     By  Samuel  Laing 

The  Old  Testament  and  the  Critics.    By  Principal  Cave,  D.I>.    . 

IndoBtrial  Co-operation.    By  David  F.  Schloss 

Rotterdam  and  Dutch  Workers.     By  Richard  Heath 

The  "  Midsummer  Night's  Dream."    By  Julia  Wedgwood  .... 

The  Cretan  Question.    By  W.  J.  Stillman   . 

School  Fees  and  Public  Management.    By  the  Kev.  Joseph  li.  Diggle,  Chairir 

of  the  School  Board  for  London 


MAY,  J890. 

How  British  Colonies  got  Responsible  Government.      Bv  Sir  C.  Gavnn  Dul 

K.G.M.a. 

The  Betterment  Tax  in  America.     By  John  Rae 

A  "  Poisoned  Paradise."    By  Clement  Scott 

The  Educational  System  in  Public  Schools.     By  the  lUv.  J.  E.  ('.  Welldi 

Headmaster  of  Harrow  School 

Weismann's  Theory  of  Heredity.     By  George  J.  Romanes,  F.R.S. 

Baby-Farming.     By  the  Rev.  Benjamin  Waugh 

Matthew  Prior.     By  George  A.  Aitken 

The  Peaceable  Settlement  of  Labour  Disputes.     By  B.  Sjicnrc  Watson.  LL.D 

The  Race  Basis  of  Indian  Political  Movements.     By  H.  11.  Hisley 

The  Land  Purchase  Bill.     By  Justin  M'Carthy,  M.P. 

JUNE,  1890. 
Compensation  for  Licenses. 

I.  By  Cardinal  Manning     .... 

II.  By  W.  S.  Caine,  M.P 

Vested  Interests.    By  Professor  J.  E.  Thorold  Rogers 

The  Law  in  1847  and  the  Law  in  1889.    By  Lord  Coleridge 

The  Theology  and  Ethics  of  Dante.     By  Professor  Edward  Cain! 

Trusts  in  the  United  States.    By  R.  Donald       .... 

Brought  back  from  Elysium.    By  J.  M.  Barrie  .... 

The  Perils  of  Trustees.    By  Montague  Crackanthorpe,  Q.C. 

Mute  Witnesses  of  the  French  Revolution.    By  Mrs.  Emily  Crawford 

A  Palestinian  Utopia.    By  Thomas  Hodgkin 

The  Broad  Church;  or.  What's  Coming  7    By  the  Rov.  H.  R.  Haweis 
The  Betterment  Tax.    By  the  Dnkc  of  Argyll 


742 

700 


769 
774 

780 


AT  all  periods  of  social  transformation,  generous-hearte<i^ 
minded  men,  advocatos  of  justice,  are  to  be  met  wit 
grieved  and  indignant  at  the  wrongs  and  auflferings  of  tl 
classes.  They  believe  that  the  cause  of  these  lies  in  ■ 
institutions,  and  they  indulgp  in  dreams  of  a  better  order  ^ 
in  which  peace,  harmony,  and  happiness  are  to  be  universal 
evoke  a  Utopia  firom  their  own  imagination.  It  was  thus  tij 
composed  the  "  Republic."  What  the  greatest  philosophel^ 
most  rigorously  proscribed — and  we  find  the  same  in  all  the 
imagined  later  on — was  selfishneBS.  It  is  selfishness  which  kc 
apart,  and  13  the  great  cause  of  rivalry,  jealousy,  and  hi 
class  for  class.  The  law  of  mann  and  tuiim,  applied  to  prop 
family  life,  gives  rise  to  covetousness,  and  makes  ham 
impossibility.  Family  and  property  must  therefore  be  doi 
with,  and  everything  be  owned  in  common — both  wives  and 
in  due  conformity,  of  course,  with  the  prescription  of  reason, 
fight  and  tear  each  other  to  pieces  when  disputing  their  pre] 
is  the  struggle  for  life  so  much  spoken  of  nowadays.  But  t 
submit  themselves  to  laws  based  on  the  decisions  of  wisdom  a 
ready  to  act  in  concert  for  the  realization  of  the  general 
The  final  object  with  Plato  was  not,  as  at  the  present  day,  1 
complete  development  of  the  human  being,  but  the  perfecting  0 
in  general.  Men  were,  bo  to  speak,  merely  the  matenals,  the 
together  of  which,  as  ordered  by  the  political  architect,  she 
the  ideal  city. 

The   Utopia  of  the   Millennium,  which  sprang  from  Judi 


•  "  Looking  Backward.' 
Par  Charles  Secrf'Un. 

veL.  Lvn. 


B}-  Edward  BcUaiaj-,    '"  Etudes  SoclaJcs— ^ 


Ica-Mfl 

i 


%  THB   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

CSixistisnity,  exercised  a  far  greater  inflnence  over  our  V 
tliaii  tbat  qS  Flato.  The  prophets  thnnder  forth  with  \ 
'qnenoe  against  this  world,  where  the  wicked  triumph 
are  oppressed;  they  foretell  the  poming  of  a  Messi 
redress  all  wrong  and  establish  a  reign  of  universal  • 
<jk)spel,  the  Good  Tidings,  is  the  announcement  of  the  Kii 
where  "  the  last  shall  be  first,"  where  "  the  peacemakers 
the  earth,"  where  those  "  who  mourn  shall  be  comf 
'"  blessed  shsill  be  those  who  are  persecuted  for  righteous 
theirs  shall  be  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven."  "  Blessed 
hunger  and  thirst  after  righteousness,  for  they  shi 
^Matt.  V.  1-10.)  Such  was  the  sublime  ideal,  the 
which  Christ  held  up  to  mankind.  Deceived  by  certai: 
Scripture,  and,  more  particularly,  of  the  Apocalyp 
C!hristian8  hoped,  for  a  long  time,  that  the  Kingdom  < 
be  in  this  world.  Nearly  all  were  Millenarians,  ai 
remained  general  till  the  year  1000. 

The  belief  in  Palingenesis — i.e.,  the  coming  of  a  ne 
world,  is  to  be  met  with  throughout  antiquity,  and  was 
Piiarre  Leroux  demonstrates  ("  De  rHamanit^"  bk.  ii.  c.  C 
theories  as  to  the  coBsnic  periods  in  the  existence  of  our 
world,  delivered  over  to  evil,  must  perish  in  the  flames 
heaven  and  a  new  earth "  spring  forth  to  replace  it. 
the  successive  cycles  of  the  development  of  humanity  U 
general  conflagration,  followed  by  a  universal  renewal  a 

In  the  Woluspa  of  tiie  Eddas  the  Palingenesis  is  con 
exactly  as  in  our  Goapek.     The  signs  of  the  doom  are  t 

"  Tbe  son  sliaJl  grow  black. 
The  eaith  shall  sink  into  the  tea, 
Tbe  bright  stars  shall  vanish  from  the  beatTcns. 

•  ••••• 

Smoke  and  fire  gush  forth ; 

The  terrible  flame  shall  plaj  against  the  rerr  si 

The  Scandinavian  Sibyl  thus  announces  the  world  to 

**  I  can  see  earth  rise  a  second  time,  ftesh  and  green  out  « 
The  waters  are  falling,  the  erne  hovering  over  them  : 
ISie  bird  that  honis  tbe  fish  in  the  moontain  «**»»"»■  ; 
The  fields  onsovn  shall  jield  their  £mit ; 
Ail  ills  shall  be  healed  at  the  coming  of  Balder : 
Tbe  ancs  ttaSL  meet  on  the  Field  of  Itk. 
And  do  j::  igiaer:  snder  the  migfatr  Tree  of  the  World.* 

Ib  Virgil's  ^itendid  lines,  in  the  fourth  Eclogue,  is 

tiie  ecijo  of  this  a^Kradon  after  a  new  world,  so  frequent 

aacieing  Iheraisre,  e^ieciallj  in  the  Sibylline  songs : — 

"^  MaBTii  ab  irne^n-  swLjcrzsi  vascivaz  ordo  ... 
St^z.  r.;Ta  prriceti-e*  -Mtlo  desJttifUT  aI:o  .  .  . 
....  A*  vt;-:  riLT^t  retis  a::T<ea  m^uido  .  .  . 
....  *">— -^  isres  obu:^  teHns." 

*  "  'jx  ta  T^sxvB,  Boreajt,'   Br  Vi^fsawc  acd  PowtlL    Vol 


i 

m 


si 


regeneration  of  nature- 
dwell  rather  on  social  regeneration  and  the  triumph  of  jus 
anchorites  and  great  saints  of  the  Middle  Ages,  St.  Be 
St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  seeing  that  the  kingdom  of  God 
expected  did  not  come,  tied  from  the  haunts  of  men  an^ 
desert  places,  in  this  way  carrying  out  their  notions  of  the  ■ 
ideal.  They,  like  Plato,  did  away  Avith  private  property  am 
life,  but  they  acted  nnder  the  intluence  of  asceticism,  which  i 
vows  of  perpetual  chastity  and  poverty.  If  all,  men  and  wome 
had  hearkened  to  and  obeyed  their  teaching,  evil  of  all  kindi 
have  been  effectually  banished,  for  Immauity  would  have  ceased 
Later  on,  when  the  Renaissance  and  the  Keforniation  had  ' 
about  a  general  excitement  and  agitation  of  men's  minds,  and 
fresh  social  problems,  new  Utopias  came  to  light.  Sir  Thorn; 
wrote  hb  *'  Utopia,"  Campanella  his  "  Civitas  Solis,"  and  Haniiij 
''  Oceana."  *  In  the  first  part  of  his  book,  published  in  1 517,  Sir 
More  sums  up  in  this  way  the  causes  of  the  misery  then  pr«j 
England  ; — ^The  great  number  of  nobles  who  rack-rent  then 
and  keep  a  multiplicity  of  servants  as  good-for-nothing  as  then 
the  communal  lands  taken  from  the  villagers  ;  and,  more  pa 
the  sheep  which  devour  men's  possessions  and  oust  them 
own : — 

"  Oves,  quse  tam  mites  erant,  nunc  tarn  edaces  esse  c<rperaist 
devorent,  ipsos  iigi-os,  Jomos,  oppida  vasteiit  ac  depopiileutur." 

The   spoliation   and  expulsion    of   cultivators  is    described 
violent  language  : — 

"Ergo  ut  unus  rontinuatis  agris  aliquot  millia  jugeruin  uno  ci 
septo  ejiciuntur  t-olotu,  aut  circuixiscripti  fraude,  aut  vi  oppressi  t 
aut  fatigati  injuriLn  adiguntur  ad  venditionem.  Itaquo  quoqt 
emigrant  mineri,  viri,  muliei*es,  mariti,  iixores,  orbi,  viduae  paren 
parvis  libel-is." 


J 


As  a  contrast  to  this  state  of  society,  thus  oppressed 
mated  by  the  injustice  of  the  great  ones  of  the  earth,  More 
to  us  the  harmony  and  happiness  reigning  in  the  Island  of 
All  possessions  are  there  held  in  common,  and  every  one 
alternately  in  the  fields,  or  the  workshops  and  factories.  Si 
labour  a  day  suffices  to  produce  in  abundance  all  that  is  necessai 
mode  of  life  is  simple  ;  there  are  no  drones  to  consume  without 
ing  ;  workmen,  who  elsewhere  are  occupied  in  creating  mere  fri 
here  only  make  useful  articles.  The  production  i.s  limited  tc 
requirements,  and  everything  being  regulated,  tliere  is  ne 
excess.     Nothing  is  bought  or  sold  for  money.     All  commod' 

*  The  best  book  on  the  ancient  Socialists  is  one  by  M.  Quark,  profca 
University  of  Amsterdam.     It  is  entitled,  "  De  Sooialisten,"  and  is  written 
Sec  also  '■  Hist,  du  SociuHsmc  et  la  Protestation  Communlstc,"  in  the  Hevue 
Dec.  1889,  by  Denoit  Malon. 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEiV. 


stowed  in  large  stordiouses,  where  the  fathers  of  famil 
fetch  what  they  re^juire.  All  the  iahabitants  of  the  isla 
themselves  equals.  They  dine  nearly  every  day  together 
tables.  By  regular  physical  exercise  they  acquire  strenj 
and  Ijeauty.  In  a  word,  it  is  a  sketch  of  an  existence 
Plato's  ideal  of  a  republic  and  the  ideal  of  monastic  life, 
it  the  author  describes  the  political,  economic,  and  jndic 
which  he  would  fain  see  carried  out,  and  ends  with  an  elotj 
tation  against  the  inequality  to  l^e  met  with  in  modem  see 

"  Is  it  just  that  the   noUenuiu,  the   usurer,  the  jeweller  [tl 
that  period],  who  live  in  idleness  and  pnxluce  nothing  useful,  sh 
in  every  enjoyment,  while  the  tiller  of  the  soil,  the  workman 
suffer  misery,  and  can  barely  earn  sufficient  to  subiOAt  upon 
hours  of  labour  ?     The  lot  of  l^ensta  of  burden  is  preferable  to 

Southey,  in  1830,  in  his  book  on  "  Sir  Thomas  More,"  rei 
Utopian  ideals,  and  seeks  to  find  therein  a  remedy  for  the 
then  existing  industrial  syfct.em,  which  was  worse  than  it 
owing  to  a  very  severe  economic  crisis.  He  mentions  ai 
things  the  "  cannibal  sheep." 

Bacon,  in  the  "  Nova  Atlantis,"   wished  also  to  draw 
gramme  of  social  reform : — Dc  hfjibus  sivc  d-c  optima  «r» 
but  he  only  wrote  the  first  part  of  hus  book,  in  which  he  e: 
man  should  make  a  servant  of  Nature  by  studying  its  foi 
laws.     In  his  "'  Oceana,"  dedicated  to  Cromwell  (1556), 
specially  considers  political  institutions. 

The  "Civitas  Solis,"  by  the  Cnlabrian  monk  Campanelli 
very  like  More's  "Utopia,"  bub  this  ideal  city  still  more  n« 
bles  a  monastery,  for  the  government  of  it  is  entirely  tht>ocra' 
is  governed  by  a  sort  of  Pope,  the  Metaphysicus,  and  ui 
three  ministers, — Pou,  Strength;  Siu,  Wisdom;  and  Mor 
remarkable  point  is  that  the  "Civitas  Solis"  is  only  a  portio: 
work,  in  which  Campanella  tries  to  build  up  a  whole 
sociology,  the  outline  of  which  much  resembles  Herber 
scheme  :  the  first  part  takes  into  consideration  the  laws  of 
second,  the  manners  and  customs  of  men  ;  the  third  part 
and  the  fourth  economic. 

Tlie  inhabitants  of  the  City  of  the  Sun  live  in  magnifies 
enriched  with  all  the  splendours  of  art,  and  in  all  ways  . 
as  to  make  life  as  pleasant  as  possible.  Everything  is  in 
wives  and  goods — as  in  Plato's  "Republic  " — so  that  there  i 
selfish  struggles,  nor  contlicting  interests,  nor  misery,  nc 
crime  of  any  sort.  Men  and  women  are  all  engaged  in  w 
kind,  but  each  individual  in  accordance  with  his  or  her  a 
capacity.  Equal  consideration  is  shown  to  all  branches  of 
which  are  regulated  and   distributed   by  specially  appoic 


1890] 


TWO   NEW  VTOPJAS. 


iCL 


trates.  Women  and  children,  as  a  rule,  are  every  day  practis, 
muBic.  There  are  no  poor  nor  rich,  and  four  houra'  labour  per  daj 
amply  sufiiciont  to  provide  tho  m'cesaaries  of  life  for  all,  beca 
idleness  is  unknown.  Out  of  70,000  Neapolitans,  says  Campane 
barely  10,000  or  15,000  work;  these  wear  themselves  out  b]fl 
hard  labour,  and  the  others  by  luxury  and  vice,  and  sickness  resure 
therefrom  : — 

"  In  Civitate  fcJolLi,  ilum  cunctis  diatribuiintur  ininisteria,  etartes  et  iabt 
ct  opera,  vix  «]uatuor  in  die  horus  singulis  laborare  eonlingit  reliqiium  li 
tomptis  cousiunatui'  in  addiriceudo,  jucunde  disputando,  legendo,  narron 
aoribeudo^  deambulando,  exercendo  iugenium  et  corpus  et  cum  gaudio."J 

Each  branch  of  production  is  under   the  direction  of  a  mauag 
who  regulates  the  labour  to  be  acconipliBhed,  and  assigns  to  eai 
post. 

M.  Quack  mentions  another  Utopia  very  little  known,  althoi 
Southey  refers  to  it  in  his  ''  Sir  Thomas  More  "  (vol.  ii.  p.  373),  and 
George  Comewall  Lewis  in  his  ''Methods  of  Observation  and  Reason 
in  Polities''  (vol.  ii.  p.  271.)  The  title  of  this  book,  which  is  writ 
in  French,  and  was  published  in  1672,  is  "  Histoire  des  Sevarambj 
It  is  dedicated  to  the  Baron  Riquet  who  made  the  famous  Langue 
canal.  The  anonymous  author  was,  in  all  probability,  Vairesse  d'AE 
The  people  of  Sevarambes,  whom  a  traveller  has  visited  on  an  isli 
in  the  Austral  Ocean,  live  happily  under  the  guidance  of  their  ki 
As  riches  and  the  possession  of  property  ^ive  birth  to  envy,  avari 
extortion,  and  an  infinite  number  of  other  evilsj  the  king  has  wis 
willed  it  that  all  land  and  all  riches  shall  belong  to  the  State.  E) 
citizen  works  eight  hours  a  day,  and  all  are  wealthy,  for  their  wa 
are  amply  provided  for.  A  magistrate  distributes  to  each  family  wha 
reqoires.  There  is  no  idlenesg,  no  encouragement  of  useless  arts,  wh 
may  serve  to  foster  vanity  and  luxury,  no  inequality,  no  intemperar 
no  crime.  The  laws  of  morality  aie  imposed  on  all.  Tlie  Sevaram 
live  in  enormous  buildings  called  Osmasies,  in  wLich  a  thousand  pers 
can  find  accommodation.  These  abodes  are  plea-santer  dwellings  tl 
our  present  palaces,  and  tliere  is  a  storehouse  attached  to  each,  wh 
contains  all  that  could  possibly  be  required.  These  Osmasies  are  ind' 
nothing  more  or  less  than  Fourier's  Phalanstfires. 

The  particular  and  little  observed  merit  of  this  later  reformt 
that   he    carried   the    optimism    of    the    eighteenth   century    to 
logical  and.  if  you  will,  absurd  concJusion,      The  philosophers  of 
period  maintained  that   man  is  naturally  good,  in  opposition  to 
Christian  idea  of  the  Fall,  which  considers  man  as  inclined  to  e 
But  if  man  lie  good,  his  passions  and  instincts  must  also  be  good. 
it  not  God,  who  is  goodness  itself,  who  lias  endowed  us  with  thei 
The  sufferings  of  humanity  arise  solely  from  the  attempts  that  h 
been  made,  in  contradiction  to  the  natm-ol  order  of  things,  toeradic 


I 


6  THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 

or  iMtnin  the  pa»sion3.  Tbej  bbcnild,  on  the  oontnryv 
and  stimulated,  and  be  mado  the  motive  powers  of  the  i 
Make  labour  att-ractire,  and  men  will  work  with  ardoi 
mere  fact  that  they  love  pleaaore.  Let  the  favoora 
beautiful  women  be  the  reward  of  the  clewreat  and  a 
workers,  as  in  the  times  of  the  tournament,  when  the  ! 
became  the  prize  of  the  most  valiant,  and  sexual  attracti 
condemned  as  sin,  would  become  the  one  g^roat  inoex 
economic  world. 

After  having  analjsed  and  depicted  human  panons  (b 
of  view,  Fourier  tries  to  demonstrate  how  each  one  of  the 
turned  to  aceonnt  in  the  work  of  production  of  wealth.  ( 
will  suffice  to  explain  his  system.  nnw«:^er  perfect  the» 
of  the  PhalanstSre  may  bo,  thanks  to  the  advances  made  i 
and  chemistry,  still  there  will  always  be  certain  duties 
formed  less  pleasant  than  others,  and  even  some  vn 
repugnant ;  these,  he  aaggesta*  should  be  done  by  d 
vgipaKC  to  enjoy  playing  in  the  dirt  and  mud,  to  judge  frc 
oftan  sees  in  the  streets  after  heavy  rain. 

Cabet's  "  Icarie,"  which  was  written  a  little  before  I84f 
the  chief  characteristics  of  previous  communistic  Utopiaa. 
an  ideal  of  monastic  or  barrack  life,  each  working  for  ) 
guidance  of  a  superior  ;  production  and  consumption  of 
in  common ;  and  perfect  harmon\'  reigning  everywhi 
property,  the  source  of  all  dispnte,  is  abolished. 

The  celebrated  novelist,  Lord  Lytton,  also  amused  himsej 
a  novel  on  social  reform — "  The  Coming  Race."  In  this  bo 
people  are  to  be  met  with,  not  on  some  far-otf  island, 
bosom  of  the  earth.  An  explorer  goes  down  into  a  vtt^ 
when  the  chain  breaks,  and  he  finds  himself  sadden ly  tnUM 
a  marvellous  world,  entirely  lighted  by  .'i  iniiform,  pel 
extraordinarily    soft   light.       He   there   n  ith    httl 

similar  to  ourselves,  but  in  pvery  way  a  finer  incc,  stronge 
They  have  discovered  a  force,  far  more  powerful  than  ek 
vril,  by  means  of  which  they  can  reduce  animals  or  men 
a  single  instant.  Perfect  harmony  exists  in  all  economic 
this  xuiderground  world,  for  all  competition  is  done  away 

"  Tie  primary  condition  of  mortal  happiness  consists  in  the 
that  strife  and  competition  between  individaals,  which,  no  matt 
of  govornment  they  adopt,  render  the  manj-  subordinate  to  tht 
itjal  b'berty  to  the  individuftl,  whatever  nmy  be  the  nominal  h 
state,  and  annul  that  calm  of  existence  without  which,  felicit; 
bodily,  cannot  be  attained." 

The  production  of  all  goods  and  possessions  is  easy  an 
for,  in  addition  to  the  almost  limitless  power  of  the  tt^Y, 
race  '*  use  the  most  perfected  mechanical  means  for  all  w< 


i89o] 


TWO   NEW   UTOPIAS. 


"  Machintny  is  employed  to  an  inconceivable  extent  in  all  the  o| 
of  labour  within  and  without  doors,  and  it  is  tlie  uncciksing  obj« 
depfirtment  charged  with  its  Guliuinlstratiou  to  ejcteud  its  efficiency. 
is  no  class  of  labourers  or  servants,  but  all  who  are  required  to 
control  the  machinery  are  found  in  the  children,  from  the  timl 
leave  the  care  of  their  mothers  to  the  Eoarriageable  age.  These  childre 
formed  into  bands  and  sectiona  mider  their  own  chiefs,  each  fnllowixi 
pursuiti^  in  which  he  is  most  pleased,  or  for  which  he  feels  himaelf 
fitted."  J 

There  is  very  nearly  equality  of  means  ;  at  all  events,  none  1 
want  of  any  necessary  of  life,  and  wages  are  tJie  same  for  all : — 

**  Acconling  to  their  theory,  every  child,  male  or  female,  on  attainin 
marriageable  age,  and  there  terminating  the  period  of  labour,  should 
actjuii-od  enough  for  an  independent  competence  during  Ufe.  As  all  chi 
must  eqiiidly  serve,  so  are  all  equally  paid,  according  to  their  seve 
or  the  nature  of  their  work."' 

In  this  happy  realm  there  is  marrying  and  giving  m  ma 
and  as  all  the  inhabitants  enjoy  excellent  health,  the  problem  o 
overgrowth  of  population  soon  presents  itself.  It  is  clear  that 
Lytton  had  read  Malthus  : —  ■ 

"  £ach  community  sets  its  own  limit  according  to  circumstances,  t( 
care  always  that  there  shall  never  arise  any  class  of  poor  by  the  presst 
population  upon  the  productive  powers  of  the  community,  and  that  no 
shall  be  too  large  for  a  government  resembling  that  of  a  single  well-cm 
family."  j| 

In  order  to  maintain  the  balance  between  the  number  o! 
habitants  and  the  means  of  subsistence,  a  certain  number  of  faa 
go  off  from  time  to  time  to  colonize  hitherto  anoccopied  land.  JM 
the  Germans  of  Tacitas,  the  women  have  great  authority.  Their  p 
is  greater  because  their  knowledge  is  wider.  The  dwellings  exc| 
elegance  and  comfort  anything  that  is  known  at  the  present 

A  particalar  point  to  be  noticed  is  that 

*'  Every   room   has   its   mechanical   contrivances   for  melodious 
usually  tune<l  down  to  soft-murmured  notes,  which  seem  like  sweet  whi 
from  in\nsil)lc  spirits."  m 

Bnlwier's  novel  on  social  reform  is  a  mere  Bketch,  very  infenl 
More's  "  Utopia ; "  the  latter  is  far  more  real  and  life-like  il 
picture  of  the  evils  of  the  social  order. 

Finally,  a  book  of  a  similar  sort  has  been  recently  pu 
called  "  Looking  Backward,"  by  Mr.  Edward  Bellamy,  which  i 
serving  of  attention  for  several  reasons.  It  is  well  constructed 
well  written,  and  captivates  the  reader's  imagination.  Mr,  Bell 
who  is  well-versed  in  economic  principles,  sets  himself  to  refufe 
objections  which  might  be  raised  from  that  standpoint,  and 
appears  to  give  his  book  a  scientific  value,  which  was  lackin 
the  dreams  of  a  model  state  of  society  that  had  hitherto 
laid  before  the  public.     The  fiction  which  presents  a  scene  fox 


yam 


A 


^ 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


programme  of  social  reform  is  yer}*  simple  and  ingenioiis. 
of  carrying  ub  o£E  to  some  far-away  island,  or   below  the  i 
the  earth,  Mr.  Bellamy  merely  describes  what  society  will 
year  2000.     The   supposed    author    of  the  story,   an  inha 
Boston,  U.S.,  by  name  Mr.  Julian  West,  was  subject  to  . 
In  order  to  obtain  sleep  he  had  a  bedroom  boilt  under  the  f< 
of  his  house.     This  room  was  a  sort  of  vault,  well  closed 
tilated,  where  no  sound  from  the  city  could  penetrate  ;  and 
doctor  was  in  the  habit  of  coming  and  inducing  sleep  by  h^ 
On  a  certain   evening,  the  30th  of  May,   1887.  West  is  sei 
sleep  after  this  manner  by  the  doctor,   who  then   leaves  t 
The  man-servant  loses  hia  life  in  a  fire  which  destroys  the  n 
house,  and  the  sleeper  is  left  in  his  subterranean  chamber,  of 
one  else  kuows  the  existence,  till  he  is  found  there  alive,  1 13  ye 
by  a  Dr.  Leete,  who  wakes  him  up  and  restores  hini  to  vigour  \ 
of  a  cordial.      He  is  at  once  received   into   the  doctor's  fan 
later  on  prooeeds   to  visit  the  town   and    its  in.stitntionB,  i 
describes,  comparing  them  with  those  of  our  day.     To  all  tl 
tions  he  raises  he  receives  satisfactorj'  replies  from  Dr.  I^eete 
thus  gives  us  a  complete  picture  of  the  new  social  organizati( 
As  in  preceding  Utopias,  Mr,  Bellamy  commences  by  shov 
evils  of  the  existing  system,  but  he  does  not  dwell  long  on  thi« 
He  makes  use.  however,  of  a  striking  comparison,  which  I  wil; 
80  as  to  give  an  idea  of  the  author's  style  of  writing  : — 

"  To  give  some  general  impre&aiou  of  tlie  way  people  Uved  together  i 
4ays  ( 1887)  and  especittlly  of  the  relations  of  the  rich  and  poor  to  one  i 
([.cannot  do  belter  tbiiu  compare  society,  as  it  then  was, to  a  prodigiou 
which  the  tnaiises  of  humanity  were  harnessed  to  and  dra^geil  toi 
along  a  very  hilly  and  sandy  road.  The  driver  was  Hunger,  itnd  pe 
no  lagging,  though  the  pace  wag  necessarily  very  slow.  Despite  the  d 
of  drawing  the  coach  at  all  along  so  hard  a  road,  the  top  was  cover 
]Mi.^5euger8,  who  never  got  down,  even  at  the  steepest  ascents}  The  i 
the  top  were  very  breezy  and  eomfoitable.  Well  up  out  of  tlie  dut 
occupants  could  enjoy  the  scenery  at  their  leisure,  or  critically,  dis* 
merit  of  the  stniining  team.  Naturally  such  places  were  in  great  <] 
and  the  competition  for  them  was  keen,  every  one  seeking  as  the  first  eu 
to  secure  a  seat  on  the  coach  for  himself  and  to  leave  it  tu  his  clkild  afl 
....  I  am  well  aware  that  this  will  appear  to  the  men,  of  the  tw 
century  an  incredible  inhumanity  ;  but  there  are  two  facLs,  Imtii  verj- 
which  poitly  explain  it.  In  the  first  place,  it  was  firmly  Itelievod  tlw 
was  no  other  way  in  which  Society  could  get  along,  except  the  manj 
at  the  rope  and  the  few  rode  ;  and  not  only  this,  but  that  no  very 
improvement  even  was  jjoesible,  either  in  the  harness,  the  coucli,  th 
way  or  the  distribution  of  toil.  It  had  always  been  as  it  wai*,  and  i 
always  be  so.  It  was  a  pity,  but  it  could  not  be  helj>ed,  and  philosoj 
bade  wasting  compassion  on  what  w:i.<i  bey<Hid  remedy.  Tlie  otlie 
yet  more  curious,  consisting  in  u  singular  hidlucination,  v.hich  thoKe 
top  of  the  coach  generally  shared,  that  they  were  not  oiactly  lii 
brotliers  and  sisters  who  pulled  at  the  rope,  but  of  finer  clay,  in  soi 
belonging  to  a  higher  order  of  beings  who  might  justly  expect  to  be 
(p.  11). 


le 
A, 
fe 
a. 
ih 

s» 
re 

a 

i- 

id 
r- 
is 
le 
ir 


Let  us  now  see   how  the  men  of  the  twentieth  century 

society  so  as  to  do  away  with  that  extraordinary  distribntion  ( 

goods  of  this  world  existing   at  the  present  time,  in  virtue  ofl 

some  enjoy  without  work,  while  others  work  with  little  or  no  S 

I  will  try  to  explain  the  new  organization  advocated  by  Mr.  Be 

keeping  as  nearly  as  possihle  to  the  author's  own  text.  J 

Treatises   on   political   economy   are   generally    divided  intJ 

sections,  the   first    treating  of  the  production,   the    second  < 

division  and  circulation,  and  the  third   of  the  consuniption  o£J 

This   is  indeed  the  economic  cycle.      Mankind  have  various  1W 

be  satisfied,  it  is  therefore  necessarj'  that  the  commodities  which 

requirements  necessitate  should  be  produced.      Men  do  not  worl 

one  alone    and   for   himself,  but   in  groups   and  co-operatively 

produce    obtained   must   therefore   be  distributed ;  and   finally, 

on*^   Laving  received   his  share   consumes  it,   while  working  ad 

reproduce    for   future   maintenance.     I   therefore  think   that  ■ 

a  clear  definition  of  political  economy  when  I  explained  it  as 

science  which  determines  what  laws  men  ought  to  adopt  in  orde: 

they  may,   with    the    least    possible  exertion,   procure   the   gr 

abundance  of  things  useful  for  the  satisfaction  of  their  wants, 

distribute   them  justly  and  consume  them  rationally." — MenfM 

Foliiical  Hconomy,  p.  31.  ^ 

Let  us  tirst  of  all  examine  how  the  production  of  riches  is  carri 

in  the  year  2000.     Land  and  all  the  instruments  of  production,  f 

mines,  railroads,  mills,  have  been  nationalized,  and  are  the  prope; 

the  State.     The  industry  and  commerce  of  the  country  have  ceai 

be  conducted   by  a  set  of  irresponsible  corporations  of  private  pe 

at  their  caprice  and  for  their  profit.     They  are  t-ntrusted  to  a  e 

syndicate  rejn-esenting  the  pi-ople   in   their  common  interest. 

change  from    the    old    organization    to   the   new   was  accompl 

without  violence,  and  with    the  general   consent   of  public   opi 

People  had  seen  for  many  years  larger  and  larger  syndicates  ban 

revennea  greater  than  those  of  States,  and  directing  the  laboti 

hundreds    of    thousands    of  men    with    an    efficiency    and  ecoa 

unattainable  in  smaller  operations.      It  had  come  to  be  recogniw 

an  axiom  that  the  larger  the  busine-ss  the   simpler  the  principlee 

can  be  applied  to  it.    So  it  came  to  pass  that  the  nation,  organa 

one  great  corporation,  became  the  sole  and  final  monopolist  by^ 

all  previous  monopfjlies  were  swallowed  up. 

The  nation  being  now  the  only  employer,  all  the  citizens  art 
ployees,  and  are  distributed  according  to  the  needs  of  industry.  In  s 
it  is  the  principle  of  universal  military  service  apjilied  to  labour. 
period  of  industrial  service  is  twenty-four  years,  befrinning  with  th© 
of  the  course  of  education  at  twenty-one,  and  tt^rminatiug  at  i 
five.      Women  are  co-labourers  with   men,  but  their  strength  I 


K) 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


less,  the  kinds  of  occnpation  reserved  for   them,  and  tht 
under  which  they  pursue  thorn,  art-  settled  accordingly. 
§e)d  of  prodxictive  and  constructive  industry  is  divided  int 
depivrtmentSj  each  representing  a  grotip  of  allied  indnstxies 
ticular  industry  being   in    turn    represented  by  a  suburdin 
which  hs£  a  complete  record  of  the  plant  and  force  nxider  its  ( 
of  the  present  product  and  the  means  of  prodncing  it.    Th« 
set  oat  thp  work  to   their  men  according  to  the  demand 
tributive  department  which   sella  the   commuditica  to  the 
The  chiefs  of  thpse  ten  grand  divisaona  of  the  indnBtriB 
be  compared  to  the  commandere  of  army-oorpB,  and  above 
getieral-in-chief,  who  is  the  Prrsddmt  of  the  State.  The  gene 
mnst  have  passed  through  all  the  gradttt  below  him  from  t 
of  a  common  labourer  upwards.      He  rises  to  the  highest  i 
excellence  of  his  records,  first  as  a  worker,  and  then  as  a 

The  chief  of  each  guild  is  elected,  but  to  prevent  can 
triguing  for  the  support  of  the  woricers  imder  them,  they 
by  the  honorary  members  of  the  guild — that  is,  by  those 
served  their  time  and  attained  the  age  of  fortj'-five.  But  i 
ntj-  has  the  power  and  the  discrimination  necessary  t< 
which  ont  of  the  two  or  three  hundred  trades  and  avo< 
individual  shall  pursue  ?    It  is  done  very  easily  in  Mr.  Bellar 

All  new  recruits  belong  for  three  years  to  the  class  of 
unskilled  labourers.  During  this  period  the  yonng  men  sr 
to  any  work  at  the  discretion  of  their  superiora  Afterwi 
tary  election,  subject  only  to  necessary  regulation,  is  depei 
determine  tlie  particular  sort  of  service  every  man  is  to  re 
natnral  endowments,  mental  or  physical,  determine  what  fa 
at  most  profitably  for  the  nation  and  for  himself.  It  ia  ti 
of  the  administration  to  seek  constantly  to  equalize  the  at 
the  trades,  so  that  all  trades  shall  be  equally  attractive 
having  a  natnral  taste  for  them,  and  that,  consequently, 
not  be  excess  of  workmen  in  one  trade  and  deficiency  in  o 
is  done  by  making  the  hours  of  labour  in  different  trad 
according  to  their  arduousness.  If  any  particular  occuj 
itself  so  oppressive  that  in  order  to  induce  volunteers  to  ■ 
the  day's  work  must  be  reduced  to  ten  minutes,  this,  t* 
The  admimstration,  in  taking  burdens  off  one  class  of  ^ 
adding  them  to  other  classes,  simply  follows  the  fluctuatior 
among  the  workers  themselves,  as  indicated  by  the  rate  of  v 

But  who  does  the  house-work  ?     No  difficulty  here.      1 
to  do.     Washing  is  done  at   public  laundries  at  eices 
rates,  and  cooking  at  public  kitchens  ;  the    making   and 
wearing  apparel  is  all  done  outside   in    public   shops.      E 
course,  takes  the  place  of  all  firing  and   lighting.      In   1 


iSgo] 


TWO   NEW   UTOPIAS. 


1] 


public  building,  where  every  family  has  its  private  dining-room,  tffl 
waiters  are  young  men  in  the  unclassified  grade  of  tho  industria 
army  who  are  assignable  to  all  aorta  of  miscellaneous  occupations  nol 
requiring  special  skill.  No  objection  is  mady  because  no  difi'erencu  if 
recognized  bftwcen  the  dignity  of  the  diflerent  sorts  of  work.  Th* 
individual  never  regards  himself  as  the  servant  of  those  he  serves  j J 
is  always  the  nation  he  is  serving. 

Now  comes  th(*  question  of  distribution  and  wages.  No  wages 
paid,  as  there  is  no  money.  Every  person,  skilled  or  unskilled — 
workmen,  women,  invalids  included — receives  an  equal  share  of  tht 
general  pr<^)duct  of  the  nation,  and  a  credit-card  is  given  him,  witl 
which  he  procnrea  at  the  public  store-houses  whatever  he  deaiofl 
The  value  of  what  he  procures  is  checked  off"  by  the  clerk.  It  1 
required  of  eoch  that  he  shall  make  the  same  effort  and  give  the  best 
service  in  his  power.  Now  that  industry  is  no  longer  sedf-aervioe,  bnl 
service  of  the  nation,  patriotism,  passion  for  humanity,  impel  tht 
worker.  The  army  of  industry  is  an  army,  not  alone  by  virtne  of  iti 
perfect  organization,  but  by  reason  also  of  the  ardour  of  self-devotiM 
which  animates  its  members.  Honours,  instead  of  the  love  of  mon^ 
prompt  the  supreme  kinds  of  effort.  Then  diligence  in  the  natiooal 
Bervice  is  the  sole  and  certain  way  to  public  repute,  social  distinctin 
and  official  power. 

The  general  production  is  largely  increased  by  many  causes, 
are  no  idlers,  rich  or  poor,  no  drones.  The  commodities,  as  booe 
as  they  are  produced,  go  directly  to  the  stores,  where  they  are  taken 
np  by  thi'  customers,  so  there  are  no  merchants,  no  agents,  no  middle 
men  of  any  sort.  The  eighteenth,  instead  of  the  eighth,  part  of  tlu 
workers  suffices  for  the  entire  process  of  distribution.  There  is  m 
waste  of  labour  and  capital  by  misdirected  indu.stry,  or  by  the  struggk 
of  competition  ;  there  are  no  crises  of  over-production,  as  only  th« 
commodities  that  are  wanted  are  produced  according  to  the  genera 
view  of  the  industrial  field.  What  a  difference  of  productive  efliciencj 
between  innumerable  barbarian  hordes,  always  at  war,  the  one  againsi 
the  other,  and  a  disciplined  army  whose  soldiers  are  marching^ 
together  in  the  same  direction  under  one  great  general !  1 

But  how  is  an  equilibrium  established  between  demand  and  supply  ; 
Precisely  as  it  is  now.  When  any  article  is  in  great  demand,  the  prict 
is  raised.  Generally  the  work  necessary  to  produce  a  commodity  u 
recognnBed  as  th<-  legitimate  basis  of  its  price.  It  is  no  longer  th« 
difference  of  wages  that  makes  the  difference  in  the  cost  of  labonr,  i1 
is  the  relative  number  of  hours  constituting  a  day's  work  in  diflereni 
trades,  the  maintenance  of  the  worker  being  equal  in  eJI  cases.  The 
cost  of  a  man's  work  in  a  trade  so  difficult,  that  in  order  to  attract 
volunteers  the  hours  liave  to  bo  fixed  at  four  per  day,  is  twice  as  greal 
as  that  in  a  trade  where  the  men  work  eight  hours. 


12  THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEh 

It  mi^  be  objected  that  in  tiie  new  system,  the  pan 
to  provide  for  the  fhture  of  their  family,  there  \&  nothii 
saving  habits  on  the  part  of  the  citizens.  That  is  true 
savings  are  no  longer  necessary,  nor,  except  in  special  ca 
the  nation  guarantees  the  nurture,  tiie  education  and  con 
tenance  of  every  citizen ;  and,  as  the  total  production  is  \ 
consumption  of  wealth,  the  net  surplus  is  employed  1 
enlarging  the  productive  capital — t.e.,  in  establishing 
bridges,  mills,  and*  improved  machinery,  and  also  in  pi 
amusements,  in  which  all  share,  such  as  public  halls 
clubs,  art  galleries,  great  theatrical  and  musical  exhibit 
kind  of  recreation  for  the  people.  For  example,  the  prii 
saving  by  co-operation  has  been  applied  to  the  musio 
everything  else.  There  are  a  number  of  music-rooms 
perfectly  adapted  acoustically  to  every  sort  of  music, 
connected  by  telephone  with  all  the  houses  whose  inha 
pay  a  small  fee.  The  corps  of  musicians  attached  to 
large  that,  although  the  individual  performer  or  grou; 
has  no  more  than  a  brief  part,  each  day's  programme  lai 
twenty-four  hours.  Every  bedchamber  has  a  telepho: 
the  head  of  the  bed,  by  which  any  person  who  may  li 
command  music  at  pleasure,  and  can  make  a  selei 
his  mood. 

As  will  have  been  noticed,  Mr.  Bellamy  reproduces  i 
of  previous  Utopias:  universal  harmony,  distribution 
according  to  individual  aptitudes,  equality  of  reward, 
and  comfort,  reduction  of  hours  of  labour ;  suppression 
competition,  of  the  struggle  for  life,  and  also  of  money 
and  commodionsness  of  the  palatial  habitations,  even 
the  music,  which  all  are  able  to  enjoy.  There  is  a  ] 
very  ably  and  eloquently  written,  though  little  read  at  t 
which  clearly  explains  the  basis  of  the  new  state  of  s 
Mr.  Bellamy  introduces  us  under  cover  of  a  tale.  1 
by  M.  Louis  Blanc,  is  entitled  "  L'Organization  du  Trc 

Let  us  now  examine  what  are  the  objections  whic 
views  call  forth.  There  are  two  principal  ones  :  the  first 
allotment  of  functions,  and  the  second  to  the  distribntit 

We  shall  begin  by  taking  the  first  of  these  two  p 
Church,  as  in  the  army,  the  chief  authority  has  the  grani 
raents.  In  China  this  is  settled  by  examination.  Bi 
would  bo  far  greater  in  the  new  society,  for  every  bra 
tion  would  have  to  be  included,  and  would  be  open  t< 
having  received  the  same  education.  It  is  quite  cU 
pleasanter  trades  and  professions  would  be  taken  up,  s 
be  no  one  to  fill  the  less  agreeable  ones.     Mr.  Bellamj 


aonge. 

vidua! 
otted; 
piiiii 
nitJu» 
ste  in. 
Iways, 
B  and. 
iingi». 
©very 
nbooi- 
as  to 
city. 
Is  &r^ 
p  tc» 
m  so 
n&en^ 
hthe» 
3d  a4^ 
8  caEx. 
jd  to 

.ture^ 
lation 

88,  of 

idoof 
ail  or 

ihlet, 
day, 
I'hich 
porlc, 

hor's 
othe 

I*- 

oinb- 
culty 
}dQO- 
B,  aU 
1  the 
iroald. 
vered. 


I 


a  means  of  obviating  this  diESculty.  not  yet  thought  of  by  his' 
ceaaors,  which  is  to  reduce  the  hours  of  labour  in  proportion  e 
work  to  be  done  is  less  attractive,  even  if  the  day's  work  had 
brought  down  to  only  a  *'  few  minutes ;  "  bat  very  often  Ltd 
be  imixjssible  to  apply  this  system.  Conaider  the  miner,  i^ 
stance :  the  hours  of  labour  would  liave  to  be  exceedingly  she 
men  to  be  willing  to  work  in  a  colliery  ;  this  would  entail  at 
less  procession  of  relays  of  workmen  going  up  and  down  the  a 
and  it  would  be  impossible  to  work  the  mine.  The  same  argi 
applies  to  the  workers  in  steamships  ;  it  would  be  necessary  to  ei 
for  each  voyage  a  whole  regiment  of  stokers.  And  the  puddlers  ai 
workmen  in  rolling-mills,  &c.  ?  Nevertheless,  the  principle  of  red 
the  hours  of  labour  in  proportion  as  labour  is  less  pleasant  is  cer 
just,  and  might  be  applied  in  a  certain  measure  in  any  rational  i 
trial  organization.  J 

The  chief  objection  (and  this  is  absolute)  is  to  the  system  of  rtl 
ration,  which  is  nothing  more  or  less  than  the  communistic  for 
Prom  M-ek  according  to  his  strength^  tu  each  according  to  his  requim 
applied  practically,  this  becomes  equality  of  wages.  Personal  in 
is  the  great  mainspring  of  the  economic  world.  A  workman 
does  all  he  possibly  can  when  the  reward  is  in  adetpiate  proport 
the  work  accomplished.  This  is  perhaps  very  sad,  but  it  is  undoul 
true.      Here  are  two  facts  in  proof  of  it. 

After  tho  revolution  of  1843,  Louis  Blanc  started  a  workshop 
these  principles   of  equality  were   practised.      The   wages   wer 
same  for  all,  but  the  names  of  all  idlers  were  written  up  on  the 
All  work  was  very  well  paid  for,  as  he  had  an  order  from  the  St 
Hupply  uniforms  for  the  National  Guard.  ■ 

At  the  outset  all  went  very  well.  The  workmen  were^ 
and  ardent  Socialists,  who  made  it  a  point  of  honour  tha 
experiment  of  the  new  system  should  be  a  saccess ;  but  verj 
this  good  understanding  came  to  an  end.  Those  who  were 
itidustrioas  or  quicker  than  their  companions  accused  the  lat 
idleness ;  they  felt  themselves  victims  of  injustice,  for  the  remi 
tion  was  not  in  proportion  to  the  zeal  and  activity  displayed. 
were  being  "  cheated  and  duped,"  and  this  was  intolerable  ; 
fjuarrels,  arguments,  and  fights.  The  temple  of  brotherhood 
transformed  into  a  sort  of  boxing  booth—"  boite  aux  gifflea,"  whi 
as  is  known,  the  name  given  to  the  building  where  the  citize 
Geneva  meet,  together  for  the  exercise  of  theii*  sovereign  rights. 

Another  example.  Jlarshal  Bugeaud  founded  at  Beiii-Men 
Algeria,  a  military  colony  on  a  communistic  footing.  The  sc 
were  all  picked  men,  and  he  supplied  them  with  all  they  need( 
the  cultivation  of  the  soil.  Land,  cattle,  agi'icultural  implement 
produce*of  the  harvests,  everything,  in  fact,  was  to  be  owned,  a: 


14  THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

-work  carried  on  in  common  for  the  space  of  three  years.  T 
excellent.  It,  nevertheless,  turned  oat  a  failure.  Ali 
■ooloniBts  were  soldiers,  accnstomed  to  discipline,  passive 
and  eqnal  pay,  and  withoot  private  home  or  family, 
•conld  not  go  through  tbe  communistic  novitiate  to  the  end 
were  engi^ged  in  pursuits  other  than  their  military  ex 
spirit  of  innovation  and  the  taste  for  amelioration  soon  n 
selves  manifest.  Each  one  wished  to  cultivate  according 
notion,  and  they  reproached  each  other  wiUi  not  doing  the 
The  marshal  vainly  explained  that  it  was  to  their  own  ac 
-work  in  common,  in  order  to  overcome  the  first  difficulties 
the  settlement,  and  to  realise  the  economies  ensured  Ijy  a  v 
of  labour :  it  was  of  no  avail ;  the  association  had  to  b 
although  it  had  so  far  brought  in  profits. 

It  is  true  that  Mr.  Bellamy  does  not  wholly  ignore 
powerful  incentives  of  human  actions — ^punishment  an 
Referring  to  punishment  he  writes,  *'  A  man  able  to  dc 
persistently  refusing  is  cut  off  from  all  human  society  ?  " 
mean  that  idlers  are  put  to  death,  or  merely  sent  to  prison, 
to  starve  ?  At  all  events,  it  is  compulsion  of  some  sort, 
apply  it,  or  to  judge  when  it  is  necessary  ?  Certainly,  me 
iX\  probability  rarely  refuse  to  do  any  work  at  all ;  but  those 
little  as  possible,  or  do  it  badly,  are  they  to  be  punished,  oi 
the  same  salary,  or  rather  be  credited  with  the  same  amc 
others?  The  State  could  not  send  away  a  bad  worki 
can  do  now ;  for,  there  being  no  private  enterprises,  thii 
would  be  equivalent  to  capital  punishment.  When  remune 
proportion  to  the  work  accomplished,  diligence  and  a 
encouraged,  whereas  an  equal  rate  of  wages  is  a  prt 
idleness. 

But,  argues  Mr.  Bellamy,  honour  is  a^^sufficient  rewnrtl 
for  men  will  sacrifice  everything,  even  their  lives,  for  it. 
fectly  true  that  honour  has  inspired  the  most  sublime  acts 
deeds  which  have  called  forth  universal  admiration  ;  but  1 
never  become  the  motive  power  of  work  or  the  mainspring  o 
It  will  not  conquer  selfish  instincts,  or  overcome  instinct 
nance  for  certain  categories  of  labour,  or  the  dislike  to  tl 
monotony  of  the  daily  task.  It  may  make  a  hero,  but  no 
man. 

I  am  not  unaware  that  a  system  very  similar  to  that  ol 
lamy  has  been  known  to  work  very  well,  for  instance  in  Pe 
"  The  Missions  "  in  Paraguay,  where  the  Jesuits  had  most 
disciplined  the  Indians.  The  latter  worked  in  common, 
guidance  of  the  Jesuit  Fathers,  who  then  distributed  tl 
amongst  all  the  families.     It  was  an  absolute  dictatorship, 


Moca. 


tovfc 


tlG. 


Oik 


m. 

\y 
be 
ce 


oip 


no   scopo  for  eitJier  liberty  or  individual  initiative.*     The 
were  certainly  materially  far  better  off  than  are  our  workmen, 
yet  Bougainville,  who  visited  them,  reports  that  they  looked  unlM 
"  like  animals  caught  in  a  trap."     Besides,  can  it  be  supposed 
moment  that  the  men  of  the  twentieth  century  would  acce] 
a  system  of  theocracy  ? 

As  Sir  Henry  Maine  states,  Peru  is  the  best  example  kni 
tie  collective  system  having  been  snccessful.t  When  the  Span 
conquered  the  country  they  found  it  admirably  cultivated- 
only  the  rainless  plains  along  the  coasts,  but  also  all  the 
table-laads  and  the  narrow  valleys  running  between  some  of 
gigantic  peaks  of  the  Andes — and  the  people  enjoying  a  some' 
peculiar,  but  certainly  advaiiced,  state  of  civilization.  Many 
ments  and  extensive  public  works  had  been  erected  ;  and  this 
more  extraordiuary  8e«^*iiig  the  inhabitants  knew  of  no  metals 
gold  and  silver.  A  complete  system  of  irrigation  brought  wai 
the  highlands  down  to  the  arid  plains  of  the  coast,  where  a; 
was,  consequently,  very  successfully  carried  on.  One  of  these  a 
was  really  prodigious,  going  underground,  crossing  rivers,  and  run. 
through  mountains  for  a  distance  of  about  500  English  miles, 
ruins  of  the  palaces  and  temples  still  to  be  met  with  always  asto 
travellers.  _ 

The  following  were  the  principal  characteristics  of  the  ecol 
system  in  vogue  there.  The  soil,  which  was  almost  the  sole  so 
of  wealth,  belonged  to  the  State.  It  was  divided  into  three  pi 
the  first  was  applied  for  the  maintenance  of  the  temples  and  priesi 
the  Sun,  the  second  for  the  Sovereign  and  the  nobility,  and  the  t 
for  the  people,  as  a  temporary  privilege,  they  being  obliged  in  re 
to  cultivate  all  the  land  without  exception,  as  was  the  case  ■ 
us  in  the  Middle  Ages.  The  land  was  divided  afresh  every 
among  all  the  families,  according  to  their  requirements,  as  was 
case  with  the  Germans  in  the  time  of  Julius  Cicsar:  "Magistr 
ac  principes  in  annos  singulos  gentibus  cogaationibusque  homii 
quantum,  et  quo  loco  visum  est,  agri  attribuont,  atque  anno  p 
transiro  cogunt." — "  Ik  Bell.  Gail.  vi.  22. 

Very  exact  registers  were   kept  of  the  different  plots  of 

•  See  Charleroix,  "  Histoire  du  Pampany,"  1768  ;  Muratori,   "  Relation  des  '. 
Hq  Parapuaj',''  17.5-1  ;  A  Kobler,  "  Dcr  Christliclie  Cummunismus  in  der  Redaoti 
Ton  PairagTiay,"  1879. 

t  "  There  tire  two  sets  of  motives,  and  two  only,  by  which  the  g^reat  balk  ol 
itiaterLolB  of  human  .subsistence  and  comfort  have  hitherto  bci-n  produced  and  n 
daced.  One  has  led  to  the  cultivation  of  the  Northern  State.'?  of  the  American  U 
from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific  ;  the  other  had  a  considerable  share  in  bringing  a 
the  agricultural  and  industrial  progress  of  the  Southern  States,  and  in  old  days  it 
duced  the  wonderful  prosperity  of  Peru  under  the  Inoas.  One  sjiitem  ia  econoj 
competition,  the  other  consist.s  in  the  daily  task,  perhaps  fairly  and  kindly  allotted 
enforced  by  the  prison  or  the  scourge.  So  far  as  W6  have  any  experience  to  teac 
we  are  driven  to  the  conclusion  that  every  society  of  men  must  adopt  one  systei 
the  other,  or  it  will  pua  through  pcauryto  staxration." — Pojiular  Govtrnmeni. 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  RBVIEfF. 


and  the  number  ol"  members  of  each  farailj,  so  that  tho  divi 
be  made  on  a  perfectly  equitable  basis.  Eiach  family  was  a 
a  certain  amount  of  guano  from  tho  Chinchafl  lalands  for 
the  land.  All  agricultural  labour  was  carried  on  under  tb 
of  the  authorities,  and  the  first  to  receive  attention  was  i 
which  was  to  serve  for  the  support  of  the  aged,  the  widows  ai 
the  sick,  or  those  employed  in  the  service  of  the  State, 
cultivated  on  even  the  most  abrupt  slopes  of  the  mount! 
were  covered  with  terraces,  supported  by  enormous  blod 
and  atone,  and  then  filled  with  fertile  earth  from  the  val 
State  supplied  each  dwelling  with  wearing  apparel  and 
necessary  implements  of  lalx)ar.  There  were  neither  rich 
every  one  had  sufficient  to  live  comfortably,  but  without 
permitting  accumulation. 

Idleness  was  a  punishable  offence.  There  was  no  coioa/ 
and  silver  were  used  for  ornaments,  or  were  deposited  in  the 
Exchanges  were  made  at  regular  monthly  fairs,  by  barteriu 
Government  gave  out  raw  materials  to  artisans  and  to  won 
made  these  into  manufactured  articles,  under  the  superv 
overseers  appointed  by  Uovemment. 

The  population  was  divided  into  communities  of  families,  si 
the  Zadrugas  of  the  Yougo-Slavs.  These  numbered  abo 
members  each,  wht>  lived  together  in  immense  dwellings,  the 
which  may  still  be  found  in  parts  of  Central  America,  remini 
of  ants'  nests.  On  frte  days  large  banquets  brought  toge 
inhabitants  of  the  same  canton,  like  the  Si/saitifs  in  Greece. 

The  administration  we  have  just  briefly  sketched  was  not 
communistic,  for  each  family  cultivated  the  plot  of  ground  i 
assignecl  to  it  on  its  own  account  j  but,  setting  aside  this  vet 
concession  to  individual  life,  the  whole  of  the  economic  activit 
country  wjis  under  State  direction.  And  yet,  in  the  Peru 
Incas,  agriculture  was  more  advanced,  the  population  and  rid 
greater,  there  was  move  general  well-being  and  a  more  mi 
advanced  civiii^nition.  than  either  under  the  Spanish  dominion 
at  the  present  day.  Here,  as  in  that  marvellous  Egypt 
Pharaohs,  where  are  to  be  admired  monuments  far  surpas 
grandeur  and  magnificence  all  those  of  other  nations,  we  can  s 
can  be  accomplished  by  the  collective  labour  of  an  entire  natior 
the  sole  and  concentrated  direction  of  the  Government  or  of  one  i 
order.  Only  the  administration  here  referred  to  was  t 
"  stationnry"  kind  which  Mill  says  we  must  not  attack,  but  \ 
in  direct  opposition  to  the  ardent  love  of  change  and  proj 
characteri.stic  of  the  modem  man.  Amongst  all  the  transfer 
and  revolutions  which  are  leading  him  to  an  ideal  condition,  \ 
yet  foreseen,  he  will  suffer,  it  is  true  ;  but  he  is  not  likely  t 
far  as  to  wish  for  the  industrial  autocratic  system  of  Peru  or  of 


[>ft 


The  eminent  professor  of  philosophy  at  the  University  of  LauBEm 
M.  Charles  Secr^tan,  whose  writings  on  social  qneations  are 
highly  appreciated,  has  also  yielded  to  the  temptation  of  wriii 
"hia  Utopia,"  which  is  not  so  far  removed  from  reality  aa^ 
Bellamy's.  Being  tired,  he  falls  asleep  on  the  enchanting  bajiks 
Lake  Leman.  When  he  awakes  he  is  accosted  by  a  stranger,  w^ 
appearance  ia  somewhat  singular  ;  he  has  the  high  forehead  I 
penetrating  eye  of  a  philosopher,  and  the  hard  roiigh  hands  oi 
working-man.  The  sleeper  is  surprised,  and  proceeds  to  qaesti 
him.  The  philosopher  explains  that  the  social  state  into  which  he 
now  transported  is  very  different  from  that  of  the  ninet^^enth  centui 
Men  divide  their  days  into  two  parts :  one  ia  devoted  to  mam 
labour,  and  the  other  to  intellectual  pursuits  and  the  calture  of  t 
mind.  Although  the  young  men's  education  is  very  complete,  th 
are  all  taught  a  trade,  which  they  exercise  later  on  in  life ;  and 
only  raises  them  in  the  estimation  of  their  fellow-citizens. 

Nowadays,  when,  every  one  works,  said  the  blacksmith  philosop: 
six  hours'  labour  suffices  for  each  man  to  maintain  his  family  in  conifo 
Machinery  is  always  kept  going  in  the  workshops,  batches  of  woi 
men  taking  each  their  turn.  You  see,  he  continued,  we  havil 
more  drones,  nor  landed  proprietors  with  their  toadies,  nor  capitsni 
nor  parasites  of  any  description,  nor  beggars,  nor  workmen  without  woi 
The  accjumulatiou  of  capital  is  not  forbidden,  but  the  rate  of  inter( 
has  fallen  so  low  that,  for  a  man  to  be  able  to  live  on  1 
revenue,  he  must  possess  an  exceptionally  large  fortune.  Besid 
wages  are  veiy  high,  the  average  being  about  £120  a  y© 
All  land,  and  even  the  houses  to  let,  belong  to  the  State,  whi 
"nationalized"  them,  indemnifying  the  former  owners.  This  operati 
was  commenced  in  Ireland,  where  it  answered  so  well  that  it  w 
adopted  everywhere  else.  As  fur  manufactured  industries,  these  » 
carried  on  by  co-operative  associations.  All  the  workmen  of  a  mil 
or  a  factory,  are  more  or  leas  part  owners  in  it;  the  manager,  t 
officials,  and  workmen,  are  all  shareholders  to  the  amount  of  thi 
savings;  and  these  savings  commence  on  the  day  they  first  beg 
work  in  the  establishment,  by  a  certain  amount  being  held  back  fit 
their  pay.  Only  those  taken  in  occasionally  as  e-xtra  hands  recei 
their  full  wages.  The  transition  from  the  old  industrial  system  to  t 
new  was  effected  almost  imperceptibly.  The  struggle  between  ca; 
talista  and  workmen  had  become  so  violent,  and  strikes  so  frequei 
that  the  chiefs  of  industries  saw  no  other  coarse  open  to  them  th 
to  interest  all  their  men  in  the  undertaking,  by  giving  them  a  shf 
in  the  profits.  This  share  given  to  the  workmen  made  them  sha! 
holders  in  the  business,  and  the  former  owners  became  directors, 
this  manner  the  firms  in  which  participation  in  profits  was  introduc 
were  changed   into   co-operative  societies   daring    the  lifetime,    a 

VOL.  LVU.  B 


18 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


under  the  auspices  of,  their  former  owners.  Tliua 
became  poesefised  of  the  means  of  production.  luid  own^rK 
which  there  can  be  no  real  liberty,  was  universal  in  the 
each  receiving,  in  this  way,  the  full  value  of  the  work  he 
Custom-house  does  being  abolished,  each  country  strovi 
those  branchcji  of  industry  for  which  its  climate?  and  the 
its  inhabitants  best  snited  it.  The  balance  between 
demand  is  very  well  established,  Wcause,  as  Btatiatica  i 
the  amount  of  consumption,  the  production  ia  regtdated 
All  the  branches  of  one  industry  in  a  ooontry  form  a  sor 
tion ;  and  this  arrangement  has  put  a  stop  to  that  mi«rc 
tition  which  permitted  a  few  millionaires  to  enrich  them 
cost  of  thousands  of  their  fellow-creatures,  who  were 
labour  for  the  exclusive  profit  of  their  mastent.  The  grea 
hours  of  labonr  employed  in  making  articles  of  luxury,  t 
and  self-indulgence  required,  art>  now  occupied  in  producl 
real  utility.  Thus  the  general  well-being  is  considerably  in 
the  portion  assigned  to  each  is  in  proportion  to  tlie  work 

M.   Charles  Secretan's   Utopia  seems  to  answer  very 
the  ideal  foreseen  for  the   future'  by  those  who  have 
ulterior  progress  of  the  human  race.     The   nationalizatio 
the  "  commonalization,"  of  land  does   not    appear  to    p 
great  difficulties.    In  a  recent  letter  to  the  Timts  (Xovemb* 
Sir  Louis  Mallet,  who  most  earnestly  opposes  this  meast 
very  clearly  that,  in  order  to  appreciat;6  an  institution, 
seen  whether  it  makes  responsibility  effective,  and  wliethe 
maintain  the   balance  between  supply  and  demand.      Bu 
point  of  view  it  makes  very  little  difference  whf^ther  the 
his   rent  to   a  landlord,   to  a  college,   to    a   city    cor|x>i 
commune,    or  to   a    county    council.     In    Russia    and 
State  owns  a  great  number  of  farms,  which  it  let«  in  tl 
as  any  ordinary  landlord.    The  stimulus  to  work  and  the  r 
are  the  same  in  both  cases.    Raise  the  tax  on  property  so  t 
up  nearly  the  whole  rent,  and  yon  will  change  nothing  in 
of  the  economic   machinery,  only  the  commune,  the   cov 
State,  will  be  richer  to  the  amount  by  which  the  landlord 
The   only   question  affecting  the    general    welfare    is   tl 
the  revenue  from  land  be  more  advantageously  laid  out  b; 
authorities  than  by  the  present  owners  ?  * 

DifDculties  only  become  great  when  the  domain  of 
approached.  Co-operative  societies,  which  would  take 
selves  the   management  of  manufacturing  enterprises,  hi 

•  The  advantage  end  disadvantage  of  Land  Nationalization  arc  c 
rn»p(i  in  the  new  pdilion  'of  M.  Pieraon's  Treatise  on  Polifi'~al  Eoonoi 
jtaathnialioadknnde."    M.  Picrson  t£  Goremor  of  tljc  Netherlands 


succeeded  only  in  exceptional  crises.  They  are  wanting  in  two  essentj 
conditions  :  capacity  and  authority  in  the  administration,  and  a  spii 
of  discipline  and  obedience  in  the  workmen.  We  may  hope,  wi 
M.  Secr6tan,  that,  thanks  to  education  and  to  experience  gradual 
acquired,  the  working-classes  will,  by  degrees,  attain  the  neceraa 
qualifications  for  the  management  of  industries,  without  being  obligi 
to  have  recourse  to  capitalists  ;  and,  from  the  moment  this  is  tJ 
case,  the  social  transformation  will  be  bronght  about  peacefully  ai 
inevitably,  like  all  previous  economic  revolutions. 

The  rapid  and  extraordinary  success  in  all  the  Anglo-Saxon  world 
Mr.  Bellamy's  book— 210,000  copies  sold  in  the  States,  and  40,000 
England  at  this  date — which  recalls  that  of  Mr.  Henry  George's  "  Pp 
gress  and  Poverty,"  is  a  symptom  well  worthy  of  attention.  Itprov 
that  the  optimism  of  old-fashioned  economists  has  entirely  lost  tl 
authority  it  formerly  possessed.  It  is  no  longer  believed  that,  i 
virtue  of  the  *'Iaissez  faire  ''  principle,  everything  will  arrai'ge  itself  £ 
the  best  in  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds.  M 

People  feel  that  there  is,  in  very  truth,  a  "  social  "  question  ;  tH 
is  to  say,  th.<it  the  division  of  the  good  things  of  this  world  is  not  : 
accordance  with  the  laws  of  justice,  and  that  something  ought  to  1 
done  to  uicrease  the  share  of  the  principal  agents  of  production,  tl 
workmen.  An  author  little  known,  but  who  deserves  to  be  betb 
known  in  England,  Dupont  White,  the  translator  of  several  of  Stua 
Mill's  political  writings,*  has.  in  one  of  his  books,  published  so  Ion 
ago  as  1846,  perfectly  characterized  this  fresh  sentiment,  which  W4 
even  then  gaining  a  place  in  men's  convictions.      He  says: —         ■ 

"  It  ^wls  hoped  thiit  the  iucrea.se  in  the  production  of  riche.s  would  Beeffi 
satisfaction  to  all,  but  nothing  of  the  sort  htis  tukeu  place  ;  discontent 
greater  and  more  deeply-rooted  than  ever.  From  this  deceived  hope  hi 
been  born  a  new  science ;  it  may  be  called  a  social  science,  or  it  may  even  1 
said  that  it  is  not  a  science  at  all  ;  but  it  is  quite  certain  that  charity  i 
laws  is  a  notion  which  in  our  dfiys  should  be  a  fumhimeutiil  doctrine  ;  fo 
beyond  the  pale  of  all  sects  of  socialists,  it  has  sown  in  nil  hearts  a  feelix 
of  uneasiness,  of  anxiety  and  coie,  an  unknown  emotion  respecting, 
suffering  classes,  which  has  become  matter  of  pubhc  conscience." 

Aa  for  Mr.  Bellamy's  dream,  it  will,  I  fear,  remain  alwaj-s  a 
unless  man's  heart  bo  entirely  transformed.     His  ideal  is  pure  con 
munism,  and,  as  such,  raises  invincible  objections,  as  I  shall 
show  in  a  future  article. 

Emile  de  Laveley] 


a  teeiix 
ting,  tj 

UtoP 

-e  con 
tryJ 


•  The  translutioQ  whb  really  made  by  Madame  Sadi  Carnot,  the  gifted  wife  of  tl 
President  of  the  French  lle[mblic.  She  traneluted  Mill's  "  Liberty  "  and  "  Uepreseot 
tive Government,"  underthc  direction  of  her  father,  Dupont  White.  See  my  accoimti 
this  great  writer  in  the  Revue  dei  Deur  ilondes,  December  1,  1879. 


MR.  WILKIE  COLLINS'S  NOVELS. 


NEXT  to  reviewing  a  book  without  reading  it,  the  most  i 
thing  one  can  do  is  to  read  it  for  the  purpose  of  review]- 
In  an  ideal  world,  if  books  were  criticized  at  all,  it  would  only 
persons  who,  after  reading  them,  felt  constrained  to  expresi 
delight  or  theb  discontent.     The  critical  spectacles  almost  ine 
distort  the  object  on  which  you  look  through  them.     The  bea 
women,  the  beauty  of  landscape,  would  be  no  longer  the  same 
were  introduced  to  a  lady  or  a  loch-side  after  being  told  th 
must  go  straight  home  and  review  them.     In  attempting  to  e 
the  work  of  Mr.  Wilkie  Collins,  the  present  reviewer  is  ur 
disadvantage  of  having  read  several  of  his  books  for  the  fir 
with  a  critical  intention.     Yet  it  is  fair  to  say  that  the  im 
left  on  the  mind,  after  a  somewhat  forced  march  through 
romances,  is  precisely  what  it  was   when   the   regretted  c 
Mr.  Collins  made  every  one  think  of  his  performances  as  a  who 
still  remains  a  most  conscientious,  and  careful,  and  ingenio 
structor  of  plots,  a  writer  with  a  respect  for  his  art,  and  dee| 
cemed  with  its  processes.     We  still  find  in  him  a  man  with  a 
bitter  sense  of  human  unhappiness,  a  man  whose  favourite  r 
are  at  odds  with  the  world.     We  still  recognize  that,  in  his  b 
he  is  not  incapable  of  humour,  and  it  must  still  be  added 
general,  he  "  jocked  wi'  deeficulty,"  as  the  Scotch  editor  confes 
himself.     His  methods  do  not  cease  to  force  on  us  the  old  seni 
difficulti^.     We  cannot  accept  it  as  natural  that  so  man; 
should  write  such  copious   diaries,   that  criminals   should 
minute  indictments  against  themselves  by  committing  everr 
their  schemes  to  paper  and  ink.     Guilty  people  do  neglect 
advice  "  Let  Letts  alone  " ;  but  the;  are  not  often  so  elaboi 


1890] 


MR.    WILKIE    COLLINS S  NOVELS. 


81 


confessions.  Mr,  ColUns's  methoil  is  that  of  Mr.  Browning  in  "jTlie 
Ring  and  the  Book."  His  characters  view  the  same  set  of  circum- 
stances, but  with  very  different  eyes.  The  method  has  its  obvious 
advantages  and  disadvantages  ;  perhaps  it  is  most  artfully  worked  in 
''  The  Woman  in  White,"  Again,  after  reading  and  re-reading,  one 
keeps  one's  old  opinion — that  for  a  writer  bo  conscientious  and  carefnl, 
Mr.  Wilkie  Collins  was  but  rarely  successful  in  the  fnll  measure  of  hia 
success,  A  few  of  his  short  stories,  his  "  Woman  in  White,"  his  ''  No 
Name,"  and,  above  all,  doubtless,  "  The  Moonstone  " — reach  a  level  of 
ingenuity  and  of  interest  which  the  many  others  fall  very  far  short  of. 
The  humorous  passages,  for  example,  in  "  Armadale"  and  "  Hide  and 
Seek  "  are  very  laboured  and  melancholy.  The  unsympathetic  quality 
of  his  character  is  exaggerated  in  Zack  ITiorpe,  and  Matthew  Grice, 
and  Midwinter,  and  Allan  Armadale.  The  very  construction  becomes 
a  mass  of  coincidences,  which  have  a  cumulative  weight  of  impossi- 
bility far  more  grievous  than  the  frank  postulates  of  fantastic  romances, 
such  as  "  Franki^nstein,"  or  '•  Avatar,"  or  *■'■  La  Peau  do  Chagrin." 
These  conclusions  are  absolutely  forced  on  a  dispassionate  reader,  in 
spit,e  of  all  the  pleasure  and  excitement  which  he  derives  from  Mr. 
Wilkie  Collins  at  his  best.  Yet  the  novels  remain  most  instructive 
reading,  one  may  suppose,  to  a  novelist  who  is  concerned  with  the 
technique  of  construction,  as  the  author  himself  was. 

There  are  certain  ideas,  combinations,  and  trues  which  constantly 
preoccupied  the  author.  lie  wished  to  excite  and  sustain  curiosity  as 
to  a  secret  ;  or,  again,  he  liked  to  foreshadow  the  progress  of  the  story, 
and  then  to  interest  the  reader  in  the  fulfilment  of  what  had  been  fore- 
shadowed. This  latter  is  the  process  in  "  No  Name  "  and  in  *'  Arma- 
dale "  ;  the  former  is  the  process  in  "  The  Moonstone  "  and  "  The  Woman 
in  White."  In  these  aims  Mr.  Collins  competes  with  M.  Gaboriau, 
and  with  M.  Fortun<^  du  Boisgobey.  But  he  escapes  Gaboriau's 
defect,  his  habit  of  first  powerfully  exciting  cariosity,  and  then  explain- 
ing inexplicable  circumstances  by  going  back  almost  as  far  as  the  First 
Crusade.  Nor  does  Mr.  Collins,  like  M.  Boisgobey,  secure  his  secret 
by  making  some  person  act  quite  out  of  character,  as  in  that  very 
^clever  tale,  "  Le  Crime  de  rOp6ra."  Perhaps  even  "  The  Moonstone  " 
is  not  more  craftily  wrought  than  '*  Les  Esclaves  de  Paris,"  and  it 
^  would  be  false  patriotism  to  set  "Mr.  Collins  above  M.  Gaboriau  in 
the  qualities  that  were  common  to  both.  But  there  are  defects  in 
M.  Gaboriau's  manner  which  Mr.  Collins  escaped.  The  vehement 
admirer  of  Mr.  Collins  may  object  to  the  comparison,  yet  it  is  almost 
inevitable.  Mr.  Collins  frequently  required  for  his  purposes  a  character 
of  only  occasional  sanity,  or  a  blind  person,  or  a  somnambulist, 
and  he  ventured  most  unsnccessfully  on  what  M.  Gaboriau  and  Edgar 
Pot^  never  attempted,  the  introduction  of  the  supenaatiiral.  True,  he 
tried  to  "  hedge  "  about  his  supernatural,  to  leave  it  hazy,  in  a  dim 


» 


THE   i^ONTEMPORARY  RE VI 


penumbra.  But  any  one  who  wishes  to  see  failure  ] 
at  "Armadale,"  while  in  Hawthorne  he  will  find  the 
with  cucoesB.  Another  favourite  device  wae  to  i 
personate  another,  as  in  "  Armadale,"  and  in  "Th 
bnt  here,  again,  Mr.  Collins  did  not  cope  with 
perht^  with  Miss  Braddon,  in  "  Henry  Dnnlms 
very  beet  novels  hie  oombinations  were  apt  to  be  t 
a  very  difficult  game  at  chess,  and  in  paasin^  frod 
another,  we  gradnally  lose  our  power  of  belief,  an 
our  interest.  That  Mr.  Collins  aims  frequently  a| 
reformatory  is,  of  course,  not  necessarily  a  faj 
atbaoks  society  and  social  verdicts,  in  "  The  Ne^ 
certainly  unfair  in  his  handling  of  the  characters, 
beautiful  Magdalen  does  not  repent  much  of  her 
gete  iuto  an  inextricable  position,  while  her  reepecti 
is  handicapped  by  ugliness  in  opposition  to  the  b 
who  has  stolen  into  her  place,  and  thrown  her,  deal 
morally  maimed,  on  the  world.  As  to  '•  Fallen 
involves  much  that  may  excite  our  partisan  feelings 
debate,  and  so  had  better  be  left  out  of  th©  quest] 
Again,  in  '•  Man  and  Wife,"  Mr.  Collins  attacked  *'  i 
really  knowing  what  the  life  of  athletes  at  the 
To  any  one  who  knew  them  well,  who  had  seen 
debauched  and  brutal  clods,  but  men  of  refinement 
occasionally  witp,  interested  in  most  of  the  arts,, 
has  declared,  of  taking  and  making  honourable] 
satire  of  "  Man  and  Wife"  seemed  blunt  and 
have  been  muscular  clowns  like  Geoffrey  DelamJ 
"  fk  private  room  and  the  dumb  bells,"  but  the  tj 
the  first  Greek  tragedy  ever  put  on  English 
representatives  of  the  class.* 

As  a  didactic  writer,  Mr.  Collins   injured 
probably  did  little  to  refine  athletics,  or  to  mal 
able   to   such  a   sinner  as  his  New  Magdult 
served  his  fame  is,  doubtless,  the  flood  of  latj 
decidedly  fell  below  his  own  standard.     Bui 
while  his  earlier  books  may  long  retain  theij 
popularity.     We   do  not  think  of  "The 
"  Castle   Dangerous,"  when  we  think  of 
aflMoncte  Mr.  Collins  with  "  The  Guilty  Hi\ 

This  is  not  a  bibliography,  and  it  is  n( 
each  of  Mr.  ColKns's  novels  in  detail.  Hiai 
were  prior  to  1854,  when  his  ''  Hide  and 

*  Agamemnon  won  tlie  qn&rter  of  a  mile  i  Cass 
Cljtemnestra,  the  tfaree  mile*. 


MR.    U'lLKIE    COLLINS' S   NOVELS. 


23 


,«elf  Bpeaks  of  it  in  his  Preface,  as  '*  an  advance  in  Art  on  liis  eorlier 
\attempts."     If  he   ^vas   right,    "Antonina"   and   "  Basil  "  must  be 
very  far  indeed  below  the  level  which  he  attained  in  the  middle  of 
hia  working  life. 

Mr.  Collins  had  a  strong  dislike  of  evangelical  religjon,  or  at 
least  of  certain  developments  of  it,  with  which  he  seems  to  have  been 
familiar.  No  one  who  has  met,  among  people  of  that  faith,  the  very 
best,  most  kindly,  and,  in  spite  of  the  gravest  trials,  the  happiest  of  his 
friends,  will  charge  the  creed  of  Miss  Clack  and  Mr.  Thorpe  with  the 
vices  of  these  two  deplorable  persons.  In  "Hide  and  Seek  "  the  stoiy 
turns  on  the  early  misdeed  of  a  man  who  appeal's  in  the  novel  as  a  strict 
and  gloomy  Sabbatarian  fanatic.  It  is  the  tale  of  a  secret,  and  a  secret 
as  well  kept  as  it  is  absurdly  discovered.  The  novel  was  revised  and 
altered  by  the  author  in  later  editions,  but,  as  now  published,  it  is  dis- 
agreeable in  the  drawing  of  the  favoured  characters,  and  in  the  plot, 
while  it  is  very  far  from  being  well  constructed.  The  deafness  and 
dumbness  of  the  heroine  give  Mr.  Collins  a  chance  of  studying  the 
life  of  a  beautiful  mute,  but  her  defecte  lead  to  nothing.  She  is 
not  like  Fenella,  nor  La  Muette  de  Portici,  nor  Nydia  in  "  The 
Last  Days  of  Pompeii,"  nor  even  poor  Miss  Finch.  Had  Madonna 
been  possessed  of  all  her  faculties,  the  story  need  not  have  been 
altered  in  the  least,  except  that  Zack  might  perhaps  have  fallen  in 
love  with  her,  as  she  did  with  him.  This  would  have  added  to  the 
awkwardness,  as  they  were  brother  and  sister  on  the  father's  side. 
Briefly,  and  therefore  more  or  less  unfairly,  stated  the  jjlot  runs 
thus :  We  meet  a  gloomy  fanatic,  Mr.  Thorpe,  who  bullies  his  one  son, 
Zack,  with  sermons  and  solemnity.  Then  we  have  an  artist,  Valentine 
BIyth,  whose  wife  is  an  invalid,  and  who  has  brought  up  a  beautiful 
deaf  and  dumb  child.  She  was  ten  when  he  adopted  her,  and  her 
mother  was  an  unwedded  outcast,  perishing  by  the  wayside.  Her  one 
possession  waa  a  hair  bracelet,  with  the  letters  M.  G.  on  the  clasps. 
Zack  becomes  a  rather  drunken  young  rowdy,  whom  Mr.  Collins 
fails  to  make  amiable.  An  intimate  of  BIyth's,  he  is  kind  to 
Madonna,  the  adopted  girl,  about  three  years  older  than  himself.  She 
loses  her  heart  to  the  unconscious  Zack,  who  leaves  his  fathei''s  house, 
and  beoomes  sworn  brother  of  a  moody  wanderer  from  the  Amazon, 
where,  oddly  enough,  as  anthropologists  will  say,  he  has  been 
scalped.  This  man.  Mat,  is  looking  everywhere  for  the  seducer  of 
his  sister,  and  in  Madonna  he  sees  his  dead  sister's  very  image.  He 
is  aware  that  her  lover  had  given  her  a  lock  of  his  hair,  and  a  hair 
bracelet,  and,  by  aid  of  a  false  key,  he  steals  the  hair  bracelet  of 
Madonna.  The  resemblance  of  the  hair  to  Zack's  locks  leads  Mat 
to  conclude  correctly  that  Zack's  father  was  the  seducer,  and  the 
father  of  Madonna.  Could  there  be  a  weaker  ava-y»'wp«<Tic ;  a  less 
plausible  recognition  and  lUnoHment  ?    Such  is  the  plot,  however,  in 


M 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW, 


essentials,  and  of  course  if  cats  off  the  novelist  from  the  interest 
a  love  story.  The  wandering  Mat  is  a  pictnrewjne  iignre  of 
scarred  and  battered  rover ;  the  artist  is  a  pli-asantly  good-bumonred 
creation ;  the  hero,  Zack,  needs  all  onr  toleranc»'.  I*n)l»ability 
stretched  when  the  seducer  explains  that  he  had  no  idi»a  that 
might  be  about  to  become  a  father.  "  You  may  think  it  Mtrai 
that  the  suspicion  had  not  occurred  to  me  before.  It  would 
80  no  longer,  perhaps,  if  I  detailed  to  you  the  peculiar  system  of 
home  education  by  which  my  father  strictly  and  conBcientiously 
endeavoured  to  preserve  me,  as  otlier  young  men  are  not  usually 
preserved,  from  the  moral  contaminations  of  the  world."  The  BysteoA 
of  education  must  indeed  have  been  one-eided. 

That  any  writer  could  rise  rapidly  from  tho  coniposifion  of  •'  Uide 
and  Seek  "  to  that  of  "  The  Woman   in  White  "  is  as  extrw»rdinftry 
as  that  the   author   of  the  *■  Woman  in  White  "  should   descend  to 
"  Armadale,"  and,  again,  should  chmb   to  the   perfection,   in   its  own 
class,  of  "•  The  Moonstone."      Mr.  Collins  s  career  was  entin'ly  unlike  I 
that  of  his  greater  contemporaries.      Mr.  Thackeray  slowly  prepawd 
himself,  by  a  series  of  advances  in  art,  for  "  Vanity  Fair,*'  and  thr 
kept  "  the  cro^Ti  of  the  causeway  "  with  a  series  of  masterpieces, 
he    declined  in   "  The  Virginians."      Mr.   Dickens  began,  as  fp 
public    recognition    went,    with    the    most    delightful    e.vplosif 
humorous  high  spirits  in   the   world,  then   di-stinguished   himr 
several  immortal  stories,  then  had  an  interval  of  partial  eclip 
shone  out  again  in  new  lights;  with  "  The  Tale  of  Two  Citie? 
"  Great  Expectations.''     Mr.  Collins,  on  the  other  hand,  hfwl 
good  deal  of  not  particularly  noticeable  work  for  ten  years  or 
he  found  hira.self  in  "  The  Woman  in  White."  lost  himself  i' 
dale,"  excelled  himself  in  ''The  Moonstone,'  and,  after  tb 
rose  much  above  the  level  of  his  earlier  essays.     His  bio 
he  is  to  have  a  biographer — may  be  able  parti}'  to  explaii 
of  health  and  circuniatance  this  intermittent  brilliance.     "^ 
causes,  "  The  Woman  in  White  "  is  a  masterpiece  of  exf 
ingenuity.     From  the  moment  when  the  white  woman  ' 
the  moonlit  heath,  within   sound  of  the  roar  of  Londo 
Lady  Clyde,"  stands  veiled  by  her  own  tombstone,  an»' 
at  her  lover,  there  is  hardly  a  page  in  this   IxKjk   bi 
own  mysterious  life,  and  beckons  3"ou  to  follow  till  t 
rare  thing  among  novels  of  incident,  of  secret,  and 
find  one  that  you  can   read  several  times.      But  th 
merit  of  "  The  Woman  in  Whitf ." 

''  I  have  always  held,"  says  Mr.  Collins,  "  the  o' 
that  the  primary  object  of  a  work  of  fiction  shoo' 
This  opinion  will  probably  outlive  most  of  our  p 
But,  Mr.  Collins  adds,  he  sees  no  reason  why 


1890] 


MR.    iriLKIE    COLLINS' S  NOVELS. 


35 


this  condition  should  ueglect  character  ;  in  fact,  he   held  that,  given 

a  story,  characters  ?« i(.st  be  presented.      Necessarily  they  must ;  but  it 

is  undeniable  that  a  very  good  story   may  be  told  in  which   little  of 

character,  except  pluck   and  endnrance,  is  displayed,  the  adyenturea 

not  calling  for  the  exhibition  of  anything  more  subtle.      In  "  The 

Woman  in  White "'  some  of  the  characters  may  border  on  what  are 

called  "  character  parts"  in  acting.      Count  Fo.sco   has  tendencies  in 

this  direction,  so  has  the   admirable  little  Italian,   Professor  Pesca. 

But  certainly  Marian  Halcombe  is  also  a  "  character,"  without  any 

touch  of  caricature,  while  Anne  Catherick  herself,  with  her  craze  about 

white,  has  a  high  place  among  the  fanta.stic  women  of  fiction.      Even 

Sir  Percival  is  more  than  a  fair   specimen   of  that  favourite  persona, 

the  bad  baronet.      He  is  not  so  colossally  nefarious  as  the  regrett*>d 

Sir  Massingberd,   but  he  will  more  than   pass.      "  The  Woman  in 

White  "  is,  in  its  way,  a  masterpiece  ;    it  has  even  humour,  in  the 

Foscos  and  elsewhere,  and  redeems  the  terrors  of  that  picnic  on  the 

water,  which  amazes  the  reader  of  ''  Annadale.'"     Though  it  is  a  work 

which  we  can  never  forget,  we  can  often  return  to  it ;   and  it  made 

Mr.  Collins  for  long  the  most  popular  favonrite  in  English  fiction.     It 

is  curious  to  •  hink  over  that  series  of  premier  novelists  who.  one  after 

another,  have  held  the  top  of  the  markft,  and  been  dearest  to  the 

booksellers.     The  reigns  of  some  were   long^  of  othens  brief  indeed. 

Their  throne  has  occasionally  been  the  mark  of  envying,  hatred,  and 

uncharitableness,  and  some  of  the  masters  of  the  art  have  never  been 

crowned  there.      Hard  it  is  to  descend  from   thnt  perilons  eminence. 

Mr,   Collins,  at  least,  was  never  uugeoerous  to  his  successors,  the 

"  new  tyrants,"  the  later  dynasties. 

'*  The  Woman  in  White "  was  followed  by  "  No  Name."'  As  a 
novel  of  I  he  author's  central  period,  it  stands  far  above  the  common 
[average  of  his  immature  and  of  his  later  work.  The  character  of 
Magdalen  Vanstone  is  perhaps  the  mo8t  original  and  sti'iking  in  his 
great  family  of  imaginary  people  ;  the  most  winning  at  first  in  her 
beauty,  vivacity,  and  attection,  and  much  the  most;  pardonable  when 
wrong  drove  her  to  revenge.  There  is  something  of  the  Corsican,  of 
Colomha,  in  Magdalen  \'anstone,  and  we  might  have  preferred  for 
her  an  end  tragic  and  desperate  rather  than  the  haven  to  which  she 
came.  As  a  mere  matter  of  probability,  her  constant  changes  of 
costume  and  "  make-up  "  are  less  trying  to  belief  than  many  of  Mr. 
Collins's  later  devices.  The  other  characters  are.  among  the  most  V!fe- 
like  in  his  novels,  whether  we  look  at  the  lucky  lout,  tlie  wretched 
pretty  Frank  Clare,  or  his  misanthropic  sire,  or  the  governess  (Miss 
Garth),  or  Mr.  Vanstone  himself.  There  are  scenes  of  simple  and 
powerful  truth,  as  where  I^fagdalen  tries,  in  her  desperate  and  ontcasfc 
fortunes  under  the  roof  of  a  rogue,  to  repeat  the  part  that  she  had 
acted   when   she    was  happy,   secure,   and   beloved.      "As  the  first 


m 


THE    COyTEMPORARV  KBVtElV, 


tJi 


familiar  words  passed  ber  lips,  Frank  c&mo  back  t^i  h*-r  fivui  tin'  8«A» 
and  the  faco  of  her  dead  father  looked  at  h(*r  with  the  emile  of  haf^iy 
old  times ;  the  voices  of  her  mother  and  her  sister  taikod  g«'ntly  in. 
the  fragrant  country  Btillness,  and  the  garden-walks  at  Combe  Bavon 
opened  onco  more  on  her  view.  With  a  faint,  wailing  crj', 
dropped  into  a  chair ;  her  head  fell  forward  on  the  table,  and 
burst  passionately  into  tears." 

Here,  and  in  the  passage  whore  Midvrinter  declares  his  love  to 
beautiful,  Binful,  battered  Miss  Gwilt,  wakening  so  many  memodi 
of  things  true  and  tender,  spoiled  and  betrayed,  Mr.  Collins,  pg 
haps,  comes  nearest  to  the  poetry  of  romance.     In  this  nov«l,  I 
are  the  most  humorous  of  his  lighter  characters,  that  Mtomiedawir 
Captain  Wra^rge,  and  Mrs.  Wragg«\     The  scene  of  Mrs.  Wn 
omelette  and  her  struggles  with  thr  involved  prooonns  of  the  C 
Book  is  really  diverting. 

Mr,  Collins  acted  wisely  in  not  producing  *'  The  Moonstone  ' 
"  No   Name  "  was  fresli  in  his   readers'  memories.     For  the 
the  aleepwalking-admiral,  in  "  No  Name,"  reaUy  coutainB  t) 
the  mystery  of   "  The  Moonstone,"  just  ad  Miss  Gwilt,  dM 
d'unc  aiifrr,    suggests    tiie    central  idea    of  "  The  New    1 
Between   "No  Name"   and  "The  Moonstone"  came   "j 
written  when  the  author  was  at  the  height  of  his  repaHatixy 
it  added  little  or  nothing. 

Few  men  can    follow    one  prodigious    hit   by   anoti* 
"  Armadale,"   which   appeared  in  the   Cwn/aV/  Mugdzine 
own    thinking,  a  terrible  desot^nt,      Mr.  Swinburne,  in 
view,   acknowledges  its  "  superb  ingenuity  " ;  I  must  7 
ingenuity  seems  to  me  far  too  ingenious.     I  am  the 
boggle  at  an  impossibility,  and  to  rej«ct  "  Vice  Vers 
•'miracles  do  not  happen."     We  can  accept  the  mil 
late,  and  few  people  will  censure  the  "  Odyssey  "  be 
"  an  immortal  woman  living  in  a  cave,"  or  because  sail 
swine.     You  grant  the  postulate,  and,  that  done,  y 
read.     But  in   "  iVrmadale  "  you  read  and  do  no 
fancy  can  accept  the  unending  coincidences  of   "  J 
Dream  in  seventeen  distinct  compartments,  every  o 
in  the  future  ?     Who   can  believe  that  a  little 
commit  an  artful  forgery  ?     Yet  if  Miss  GwUt 
twelve,  when  she  forged,  she  would  have  been 
when  all  men,  from  twenty  to  seventy,  fell  viole 
There    are  few   Ninons,    but    Miss  Gwilt  mu' 
them.     As  for  the  characters,  the  gloom  of  J 
sive  as  the  mode  in  which  he  learned  Greek  and 
Allan  Armadale,  with  his  noisy  absurdities,  is 
Gwilt  herself,^  and  the  school-girl  who  makes 


i89o] 


MR.    WILKIE    COLLINS' S   NOVELS. 


«r 


endurable  than  her  admirer.     Miss  Gwilt  herself  saves  tbo  story,  which 
becomes  alive  when  she  enters  it,  and,  with  all  her  crimes  on  her  head, 
she  13  inilnitely  the  most  human  and  agreeable  of  the  persons  in  this 
sordid  aflair.     The  destruction  of  three  able-bodied  heirs  in  a  fort- 
night, one  by  an  accidental  chill,  two  by  an  avalanche,  rivals  some 
performances  with  African  lightning  in  ita  rough  and  ready  slap-daeh. 
The  theory  of  "hereditary  superstition"  is  strained  to  breaking,  but 
on  it  the  whole  weight  of  the  plot  depends.      Tlie  letters  between 
Mrs.  Oldershaw  and  Miss  Gwilt  are  scarcely  more  possible  than  the 
diary  to  which  tlie  murderess  confesses  her  crimes.      There  is  nobody 
in  the  book  to  like  or  admire,  unless  Miss  Gwilt  bo  the  person,  or 
unless  we  repose  on  the  bosom  of  Pedgift  the  younger.     Mr.  Collins 
nndeavoured  to  defend  bis  series  of  coincidences  by  an  example  from 
real  life.     In  "  Armadale  "  the  heir  is  to  be  poisoned  by  sleeping  in 
a  room  ciarged  with  poisoned  air,  and  three  men,  as  the  story  was 
running,  were  actually  poisoned  by  foul  air,   in  a  ship   called  the 
Armadale.     Much  more  astonishing  coincidences  have  occurred  than 
that ;  but "  Armadale  "  is  one  tissue  of  succeeding  coincidences.    The 
cumulative  effect  produces  increduhty  and   indifference,  and  we  are 
vexed  by  the  number  of  persons  who  spy,  listen,  and  overhear  what 
^as  not  meant  for  them.     And  for  humour,  we  have  "  the  curate, 
with  a  ghastly  face,  and  a  hand  pressed  convulsively  over  the  middle 
region  of  his  waistcoat  ' 

"  Armadale  "  was  much  more  than  redeemed  by  "  The  Moonstone.*' 
Here  we  have  good  romanw  in  the  very  presence  of  the  Diamond,  as 
fatal  a  thing  as  the  dwarf  Andvari's  ring  in  the  Saga.  The  Indians, 
wandering  in  and  out,  impress  one  more,  I  think,  than  our  new  Hindoo 
visitor,  Secimdra  Dass.  The  sudden  appearance  of  Mr.  Godfrey  Able- 
white,  in  the  guise  of  a  sailor,  was,  to  myself,  the  most  complete 
and  pleasant  surprise  ixx  the  whole  range  of  the  surprises  of  fiction. 
Whtm  one  first  road  the  story,  one  resented  the  explanation,  the  sleep- 
walking, as  a  disappointment.  Already  the  idea  had  been  used, 
when  Jack  Ingoldsby's  breeches  vanished  night  by  night,  in  the 
"  Ingoldaby  Legends."  M.  Boisgobey  has  omployed  it  in  "  L'Affaire 
Matapan,"  and  Mr.  Collins  had  used  it  in  '*  No  Name."  Still,  pro- 
bably few  readers  guessed  at  the  truth,  so  cunningly  were  all  sorts  of 
false  and  plausible  clues  suggested.  As  for  the  humour  of  the  story, 
Miss  Clack  is  somewhat  mechanical  and  exaggerated.  Mr.  Collins 
makes  her  too  profuse  a  writer  in  *'  the  patoia  of  Zion."  The  old 
butler  %vith  his  "  Robinson  Crusoe  "  is  rather  a  bore,  like  most  characters 
marked  with  too  pronounced  tricks.  Mr.  Collins  did  not  abuse  this 
method  of  "  individualizing "  his  persons  nearly  bo  much  as  Mr. 
Dickens  often  did,  but  he  occasionally  made  the  thing  wearisome. 
Of  the  later  novels,  it  is  not  my  intention  to  speak.  The  ingenuity 
of  *'  Poor  Miss  Finch  "  c&nnot  reconcile  us  to  the  manifest  and  gro- 


38 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jak. 


tesqae  "  machinorj' "  of  the  blind  girl  aad  the  bine  lovar.  8he  U 
too  "  in  and  out  "  in  her  blindness,  and  he  too  much  excels  mankind 
"  in  azure  feats,"  as  Mr.  Browning  pats  it.  The  unfairness  of  '•  The 
New  Magdalen "'  has  already  been  hinted  at :  there  is  interest  atKl 
great  resource,  however,  in  the  ups  and  dovms  of  the  central  narrative. 

Nobody  can  write  romances  for  thirty-five  years  without  vicissitaden 
in  the  fortunes  of  his  works,  without  varieties  in  his  inspiration  and  his 
skjll.    Mr.  Collins  was  fortunate  enough  not  to  attract  the  att^-ntion  of 
the  literary  wrecker.    He  may  have  been  saved  from  the  dangers  of  mo- 
cess  by  his  conscientious  endeavour,  in  each  new  tale,  to  do  his  very  best. 
As  to  that  best,  one  cannot  equal  it  with  the  excellpnoe  of  Dickens, 
of  Thackeray,  of  George  Eliot,  of  Charles  Reade,  or  even  of  Anthony 
Trollope.     The  itei\rr  of  novel   to  which  Mr.  Collins  devoted  hx^a^£ 
was  lower  than  theirs.     In  even  his  best  work  there  is,  or  I  tn^^W 
be  aware  of,  a  kind  of  professional  hardness,  for  there  is  no  charm 
bis  style,  and  there  is  much  premeditation  in  his  humour.    Wecw 
all  admire  all  things  equally,  and  it  seems  a  pity  that  we  shonld  qui 
as  much  as  we  do  over  our  tastes  in  fiction.      A  man  can,   in  the 
only  express  an  honest  opinion,  and  I  must  own  that  I  read  Mr.  Co' 
greatest  books  with  much  pleasure  and  excitement. but  without  mr 
thusiasm  \  while  in  his  less  fortunate  novels,  his  manner  weariee' 
his  method  is  too  nakedly  conspicuous.     There  are  even  two  < 
stories  by  the  comparatively  neglected  Mr.  Sheridan  Le   Fani 
I  would  rate  as  high  as  Mr.  Col lins's  best ;  there  «re  scenes  of 
Fanu's  far  more  deeply   and  terribly  8tampe<l   on  the  memo' 
are  secrets  as  cxmningly   hidden  ;  and   in  the  volume   "  T 
Darkly  "    Mr.    Le    Fanu's  command  of    the  pupematura" 
gloriously  with  Mr.  Collins's  failures.      Uoth  men  weremw 
school,  but  by  some  caprice  of  taste,   some  accident  o 
author  of  '*  Uncle  Silas  "  never  won  such  rewards  as  fell 
of  "  The  Woman  in  White." 

Both  are  gone  ;  they  havo  left  no  man  to  take  their 
in  that  art  which,  even  in  living  hands,  has  diverted  th 
Australian  cattle  drovers,  has  consolpd  the  latest  hoc 
outworn,  and  dying  emperors,  which  opens  to  all  of 
wizards  saj-,  "  the  gates  of  distance,"  and  gives  ns  the 
covered   land.s.      For  these  benefits  the  least  thing 
frequently  the  bst  thing  we  do,  is  to  be  grateful. 


BROTHERHOODS. 


NEW  proposals  are  strange  revealers  of  human  chai-acter.  The 
proposal  for  the  establish ineut  of  Brotherhoods  is  no  exception. 
Those  who  have  watched  the  discusaion  must  have  beau  amused,  if 
they  were  not  edified,  by  the  variety  of  the  comments  which  the 
proposal  evoked.  The  philanthropic  mind  most  probably  was  dis- 
tressed to  find  that  the  merits  of  the  proposal  were  obscured  by  the 
acrimony  which  was  displayed.  Extremists  are  never  right,  though 
they  are  always  zealous.  It  may  be  questioned,  indeed,  whether  a 
certain  narrowness  of  understanding  is  not  indispensable  for  a  certain 
class  of  success.  The  fact  that  a  theologicai  turn  could  be  given  to 
the  discussion  made  it  possible  that  the  proposal  would  not  be  dis- 
cussed on  its  merits.  Voltaire,  speaking  of  Dante,  said,  "  II  a  dea 
commentateura :  c'est  peut-etre  encore  une  raison  de  plus  jxiur  netr© 
compris."  The  same  complaint  may  be  made  re8])ecting  the  present 
proposal.  The  comments  have  obscured  the  text,  and  the  zeal  of 
party  has,  as  was  to  be  expected,  darkened  counsel  with  words 
without  knowledge  and  without  charity. 

This  may  sound  severe  language,  but  I  think  that  it   might  be 

justified  by  a  series  of  elegant  extracts  selected  from  letters  contri- 
buted to  the  controversy.  But  no  good  would  be  done  by  printing 
words  which  are   better  forgotten.       There  would  be  no  necessity 

even  to  refer  to  them,  except  for  the   purpose  of  warning  ourselves 

that  the  cutitc  spirit  of  the  zealot  should  be  severely  repressed,  lest 

while  we  wrangle,  the  more  important  aspects  of  the  question  should 

be  forgotten,  and  the  opportunity  of  good  be  lost. 

At  the  outset  it  ought,  in  justice  to  those  who  made  the  proposal, 

to  be  remembered  tliat  it  arises  out  of  a  great  and  confessed  need. 

Archbishop  Tait  has  told  as  *'  that   there  were  districts  into  which 


so 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


[jAJr. 


it  was  not  right   to  aak   a   cUrgymaa  to  take  his  wife,  in  which  to 
bring  up  his  children ;  bat  if  men  coold  live  togetht^r  for  n  certain 
number  of  years,  there  would  not  only  be  a  saving  of  expense,  but 
they  would  a£Ford  each  other  the  mutual  help  and  sympathy  they  «o 
much  needed."  •     The  Church,  it  has  been  declared  times  without 
mnmber,  cannot  overtake  the  work  which  the  rapid  aocuntulatiou  of 
town  populations  has  thrown  upon  her.      "  How  are  wo  to  reach  Llto 
masses  "  has  been  a  kind  of  commonplace  of  Church  Coagreases.     Thd 
density  of  the  population,  the  celerity  with  which  towns  have  ex- 
panded, the  strangPi  and  abnormal  conditions  of  life  which  this  stAte 
of  things  has  caused,  have  thrown  upon  the  Church  work  aiid  dutiea 
which  have  strained   the  machinery,  and  for  which  it  is  declared  the 
existing  plant   is  wholly  inadequate.      This   state  of  things  is  per- 
plexing, and,  from  the  rapidity  with    which  it  has  come  about,   ^ 
is  bewildering  also.     The  multitude'*   gatht-rt'd    in  our  great   tow 
are   beheld  by   some  with  alarm,  by  others  ynXh   compassion, 
with    a   deep    and    perplexed    sense   of   responsibility,       Prac 
heathenism,    lowered     morals,    enfeebled    vitality,     dull,     spirit 
pleasareless  existence  nro  mentioned  among  the  results.     The 
which  the  philanthropist  suggests  are  too  often  rank  hearesies 
eyes  of  the  political  economist,  while  it  must  be  confessed  t' 
political  economist  has  little  to  oifer  in  their  place.      Doubtle 
are  remedies  which  may,  in  proces.s  of  time,  heal  this  misef* 
dition  of  things ;   it   may  bo  true  that  there  are  gre«t  onsef 
in  operation  which  will  slowly  readjust  the  unwholesome  di' 
of   population.      But  forces    like    these   will   work   but   si 
Christian  sympathy  cannot  bear  to  stand  still  and  watch 
of  misery  and  sin  without  some  ettbrt  to  console  and  pur 
relieve.     This  spirit  finds  expression  in   the  Church,  i 
Lord,  must  feel  compassion  for  the  multitudes.      She  fe« 
we  are  deliberating  ou  the  best   means  of  dealing  with 
there  are  thousands  who  are  practically  perishing,     f 
such  present  and  crying  needs  is  imperative.      Such  i 
and  such  are  the  feelings  which   have   given  rise  to 
establishing  Brotherhoods  in  the  Church  of  England. 

If    such    needs    exist,    and    new    methods    are 
proposal  emanating  from  experienced  men  is  entitW 
attention.      The   present  proposal   may  be  wise    or 
be  possible    or  it  may  be   ntterly  impracticable,  b' 
unheard  or  to  push  it  forsvanl  unconsidered,  to  u 
horse  for  attacking  unpopular  doctrines   or   for  i 
and  retrogressive  opinion,  is  to  betray  an  ill-regi 
tainly  it  is  unworthy  of  a  great  and  re.spectable 
to  prejudice  its  discussion  by  a  picture,  or   to 
*  **  STstematic  I^r  ksttaxcr"  Xationtd  Remtw 


iSgo] 


BROTHERHOODS. 


31 


phrase ;  and  it  is  no  leas  undignified  on  the  part  of  others  to  find  in 
tho  discufision  an  opportunity  of  discrediting  men  whose  very  jealousy 
of  innovation  is  evidence  oi  their  attachment  to  the  Church  in  which 
they  have  labouretl. 

AJl  this  is  unfortunate,  and  it  is  illogical.  It  is  never  wise  to 
[speak  before  we  know;  it  ia  always  foolish  to  criticise  wliat  has  not 
'l)een  proposed.  Critics,  in  this  case,  might  have  remembered  that  it 
was  just  possible  that  those  who  were  responsible  for  the  suggestion 
did  know  a"  little  history,  and  were  not  wholly  ignorant  of  the 
dangers  resulting  from  this  or  kindred  proposals.  At  the  same 
time  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  proposal  has  been  put  forth  in 
some  quarters  with  phrases  which  could  not  fail  to  arouse  suspicion. 
The  Bishop  of  Durham,  in  his  observations  on  the  proposal,  depre- 
cated this  flaunting  of  a  red  rag  in  a  matter  which  needs  above  all 
things  calm  and  judicial  consideration. 

It  may  allay  some  of  the  not  unnaturally  aroused  suspicion  to 
recall  certain  facts.  It  is  a  mistake,  for  instance,  to  suppose  that 
community -life  is  the  exclusive  practice  of  any  one  portion  of 
Christendom.  Religious  bodies,  which  cannot  be  suspected  of  Ultra- 
montane leanings,  possess  institutions  of  the  kind.  Tliere  are  religious 
communities  at  Kaiserwerth  and  Strasbourg  which  are  in  connection 
•■with  the  Lutheran  Church.  There  are  similar  institutions  at  Paris 
and  Echellins  which  are  connected  respectively  with  the  French  and 
Swiss  Reformed  Churches.  It  is,  further,  a  mistake  to  suppose  that 
institutions  like  the  Religious  Houses  or  Brotherhoods  were  favoui-ed 
only  by  one  party  in  the  Church  of  England.  Among  those  who 
lifted  up  his  voice  for  their  continuance  was  the  stout-hearted  reformer, 
Latimer.  Organizations  of  young  men,  devout  and  devoted  to  good 
works,  in  the  seventeenth  century,  were  recognized  with  approval  by 
Bishop  Beveridge  as  well  as  by  Bishop  Ken,  by  Stillingfleet  as  well 
as  Tenison. 

Bnt  while  unreasoning  alarm  is  to  be  deprecated,  the  risks  ought 
to  be  considered. 

If  it  needs  to  be  constantly  remembered  that  there  is  nothing 
wliich  is  necessarily  Roman  in  the  idea  of  Brotherhoods,  it  is  no  less 
necessary  to  observe  the  cautions  and  warnings  which  the  history  of 
Buch  institutions  reveals.  We  are  neither  to  be  dettrred  from  making 
an  experiment  by  the  cry  that  it  is  Roman,  nor  are  we  to  be  blinded 
to  the  risks  which  we  encounter  by  the  eagerness  of  thoeo  who  only 
welcome  the  proposal  for  the  very  reason  which  in  others  awakens  alarm. 
There  are  dangers  ;  and  the  evidence  which  ia  the  most  striking  is  that 
which  comes  from  the  Latin  Church  itself.  It  would  be  simple  madness 
to  ignore  the  lessons  of  the  past.  In  the  twelfth  century,  Arnulf, 
Bishop  of  Lisieux,  requested  Pope  Ale.xander  VIII.  to  dissolve  the 
monastery  of  Grestain,  on  the  ground  that   it  was  past  reformation. 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


D^AH.! 


At  the  close  of  the  fourteenth  century  Nicolaa  de  (.'lamengw  cbi 
the  monasteries  with  being  scenes  of  waste,  idlenesa,  and 
The  Councils  of  Constance  and  Basel  approved  the  statemeAtftJ 
Bridget  of  Sweden,  when  she  depicted  the  dark  and  low  oonditi 
the  religious  houses.  In  the  sixteenth  century  a  Coumittee  oT' 
Cardinals  (Reginald  Pole  was  one  of  the  number)  expraased  their 
opinion  that  the  religious  houses  ought  to  bt>  abolished.  In  tlM 
eighteenth  century  Scipio  de  Rioci,  Bishop  of  Pistoia,  cxcommaiu- 
CfAed  the  Dominican  friars,  and  forbade  their  officiating  in  his  diooea*. 
But  perhaps  the  most  remarkable  illostration  of  all  is  one  derived  6qOj 
our  own  days : — 

'*  The  total  nninb«?r  of  monaateries,  «tc.,  «uppre«se«l  in  Italy  <]own  to 
close  of  IH%'2  was  2255,  involving  an  enormouti  di5pliu-ement  of  propettjr 
dispcnloQ  of  inmates.     And  yet  there  i&  aome  reason  to  think  that  the  Bt«te ' 
did  but  do  i-ougbly  and  harshly  what  the  Church  should  have  duue   mc 
gradually   and   wisely;    for  the  judgment   pa£8ed   on   the   ditwiilution 
Pius  iX.  hims<>If,  in  opeaking  to  an  English  Roman  Catholic  bihbop, 
'  tt  was  the  devil's  work ;  but  the  good  God  will  turn  it  into  u  bleesing,  sincB 
their  destruction  was  the  only  reform  possible  to  them.' "  * 

It  will   be  understood   that   I   am  not  alluding  to  these  for  r 
controversial  purpose.     The  le&aons  which  such  facts  suggest  an 
common  heritage  of  all  Christian  bodies  ;  they  shed  light  on  the 
and  conditions  of  human  nature.  It  is  interesting  in  this  conor 
to  recall  a  parallel  from  Oriental  ex])erience.     In  the  East,  as 
West,  the  risk  arising  from  a  disregard  of  simple  principles  is  illu 
The  organization  of  the  cloister  was  a  powerful  aid  in  the  i 
ment  of  Buddhism,  but  only  so  long  as  the  spirit  of  missio' 
existed.     When  that  ceased,  monasticism  became  a  hindrar 
of  a  help.    In  proportion  as  the  "  tendency  to  expansion  of  th( 
Church  gi'ew   fainter,  monasticism  became  a  barrier  in  tl 
every  sound  development,  and  thus  the  cause  of  utter  stagr 

Thus  the  forgetfulness  of  the  conditions  of  life  avenges ' 
or  later.     There  is  a  Quixotic  disregard  of  laws  which 
called  zeal.     A    mnu    may   run    full    tilt  against  a   v 
impunity,  but  the  probability  is  that  he  will  get  the  w 
counter.      One  man,  or  one  group  of  men,  may  achieve 
hopeless  for  others  to  attempt.      The  rule  observed  by  o 
astroas  to  the  thousands,  who,   under  the  influence  o' 
excitement  or  eager  emotion,  take  upon  themselves 
experience  may  show  was   too  grievous  for  them  to 
vows  appear  to  me  to  be  of  this  nature,  when  the 
which  is  not  necessary  for  righteousness'  sake.     Ti 
Canterbury  has  realized   this  danger,  and  has  pror 
system  of  lifelong  vows.    There  is  wisdom  in  this  de 
lifelong  vow,  in  a  matter  which  is  nei  ther  within  the  f 

-*  Sec  Article  on  Monasttrics  in  "  Encyclopcedia  ' 


i89o] 


BROTHERHOODS. 


38 


nor  in  the  statute  book  of  universal  righteousness,  is  (if  I  may  use  an 
uld-fashioned  phrase  belonging  to  an  age  of  greater  faith  and  less 
t'ussinessi  than  the  present)  to  t^iuipt  Providence.  We  may  be  asked 
i£  ther«  is  not  such  a  thing  as  a  call  to  a^lilrticy.  I  have  no  doubt  of 
it.  Our  Lord's  words  are  sufficient  for  me  on  the  matter  ;  but  he 
who  ia  so  called  needs  no  vow  :  the  call  will  be  ovidenctid  in  the  fact 
of  his  life.  And  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  a  man  may  be  called  to 
1)0  a  father  of  saints  who  does  not  know  of  his  calling  till  he  is 
far  advanced  in  life.  To  make  a  vow  which  anticipates  or  prevents 
the  calling  of  Providence  savours  of  little  taith,  not  of  large  faith,  and 
has  in  it  a  flavour  of  self-will  rather  than  that  spirit  which  waits  on 
the  will  of  Him  who,  though  He  orders  the  whole  life,  yet  veils  from 
us  His  leadings  from  period  to  period. 

To  put  the  same  thought  from  another  standpoint,  it  is  an  nnques- 
tloned  law  of  man's  development  that  his  powers,  capacities,  and 
necessities  do  not  ripen  in  every  man  dike,  in  the  same  fashion,  or  at 
the  same  time.  There  are  men  who  are  boys  in  some  of  their  quali- 
ties and  power.s  till  they  have  passed  two-score  years.  Such  do  not 
waken  to  the  consciousness  of  power  or  the  possession  of  their  complete 
manhood  till  they  have  reached,  perhaps,  the  middle  arch  of  life.  To 
bind  a  man  with  a  lifelong  vow  on  matters  which  are  liardly  yet 
within  the  range  oE  his  own  self-consciousness  appears  to  me  to  be 
an  act  of  at  least  doubtful  wisdom. 

But  here  it  is  urged  that  these  exceptional  cases  may  be  met  by 
exceptional  means — the  vows  may  be  made  dispensable  by  proper 
authority.  Against  this  I  entertain  the  very  strongest  objection.  Tc 
do  this  is  to  weaken  the  sense  of  the  sanctity  of  a  vow,  by  dangling 
before  the  eyes  of  him  who  makes  it  the  possibility  that  what  is  said 
to  be  lifelong  need  not  be  so  in  reality.  To  do  this  is  to  throw  npon 
another  a  responsibility  which,  in  the  nature  of  the  cape,  he  cannot 
bear.  To  do  this  is  tc*  trifle  with  the  most  sacred  thing  on  earth — 
the  sanctity  of  a  man's  own  conscience. 

Might  we  not  say  that  the  very  suggestion  of  dispenpable  vows 
bears  strong  witness  against  the  proposal  to  make  vows  lifelong  ? 
The  same  difficulty  does  not  exist  when  a  time-limit  is  introduced 
into  the  agreement,  so  long  aa  the  limit  is  not  a  very  distant  one. 
If  a  society  is  to  have  sustained  and  continuous  life  in  its  work,  thosf 
who  join  it  ought  to  give  a  definite  length  of  service.  This  seems 
both  wise  and  neotlful.  There  ought  to  be  no  objection  and  no  dif- 
ficulty in  the  introduction  of  common-sense  and  busines^s-like  agree- 
ments as  to  the  length  of  service.  There  are  thousands  who  sign 
Jigreements  to  serve  in  particular  places  at  special  work  for  a  specified 
period.  An  agreement  of  this  sort,  by  whatever  name  it  is  called, 
ought  not  to  rouse  suspicion  or  jealousy.  If  the  work  is  religions, 
the  promise  might  well  be  made  during  some  religious  service.      In 

VOL.  LVII.  C 


84 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[3iM, 


any  case,  the  promise  to  do  religious  work  might  surely  be  viewed  M 
a  promise  to  be  religiously  kept,  and  as  having  an  obligation  at  any 
rate  as  binding  as  that  which  binds  men  in  the  military  and  civil 
service.  It  is  unfortunately  too  much  the  ciistom  to  reganl  a  promise 
in  matters  of  religion  as  something  which  is  only  binding  as  long  as  \t 
is  convenient.  Opposed  as  I  am  to  lifelong  vows,  and  disposed  to 
regard  vows  of  all  kinds  as  indicating  not  a  higher,  but  a  lower,  stage 
of  religious  life,  I  should  be  thankful  to  see  a  sterner  sense  of  the 
nature  of  the  obligations  of  religions  service,  and  a  sturdier  deter- 
mination to  discharge  such  obligations,  come  fair,  come  foul,  at  home 
and  abroad. 

But  this  leads  to  another  lesson  which  the  history  of  religioi 
movements  most  surely  teaches,  and  which  our  own  experience  m 
1  think,  confinn.  We  are  in  danger,  nevertheless,  of  forgetting  it. 
The  value  of  organization,  in  one  sense,  cannot  be  exaggerated,  and 
it  has  been  argued  that  the  power  of  such  institutions  depends  on 
their  being  recognized  as  part  of  the  organization  of  the  Church. 
This  has  been  urged  recently.  "  These  institutions  flourished  as  long 
as  their  discipline  was  maintained ;  they  drooped  because  they 
depended  on  individual  exertion  and  piety."  So  writes  Mr.  T.  Gambler 
Parry.  What  was  wanted,  says  'b\x.  Uuntingdon,  was  recognition 
and  authority.* 

There  is  doubtless  truth  in  this  view ;  but  the  other  side  must  no* 
bo  forgotten.     Organization  is  not  evenrthing.     Alone  it  is  entire! 
valueless.     We  touch  here  a  question  which  lies  at  the  root  of  roan 
problems.    It  has  constantly  been  misunderstood  ;  and  misunderstan' 
ing  is  perilous.      We   organize   free   institiitions,  and   we  are  disf 
pointed  to   find  that  happiness  is   not   secured  to   mankind  by  t 
existence.     We  organize  Chui-ch  work;  and  wo  are  pained  to 
that   organization   does  not   always    mean    effectiveness.       Pain 
disappointment  might  have  been  avoided  if  we  had  been  more  J 
to  learn  the  lesson  of  history.     Organization  may  aflbrd  greab 
to  life,  and  richer  results  to  energy ;  but   organization  will  n< 
<luce  saints,  nor  the  establishing  of  Brotherhoods  create  piety 
made  nothing  perfect ;    rales  cannot  make  evangelists.     Tl 
and  the  rule  come  after  saintship,  and  rarely,  if  ever,  do  tl 
cede  it.      Th«  heavenly  flame  rests  on  some  human  souL 
within  him,  and  with  the  Prophet  he  feels  the  fire  of  God  ; " 
to  work  some  deliverance  upon  the  doubts.     Like  the  Aposf 
necessity  is  laid  upon  him ;  the  worst   woe   which  can   bf 
disobedience  to  a  necessity  wliich,  like  aU  the  higher  pasf 
is  often  a  torment  and  a  delight.      While  such   a  man  I 
which  he  has  chosen  is  noble  and  real.      Tlio  same  is  fcrni 
in   whom   a   kindred   spirit  lives.     The   spirit  finds  itp 
•  Xational  Bemcu,  No.  70,  p.  597. 


I890]  BROTHERHOODS.  35 

zation.  The  rules  which  are  laid  down  are  the  expression  of  the  life 
which  is  in  them  and  of  the  spirit  into  which  they  have  been  baptized. 
Their  zeal,  like  a  river,  makes  its  own  banks  by  following  the  course 
of  its  own  nature.  But  even  in  the  most  favoured  conditions  the 
gentler  life  which  gathers  round  the  holy  spires  is  not  all  that  hope 
painted  it — 

"  The  potent  call 
Doubtless  shall  cheat  full  oft  the  heart's  desires." 

The  favourable  conditions,  moreover,  cannot  last  always.  The  gene- 
ration will  arise  which  retains  the  form,  but  which  has  lost  the 
animating  spirit.  There  comes  a  time  when  the  noble  river  runs 
dry  ;  deadness  and  dryness  take  the  place  of  freshness  and  murmur- 
ing life.  Then,  because  the  spirit  which  gave  vital  force  to  the  move- 
ment is  no  longer  there,  the  rules  lose  their  force  and  value;  the 
commandment  becomes  the  means  of  death ;  the  organization  sinks 
beneath  its  own  weight.  When  Saul  is  gone  it  wUl  not  do  for  David, 
to  wear  his  armour ;  when  Achilles  has  passed  away  lesser  men  may 
but  wound  their  hands  and  snap  their  muscles  in  striving  to  bend  his 
bow.  The  spirit  may  inspire  rules.  Kules  cannot  restore  the  spirit. 
When  we  have  the  men  we  shall  have  the  organization ;  but  it  is  ill 
hoping  that  by  adopting  an  organization  we  shall  be  in  possession  of 
the  power  to  work  them.  Above  all,  let  us  avoid  the  belief  that  we 
can  ever  be  great  or  achieve  great  things  by  imitation.  Those  who 
play  the  frog  woo  disaster.  If  the  spirit  which  is  in  our  midst  be  a 
true  spirit,  it  must  adapt  its  organization  to  the  needs  of  our  own  age. 
It  will  draw  useful  hints  from  the  past,  but  it  will  avoid  all  slavish 
and  mechanical  imitation  of  it.  By  virtue  of  its  own  real  life,  it  will 
quicken,  arouse,  and  direct  all  kindred  zeal.  Wherever  a  man  in 
whom  the  true  spirit  dwells  arises  to  work  among  the  sons  of  men, 
brothers  like-minded  will  gather  round  his  standard,  and  the  work  of 
such  men  can  never  be  in  vain. 

W.  B.  RiPON, 


[JAM. 


THE   LATEST  THEORIES  ON  THE  ORIGIN 
OF  THE  ENGLISH. 


WHEN,  one  is  sometimes  tempted  to  ask  in  sheer  weariness,  will 
any  man  be  able  to  say  the  last  word  on  that  question  of  the 
West  which  bids  fair  to  be  as  eternal  as  any  question  of  the  East,  the 
<|uestion  whether  we,  the  English  people,  are  ourselves  or  somebody 
flse  ?  That  formula  is  not  a  new  one  ;  some  of  us  have,  in  si'ason 
and  out  of  season,  through  evil  report  and  good  report,  been  fighting 
out  that  question  for  not  a  few  years.  If  it  is  wearisome  to  have  to 
fight  it  out  still,  there  is  some  little  relief  in  having  to  fight  it  out 
in  -a  wholly  new  shape  and  with  a  wholly  new  set  of  adversaries.  It 
is  an  experience  which  has  at  least  the  charm  of  novelty  when  wv  have 
to  argue  the  old  question,  who  are  we,  whence  we  came,  from  a 
|x)int  of  view  which  might  make  it  possible,  with  the  exercise  of  a  little 
ingenuity,  to  avoid  ever  using  the  words  "  Celt,"  "  Briton,"  or  "  llonian  " 
at  all.  On  the  other  hand,  the  strife  in  its  new  form  has  become^ 
more  deadly ;  the  assault  has  become  more  threatening.  Hitherto  we 
have  fought  for  victory,  for  dominion,  for  what,  if  one  adopted  the 
high-polite  style  of  a  Lord  Mayor's  feast,  one  might  call  "  the 
Imperial  instincts  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race."  We  have  had  to  fight 
to  prove  our  greatness  against  people  who  told  us  that  we  were 
not  so  great  as  we  thought.  Angles  and  Saxons,  we  were  told,  were 
only  one  element,  perhaps  a  very  inferior  element,  in  the  population 
of  Britain.  Still  nobody  denied  that  we  had  some  place  in  the  world, 
some  place  in  this  island.  It  might  be  a  very  small  place  annpared 
with  that  of  the  Celt  who  went  before  us  or  of  the  Nonnan  who 
came  after  us.  Still  we  had  some  place.  Nobody  denied  that  there 
had  been  Angles  and  Saxons  in  the  isle  of  Britain.  Nobody  denied 
that  those  Angles  and  Saxons   had  had  some  share  in  the  history  of 


iSgo] 


THE    ORIGIN   OF  THE   ENGLISH. 


37 


the  isle  of  Britain.  Nobody — save,  I  believe,  one  thorougU-going 
man  at  Liverpool — denied  that  those  Angles  and  Saxons  had  supplied 
some  part,  however  mean  a  part,  to  the  tongue  now  spoken  over  the 
larger  part,  of  Britain.  Nobody,  I  fancy,  ever  denied  that  to  the  mixed 
ancestry  of  the  present  inhabitants  of  Britain  Angles  and  Saxons  had 
contributed  some  elements,  however  paltry.  The  fight  seemed  hard, 
and  we  did  not  know  that  there  was  a  harder  fight  coming.  For  now 
the  strife  is  not  for  victory  or  dominion,  but  for  life.  The  question  is 
no  longer  whether  Angles  and  Sasons  have  played  a  greater  or  a  less 
part  in  the  history  of  Britain.  It  now  is,  whether  there  ever  were 
any  Angles  or  Saxons  in  Britain  at  all,  perhaps  whether  there  ever 
were  any  Angles  or  Saxons  anywhere.  Or  more  truly,  the  question 
takes  a  form  of  much  greater  subtlety.  Our  new  teachers  ask  us, 
i^ometimes  seemingly  without  knowing  what  they  are  asking,  to  believe 
a  doctrine  that  is  strange  indeed.  The  latest  doctrine,  brought  to  its 
real  substance,  comes  to  this :  we  are  not  Angles  and  Saxons  ;  we  did 
not  come  from  the  laud  of  the  Angles  and  Saxons ;  we  are  some 
other  people  who  came  from  some  other  land  ;  only  by  some  strange 
chance,  we  were  led  to  believe  that  we  were  Angles  and  Saxons,  to 
take  the  name  of  Angles  and  Saxons,  and  even  to  speak  tlie  tongue 
which  we  should  have  spoken  if  we  had  been  such.  Or  to  oome  back 
to  the  old  formula  wi(h  which  we  began,  we  are  not  really  ourselves,  but 
somebody  else  ;  only  at  some  stage  of  our  life  we  fell  in  with  ingenious 
schoolmasters,  who  cunningly  persuaded  us  that  wo  were  ourselves. 

On  the  old  controversy  I  need  not  enter  again  now.  That  con- 
troversy might  have  been  much  shorter  if  clever  talkers  would  have 
taken  the  trouble  to  find  out  what  those  whom  they  were  talking 
about  had  really  said.  Many  statements  have  been  made,  many  jokes 
have  been  joked,  many  outcries  have  been  raised,  some  ingenious 
names  have  been  invented,  nay,  even  some  arguments  have  been 
brought,  and  all  about  doctrines  which  no  man  in  this  world  ever 
held.  Personally  I  have  nothing  more  to  say  on  the  matter.  I  have 
had  my  say :  anybody  that  cares  to  know  what  that  say  is,  may 
read  it  for  himself.*  I  will  make  only  one  remark  on  a  single  state- 
ment which  I  have  casually  lighted  on,  and  which  is  on  the  whole 
the  very  strangest  that  I  have  ever  seen.  T  find  in  a  volume  of  a 
series  which  comes  under  the  respectable  name  of  the  Society  for 
Promoting  Christian  Knowledge,  a  series  to  which  Oxford  Professors 
and  Examiners  contribute,  a  book  which  has  a  book  by  ^Ir.  Rhys 
liefore  it  and  a  book  by  Mr.  Hunt  after  it.  this  amazing  saying  : 
•'  Florence  uses  the  strange  expression  that  Eadgar  was  chosen  by 
the   Anglo-Britons."  f     Strange    indeed,   if  Florence  had   ever  usetl 

•  I  intist  refer  to  what  I  have  said  on  "Teutonic  Conqnpst  in  Gaul  nnfl  Rril.-iiii  "  in 
*•  Fonr  Oxford  Lectures''  (Macmillan,  1888)  and  to  the  EK«ay  on  "Race  and  Language  " 
in  the  third  Scries  of  Historical  £$favs. 

t  "  Anglo-Siaon  Britain,  by  Grant' Allen.  B.A.,"  ^.  V\1.  "E\ia tw^-^w^k* •s^-"'^'****** 


88 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


tJ 


it ;  but  to  say  tliat  he  did  use  it  surely  goes  beyond   the  admit 
literary  and  *'  stylistic "  license  of  making  pi'ople.  old  or  new, 
what  they  never  did  say.      But  the  saying  is  instnjctive  ;  it  shows  he 
some  writers,  somt-tiines  more   famous  writers,  now  and  then  get 
their  facts.     One  received   way  is  to  glance  at  a  pa^  of  an  origins) 
writer,   to  have  the   eye   caught   hy   a  word,  to  write  down  another 
word  that  looks  a  little  like  it,  and  to  in\'ent  facts  that  suit  the  word 
written  down.     To  roll  two  independent  worda  into  a  com]X)und  word 
with  a  hyphen  is  perhaps  a  little  stronger,  but  only  a  little.      Florence 
says  something  about  Englishmen  in  one  line   and  something  about 
Britains  in  another  line  not  far  off     Roll  them  together ;  make  a  new 
fellow  to  Anglo-Saxons  and  ^nglo-Cat holies,  and  we  get  the  "  strange 
expression,"  and  the   stranger  fact.   alx>nt   Eadgar  and  the  **  Anglo- 
Britains."     Yet   even  with  a   creator  of  ^*' Anglo-Britons''  we  may 
make    peace  for  the   present.      There   is  allowed  to  be    something 
"Anglo"  in  the  matter.     And  that  for  the  present  is  enough.     Thft 
old  question  was,  after  all,  simply  one  of  less  and  more.     There  was 
some  "  Anglo "  something ;  only   how   much  ?     He   who   shall   say 
that  the  present  English-speaking  people  of  Britain   are   Angles  and 
Saxons  who  have  assimilated  certain  infusions,  British  and  otherwise, 
and  he  who  shall  say  that  the   English-speaking  people  of  Britain  are 
Iberians,    Ci^Ifs^   Iion],in.s,    anything,    who  have  received  just  enough 
of  AngUau  and  iSaxon  infusion  t4>  be   entitled  to  be   called  "  Anglo- 
Britons,"  maintain  doctrines  that  differ  a  good  deal  from  one  anotluT. 
Still  it  is  only  a  difference  in  degree.      Both  sides  may  encamp  together 
in    the    struggle   with  tlie    new    adversaries.     AN'hether    the    Anglo 
assiniilat<>d  tlie  Briton  or  the   Briton  assimilated  the  Angle,  there  wa*' 
some  "  Anglo  "  element  in  the  business.     It  is  serious  for  both  to  b 
told  that  there  never  was  any  '■'  Anglo  "  element  at  all,  while  accordir 
to  one  view,  there  could  hardly  havo  been  Briton  enough  to  have  ^ 
"  Anglo  ''  element,  if  there  had  been  any,  hyphened  on  to  liim. 

We  have  in    this  matter  to   deal  with    two  writers,  whom  it  n 
seem  somewhat  strange  to  group  together.     W .  Dn  C'hailln  has  star 
ns,  one  may  venture  to  say  that  he  has  amused  up,  by  a  doctrine 
a  good  many  tribes  or   nations  wliich  have  liithrrto  gone  about 
tribal  or  national  names  had  no  right  to  any  national  names  at  9 
only  to  the  name  of  an  occupation.      The  Franks  of  the  third  c 
the  Saxons  of  the  tifth,  were  not  Franks  or  Saxons,  but  "V 
Being    *•  Vikings,"  they    may   have    been    Suiones,  Swedes, 
Norwegians  ;   but  the  chief  thing  is  to  be  "  Vikings  ; "'  they  1 
the   "  Viking  age."      On  this  teaching  I  shall  say  a  few  nir 
presently.     I  want  just    now   to  point   out  that,  accordir 

(950)  are  :  "Rex  Mercenvinni  Eailparns,  ;ih  omni  Anploriim  pojniln  ilectv 
.tuaj  16,  advcntus  veri  Aiiglnrum  in  Britaiiiiiani  quiiiffentesimo,  3b3autcm 
Angustines  ct  socii  ejus   in   Angliam   venerunt.''     No  words  could  be 
chosen. 


i89o] 


THE    ORIGIN   OF   THE   ENGLISH. 


39 


Viking  doctrine,  we  must  have  come  from  lands  further  to  the  north 
tlian  we  have  commonly  thought.  And  this  doctrine  I  wish  to  contrast 
with  Einother,  which  has  been  less  noticed  than  one  might  have 
expected,  according  to  which  we  must  have  come  from  lands  mnch 
further  to  the  south  than  we  have  commonly  thought.  Of  these  tw<> 
doctrines,  the  first  comes  to  this,  that  Angles  and  Saxons  are  all  a 
mistake.  There  was  no  migration  into  Britain  from  the  lands  which 
we  have  been  taught  to  look  on  as  the  older  England  and  the  older 
Saxony  :  the  name  of  Angle  and  Saxon  came  somehow  to  be  wrongly 
applied  to  people  who  were  really  Suiones  or  others  entitled  to  be 
called  Vikings.  I  am  not  suro  that  I  should  have  thought  this 
doctrine,  at  least  as  set  forth  by  M.  Du  Chaillu,  worthy  of  any  serious 
examination,  had  it  not  been  for  the  singular  relation  in  which  it 
stands  to  the  other  slightly  older  teaching  which,  when  we  strive  to 
obey  the  precept, 

"Antiqiiam  eiquirite  miitrem," 

bids  us  look,  not  further  to  the  north  than  usual,  hut  further  to  the 
south.  According  to  this  teaching,  there  may  have  been  some  Saxons 
from  North  Germany  among  tlioTeutonic  settlers  in  Britain,  but  themiun 
body  came  from  a  more  southern  land.  Those  two  doctrines,  very  opposit** 
t/O  one  another,  but  both  upsetting  most  things  which  we  have  hitherto 
believed,  have  been  pnt  forward  in  a  singularly  casual  way.  Some  will 
perhaps  be  a  little  amazed  when  for  the  southern  doctrine  I  send  them 
to  Mr.  Seebohm's  well-known  book  "  The  English  Village  Community." 
There  it  certainly  is  ;  it  is  not  exactly  set  forth  by  Mr.  Secbohm,  but 
it  has  at  least  dropped  from  him,  and  the  opposite  doctrine  has  not 
much  more  than  dj-opped  from  M.  Du  Chaillu.  Both  teachings  are 
thrown  on  the  world  in  a  strangely  casual  sort,  as  mere  appendages  to 
something  held  to  be  of  greater  moment.  Still  M.  Du  Chaillu  does 
put  forth  his  view  as  a  view  ;  Mr.  Soebohm  lets  fall  his  pearls,  if  they 
be  pearls,  seemingly  without  knowing  that  they  have  fallen  from  him. 
I  am  not  going  to  discuss  any  of  ilr.  Seebohm's  special  theories, 
about  manors  or  serfdom,  about  one-held  or  three-tield  culture.  Mr. 
Seebohm's  views  on  these  matters,  whether  we  accept  them  or  not, 
are,  as  the  evident  result  of  honest  work  at  original  materials, 
eminently  entitled  to  be  weighed,  and,  if  need  be,  to  be  answered. 
And  in  any  case  we  can  at  least  give  onr  best  thanks  to  Mr.  Seebohm 
for  his  maps  and  descriptions  of  the  manor  of  Hitchin,  a  happy 
survival  in  our  day  of  a  state  of  things  which  in  most  places  has 
passed  away.  What  I  have  to  deal  with  now,  as  far  aa  Sir.  Seebohm 
is  concerned,  is  to  be  found  in  one  or  two  passages  in  his  book,  in 
which,  as  I  have  hinted,  he  lets  fall,  in  a  perfectly  casual  way, 
doctrines  which  go  far  to  upset  all  that  lia.s  hitherto  been  held  as  to 
the  early  history  of  the  English  folk. 

Now  a  wholly  new  teaching  on  such  a  matter  as  the  begjLxi.\i.vBs?^  ^"v 


40  THE   CONTEMPORARY     REVIEW.  [Jaw. 

our  national  life  in  onr  present  land,  is  surely  a  matter  of  some  im- 
portance. If  it  is  true,  it  is  a  great  discovery,  entitled  to  be  set 
forth  as  a  great  discover}',  with  the  proudest  possible  flourish  of 
trumpets.  The  new  teaching  should  surely  be  set  forth  in  the  fullest 
and  clearest  shape,  with  the  fullest  statement  of  the  evidence  on  which 
it  resta.  But  with  Mr.  Seebohm  the  new  doctrine  drops  out  quite 
suddenly  and  incidentally,  as  a  point  of  detail  which  does  not  very 
Tiiuch  matter.  The  belief  as  to  their  own  origin  which  the  English  of 
Britain  have  held  ever  since  there  have  l>een  Englishmen  in  Britain 
sfiems  to  Mr.  Seebohm  not  to  agi-ee  with  his  doctrines  about  culture 
and  tenures  of  land.  It  is  by  no  means  clear  that  there  is  any 
r(^al  contradiction  between  the  two,  but  Mr.  iSeelx)hm  thinks  that 
there  is.  He  is  so  convinced  of  the  certainty  of  his  own  theorj'  that 
tlie  great  facts  of  the  world's  history  must  give  way  if  they  cannot  be 
reconciled  with  it.  The  strange  thing  is  that  Mr.  Seebohm  does  not 
sr/cm  the  least  proud  of  his  great  discovery  ;  he  hardly  seems  to  feel 
that  he  has  made  any  discovery :  he  is  less  excited  alwut  a  pro- 
position which  makes  a  complete  revolution  in  Knglish  History  than 
some  are  when  they  think  that  they  have  corrected  a  date  by  half  an 
hour,  or  have  proved  some  one's  statement  of  a  distance  to  be  wrong 
by  a  furlong.  All  turns  on  the  "  one-field  system  '*  and  the  "three- 
field  system."  The  three-field  system  existed  in  England ;  it  existed 
in  certain  parts  of  Germany  ;  but  it  did  not  exist  in  those  parts  of 
<«<'rmany  which  were  inhabited  by  Angles  and  Saxons.  Therefore,  if 
Britain  had  any  Teutonic  settlera  at  all,  they  must  have  come  from  some 
other  part,  and  not  from  the  land  of  the  Angles  and  Saxons.  Only 
to  judge  from  Mr.  Seebohm's  tone,  the  question  whence  they  cam 
or  whether  they  came  from  anywhere,  is  a  question  hardly  wort 
thinking  about,  compared  with  matters  so  much  more  weighty  as  t) 
system  of  "  one-field  "  or  of  "three." 

Our  first  foreshadowing  of  what  is  coming  is  found  at  page  37f 
Mr.  Seebohm's  book  : — 

"  Now,  possibly  this  one-field  sybteui,  witli  its  marling  and  poiit  m 
may  have  been  the  system  described  by  Pliny  as  prevalent  in  Belpc  1 
iind  Gaul  before  the  Romnn  conquest,  but  cei-tiiinly   it  is   not  the  ; 
provalent  in  England  under  Saxon  rule.     And  yet  tills  «Hstrict  wlu 
ono-field  system  is  prevalent  in  Germany  is  precisely  the  distinct  fix>m 
.wcording  to  the  coiiinion  theory,  the  Anglo-Saxon  invadei-s  of  Britai 
It  is  precisely  the  district  of  Germany  where  tlie  three-field  systcn 
s|)icuon8ly  absent.     So  that  although  Nasse  and  Waitz  soniewli 
suggested  that  the  Saxons  had  introduced  the  thi-ec-tiold  sy.'>tfni  into 
\\axi«s&n,  OBBUvnvg  that  the  invaders  of  Eiujland  came  from  the  v 
fid(?ntly  denies  that  this  was  po,<sible.     *  The  Anglo-Saxons  and  the 
;t.iid   Low  Germans  and  Jutes  who  came  with  them    to    Englut 
( he  writes)  have  brought  the  three-field  system  with  them  intr 
liocauso  they  did  not  themselves  use  it  at  home  in  North-west  Ge 


189^} 


THE    ORIGIN   OF   THE   ENGLISH. 


41 


Jutland.'  *     He  adds  that  even  in  later  times  the  three-field  sj'stem  has 
never  been  able  to  obtain  a  firm  footing  in  these  coast  district**." 

It  is  wonderful  indeed  to  find  the  origin  of  the  EDglisli  people  thus 
dealt  with  as  a  small  accident  of  questions  abont  marling  and  peat 
manare.  Hanssen  confidently  denies  that  the  Angles  and  Saxons 
could  have  brought  the  three-field  system  into  Britain  from  their  old 
home.  And,  if  it  be  true  that  the  three-field  system  was  never  known 
in  their  older  home,  he  assuredly  does  right  confidently  to  deny  it. 
Only  why  should  so  much  be  made  to  turn  on  the  diflerenfc  modes  of 
culture  followed  iti  the  continental  and  the  insular  English  land  ?  If 
the  one-field  system  suited  the  soil  of  the  old  Angeln  and  the  old 
Saxony,  while  tlie  three-field  system  better  suited  the  soil  of  East- 
Anglia  or  Su8.sex,  surely  our  Angles  and  Saxons  would  have  sense 
enough  to  follow  iu  each  land  the  system  which  suited  that  land.  If 
they  found  that  the  kind  of  husbandry  which  suited  the  soil  of  their 
old  home  did  not  sxut  the  soil  of  their  new  home,  th^y  would  surely 
invent  or  adopt  some  other  kind  of  husbandly  which  did  suit  it.  But 
in  any  cose,  if  the  acceptance  of  a  certain  doctrine  about  the  "  one- 
field  system  with  its  marling  and  peat  manure  "  involves  nothing  short 
of  all  that  Mr.  Seebohm  assures  us  that  it  drjes  involve,  it  would  surely 
have  been  worth  while  to  think  abont  the  marling  and  the  peat  manure  a 
second  time  by  the  light  of  what  had  hitherto  been  looked  on  as  the 
broad  facts  nf  the  history  of  England  and  Kurope.  These  last  may 
be  wrong  ;  but  they  are  surely  at  least  worthy  of  being  thought  over 
before  they  are  cast  aside.  But  with  Mr.  Seebohm  the  "  common 
theory  " — that  is  the  recorded  history  of  the  English  people — is  not 
worth  a  thought ;  it  may  go  anywhere.  '•  Hanssen  assumes  that  the 
invaders  of  England  came  from  the  north."  That  will  do  for  th*- 
present;  let  them  come  from  any  land,  so  that  it  be  not  aland 
that  practises  "the  one-field  trystem  with  its  marling  and  peat- 
manure." 

Some  way  further  on  (p.  410)  Mr.  Seebohm  has  another  passage, 
in  which,  seemingly  with  the  same  words  of  Hanssen  before  him,  he 
throws  ont.  still  very  casually  bnt  not  quite  so  casually  as  before,  an 
exactly  opposite  doctrine. 

"  We  have  already  quoted  the  strout;  conclusion  of  Ilanssen  that  the 
Anplo-Sjixon  invaders  and  their  Frisian  Low  Cerman  and  Jutish  companions 
could  not  introduce  into  Knglaud  a  system  to  which  they  were  not  accustomctl 
at  home.  It  must  be  admitted  that  the  conspicuous  absence  of  the  tbi'<H- 
field  system  from  the  North  of  Germany  does  not,  however,  absolutel 
dispose  of  the  possibility  that  the  system  was  imjtoitcd  into  England  f i 

*  The  text  of  Hanssen,  Aijrarhistorischo  Abtiandlnnpcn,  i.  490,  stands  thus:  "j 
dip   AngdsaoL.sen   und   die  welohe  niit  ihnen   nach  Knplanii  peropen    mein  xr 
FriescD,  Niedertaelutn,  Jiiten,  kcinnen  die  Drfifelderwirtbschaft  nicht  Jiaob  K 
tnitgcbrachl  bfibcn.  weil  .-^ie  sie  in  ihrer  Heinat  selbcr  in  nordwcstlichcn  DouU 
und  jatland  nicbt  betriebetl  hntten." 


42 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jajj. 


those  districts  of  Middle  Germany  reaching  from  Westphalia  t<j  Thuringia 
where  the  system  undoubtedly  existed.  It  i-a  at  least  possible  thai  titr. 
invaders  of  En<jlan(l  mntf  have  proceeded  /rom  thcnre  rather  l/ian,  a-8 
comnumly  supposed,  from  the  regions  on  Uie  northern  const." 

Tt  is  hardly  worth  while  to  stop  to  comment  at  any  length  on  the 
confusion  of  thought  implied  in  such  phrases  as  "Anglo-Saxon  invaders 
of  England."  As  there  can  be  no  Avf/lia  till  there  are  Anffli,  they 
would  literally  imply  that  a  band  of  Angles  first  came  into  Britain 
by  themselves,  that  they  set  up  an  England  therein,  and  then  sent 
tio  their  hyphened  kinsfolk  on  the  mainland,  to  come  after  them  to 
share,  and  doubtless  to  enlarge,  that  England.  But  of  course  %vhat 
Mr.  Seebohm  means  by  "  invaders  of  England  "  are  those  who  out  of 
part  of  Britain  made  an  England  for  certain  later  people  to  invade. 
We  have  got  back  to  the  days  of  our  graudmothei"s,  when  our  little 
books  told  us  how  Ctesar  was  "  resisted  by  the  English  people,  who 
were  then  called  the  Britons."  We  have  perhaps  got  back  to  th© 
days  of  good  old  Tilleniont,  who  attrilmtes  all  that  was  done  on  the 
native  side  during  the  Roman  occupation  of  Britain  to  "  les  Anglois." 
The  confusion  however  belongs  to  the  German  writer  ;  Mr.  Seebohm 
simply  copies  liim.  And  in  one  point,  Mr.  Seebohm,  after  some 
striving  with  himself,  has  corrected  a  still  stranger  confusion  of  his 
guide.  In  his  first  edition  the  Niethritar.hsen,  which  Hanssen  so  oddly 
couples  with  Ajif/dsachsfTi,  appear  in  one  place  as  *'  Low-Germans," 
in  another  as  "  Low-Saxons."  In  a  later  revision  the  ''  Low-Saxons  " 
have  vanished.*  Bat  to  couple  "  Low-German,"  the  whole,  with 
Anglo-Saxons,  Frisians,  &c.,  each  of  them  parts  of  that  whole,  is, 
as  a  logical  division,  even  stranger  than  to  couple  Angdsarhscn  and 
Niedersachstn.  This  la.st  phrase  implies  "  High-Saxons ''  somewhere, 
and  it  might  not  be  an  ill-guess  that  they  are  the  same  as  the 
"  Anglo-Saxon  invaders  of  England,"  who  came  from  somewhere 
in  Middle  Germany.  Only  how  is  this  doctrine  to  be  reconciled  with 
the  "assumption"  that  "'the  invaders  of  England  came  from  the 
North  ? "  Taking  it  by  itself,  the  southern  theory  comes  to  this. 
The  main  body  of  the  invaders,  '■  Anglo-Saxons,"  "  High-Saxons," 
whatever  they  arc  to  be  called,  started  from  Middle  Germ.any,  from 
some  point  between  Westfalia  and  Thuringia,  from  some  part  far  away 
from  marling  and  peat  manure.  But  on  their  road  to  Britain  they 
fell  in  with  certain  compfuiions,  Frisians,  Low-Saxons,  Jutes,  all 
seemingly  from  the  marling  and  peat  manure  country.  In  company 
with  them  they  came  into  Britain,  to  a  jjart  of  it  which  had  somehow 
already  bfcome  "  England." 

This  seemingly  is  the  doctrine  which  is  casually  thrown  out  in  the 


*  In  Mr.  Bechohm's  first  edition,  the  word  in  the  second  extract  was  "  Low-Saxon"; 
in  the  third  it  if?  '*  Low-Gerraan."  Hanssen'a  word  is  Nitdenachum,  If  hi?  is  thinking 
of  the  circle  of  Niederiaehscn  in  later  Oermon  geography,  it  docs  not  at  alJ  holp  him. 


1890] 


THE    ORIGIN   OF   THE   ENGLISH. 


43 


second  of  our  f|Tiotations  from  Mr.  Seebolim.     Now,  if  wo  could  only 
get  rid    of    hyphened   words,    and    talk    simply    of    "  Angles "   or 
"English,"  it  would  help  Mr.  Scobohm's  case  not  a  little.     The  odd 
thing  is  that,  in  arguLng  against  Mr.  Seebohm'a  case,   one  has  first  to 
put  together  his  case  for  him.     In  his  casual  way  of  putting  things, 
he  does  not  seoni  to  know  how  much  might  have  bt.'en  really  said  on 
behalf  of  something  very  like  the  view  which  he  lets  fall.     In  the 
older  edition  of  Rpruner's  Atlas  Mr.  Seebohm  would  have  found  an 
English  land  marked  for  him  in  the  very  part  of  Germany  where  he 
wonld  have  most  wished  for  it.      There  was  an  Avgdn  shown  clearly 
enoagh  between  Westfalia  and  Thuringia,  and  whatever  was  to  be  said 
about  the  branch  of  the  Angles  who  were  held  to  have  dwelled  there 
WBB  carefully  brought  together  by  Zeuss.*      Unluckily  this  inland 
Angeln  has  vanished  from  the  revised  Spmner-Menke,  as  also  from  the 
new  atlas  of  Droysen.      It  might  therefore  be  dangerous  to  build  any 
theories  on  the  subject  without  going  deeply  into  the  whole  question; 
but  jnst'  such  an  Angeln  as  suited  Mr.  Seebohra's  theory  was  there,  accord- 
ing to  the  best  lights,  at  the  time  that  Mr.  iSeebohm  wrote.     If  he  was 
not  aware  of  this,  his  stumbling  by  an  tt  priori  road  on  a  doctrine  actually 
supported  by  such  respectable  authorities  is  one  of  the  strangest  of  un- 
designed coincidences.      If  he  was  aware  of  it,  it  is  almost  more  strange 
tiiat  ho  should  not  have  thought  it  worth  wliile  to  refer  to  a  fact  or  sup- 
posed fact  of  so  much  value  for  his  case.      With  its  help  that  case  could 
bo  put  in  a  very  taking  shape.      These  central  Angles,  used  to  a  three- 
field  system,  set  out  to  go  somewhither ;  it  need  not  have  Ijeen  to  Britain. 
On  the  road  they  fall  in  with  companions,  Saxon,  Low-Saxon,  Frisian, 
Jutish,  anything  else.      These  sea-faring  folk  would  doubtless  know  the 
way  to  Britain  much  better  than  the  Angles  of  illddle  Germany.     They 
suggest  the  course  that  the  erpedition  should  take  ;  and  the  uniteil  force 
crosMB  the  sea  in  as  many  keels  as  might  be  needful.      It  may  even  bn, 
if  anybody  chooses,  that  the  inland  Angles,  entering  into  partnership 
with  the  sea-faring  Saxons,  first  set  foot  on  British  soil  undtr  tlio  stjde, 
already  duly  hyphened,  of  "  Anglo-Saxons."     To  be  sure  in  Britain 
iteelf  the  compound  name  was  not  heard  till  some  ages  later,  and  then 
only  in  a  very  special  and  narrow  sense.      But  on  the  mainland  it  was 
knrtwn  much  earlier.      Paul  the  Deacon  uses  it ;  f  it  may  have  been 
earlier  Btill.    So  there  is  really  avery  fair  case  made  out  for  "  Anglo- 
ron  invaders  of  Britain  "  coming  from  Mid-Germany,  and  no  doubt 
'  bringing  the  three-field  system  with  them.     We  have  only  to  suppose 
that  in  thf  matterof  agriculture,  some  such  agreement  was  made  between 
the  difiercnt  clas.ses  of  settlers  as  we  know  was  sometimes  made  among 

«  **  Die  Doutschcn  nnd  die  Nnch)  an-iiinimc,"  153,  c.f.  495.   It  would  be  dangcrons  to 
^■■^casuidly  and  light-heartedlj,  on  questions  about  " Angrivarii,"  "Engem,"  and 

T^Kil  tbe  Deacon  speaks  of  "  Angli-Saxones,"  iv.  22,  \\.  15,  and  "Sazoiu»  Angli," 
37.    Yen  oOcr  iZBtaoocm  see  Xonnan  Conooe^t,  i.  Ml. 


44 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jan. 


oint  settlers  in  early  times.  The  Sicilian  Naxos  reckoned  as  a  colony 
of  Ohalkig,  but  it  took  its  name  from  the  elder  Naxos.  In  Himera, 
peopled  by  Dorians  and  Chalkidians,  the  speech  was  mingled,  but  tl>e 
laws  were  Chalkidian.  So  in  the  Anglo-Saxon  colonization  of  Britain, 
it  was  evidently  agreed  that  the  Angles  should  bring  their  system  of 
three-field  culture  into  the  conquered  land ;  the  Saxons,  Low- 
Saxons,  Frisians  and  Jutes,  any  other  votaries  of  marling  and  peat 
manure,  had  to  conform  to  the  practice  of  their  betters. 

There  would  still  remain  the  question  of  language,  a  point  of  which 
Mr.  Seebohm  does  not  seem  to  have  thought,  but  on  which  Zeuss 
underwent  some  searchinga  of  heart.  He  puts  the  question,  without 
very  positively  settling  it,  whether  Angles  who  dwelled  so  far  south 
spoke  High-Dutch  or  Low,  In  the  fifth  century  indeed  the  question 
could  hardly  have  been  of  the  same  moment  as  it  would  iiave  been  in 
the  ninth.  The  High-Dutch  had  not  as  yet  wholly  parted  company 
with  the  low.  Still  the  point  is  worth  thinking  of.  Those  who  use 
the  one-iield  and  the  peat  manure  have  ever  belonged  to  the  ranks  of 
men  who  eaten  and  drinken.  It  may  be  that  those  who  practised  the 
three-field  cidture  had  already  begun  to  fall  off  to  them  who  essen  and 
trinktn.  But  one  thing  at  least  ia  certain  ;  no  man  ever  did  issen 
and  trinhen  in  this  isle  of  Britain.  If  then  the  Angles  of  the  inland 
England  had  begun  to  adopt  the  more  modern  farms,  something  of 
an  agreement — again  like  that  of  the  Dorians  and  the  Chalkidiana — 
must  have  been  come  to  between  them  and  their  Nether-Dutch  com- 
paniona.  While  the  inland  Angles  had  their  way  in  the  matter  of 
three-field  culture,  the  le8.ser  point  of  language  was  yielded  in  favour 
of  the  sea-faring  Saxons. 

Mr.  Seebohm's  casual  theory  then,  when  worked  out  with  fiom© 
little  care,  really  puts  on  so  winning  an  air  that  it  is  hard  not  to 
rff-ept  it.  Yet,  even  if  we  accept  the  existence  of  an  inland  Angeln 
without  any  doubt,  Mr.  Seebohm's  theory  at  least  would  not  hold 
water.  It  simply  has  against  it  the  universal  belief  of  Englishmen 
from  the  beginning.  In  the  eyes  of  Baeda,  in  the  eyes  of  the 
ChroniclerSj  in  the  eyea  of  the  gleeman  of  Brunanburh,  in  the 
eyes  of  all  who  ever  spoke  or  sang  of  the  great  migration  of  our 
people,  the  Angles,  no  less  than  the  Saxons,  count  among  the  sea- 
faring folk  of  Northern  flermany.  The  England  from  whence  they 
came,  the  England  which  their  coming  was  said  to  have  left  empty  of 
men,  was  the  England  of  the  coast  of  Sleswick,  not  any  inland  England 
between  "Westfalia  and  Thuringia.  At  all  events,  if  we  are  to  believe 
otherwise,  we  have  at  least  a  right  to  ask  that  the  question  shall  be 
thoroughly  discussed  on  its  own  merits,  and  not  tossed  jauntily  aside 
as  a  Email  point  in  the  history  of  the  rotation  of  crops.  Till  then, 
whether  we  believe  that  we  were  called  "  ab  angelica  facie,  id  eat 
pulcra,"  or  merely  because  we  dwelled   "  in  angulo  terne,"  we  shaU 


I 


»89o] 


ORIGIN   OF   THE   ENGLISH. 


still  go  on  believing  that  it  was  from  the  borderland  of  Germany 
and  Denmark  that  our  forefathers  set  forth  to  work  by  sea  their 
share  in  the  Wandering  of  the  Nations.  It  may  be  that  some  of 
the  Anglian  folk  may  well  have  strayed  inland,  as  some  of  the 
Saxon  folk  may  have  strayed  further  inland  still.  But  the  first 
England  of  history,  the  land  from  which  men  set  fortli  to  foiuid 
the  second,  as  from  the  second  they  set  forth  to  found  the  third, 
was  assuredly  no  inland  region  from  which  they  had  to  make 
their  way  to  a  distant  coast  and  there  pick  up  Saxons  or  Frisians 
as  companions  of  their  further  journey.  The  little  England,  the 
little  "  angnlns  ternt?,"  of  Sleswick  was  only  part  of  it.  There 
is  no  need  minutely  to  measure  how  much  was  Anglian,  how 
much  Saxon,  how  much  Frisian,  how  much  belonged  to  any  other 
branch  of  the  common  stock.  In  the  days  of  Tacitus  and  Ptolemy 
the  Angle  and  the  Frisian  were  folk  of  the  mainland  only  ;  by 
the  days  of  Procopius  they  had  won  their  home  in  the  island  to 
part  of  which  one  of  them  was  to  give  his  name. 


"We  came  by  sea.  By  no  other  way  indeed  could  we  make  our  way 
into  an  island.  But  we  came  by  sea  in  another  sense  from  that  in 
which  Roman  Caesar  came  by  sea  before  us  and  Norman  William  camo 
aft«r  us.  We  came  by  sea,  not  simply  because  the  sea  was4  the  only 
road,  but  because  we  came  as  folk  of  the  aea,  to  whom  the  sea  was 
not  a  mere  path  but  a  true  home.  Of  the  details  of  the  purely 
Anglian  settlrment,  and  of  the  Angles  themselves,  we  know  com- 
paratively little,  for  the  obvious  reason  that  they  lay  further  oft'  than 
their  fellows   from  the   range  of   Roman  knowledge.     But   of   the 

I  Saxon  shipmen  and  their  doings  we  know  a  good  deal ;  Sidonius  has 
taken   no   small  pains  to  show  what  manner  of  men    they   seemed 

I  to  be  in  the  eye.s  of  the  Romans  of  Gaul.*  They  first  harried  and 
lh«?n  settled  on  both  sides  of  the  Channel.  That  their  settlements  in 
Britain  were  greater  and  more  abiding  than  their  settlements  in  Gaul 
Mrae  the  result  of  many  later  causes.  The  Saxon  of  Chichester  owes 
his  presence  on  British  ground  to  the  same  general  effort  to  which 
the  Saxon  of  Bayeux  owed  his  presence  on  Gaulish  ground.  The 
Saxon  of  Chichester  keeps  his  Saxon  speech,  and  from  his  land 
the  8axon  name  has  not  passed  away.     The  Saxon  of  Bayeux  has  for 

tages  spoken  the  Latin  tongue  of  his  neighbours,  and,  while  Siissex  yet 
lives  on  the  map,  the  Otli»iiua  ScLconica  has  given  way  to  other 
names,  to  the  Bcssia  and  the  department  of  Cab-ados.  But  each  was 
planted  in  his  new  liome  by  the  force  of  the  same  movement,  the 
Saxon  wandering  on  the  sea.  And  once  planted  in  his  new  home, 
whether  in  the  island  or  on  the  mainland,  ho  ceased  to  be  a  wanderer 
by  sea.     lie  sat  down  and  tilled  the  earth,  and,  he  guarded  the  earth 

«  The  gprcat  description  comes  in  the  sixth  letter  of  the  sevenkb  book. 


46 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jak. 


which  he  tilled  by  the  arroa  no  longer  of  the  sea-farer  but  of  the  land 
warrior.  The  change  is  not  wonderful.  It  has  often  happened 
in  other  lands,  it  has  happened  again  in  the  s^ame  land.  To  be 
sea-faring  folk  or  to  be  landsmen  is  not  always  a  question  of  what 
is  bom  in  the  blood.  Prosaic  as  it  sounds,  it  is  often  the  result  of 
the  circumstances  in  -  which  men  find  themselves.  Sea-faring 
Corinth  planted  at  one  blow  her  twin  colonies  of  Korkyra  and 
Syracuse.  Korkyra  on  her  island  met  her  parent  on  the  seas  with 
Qeets  equal  to  her  own.  Syracuse,  planted  in  an  island  indeed,  bat 
an  island  that  was  in  truth  a  continent,  took  to  the  ways  of  continents. 
IltT  landfolk  were  driven  to  take  to  the  sea  to  meet  the  attacks  of 
those  Athenians  who,  two  or  three  generations  before,  had  been  no 
lees  landfolk  themselves.*  So  it  was  in  the  very  land  of  Bayeux. 
Wlien  the  Northmen  camo  in  their  ships,  neither  Saxon  nor  Frank 
had  ships  to  withstand  them.  Presently  the  sea-farincr  Northmen, 
once  settled  in  the  land,  changed  into  Norman  landfolk,  foremost  of 
warriors  with  horse  and  lance,  bxit  to  whom  the  horses  of  the  wave  had 
become  simply  means  to  carry  them  safe  from  Rhegion  to  Messana, 
or  from  Saint  Valery  to  Pevensey. 

Why,  some  one  may  ask,  do  I  put  forth  again  such  very  obvious 
truths  as  these  ?  Because  they  are  of  no  small  importanct",  if  we  are 
to  discuss  the  latest  theory  of  all  as  to  the  origin  of  tlie  English 
people.  The  only  question  is  whether  that  theory  need  be  discussed 
at  all ;  it  is  hard  to  argue  against  that  state  of  mind  which,  in  the 
days  when  we  learned  logic,  we  used  to  call  igntyraiio  dnichl.  But,  if 
not  discussed,  it  must  be  mentioned.  Perhaps  if  this  newest  view  of 
all  had  not  come  up  the  othi'r  day,  I  might  not  have  chosen  this  time 
to  talk  about  the  views  of  Mr.  Seebohm.  But  when  M.  Du  Chaillu 
puts  forth  his  theory,  it  at  once  recalls  Mr.  Seebohm's  theory.  The 
two  stand  in  a  certain  relation  to  one  another  ;  neither  can  be  fully 
taken  in  without  the  other.  Both  alike  throw  aside  the  recorded  facts 
of  history  in  the  interest  of  a  theory,  be  it  a  theory  of  the  rotation 
of  crops  or  a  theory  of  the  greatness  of  Vikings.  Each  theori.st  alike, 
possessed  of  a  single  thought,  cannot  be  got  to  stop  and  think  what 
there  is  to  be  said  on  the  other  side.  M.  Du  Chaillu  has  put  forth 
two  very  pretty  volumes,  with  abundance  of  illustrations  of  Scandinavian 
objects.  Most  of  them  to  be  sure  will  bo  found  in  various  Scandi- 
navian books ;  still  here  they  are,  very  many  of  them  and  looking 
very  pretty.  M.  Du  Chaillu  has  given  us  a  great  many  translations 
of  Bagas  ;  but  we  liave  seen  other  translations  of  sagas,  and  some  of 
them  have  been  made  by  sound  scholars.  Criticism  is  hardly 
attempted.  When  the  Scandinavian  legend  can  be  tested  by  the 
authentic  English  history,  when  the  saga  itself  ean  be  divided  into 
the  contemporary  and  trustworthy  verse  and  the  later  and  untrust- 

*  Thncydides,  rii.  21. 


A 


t«9o] 


THE    ORIGIN   OF   THE   ENGLISH. 


worthy  prose,— work  all  this  which  has  been  done  over  and  over 
again  by  the  scholars  of  more  than  one  nation — il,  Du  Chaillu 
simply  gives  us  the  sagas  again,  with  comments  now  and  then  of 
amazing  simplicity.  The  saga  of  Harold  Hardrada,  the  bits  of 
genuine  minstrelsy  of  the  eleventh  century  patched  togetlier  by  the 
prose  of  the  thirteenth,  has  been  long  ago  tlioroughly  examined  in  its 
relations  to  the  English  narratives,  above  all  to  the  precious  piece  of 
contemporary  English  minstrelsy  preserved  by  Henry  of  Huntingdon. 
It  might  have  seemed  hardly  needful  now-a-days  to  prove  once  more 
that  the  picture  of  the  English  army  in  the  saga  is  simply  a  fancy 
piece  drawn  from  an  English  army  of  the  thirteenth  century.  There 
are  the  English  archers,  the  English  horsemen,  horsemen  too  whose 
horses  are  sheeted  in  armour.  If  any  man  doubts,  he  has  nothing  to 
do  but  to  compare  Snorro's  fancy  piece  with  the  living  representation 
of  a  real  English  army  of  the  eleventh  century  in  the  contemporary 
tapestry  of  Bayeux.  There  he  will  see  that  to  the  English  of  that 
day  tbe  horse  was  simply  a  means  to  cai*ry  him  to  and  from  the  place 
of  battle,  and  that  the  clothing  of  horses  in  armour  was  a  practice  as 
yet  unknown  to  the  Norman  horsemen  themselves.  Yet  after  all 
this,  so  often  pointed  out,  M.  Du  Chaillu  volunteers  a  little  note 
to  say  that  Snorro's  version  proves  '•  that  the  English,  like  their 
kioamen,  had  horses."  That  we  had  horaes  no  man  save  Procopius* 
ever  doubted ;  but  both  Brihtnoth  aud  Harold  got  down  fi."om  their 
horses  when  the  work  of  battle  was  to  begin. 

It  is  hardly  by  an  adversary  who  cannot  wield  the  weapons  of 
criticism  better  than  this  that  we  shall  be  beaten  out  of  the  belief  that 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  an  English  people  in  Britain.  Perhaps  too 
we  shall  not  be  the  more  inclined  to  give  up  our  national  being,  when 
we  see  its  earliest  records  tossed  aside  with  all  the  ignorant  scorn  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  The  "  Frankish  and  EngUsh  chroniclers"  rank 
very  low  in  the  eyes  of  M.  Du  Chaillu.  We  know  exactly  where  we 
have  got  when  we  come  to  the  old  conventional  talk  about  "  ignorant 
And  bigoted  men,"  "  monkish  scribes,"  and  the  like.  Among  these 
monkish  scribes  we  have  to  reckon  Eiuhard  aud  Count  Nithard, 
and  our  own  literary  ealdorman,  Fabius  Patriciua  Qiiajstor  Ethelwardas. 
The  odd  thing  is  that  with  M.  Du  Chaillu  Franks  aud  Saxons  or 
English  go  together.  He  is  at  least  freu  from  hia  country-men's  usual 
weakness  of  claiming  the  Franks,  their  kings,  their  acts,  and  their 
writisgs,  for  their  own.  As  far  as  Ms  theory  can  bo  made  out,  it 
seems  to  be  this.  The  Sulones  of  Tacitus  are  the  Swedes,  and  the 
Suionee  had  shipw  ;  so  far  no  one  need  cavil.  But  we  do  not  hear  of 
the  Suiones  or  any  other  Scandinavian  people  doing  anything  by  sea 
for  several  centuries.  But  though  we  do  not  hear  of  it,  they  must  have 
been  doing  something.     What  was  it  that  they  did  ?     Now,  in  the 

Bell.  Gottb.  It.  30. 


48 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVlEfV. 


[Jak. 


fourth,  iSfbh,  sixth  centuries,  we  hear  of  the  Saxons  doing  a  good  deal 
by  sea ;  therefore  the  name  Saxxmu  must  be  a  mistake  of  the  Latin 
writers  for  Suumcs.  It  was  not  Saxons,  but  Swedes,  or  at  least 
Scandinavians  of  some  kind,  who  did  all  that  is  recorded  of  the 
Saxons,  and  presumably  of  the  Angles  and  Jutes  also,  in  Ganl,  Britain, 
or  anywhere  else.  The*  Angles  and  Saxons  therefore,  who  have  been 
hitherto  thought  to  have  settled  in  Britain  in  the  fifth  and  sixth 
centuries,  are  all  a  mistake.  They  were  not  Angles  or  Saxons  at  all, 
but  Scandinavians  of  sonif  kind.  Hfugest  and  /Kile  were  simply  the 
advanced  guard  of  Hubba,  Svvet^n,  and  Cnnt.  They  could  not  have 
been  Saxons,  because,  when  the  Northmen  came  against  the  con- 
tinental Saxons  of  later  times,  they  found  no  fleets  to  withstand 
them.  • 

The  assumption  that  goes  through  all  this  is  that,  once  a  seaman 
ever  a  seaman,  once  a  landsman  ever  a  landsman.  These  could  not 
be  sea-faring  Saxons  in  the  fifth  century,  because  we  do  not  hear  of 
Saxon  fleets  in  the  eighth.  On  the  other  hand,  because  the  Suiones 
had  ships  in  the  days  of  Tacitus,  as  they  could  not  have  left  off 
using  ships,  it  mast  have  been  they  who  did  the  acts  which  are 
commonly  attributed  to  the  Saxons.  A  good  deal  is  involved  in  this 
last  assumption  ;  it  is  at  least  conceivable,  and  not  at  all  unlike  the 
later  history  of  Sweden,  that  the  Suiones  wont  on  ustitf?  their  diips, 
bat  used  them  somewhere  else,  and  not  on  thn  coasts  of  Gaul  or 
Britain.  But  of  the  grand  assumption  of  all,  the  assumption  that  the 
landsman  can  never  becomo  a  seaman  or  the  seaman  a  landsman,  I 
have  spoken  already.  And  if  this  be  a  real  difficulty,  it  is  just  as  great  a 
difficulty  on  M.  Dn  Chaillu's  theory  as  it  is  according  to  the  genuine 
records  of  English  history.  Over  and  over  again  has  it  been  noticed 
as  a  strange  thing  that  the  settlers  who  came  to  Britain  by  sea,  as 
soon  as  they  were  settled  in  Britain,  lofb  oft'  their  sea-faring  ways, 
and  had  no  fleet  to  withstand  the  Danes,  wh<^n  the  J^anea  did  come. 
There  is  in  this  reaJly  nothing  wonderful.  Bat  if  this  be  a  difficulty 
in  the  case  of  Anglian  or  Stixon  settlers,  it  is  hard  to  see  how  the 
difficulty  becomes  any  less  if  the  settlers  are  rated  to  be  Swedish, 
Danish,  or  Norwegian. 

In  truth  M.  Du  Chaillu's  throrj'  is  several  degrees  more  amazing 
than  that  of  Mr.  Seebulini.  How  did  wo  come  by  our  language  ? 
How  did  we  come  by  our  national  names  ?  We  did  not  according  to' 
this  theory,  light  by  the  way  on  any  of  those  Low-Saxon,  Frisian,  or 
.Jutish  companions  and  teachers  who,  in  Mr.  Seebohm's  view,  may  have 
done  80  much  for  us.  And  it  is  a  little  daring  of  M.  Du  Chailln  to 
represent  the  use  of  the  Saxon  name,  as  applied  to  the  ravagers  and 
settlers  of  Gaul  and  Britain,  as  simply  the  mistake  of  some  Latin 
scribe,  some  ignorant  blunderers  like  Claudian  or  Sidonius,  who  wrote 
Saivones  when  they  Bbould  have  written  Sttiones.     The  mistake  went  a 


i89o] 


THE    ORIGIN   OF  THE   ENGLISH. 


little  deeper  than  that.  How  came  the  TentoniS  settlers  in  Britain  to 
call  themselves  Angles  and  Saxona  ?  How  did  their  Celtic  neigh- 
bours come  to  call  them  Saxons  ?  How  did  the  conquered  land  come 
to  take,  here  the  Anglian,  there  the  Saxon,  name  ?  One  is  astonished 
to  read  in  M.  Du  Chaillu's  book ;  "  Nor  is  any  part  of  England  called 
^njdaiul."  •  It  is  possible  from  the  context  that  what  is  meant  is  merely 
tliat  no  part  of  England  is  so  called  in  the  Northern  sagaa.  But  the 
name  of  England  comes  often  enough  in  them,  and  England  is  as 
bad  aaSaJ-iitnd  for  M.  Du  Chaillu's  theory.  It  is  hardly  worth  search- 
ing through  all  the  sagas  to  see  whether  such  a  word  as  Saxlaiid  is 
ever  found  there  or  not.  If  it  be  so,  it  merely  proves  that  no  Northern 
writers  bad  any  need  to  speak  of  Wessex,  Essex,  Sussex,  or  Middlesex, 
by  their  local  names.  But  considering  that  those  names  have  been  in 
unbroken  use  in  the  lands  themselves  ever  since  the  fifth  and  sixth 
centuries,  it  does  not  much  matter  whether  any  eagaman  called  them 
so  or  not.  It  is  more  important  from  M.  Du  ChaiUu'a  point  of  view  to 
explain  how  West-Saxons,  East-Saxons,   South-Saxons,  and   Middle- 

ixons,  were  led  into  such  strange  mistakes  as  to  their  own  name 

id  origin. 

No  one  denies  that  the  Scandinavian  infusion  in  England  is  real, 
great,  and  valuable.  Only  it  is  an  infusion  which  dates  from  tlie 
ninth  century  and  not  from  the  fifth  or  sixth.  Danish  writers,  with- 
out going  quite  so  far  as  their  champion  from  Vcdland,  have  often 
greatly  exaggerated  the  amount  of  Scandinavian  influence  in 
England.  They  have  often  set  down  as  signs  of  direct  Scandinavian 
influence  things  which  are  simply  part  of  the  common  heritage  of  the 
Teutonic  race.  But  no  one  doubts  that  the  Danish  infusion  in 
England  was  large,  that  in  some  parts  it  was  dominant.  And  its 
influence  was  wholesome   and  strengthening.      Dane  and  Angle,  Dane 

id  Saxon,  were  near  enough  to  each  other  to  learn  from  one  another 
fcnd  to  profit  by  one  another.  They  were  near  enough  to  be  fused  into 
one  whole  by  a  much  easier  process  than  that  which  in  some  parts  of 
the  island  did  in  the  end  fuse  together  the  Briton  and  the  Teuton. 
Still  the  Scandinavian  infusion  was  but  an  infusion  into  the  already 
existing  English  mass.  As  we  are  not  a  British  people,  but  an  English 
people  with  a  certain  British  infusion,  so  neither  are  we  a  Scandinavian 
people,  but  an  English  people  with  a  certain  Scandinavian  infusion. 

One  word  about  the  Franks,  whose  fate  at  M.  Du  Chaillu's  hands  is 
so  oddly  the  same  as  that  of  the  Saxons.  According  to  him,  as  some 
Suiones  were  mistaken  for  Saxons,  which  gave  rise  to  the  error  of  look- 
ing on  Saxona  as  a  sea-faring  people,  ao  also  some  Suionea  were 
mistaken  for  Franks,  which  gave  rise  to  the  error  of  looking  on  Franks 
OS  a  sea- faring'  people.  But  this  last  error  at  all  events  never  lad  astray 
Any  one.     The  Franks  were  not  a  sea-faring  people,  nor  did  anybody 

♦  "  The  Viking  Ago,"  vol.  i.  p.  20. 
▼OL.  LVn.  D 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

ever  think  that  they  were.  The  whole  notion  of  sen-faring  Franks 
comes  from  two  passages  of  Eumenios  and  Zosimos  which  record  a 
single  exploit  of  certain  Frankish  prisoners,  who  seized  on  some  ships 
in  the  Euxine  and  amazed  mankind  by  sailing  abont  the  Mediterranean, 
doing  macli  damage  in  Sicily  and  getting  back  to  Francia  by  way  of 
the  Ocean.  This  single  voyage,  wonderful  as  it  was,  is  not  quit^  the 
same  thing  as  the  habitual  harrying  of  the  coasts  of  the  Channel,  and 
of  the  Ocean  too,  by  Saxons  in  their  own  ships.  And  when  Ammianiis 
speaks  of  Franks  and  Saxons  laying  waste  the  Roman  territory  by 
land  and  sea,  the  obWous  meaning  sarely  is  that  the  Franks  did  it 
by  land  and  the  Saxons  by  sea.  But  all  things  about  Franks  are 
surely  outdone  by  a  single  sentence  of  M.  Du  Chaillu,  standing 
alone  with  all  the  hononrs  of  a  sepamt©  paragraph, 

"  In  the  Bayeux  tapestry,  the  followers  of  William  the  Conqueror 
were  called  Franci,  and  they  have  always  been  recognized  as  coming 
from  the  North." 


Further  comment  is  needless.  We  decline;  to  be  bronght  from 
the  north  by  M.  Du  Chailln,  even  more  strongly  than  we  decline  to  be 
brought  from  the  south  by  Mr.  Seebohm.  For  Mr.  Seebohm  does 
leave  somi-  scrap  of  separate  national  being  to  the  "Anglo-Saxon 
invaders  "  from  the  English  land  of  Middle  Germany.  M.  Du  Chaillu 
takes  away  our' last  shreds  ;  we  are' mere  impostors,  ^wjo>«s  falsely 
calling  ourselves  Saxones.  But  let  us  speculate  what  might  happen 
if  M.  Du  Chftillu's  theory  should  ever  fall  into  the  hands  of  those 
statesmen  and  princes  of  the  Church  who  seem  to  have  lately  taken 
in  hand  the  nomenclature  of  that  part  of  mankind  whom  plain 
men  may  think  it  enough  to  call  the  English  folk,*  The  other 
day  one  eminent  person  enlarged  on  the  glories  of  the  '*  Anglo- 
Saxon  race,"  while  another  enlarged  instead  on  the  glories  of  the 
"  British  race."  A  third  claimed  the  right  of  free  discussion  for 
all  "  speakers  of  the  British  language."  Let  gallant  little  Wales  look 
out ;  there  would  seem  to  be  some  comer  in  its  twelve  (or  thirteen) 
counties  in  which  free  discussion  is  just  now  not  allowed.  New  names 
often  take.  In  my  youth  the  "  Anglo-Saxon  race  "  was  unheard  of, 
and  the  "  British  race  "  dates,  I  believe,  only  from  the  speech  of  last 
week  from  which  I  quote.  Why  should  the  Suiones,  so  long  and  so 
unfairly  cheated  of  their  honour,  not  have  their  day  at  last  ?  Set 
forth  with  a  good  delivery,  at  the  end  of  a  fine  rolling  period,  ''  the 
Imperial  instincts  of  the  Suionic  race  "  would  be  aa  likely  to  draw 
forth  a  cheer  as  other  phrases  whose  amount  of  meaning  is  very  much 
the  same.     When  will  men,  statesmen  above  all,  learn  that  names  are 

•  See  the  speeches  of  the  Earl  of  Kosebery,  Cardinal  Manning,  and  the  Earl  of 
Camarron  in  the  Zi me*  of  November  16,  188(».  The  qoalification  needful  in  all  such 
cases  must  of  course  be  understood — "if  the  speakers  really  said  what  the  reporters  put 
into  their  mouths. " 


iSgo] 


THE    ORIGIN    OF   THE   ENGLISH. 


51 


facts,  that  words,  as  expressing  things,  are  themselves  things,  that  a 
confused  nomenclatare  marks  confusion  of  thought,  failure  to  grasp 
the  real  nature  of  things  and  the  points  of  likeness  and  unlikeness 
between  one  thing  and  another  ?  Leaving  then  the  Anglo-Saxon  race 
and  the  British  race  and  the  Suionic  race,  and  the  instincts,  Imperial 
or  otherwise,  of  any  of  them,  this  question  of  the  origin  of  our  people, 
this  great  and  abiding  dispute  whether  we  are  ourselves  or  somebody 
else,  suggests  one  or  two  practical  thoughts.  Here  I  rule  no  point  of 
present  controversy ;  I  only  give  some  hints  which  may  possibly  help 
those  who  have  to  rule  such  points. 

There  is  an  English  folk,  and  there  is  a  British  Crown.  The  English 
folk  have  homes ;  the  British  Crown  has  dominions.  But  the  homes  of 
the  English  folk  and  the  dominions  of  the  British  Crown  do  not  always 
mean  the  same  thing.  Here,  by  the  border  stream  of  the  Angle  and 
the  Saxon,  we  are  at  once  in  one  of  the  homes  of  the  English 
folk  and  in  one — and  I  dare  to  think  the  noblest  and  the  greatest — of 
the  dominions  of  the  British  Crown.  If  we  pass  to  the  banks  of  the 
Indus  and  Ganges,  we  are  still  within  the  dominions  of  the  British 
Crown,  but  we  cannot  say  that  we  are  any  longer  among  the  laomes  of 
the  English  folk.  Let  us  pass  again  to  the  banks  of  the  Potomac 
and  the  Susquehanna ;  there  we  have  gone  out  of  the  dominions  of 
the  British  Crown,  but  we  have  come  back  again  to  the  English  folk 
in  one  of  their  chiefest  homes.  These  are  but  plain  facts,  plain  as 
the  sun  at  noon-day.  It  is  because  they  are  so  plain  that  mankind, 
above  all  orators  and  statesmen,  will  not  understand  them.  Once  more, 
let  a  man's  words  set  forth  his  thoughts  and  let  him  shape  his  thoughts 
by  the  facts.  That  is  all ;  but  if  this  counsel  of  perfection  be  too  hard, 
it  may  be  better  to  declaim  about  the  "  Suionic  race  "  than  about  the 
"  Anglo-Saxon  race."     It  will  lead  fewer  people  astray. 


Edward  A.  Freeman. 


Oxford,  1889. 


[JJLK. 


THE   UNFAITHFUL  STEWARD. 


"  IV/T-^^  meint  clie  Bibel  zu  versteben/'  says  Strauss,  "weil  mann 
jJl.  gewohnt  ist,  sie  nicht  zu  verateben."  A  pregnant  saying, 
whicli  the  student  of  Scripture  has  reason  to  rocall  at  every  page. 
The  Christian  leaves  his  attention  at  the  threshold  of  his  church  as 
the  Mussulman  does  his  shoes.  He  does  not  really  believe  that 
anything  which  he  will  hear  within  its  walla  is  meant  for  intelligent 
attention.  A  small  part  of  what  is  read  there  has,  he  vaguely 
believes,  a  mystic  import  of  priceless  value  ;  the  rest  is  unconsciously 
regan3fd  as  a  curious  old  setting,  from  which  these  jewels  could  not 
be  removed  without  damage,  but  which  in  itself  is  valueloss,  lie  is 
accustomt'd  to  a  kind  of  reverent  boredom  as  the  right  effect  to  be 
produced  by  the  perusal  of  a  chapter  of  the  Old  or  New  Testament,  and 
he  mistakes  the  sense  of  familiarity  in  that  experience  for  intelligent 
apprehension.  Devout  persons,  when  they  open  the  Bible,  seek  for  some- 
thing consolatory  or  elevating  ;  while  others,  who  think  its  perusal  a 
duty,  are  m  a  great  hurry  to  have  done  with  it,  and  get  to  something 
interesting ;  and  the  one  state  of  mind  is  not  more  hostile  than  the 
other  to  any  true  apprehension  of  the  history  of  Israel.  A  tourist 
in  the  Lakes,  entering  into  conversation  with  a  postman  of  the 
district,  and  mentioning  to  him  a  journey  to  Palestine,  was  answered 
by  the  exclamation  :  "Do  yon  really  mean  to  tell  me,  sir,  that  there 
is  such  a  place  as  Jenisalem  in  this  world  ?  "  This  question  carica- 
tures but  does  not  distort  the  feeling  of  average  orthodoxy  towards 
the  whole  histoiy  that  centn-s  in  Jerusalem,  Those  who  know  that 
the  Holy  City  has  a  terrestrial  latitude  and  longitude,  and  are  aware 
that  history  gives  it  a  place  as  well  as  geography,  still  shrink  from 
the  attempt  to  bring  attention  to  a  focus  on  any  special  point  of  that 
history,  and  regard  the  attempt  to  find  definite  meaning  in  every 
passage  with  a  feeling  not  unlike  this  country  postman's  surprise  at 
learning  that  Jerusalem  might  be  found  on  the  map. 


i89o] 


THE    UNFAITHFUL   STEWARD. 


58 


This  acquiescence  in  a  void  of  meaning  is  continued  where  it  is 
most  contrary  to  all  that  we  should  expect.  "  Do  you  mean  to  tell 
me/'  many  a  Christian  might  ask.  if  he  expressed  himself  as  dis- 
tinctly as  the  countryman  just  mentioned,  "  that  our  Lord  spoke 
sense  ?  "  Lessons  which  all  would  feel  unworthy  of  the  least  reyered 
of  human  teachei's  are  accepted,  without  question,  when  they  are 
assumed  to  come  from  the  Divine  teacher.  A  parable  included  by 
the  Church  of  England  among  her  Sunday  extracts  from  the  Gospel, 
as  well  as  her  daily  Lessoos,  is,  as  it  is  generally  understood,  a 
cumbrous  and  far-fetched  machinery  for  conveyiug  injunctions  which 
one  would  suppose  it  both  unnecessary  and  imdesirable  to  put  into 
words  at  all ;  injunctions  which,  if  we  met  them  where  we  could 
form  an  unbiassed  opinion  of  them,  we  should  feel  it  a  compli- 
ment to  call  immoral,  because  we  should  rather  consider  them  as 
utterly  unmeaning.  And  we  have  only  to  tui'n  back  a  page  or 
two  in  the  Gospel  which  records  it  to  find  Jesus  warn  his  disciples 
explicitly  against  the  very  habit  of  mind  which  here  He  is  supposed 
to  be  inculcating.*  The  hospitality  of  his  disciples  was  to  be  regulated 
on  principles  exactly  contraiy  to  those  which  inspired  the  precautions 
of  tJie  steward.  They  were  to  seek  their  friends  among  those  who 
had  not  wherewith  to  rt^compcnse  them,  he  had  chosen  his  among 
those  who  could  return  his  favours  with  interest.  This  is  much  the 
smallest  part  of  the  difficulty,  for  with  the  steward  it  is  a  question  of 
his  master's  resources  and  not  his  own.  His  dishonesty  is  explained 
away,  as  merely  a  little  invention  thrown  in  to  make  the  story  more 
interesting,  but  the  difficulty  still  left  on  our  hands  would  be  quite 
insuperable  in  the  light  of  such  attention  as  we  give  to  secular  matters. 
As  it  is  supixjiied  to  be  a  question  of  religion  we  are  content  to  accept 
an  apologue  in  which  we  have  first  to  explain  away  the  point,  and 
then  forget  a  recently  uttered  precept  exactly  contradicting  its  purport 
even  in  this  blunted  form.  The  dishonesty,  which  we  are  bid  to 
treat  as  irrelevant  detail,  would  appear  the  centi'al  point  in  the  inten- 
tion of  the  teacher ;  the  self-seeking,  which  we  are  taught  to  accept 
as  a  part  of  the  ideal  here  enjoined,  is  unquestionably  elsewhere  the 
objfct  of  his  most  urgent  warnings.  The  only  duty  which  the  inter- 
preters profess  to  disentangle  from  this  embrogho  is  that  of  alms- 
giving f — almsgiving  with  other  people's  money,  and  with  a  view  to 
one's  own  future  advancement !  This  kind  of  charity  no  doubt 
is  very  common  in  practice,  but,  if  any  human  teacher  seemed 
to  preach  it,  we  should  either  despise  him,  or  suspect  that  we  must 
have  misunderstood  him.  The  beneficence  thus  recommended  would 
be  on  a  par  with  the  philosophy  of  which  Cicero  boasts  to  Atticus,J 

♦  Luke  x\\:  13.  14. 

•f  Thjji  extraordinary  mtorprotation  is  incoi-pnrateil  with  tbc  text  in  our  Bibles,  as 
any  one  may  see  by  referring  to  the  murgniiil  annotatioEs.  It  was  the  view  butli  of 
LutLer  and  Calvin,  uid  many  more.    See  Trench  on  the  "  Paniblos,"  p.  446. 

X  Ad.  Att.  xiv. 


54 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jak. 


after  telling  him  tliat  some  houses  in  his  possession  are  in  such  a  state 
that  he  will  have  to  rebuUd  them,  a  misfortune  which  he  describes 
himself  as  meeting  in  a  beautiful  spirit  of  Socratic  magnanimity,  and 
then  concludes:  "But  I  hope  to  make  a  good  thing  of  it,  after  all." 
In  the  ordinary  interpretation  of  this  parable,  we  have  this  curious 
glimpse  of  a  philosopher's  endeavour  to  make  the  best  of  both  worlds 
set  before  us  as  a  Divine  model  of  wisdom.  Nobody  is  quite  satisfied 
with  the  result  j  the  devout  commentator  slurs  over  the  passage  with 
reverent  embarrassment ;  and  one  of  the  moat  intelligent  of  the  class 
has  the  candour  to  confess  that  most  people  look  for  a  little  more 
meaning  in  the  words  of  the  Lord  than  they  will  find  there.  But  it 
does  not  seem  to  him  irreverent  to  urge  that  we  expect  too  much 
from  the  teaching  of  our  Master,*  and  must  be  content  to  learn  from 
Him  what  we  certainly  should  not  teach  to  the  humblest  scholai"  who 
would  be  content  to  learn  of  us. 

If  we  were  studying  this  passage  in  any  secular  writer  we  should, 
in  the  first  place,  look  for  the  index  to  its  meaning  in  its  most  im- 
portant sentence ;  and  in  the  second  place,  note  its  connection  with 
any  important  contemporary  event.  There  is  no  doubt  what  the  moat 
important  sentence  in  the  whole  passage  is,  surely.  "  It  is  easier  for 
heaven  and  earth  to  pass,"  said  Jesus,  after  concluding  the  parable, 
addressing  the  Pharisees  who  had  found  something  absurd  in  it, 
'•  than  for  one  tittle  of  the  law  to  fail ; "  and  the  protest  against 
adultery,  so  oddly  inconsequent  in  tho  ordinary  interpretations,  shows 
what  part  of  the  law  was  in  his  mind.  It  would  bo  impossible,  if  we 
gave  the  subject  the  attention  we  bring  to  any  other  historj',  to  ignore 
the  reference  here.  The  most  conspicuous  person  in  the  country  had 
done  the  very  thing  here  condemned.  Herod  Antipas,  the  creature 
of  Rome  and  the  ruler  of  Galilee,  had  not  only  put  away  his  own 
wife  and  married  his  brother's  wife,  but  had  punished  with  death  a 
protest  against  this  act  of  double  adultery ;  and  religious  J^^-wa  had 
condoned  the  offence  and  entered  into  relations  with  the  offender, 
which  no  faithful  '*  steward  of  the  mysteries  of  the  Lord  "  could  have 
held  for  a  moment.  In  pursuance  of  the  plotf  devised  with  the  party 
of  Autipas  they  had  endeavoured  to  force  Jesus  to  echo  the  protest, 
in  order  that  they  might  involve  Him  in  the  fate  of  the  Baptist.  The 
first  part  of  the  endeavour,  we  know,  was  successful ;  the  condemna- 
tion of  divorce  is  the  most  distinct  decision,  bearing  on  human  actions, 
which   remains    to    us    of  the  reported   words   of  Jesus.     For  the 

*  "I  cannot  doubt,"  says  Archbisbap  Trench  ("Parables,"  p.  427),  "  that  many- 
interpreters  have,  so  to  speak,  overrun  their  game,  and  that  wo  have  hero  a  parable 
of  Christian  prudence,  Christ  exhorting  ub  to  use  the  world  in  a  manner  agaiiut 
itself." 

+  The  second  Evangelist  gives  us  the  formation  of  the  plot  (Mark  iii.  (j) ;  the  first 
and  second  describe  its  issue  (Matt.  six.  3  and  xxii,  15,  16,  Mark  x.  2);  while  a 
passage  in  the  third  (Luke  xiii.  31)  e\-ident!y  presuppo.ses  it.  So  that  there  is  more 
evidiT.ce  for  this  alliance  between  the  religious  and  the  Court  party  in  the  Gospels, 
than  for  any  other  non-miraculous  event  which  is  not  mentioned  elsewhere. 


iSgo] 


THE    UNFAITHFUL   STEWARD. 


55 


most  part,  He  avoided  such  decision.     When  invited  to  settle  a  dis- 
pute as  to  a  legacy,  a  dispute  in  which,  as  it  appears,  his  arbitration 
would  have  been  accepted  by  both  parties.  lie  pointedly  refuses  the 
position  which  Mosos  had  claimed,  and  repeats  the  very  words*  of  a 
rebel  against  his  authority.     He  refuses  a  verdict  on  a  special  case, 
and  gives  instead  a  warning  agauist  the  universal  temptation  which 
lay  at  its   root.     But  not  so  when   the  Pharisees  came  to  ask  Him 
about  divorce.     He  does  not  stop  here  at  the  exhortation  :  *'  Take 
-iired  and  beware  of  lust."      He  now  acceiDta  the  position,  which  before 
j-ile  had  repudiated. ;  He  commits  liimself  to  a  declaration  in  matters 
lefinite,  external  and  legal,  to  a  statement  of  the  marriage  law  which 
[staick  even  his  disciples  as  extreme,  and  which  Antipas  might  have 
rauswfred  with  the  axe  if  he  had  treated  Jesus  as  ho  had  treated  the 
forerunner  of  Jesus.     It  does  not  appear  that  the  condemnation  of 
tlivorce,  which  had  proved  fatal  to  the  Baptist,  did,  after  all,  imperil 
the  life  of  the  Saviour.f     But  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  had  been 
intended  to  do  so  by  the  Pharisees,  and  that  the  warning,   "  Whoso- 
ever shall  put  away  his   wife   ....   and  shall  marrj-  another,  com- 
mitteth  adultery :  and  whoso  marrieth  her  which  is  put  aAvay  doth 
oomniit   adultery,"   was   a   condemnation    passed   on   the  husband  of 
Herodias  and  the  murderer  of  John. 

We,  looking  on  that  condemnation  with  English  ant!  Christian  eyes, 
perhaps  hardly  take  in  its  scope.  It  does  not  appear  to  us  an  instance 
of  any  particular  feeling  about  the  Jewish  law,  one  way  or  another. 
It  set-ms  a  question  of  universal  morality.  Strange  tribute  to  that 
imoraUty  which  it  ignores  !  {  Israel  alone,  among  the  nations  of  anti- 
quity, upholds  the  purity  of  marriage.  The  Roman  hero,  whose  name 
was  a  symbol  of  virtue,§  lends  liis  wife  to  a  friend  ;  the  lioman  writer 
whom  some  moderns  have  revered  as  a  saint, ||  repudiates  the  faithful 
wife  of  thirty  years,  in  order  to  marry  an  heiress.  The  morality 
which  was  good  enough  for  Cato  and  Cicero  was  good  enough  for 
many  an  ordinaiy  Jew,  and  the  letter  of  the  luw  seemed  to  permit  of 
tliis  laxer  interpretation.  But  deep  in  every  true  Jewish  heart  must 
have  vibrated  the  comment  of  the  Teacher,   "  From  the  beginning  it 

•  Lnke  xii.  14.    Compare  Exod.  ii.  14. 

f  l'nk*«tt  we  arc  to  take  the  warning  of  the  Pharisees,  above  cited  (Luke  xiii.  31), 
il£  sincere.     Bat  possibly  it  wa.s  so. 

X  The  very  passage  which  the  disciples  quote  against  the  declaration  of  Jesns  (Deut. 

3t\iv.  1)  ad'tuuies  that  no  hiusbaiid  will  attempt  to  put  away  bis  wife  unless  he  has  found 

"Kome  occasion  of    uncleariuess  in    her."    The  protest"  of  the  last  of  the  Prophets 

I  {Hal.   ii.    14,   16J  shows   the  place  that  conjugal  infidelity  took  in  the  morality  of 

lanol 

§  Cato  lent  his  wife,  Marcia,  to  Hortcnsius,  and  took  her  hack  after  the  death  of  the 
latter.  His  appearance  in  the  verse  of  Dante  (Purg.  i.  32)  gives  the  modern  reader  un 
4«tlmtte  of  his  fame  as  a  stern  moiali.st ; — 

"  Vidi  presso  di  me  nn  veglio  solo 
Dcgno  di  tanta  revercnza  in  vista 
Che  psii  non  dee  a  patlre  alcun  ligliudo." 
C'cmpftre  this  with  Ihc  fate  of  Francesoa  di  Kimini. 
II  Erasmus  thus  speaks  of  Cicero. 


56 


THE    CONTEMPORARY'  REVIEW. 


[Jax. 


was  not  so.''  The  nation  whicli  used  the  same  word  to  express  the  in- 
fidelity of  wife  to  husband,  and  of  the  nation  to  its  unseen  Lord,  had 
set  a  seal  on  the  marriage  bond  that  no  concession  could  efface,  and 
such  concessions  as  the  disciples  could  cite  belonged  to  the  l^aw,  it 
must  have  been  felt,  in  a  totally  different  sense  from  all  its  most 
characteristic  precepts.  The  faith  of  man  to  woraaa  was  bound  up 
witli  the  faith  of  man  to  God,  and  history  chroilicles,  with  equal 
accents,  the  terrible  sanctions  of  both.  David's  adultery  becomes 
debauchery  in  his  son,  and  a  divided  kingdom  chronicles  the  impotence 
of  a  family  that  has  lost  its  strength  with  its  un^^y^  The  Edoniite 
upstarts,  who  had  succeeded  to  the  throne  of  David  and  to  his  worse 
vices,  might  indeed  disregard  that  law  ;  the  father  of  Autipas  might  i 
have  almost  as  many  wives  as  Solomon,*  and  betake  himself  to 
divorce  as  readily  as  Cicero  or  Cato  j  but  the  Jew  who  escaped  the 
fate  of  the  Baptist  by  changing  his  protest  to  apology,  had  lost  sight 
of  the  stewardship  of  Israel. 

The  temptation  indeed  was  great,  hopes  and  fears  alike  prompted 
a  lenient  construction  of  lawlessness  in  the  nominee  of  Rome — hopes  i 
and  fears  perhaps  not  altogether  base.  We  may  rememb«''r  that  the 
service  which  the  Pharisee  would  be  called  on  to  render  to  Antipas 
after  the  execution  of  Johuf  was  one  which  Papinian  died  rather  than 
perform  for  CaracaIla.J  but  we  must  not  forget  that  it  was  one  which 
Seneca  was  perfectly  ready  to  perfomi  for  Nero.  To  soothe  a  guilty 
conscience  is  an  attempt  that  may  take  very  different  aspects,  and 
doubtless  Seneca  felt,  when  he  composed  the  apologj'  by  which  Nero 
was  to  justify  his  matricide  to  the  Senate,  as  if  he  were  thinking  of 
something  nobler  than  saving  his  own  skin.  Shakespear  has  taught 
us  how  a  hideous  crime  may  fado  into  a  background  that  leaves  the 
possibility  of  sympathy  for  the  criminal.  Read  once  more  the  plead- 
ing of  Macbeth  : — 

"  Caii^t  thou  Dot  minister  to  a  mind  diseased. 

Pluck  from  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow, 

Raxc  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  bruin, 
,  And  with  sotnc  sweet  oblivious  antidote 

Clrtin.sc  the  !<tiiJTed  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff 

Which  weipha  upon  the  heart  1 " 

No  passage  from  the  pen  of  Shakespear  is  more  full  of  genius.  What 
Macbeth  recalls  is  a  hideous  crime— treachery,  ingratitude,  disloyalty 
culminating  iu  murder  ■  whnt  he  suggests  is  a  pathetic  disaster,  a 
bereavement,  a  misunderBtandiug,  a  loss  of  something  precious  torn 

♦  History  knows  of  ten.  His  first  wife  was  divorced  thnt  he  might  marry  Ma riamnc, 
and  the  sequel  to  that  marriage  was  an  eloquent  tribute  to  the  Jewish  law  of  purity. 

f  Jesus  makes  no  allusion  to  thip.  and  the  condemnation  he  pas.ses  on  the  divorce 
may  be  so  read  as  to  imply  condonation  of  the  greater  crime  ;  but  it  is  evident  that 
the  divorce  was  made  a  test  question  by  the  Pharisees.  Nobody  asked  any  question 
about  the  murder  of  John.  The  exclamation  of  Antipa.*;  on  hearing  of  Jesus,  "  It  i.n 
John  whom  I  beheaded,"  shows  how  often  his  conrtiera  must  have  had  to  soothe  his- 
remorse  and  find  excuses  for  his  crime. 

X  See  Gibbon,  ch.  vi. 


i89o] 


THE    UNFAITHFUL    STEWARD. 


67 


from  his  reluctant  grasp.     This  is  the  uttermost  triumph  of  the  poet, 

one  in  which  he  overcomes  the  preacher  on  his  own  ground.    Each  of 

U3  knows,  for  himself,  in  some  slighter  degree,  that  wonderful  change 

of  aspect.     A  Shakespear  magnifies  it  to  its  highest  point,  aud  shows 

it  us  for  the  whole  world. 

It  b  the  same  thing  to  say  that  this  is  what  each  one  can  see  lor 

himself,  and  that  it  is  what  he  can  see  for  another  if  it  be  his  interest 

to  see  it.     We,  setting  the  proud  assertion  of  Papiniau,  "It  is  easier 

to  commit  than  to  justify  a  fratricide,"  beside  the  prostituted  rhetoric 

of  Seneca,  see  only  that  a  philosopher  can  be  a  selfish  coward.      But 

nothing  is  easier  than  to  confuse  self  and  the  world,  and  doubtless  ho 

who  strove,  however  ft^ebly,  to  check  the  madness  of  a  pupil  on  the 

throne  of  the  world,  felt  as  if  it  were  the  world  he  were  considering 

and  not  himself.     And  what  he  felt  at  the  Court  of  the  Emperor  many 

a  Pharisee  must  have  felt  just  as  strongly  at  the  Court  of  the  Tctmrch. 

Antipas  was  but  the  outrider  of  Titus,  imd  among  liia  courtiers  there 

were  doubtless  many  earnest  Jews,  filled  with  deep  reverence  for  the 

traditions  of  their  race,  half  submerged  as  these  seemed  beneath  the 

rising  tide  of  Roman  dominion,  and  struggling  to  justify  to  themselves 

the  compromise  which   bought  the  indispensable   support  of    Rome. 

*'  It  is  a  brutal,  irreligious,  insolent  tyranny,"  we  may  imagine  them 

pleading,  "  but  what  are  we  to  do  ?     John,  like  another  Elijah,  defied 

the  insolent  Jezebel  beside  this  Roman  nominee,  and  what  came  of 

it  ?     His  death  has  done  no  good   to  his  cause.      We  have  lost  hint 

and  gained  nothing.     Let  us  not   imitate  his  unmeasured,  impolitic 

denunciations.  Let  us  take  a  milder  view  of  this  lawless  Gentile  world, 

which  seems  to  be  getting  the  upper  hand.     Our  home,  our  place,  is 

imperilled  ;  it  may  be  that  we  shall  have  to  seek  a  refuge  at  Rome,  at 

Alexandria,  at  Antioch — among  the  cities  where  Abraham   is  not  a 

Siicred   name,  and  where  the  laws  of  Closes   are  unkuown.      Let  us 

|)repare  ourselves  for  such  a  misfortune  by  a  rational  \aew  of  our  law, 

and  its  relation  to  those  who,  in  one  sense,  must  be  confessed  to  have 

broken  it.      We  must  confront  the   possibility  that  the  Romans  may 

take  away  our  name  and  our  nation  ;  let  ua  consider,  then,  how  we  may 

adapt  Jerusalem  to  Rome." 

Already,  indeed,    bad    the  Jew  made  himself  a  home   in    those 

*'  everlasting  habitations,"  the  reference  to  which  we  so  strangely  miss 

in  the  parable.     If  everj'  word  of  Jewish  literature  had  perished, 

re  might  learn  from  that  which  is  familiar  to  schoolboys  to  track  his 

Irteps  in  the  motley  crowd  which  thronged  the  eternal  city.     The  first 

Emperor  manifests  at  once  his  familiarity  with  and  ignorance  of  the 

faith  of  Israel,  by  describing  his  daily  fare  on  one  occasion  as  smaller 

than  that  of  a  Jew  on  the  Sabbath,*  little  knowing  what  trouble  he 

was  preparing  for  learned  commentators,  who  will  not  allow  him  to 

Hunt.,  "Vita  Octav."  70.  TLe  passage  occurs  in  a  letter  from  Augustus  to  Tibtrius, 
tntMti  wftata  to  make  the  Sabbath  me&n  the  week,  tie  in  Luke  zviii.  12. 


58 


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[Jan. 


make  Buck  a  blunder  as  to  suppose  that  the  Sabbath  was  n  fast.  Ai 
poet  he  banished  assuri*s  his  readers,  with  about  as  much  knowledg 
of  what  he  was  talking  of,  probably,  that  the  Sabbath  is  not  a  bad 
day  to  make  love  on.*  ''  I  want  a  woi*d  with  you,"  says  a  character 
in  one  of  Horace's  comedies  (if  we  may  bestow  on  his  satires  the  title 
most  descriptive  to  a  modem  ear),  pouncing  on  an  acquaintance,  \n 
order  to  shake  off  a  Ixjrc.  "  Not  to-day,"  answers  his  malicious  friend, 
pulling  a  long  face.  "  It  is  the  Jewish  Sabbath  ;  we  must  not  discuss 
business  till  to-morrow."t  *'  Tliere  are  plenty  of  us,  you'll  have  to  give 
in^  as  if  we  were  Jews,"  %  says  Horace  elsewhere,  speaking  as  one  of 
the  numerous  crowd  of  poets,  and  testLfyiDg  that  the  band  of  propa- 
gandists, if  they  were  absurd,  were  also  dangerous.  The  great  orator 
of  Rome  gives  more  Bm])hatic  testimony  to  the  same  fact.  His 
eloquence  was  at  the  service  of  a  Verres,  when  the  oppressed  w«^re 
Jews,  bat  the  advocate  could  profess  himself  terrorized  by  their 
presence  among  his  audience,  and  sink  his  voice  with  dramatic  effec- 
tiveness, lest  all  those  dangerous  fellows  should  answer  his  pleading 
with  arguments  more  forcible  than  words.  §  The  philosophic  student 
of  religion,  the  statesman  who  turned,  in  his  hour  of  earthly  despair, 
to  hopes  of  a  city  of  God,  Las  not  left  us  a  single  word  to  show  that 
he  was  int«<re8ted  in  the  faith  of  Juda3a — his  only  recorded  mention  of 
Judaism,  besides  the  passages  just  cited,  is  a  stupid  joke  to  testify 
his  acquaintance  with  the  Jewish  objection  to  pork  || — but  he  bears  his 
tribute  to  the  power  of  a  people  whose  lx>nd  was  in  that  faith,  and  who 
had  no  other  power.  The  Jew  at  Home,  as  at  Jerusalem,  compassed 
sea  and  laud  to  make  one  proselyte  ;  and  the  alarm  of  disgust  he  in- 
spired is  suggested  by  every  mention  ive  have  cited,  and  had  been 
manifested,  when  Jeaus  made  this  last  journey  to  Jerusjileni.  by  the 
decree  of  the  Senate  some  dozen  years  previously  which  banished  tho 
whole  Jewish  population  from  Italy.^  For  a  modern  reader,  the  record 
is  even  more  important  than  the  fact.  The  historian  who  chronicles 
the  order  of  the  Senate,  in  mentioning  that  4000  Jewish  freedmen 
were  on  this  occasion  orden^d  to  serve  against  the  brigands  of  Sardinia, 
adds  his  opinion,  or  that  of  the  Roman  people — and  probably  Ixjth — • 
that  if  all  these  4000  perished  in  the  expedition,  it  would  be  a  very 
good  riddance. •• 

»  Ovid.  Item.  Am.  219 ;  ef.  Ars  Amat.,  i.  7G,  416.' 

t  Serm.  I.  ix.  (J*j.  Note  that  the  frienij  who  is  njasqaerading  as  a  Jew  professes  him- 
self to  be  "  unus  multomin." 

X  " ....  Ac  velati  t€ 

Judasi,  cog-emus  in  Imnc  discedere  turbam.'' — Serai.  I.  iv.  142. 

g  Pro  Flacco,  '28.  <y.  "  De  Provinciis  ConsolaiibuB,"  5.  TUe  first  passage  is  a  very 
important  one,  beings  the  earliest  testimony  of  tho  infiuemcc  of  the  Jews  at  Rome 
which  has  readied  us.     I  have  given  every  relevant  allusion  in  paraphrase  below. 

II  This  hon  niot  rests  only  on  the  anthoritr  of  Plutarch  {•'  Life  of  Cicero,"  7).  If 
aathcntic,  it  is  important,  as  it  would  prove  that  already  (u.c.  70)  the  Jewish  propaganda 
had  reached  the  Senate.     Hut  our  extant  oration  dne.s  tioi  inchide  the  passage. 

^  Or  from  Rome,  according  to  Josephaa.    (Ant.  XVIII.  iii.  4->5). 

•*  "Si  intcrissent,  vile  damnum  "(Tac.  Amu  ii.  85).  Wo  learn  from  the  Jewish  histo- 
rian that  many  of  the  Jews  had  a  swifter  £atc  :  they  chose  death  rather  than  a  military 
service  which  entailed  an  oath  forbidden  by  their  sacred  law. 


i89o] 


THE    UNFAITHFUL    STEWARD. 


69 


When  Tacitus  wrote,  the  Jew  at  Rome  was  no  longer  a  figure  in 
iteel  society;  gentlemen  of  breeding  did  not  amuse  themselves 
by  aping  his  religious  observances  ;  Emperors  did  not  trouble  them- 
selves to  quote  them.  The  days  when  indignant  Jews  could  make 
their  oppressor  even  pretend  to  fear  them  were  long  past.  We  greet 
the  Hebrew  at  the  gate  of  Rome  ("he  is  no  longer  allowed  to  enter) 
almoeb  as  we  are  to  know  him  on  the  page  of  the  modem  romancer 
and  dramatist,  a  trembling,  despised  alien,  strangely  hated  though  so 
utterly  despised.  His  figure  on  the  canvas  of  the  Hogarth  of  Rome 
(as  Juvenal  has  well  been  called  *)  does  not  differ  greatly  from  that 
which  is  to  be  familiar  to  us  almost  to  our  own  day.  The  "  basket 
and  hay,"t  which  seems  his  sole  furniture,  reminds  as  of  Carlyle's 
sneer  at  Hebrew  '•  old  clothes  "  ;  the  august  associations  of  the  grove 
where  the  poet  finds  the  trembling  squatters  are  revived  in  order  to 
bring  out  its  present  degradation.  In  tliis  grove  Numa  met  Egeria ; 
here  now  these  dirty,  squalid  foreigners  are  allowed  ix>  find  an  open- 
air  lodging,  and  hence  some  mumbling  crone,  strange  successor  J  of 
the  Divine  nymph,  creeps  secretly  into  Rome  to  infect  Roman  ladies 
with  her  despicable  superstition,  and  bring  her  lofty  pretensions  as 
an  interpreter  of  the  laws  of  Solyraa  into  ridiculous  contrast  with  her 
urgent  need  of  a  few  pence.  "  Yet  let  the  Roman  be  on  his  guard 
against  the  seemingly  despicable  foes,"  urges  Juvenal ;  "  their  pro- 
paganda, though  more  secret,  is  not  less  active  than  of  yore ;  in  their 
wretched  dens  they  still  look  down  on  our  noble  law,  clutching  their 
own  with  fanatical  reverence ;  and  the  Roman,  whose  laziness  in  con- 
secrating every  seventh  day  to  sloth  is  veneered  with  their  superstition, 
may  find  his  son  joining  that  superstition  to  their  vague  pantheism,  and 
at  tht*  same  time  to  other  superstitions  even  more  ridiculous  and  more 
hateful.  "§ 

That  picture  of  the  Jew,  in  his  wretched  hut  outside  the  gates  of 
Rome,  lights  up  mth  forcible  illustration  the  satirical  recommendation 
of  Jesus  to  cultivate  the  friendship  of  the  world's  conquerors.  The 
Jew  who  tried  to  issue,  on  their  behalf,  a  softened  and  expurgated 
edition  of  his  law,  was  ejected  from  their  everlasting  habitations  with 
fioom  that  a  murderous  war  intensified  into  hatred.  That  sentence 
of  exile  prefigures  the  long  agony  of  Israel.  Shylock  lurks  in  the 
crowd  that  Cicero  dreads  and  despises,  the  inarticulate  murmur  that 
comes  to  us  across  nineteen  centuries  from  the  Aurelian  steps  j]  brings 

•  By  Mr.  J.  D.  Ijewis  in  the  excellent  commentary  appended  to  his  edition  of  1873. 

f  Jurenul,  Sat.  iii.  14,  "  Quorum  cophinua  foenumque  sapellez  ;  "  vi.  542,  "  Cophiao 
ftsDO  que  relicto."    Evidently  the  Jew  had  no  other  bed. 

X  This  hrinpinjjr  of  the  jjoor  old  starring  Jewess  into  the  proximity  of  the  divine 
Bgerut  is  n  iK»ciiliar  Juvenalion  touch.  Perhaps  we  may  say  of  the  poet  what  St.  John 
does  of  the  High  Priest  (John  xi.  51,  u2). 

jr  Juv.  xlv.  96-1(16.  Mr.  Lewis  thinks  that  the  Jews  are  here  confounded  with  tho 
Clm«tians.  99  seems  not  to  f.ivour  this  view ;  if  correct,  it  adds  to  the  suggojstion 
ot  f^  "       note. 

iiks  that  tiiesc  steps  were  a  sort  of  exchange,  where  the  Jews  aiieadj 
ca;.^- uade  of  bankers. 


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THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jau. 


us  the  same  intolerable  pathos  as  the  voiceless  endurance,  not  less 
real,  wo  may  be  sure,  which  Shakespeare  shows  us  on  the  Rialto. 
Let  us  listen  to  the  eloquence  of  Cicero  with  the  indignant  ears  of  some 
of  those  Jews  from  fear  of  whom  he  professed  to  lower  his  voice  and 
avert  his  head,  but  who,  doubtless,  managed  to  hear  every  word  of  Iiis 
oration.  "  He  said  '' — we  may  imagine  one  of  them  writing  from 
Eome  to  his  kindred  at  Jerusalem  in  B.C.  60 — "  he  said  that  tJie 
Bcoundrel  he  defended  had  shown  praiseworthy  severity,  forsooth,  in 
pocketing  the  contributions  our  brethren  in  Asia  were  sending  to  the 
Temple !  It  was  a  sufficient  crime  in  a  son  of  Israel  to  have 
possessed  wealth,  and  to  have  dt-stined  it  to  the  Temple  of  the 
Lord.  It  had  been  a  needless  expense  to  invent  a  slander  :  he 
who  could  not  prove  a  single  Jew  to  be  a  false  Avitness,  or  a  bad 
citizen,  gained  his  verdict  in  alluding  to  the  undoubted  fact  that 
many  Jews  were  religious,  devoted,  consistent,  and  brave.  For  he 
could  add  to  the  list  of  our  merits  the  terrible  indictment  of  our  cala- 
mities. The  Gods,  he  said,  had  shown  what  they  thought  of  our 
claims  in  giving  us  over  to  the  rule  of  his  pitiless  cijuntrymen.  The 
conqueror,  who  had  penetrated  to  our  Holy  of  Holies,  showed  a 
superfluous  nicety  of  conscience,  he  hinted,  in  leaving  untouched  the 
gold  and  gems  in  its  neighbourhood.  Our  loyalty  to  Sion,  and  to  the 
unseen  Father  who  has  appointed  there  the  shrine  of  His  worehip — 
our  fidelity  to  Hia  law  through  the  inscrutable  decree  that  opens  our 
holy  city  to  the  Gentile  foe — these  are  the  crimes  which  render  it,  in 
Eoman  eyes,  a  merit  to  give  up  our  wealth  to  pillage,  and  pour  insult 
on  the  defenceless  victims  whom  they  approach  only  to  plunder."* 

We  draw  on  imagination  in  supposing  that  ninety  years  before  the 
parable  of- the  unjust  steward  was  spoken,  such  words  as  these  were 
written  by  a  Jew  at  Rome  to  a  Jew  at  Jerusalem.  But  if  we  say 
that  the  emotions  which  they  express  were  felt  and  Justified,  we  are 
writing  history.  It  is  probable  enough  that  some  aged  Jew  at  the 
Pharisee'ti  dinner,  a  few  days  previously,  could  remember  hearing  in 
his  childhood  how  a  i-ighteous  vengeance  had  overtaken  the  great 
rhetorician  who  had  defended  a  plunderer  of  the  Temple  of  the  Lord ; 
it  is  certain  that  Jesus  was  addressing  Jews  to  whom  the  experience 
of  their  brethren  at  Rome  was  already  tinged  with  those  associations 
which  were  to  haunt  the  whole  long  record  of  Jewisli  intercourse  with 
men  of  European  race.  We  see  the  trembling  yet  opulent  Israelite 
already  forced  to  '*  make  himself  friends  out  of  the  mammon  of  un- 
righteousness " ;  we  know  what  kind  of  friends  they  were  to  prove. 
We  know,  and  can  we  doubt  that  Jesus  knew,  or  what  that  know- 
ledge was  \o  Him  ?  He,  who  was  not  less  the  son  of  Israel  because 
He  was  the  son  of  ilan,  seems  in  the  parable  we  misread  so  perversely 
to  have  as  much  excused  as  satirized  the  unfaithfulness  of  the  steward 


*  Pro  Flncco,  c.  23.     "  Quoin  cara  diiis  immortalibuB  OGGct,  docuit,  quod  e&t  victa." 


A 


THE    UNFAITHFUL    STEWARD. 


61 


whose  name  was  to  become,  for  so  many  cenfcaries,  a  symbol  for  the 
unrighteons  mamraon.  How  deep  the  moumfulness  of  his  sarcastic 
advice  we  can  understand  only  when  we  read  ifc  in  connection  with 
his  last  farewell  to  the  Jewish  women  who  followed  their  Teacher  to 
the  place  of  death  :  '*  Weep  not  for  Me,  but  weep  for  yourselves  and 
for  your  children."  The  judgment  had  already  gone  forth  upon 
Israel,  "  Thoa  mayest  be  no  longer  steward ; "  the  delay  which 
severed  the  death  of  Jesua  from  the  fall  of  Zion  was  but  as  the 
interval  between  the  lightning  flash  and  the  crash  of  doom,  which,  for 
mortal  discernment,  followed  it ;  to  the  spirit  dwelling  in  the  realm  of 
the  Eternal  that  crash  was  already  audible.  Jesus  knew  what  had  to 
be  endured  by  those  to  whom  the  Temple  was  still  the  dearest 
spot  on  earth.  An  awful  forc^boding  seems  to  check  Him  as  He 
reaches  the  crisis  of  the  parable  ;  He  paints  the  temptation  of  the 
Jew  in  face  of  the  Gentile  ;  He  sums  up,  in  words  that  would  strike  us 
as  prophetic,  if  we  could  really  take  in  their  import,  the  verdict  that 
history  has  pronounced  on  a  race  which  has  supplied  neither  workers 
nor  paupers ;  Ho  excuses  the  leniency  which,  under  this  temptation, 
softens  debt  in  hope  of  partaking  advantage,  and  then  He  breaks  off. 
He  does  not  tell  us  how  the  debtors  repaid  the  fiteward's  service.  It 
was  not  because  that  repayment  was  not  already  obvious  to  every 
true  Jew.  It  was,  doubtless,  because  He  felt  already  what  He  ex- 
pressed later,  when  He  bade  the  woman  who  pressed  to  the  foot  of 
the  Cross  weep  for  the  fate  of  those  who  were  to  see  the  armies  of 
Titus  enter  Jerusalem. 

No  tragedy  of  history  erpials  the  fate  of  Israol  on  European 
soil.  The  earliest,  exiles  would  have  felt  Babylon  a  paradise  if 
they  could  have  looked  fonvard  to  the  fate  of  their  d<^sceudants  in  the 
new  Babylon  and  its  successors.  Yet  it  is  the  least  intolerable 
part  of  that  fate  which  stirs  the  world's  sympathy.  Antonio's  insults, 
Frout  de  Boeuf's  gridiron,  the  San  Benito  of  the  Inquisition — ulh  to 
the  true  Israelite,  would  have  been  endurable,  without  that  sentence 
which  was  heard  through  all,  "Thou  inayst  be  uo  longer  steward." 
From  the  first  moment  that  the  Jew  found  himself  in  the  Eternal  City 
that  dread  sentence  was  heard,  dimly  and  indistinctly,  but  wilh  growing 
power.  •'  Thou  hast  cheapened  the  holy  law  and  given  the  Gentile  a 
receipt  in  full  where  thou  shouldat  have  claimed  a  debt,  and  now  thou 
sbalt  see  that  law  thou  hast  taught  him  to  despise  and  might  Iiave  taught 
him  to  love  a  mark  for  deadly  hatred,  even  before  it  becomes  a  signal  for 
cruel  persecution."  Poet,  orator,  historian  ;  all  were  at  oue  in  contempt 
and  hatred  for  the  law  that  was  the  breath  of  life  to  the  Jew.  They 
had  giX)d  reason  to  be  so ;  it  was  known  to  them  through  the  medium 
of  an  uni*easoning  fanaticism,  chronicled  in  tumult,  bloodshed,  and 
stupid  resistance  to  measures  that  had  no  aim  but  their  welfare.  As 
the  law  became  the  badge  of  unbeudiuer  resistance  to  upstart  despotbrn^ 


62 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jxs. 


it  gathered  to  itself  a  paBsionate  Hebrew  devotion,  in  wliich  the  dis- 
tinction of  important  and  unimportant  almost  disappeared.  In  timtss 
of  persecution  nothing  ia  unimportant  which  may  be  made  a  badge  of 
loyalty.  It  is  the  boast  of  the  Jewish  historian  "  that  the  escape  from 
a  death  of  anguish  could  not  tempt  more  than  one  or  two  Jews  to  deny 
the  law  familiar  to  them  as  the  name  of  each  one  to  himself,  and,  "  as 
it  were,  engraven  on  their  own  souls,"  and  his  contrast  of  their  utter 
devotion  with  the  reluctant  submission  of  other  raci:*s  to  their  laws  was 
hardly  more  triumphant  than  just.  Tliat  devotion  to  their  law  was 
wrouglit  up  with  all  in  their  natiire  that  was  highest  and  lowest.  It 
kindled  at  the  promise,  "In  thee  and  in  thy  seed  shall  all  the 
families  of  the  earth  be  blest ; "  it  glows  in  the  beacon-light  of 
Isaiah ;  it  had  not  quite  died  ont  to  the  gaze  of  some  Jewish 
slave  in  a  Roman  household,  whispering  in  the  ear  of  a  mistress  the 
message  that  joins  the  weak  find  oppressed  in  a  common  ho|)e.  And 
that  devotion  was  also  allit^d  to  all  in  their  nature  that  was  poor,  and 
base,  and  grudging — to  the  spirit  that  heard  Paul  patiently  until  he 
spoke  of  an  admis.sion  of  the  Gentiles  to  a  joint  inheritance,  and  thei 
burst  forth  in  the  cry,  "It  is  not  fit  that  such  a  fellow  should  live 
to  tlie  spirit  that  Juvenal  commemorates  %  wheji  he  describes  a  Jew 
refusing  a  cup  of  water  to  a  thu'sty  traveller,  or  information  as  to  his 
way  if  he  had  lost  it.  A  persecutor  iu  heart,  alternately  a  ilatterer 
and  a  churl  in  demeanour — this  was  the  role  for  the  unfaithful  steward, 
received  into  the  everlasting  habitations  of  the  debtor.^  of  his  Lord. 

We  can  understand  as  we  dwell  on  that  thought  how  the  Teacher 
broke  off  after  describing  the  endeavour  of  the  steward  to  ingratiate 
himself  with  those  who  could  receive  him  into  "  everlasting  habita- 
tions," and  h'ft  his  ultimato  fate  unspoken.  Perhaps  we  may  under- 
stand, too,  why  He  turned  to  his  disciples  as  he  uttered  this  fragment 
of  a  parable.  He  knew  that  they,  and  their  successors,  were  to  succeed 
to  the  stewardship  that  had  passed  from  Isra«:!l.  Were  they  to  exer- 
'  cise  it  more  honestly  ?  Alas,  historjf  answers  with  faltering  lips. 
The  very  emphasis  with  which  the  protest  of  an  Ambrose  against 
the  crime  of  a  TJieodosius  is  recorded  by  Christian  historians  shows 
how  rare  and  how  timid  was  Christian  assertion  of  a  debt  when  the 
debtor  was  mighty.  It  is  thought  a  wonderful  thing  that  a  Bishop, 
addressing  an  Emperor  fresh  from  massacre,  should  Tu>t  hasten  to  copy 
the  unrighteous  steward,  that  he  should  not  at  once  find  excuses  for 
an  Imperial  sinner,  and  admit  to  the  mysteries  of  Christian  worship 
one  Avhose  hands  were  dyed  in  innocent  blood.  If  the  Saviour,  look- 
ing along  the  vista  of  ages,  saw  that  on  the  Christian,  too,  as  on  the 
Jew,  that  verdict  was  to  be  pronounced,  "  Thou  mayat  be  no  longer 
steward,''  we  may  read  in  his  only  recorded  sarcasm  an  anguish  deeper 
than  that  of  Calvary.     It  may  be  that  the  verdict  has  gone  forth,  that 

*  Contra  Apion,  ii.  19, 33,  and  39.  f  Acts  zxii.  22.  %  Sat.  zIt.  103,  4. 


^ 


i89o]  THE    UNFAITHFUL   STEWARD.  63 

the  Christian  is  called  on  to  give  an  account  of  an  unfaithful  steward- 
ship where  the  trust  has  been  far  vaster  that  that  committed  to  the 
Jew,  and  that  the  religion  which  has  excused  the  sins  of  the  powerful 
has  to  make  way  for  some  revelation  of  the  will  that  Christ  tiame  to 
manifest,  unsullied  by  association  with  the  errors  and  crimes  of 
Christians.  It  is  p(»sible  that  we  are  entering  on  a  period  when 
the  scorn  of  men  of  intellect  for  Christianity  shall  recall  the  scoffs  of 
a  Cicero  or  a  Juvenal  for  the  Jew.  But  let  us  not  think  that  we  atone 
for  the  sins  of  the  past  by  flattering  a  mob  instead  of  a  monarch ; 
or  deem  that  we  reverse  our  errors  when  we  merely  change  their 
objects. 

Julia  Wedgwood. 


T>  EC  ENT  events  demand  a  few  prefatory  remarks  to  the  present 
\j  article.  It  was  written  before  the  troubles  in  connection  with 
the  Lonrlon  Gas-works  had  begun,  and  without  the  least  idea  that  a 
scheme  of  "  profit-sharing  "  was  to  be  brouglit  forward  to  defeat  the 
demands  of  the  Ti-ade  Unions  concerned  in  the  struggle.  No  more 
forcible  illustration,  however,  could  have  been  given  of  the  necessity 
of  accurately  estimating  the  meaning,  limitations,  and  posstbUities  of 
"  profit-sharing  "  as  a  miethod  of  preventing  industrial  strife,  and  the 
views  here  expressed,  though  closely  applicable  to  this  latest  contest, 
have  at  any  rate  the  merit  of  the  impartiality  of  general  arguments 
on  economic  tendencies. 

Profit-sharing  is  a  method  of  conducting  business,  and  not  a 
form  of  charity,  although,  of  course,  like  all  good  busmess,  it  takes 
acconnt  of  moral  elements.  The  principle  on  which  it  is  based 
is  by  no  means  new.  It  is  in  truth  a  specia!  form  of  the  most 
general  and  far-reaching  of  all  economic  principles,  namely,  that  the 
work  done  wUl  vary  according  to  the  interest  of  the  worker  in  the 
result.  The  greatest  agriculturalists  of  antiquity,  the  Romans,  dis- 
covered that  slave  labour  exacted  by  fear  and  torture  was  slovenly 
and  inefficient,  and  they  establishetl  a  system  by  which  the  vohmus  or 
cultivator  became  directly  interested  in  the  amount  and  quality  of  the 
produce.  The  Romans  were  not  philanthropists.  The  celebrated 
Cato  and  the  older  writers  on  agriculture  thought  it  cheaper  to  work 
slaves  at  high  pressure  and  shorten  their  lives.  The  new  method  of 
agricnltiire  established  by  the  Romans  in  one  of  its  main  branches 
grew  into  the  celebrated  vtMayrr  system  which  still  prevails  largely 
over  the  south  of  Europe.  The  essence  of  this  system  is  that  the 
landowner  provides  the  capital  and  receives  a  share  in  the  produce, 
normally  one-half. 


1890] 


PROFIT-SHARING. 


65 


In  England,  as  Professor  Thorold  Rogers  has  admirably  shown, 
one  of  the  greatest  agencies  in  the  emancipation  of  the  serfs  and  the 
establishment  of  the  famous  yeomanry  was  thp  laml-and-stock  lease, 
in  which  the  stock  was  let  with  thn  land,  and  the  owner  took  a 
considerable  part  of  the  risk.  Here  also  the  partial  identity  of 
interests  cn-ated  was  closely  analogous  to  profit-sharing. 

A  few  other  examples  may  be  quotpd  to  illustrate  the  variety  in 
>rms  and  the  wide-spread  application  of  the  principle.  Fisheries 
lave  been,  and  still  art-,  gt^nerally  conducted  in  such  a  way  that  part 
Tat  least  of  the  reward  of  the  workers  depends  upon  the  result.  In  the 
[Scottish  herring  fishery,  fjr  example,  the  men  sometimes  work  for  the 
[carers  at  definite  wages,  but  more  often  take  their  "  chance,"  as  they 
fcall  it. 

Again,  on  both  sides  of  the  Boi-der,  sheep-farmers  very  commonly 
allow  the  shejjherds  t/O  keep  a  certain  nnmber  of  sheep  with  their 
own.  so  that  they  may  be  directly  interested  in  the  welfare  of  the 
whole  flock.  The  method  of  payment  by  commission  in  addition  to 
a  cert^ain  fixed  salary  has  been  adopted  on  a  large  scale  in  all  kinds 
of  busiiies.s,  and  especially  in  France  prizes  {i/railfimtions)  are  often 
given  for  quality  of  work,  economy,  and  general  efficiency. 

It  is  well  io  look  at  the  questinn  in  the  first  place  in  the  broad 
aspects  snggested  by  these  examples  fur  several  reasons.  Most 
people  in  this  country  like  to  keep  their  business  and  their  charity 
quite  separate,  and  there  is  no  maxim  more  popular  than  ''  Business 
is  business,"  If  practical  men  can  once  bo  brought  to  see  that  profit- 
sharing  in  some  form  or  other  has  proved  an  excellent  plan  of  con- 
ducting business  they  will  be  more  likely  to  give  it  a  trial  than  if 
it  is  considered  only  as  a  methotl  of  elevating  the  working-classes. 

Again,  it  must  be  distinctly  recognized  that  the  principle  must 
l)e  applied  in  different  ways  according  to  circumstances — the  kind 
of  industry,  the  class  of  workers,  the  nature  of  the  markets,  and 
the  like. 

Ijastly,  the  full  bearing  ajKin  tin*  general  wages  question  cannot 
be  seen  if  the  attention  is  confim'd  simply  to  the  details  of  one  or 
two  experiments,  especially  when  they  have  been  conducted  in  a 
foreign  coimtry. 

At  the  same  time,  however,  in  these  days  when  the  air  is  teem- 
ing with  all  kinds  of  socialistic  theories,  it  is  certainly  desirable 
to  study  actual  lisnng  examples  of  success,  and  also  to  account  for 
any  prominent  cases  of  failure.  For  such  an  appeal  to  e.xperience 
the  literature  of  profit-sharing  now  affords  ample  materials.  Tlie 
|deci«ioD  of  the  Society  founded  in  Paris  in  1878  for  "the  practical 
■study  of  the  various  systems  under  which  workmen  participate  ia 
profits"  is  a  good  illustration  of  the  need  which,  even  in  France, 
the  country  par  excellence  of   ideas,   industrial    reformers  feel    that 

VOL.  LVll.  E 


66 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jax. 


they  have  of  the  aid  of  hard  facts.  This  Society,  in  order  to 
preserve  tlie  absolutely  practical  character  of  its  studies  determined 
to  admit  to  membership  none  but  persona  actually  engaged  Im  manu- 
facture or  commerce.  An  annual  Ihdlditi  in  quarterly  numbei's  gives- 
some  two  hundred  pages  of  information  collected  by  the  members  on 
the  progress  of  the  participatory  raovt-ment.* 

It  is,  however,  to  Germany  that  one  naturally  turns  for  a  complete 
compilation  of  facts  and  theories  witli  ancient  and  modem  instances, 
l^fessor  Bohmert  has  written  an  elaborate  work,t  in  the  fir?t  part 
of  which  he  gives  the  theoretical  and  historical  side  of  the  question, 
whilst  a  special  part  is  devoted  to  an  examination  of  more  than  on© 
hundred  actual  cases  taken  from  nearly  eveiy  country  in  Flurope,  as 
well  as  from  England  and  America. 

Nor  has  the  subject  failed  to  attract  the  attention  of  English 
economists.  J.  S,  Mill,  in  the  chapter  in  his  "Political  Economy" 
on  the  Probable  Future  of  the  Labouring  Classes  (bk.  iv.  c.  7),  gave 
an  account  of  the  first  and  most  successful  experiment  by  M.  Leclaire, 
who  is  justly  regarded  as  the  father  of  profit-sharing  in  the  strict  sense 
of  the  term,  l^ofessor  Jevona  in  a  paper  on  '*  Industrial  Partner- 
ships "  (1870),  and  W.  T.  Thornton  in  hia  work  '*  On  Labour  "'(1870), 
did  much  to  make  the  principle  aud  the  most  striking  examples  of  its 
application  familiar  to  English  readers,  and  the  subject  has  found  a 
place  in  all  the  best  text-books  since  the  work  of  Mill.  Quite 
recently  two  important  works  on  Profit-Sharing  have  appeared — ono 
by  Mr.  Sedley  Taylor  (188 1),  and  the  other,  by  an  American,  Mr.  N.  P.. 
Oilman  (1889).  In  both  of  these  books  the  case  is  presented  withl 
great  impartiality,  and  witli  a  full  sense  of  the  difllculfiea  and 
dangers  as  well  as  of  the  direct  and  indirect  bcnelits  of  the  system. 

There  are,  indeed,  few  economic  proposals  of  a  practical  kind  whicbj 
have  been  yo  long,  and  po  persistently  and  with  such  authority  pri 
sented  to  the  public,  and  yet  it  must  be  confessed  that  hitherto, 
this  countiy  especially,  profit-sharing  has  received  much  more  atten- 
tion from  the  theoretical  economist  than  from  the  practical  man. 
Compared  with  the  groat  mass  of  industry  conducted  on  the  ordinary^ 
system  of  payment  by  wages,  either  by  piece-work  or  time,  the  amount 
of  profit-sharing  in  the  specific  sense  of  the  term  (according  to  which 
in  addition  to  the  wages  usually  current  for  the  same  work  the 
labourers  receive  a  share  in  the  surplus  profits)  is  practically  in- 
finitesimal. The  latpst  returns  compiled  by  Jlr.  Bushill,J  Coventry, 
show  that  there  are  less  than  thirty  firms  in  the  kingdom  which  have 
adopted  the  plan,  and  the  number  of  labourers  employed  is  only  about 

•  "  Profit-Sharinj;  between  Capital  ami  Labotir."  p.  45,  by  Mr.  Sedley  Taylor,  a  work 
to  which,  throughout  this  article,  I  am  much  indebted. 

t  "  Die  Gewimibetheilang."  Leipzig,  1878.  Tran-slated  into  French  and  brought 
np  to  date.    Paris.     1888. 

X  Quoted  by  Mr.  Sohloss,  Fortru^Uly  Jievitw,  Oct.  1889. 


I890J 


PROFIT-SHARING. 


9T 


10,000.  The  numbers  are  from  one  point  of  view  considerable,  but  com' 
pared  with  the  millions  of  ordinary  •wage-earners,  they  ai*e  insignifi- 
cant— especially  when  we  remember  that  many  celebrated  economists 
and  social  reformers  in  the  last  forty  years  have  not  only  given  thw 
plan  their  cordial  approval  but  a  wide  publicity. 

It  will  naturally  occur  to  most  readers  who  know  anything  of  trade 
that  if  profit-sharing  really  possessed  the  merits  claiim-d  for  it  as  a 
method  of  basiness,  and  not  merely  as  a  philantliropie  scheme,  it 
would  have  been  much  more  generally  adopted.  It  is  notorious  how 
in  these  days  of  excessive  competition  every  new  idea,  tried  by  ono 
firm  with  any  success,  at  once  finds  imitation — <'.(/.,  artistic  advertising. 
The  first  thing,  then,  that  those  who  advocate  profit-sharing  on  it^ 
merits  nmst  do,  is  to  explain  why  it  has  hitherto  obtained  so  littla 
practical  recognition,  especially  amongst  the  English-S])eakiug  nations, 
which  have  taken  the  lead  in  most  great  industrial  clianges ;  and  an, 
inquiry  into  the  nature  and  results  of  profit-sharing  may  advan-. 
tageonsly  follow  the  same  lines. 

One  reason,  undoubtedly,  why  the  system  has  not  even  been  tried 
at   all  generally  lies   in  the  fact,  that  even  in  our  day  the  economio 

lae  of  various  so-called  moral  forces  is  altogether  under-estimated. 
The  self-interest  of  employers  and  of  parents  ought  to  have  made 
the  long  series  of  Factory  Acts  unnecessary.  It  ought  lo  have  beeij 
^dent  to  master  manufacturers  that  excessive  hours  of  work,  bad  air, 
TRid  other  notorious  evils,  not  only  caused  a  degradation  of  labour,  but 
that  labour  so  degraded  was  iuetficient.  Parents  ought  to  have  seen 
that  it  would  pay  them  better  in  the  long  run  to  have  their  children. 
properly  educated  and  brought  up  in  a  healthy  manntT,  even  if  they 
regarded  them  merely  as  sources  of  revenue.  But  it  is  more  than 
doubtful  if  either  sanitation  or  education  would  have  been  promoted, 
even  to  the  interest  of  those  mos^t  directly  concerned,  by  reliance 
(imply  upon  that  interest.  In  spite  of  example  and  precept,  the 
economic  value  of  moral  forces,  except  of  the  most  obvious  kinds — e.g., 
trustworthiness  in  a  manager — is  rarely  recognized.  The  chief  reason 
why  productive  co-operation  is  a  comparative  failure  is,  that  the  value 
of  business  capacity  is  under-rated,  and  efiiciency  is  sacrificed  to 
nominal  cheapness  in  management.  It  may  be  allowed,  then,  that 
on  analogy  with  corresponding  business  methods,  profit-sharing 
may  be  perfectly  sound  and  practicable  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  it 
has  made  so  little  headway.  Any  one  can  see  at  once  the  value  of  a 
new  mechanical  process ;  but  an  improvement  in  the  mechanism  of 
human  motive  power  is  not  so  easily  understood. 

Another  cause  of  the  slow  progress  of  the  movement,  also  of  a  general 
aaracter,  and  therefore  more  liable  to  be  overlooked,  is  the  popular 

iception,  usually  entertained  both  by  masters  and  men,  of  the  natural 

>nomic  relations  of  labour  to  capital,  and  of  wages  to  profits.     The 


greatest  industrial  success  achieved  by  likbourin  this  century,  judged  by 
the  ordinary  standards  of  nurab*="rs,  funds,  and  results,  is  undoubtedly 
trade  unionism.  Co- operation,  boards  of  conciliation,  sliding-scales, 
and  other  methods  of  social  reform  have  obtained  a  certain  amount 
of  practical  support  from  labour,  but,  directly  and  indirectly,  trade 
unionism  has  done  more  for  thp  welfare  of  the  working-classes  than 
all  these  other  mt^thods  put  together.  Trade  unionism  has,  in  fact, 
been  so  successful  that  it  has  now  reached  the  point  of  development 
at  which  the  danger  to  be  feared,  on  the  analogy  of  corresponding  forms 
in  industrial  hi.story,  is  the  danger  of  excessive  power.  But  the  out- 
come of  trade  unionism  is  at  the  best  an  armed  peace — the  unions 
may  be,  and  are  to  a  large  extent,  benefit  societies,  but  essentially  they 
are  great  fighting  organizations.  If  there  is  a  rise  in  prices  an  advance 
of  wages  is  demanded,  and  if  there  is  a  fall  a  reduction  is  rewsted. 
The  natural  result  is  that  both  in  the  minds  of  masters  and  men  there 
seems  to  be  an  irreconcilable  opposition  jjetween  profits  and  wages, 
and  it  is  generally  believed  that  the  one  can  rise  only  at  the  expense 
of  the  other.  This  is  one  crucial  difficulty  which  profit-sharing  as  a 
practical  scheme  must  overcome  before  it  can  hope  to  be  widely 
adopted. 

The  nature  and  force  of  this  difficulty  can  only  be  appreciated 
when  the  characteristic  features  of  profit-sharing  are  fully  realized. 
In  the  typical  case  tlie  workmen  are  to  receive  the  ordinaiy  rates  of 
wages  current  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  these  rates  are  in  general 
fixed  at  the  maximum  possible  according  to  the  state  of  trade  by  the 
action  of  strong  trade  unions.  Yet,  under  the  proposed  scheme,  the 
master  is  to  set  aside  only  a  fixed  percentage  for  himself  by  way  of 
interest  on  capital,  provision  for  wear  and  tear  and  the  like,  and  any- 
thing earned  beyond  this  rate  is  to  be  divided  in  certain  proportions 
between  the  employer  and  the  employed.  It  certainly  looks,  at  first 
sight,  aa  if  the  master  was  compelled  to  pay  the  market  rate  of  wages, 
but  to  receive  something  leas  than  the  market  rate  of  profita.  And 
this  supposition  is  strengthened  when  it  is  observed  that  the  labourers 
are  never  to  be  called  upon  to  share  in  exceptional  losses,  and  that  at  the 
outside  in  bad  years  they  can  only  fail  to  receive  the  exceptional  bonus 
obtained  in  good  years.  Surely  masters  may  naturally  argue  that  if 
they  are  to  meet  the  losses  of  a  depression  they  must  be  able  to  draw 
upon  the  gains  of  an  inflation. 

There  is  only  one  possible  answer  to  this  objection,  and  this  is  the 
answer  which  was  given  by  M.  Leclaire,  and  which  is  the  kernel  of 
the  wliole  matter.  Under  the  siinudus  of  proJit-shariTuj  the  workers 
7itnst  create  the  atfdifional  pro/its  whirh  thty  art,  io  receive.  If  they 
do  not  increase  the  efficiency  of  their  labour  or  make  economies  by 
avoiding  waste  of  materials,  or  by  taking  greater  care  of  tools  and 
machinery,  if,  in  a  word,  they  do  not  for  the  same  wages  in  some 


i«9o] 


PROFIT-SHARISG. 


69 


way  or  other  either  increase  tbe  out-pnt  or  dimimsh  tlie  cost  of  pro- 
duction, then  profit-sharing  is  siniply  a  gain  to  the  workers  at  the 
expense  of  the  masters. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  the  system  works  well,  it  is  plainly  possible  for 
wages  and  profits  to  rise  simultaneously.  That  the  system  can  be  made 
to  work  well,  the  experience  of  the  Maison  Leclaire,  now  extending  over 
nearly  half  a  century,  famishes  at  once  a  striking  and  most  interesting 
proof.  The  story  has  been  oflen  told,  and  Mr.  Gilman  deserves  praise 
for  having  once  more  imparted  freshness  to  the  subject,  *'  by  tracing  the 
development  of  the  Maison  Leclaire  in  close  connection  with  the  circum- 
stances of  its  founder's  life."  Nor  is  this  the  only  example  of  success. 
Id  an  industrial  census  of  the  whole  world  150  iscertainiy  a  very  small 
number  of  firms  to  quote  as  evidence  of  the  acceptance  of  the  principle  ; 
hot  when  it  is  found  that  this  number  includes  various  kinds  of 
business,  and  that  the  proportion  of  failures  is  much  below  the 
average,  and  in  most  cases  due  to  extraneous  causes,  the  appeal  to 
experience  has  more  weight  than  appears  at  first  sight.  For  an 
inductive  proof,  however,  the  reader  must  turn  to  the  volumes  already 
quoted  ;  it  is  plainly  impossible  to  compress  such  a  proof  within  the 
limits  of  an  article. 

To  return  to  the  examination  of  the  causes  why,  especially  in  the 
United  Kingdom,  the  progress  of  profit-sharing  has  not  been  greater, 
another  reason  is  at  once  suggested  by  the  apj^eal  just  made  to  ex- 
perience. The  English  practical  man  is  only  too  fond  of  saying 
that  "  an  ounce  of  fact  is  worth  a  ton  of  theory,''  and  unfortunately 
in  this  case  the  facts  with  which  he  is  most  familiar  seem  to  be 
against  the  system,  at  any  rate  on  the  surface.  The  failure  of  the  ex- 
periment made  by  Messrs.  Briggs  is  even  more  widely  known  than  the 
SDOcess  of  the  Maison  Leclaire,  and  the  English  attempt  which  next  to 
this  has  attracted  most  attention — that  made  by  Messrs.  Fox,  Head 
and  Co. — was  also  abandoned  after  eight  years'  tnal.  These  two 
examples  have  had  so  much  influence  in  practically  dissuading  employers 
from  making  the  experiment  for  themselves  that,  even  in  an  argu- 
ment of  a  general  kind,  they  demand  a  certain  amount  of  attention. 
Aa  regards  the  Whitwottd  Colliery  of  Messrs.  Briggs,  very  full  infor- 
mation is  given  by  Mr.  Sedley  Taylor  in  a  roemorandum*  offered  to 
him  for  publication  by  two  of  the  origrnnl  partners.  It  will  be  seen 
from  this  document  that  the  Messrs.  Briggs  themselves  do  not  consider 
the  abandonment  of  the  system  in  their  own  case  a  decisive  test 
of  ita  unfitness  for  this  countrj-,  for  they  state  explicitly  at  the  con- 
clusion of  the  paper  that  "  nothing  that  has  occurred  seems  to  show 
that  the  system  inaugurated  at  Whitwood  may  not  eventually  be 
generally  and  successfully  adopted,  and  lead  to  a  more  intimate 
anion  of  interests  and  a  more  cordial  feeling  between  capitalists  and 
•  •'Profit-Sharing  between  Capital  aod  Labour."  p.  117. 


70 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jas. 


theii*  worknu-ii."  In  response  to  a  request  by  Mr.  Sedley  Taylor  for 
ftirtlier  information,  Mr.  Archibald  Briggs  stated  that  down  to  1872, 
about  seven  years,  the  bonus  paid  to  the  workmen  was  really  earned 
by  extra  care  and  economy,  and  that  the  outside  shareholders  also 
reaped  a  benefit,  but  in  the  two  years  of  great  inflation  which  fciUowed, 
tlie  bontiB  (>aid  to  workmen,  was  more  than  was  earned  by  the  extr 
efficiency  of  labour,  and  thus  from  a  business  point  of  \iew  the  sbare-^ 
holders  were  not  so  well  oft'  as  they  would  have  been  without  the  system 
of  profit-sharing.  lie  also  said  that  in  his  opinion  no  isolated  concern 
could  reap  the  full  ben<^fits  of  the  plan,  and  that  the  f^reatest  advantages 
could  only  be  srcuied  by  its  being  generally  mloptod,  and  altering  the 
whole  tone  of  the  relations  between  employer  and  employed,  and  doinj 
away  with  the  anUi'ionistic  romhinatitma  of  one  clftss  affoinsf.  the  other. 

To  the  present  writer,  after  a  careful  examination  of  the  evidencej 
the  main  caiise  of  the  failure  of  the  Whitwood  experiment  seems  to  li« 
in  the  fact  that  from  beginning  to  end  the  principal  object  aimed  at  was 
to  provide  a  eubstitute  for  thi'  inflai>ncf>  of  the  trade  unions,  and  not 
Biraply  to  increase  the  efficiency  of  the  whole  concern  with  the  view  of 
creating  a  divisible  bonus-  The  chief  reason  givim  by  Ifessrs.  Briggs 
for  the  original  adoption  of  the  Bcbeme  was,  that  during  a  period  of  ten 
years  four  strikes  had  occurred,  lasting  in  tho  aggregate  seventy-eight 
weeks,  and  it  was  supposed  that  if  the  workmt-n  were  allowed  to  be- 
come industrial  partners  they  would  have  no  further  interest  in  strikes. 
Whilst  every  one  must  approve  of  any  method  which  diminishes  tho 
liumber  and  severity  of  strikes,  iind  equally  of  every  advance  towards 
a  better  understanding  of  their  mutual  interests  by  masters  and  men,  it 
Seems  fallacious  to  argue  that,  as  matters  stand,  it  is  not  for  the  interest 
of  those  workmen  who  join  an  industrial  partnership  to  give  any  sup- 
port to  tlie  action  of  trade  unions.  For  it  must  be  remembered 
that  the  essence  of  the  system  as  a  method  of  bu5*iness  is  to  pay  a 
minimum  interest  on  capital  and  also  the  market  rate  of  wages  before 
then-  can  be  any  bonus  to  divide. 

But  it  is  easy  to  see  that  the  bonus  paid  to  labour  must 
always  be  small  compared  with  the  market  rate  of  wages,  and, 
accordingly,  that  it  is  for  the  economic  interest  of  the  workmen  to 
look  first  to  tho  best  mode  of  increasing  the  ordinary  rate  of  wages, 
■which  in  the  concrete  means  the  action  of  trade  miions.  The 
men  in  the  Whitwood  Collieries  were  fully  alive  to  this  elementary 
fact,  and  the  immediate  cause  of  the  breakdown  of  this  indnstrial 
partnership  was  an  attempt  to  keep  the  men  from  attending  a 
meeting  of  unionists.  At  the  same  time,  whilst  the  men  natu- 
rally considered  that  the  bonus,  large  as  it  was  during  the  years 
of  inflation,  was  not  large  enough  to  make  them  independent  of 
their  unions,  the  sharflioldei-s,  apart  from  tho  actual  managers, 
naturally    thought   the  Iwnua    was  to  a   great    extent   taken    from 


i89o] 


PROFIT-SHARING. 


71 


profits,  and  not  from  additional  earnings ;  and  on  the  matter  of 
fact,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  in  the  two  years  of  very  high 
prices  the  opinion  of  !Mr.  A.  Briggs,  already  quoted,  was  correct, 
and  that  tho  Ijonus  paid  to  labour  was  not  due  to  extra  exertion 
or  economy,  but  mainly  to  the  accidental  rise  in  prices,  As  a 
consequence,  just  as  labour  looked  for  the  market  rate  of  wages,  capital 
looked  for  the  market  rate  of  profits,  and  it  was  announced  tliat  the 
mtnimnra  interest  reserved  to  capital  before  any  participation  of  surplus 
was  allowed  would  be  raised  from  t^n  to  fifteen  per  cent.  Even  after  this 
ris«',  the  outside  shareholders  grumbled,  because  they  thought  their 
prolite  were  lower  than  they  ought  to  have  been. 

The  position  was  oue  of  great  difficulty,  and  when  the  ]>lan  was  first 
adopted  no  one  had  ever  dreamed  of  such  an  abnormal  rise  in  prices. 
Both  Mr.  Sedley  Taylor  and  Mr.  Gilman  maintain  that  the  rise  of 
profits  (reserved)  from  ten  to  fifteen  per  cent,  was  unjustified  and 
contraiy  to  the  essence  of  the  scheme.  Of  course,  if  it  had  been 
foreseen  that  such  a  rise  was  possible,  a  provision  should  have  been 
inserted  in  the  original  agreement,  and  in  this  way  a  certain  amounfc 
of  friction  would  have  been  avoided.  As  matters  stood,  however, 
there  appears  to  be  no  reason  why,  as  Mr.  Briggs  points  out,  when 
wages  had  risen  fifty  per  cent,  (without  the  bonu.s)  the  interest  on 
capital  f?hould  also  not  receive  an  increment  (apart  from  the  bonus), 
especially  as  no  one  could  tell  how  long  the  *'  boom "  would  last, 
though  there  was  little  doubt  that  ver}'  lean  years  would  follow  on 
the  natural  over-production  of  the  fat  years.  But  although  there- 
was  some  friction  over  the  division  of  the  unexpected  surplus,  and 
neitht-r  tho  shareholders  nor  the  men  were  satisfied,  this  was  not  the 
principal  cause  uf  the  abandonment  of  the  system.  It  was  not  a  dis- 
pute over  the  "  bonus  "  but  over  the  ordinary  rate  of  wages  and  tho 
conditions  of  work  which  really  led  to  the  disruption.  The  men  wisht^ 
to  support,  the  trade  unions,  and  tlie  shareholders  practically  threatened 
4o  fine  them  heavily  if  they  did. 

The  faiUire  of  the  profit-sharing  system  adopted  by  Slessrs.  Fox,  Head 
and  Co..  in  their  ironworks  at  Middlesborongh,  may  also  be  largely  ascribed 
to  the  hostility  shown  towards  the  trade  unions.  It  was  definitely  stipu- 
lated  that  no  employes  were  to  belong  to  trade  unions  ;  and  in  return  the 
I'luployers  agreed  not  to  join  any  association  of  employers.  But,  as 
Mr.  Oilman's  criticism*  shows  very  plainly,  the  workmen  must  have 
found  in  the  eight  years'  experiment  that  Messrs.  Fo-\,  Head  and  Co. 
were  asking  much  more  than  they  gave.  In  the  first  place,  ten  per 
cent,  interest  with  six  per  cent,  for  renewals  and  depreciation  of  the 
Forks  and  plant,  and  one-and-a-lialf  per  cent,  for  bad  debts,  constituted 
large  reserve  from  profits,  and  the  highest  bonus  earned  by  labour 
in  the  best  year  seems  to  have  been  four  per  cent.  The  firm  also 
•  "  Proflt-Sharing,"  p.  274. 


secured  for  itsell'  immunity  from  strikes,  and  it  decided  for  itself  any 
question  of  wages  and  prices,  whilst  the  workmen  bad  to  cut  them- 
selves off  from  the  unions  which  uot  only  tried  to  obtain  a  maximum 
wage,  but  also  carefully  looked  alter  the  general  conditions  of  labour. 
Trade  unions,  however,  have  done  too  good  service  for  too  long  a  time 
to  be  abandoned  for  such  a  small  bribe  as  a  bonus  on  wages.  Thus,  an 
examination  of  the  two  most  celebrated  cases  of  failure  tends  to  prove 
that  the  failure  was  dae  to  an  insufficieut  recognition  of  actual  indus- 
trial conditions  and  an  pxnggerated  idea  of  the  magnitude  of  the  reai 
changes  introduced  by  profit- sharing. 

Botli  **  industrial  partnership"  and  "profit-sharing"  are  apt  to  suggest 
a  much  closer  idputity  of  interests  than  is  really  invulved  in  this 
method  of  business,  and  it  may  be  questioned  whether  it  would  not 
be  better  to  adopt  some  such  simple  name  as  "  bonus  system."'*  The 
term  "partnership"  is  cortainl}'  niisleading,  for  neither  iu  the  conduct 
of  the  bu.siness  nor  in  respousibiiity  for  los.ses  are  the  workmen  ''  part- 
ners ;"  and  even  as  regards  profits  they  have  no  share  in  the  "interest,"' 
which  is  reserved,  nor  in  the  "■wages  of  management,"  nor  in  the 
"  reward  for  risk  "—the  three  elements  into  which  gross  profits  an* 
generally  analysed.  What  the  workmen  really  share  is  the  increased 
earnings  due  to  a  bi-tter  use  of  capital  by  labour. 

Every  one  will  admit  that  a  system  of  profit-sharing  as  usually 
understood  offers  favourable  opportunities  for  the  improvement  of 
the  relations  between  masters  and  men;  but  it  would  he  a  great  mis- 
take, both  in  theory  and  fact,  to  suppose  that  a  "  share  in  the  profits," 
or  a  t)onus  on  wages,  as  it  is  more  properly  called,  is  the  only  possible 
foundation  of  a  cordial  understanding  between  masters  and  men, 
and  the  only  way  to  obtain  various  social  advantages.  On  the  other 
band,  in  considering  the  causes  of  the  slow  progress  of  the  system 
practically,  some  weight  must  be  given  to  the  fact  that  the  purely 
business  principle  has  been  overshadowed  in  the  public  mind  with  these 
secondary  influences.  There  is  no  reason  why  the  least  charitable  and 
least  philanthropic  of  masters  should  not  adopt  some  form  of  extra  pay- 
ment for  extra  results,  some  simple  form  of  proGt-sharing,  any  more 
than  that  he  should  adopt  piece-work  instead  of  time  wages;  but  many 
masters  are  inclined  to  think  that  their  workmen  out  of  their  own  wages 
can  make  savings  and  invest  them,  and  also  provide  theujselves  with 
decent  recreation  and,  if  they  choose,  education.  Accordingly,  although 
those  more  elaborate  schemes  of  profit-sharing  which  set,  aside  so  much 
for  social  purposes,  pensions,  insurance  against  accidents  and  the  like, 
and  which  allow,  if  they  do  not  compel,  the  savings  of  the  workmen  to 
be  invested  in  the  shares  of  the  concern — although  such  schemes  are 
much  more  attractive  to  social  reformers  and  seem  to  ofier  much  greater 


*  In  the  nciphbouring  collieries  the  AVLitwood  scheme  was  commonly  spoken  of  as 
'  Briggs"  boOEif.*' 


i89o] 


PROFIT-SHARING. 


jTB 


advantages,  still  they  tend  to  alarm  the  average  man  of  business  and  to 
make  him  think  that  profit-sharing  is  in  reality  a  form  of  charity — at  his 
expense.  And  even  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  worktut'n  it  may  be 
doubted  whether  it  is  always  prudent  to  rely  upon  their  particular  busi- 
ness for  old  age,  provision  for  sickness  and  children,  and  so  forth,  rather 
than  on  benefit  and  insurance  societies  ;  and  they  might  often  prefer  to 
have  any  bonus  they  conld  eana  placed  entirely  at  their  own  disposal, 
Thus,  the  indirect  social  advantages  which  have  justly  received  such  high 
)raise  in  a  few  celebrated  cases — e.g.,  Leclaire  and  Godin — may  really 
iQve  prevented  the  spread  of  the  system  in  a  more  elementaiy  form. 
Those  who  coald  not  or  would  not  imitate  these  great  philanthropists  on 
the  social  side  have  thouc^bt  that  they  need  not  look  at  the  question  at  all. 
Again,  many  emjUoyers  who  take  a  great  interest  in  their  workmen, 
and  are  ready  and  anxious  to  promote  their  welfare  in  many  ways, 
still  object  most  strongly  to  giving  them  any  voice  even  indirectly  in 
the  management,  and  they  think  that  if  proiit-sharing  were  intro- 
duced their  independence  would  be  saciificed.  This  objection  takes 
many  forms.  It  is  said,  for  example,  that  if  workmen  are  allowed  to 
share  in  the  profits  they  will  insist  upon  seeing  the  book.s,  and  will 
distrust  the  returns  made  by  the  masters.  To  this  it  is  answered  that 
the  accounts  might  be  submitted  to  sworn  accountants,  whose  decision 
should  be  final.  But,  again,  it  is  objected  that  the  rate  of  profit  earned 
must  necessarily  be  made  public,  seeing  that  the  amount  of  bonus  will 
depend  upon  it,  and  thus,  if  the  rate  is  high,  that  competition  might 
be  increased,  whilst,  in  case  of  bad  trade,  it  is  feared  that  the  non-pay- 
ment of  a  bonus  after  a  payment  for  some  years  might  even  lead  to  a 
partial  loss  of  credit.  Thus,  whether  profits  were  very  high  or  very  low 
it  would  not  be  to  the  advantage  of  the  firm  that  the  fact  should  be 
known.  Again,  it  is  said  that  in  years  of  good  trade  large  profits 
might  be  earned  for  a  time,  which  were  in  no  way  due  to  the  extra 
exertions  or  carefulness  of  the  men  (as  in  the  case  of  the  Whitwood 
Collieries  during  the  great  inflation),  and  that  these  profits  ought  to  be 
set  against  the  exceptional  losses  of  a  depression,  in  which,  although 
the  workmen  may  not  receive  a  bonus,  they  never  share  in  the  actual 
loea. 

The  general  re-suIt  of  all  these  objections  is  that,  rightly  or  wrongly, 
masters  think  that  under  a  eystem  of  profit-sharing  their  profits 
woold,  in  the  long  nm,  be  less,  and  that  they  would  also  be 
hampered  in  the  management  of  their  business.  Experience  haa 
shown  that  these  fears  are  certainly  exaggerated,  and  also  that  they 
■re  generally  expressed  by  tliose  who  have  never  given  the  system 
a  trial ;  but  at  the  same  time  they  do  much  towards  explaining  the 
small  amount  of  favour  which  the  system  has  practically  received  from 
the  great  mass  of  employers.  When  tlie  other  reasons  already  advanced 
10  taken  into  account,  it  is  not  diflGlcalt  to  understand  why  profit- 


74 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jan. 


sharing  has  hitherto  altogether  failed  to  realize  the  expectations  formed 
of  it  by  very  good  jodges,  and  few  woald  now  be  inclined  to  endorse 
the  opinion  of  Prof.  Jevons  *  in  1670,  that  "  the  sharing  of  profits  is 
one  of  those  apparently  simple  inventions  at  the  simplicity  of  which 
men  will  wonder  in  an  after-age." 

The  method  of  inquiry  hitherto  pursued  in  this  paper  has  been,  in 
the  main,  to  consider  why  this  ''  apparently  simple  invention "  has 
met  with  so  little  practical  recognition.  It  remains  now  to  indicate 
the  way  in  which  this  experience  from  the  past  may  be  utilized  for 
the  future.  To  some  the  natural  conclusion  would  be  that  a  tree  which 
has  borne  so  little  fruit  for  half  a  century  might  now  be  cut  down  and 
burned.  To  ray  mind,  however,  to  continue  the  simile,  what  the  tree 
needs  is  a  liberal  use  of  the  pruning  knife  and  the  lopping  off  of  a 
mass  of  luxuriant  but  unfruitful  foliage. 

In  ih^  Jird  j/lacc,  in  the  light  of  experience  and  in  the  present  condition 
of  industry,  it  is  ridiculous  to  suppose  that  '•  profitri sharing  "  can  be  a 
substitute  for  trade  unions.  Any  ordinary  firm  which  intends  to  give  the 
system  a  fair  trial  should  be  prepared  to  leave  the  employes  absolutely 
free  to  take  part  in  the  meetings  and  policy  of  the  unions,  just  na  it 
should  reserve  to  itself  the  right  of  joining  combinations  of  the  masters. 
The  reason  for  this  course  is  obvious.  A  Ixinus  on  wages,  aft^r  the 
reserved  profits  have  been  allotted  to  the  masters,  is  not  an  economic 
equivalent  for  the  abandonment  by  the  men  of  their  unions,  which  have 
so  much  influence  in  det^rminino;  the  rates  of  wagfes  and  the  conditions 
of  employment.  Again,  the  unions  are  so  strong  in  a  great  number  of 
industries,  that  it  would  be  extremely  impolitic  for  a  new  and  weakly 
institution  to  provoke  their  hostility. 

Setwidli/,  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  so-called  share  in  the 
profits  is  simply  an  addition  to  and  not  a  substitute  for  wages.  Even 
if  the  system  were  adopted  almost  universally,  the  working-classes  would 
still  in  the  main  depend  upon  the  ordinarj'  rate  of  wages,  which  again 
is  determined  by  the  conditions  of  industrial  demand  and  supply. 
All  that  trade  unions  themselves  can  do  is  to  see  that  the  best 
bargain  is  made  which  the  conditions  of  the  market  allow  ;  and  profit- 
sharing  can  do  no  more. 

I *ro fit-sharing  as  such  furnishes  no  guaj-antee  against  instability 
of  earnings  and  fluctuations  in  employment.  No  system  of  divi- 
sion of  the  proceeds  can  be  a  guarantee  that  the  proceeds  will  be 
forthcoming.  The  greatest  perseverance  would  be  no  remedy  against 
over-production  or  the  loss  of  a  foreign  market,  or  an  enormous  rise 
in  the  price  of  raw  material,  or  the  popular  adoption  of  some  substitute 
for  an  old  staple.  But  in  the  great  mass  of  industries,  fluctuations  in 
wages  and  employment  are  the  most  crying  evils  of  the  day.  In  some 
businesses  of  a  peculiar  character  and  with  well-established  custom 
*  ••  Methods  of  Sociul  Reform,"  p.  1?5. 


iS9o] 


PROFIT-SHARING. 


these  erils  are  not  felt,  but  the  gr«>at  indnstrii^s  of  n  niMiufivcturinf,( 
country  are  not  of  this  fortunate  kind.  Thus,  profit-sharing  at  tho  h»<at 
will  not  of  itself  be  a  Buflident  remedy  for  soinr  of  tho  most  wviotig 
evils  afl'fcting  labour. 

Thirdly,  there  are  other  methods  of  obtaining  thr  Rocial  ndvantafifoa 
connected  with  the  most  celebrated  examph^s  of  jmilit-nharinf?.  It  !« 
not  every  business  that  could  provide,  like  that  of  M.  Godiii,  for  tho 
education,  amusement,  and  general  oomfort  of  itH  nieraberH,  and  thn 

ample  in  this  country  which  comeB  the  nearest  to  it. — -SalUMre-  does 
ot,  I  believe,  adopt  the  prolit-aharinj^'  priricipl*'.  SiijuiOHJng  iliut 
profit-sharing  were  as  widely  spread  as  its  most  ardent  Bupportfro  dt-sire, 
it  would  probably  not  be  an  unmixed  gain  for  tlm  <'i)untry  at  largo  if, 
for  general  social  purposes,  every  businens  eHtablishnvnt  aimed  »t 
Ijecoming  self-sufficing  and  inde]3eudenf. 

When,  however,  all  this  pruning  has  been  !iccoiu]>Uslif'd,  th'^  Hlom 
and  its  main  branches — the  principle  and  its  logical  cotjHwjiK-jiceM — are 
left  intact.  And  that  principle,  as  pointed  out  at  the  outset  of  this 
article,  is  not  a  principle  of  charity  or  philanthropy,  but  nssentially 
an  economic  principle.  In  every  busineas  in  which  timo-wagos  are 
paid  there  is  always  a  great  waste  of  time.  Nor  can  thin  watite  be 
considered  as  a  pleasure  to  the  workmen  thftniHelves.  IDvery  one 
knows  that  it  is  really  much  more  pleasant  to  work  with  brisk,  lively 
energy,  and  witli  interest,  than  to  idle  and  dawdle,  and  bo  always 

king  at    the  clock.      Again,   if  piece-work  is   adopted,   it    is    well 
nown  that  quality  is  eacrificed  to  quantity,  nnicss  the  lupcniaion  i« 
stringent  and  effective. 

But  so  long  as  the  time-worker  is  paid  simply  for  time,  and  tb': 
piece-worker  for  quantity,  tJiere  will  be  a  Iom  in  the  valae  of  the  out^ 
pat,  a  loss  which  is  a  gain  to  nobody.  Aput  from  thti,  tber<»  if  a 
farther  loss  in  the  vrtatft  of  material,  carrlcmneM  in  the  OM  of 
machinery,  and  the  like,  when  the  workem  have  no  interest  In  ihb 
general  result.  Accordingly  it  is  qnit«  clear  that  in  most  baHineme* 
there  is  room  for  extra  earning*,  and  the  best  way  to  lecare  Utis  end 
is  to  give  a  large  share  to  thoiie  who  by  their  dlbrt«  or  oaro  ooi»- 
tribote  to  the  resnlL  Profit-sharing  of  Uiis  kind  nmst  be  adrantageovs 
to  all  oonopmed.  Hm  master  obtains  m  share  of  the  tii«ome  in  pro- 
portion to  his  wages  of  soperintendetioe,  And  the  wotkmen  obtein 
tlieir  booos  on  wages.  If  this  bonus  is  paid  at  oaoddenHe  interrahi, 
or  is  invested  in  the  form  of  shares,  the  oompolaory  sttrtog  tb«s 
^flect^d  is  strictly  aoakigoas  to  that  whidi  has  prodoeed  lodi  good 
resalu  in  the  old  oo-operalnre  BDcieties. 

Tbe  qveataoB  hse  been  titeCcd  on  the  wliote  bom  tbe  boiforae  point 
<4  riev,  and  profit  shsring  Imb  been  oooMderad  maialj  aa  tocruiaing 
thocffeaeney  of  tba  pfodadi»e  lynta ;  bat  tbe  mow  suuuasfal  Om 
sjalea  is  as  a  medwd  id  bMUMHy  ao  sacb  tba  more  will  it  ttitui  f/, 


76 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jas, 


bring  about  those  moral  and  social  results  for  which  in  most  quarters 
it  is  generally  recommended.  The  constant  effort  to  make  the  most 
of  the  concern,  the  creation  of  a  keen  ^^s2)rit  de  corps  amongst  the 
workers,  the  knowledge  that  tu  a  large  extent  the  interests  of  masters 
and  men  are  identical,  the  application  of  a  share  of  the  profits  to  social 
purposes,  the  opporttinity  for  the  gradual  accumulation  of  capital 
out  of  extra  eamiugs,  and  the  consequent  sense  of  independence 
— all  these  are  factors  which  make  for  the  moral  elevation  both  oi" 
masters  and  men,  and  tend  to  diminish  the  friction  between  classes. 
If  profit-sharing  is  a  business  success,  there  is  little  doubt  that  the 
rest  will  follow.  Even  in  private  firms  it  is  those  on  the  margin  of 
bankruptcy,  and  not  thos«  with  exr^-ptlunal  profita,  which  give  laboui" 
the  least  reward  for  the  hai-dfst  work.  The  best  business  for  the 
master  is,  as  a  rule,  best  also  for  the  men.  But  if  profit-sharing 
does  not  prove  a  good  method  of  business,  it  is  vain  tu  talk  of  the 
social  improvements  which  would  follow  on  its  general  adoption — for 
the  simple  reason  that  it  will  never  be  generally  adopted. 

An  illustration  may  be  taken  from  co-operation.  The  co-operative 
societies  for  distributive  pux-poses  amongst  the  working  classes  have 
been  a  wonderful  success.  In  Great  Britain  they  have  a  member- 
ship of  about  900,000,  and  sell  goofle  to  the  amount  of  nearlyi 
£;i3, 000,000  per  annum.  The  net  profits  are  alwut  £3,000,000.  Now, 
after  making  full  allowance  for  the  moral  enthusiasm  of  the  originaJ 
founders,  and  for  the  co-operative  spirit  of  the  present  members,  there 
can  be  little  doubt  that  this  great  success  is  in  the  main  to  be  ascribed 
to  economic  causes — c.ff.^  better  quality  of  goods,  and,  directly  or  in- 
directly, lessened  cost.  The  co-operative  productive  societies,  from 
the  moral  standpoint,  offer  much  greater  attractions,  but  they  have 
succeeded  only  tu  a  small  extent,  and  again  the  principal  causes 
of  failure  are  purely  economic — et/.,  competition  and  inferior  business 
capacity. 

But  the  co-operative  movement  furnishes  a  still  more  definite 
illustration  of  the  position  that  profit-sharing  must  in  the  first 
place  stsmd  or  fall  on  its  economic  merits.  At  the  Co-operative 
Congress  in  1888*  it  was  recommended  that,  "  by  whomsoever  pro- 
ductive enterprises  are  established — by  either  the  wholesale  or  dis- 
tributive societies,  or  by  organizations  of  the  working-nun  them- 
selves— an  alliance  be  formed  on  e<juitablo  conditions  for  the  sharing 
of  profita  and  risks  between  the  worker,  the  capitalist,  and  the  con- 
sumer." A  copy  of  this  resolution  was  sent  to  the  different  societies, 
and  questions  were  put  in  a  circular  as  to  their  treatment  of  their 
workers.  "  To  this  circular  only  19'.)  sent  replies,  of  which  138  Baid 
that  they  had  no  productive  works,  while  01  gave  replies  more  or  less 
full  to  the  question  :  '  Does  the  society  admit  the  workers  employed 

•  See  Report  for  1889,  p.  28,  and  Appendix  VIII.,  p.  40. 


iSgo] 


PROFIT-SHARING. 


77 


in  it  productively  to  any  share  La  the  profits  of  its  business  ? ' " 
Five  sotrietus  only  replied  in  the  affinnatite  atid  46  in  the  negative* 
•To  the  question  :  *'  Would  the  society  be  disposed  to  enter  into  any 
plan  by  which  the  wliole  proKts  in  production,  or  any,  or  what  part 
of  them  might  bf*  applied  for  the  permanent  benefit  of  the  workmen 
by  providing  against  sickness,  disability  from  age,  or  assurance  on 
death  ?  "      Ten  societies  replied  in  the  affirmative  and  30  in  the  neijntive. 

Could  a  more  convincing  proof  be  offered  of  the  contention  that 

lowever  attractive  may  be  the  moral  aspects  of  profit-sharing  it  must, 

[for  practical  purjKJses,  be  considered  in  the  first  place  as  a  matter  of 

wsiness  ?     It  is  too  much  to  hope  that  the  ordinary  capitaliat  will 

i'gard   the  r|uestion  from  a  higher  standpoint  than  the   managers   of 

the  co-operative  distributing  agencies  which  also  take  up  production, 

encoaraged  as  they  are  by  the  public  opinion  of  the  great   body  of 

co-operators. 

Profit-sharing  is  capable  of  a  much  wider  extension  than  it  has  yet 
attained,  but  the  first  condition  of  snccess  is  that  the  nature  of  the 
economic  principles  on  which  it  rests,  as  well  as  the  industrial  forces 
with  which  it  must  work,  should  be  fully  realized. 

At  the  same  time  the  stress  laid  on  the  business  side  of  the  ques- 
tion in  this  paper  must  not  Ije  misunderstood.  The  ideal  of  profit- 
sharing  is  to  make  the  best  use  not  only  of  the  physical  strength  and 
the  technical  skill,  but  also  of  the  moral  energy  of  all  the  workers, 
the  managers  included  ;  and  the  principal  obstacle  in  its  path,  as  in  every 
tlepartment  of  industrial  progress,  lies  in  the  fact,  noticed  at  the  ontset, 
that  the  economic  value  of  moral  forces  is  constantly  under-rated. 

J,  Shield  Nicholson. 


The  returns  roferre<l  to  were  made  br  the  _<li8tributive   sorielics.  and  do  not 
.include  those  occupied  onlj  with  production.     The  figures  quoted  in  the  Appendix 
(apparently  \aXei)  are  2(i4  replies — 181  no  productive  works,  10  afiirnuitive,  and  01 
tef^tive. 


rjAjf. 


THE   HOME   KULE    MOVEMENT   IN   INDIA 
AND    IN    IRELAND: 

A  CONTRAST. 


I  HAVE  spent  nearly  fifty  years  in  Ireland  and  in  India  :  in  the 
latter  I  have  represented  Government  in  its  dealings  with 
populations  varying  between  half  a  million  and  five  niillions. 

The  five  millions,  of  different  races  and  faiths,  formerly  bitterly 
inimical  to  each  other,  oppressing  and  oppressed,  are  now  at  peace. 
Peace  has  been  maintained  for  many  years  without  a  single  white 
soldier ;  for  appearance  sake  a  few  companies  of  plump  and  idle  pe]x>y» 
are  maintained,  but  no  bayonet  or  baton  cliarge,  no  battering-ram,  has, 
in  my  exjieriencej  been  needed  in  a  region  larger  than  Ireland  and  Wales 
combined.  There  it  has  been  my  duty  to  practise  the  art  of  government ; 
and  seeing  Ireland  still  garrisoned  with  42,000  soldiers  and  military 
police,  and  noting  the  desire  that  it  be  so  safeguarded  from  popular 
discontent  for  twenty  years  more,  I  would  fain  say  a  few  words  on 
the  contrasts  which  British  rule  exhibits  in  thi?  little  island  with  its- 
four  millions  of  restless  grumblers,  and  in  the  great  Empire  with  its  two 
hundred  and  fifty  millions  of  peaceful  toilers.  Particularly  I  would 
note  how  errors  in  the  administration  of  both  have  led  to  a  cty  for 
Home  Rule.  These  demands  may  soon  be  heard  on  a  united  platform^ 
and  may  herald  a  far-reaching  federation  ;  but  I  deal  here  with  the 
striking  and  instructive  contrasts  in  the  causes  which  have  led  to  the- 
two  agitations.  The  leaders,  the  machinery,  the  immediate  objects,  the 
official  resistance  hitherto  offered  are  of  very  different  types ;  the 
ultimata  aims  arc  probably  tho  same,  namely,  the  abftlition  of  bureau- 
cracy and  the  development  of  Imperial  Federation  by  means  of  con- 
Btitutional  agitation. 

The  first  question  is,  who  pays  for  the  agitation  ?  For  forty  years 
it  has  been  notorious  that  the  Irish  movement  has  depended  on  popular 
support :  women  have  brought  their  mites,  aervant-girls  their  wages, 


i89o] 


HOME  RULE  IN  INDIA  AND  IRELAND. 


•wherever  in  Europe,  America,  or  Australia  the  Irish  race  is  found.  They 
have  given  of  their  substance  as  freely  as  their  sisters  in  Carthage 
contributed  their  hair  in  order  to  manufacture  bowstrings.  lu  India, 
on  the  other  hand,  out  of  its  two  hundred  and  lifty  millions,  those 
who  subscribe  at  all  in  proportion  to  their  means  may  be  counted 
on  one's  fingers.  In  1881}  the  expenses  of  the  annual  Congress  and  of 
the  provincial  agitation  were  very  large  :  the  sum  of  £15,000  was  con- 
tributed by  one  retired  English  officer ;  a  wealthy  native  barrister 
proffered  £300  ;  aud  a  tax  of  fifteen  shillings  per  head  was  levied  upon 
each  of  the  members  of  the  Congress — upon  the  parliamentary  repre- 
sentatives, in  fact.  These  were  the  main  sources  of  the  income  ;  the 
remaining  contributions  were  few  in  number,  and  generally  meagre  in 
amount.  Making  every  allowance  for  the  shorter  period  during  which 
the  Indian  agitation  has  been  at  work,  and  for  the  want  of  education 
among  the  masses,  it  is  perfectly  clear  that,  judged  by  the  tnouey  test, 
the  demand  for  Home  Rule  is  a  jxipular  movement  in  Ireland,  and  is 
not  so  in  India. 

The  other  contrasted  circumstances  which  I  will  indicat-o,  point, 
I  think,  to  the  same  conclusion  :  that  the  British  administration  in 
India  has  been  far  more  gentle  and  gracious,  far  more  sagacious 
imd  popular,  thon  in  Ireland.  Famines,  eviction."?,  land  laws,  settle- 
ments, minorities  once  dominant  but  now  dethroned — these  forces 
have  led  the  people  towards  Home  Ivulo  in  Ireland :  they  have  been 
quite  powerless  to  do  so  in  India.  I  will  say  nothing  about  contrasts 
between  Indian  and  Irish  religions,  climates,  or  ancient  histories.  All 
students  are  aware  that  the  caste  system  in  India  renders  it  almost 
impossible  to  create  a  unity  of  national  feeling.  But  passing  from 
such  obstacles  to  Home  llule,  I  must  first  refer  to  one  matter  worthy 
of  anxious  contemplation  by  every  loyal  Briti.sh  iTiiperialist,  that  is, 
the  comparative  condiljon  of  the  two  unit?,  Ireland  and  British  India. 
daring  the  reign  of  her  present  Majesty.  Both  have  undergone  great 
changes  in  the  last  fifty  years,  and  it  is  noteworthy  that  the  changes 
have  been  in  opposite  directions. 

In  1838  Ireland  had  a  population  of  eight  millions,  while  England. 
Wales,  and  Scotland  had  only  eighteen.  At  present  there  are  less 
than  five  millions  in  Ireland,  against  about  thirty-three  millions  in  the 
others.  The  Irish  population  was  one-third  of  the  British  aggregate  ; 
it  has  now  sunk  to  one-eightli.  For  the  Irish  decrease,  the  Empire  i.** 
so  much  the  weaker :  men  have  decayed,  and  so  have  soldiers  ;  there 
used  to  be  70,000  Irishmen  in  the  British  army ;  last  year  there  were 
only  31,000 — a  point  of  some  significance  when  it  is  remembered  thut 
150.000  men  of  Irish  race  fought  in  the  American  civil  war. 

While  Ireland  has  decreased,  British  India  has  increased,  not  only 
in  area,  but  in  wealth,  strength,  and  iwpulation,  with  great,  nay 
startling,  rapidity.     Successive  additions,  each  in  itself  a  kingiloni. 


80 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jan. 


one  an  empii*e,  have  swelled  the  crescent  growth  of  this  most  marvel- 
lous political  creation.  Oudh,  Burma,  th«  Panjab,  Scinde,  Nagpur, 
besides  numerous  smaller  fragments,  havf  been  annexed.  These 
6ve  alone  cover  o70,000  square  miles,  and  have  a  population  of 
fifty-eight  millions.  ITieir  expanse  is  about  equal  to  that  of 
Germany,  Fmncf,  and  Spain  combined.  Ymin  them  have  been 
raised  Sikh  infantry,  and  the  cavalry  which  Sir  Charles  Dilke 
recently  pronounced  the  finest  in  the  world.  Thus  the  star  of 
India  has  waxed  brighter  and  brighter,  for  its  apparent  and  real 
strength  has  more  than  doubled,  not  only  in  the  quantity  of  its 
material  resources,  but  in  the  quality  of  its  men  from  a  soldier's 
point  of  view.  British  India  formerly  consisted  of  the  littfjral  nearly 
all  round  the  peninsula  and  of  the  Uangetic  viilley,  but  by  the  inclu- 
sion of  the  Panjab  and  Oudh — the  nurseries  of  armies — and  by  treaty 
engagements  with  the  Slahrattas,  the  Nizam,  and  the  Ameer  of  Cabul, 
the  Empress  of  India  has  become  the  only  Sovereign  wliom  the  martial 
races  of  India  regard  with  the  loyalty  which  is  a  part  of  their  nature 
and  of  their  creed.  British  India  has  liocjonie  much  stronger,  and  is 
now  a  stupendous  integer  of  the  Empire,  the  biggest  object  in  the 
statesman's  outlook.  Fifty  years  ago  it  was  mainly  regarded  as  the 
tropic  home  of  toiling  but  efFeminate  millions,  whose  function  was  to 
produce  cotton,  indigo,  and  sugar,  while  ours  was  to  shield  them  from 
fierce  foes  all  around  ;  now  those  foes  have  become  subjects  too. 
Wise  and  firm  government  command  their  loyal  support, ;  they  will 
fight  \vith  us  and  for  us.  India  has,  then,  abundantly  redressed 
the  balance,  and  replaced  the  deficit  of  three  millions  of  Irishmen  with 
nearly  sixty  millions  of  fairly  loyal  and  tolerably  contented  Indo-British 
subjects.  Lord  llayo  once  remarked  to  the  present  writer,  when  we 
were  waiting  in  our  howdahs  for  the  outburst  of  a  family  of  tigers, 
that  the  problems  which  he  had  to  solve  as  Secretary  at  Dublin  and 
as  Governor-General  at  Calcutta,  showed  a  great  mutual  resemblance. 
But  I  would  dwell  rather  on  the  contrasts  which  the  two  eountrieis 
present,  bt-cause  I  consider  them  more  instructive  on  the  question 
of  Home  Rule,  and  more  pregnant  ivith  emphatic  lessons  in  the  art 
of  government. 


Famines. 


Famines  have  had  most  momentous  results  in  both  countries  during 
the  period  in  question.  Ireland  has  suffered  from  the  famine  of  1847- 
1848,  and  the  scarcity  of  1879.  Both  of  those  have  bad  far-reaching 
social  and  political  effect.^.  In  the  former  about  a  million  of  people 
perished  from  want  of  food  or  the  consequent  fever.  The  result  was 
an  enormous  emigration  to  America,  and  the  establishment  there  of  a 
New  Ireland,  which  is  unfriendly  to  Britain. 

In  India  during  the  same  period  there  have  been  four  great  famineS; 


n 


i89o]  HOME  RULE  IN  INDIA  AND  IRELAND.  81 

besides  scarcities.  In  one,  tliat  of  1877-79,  above  six  millions  are 
officially  reported  to  have  perished  of  famine  or  the  resulting  fever, 
yet  the  political  results  of  this  awful  agony  have  been  nil,  and  it  is 
difficalt  to  note  any  economical  good  which  has  followed.  Farms  have 
not  been  consolidated,  cultivation  of  new  staples  has  not  progressed  ; 
railways  have,  it  is  true,  been  spread  over  thp  land,  but  when 
a  famine  affects  three-quarters  of  the  peninsula  and  a  hundred 
millions  of  people,  railways  can  only  give  local  and  temporal 
alleviation.  We  should  look  to  one  broad  contrast,  however. 
Undoubtedly  the  State,  in  the  Indian  famines,  saved  alive  many 
millions  who  would  otherwise  have  perished.  Private  charity  could 
do,  and  did  do,  comparatively  littli'.  In  Ireland,  within  twelve  hours' 
joomey  of  London,  private  charity  was  the  more  effective.  State  aid 
was  generally  refused  till  too  late,  and  was  then  verj'  badly  managed. 
The  results  of  famine  to  the  State  and  public  peace  were,  in  the 
one  case,  practically  nttthing  ;  in  the  other  momentous.  The  agony  in 
India  was  far  greater,  the  hecatombs  of  skeletons  much  larger,  yet 
there  has  been  no  legacy  of  national  bitterness ;  not  one  landlord  or 
public  servant  was  assassinated,  not  one  dynamite  cartridge  was 
exploded  in  India  by  the  survivors  of  the  great  Indian  famines,  or  by 
the  eons  of  those  who  perished.  I  have  witnessed  the  death  of  many, 
but  I  never  heard  au  angry  word ;  though  sometimes  a  father's  glaring 
eyes  gazed  siidly  enough  upon  the  wan  children  whom  he  was  leaving 
behind  to  be  homeless  orphans.  Famine  in  Ireland  multiplied  evic- 
tions, and  evictions  begot  outrage  ;  then  came  populEir  combinations, 
secret  conspiracies — gravi  yards  filled  fast,  landlords  were  shot,  and 
packed  juries  sent  some  to  the  gallows,  justly  enough  too.  Even  now, 
af^er  forty  yeara,  much  of  the  bitterness  in  the  Home  Rule  agitation 
can  be  traced  to  the  famine  of  '48. 

Evictions. 

In  both  countries  evictions  by  landloixls  have  been  closely  watched 
by  Government,  but  in  Ireland  rather  because  they  are  generally  fol- 
lowed by  outrages,  and  are  often  really  sentences  of  death. 

In  Oudh,  a  province  smaller  than  Ireland,  there  were  in  one  year 
r,000  eviction  notices,  of  which  about  one-third  resulted  in  actual 
loss  of  the  farm ;  in  other  years  there  were  as  many  as  50,000.  In 
1819  there  were  19,91-9  evictions  in  Ireland,  and  this  number  hns 
never  been  'equalled  since — at  least,  accoixiing  to  the  statistics.  They 
hnve  now  sunk  to  800  (in  1888).  So  far  the  balance  would  appear  to 
be  in  favour  of  the  Irish  tenant ;  this  is,  however,  far  from  being  the 
case.  The  province  of  Oudh  is  quite  different  from  the  rest  of  India. 
In  Madras  and  Bombay  the  landlords  have  been  evicted  on  a  large 
ile,  and  the  same  policy  was  followed  in  North-west  India  to  a  limited 
ttent,  while  in  Bengal,  with  its  sixty-six  millions,  and  in  the  Panjab, 
VOL.  LVII.  f 


82 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


CJAir. 


successive  enactments  have  been  passed  with  the  object  of  prcn- 
t^ecting  the  tenant.  This  course  has  quite  recently  been  followed 
in  Oudh  too,  though  the  assembled  barons  of  that  province  declared 
that  they  would  never  consent  to  tenant-right,  even  if  they  were  all  to 
die  in  one  day.  But  further,  not  only  have  evictions  been  checked 
and  discouraged,  but  when  they  are  permitted  they  present  none 
of  the  harsh  features  in  India  which  render  them  so  repulsive  in 
Ireland  ;  for  in  India  they  can  only  1>e  effected  at  one  season  of  the 
year — in  April,  after  the  harvest  has  been  cut.  Further,  the  tenant 
resides  in  a  village  after  eviction  from  his  fann ;  he  generally  retains 
his  house,  and  may  get  other  fields,  so  that  the  double  hardship  of 
losing  both  house  and  land,  the  unroofing  of  the  home  under  a 
wintry  sky,  never  happens  in  India. 

lu  Ireland  there  were  90,107  evictions  during  the  thirty-one  years 
1849-80;  of  these  58,000  occurred  in  the  years  1849-52,  after  the 
famine.  Very  possibly  of  those  who  were  made  homeless,  many  survived 
to  become  richer  and  happier  in  America ;  but  still  each  eviction  in  those 
awful  times  involved  risk  of  death  to  the  sufferers,  who  took  shelter 
in  ditches,  or  crowded  into  poor-houses,  to  bo  swept  off  by  typhus. 
That  these  90,000  evictions  resulted  in  many  thousands  of  deaths  is 
certain,  and  doubtless  some  forty  or  fifty  of  the  agrarian  murders  which 
occurred  during  tluit  period  were  the  result  of  popular  revenge. 

In  Oudh,  though  the  numbers  sent  adrift  were  enormously  larger, 
the  hardships  were  much  less,  and  the  bloodshed  was  comparativelv 
trifling,  Thf  economic  evils  of  evictions — uncertainty  of  tenure,  and 
discouragement  of  industry — remained,  and  Government  has  recently 
passed  Acts  in  order  to  place  th«>  Oudh  tenant  on  an  equal  footing 
with  his  brethren  in  the  rest  of  India. 

Throughout  the  peninsula,  in  fact,  the  cultivator  is  now  protected, 
a  result  whose  full  completion  has  been  achieved  by  ninety  years  of 
noble  effort.  It  is  only  since  1881  that  the  Irish  tenant  has  received 
any  real  protection,  and  up  to  1870  tlie  entire  course  of  legislation 
was  in  the  direction  of  facilitating  eviction.  That  is,  for  three 
quarters  of  a  century  the  aims  of  Irish  and  of  Indian  legislation  were 
directly  the  reverae  of  each  other,  for  from  1793  up  to  date  the 
Indian  legislator  has  been  striving  to  destroy  or  curtail  the  landlord's 
oppressive  powers.  The  three  F'a  were  always  the  main  aim  of 
tJie  Indian  Government ;  the  means  adopted  varied  in  each  case.  In 
Madras  and  Bombay  the  land  was  nationalized  as  a  rule.  The  land- 
lords were  evicted,  and  compensation  in  pensions  or  iu  freeholds  was 
granted,  calculated  on  the  principle  that  they  were  entitled  to  ten  per 
cent,  of  the  rental. 

In  Northern  India  the  landlords  are  retained  to  a  large  extent,  but 
they  have  to  pay  half  of  their  rental  to  the  State,  while  the  statute- 
book  bristles  with  enactments  designed  to  protect  the  tenant.    Opinion 


i89o] 


HOME  RULE  IN  INDIA  AND  IRELAND, 


83 


varies  somewhat  among  Indian  statesmen  as  to  wlietlier  this  ex- 
ploitation of  the  landlortls  was  equitable,  but  all  have  agreed  that  the 
i-esults  have  been  most  beneficial  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  millions  of 
cultivators,  whose  rights  have  been  protected  and  their  industry 
encouraged,  while  the  general  interests  of  the  State  have  been  safe- 
guarded by  the  retention  of  the  land-tax.  It  yields  annually  twenty- 
one  millions  sterling,  and  the  Indian  people  have  through  its  means 
escaped  taxes  upon  windows,  paper,  tea,  coffee,  sugar,  tobacco,  medi- 

5nes,  newspapers,  such  as  have  impeded  civilization,  and  helped  on  one 

?casion  to  dismember  the  British  Empire. 

Land  Settlement. 


In  both  India  and  Ireland  land  raatters  are  dealt  with  by  a  si>ecial 
lepartment.     The   settlement  officer  in  India    ])roceed8   with   great 
ipidity  to  fix  botJi  the   State  revenue  and   the  tenants'  rents,  syste- 
matically dealing  with  an  entire   county  all  at  once.      He    encamps 
inder  a  tree,  and  visits,  as  I  have  done,  fifty  small  farms  in  a  day,  while 
staf!"  of  clerks  and  surveyors  furnish  maps  and  tabular  statistics  at  a 
rery  cheap  rate  ;  the  officer,  after  three  or  fom"  days,  moves  on  and 
::amps  in  the  centre  of  a  fresh  field  of  labour.     In  Ireland,  a  couple 
Pcf  land  commissioners,  who  can  be   dismissed  at  a  ujoment's  notice, 
fix  themselves  in  an  hotel  for  several  months  ;  they  drive  ten  miles  in 
I  direction  on  one  day,  inspect  one  or  two  farms,  and  then  drive  home, 
id  prepare  maps  and   tables  with   their  own    hands ;  they  are  paid 
nearly  £1000  per  annum  for  work  which  is  done  in  India  by  clerks 
it  L\o  per  annum.      Thus  it  happeiLs  that  the  commissioners,  since 
1681,  have  only  fixed  the  rents  of   116,000   farms,  about  one- fifth  of 
in  Ireland  ;  respectable,  painstaking,  competent  men  as  they  are, 
iring  to  this  want  of  system  they  have  done  little  ;  they  creep  slowly 
rex  the  country,  picking  up  little  clods  of  earth,  in  a  shiftless,  aim- 
way,  never  overtaking  their  arrears.      In  India  the  inspection  of 
farm  vastly  aids  in  the  valuation  of  its   neighbour,  so  all  in  one 
irony  are  finished  before  the  court  moves  ou  to  another.    Ten  yoare 
at  th«  least  will  elapse  before  the  Irish  land  settlement  is  completed, 
loriug  which   time   landlord  and  tenant  will  become  too  often  more 
id  toOT©  embitteretl.      Even  now,  eviction,  rack-renting,  the  crowbar, 
the  battering-ram  are  sometimes  resisted  with  boycotting  and 
lUtrage.      In  India  the   main  object   Is  to    settle  the  land  question 
'quickly;  if  the  officers  cannot  make  arrangements  for  thirty  years, 
they  fix  the  tenant's  rent  and  the  State  revenue  for  ten  or  even  five 
Speedy  justice  for  the  toiling  masses  is  considered  indispen- 
lible ;  if  the   interests  of  large   landowners   stand  in  the  way  they 
must  lie  thrust  aside ;  a  fair  rent  for  each  farm  is  laboriously  detet*- 
jed,  and  the   landlord  has  to  accept  it.     When  Griffiths'  valuation 


84 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jau, 


was  being  made  in  Ireland,  instructions  were  issued  to  the  officers  that 
no  remarks  should  be  made  about  rent,  as  landlords  and  their  agents 
had  objected  to  such  remarks,  and  they  could  only  raise  false  hopes : 
further,  officers  were  to  be  careful  to  give  every  landowner  his  right 
title — ^baronet  or  esquire,  for  instance  ;  that  is,  in  dealing  with  landJ 
Irish  officers  were  to  take  no  notice  of  rents  being  moderate 
crushing  ;  not  a  word  was  to  be  said  about  the  tenant's  welfare — the 
very  foremost  object  in  the  Indian  officer's  aims. 

One  result  of  the  Indian  policy  is,  that  the  mass  of  tenant  farmer 
regard  the  British  Government  as  their  protector  from  landlord  oppres-l 
sion  J  the  ryot  wiU  patiently  endure  for  the  present  a  good  deal  of 
the  white  man's  contumely  ;  he  will  take  buffets  from  policemen, 
or  avoid  them  by  bribes  and  be  content,  provided  he  be  saved 
from  what  was  his  father's  fate  for  generations — -perpetual,  griping 
rack-renting.  Another  germane  n^sult  is,  that  the  Indian  peasant  is 
content  to  follow  his  plough,  and  to  leave  Home  Hule  agitation  to  lawyers 
and  Bchoolmasters.  There  is  real  peace  in  India.  There  is  no  veiled 
rebellion  or  slumbering  volcano  at  present.  It  is  true  that  an  army  of 
a  quarter  of  a  million  is  maintained  j  this  is  mainly  for  the  purpose 
of  dealing  with  foreign  foes  ;  very  rarely  ia  it  required  to  oppose  in- 
ternal enemies.  There  are  no  unpopular  institutions,  such  as  are 
called  in  Ireland  crowbar  brigades,  or  coercion  courte. 

The  Eelkjious  Minority. 

Eeligious  animosities,  however,  do  exist  in  India,  and  often 
cause  much  turmoil,  requiring  the  a.s8istance  of  the  military.  I 
must  therefore  briefly  notice  the  contrast  between  the  Protestant 
minority  in  Ireland  and  the  JIus.sulman  minority  in  India.  The  former 
numbers  ono-lifth,  or  about  a  million  ;  Mussulmans  number  sixty  mil- 
lions, or  about  a  quarter  of  the  Indian  total ;  both  profess  vs'hat  they 
consider  a  purer  faith,  and  both  have  waged  war  for  centuries  against 
the  so-called  idolatrous  practices  of  their  neighbours  ;  there  ia  hardly 
a  temple  in  India  of  any  antiquity  which  does  not  bear  testi- 
mony in  the  broken  noses  of  its  gods  to  the  iconoclastic  zeal  of  the 
Moslem. 

In  both  countries,  for  five  hundx-ed  years,  this  minority  possessed  a 
political  ascendency,  which  it  exercised,  however,  very  differently. 
The  Moslem  was  haughty  and  overbearing,  but  tolerant  enough  of 
Hindu  worship,  save  for  occasional  outbursts  of  bigotry  ;  he  has  now 
been  placed  entirely  on  a  level  with  the  Hindus ;  he  is  nowhere  and 
in  no  matter  dominant.  The  Protestant,  on  the  other  hand,  maintained 
in  Ireland  for  170  years  a  most  galling  system  of  religious  persecu- 
tion ;  the  houses  and  the  lands,  the  learned  professions,  the  religious 
services,  the  priests  and  bishops,  the  very  wives  and  children  of  the 


HOME  RULE  IN  INDIA  AND  IRELAND. 


85 


Catholics,  were  in  constant  peril  according  to  law.  These  disabilities 
haw  been  removed,  but  much  remains  which  is  not  only  offensive  but 
injixrions.  The  Protestant  minority  retain  about  three-quarters  of 
the  land,  three-qnarters  of  the  unpaid  magisti-aciea :  5G  of  the 
72  paid  magistrates  are  Protestants ;  228  out  of  272  police-officers ; 
30  out  of  33  lord-lieutenanta ;  36  out  of  45  privy  councillors  j  35  oat 
of  46  commissioners  and  other  ofRciala  on  Boards  of  Works  and  Local 
Government  Boards ;  while  all  the  high  executive  officials  in  Dublin, 
without  a  single  exception,  are  Protestants. 

The  Moslem  minority  in  India  possesses  no  such  monopoly.  When 
leprived  of  their  ascendency,  they  for  many  years  held  sullenly 
aloof  from  the  English  usurpera ;  bigotry  and  fanaticism  iudaoedtho 
more  desperate  of  the  faithftd  fo  become  assa.ssins,  and  the  men  who 
committed  all  the  noted  murders  of  English  officers  and  governors, 
such  as  those  of  Fraser,  Connolly,  Macnaghteu,  Chief  Justice  Norman, 
Lord  Mayo,  were  Moslems.  These  outbreaks  of  individuals  did 
not  lead  to  reprisals  by  the  State  upon  the  Moslem  nation.  No 
Coercion  Acts  were  passed ;  increased  energy  was  shown  rather  in 
.sending  the  schoolmaster  among  the  ignorant  Pathans ;  the  great 
imperial  mosque  was  restored  to  them,  and  pains  were  taken  so  that 
they  should  get  tbeir  fair  share  of  public  offices.  The  result  has  been 
that  this  minority  has  forgott^en  its  old  ascendency,  and  its  fancied 
wrongs ;  it  clings  to  the  British  Government  even  after  it  has  lost  all 
monopoly  and  privDege,  regarding  the  English  as  the  natural  pro- 
tectors of  the  few  against  the  many  who  inight  try  for  revenge,  or  at 
leadt  for  ransom,  from  their  old  oppressors. 

The  people  in  India,  as  in  Ireland,  are  divided  into   two  camps 
on   the   subject   of    Home    Rule,   the   minority  in    each    case  being 
generally  opjKised  to  it,  while  the  majority  labour  hard  to  persuade 
their  ancient  enemies  that    all    old    animosities  are   forgotten,  and 
that   Nationalist*,    when    allowed    to    govern    in    domestic    matters, 
will    be    tolerant    and  impartial.      The    Hindu    would    have    appar- 
ently   succeeded     entirely,    had     it    not    been     for    an    unfortunate 
ccasion    of   strife.      The    calendars    of    the     two    faiths    do    not 
irrespoud :  one   is    always   overtaking    and    overlapping   the   other. 
The  Moslem  faith   has  one  most  mournful  celebration,  that  of  the 
'  naartyrdom  of  Husn  and  Hosein,  the  Prophet's  grandsons.    The  Hindus 
*1>ave  a  joyous  festival  in  honour  of  the  upspringing  of  the  young  rice, 
and  of  the  victory  of  their  deified  King  Ram  ;  for  two  years  in  every 
.thirty-five  these  two  celebrations  coincide,  and  unfortunately,  in  1S8G- 
18S7,  the  clashing  of  the  rival  processions,  of  the  mourners  and  tho 
rovellers,  caused  bitterness  between  the  two  races  everywhere,  and 
'  blcKxlshed  in  many  places.    Moslems  demand  that  idols  and  processions 
Nhall  not  be  paradetl  past  their  holy  mosques  with  fife,  drum,  and  all 
the  earsplitting  harmonies  dear  to  Hindus  ;  for  this  cause  battles  have 


86 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[J.^-. 


often  raged  round  the  shrines,  and  the  deaths  huve  numbered  about 
150  on  more  than  one  occasion. 

There  is  no  sucli  rock  of  ofifence  in  Ireland.  St.  Patrick's  Day  never 
clashes  with  the  12th  of  July.  The  Protestant  minority  in  Ireland 
have  to  dread  matters  more  material ;  Home  Rule  would  undoubtedly 
entail  the  loss  of  the  ascendency  which  they  still  enjoy  in  the  way  of 
State  monopolies  of  place  and  power.  It  haa  been  my  lot  on  more 
than  one  occasion,  as  an  Indian  magistrate,  to  staiid  between  rival 
masses  numbering  30,000  on  one  side  and  50,000  on  the  other,  both 
yearning  for  hostilities ;  with  the  aid  of  a  few  policemen  only,  peace 
was  preserved  without  even  a  baton  charge  or  a  broken  head.  That 
moral  suasion  succeeded  was  certainJy  not  due  to  the  peaceful  habits 
of  the  people,  for  when  British  magistrates  were  absent  the  butcher's 
bill  at  Vellore  and  Delhi  far  surpassed  that  at  Belfast,  The  main 
reason  undoubtedly  was  that  both  Hindu  and  Moslem  respect  their 
magistrates  as  just  and  impartial,  and  anything  like  defiance  of  their 
authority,  much  more  any  outrage  upon  their  persons,  even  in  a  battle 
of  mobs,  would  be  avoided  diligently  by  both  sides  j  they  would 
sacrifice  even  a  reUgious  orgie  at  tlie  bidding  of  the  just  white  man. 
Now,  the  impartial  arbiter  is  exactly  what  the  Irish  people  consider  to 
be  wanting  in  their  country,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  yearning 
for  Irish  Home  Rule,  though  historically  based  upon  race  and  rt-ligious 
diflorences,  upon  old  sufferings,  upon  landlord  wrong,  evictions, 
famines,  is  at  present  nourished  mainly  by  the  popular  abhor- 
rence of  their  magistrates,  police,  and  Coercion  Acts.  Nationalists 
think  that  the  ancient  ascendency  of  the  minority,  rudely  shattered 
by  the  abolition  of  the  Church  and  land  tyrannies,  haa  been  re- 
stored to  former  vigour  by  its  alliance  with  the  executive,  whose 
officers,  codes,  and  administrative  principles  have  been  adopted  at  the 
bidding  of  the  English  settlers,  now  more  dominant  than  ever.  They 
regard  Home  Rule  not  merely  as  the  only  means  of  national  develop- 
ment, but  as  the  only  remedy  for  much  galling  injuatlce. 

In  Ireland,  as  already  pointed  ont,  the  Nationalist  majority  has  no 
share  of  State  loaves  and  fishes ;  the  national  leaders  are  to  be  found 
oftener  in  the  dock  than  on  the  bench.  India,  too,  has  men  of 
simihir  type ;  Mandlik,  Telang,  Norton,  Hume,  Bonnerjee,  Syud 
Ahmed,  all  are  or  were  agitators  ;  but  they  hare  been  honoured  by 
the  State :  not  one  of  them  has  had  personal  ex]>erieuce  of  the  plauk 
bed  or  of  the  policeman's  bfiton.  In  its  selection  for  the  unpaid 
local  magistracy,  or  the  paid  stipendiaries  or  police-officers.  Govern- 
ment follows  national  feeling.  The  people  revere  Brahmin.?  and 
Jeyuds,  the  holy  men  of  the  Hindu  and  Moslem  faiths ;  Government 
respects  and  conciliates  this  sentiment,  bigoted  as  it  is  ;  and  high  c-aste 
men,  as  they  are  called,  if  of  good  character  and  education,  are 
preferred  for  official  posts.     So  far,  Indian  government  is  according 


mm 


HOME  RULE  IN  INDIA  AND  IRELAND. 


87 


to  Indian  ideas,  and  its  vast  patronage  is  used  so  as  to  attract  popular 
sympathy,  which  in  Ireland  is  repelled.  Curious  to  relate,  though 
in  every  respect  the  Indian  magistrates,  paid  and  unpaid,  are  more 
popa]ar,'more  eflTective  and  impartial,  than  in  Ireland,  and  though  there 
are  only  one  or  tvro  relics  of  ascendency  policy  in  the  administrative 
schemes,  yet  theae  little  rifts  in  the  lute  injure  the  harmony.  The 
demand  for  Homo  Rule  in  India  is  fostered  mainly  at  present  by  the 
magisterial  and  executive  posts  being  confined  to  foreigners  in  prac- 
tice, thoagh  open  to  all  in  theory. 


Magisthates. 

In  both  India  and  Ireland  the  work  of  dealing  with  criminals  has 
be«n  very  largely  withdrawn  from  judges  with  juries,  to  be  entrusted 
to  paid  magistrates,  called  in  Ireland  Resident  Magistrates — in  India 
District  Joint  and  Assistant  Magistrates ;  in  Ireland  they  number 
seventy-two,  and  recently  about  twenty  temporary  appointments 
bave  been  made ;  in  India  the  civil  service  of  the  three  Presidencies 
numbers  about  950. 

The  officers  in  the  latter  are  chosen  by  open  competition,  to  which 
all  subjects  of  her  Majesty  have  access,  so  that  among  them  are  to  be 
found  men  of  all  colours,  races,  and  faiths — Hindu,  Moslem,  Protestant, 
Catholic,  Parsi.    All  classes  of  society  aro  blended  together  impartially 
in  this  governing  body.   The  men  who  moulded  final  policy  most  largely 
with  reference  to  such  agrarian  questions  as  the  North  Indian  Tenancy 
Bills,  for  eighty  millions  of  people,  and  the  famine  codes,  were  a  Catholic 
from  Galway,  a  Presbyterian  from  Scotland,  and  an  Episcopalian  from 
Cambridge.     The    magistrates    and  judges   are  similarly   of  various 
.origin  and  diflerent  early  training.     The  pay  of  district  magistrates 
1  between  £1500  and  £2500  per  annum  j  they  cannot  be  dismissed 
the  Indian  Government,  and  they  are  entitled  to   good  pensions. 
le  Irish   magistrates    have   mostly  commenced  at  £300,   rising  to 
1500;  they  are  removable  at  pleasure,  and  are  not  entitled  to  pensions, 
bough  such  are  occasionally  given;  they  are  selected  by  Government 
tly  from  police-officers  or  officers  in  the  army,  only  eleven  of  them 
ivii^  been  barristers,  and  those  of  the  briefless  order. 
The   Indian  magistrate  having   been    chosen   imder   n   system  of 
Bel»*ction,  ably  and  honestly  devised  at  its  origin  and  repeatedly  im- 
proved since,  is  tndned   elaborately  for  years  before  he  becomes  a 
idiiitrict  magistrate.      He  has  to  pass  examinations  in  law,  English, 
[inda,  and  Moslem,  and  in  several  languages,  classical  and  vernacular ; 
bis  actual  work  is  scrutinized  and  rigidly  tested  for  years  after  he  has 
this  ordeal :  the  language  of  the  court  is  llio  vernacular.     All 
are  taken  to  ensure  tlmt  the  ablest  and  most  industrious  men 
be  selected,  and  if  individuals  afterwards  turn  out  badly,  they 


88 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


[Jax. 


are  eliminated  by  further  purgation  and  dismissal,  if  necessary,  even 
afler  long  tenure  of  Indian  appointments. 

Still  Djore,  after  they  have  escaped  from  the  examiners,  it  is 
constantly  impressed  upon  them  and  tlie  public  that  there  is  no 
one  more  liable  to  vw  than  a  magistrate.  So  when  sentencing  in  the 
pettiest  case  the  grey-headed  officer  has  to  record  his  reasons  in 
writing ;  every  prisoner  convicted  is  allowed  a  copy  free  of  charge,  and 
the  gaol  officials  are  compelled  to  draft  appeals  for  all  prisoners.  Thus 
every  one  can  bring  bis  case  before  a  higher  court  without  stamp, 
fee,  counsel,  or  friend.  Not  content  with  this,  the  superior  courts 
inspect  abstracts  of  all  decided  cases,  which  are  sent  up  daily ;  they 
call  for  the  records,  and  in  hundreda  of  cases  they  cancel  the  order ; 
and  the  prisoner,  who  had  not  dreamed  of  appeal,  some  raoming  finds 
himself  a  free  man,  and  returns  to  his  village  blessing  with  Oriental 
exuberance  the  justice  which  had  served  his  need,  though  unbought 
and  nnaought.  The  Indian  motto,  in  fact,  is  that  justice  must  be  done 
between  the  Queen  Empress  and  the  swarthy  prisoner  at  the  bar  ;  and, 
however  tedious  and  costly,  all  precautions  must  be  taken ;  while  the 
public  which  sees  experienced  officers  painfully  making  voluminous 
records  of  eveiy  witness's  evidence,  admits  that  such  men  are  hard- 
working servants  of  the  State,  and  are  honestly  trying  to  do  justice. 

The  spectacle  of  magistrates  working  all  day  under  a  tropical  sun, 
doing  the  work  of  shorthand  writer,  of  counsel  for  the  defence,  and  of 
judge  all  at  once,  conveys  to  the  most  irreconcilable  Indian  nationalist 
the  idea  that  in  some  matters  the  alien  rulers  are  unst-lfiah  and  pains- 
taking lovers  of  justice.  In  what  I  have  to  say  about  the  oontl'ast 
exhibited  in  Ireland,  I  will  strive  to  epitomize  public  opinion  as  I^ 
liave  heard  and  read  its  utterances. 

In  every  point  the  Irish  magisterial  system  is  the  direct  opposite 
of  that  above  described.     The  officers  are  chosen  not  by  merit  but  by 
favour ;  they  know  littJe  or  nothing  of  law  at  first,  and  do  not  learn  much , 
afterwards;  they  are  not  tested  in  the  Irish  vernacular,  which  alone  is' 
familiar  to  many  of  tliose  who  come  before  them  ;  the  language  of  their 
court  is  always  English  ;  they  are  generally  Prx>testants,  and  too  often 
political  partisans  of  the  ascendency  party,  trained  from  their  youth 
in  the  idea  that  those  whom  they  have  to  try  are  at  heart  rebels,.! 
hostile  to  law  and  order,  and  the  enemies  for  ages  of  the  magistrate's 
own  kindred  and  faith.      The  only  condition  about  legal  qualifications 
is  that  when  a   bench   of  magistrates  is  trying  a  case  under   the 
so-called  Coercion   Act,  one  of  the   members  must  be   a   person   of 
whose   legal   knowledg*^    the    Lord-Lieutenant  has  satisfied   himself. 
This  quaint  provision  replaces  the  rules  in  .force  everywhere  else. 

For  the  black  man  in  India  I  have  described  the  safeguards  taken. 
For  the  black  man  in  Jamaica,  similarly,  every  magistrate  must  be  a 
barrister. 


f89o] 


HOME  RULE  IN  INDIA  AND  IRELAND. 


The  Irish  procedure  also  leaves  latitude  for  magisterial  eccentri- 
cities, such  as  inight  be  expected  when  officers  have  no  legal  training 
or  traditions.  They  are  not  compelled  when  passing  sentence  to 
record  their  reasons  in  writing ;  and  they  often  refuse  to  do  this  act  of 
Bimple  justice,  and  thus  obstruct  appeals.  In  recent  cases — The  Queen 
■F.  He^phy,  and  others — ^Baron  Dowse  and  Chief  Baron  Palles  poured 
forth  vials  of  scorn  upon  these  magistrates ;  the  former  declared  that 
they  could  no  more  state  a  case  than  write  a  Greek  ode ;  the  latter 
objected  to  a  dangerous  practice — that  of  allowing  a  party  to  the  pro- 
ceedings to  directly  or  indirectly  influence  the  stating  of  the  case.  In 
The  Queen  v.  Heaphy^  the  bench  imprisoned  four  shopkeepers  for  refus- 
ing to  sell  bread  ;  they  refused  to  give   their  reasons  in  writing,  they 

jt^fused  to  increase  the  sentence  beyond  a  month  so  as  to  allow  of 

■Bpp>eal.  Ultimately  the  Court  of  Exchequer  quashed  the  conviction  as 
being  supported  by  no  evidence  and  opposed  t(j  previous  decisions, 
id  apparently  in  their  opinion  these  magistrates  as  a  body  are  guilty 
>f  every  fault  and  incapacity  which  could  disqualify  them  for  their 
functions — stupidity,  ignorance  of  law,  neglect  of  precedents,  inability 
to  give  simple  re^isons,  liability  to  bo  improperly  influenced  by  parties 
in  the  discharge  of  duty.  Such  an  indictment  was  never  laid  by  an 
Indian  High  Court  against  any  individual  magistrate  even,  while  the 
)mment8  of  the  High   Courts  upon  the  magistrates  as  a  class  have 

^always  been  highly  complimentary. 

In  Ireland,  I  doubt  if  anything  else  could  be  expected,  though  my 

^own  observation  would  lead  me  to  a  milder  conclusion.  These  poor 
gentlemen  are  very  unfortunate ;  placed  in  a  most  trying  position,  for 
which  they  are  utterly  unfitted,  they  demand  sympathy  rather  than 
«X)m.  Public  opinion  concerning  these  removables,  as  they  are  called, 
may  be  summed  up  as  follows  : — 

Good-natured,  bucolic  creatures,  with  no  experience  save  of  police 
barracks  or  the  mess-room,  they  have  been  placed  upon  the  bench  to 
try  most  difficult  cases,  when  their  only  qualifications  are  good  family, 
a  gentlemanly  exterior,  and  decayed  circumstances.  Most  of  them 
are  sons  of  landlords.  They  have  had  to  administer  an  Act  specially 
designed  to  crush  tenant  combinations  and  the  Plan  of  Campaign. 
Many  of  them  have  large  families  and  very  small  pay ;  their  only 
chance  of  bettering  themselves  lies  in  pleasing  the  executive  by  vigour 
in  the  cause  of  law  and  order.  Le  ptrc  dc  familhi,  il  est  capable  de 
i(mt ;  their  only  ptissport  to  securing  comfort  in  their  old  age  lies  in 
tfetting  one  of  the  pension.s  which  are  granted  as  special  favours  to 
those  who  have  done  exceptional  service. 

These  magistrates  possess,  then,  generally  the  mother  wit  and' good 
tamper  which  belong  to  their  country,  In  every  other  respect  they 
are  disqnalified  for  the  exercise  of  judicial  functions — by  birth,  mili- 
tary training,  ignorance  of  law,  political  partisanship,   poverty,  and 


90 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


[Jak. 


entire  dependence  on  the  execntive.  By  these  benches  from  twenty  to 
thirty  members  of  Parliament  have  been  convicted,  some  of  whom 
had  been  chosen  to  net  as  mayors  in  Dublin  and  Cork ;  and  digni- 
taries of  the  Catholic  Church,  like  Canon  Keller,  town  conncillors, 
and  hundreds  of  others,  whom  the  people  delight  to  respect  or  even 
venerate  have  been  tried  and  condemned. 

Some  of  the  magistrates  are  paiiicnlarly  militant.  One  may  be 
seen  ordering  a  body  of  police  to  baton  a  crowd  who  had  cheered 
the  Plan  of  Campaign.  He  then  sentences  those  who  have  been 
caught,  seated  on  a  rail,  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  a  billycock  hat  replac- 
ing the  conventional  wig,  a  suit  of  homespun  the  judicial  ermine.  In 
political  trials  there  has  been,  ever  since  the  Revolution,  much  dignity 
and  decorum.  Even  if  the  laws  of  libel  and  conspiracy  were  un- 
fairly pressed  by  Ellenborough  or  Thurlow,  the  harshness  was  veiled 
by  the  majesty  of  the  procedure,  by  the  learning  and  ennined 
splendours  of  the  bench.  In  Ireland,  perhaps  designedly,  the  lowest 
grade  of  the  hierarchy  have  been  employed  to  try  the  leaders  of  the 
Irish  people,  and  have  sentenced  them  to  hard  labour,  involving  servile 
tasks,  oakum-pickiug,  plank  beds,  and  disgusting  sanitary  operations. 

There  are  no  less  than  twenty  judges  in  Ireland  receiving  between 
£2500  and  £8000  per  annum,  many  of  them  men  of  unblemished  honour 
and  lofty  ability  ;  but  the  trial  of  Sullivan,  O'Brien,  Dillon,  Harrington, 
"Wilfrid  Blunt,  Ri'dniond — of  poets,  priests,  parliamentary  leaders — 
was  entrusted  to  men  who  bad  been  civil  engineers  or  police-officers, 
whose  untitness  for  their  functions  had  been  repeatedly  proclaimed  by 
the  Court  of  Exchequer.  One  of  them  bad  failed  repeatedly  to  pass  his 
examination  for  the  army :  he  was  formerly  a  police-officer,  and  had 
been  in  charge  of  the  police  at  Mitchelstown  when  three  men  were 
shot  dead.  He  received,  as  resident  magistrate,  £300  per  annum, 
till  it  was  discovered  that  he  had  been  dismissed  from  official  employ- 
ment at  Capetown  on  account  of  embezzlement. 

These  magistrates  had  to  try  the  most  difficult  cases,  involving  the 
law  of  conspiracy,  combination,  abetment,  as  Mr.  Balfour  remarks, 
during  1888.  Their  decisions  were  reversed  in  ten  per  cent,  only  of 
the  appeals,  but  lie  omits  to  add  that  their  sentences  were  reduced  in 
another  twenty-five  per  cent.  In  my  opinion,  it  was  to  the  credit 
of  the  County  Coui-t  judges  and  recorders,  holding,  in  some  cases, 
official  appointments  at  the  pleasure  of  the  Crown,  that  they  ven- 
tured to  interfere  with  thirty-five  per  cent,  of  the  decisions. 

Under  the  so-called  Coercion  Act  of  1 887  appeal  is  only  allowed 
on  the  facts  if  the  sentence  exceeds  one  month  ;  in  the  large 
majority  of  cases  the  sentences  were  not  above  a  month.  Some- 
times the  magistrates  refused  to  increase  them  in  order  to  allow  of 
appeal,  so  that  it  is  clear  that  the  limited  success  of  appeals  is  no 
proof  whatever    that    the    1500    persons    who    in    1887-88    were 


i89o] 


HOME  RULE  IN  INDIA  AND  IRELAND. 


91 


condemned  under  this  Act  received  a  fair  ti-ial.  It  is  true  that 
in  many  cases  the  magistrates  could  only  condemn,  and  the  Coercion 
Act  does  not  allow  of  fine  as  a  penalty.  If  a  girl,  or  a  priest,  a 
Lord  Mayor,  or  an  M.P.,  is  convicted  of  taking  part  in  any  criminal 
conspiracy,  of  interfering  with  the  administration  of  the  law,  by 
whistling  "  Harvey  Duff,"  or  by  laughing  at  a  policeman,  or  by  booing 
ft  bailiff,  or  by  addressing  constituents  on  the  Plan  of  Campaign,  or 
by  wearing  a  National  League  card,  or  by  selling  a  newspaper  con- 
taining reports  of  League  meetings,  or  by  leaving  church  when  a 
boycotted  individual  enters  it,  he  or  she  must  go  to  gaol. 

So  far  as  I  have  watched  in  court  the  proceedings  of  removable 
magistrates,  I  should  say  they  were  courteous  in  demeanour,  outwardly 
considerate  and  attentive  to  counsel,  but  often  savage  in  the  severity  of 
their  sentences.  A  town  councillor  (IValsh),  in  Cork,  hit  a  policeman 
on  the  shoulder  one  blow  with  his  fist  in  sudden  anger,  because  the 
policeman  had  stopped  the  town  councillor's  little  boy,  who  was 
quietly  going  home  ;  there  was  no  disturbance  or  crowd,  the  policeman 
admitted  his  mistake,  and  the  police  authorities  oflV'red  to  withdraw 
the  charge  if  Sir.  Walsh  woukl  apologize  ]  he  declined,  and  he  was 
sentenced  to  six  weeks'  iuiprisonment,  to  the  serious  injury  of  his  large 
business.  In  India  or  England,  a  fine  of  forty  shillings  would  have 
been  inflicted.  An  Irish  M.P.  addresses  his  constituents  in  very  mode- 
rate language ;  he  receives  two  sentences  of  imprisonment  for  diflerent 
portions  of  the  speech,  because  it  advocated  the  Plan  of  Campaign. 

In  India,  the  main  objects  and  machinery  of  the  Plan  of  Campaign 
are  lawful ;  nay,  the  course  followed  by  its  supporters  is  prescribed 
by  Iaw  as  compulsory  on  the  magistrates.  In  Ireland,  the  campaigners 
diBcnss  and  determine  with  their  priests  and  others  what  rents  are 
fiur ;  these  are  offered  to  the  landlord  in  exchange  for  receipt  in  full, 
or  are  kept  for  him.  In  India,  if  crops  have  failed,  the  court  lowers 
the  rent  in  proportion  to  the  loss,  or  wipes  it  out  entirely  ;  and  further, 
the  court  is  ordered  to  receive  from  the  tenant,  aud  liold  in  deposit 
for  the  landlord,  whatever  rent  the  tenant  declares  to  be  justly 
dw*. 

To  put  a  man  out  of  caste,  to  "  put  out  his  pipe,"  as  it  is  called,  is  a 
thing  practised  daily  in  India  without  any  interft'rence  on  the  part  of 
criminal  courts ;  even  civil  courts  have  been  very  chary  of  meddling 
with  this  social  ostracism,  just  as  English  courts  have  declined  to  set 
atdde  expulsions  from  clubs.  In  Ireland,  boycotting  has  been  punished 
with  six  months'  rigorous  imprisonment;  letting  civilly  alone  or  severely 
alone  is  the  authoritative  interpretation  of  boycotting  ;  refusing  to  shoe 
horses,  or  to  sell  bread,  leaving  the  church  on  the  entry  of  the 
boycotted,  such  phases  of  the  crimo  have  been  severely  punished  in 
Ireland.  Nay  further,  according  to  the  law  reports,  certain  magistrates 
persist  in  convictions  after  the  full  bench  has  declared  such  action 


THE   CONTEMPORARY    REVIEW. 


[JAy. 


illegal.  Not  only  on  this  account  are  these  courts  odious  to  th© 
community,  but  also  because  they  have  ousted  the  jurisdiction  of 
juries  and  of  the  local  magistracy,  who  are  compelled  to  leave  th© 
bench  to  look  ou  helplessly,  while  respectable  neighbours  are  sent  to 
jail  through  strained  construction  of  a  harsh  law  by  men  whom  they 
consider  to  be  incompetent  and  biassed,  pliant  dependents  of  the 
executive. 

Hence  the  Home  Eule  plan  recommends  itself  to  the  Irish  public  ; 
excases  are  made  ftr  violence  of  language  and  of  deed,  and  the  cause  is 
hallowed  to  their  minds  because  it  is  attacked  by  what  they  consider 
odious  instruments  and  by  unfair  weapons.  The  Home  Ruler 
promises  to  relieve  them  from  the  magistrates,  police-oflBcers,  and 
coercion  laws,  which  they  regard  as  upas-trees  far  more  noxious  than 
the  Irish  Church  ever  was  ;  and  whatever  else  an  Irish  peasant  may 
forecast  as  his  own  peculiar  gain  from  Home  Rule,  all  agree  "shiiro 
and  we'll  get  rid  of  them  removables." 

The  above  are  the  views  concerning  their  magistrates,  held  by  the 
Irish  people,  and  largely  concurred  in  by  men  of  all  shades  of 
politics. 

Police. 

In  order  to  grasp  fully  the  strength  of  the  popular  feeling  about/ 
magistrates,  I  must  consider  them  in  connection  with  the  police,  and 
with  the  outrages  which  have  been  always  pleaded  as  the  defence  for 
official  action  in  measures  of  coercion.  The  contrast  between  Ireland 
and  India  will  hero  appear  very  marked.  In  the  latter,  the  police  are 
absolutely  under  the  m^istrates,  who  can  control,  censure,  or  suspend 
them.  It  is  a  daily  occurrence  for  a  magistrate  to  disbelieve  the  evi- 
dence for  the  prosecution,  proceed  to  the  spot  where  the  alleged  outrage 
occurred,  and  investigate,  with  the  aid  of  local  surroundings,  not  only 
the  conduct  of  the  alleged  criminal,  but  that  of  the  police  too.  The 
Irish  executive  seems  jwwerless.  Mr.  Patrick  O'Brien,  M.P,.  was 
savagely  beaten  by  ,police  batons  in  Cork,  under  circumstances  which 
I  investigated  on  the  spot ;  his  life  was  endangered.  Mr.  Balfour, 
when  asked  for  judicial  inquiry,  refused  ;  st-ating  that  a  law  would 
have  to  l>e  passed  before  there  could  be  a  judicial  investigation.  Pre- 
cisely at  the  same  time,  I  read  that  a  Burmese  woman  preferred  a 
charge  against  an  EnglLsh  county  inspector  of  police,  or  district  super- 
intendent, that  he  had  ordered  her  forehead  to  be  tattooed.  At  once 
this  police-officer  was  suspended ;  he  was  transferred  from  the  district, 
and  a  magistrate  was  ordered  to  inquire  into  the  case.  This  was  in 
Burma,  only  conquered  three  years  ago,  up  to  last  year  swarming 
with  brigands  and  seething  with  rebellion ;  yet  the  reign  of  law  in 
that  savage  realm  is  already  benignant,  and  the  liberties  of  Brahmin, 
Buddhist,  and  negro  are  safeguarded  with  precaution,  and  vindicated 


jS^d] 


HOME  RULE  IN  INDIA  AND  IRELAND. 


99 


with  a  promptness  unknown  in  Ireland.  The  cuticle  of  a  Burmese 
maiden  is  considered  more  precious  than  tho  skull  of  an  M.P.  In 
Ireland,  recently,  repeated  cases  have  occurred  in  which  police  witnesses 
were  utterly  discredited ;  they  professed  to  have  recorded  speeches  ia 
shorthand,  while  on  trial  thr-y  proved  thGmst4ves  incapable  of  doing 
go.  The  magistrates  in  India  would  at.  once  have  taken  steps  to  pro- 
secate  them  for  perjury :  in  Ireland  they  could  do  nothing.  Similarly, 
when  a  district  inspector  with  bis  party,  escorting  Mr.^  O'Brien,  fired 
three  times  through  the  railway  carriage  window^  dreading  a  re.scne, 
no  independent  incjuiry  was  made  ;  and  in  hundreds  of  other  cases  the 
Irish  public  firmly  believe  that  the  police  committed  brutal  assaults 
and  even  murder  repeatedly.  These  matters,  without  a  single  exception, 
in  India  would  have  been  investigated  within  a  few  hours  by  independent 
magistrates,  whom  the  police  could  not  cajole,  and  the  Government  of 
India  could  not  dismiss. 

Hence  largely  arise  the  different  feelings  with  which  tie  Hindu 
regards  his  magistrate :  on  their  triad  of  deities  the  supreme  power  is 
represented  not  only  as  a  destroyer  but  as  a  preserver  also  ;  and  when 
the  English  magistrate  interferes  to  rescue  the  accused  from  the  police, 
when  authority  appears  impnrtially  sometimes  as  the  punislier  of  the 
fuilty,  and  sometimes  as  the  saviour  of  the  innocent  from  official  per- 

jution,  the  Hindu  feels  for  the  time  not  only  content  but  gi-ateftil, 
even  though  his  ruler  be  an  alien. 

PoIice-otlBcers  in  Ireland  are  selected  by  nomination  affer  au  examina- 
tion of  an  elementary  nature.  Their  posts,  too,  like  the  magistrates', 
are  popularly  considered  to  be  used  as  a  means  of  outdoor  relief  for 
the  sons  or  nephews  of  landlords  whose  incomes  have  been  terribly 
r»»duced  recently,  and  whose  position  is  deserving  of  great  pity. 
Thns  the  police-officer  as  well  as  the  magistrate  represents  the  ascen- 
dency party,  and  partakes  of  the  bitterness  felt  by  the  minority  for  the 
Nationalists.  The  feeling  is  reciprocated  ;  charges  and  counter-charges 
have  been  made  ;  police  outrages  have  been  sometimes  exaggerated,  and 
the  strongest  denunciations  employed  in  the  Nationalist  press  ;  exas- 
peration results,  and  men,  generally  good-humoured  and  humane,  have? 
developed  no  small  share  of  savagery  when  a  crowd  is  to  be  dispersed, 
JK  lui  agitator  t^errified  by  a  baton  charge. 

Genekal  Workin<;  ok  Criminal  Law. 


I  have  shown  why  the  police  and  the  magistrates  are  severally 
nnpopalar.  1  must  show  also  how  their  mutual  relations  and  joint 
KtioD  are  regarded. 

Both  the  police  and  the  magistrates  are,  it  is  believed,  at  all  times 
too  much  under  the  influence  of  the  ascendency  minority,  from  whose 
they  are  mostly  recruited.    They  are  dependent  also  on  the 


04 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[Jah. 


executive,  whicli  can  transfer,  promote,  degrade,  dismiss  its  magi 
trates  at  pleasure.  But  these  features,  though  unique  so  far  as  I 
know,  ore  not  those  most  disliked  in  Ireland.  In  India  the  principle 
of  depai'tmental  checks  has  been  followed  ;  the  magistrate  oontrols 
the  police,  the  judge  the  magistrate.  Their  powers  and  emoluments 
hai-moiiize  with  this  principle.  The  civil  service  is  guarded  by  law 
from  the  intrusion  of  policemen  or  of  officers  from  the  anny,  and  the 
police  are  strictly  subordinate  to  the  judicial  branch  j  they  are  con- 
trolled at  every  step,  whether  in  arresting  criminals,  whom  they  m.us 
bring  before  a  magistrate  within  twenty-four  hours,  or  in  prepari 
statistics,  or  in  dispersing  public  meetings.  This  local  and  automatic 
check  is  exercised  by  trained  magistrates,  freely  chosen  from  the  sons 
of  the  soil,  who  are  entitled  to  pensions,  and  cannot  be  dismissed  by 
the  Indian  Govemment. 

In  Ireland,  the  policemen  and  magistrates  are  alloyed,  so  to  speak, 
and  the  alloy  is.  the  people  think,  still  more  pliant  than  either  of 
the  constituents.  On  entering  an  Irish  court  during  the  trial  of  a  case 
under  the  Coercion  Act,  there  appear  on  the  bench  two  magistrates  : 
they  decide  the  cases ;  they  have  been  receiving  from  £300  to  £550,  a 
salary  recently  slightly  raised;  near  them,  when  import  ant  cases  are  Ijeing 
tried,  there  will  be  a  divi.sionaI  commispioncr,  whose  pay  is  £1 000,  the 
chief  detective  and  prosecutor-general.  This  officer  is  head  of  the  execu- 
tive, he  gives  orders  which  the  magistrates  obey  even  in  their  courts. 
For  instance,  Mr.  Cecil  Roche  is  trying  a  case ;  there  is  some  clieering 
outside  tlie  court ;  the  commissioner  orders  the  street  to  be  cleared, 
and  Mr.  Roche  proceeds  to  carry  out  the  order.  These  commissioners 
transfer  the  magistrates,  it  is  said,  as  they  pllea.se ;  they  are  heads  of 
police,  too  ;  the  judge  is  under  the  prosecutor's  control.  The  magis- 
trates themselves,  in  most  cases  chosen  from  among  the  police-officers, 
hope  to  double  or  treble  their  meagre  pay  by  becoming  heiids  of 
the  police  again  themselves.  The  majesty  of  the  law  is  not  asserted 
any  more  than  its  independence  ;  the  magistrates  may  sit  under  gilt 
lion  atid  unicorn,  but  the  might  of  the  State  is  behind  the  prosecutor  ; 
the  magistrates  are  but  pawns  on  the  chessbtwirJ.  The  executive 
can  secure  that  the  prisoner  shall  be  tried  before  any  tribunal  which 
it  may  select,  while  early  training,  future  hopes,  and  political  biaaj 
incline  the  magistrate  to  fnvonr  the  police,  the  prosecution.  The 
two  bodies  are  thus  welded  together  into  one  instrument  of  tliscipline, 
pliant,  hftudy  and  effective  as  the  long  cowhide  lash  of  a  Mexican,. 
whip.  The  checks  upon  magistrates  are  their  own  feelings^  and  the' 
publicity  of  their  proceedings.  Many  of  them  are  humane  and  gentle ; 
but  even  when  this  is  so,  the  laws  and  procedure  often  produce  a  harsh 
result.  The  Act  of  1887  prescribes  that  the  preliminary  inquiry  into 
offences  may  be  conducted  in  the  absence  of  the  accused  and  without 
any  witnesses,  so  that  publicity  is  avoided. 


It90] 


HOME  RULE  IN  INDIA  AND  IRELAND. 


The  law  allows  the  Lord-Lieutenant  to  proclaim  the  Land  League 
wi  illegal ;  from  that  time  meetings,  advertisements,  newspaper 
reports,  sale  of  newspapers,  wearing  of  cards,  cheerings  and  jeerings 
become  crimes,  because  the  Lord-Lieutenant  has  so  ordered.  The 
magistrates  can  then  try  offences  committed  before  the  date  of  the 
proclamation,  the  jurisdiction  is  retrospective,  as  in  Mr.  Dillon's  cases  ; 
they  can,  without  giving  any  reasons,  imprison  for  six  months ;  there 
is  no  appeal  on  the  facts,  if  the  sentence  is  leas  than  a  month  ;  the 
Iaw  provides  that  offences  uf  such  an  ambiguous  nature  as  "  inter- 
fering with  the  administration  of  the  law,"  "  inciting  or  promoting 
intimidation,"  ''  publication  of  Land  League  proceedings,"  with  a 
*'  vie^  to  promote  its  object,"  shall  be  summarily  tried  by  these  magis- 
trates. Lord  Mayor  Sullivan  was  imprisoned  for  this  last  oft'ence,  and 
BO  were  several  newsvendors  for  selling  the  papers  containing  such 
reports. 

Wliile  I  write,  the  Attorney-General  has  ordered  all  Catholic  Jurors 
to  stand  aside,  and  a  Catholic  has  been  tried  for  hie  life  by  twelve 
Protestants. 

\Vljen  tlie  Guikwar  of  Baroda  was  charged  with  an  attenipt  to  poison 
Sir  Lewis  Pelly  with  a  dose  of  diamond  dust,  the  Indian  Government 
Impanelled  as  assessoi's  at    the  trial   three  native  princes,   Mahratta 

iefs  like  the  accused.  Indian  law  provides  that  jurymen  shall  be 
■elected  by  lot,  that  Britons  shall  be  tried  by  a  jury  of  whom  the 
majority  must  be  their  countrymen,  and  that  the  verdict  can  only  be 
oet  aside  by  the  High  Court ;  so  anxiously  has  this  old  Anglo-Saxon 
privilege  of  trial  by  peers  been  enforced  in  India  and  extended  to 
Bindu  and  Moslem,  while  it  is  being  withdrawn  from  Irishmen. 


Personal  Inspectiox  by  Governors. 

One  more  contrast  may  be  noted.  In  spite  of  all  provisions,  injus- 
ia  often  committed  in  India  ;  the  people  suffer  and  are  reluctant 

complain.  So  there  is  a  local  government  in  each  pronnce,  and 
tbr  Governor  visits  each  part  of  his  realm  to  redress  wrongs.  For 
Bflfcance,  Mr.  Mackenzie  haa  ninety  thousand  square  miles  to  look 
»ll*»r ;  within  a  year  of  his  appointment  he  visited  personally  every 
district  under  him  ;  men  like  Sir  Thomas  Muni-o,  Sir  Henry  Lawrence, 
Jonathan  Duncan,  lived  their  lives  in   India,  and  died  at  their  posts. 

ia  stated  that  an  Irish  Secretary  has  been  above  two  years  in 
without  spending  a  month  in  Ireland,  or  even  a  day  in  the 
diatnots  in  which  the  problems  of  Government  are  being  worked  by 
ofieers  so  grievously  inefficient. 

If  tliere  is  scarcity  in  an  Indian  province,  Lord  Lytton,  in  the 
wont  Maeoa  of  the  year,  travels  a  thousand  miles,  leaving  pleasant 
SbU  behind  him ;  and  Lord  Connemara  deaeends  from  Ootacamnnd 


;»6 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


TJa" 


into  the  sultry  and  feverish  plains.  Their  officers  are  active, 
able,  humane,  and  unbiassed,  save  by  the  natural  desire  for  ease. 
That  is  not  enough.  The  master  must  see  things  with  his  own  eyes. 
In  Ireland  there  are  a  hundred  matters  which  distort  the  views 
and  cloud  the  perceptions  of  local  officials,  yet  such  are  the  hard 
necessities  of  parliamentary  life  that  Secretary  and  Lord-Lieutenant 
ai-e  compelled,  it  is  said,  to  remain  in  England,  and  to  read  only 
reports  by  the  very  men  who  are  impeached.  Doubtless  officials 
wearied  by  party  struggles  find  much  needed  recreation  on  the  Links 
at  North  Berwick,  or  the  breezy  downs  of  Newmarket.  Still  the 
contrast  may  be  noted  between  these  officials  and  the  govenior  or 
secretary  of  Bengal,  who  reaches  his  post  after  a  quarter  of  a  century's 
toU,  and  never  leaves  it  for  a  single  month  of  his  incumbency. 


Conclusion. 


In  India  a  small  minority  only  are  discontented,  for  governors, 
magistrates,  and  police  all  work  together  in  their  proper  places, 
aiming  at  no  party  objects,  intent  on  the  general  good,  and  doubtless 
on  those  personal  advantages  also  which  men  must  always  desire.  In  the 
reverse  of  this  we  find  the  main  causes  of  the  demand  for  Homo  Rule 
in  Ireland.  The  people  dislike  with  varying  degrees  of  intensity  their 
magistracy,  their  police,  and' the  Coercion  laws,  which  those  bodies 
carry  out ;  their  minds  dwell  ou  secret  Star  Chamber  inquiries,  on 
benches  of  removables  superseding  juries,  applying  with  clumsy 
ignorance  ancient  law  which  has  descended  from  Edward  TIL,  and 
Ttiodern  coercion,  wliich  has  been  obtained  from  the  British  Parliament 
through  fictitious  statistics  and  Pigott's  forgeries.  Generous  and  states- 
manlike has  been  much  of  State  action,  Liberal  and  Conservative,  but 
the  people  as  a  whole  have  only  heard  of  Lord  Ashbourne's  Acts ; 
they  have  seen  the  baton  charge  and  the  battering-ram,  and  heard 
the  patter  of  buckshot ;  they  have  witnessed,  they  think,  high-handed 
outrage  by  officials  followed  by  no  inquiry  or  redress  :  police  in 
Ireland  bear  no  numbers,  so  that  civil  actions  are  practically  impos- 
eible.  All  this  is  galling,  and  they  clamour  for  Home  Rule,  not 
because  it  will  place  a  Parliament  in  College  Green,  but  because  it 
will  sweep  away  the  Castle  and  the  removables,  and  place  the  police 
under  control. 

In  India  the  nationalists  have  no  such  grievance,  yet  they,  too,  aiiu 
at  Home  Rule,  and  Congresses  of  twelve  hundred  delegates,  with 
thousands  of  orations,  but  very  few  rupees,  support  the  agitation. 
Tliey  demand  that  examinations  for  the  Civil  Service  and  the  army 
shall  be  held  simultaneously  at  London  and  Calcutta,  so  that  their 
youth  may  compete  on  even  terras  ;  they  ask  to  be  allowed  to  volunteer, 
that  men  of  good  character  may  carry  arms  for  sport  or  protection ; 


i 


U 


i89o] 


HOME  RULE  IN  INDIA  AND  IRELAND. 


97 


that  executive  and  judicial   functions  shall  be  separated;   that  some 
membera  of  the  legislative  councils  shall  be  elected  by  the  people. 

One  reason,  no  doubt,  of  the  temper  and  nioderation  with  which 
these  demands  are  pressed,  is  that  Government  has  so  far  responded 
with  saccessive  reforms,  and  its  tone  has  been  cautious  and  conciliatory. 
Many  thoughtful  patriotic  Indians,  though  content  with  their  officials 
a*  individuals,  think  that  authority  should  become  less  autocratic  ; 
that  the  people  should  do  more  for  themselves,  and  the  bounds  of 
liberty  be  broadened.  Vast  \vill  be  the  task  of  res^xjuding  to  these 
requests,  according  to  the  varying  needs  of  Indian  nations,  compris- 
ing all  types  of  civilization.  The  Calcutta  Government,  inspii-ed  by 
traditions  which  have  descended  from  warrior  statesmen,  such  as 
Monro  or  the  Lawrences,  have  refrained  from  stubborn  refusals ;  con- 
scious that  the  empire  is  God-given,  they  have  not  sought  to  maintain 
it  by  any  alliance  with  a  minority,  or  by  any  dependence  upon  privileged 
classes,  and  they  have  not  become  entangled  in  or  discredited  by 
partisan  intrigues.  Having  recently  pulverized  great  kingdoms,  and 
treated  land  as  national  propei-tyj  they  are  naturally  chary  of 
ffistening  such  epithets  as  rapine  or  disintegration  upon  any  con- 
stitutional agitation. 

The  Indian  nttionalists  are  conscious  that  they  have  received 
blessings  which  Ireland  still  lacks.  The  nationalized  land  pays  easily 
a  revenue  of  twenty-one  millions  sterling;  rack-renting  and  evictions 
art^  rare  and  becoming  rarer.  The  breakfast-table  is  free  ;  the  magis- 
tracy is  able  and  impartial,  freely  chosen  without  favour  from  white 
and  black ;  juries  are  not  packed ;  there  is  no  Coercion  Act.  The 
police  are  controlled,  and  eflbrts  to  correct  their  errors  are  ceaseless  ; 
there  is  no  dominant  minority  ever  galh'ng  the  people  with  fresh 
mstances  of  the  monopoly  of  State  powers  and  emoluments  which  they 
>s«ess.  In  fact,  the  fabric  of  agitation  want^  the  corner-stones  which 
handy  all  over  Ireland. 

In  India  there  is  no  angry  discontent,  there  is  hopeful,  eager  aspi- 
ktion,  for  cautious  concession  is  the  motto  of  the  rulers,  not  dogged 
snial.  It  is  the  feiTent  prayer  of  Indian  Nationalists  that  the  British 
Parliament  will  soon  become  representative  of  the  Empire;  that  it  will 
be  relieved  of  petty  domestic  matters  in  Ireland,  and  will  then  take 
up  the  broad  questions  which  concern  two  hundred  and  fifty  millions 
of  Indians ;  to  them  England  has  shown  that  she  can  be  unselfish 
and  benignant,  and  in  their  contentment  has  been  her  exceeding  great 
reward.  May  the  rulers  of  Ireland  be  of  like  mind.  In  their  deal- 
ings with  their  magistracy  and  police,  in  holding  the  balance  between 
ral  parties,  in  special  enactments  for  peace  preservation,  may  they, 
in  the  land  question,  not  disdain  to  copy  the  wise  men  of  the  East, 
with  their  motto,  *'  Be  just  and  fear  not." 

A  Bengal  Magistrate. 

VOL.  LVJI.  G- 


[Jan. 


A  LUMBER-ROO]\r. 


H 


IT  discovers  an  altar  to  an  unknown  god, — humanity  in  ignorant 
worship  of  time.  It  offends  us  at  the  same  time  that  it  fasci- 
nates ;  we  approach  it  in  impatience ;  we  descend  from  it  with 
lingering,  in  dust  and  tears.  As  in  a  vault  we  look  round ;  we  dare 
not  transpose  or  remove.  Om*  memorial  cLapel  is  an  attic  where 
grandpapa's  crutches  tonch  the  long  sloping  roof,  and  the  moralities 
are  inscribed  on  a  sanjpler,  traversed  by  mystic  signs.  Our  religion 
is  betrayed  in  our  attachment  to  the  obsolete  ;  the  four-post  bed  in 
its  mouldering  uselessness  awaits  the  final  trump.  Not  without  hope 
of  ultimate  restoration  have  these  rusting  fire-irons,  this  dilapidated 
fumitui'e,  been  confided  to  the  custody  of  the  mildew  and  tho  moth. 
Neither  are  trophies  of  onr  mortality  wanting.  We  preserve,  as  in  a 
crude  catalogue,  records  of  our  ancient  sickness  or  nece.ssity.  We 
cannot  destro}''  tlie  leading-strings  of  our  own  childhood  :  and  what  of 
the  knobbed  stick,  the  pad,  the  crutch  ?  Gratitude  still  leans  on  these  ; 
the  horn  spectacles,  that  have  ceased  to  lighten  the  eyes  of  our 
ancestora,  dim  our  own.  The  nearer  an  object  has  Iain  to  life 
the  keenlier  it  penetrates  our  sympathy.  A  pipe,  a  ragged  purae. 
a  stained  palette,  a  carving  half  blocked-in,  any  broken  instniTnent, 
engage  us  more  than  objects  stamped  with  the  estranging  impress 
of  remoteness  or  achievement.  The  globe  once  habited  by  gold-fish, 
tho  empty  bird-cage,  even  the  tenantless  mousetrap,  distress  us. 
Instinctively  we  morahze.  Divines  exhort  us  to  an  examination 
of  conscience,  and  we  turn  a  deaf  ear :  the  conscience  is  ton  close  for 
impartial  survey  and  censure.  Neither  must  remorse,  which  is  old 
conscience,  be  adverted  to.  A  past  to  which  we  are  attacJied  either 
by  prejudice  or  voluntary  affection  impedes  and  constricts  us.  In  a 
lumber-room  wo  conduct  the  scrutiny  of  our  dead  selves  without 
embarrassment :  we  stand  aloof,  observe  and  remember. 


J 


i89o] 


A   LUMBER-ROOM. 


99 


Yrt  why  generalize,  why  speak  of  Icunber-roonis,  when  it  is  of  one 
we  are  thinking, — the  many-nooked  attic  in  an  old-fashioned  farm- 
lionae,  where  two  vosy-cheeked  children  played  in  winter  on  a  floor 
strewn  with  st^re-fruit  and  ripening  damaons  ?  It  had  been  revealed 
to  them  that,  if  a  cert.ain  cnrions  hair-trank  were  opened,  with  due 
rites  and  at  propitious  hour,  the  doils  they  had  fondled,  lost,  forgotten, 
and  after  many  days  desii-ed  with  tears,  would  suddenly  be  discovered 
lying  bright  and  uninjured  as  on  the  day  of  gift.  A  warming 
creilulity  crept  through  me  as  I  listened  to  details  of  the  anticipated' 
reunion.  We  discussed  the  toilettes  of  lost  favourites  that  '•  suddenly 
as  rare  things  will,  had  vanished,"'  the  oddities  and  infirmity  of  others 
taken  from  us  by  violence  or  disaster.  We  recalled  the  lovable  traits 
of  creatures  fallen  to  decay  through  ill-usage  or  neglect.  We  named 
them  by  name — Zinga,  the  Only  Son,  Antoinette.  Everything 
T\-as  ready ;  faith  flowed  to  the  brim  of  the  event.  Had  the  Child 
Christ  been  there,  immediately  must  that  hair-trunk  have  yielded  up 
its  dead.  I  remember  the  chill  of  heart  with  which  I  heard  that 
nothing  had  been  fonnd.  There  was  some  quiet  weeping  on  the  attic- 
stairs,  then  all  reference  to  the  lost  generations  ceased.  The  number 
of  these  small  children  of  the  resurrection  was  to  have  exceeded  fifty. 
Great  must  have  been  the  depopulating  of  the  imagination! 

For  the  tradition  of  a  millennium,  a  return  of  the  goodliesfc 
creatures  that  have  sojoumod  with  us,  is  exciting  and  recurrent, 
and  will  never  be  banished  from  the  hospitable  human  heart  passionate 
to  entertain  its  heroes.  The  past  must  return  to  us,  and  something 
more  than  the  past — the  past  and  our  joy  in  meeting  it  again.  It 
cannot  Ik*  that  King  Arthur  and  Barbarossa  have  taken  leave  of  us  for 
pver.  We  want  to  walk  the  earth  with  them  again ;  they  kept  us  in 
tune ;  they  dispersed  the  influences  that  made  life  spiritless ;  they  set 
ft-ripple  the  current  of  our  days  :  let  the  saints  break  through  to  an 
alii-n  Paradise  ;  the  children  of  earth  guard  in  their  hearts  everlasting 
welcome  for  such  as  have  founded  human  hajipiness  on  worldly 
triumph,  earthliness,  pomp,  and  far-spreading  revel.  We  build 
monuments  to  the  men  who  have  given  order  to  life :  to  tlioae 
who  have  given  colonr  we  render  wanner  homage ;  we  ask  for  them 
l)ack  again.  We  believe  they  are  stored  for  us  in  some  cavernous 
lnnibiT-ri.X)m  of  earth,  and,  returning,  will  one  day  cast  a  processional 
majesty  on  life.  We  have  not  the  courage  of  the  children  ;  we  dare 
not  lift  the  lid  of  the  hair- trunk  that  contains  our  hopes  ;  we  enslirine 
tlwni.  and  let  no  man  approach  with  unreverent  feet.  For  we 
are  temptod  to  call  mystic  what  we  shrink  from  discovering,  equally 
with  that  we  are  impotent  to  penetrate.  Awe  of  contact  with 
intolt^rahle  power  operates  more  rarely  than  fear  of  exposing  emiitineaa 
in  retaining  ns  in  an  attitude  of  worship. 

Belief  in  a  millennium,  as  we  have  suggested,  may  justify  the 


100 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  RE  VIE IV 


tJAK. 


elements  ?     What  prompted  us  to  pre  serve  them  ? 
cry  in  our  irritation,  his  lumber-room  as  well  as 


more  honourable  contents  of  our  lumber-rotim,  some  hope  that  one  day 
they  may  be  reunited  to  the  glory  of  the  ball-room  and  the  banquet ; 
but  what  shall  we  say  of  the  objects  stowed  away  in  its  lowlier 
comers,  tbe  homely,  discarded  things  an  elder  world  esteemed 
beautiful,  buried  by  us  out  of  sight  with  revolt  and  a  st niggling  shame  ; ; 
or,  it  may  be,  the  creatures  of  our  own  caprice,  the  fad,  the  extrara- 
gauce  of  an  hour,  the  ephemeral  display,  the  relic  of  a  season's  finery 
that  instead  of  rotting  with  last  summer's  leaves  continues  to  grin  on 
us  from  an  obtrusive  peg  ?     Why  did  we  not  give  tliese  things  to  the 

llasthe  savage,  we 
his  idol-chamber  ? 
Does  he  revere  his  rubbish  and  his  gods  ?  We  respect  the  squirrel's 
instinct  to  hoard  nuts.  Wliat  animal,  even  of  the  more  sober  Scripture 
kind,  has  been  known  to  retiiin  and  consecrate  its  tarnished  weapons,  its 
frayed  garniture,  or  forsaken  cell.  Is  then  thia  habit  of  storing  a 
spiritual  habit  of  which  we  may  be  proud,  or  one  for  which  a  future 
architect  will  make  no  provision  ?  As  we  reflect  on  the  great  lumber- 
rooms  of  the  world,  ou  the  difference  in  quality  between  tlie  warelious© 
and  the  museum,  oiu"  conclusion  visits  us  as  a  smile  :  had  man  destroyed 
universally,  instead  of  discarding,  had  he  never  learnt  to  spare  that 
from  which  his  vital  interest  was  withdrawn,  antiquity  would  not  now 
be  lying  about  us  as  the  hills  round  about  fJerusalem,  protecting  us 
against  those  gusts  from  chaos  that  sweep  across  the  plain  of  time. 

One  of  the  peculiar  and  moving  attributes  of  lumbiT  is  its  per- 
sistency. W^e  are  for  ever  confounding  it  witb  rubbish,  but  rubbish 
is  ephemeral  lumber  and  not  worth  a  thought.  Lunibrr  incommodes 
us,  the  grim  fostering  it  requires  is  burdensome  ;  rot,  that  woody  rheu- 
matism, may  infest  its  bones ;  it  has  need  of  air,  in  certain  eases  of  light 
and  warmth.  Yet  it  does  not  reward  our  solicitude.  Tlie  indefinable 
grace  of  length  of  days,^  a  shadow  as  from  the  ui^der-feathers  of  time's 
wing,  rests  over  it;  its  corporeal  presence  is  disconcerting.  Our 
respect  for  it  is  mingled  with  admiration  of  our  own  long-suffering. 
Comfort,  luxury,  convenience,  cotmselled  its  removal ;  it  owes  its  ood- 
servation  to  a  lenient  reliance  on  the  hereafter.  Its  "  patient  continu- 
ance "  in  useleasnexSB  impresses  us.  For  how  strong  is  the  impulse  in 
living  things  to  get  done  with  themselves  when  their  best  is  accom- 
plished \  '•  The  flower  fadeth  '" — in  that  is  its  happiness.  The  pathos 
of  life  lies,  not  in  its  transience,  i-ather  in  its  survival  of  beauty,  its 
monotony,  its  instinct  for  the  formation  of  habits.  It  is  natural  that 
the  blossom  should  scatter  and  the  leaf  drift.  We  suHln"  with  the 
withering  flowers  that  linger,  the  uncomely  creatures  that  cannot 
remove,  the  things  that  corrupt  and  do  not  find  a  grave,  that  alter,  and 
yet  wane  not  nor  slip  away.  If  a  traveller,  roving  our  noi-them  coasts 
in  November,  turn  from  one  of  the  inlet  coppices  of  its  cliffs,  silver  witJi 
the  curled-up  meadow-sweet  and  gold  with  wide-floundered  fronds  of 


i8go] 


A    LUMHER-ROOM. 


101 


blemished  bracken,  to  the  bare  winter  sea,  he  will  learn  the  Imrshnesi 
of  imperishable  life.  The  great  water  lies  as  under  a  spell,  stricken 
by  its  impotence  to  suffer  change,  to  abandon  itself  to  the  passionate, 
capricious  misery  of  the  wind.  It  is  sick  of  its  own  monotony  ;  the 
currents  of  summer  sunshine  withdrawn,  it  would  fain  graw  old,  breok 
up  and  perish.  Its  tides  heave  in  lethargic  revolt  against  the  oppres- 
sion of  their  own  routine  ;  eternity  clings  to  it  as  a  fetter. 

It  were  not  difficult  to  ponder  till  one  pondered  oneself  into  the 
paradox  that  nothing  is  useful  till  it  has  lost  its  use.  From  the 
moment  anything  is  put  aside  its  leavening  potency  begins .  Our  awe 
of  the  dead  springs  in  part  from  the  sense  we  have  of  their  being  no 
more  subject  to  life's  daily  wear  and  tear.  We  think  of  them  in  the 
perfect  employment  of  perfect  leisure.  Again  it  is  the  lumber  on  old 
faces  that  attracts  us.  The  j-eruson  ive  ffel  so  keenly  the  loss  of  even  & 
commonplace,  old  acquaintance  is  that  with  liim  is  destroyed  so  much  of 
old-fashioned  experience,  philosophy  falk'n  out  of  repute,  and  inconse- 
quent religion.  Evidence  harasses  us,  tradition  consoles.  To-day  is 
for  the  craftsman,  yesterday  for  the  artist.  We  cannot  reverence  what 
we  are  ever  handling.  The  sculptor  sees  his  work  as  it  will  be  when  it 
cools  into  immortality.  He  who  would  attain  distinction  in  the  use 
of  speech  must  have  knowledge  of  the  undisturbed,  monumental 
languages.  The  England  we  touch  and  converse  with  to-day  is  not 
onr  country.  Our  country  is  where  the  moth  and  worm  corrupt,  on 
the  battlefield,  and  in  the  crypt. 

Precious  as  we  have  proved  our  unprofitable  effects,  we 
can  by  no  means  unreservedly  maintain  that  all  things  fallen  into 
discredit  should  be  harboured  in  hope  of  future  spiritual  authority. 
We  must  discriminate  between  dead  and  lively  lumber.  Dead  lumber 
is  that  which,  before  it  bi-came  lumber,  fatigued  and  disgusted  as ; 
lively  lumber  is  that  which  in  its  pre-lumber  stage  gave  ua  interest 
and  delight.  What  once  genuinely  excited  us  may  be  spared,  so  only 
it  pertained  not  to  controversy;  for  controversy,  as  St.  Paul  points  out, 
should  set  before  close  of  day.  But  any  work  of  art,  utensil,  instru- 
ment, or  paper  that  has  depressed  or  wrought  u.?  evil,  should,  when  its 
tt'rm  is  over,  be  obliterated  cleanly  as  by  flame.  Though  we  would 
deal  tenderly  with  the  pious  practice  of,  as  it  were,  providing  almshouses 
for  our  infirm  and  unserviceable  chattels,  it  has,  bke  other  gracious 
nistonis,  its  abuse  ;  we  hoard  documents  less  than  intimate,  and  more 
than  official.  "  On  ne  jieut  ecrire  que  les  choses  durei ;  quant  aux 
cboses  doutcs,  elles  ne  peuvent  s'ecrire  et  ce  sont  les  seules  choses 
amusantes."  Truth,  llarie  Bashkirtseff!  the  only  amusing  things, 
and  of  them,  though  you  affinii  they  cannot  be  written,  your 
own  journal  affords  delicious  examples.  In  correspondence  "  les 
choses  dures  "  should  be  consigned  to  the  waste-paper  basket ;  *'  les 
cbosi-s  douces  "  to  the  pigeon-hole.     We  should  be  able  to  recur  to 


102  THE   CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW.  [Jab. 

favonrite  passages  in  our  letters  with  the  ease  and  familiarity  with 
which  we  turn  to  favourite  passages  in  our  books.  Instead  of  this 
possession  of  our  friends'  luminous  suggestions  and  happy  eloquence, 
we  crowd  our  drawers  with  manuscripts  that  will  never  be  handled  till 
they  are  flung  by  impatient  hands  in  basketfuls  on  the  furnace. 

To  judge  of  this  habit  of  accumulation  in  its  fondness  and  extremity, 
we  must  take  cognizance  of  it  in  the  amassments  of  a  lifetime,  when 
the  secret  places  of  cabinets  and  bureaus  expose  black  profiles  no  delicate 
personal  recollections  can  tint ;  miniatures  of  ladies  who  open  on  us 
the  full  sweetness  of  their  wide,  shining,  trustful  eyes ;  locks  of  hair, 
alas  !  not  the  shade  of  auburn  of  the  miniatures,  a  cloudier  brown, 
yet  lovable  in  their  strong-fibred  curl — baffling  and  beautiful  tokens  ! 
We  cannot  interpiret ;  we  should  be  more  at  home  among  the  catacombs. 
From  this  cynical  thought  we,  guardians  or  distributors  of  the  worth- 
less treasure  of  the  dead,  are  recalled  by  the  manifestation,  'mid 
ofiicial  files,  of  a  packet  curiously  corded  with  flushed  ribbon,  giving 
glimpses  of  a  handwriting  intricate  as  fine  trellis.  Love-letters, 
modernity  !  We  have  reached  the  heart  of  our  mystery.  Our  "  dark 
tower  "  is  upon  us.  We  attain  the  ver}-  essence  and  underlying  reality 
of  inibbish  in  a  packet  of  yellow  love-letters.  Whether  we  read  them 
or  not  matters  little.  They  are  the  sacred  writings,  the  ciNnlizing 
scriptures  of  mankind.  We  do  not  open  a  Bible  when  we  come  upon 
it  in  foreign  characters  in  a  heathen  land.  We  touch  it  and  give 
thanks. 

Michael  Field. 


»«9oJ 


BRAZIL,   PAST  AND  FUTURE. 


r  'X'EK  a  brief  existence  of  sixty-seven  years  the  last  mouarcliy  on 
the  American  continent  baa  disappeared.     It  was  founded  in 
*^~2,     when    the    Crown    I'rince    of   Bragauza   was    made  Emperoi' 
unuer    the  title  of  l*edro  I.,  whose  rt'i^'ii  came  to  an  end  in  1831, 
WB^n.     he    abdicated   and   retired  to   Oporto.      His    son,   Pedro  II., 
•*^ii<led  the  throne  in  1810,  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  and  wanted  there- 
fore   'bjij;  gj^Q  yg^j.  ^^    celebrate    his  jubileo.      As   a   constitutional 
♦sovereign  he  left  little  to  be  desired,  taking  no  part  in  politics,  and 
coufitiuig  his  efforts  to  the  promotion  of  arts  and  sciences,  and  tin- 
aboVitiou  of  slavery.     But  for  the  Paraguayan  war  liis  reign   would 
uiive  been  an  imbroken  career  of  progress.     Nevertheless,  the  growtli 
o^  the  republican   movement  has  be^n  no   secret.     It  began  in  Rio 
"^anile  in  1  Sob,  when  Garibaldi  headed  the  Farapos,  who  were  only 
^'^Ppressed  after  ten  years  of  civil    war.     In  our  own  time    many 
PRJtuinont   Brazilians   declared  openly  theii-  intention    to  proclaim  a 
^public  on  Dom  Pedro's  death,  and   the  Emperor  himself  knew  well 
••uat  his  grandson,  the  Prince  of  ParA,  had   no  chance  of  the  throne. 
*fl"  revolution,  however,  was  probably  hastened   by  the  planters,  in 
'Ht'nge  for  the  law  of  May  1888,  abolishing  slavery. 


Tiui  Slavery  Question. 

By  virtue  of  the  treaty  of  Utrecht  a  monopoly  of  the  slave  ti'ado 
na  conceded  to  England  in  1713,  and  during  the  eighteenth  century 
Eaglish  nuTchants  conveyed  immense  numbers  of  negroes  from  Africa 
to  I'emambuco,  Bahia,  Santos  and  Buenos  Ayres.  In  this  manner  thr 
industrifs  of  Brazil  Ijecauie  dependent  on  negro  labour,  and  when 
Pedro  II.  ascended  the  throne,  in  1840,  the  nmnber  of  elavea  waa 


104 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jan. 


understood  to  reach  two  roillioiis,  or  one-fourth  of  the  pyopulation. 
Great  Britain  had,  meantime,  not  only  liberated  the  slaves  in  her  own 
West  India  islands,  but  had  undertaken  an  active  crusade  to  prevent  or 
abolish  slavery  elsewhere,  and  in  1820  a  treat}'  had  Ijeeii  signed  at 
llio  Janeyro,  prohibiting  any  further  importation  of  slaves  from  Africa. 
It  was  not,  however,  until  1872  that  a  law  was  passed  for  the  gradual 
abolition  of  slavery,  whereby  it  was  decreed  that  all  children  of  slaves 
should  thenceforward  be  born  free,  that  certain  revenues  be  devoted 
to  the  annual  redemption  of  a  number  of  slaves,  and  that  slavery 
should  uttt'rly  cease  in  the  year  1900.  This  measure  was  brought  in 
by  Viscount  Paranhos  de  Kio  Branco,  the  Prime  Minister,  who  was  a 
natural  son  of  Pedro  I.,  and  possessed  the  cordial  sympathy  and  sup- 
port of  his  half-brother,  the  Emperor.  The  relijrious  orders  led  the 
way  by  manunutting  their  slaves,  and  several  private  persona  gene- 
rously imitat<-d  the  example,  ITie  planters,  on  the  contrary,  opposed 
the  measure  as  fur  as  possible,  anticipating  that  the  blacks,  once 
emancipated,  would  do  no  more  work,  bat  let  the  coffee  and  sugar 
jilaututions  full  to  ruin.  Nor  was  the  Government  heedless  of  the 
danger  of  a  labour  crisis.  In  1880  a  special  embassy  was  sent  to 
Pekin,  when  it  was  arranged  with  Prince  Kung  to  introduce  200,000 
Chinese  into  Brazil,  but  thr  treaty  afterwards  fell  to  the  gi-ound. 
Uedoubled  efforts  were  then  made,  by  sending  "  drummers  "  all  over 
Rurope  with  ofifers  of  free  passages,  food  for  twelve  months,  and  free 
grants  of  land,  which  had  the  effect  of  attracting  more  than  100,000 
Germans  and  Italians,  no  fewer  than  lol,00tl  emigmnts  of  all 
nationalities  landing  last  year  at  Rio  and  Santos.  The  planters,  too, 
imported  the  newest  and  best  agricultural  machinery  from  the  United 
States  and  England,  for  the  saving  of  labour.  Such  was  the  position 
of  affairs  in  May  1888,  when  the  Princesa-Regent  signed  the  law 
.•mancipating  at  least  1,300,000  slaves.  In  1876  it  had  been  found 
that  10,000  planters  pttssessed  1,011,000,  of  all  ages  and  sexes.  My 
^pace  will  not  permit  me  to  discuss  their  treatment.  I  have  seen  at 
Rio  Grande  a  female  slave  who  was  twice  given  her  liberty,  and  who 
refused  to  leave  her  mistress.  The  lash,  meantime,  was  common  on 
the  plantations,  and  many  slaves  committed  suicide,  and  even  killed 
tht  ir  children,  to  avoid  a  life  of  hopeless  toil  and  ill-treatment. 


Ahea  and  Population. 


4 


Brazil  is  about  the  size  of  Europe,  some  of  its  provinces  being  three 


tinjes  as  large  as  France 

K<noy>eans  . 
Rrazilian  whites 
Free  negx'oe.'* 
Negro  slaves 
Indians 


llie  census  of  1874  was  as  follows : — 

244,000 

.     3,787,01X1 

.      2,291,000 

1,5!  I, (HH) 

.     3,27o,0on 


•SjloJ 


BRAZIL,    PAST  AND   FUTURE. 


105 


Europeans  settle  almost  exclusively  on  the  coast.*     There  is  in  fact 

fl  strong  vein  of  foreign  blood  at  all  the  ports,  as  the  names  of  many  of 

we  old  families  imply.  -  The  Dutch  held  Pemambnco  in  the  seventeenth 

cenfcriry.     The  French  founded  Rio  Janeyro,  where  Fort  Vilk-gagnon 

tate^  its  uamo  from  an  equem"  of  Mary  Stuart.     Italians  have  been 

Dp  ^-nd  down  the  cx)ast  for  two  centuries.     Germans  are  70,000  strong 

"^  ^^io  Grande  do  Sul.  and  Scotch  red -headed  children  are  seen  along 

""^     ^an  Paulo  railway.     "When  we  call  to  mind  that  Portugal  banished 

**^  ■^■-^r  Jews  to  Brazil  in  1548,  it  is  8ur|3rising  how  few  there  are  : 

•^^  3^    a  handful  at  Rio  Janeyro.     Portuguese  is  the  douiinant  race,  partly 

"*''^^^iise  the  conquerors  were  of  that  stock,  partly  because  irntnigration 

°^*^*^  Portugal  has  been  continuous:  thus,  in  ten  years  ending  1881, 

"°    ^«wer  than  137,000  Portuguese   settlers  landed  in  Brazil.      But  in 

tho.      iitxt  century  it  is  possible  the  Germans  or  Italians,  who  have  much 

®**"*'«  energy  than   Brazilians,  may  exercise  paramount  influence  in 

pnV:»lic  affairs. 

British  Interests. 

Xn  187o  it  was  computed  that  31  millions  sterling  of  British  capital 
^^t-e  invested  in  Brazil,  thus  :^ 


Government  lojins 
Railways,  banks,  ifcc. 

Total 


£1 9,201  ),00U 
l:?,uoo,oun 


£31,"iOO,OOU 


At  present  it  would  appear  that  our  investments  reach  1<3  millions, 
f>f  which  28  millions  are  in  State  loans  and  the  rest  in  railways  and 
other  joint-stock  enterprises.  In  the  last  fourteen  yeai*s  our  monetary 
relations  with  Brazil  have  trebled,  but  they  were  until  1875  of  very 
slow  growth,  seeing  that  our  dealings  with  that  country  go  back 
more  than  300  years.  In  looO  a  Brazilian  king  came  to  visir 
Henry  VIIL,  and  died,  says  youthey,  on  the  return  voyage.  Mr, 
Pndsey  built  a  factory  at  Bahia  in  151-2,  John  Whithall  at  Santos  in 
1.j81,  James  Purcell  at  Maranham  in  1G26,  and  John  Dorrington 
start<ed  a  mercantile  house  at  Bahia  in  1658.  In  the  story  oi" 
Robinson  Crusoe,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  Defoe  alludes  to  the  augar- 
'  plantations  owned  by  Englishmen  at  Bahia  and  Peniambuco.  In  180J^ 
we  find  the  English  merchants  of  Rio  Janeyro  oftering  a  sum  of 
£1200  sterling  to  the  secretary  of  Princess  Carlotta  to  obtain  them 
permission  from  the  Viceroy  Liniere  to  open  branch  houses  at 
Montevideo  and  Buenos  Ayrea :  they  certainly  held  a  gi-eat  port  ion 
of  the  trade  of  Brazil  in  their  hands,  and  still  more  so  after  the  over- 
throw of  Portuguese  rule  in  1822.  At  the  same  time  Ijord  Cochrane 
and  others  lent  valuable  services  in  the  Brazilian   navy,  and  General 

•  In  Mp..  MnlhiUrs  Travels  in  Brazil  (Stanford,  1882),  it  is  menlioiied  that  we  unly 
m«t  lhr«<.-  Euroiieflus  in  Mutto  Grosso,  une  of  whom  wati  Mr.  Ynule.  b  Scotcli  .^cttlcr. 


106 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jav. 


Caldwell  in  the  army.  With  the  iutroduction  of  gasworks  and 
railways  in  I80I,  numbers  of  <Migliieers  aud  capitalists  become 
connwted  with  the  couutry.  Henry  Law  constructed  the  Ilha  das 
Cobras  docks,  William  GiBty  the  roads  to  Tijuca  and  retrojKilis, 
while  English  companies  were  laying  down  the  San  I'aulo,  Bahia, 
and  other  railway  lines,  establishing  banks  all  over  the  empire,  patting 
steamboats  on  the  internal  watera,  and  developing  the  mining  wealth 
of  San  Juan  del  Hey.  Individuals,  too,  helped  efficaciously  in  tJie 
onward  march  of  trade ;  Proudfoot  and  Crawford  at  Rio  Grande, 
Bramley-Moore  at  Rio  Janeyro,  Hugh  Wilson  at  Bahia,  Bowman 
at  Pernatnbuco,  Bennett  at  l^juca,  McGinity  at  Port  Alegre ;  these 
and  many  others  did  good  service. 


\ 


Pkodlcts. 

Coffee  is  the  sheet-anchor  of  Brazilian  industry  and  wealth.  Its 
cultivation  was  introduced  by  a  poor  priest  in  17o4,  and  Brazil  now 
grows  GO  per  cent,  of  the  coflfee  of  the  world,  the  crop  in  1885  being 
■estimated  at  390,000  tons,  against  103,000  iu  1855.  The  plantations 
cover  2,200,000  acres,  with  about  1)00,000  million  trees.  In  good 
years  the  crop  is  valued  at  22  millions  sterling,  nine-teinths  being 
exported.  Sugar  is  the  oldest  industry,  the  cro]>  averaging  300,000 
tons,  valued  at  £1,000,000.  Cotton  luis  declined  of  late  years,  the 
area  being  imder  100,000  acres,  and  the  yield  from  30,000  to  40,000 
tons  of  cotton-wool,  worth  about  £1,500,00(1.  The  yerbales  or  tea- 
forests  cover  ten  million  acres,  the  animal  product  being  i-O.UOO  tons, 
of  which  rmt-half  is  I'xiiorted,  of  the  value  of  £500,000.  India- 
rubber  from  the  Amazon  averages  £800,000.  The  tobacco  crop,  from 
100,000  acres,  is  estimated  at  o8,000  tons,  valued  at  £1, 100,000.  Thus 
the  total  vegetable  products  make  up  about  30  millions  sterling. 
Animal  products  are  cousiderably  under  four  millions  sterling,  and 
manufactures  of  all  descriptions  fall  short,  of  ten  millions.  There  was 
a  time  when  gold  and  diamonds  formed  principal  products,  when  the 
Viceroy's  horse  was  shod  with  the  glittering  metal,  but  at  present  the 
total  product  under  these  heads  is  barely  £100,000  a  year.  K  to 
the  foregoing  we  add  the  earnings  of  railways,  tramways,  gas  com- 
panies, shipping,  banks,  merchants,  professional  classes,  &c.,  we 
find  the  total  earnings  of  the  nation  approach  a  snm  of  7ij  millions 
sterling  per  annum.  We  see,  therefore,  that  the  wealth  of  Brazil 
is  rather  a  figure  of  speech  than  a  reality.  The  earnings  aud 
industries  of  the  Argentine  Republic  iu  1884  amounted  to  £02,300,1)00, 
with  a  population  of  only  3,200,000  souls,  or  one-third  that  of  Brazil. 
In  the  one  countrj'  the  average  is  neai'ly  £20  per  head,  in  the  other 
barely  £0,  but  wealth  is  so  congested  in  the  latter  that  two-thirds  of 
the  population  are  extremely  poor,  while  many  of  the  planters  have 


f   m 


iiOTimf*  There  is  some  similarity  lx<tTrt^n  the  condition 
of  Aiap  m  RoBBia  and  that  in  Brazil,  neither  country  bein^  at  all  as 
rick  IB  its  nrii[glihom»L 

PuBUC  Works. 

Kiywfring  hflB  done  wonders  in  Brazi],  and  the  traveller  is 
Mhmiifcfd  at  the  signs  of  gigantic  labonr  and  per^ereriug  energy 
aaii  a  people  and  climate  saggestire  of  indolence.  The  first  raihvay 
wMBude  in  1S51,  by  Baron  Mani^,  to  the  Organ  Jlountaius,  and  was 
•ooo  feUovred  by  the  Pedro  Segnndo,  a  main  trunk  line  with  uumoroua 
Innchra,  which  passes  through  the  most  mngniGcent.  scenery,  carrying 
two  million  passengers  yearly.  The  Santos  and  Sau  Pnulo  line,  madn 
by  a  London  company  in  I860,  at  a  cost  of  three  iniUions  siorliug,  is 
anotliHr  trinmpb  of  engineering,  being  carried  over  the  Serra  C'u baton 
at  a  hiuglit  of  2700  feet  by  inean.s  of  four  inclines  of  one  in  ten,  up 
wKich  the  train  is  drawn  by  a  cliain.  The  Bahia  and  lVmanibucr> 
lines,  also  by  English  companies,  wore  made  alx>ut  the  same  time. 
Sereral  new  lines  are  being  constructed  in  the  interior,  one  of  the* 
most  remarkable  being  the  Misiones  and  Rio  Grand*-  line,  of  which 
Mr.  O'Meara  has  recently  opened  some  sections  on  the  Tpper  Uruguay. 
At  the  close  of  1888  there  were  5300  miles  of  railway  in  Brazil  in 
ortiwl  traffic,  of  which  4200  miles  had  been  constructi'd  since  IS77. 
'"^)tae  of  thom  cost  over  £:JO,000  a  mile,  owing  to  the  trenn'iidous 
wtural  obstacles  of  the  route.  The  total  outlay  exct^eds  100  inillioiiH 
sterling,  about  1300  miles  having  been  made  by  (roverninent, 
uicluding  the  Pedro  Segundn  line,  and  4000  by  jnint-stock  cotnpnnii  s, 
•iiefly  English.  There  are  7100  miles  of  telegraph  by  land,  besides 
f^Wea  along  the  coast,  from  the  Amazon  to  Montevideo.  Fxcept 
'jfinty's  roads  near  Rio  Janeyro  there  are  few  highways ;  diHtanees  uri- 

great  and  population  so  sparse.  Tlie  overland  routo  from  Iliu 
syro  to  Goyaz,  for  example,  takes  120,  and  that  to   .Mattf*   (Jrosho 

*'\  days.  Nevertheless,  all  the  principal  town.s  have  gasworks, 
'^'^ools.  and  other  marks  of  civilization.  The  municipal  hospitals  of 
"Hizil  are  some  of  the  finest  in  the  world,  that  of  the  Mieericordia  nt 
°iQ  "laneyro  receiving  1 1, 000  indoor  pati<-utH  yearly.  Schools  are  not 
y^t  iraiHciently  numerous,  only  lo  per  cent,  of  children  of  school  age 
■^inng  any  instruction.  Dockyards  and  arsenals  are  numerous 
iiiu  Well-equipped,  and  many  of  the  principal  ports  have  been  improved 
•'y  Sir  John  Hawkshaw. 


COBfUERCE. 

Daring  his  reign  Dom  Pedro  had  the  hati*  faction  to  see  commerce 
qt&Qtnpled,  *a  shown  by  the  official  i^^fn*^  of  imports  and  exports 
'"'mfciined,  m.  i — 


108 


THl£    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


Annual  A\-ebaue. 


1836-41 
lf<52-61 
1872-81 

1885-H7 


£ 

9,000,000 
22,H00,00o 
39,600,000 
43,000,UOO 


The  liscnl  system  haa,  neveitheless,  always  been  essentially  bad, 
all  Buccessive  genei-ations  of  Brazilian  economists  being  blind  lyelievers 
in  the  '•  balance  of  trade  "  theory,  of  the  Dark  Ages,  and  hence 
directing  all  their  efforts  to  stimulate  exports  and  ditaiaiah  imports. 
They  succeeded  in  their  insane  purpose,  the  exports  being  always 
largely  in  excess  of  imports,  viz. : — 

Average  Yearly,     £. 


Period, 
18C2-Gr» 
1872-74 
188o-87 


4 


Imports.  Exports.  Surplus  Exports. 

1S,700,000  15,1(111,000             I>4u0,(t00 

l7,20U,nu«t  21,400,000             4,200,000 

2U,4U0,0U0  23,200,000             2,800,000 

Trade  is  lamentably  hampered  by  oppressive  tariffs  :  customs-duel 
on  imix>rted  raerchandiae  in  1887  amounted  to  £8^1-00,000,  or  40  pei 
cent,  of  the  value.  Brazilian  statesmen  excuse  themselves  by  saying 
that  iuipurt-dues  must  form  the  bulk  of  the  public  revenue,  but  8 
good  deal  of  the  money  thus  collected  ia  subsequently  wasted  iu 
bounties  to  sugar-mills,  cotton-mills,  &c.  It  was  stated  in  1886  that 
some  iiiill-compaiiies  had  drawn  heavy  sums  in  Government  guarantees, 
without  evfv  having  turned  out  a  pound  of  sugar  or  a  yard  of  calico. 
Our  trade  relations  with  Brazil  do  not  increase  much ;  they  amounted 
last  year  to  £11,600,000,  against  £10,800,000  in  1878.  Internal  com- 
merce  depends  chiefly  on  railways  and  rivers ;  the  freight  on  the 
former,  lis  Colonel  Church  truly  observes,  is  often  excessive,  and  the 
rivers  traverse  very  thinly  peopled  territories.  The  itinerary  of  the 
Amazon  Company  shows  a  length  of  22,000  miles,  including  tributary 
rivers,  of  which  the  Amazon  has  a  huudred  bigger  than  the  lihine. 

PlNANCE. 

So  much  British  capital  is  at  stake  in  Brazil  that  it  is  necessary  tc 
approach   this   part   of   the    subject  with   cool   discrimination.      The 
growth  of  revenue  and  debt  is  the  first  point  for  consideration,  viz.:— 
Year.  He%-enao.  Debt. 

1864         .       £i;,inO,UO(t         .       £18,700,000 
1874         .        Il,2i)(t,rili0         .  72,100,000 

1888         .       14,100,000         .        1 07,200,001  > 

All  South  American  financiers  speak  of  increase  .of  revenue  at 
proof  of  growing  prosperity  and  wealth,  when  it  is  sometimes  the 
reverse,  being  simply  an  increase  of  taxation  and  poverty.  Brazil 
depends  so  largely  on  her  agricultural  products  that  the  value  of  hei 
exports  affords  a  fair  measure  of  her  wealth  and  resonrcep,  If,  then,  we 
compare  the  figures  for  1888  with  those  of  1864  we  find  that  in  twenty. 


i89o2 


BRAZIL,    PAST  AND   FUTURE. 


109 


/bnryeara  wealth  and  commerce  have  risen  only  o4  per  cent .  while  taxa- 
tion has  increased  133  per  cent.,  and  public  debt  nearly  iJOO  ])er  cent. 
The  increase  of  taxation  is,  in  fact,  mainly  the  result  of  growth  of 
debt,  the  latter  having  risen  £88,500,000  since  18G1,  which  is 
accounted  for  thus ; — 

I'aragnayan  war  .         .  .  .£4>t,00n,00() 

Railways l'(;,O(>(),0(iii 

Sundries 14,500,(Uhj 


Total         .  £H8,'iOO>Uliii 

The  actual  debt  of  107  millions  sterling  ia  not  excessivi 


The 


hjiitJen  of  taxation  is,  however,  apparently  as  much  as  the  country  can 

conveniently  bear.     We  have    seen   that  the  sum   total  of  Hrazitian 

industries  is  hardly  70  millions  sterling  a  year ;  the  general  taxation 

w>  tlaerefore,  equal  to  '20  per  cent.     This  is  exclusive  of  local  taxes, 

■whicil,  are  usually  more  than  50  per  cent,  of  those  of  the  nation,  each 

pi"0"V-ince  having  its  own  customs-dues  over  and  above  what  is  rallected 

by  "tie  imperial  oilicials.     Thus  nearly  one-third  of  the  total  earnings 

of  tlie  Brazilian  people  go  in  taxes,  whereas  in  the  United  KiniJ-dom 

we       -pay  only  125  millions   sterling  a  yeai*  out  of  a  gross   income  of 

1200  millions,  or  about  10  per  cent.     In  on©  respect,  of  course,  the 

bo.'i^pn  of  taxation  comes  to  be   Irss   felt  in  Brazil  than  elsewhere ; 

otte-half  of  the   population   consists  of  negroes,  who  have  few  wants 

0^   expenses,  and  whose  labour,  meantime,  helps  so  largely  to  swell  the 

i^tional  revenue.     It  is  quite  possible  that  Brazil  could  raise  her  taxa- 

^^<in,  if  necessary,  to  20  millions  sterling,   by  simply  reducing   the 

income  of  the  40,000  planters  on  an  average  £150  each.     As  long, 

,iK>wever,  as  the  finances  are  carefully  handled,  there  is  no   reitson  ftir 

'toy  more  revenue  than  at  present.    The  taxe.s  might  even  lie  lightened, 

if  the  bounties  and  guarantees  on  sugar  and  cotton  mills  could  be 

abolished. 

Perhaps  it  is  better  at    ]n"esent   not    to   raise  taritf  tpiestions  that 

might  cause  feelings  of  rivalry.      Let  the   new  Government  go  on  in 

ytlie  beaten  track,  and  be  a  little  more  liberal  in  land-griuits  to  immi- 

its.     The  danger  of  a  labour  crisis  is  probably  t'xaggerated.      It 

said,  indeed,  that  the  coffee-crop  last  year  fell  off  by  one-tliirtl,  con- 

^quent  on  the  abolition  of  slavery.     Sotue  confusion  must  be  Hxi>rcted 

Pat  first,  but  the  countr}'  will  rapidly  ivcover  its  energies.     The  I'nited 

States  at  present  produce  twice  as  mnch  cotton  as  before  the  alkolition 

slavery  :  there  ia  every  reason  to  expect  that  Brazil  will   likewise 

her  erports,  especially  as  the  intJux  of  Italians,  tiermans,  itc, 

continnes  unabated. 

The  Political  Prospect, 

Will  Brazil  hold  together,  or  break  up  into  half  a  dozen  republics  ? 
This  is  a  didicult  question  to  answer.      Notwithstanding  a  I'esidence 


110 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[JAS,* 


of  twenty-five  years  in  South  America,  watching  the  ebb  and  flow  of 
Brazilian  politics,  I  dare  not  offer  a  prediction  in  the  matter.  Dis- 
integration was  the  fate  of  Spanish  America  after  the  Independence ; 
Mexico  lost  Guatemala  and  Nicaragua,  Venezuela  lost  New  Grenada, 
Peru  was  shorn  of  Boliyia,  and  the  Viceroy alty  of  Buenos  Ayres  saw 
the  secession  of  Parag^uay  and  Uruguay.  This  was  partly  the  result 
of  enormous  distances  between  some  of  the  old  viceregal  seats  of 
government  and  their  provinces  at  a  time  when  riulways  were 
unknowa  It  took,  for  example,  a  mounted  courier  sixty  days  to  ride 
from  Caracas  to  Guayaquil,  or  from  Buenos  Ayres  to  Tarija  or 
Tncuman,  with  an  order  from  the  viceroy  to  the  local  *'  inteudente." 
In  later  times  there  has  been  more  or  less  of  a  centripetal  tendency. 
We  have  seen  the  Argentine  Confederation,  in  1863,  annex  itself  to 
the  Republic  of  Buenos  Ayres,  and  a  similar  project  in  1866  was 
narrowly  defeated  for  combining  the  five  republics  of  Central  America 
undor  (Juatenmla.  Even  at  present  there  is  a  party  favourable  to  the 
annexation  of  Paraguay  and  Uniguay  to  the  Argentine.  It  would  be 
wrong,  therefore,  to  .sup]iose  that  all  South  American  nations  must 
split  up  into  small  fragments. 

In  the  case  of  Brazil  it  is  true  we  have  the  great  difficulty  of  enor-  I 
mous  distances,  for  it  is  much  easier  to  go  from  Rio  Janeyro  to  St. 
Petersburg  than  to  Matto  Grosso  or  Goyaz.     Nevertheless,  there  is  no  i 
reason  why  the  Republic  should  not  administer  those  remote  provinces 
as    well   as   the    Empire  did,   and  I   think  they    were   much   better 
governed  than    some   of   the   other   parts    of   South    America.     At 
Cayaba,  3000  miles  from  Rio  Janeyro   by  the  only  practicable  route, 
the  water  one,  I  found  a  city  as  large  and  well-built  as  Shrewsbury, 
and  as  well  ordered  in  every  respect.     There  were  no  iron  bars  on 
the  windows,  such  as  are  common  in  the  neighbouring  countries.     It.! 
will  bo  said,  perhaps,  that  the  remote  provinces  will  be  the   first  to 
throw  off  the  yoke  of  the  metropolis,  but  this  is  most  unlikelj',   since 
they   enjoy    special  favours   and  advantages.     The  people  of  Matto  , 
Gro.sso  are  allowed  to  receive  European  products  free  of  all  import 
dues,   and   the  Treasury  of  Rio  Janeyro  maintains  a  montlily  Hne  of 
steamers  from  Montevideo  to  Cayabi  for  their  benefit.      In  those  pro- 
vinces   which    are    exposed   to    attacks     from    Indians  considerable 
garrisons  are,  in  Hke  manner,  kept  up  by  the  nation  for  the  protection 
of  the  inhabitants. 

Nor  nmst  we  overlook  racial  tendencies  and  traditions.  Portuguese 
and  Brazilians  are  more  peaceable  and  orderly  than  Spaniards  and 
Spanish  Americans.  There  have  been  but  two  revolutions  in  Brazil 
in  seventy  years,  and  both  have  been  bloodless.  The  people  are 
patriotic  and  industrious,  and  despite  of  climate  have  ma«3e  great 
progress,  while  preserving  an  enviable  degree  of  security  for  life  and 
property. 

I 


d 


iSgo] 


BRAZIL,    PAST  AND   FUTURE. 


Ill 


While  I  write,  a  telegram  appears  in  the  London  papers  that  the  pro- 
vince of  Rio  Grande  do  Sul  desires  to  separate  from  Brazil  and  join  the 
Repubhc  of  Uruguay,  which  lies  along  its  southern  frontier.  Such  an 
event  bos  long  been  predicted,  and  may  come  to  pass.  Rio  Grande 
is  not  quite  Brazilian  as  regards  language,  Spanish  being  commonly 
spoken,  and  German  in  the  vicinity  of  Port  Allegre.  It  cannot  be 
forgotten,  as  I  observed  before,  that  the  province  made  a  determined 
effort  in  1835  to  secede  from  Brazil,  and  was  aided  by  the  RepublitJ  of 
Uruguay,  whose  forces  were  led  by  Garibaldi,  the  straggle  lasting  ten 
years.  It  is,  therefore,  quite  possible  that  the  Rio  Grandenses  should 
DOW  seek  to  coalesce  with  their  old  fi-iend  and  ally.  Commercial 
interests  may  also  tend  in  that  direction,  the  railway  system  of  Rio 
(Jrande  and  Uruguay  being  already  one,  and  apart  from  that  of  Brazil, 
which  terminates  at  Santos. 

In  case  of  Rio  Grande  joining  the  Republic  of  Uruguay,  the  port 
of  Montevideo  would  probably  become  its  chief  outlet,  by  means  of 
♦he  Northern  Uruguay  Railway,  now  rapidly  pushing  forward  its  rails 
to  Rage.  The  port  of  Rio  Grande  is  inaccessible  to  ocean  steamers, 
its  bar  being  dangerous  even  to  small  craft,  while  Montevideo  receives 
Bxty  Earopean  steamers  monthly.  Pelotas  is  the  industrial  centre  of 
rf  Rio  Grande  do  Sul.  having  large  "  saladeros,"  where  a  million  head 
of  cattle  are  annually  slaughtered  and  salted  down,  for  exportation 
to  the  West  Indies.  The  province  possesses  great  pastoral  wealth,  the 
natives  being  the  best  horsemen  in  South  America,  and  akin  in  tastes 
Md  pursuits  to  those  of  Uruguay. 

Supposing  that  Rio  Grande  secedes  from  Brazil,  this  would  mean 

•  loss  of  140,000  square  miles,  and  430,000  inhabitants— that  is, 
4  per  Cent,  alike  of  area  and  of  population.  Rut  we  must  not  count 
heads  only,  the  Rio  Grandenses  being  the  finest  people  in  Brazil,  with 

*  wixfure  of  70,000  Germans.  The  loss  of  audi  a  province  would  bo 
RTvater  than  that  of  Bahia  or  Pemambuco. 

It  is,  however,  far  from  certain  that  Rio  Grande  desires  to  secede. 
The  •'  fazendeiros,"  who  own  estates  of  vast  oxtent,  mil  hesitate  to 
1*0  with  Uruguay,  a  republic  which  had  twenty-six  revolutions  from 
1861  to  1887.  They  care  nothing  for  the  triumph  of  Blancos  or 
*«wtu1o8  at  Montevideo,  however  the  advanced  republicans,  mostly 
Aopkt>eper9,  may  call  out  for  the  union.  Neither  will  the  70,000 
' "Annans  vote  for  the  Uruguayan  annexation. 

T'»Tliaps  the  wish  is  father  to  the  thought  when  I  say  that  the  pro- 
ability  is  in  favour  of  Brazil  holding  together.  Every  day  that 
P*«Se8  lessens  the  danger  of  disruption,  and  Brazilians  know  well  that 
'^f  good  opinion  of  the  outer  world  largely  depends  on  their  keeping 
♦t''  cvoD  tenor  of  their  way,  as  they  have  done  for  seventy  years  in 
th^past. 

M.   G,    MULUALL. 


RUNNING    FOR    RECORDS. 


AN  ocenn  racer  in  iiiicl-Atl<ar;tic — the  sea  ninning  what,  to  tt^ 
sea-sick  imatyinrition  of  inexperifmced  travellers,  st-ems  **  moun-' 
tains  high."  Huge  greeii  waves  come  towering  up  on  the  starboard 
bow,  as  if  about  to  overwhelm  the  steamer,  whiclu  ]iowever,  rises 
buoyantly  to  them  as  they  approach,  passes  over  them,  and.  presently, 
the  eanie  waves  may  be  seen  rolling  from  under  the  jxjrt  quarter,  in 
fill  their  majesty  of  volume,  lashed  into  foam  by  the  struggling  pro- 
peller of  the  mighty  "liner,"  as  the  ship  lies  down  in  the  trough  of 
the  sea.  Such  waves,  indeed,  seem  to  tower  up  like  mountains, 
though,  in  reality,  they  are  seldom — unless  in  very  liad  weather — 
more  than  twenty  feet  from  trough  to  crest.  Waves  even  of  this 
height  can  make  things  very  liv'elyon  board  the  larg^'st  mail  steamers 
— huge  and  immovable  as  they  seem  when  lying  alongside  the  quay, 
or  anchored  out  in  the  Mersey  ;  and  the  impression  of  vustness  pro- 
duced on  any  one  standing  on  a  ship's  deck  in  mid-ocean,  and  seeing 
a  huge  wait  of  green  water  rolling  up — though  in  reality  it  may  not 
be  more  than  two  or  three  feet  above  the  level  of  tlie  deck — may 
account  for  a  great  deal  of  exaggeration  as  to  the  height  of  wav^-s. 

"  Time  and  tide  wait  for  no  roan,"  says  the  old  proverb,  and 
certainly  a  modem  mail  steamer  never  waits  for  wind  or  weather. 
The  good  ship  Afa/iutfa  wa.H  being  driven  "  all  she  knt'w  "  into  a  head 
wind  and  sea,  till  lier  mnsts  fairly  shuddered,  as  wave  after  wave 
swept  up  to  her  bows,  and  ]>arted  with  a  thnmh-ring  roar  before  her 
shax'p  cutwater. 

Now  \vith  her  bows  raised  high  in  the  air,  as  she  breasts  a  gigantic 
sea,  now  diving  down  into  the  trough  beyond,  trembling  from  stem  to 
stern  with  the  "  i-acing  "  of  the  engines,  as  the  propeller  is  lifti-d  nearly 
out  of  the  water,  then  all  but  stopping  as  she  plunges  at  tlu*  ne.\t  huge 


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113 


ware  and  btiriea  her  nose  in  it,  the  engines  nearly  pulling  up  dead 
with  the  tremendous  strain  brought  on  them  by  the  sudden  immersion 
of  the  screw  as  her  bow  is  again  lifted  and  the  decks  swept  fore  and 
aft  by  a  heavj-  sea,  she  holds  on  her  stormy  way. 

On  deck,  no  one  is  visible  but  the  officers  and  men  on  duty,  the 
passengers  being  either  safe  in  their  berths  or  lying  scattered  about 
the  saloon  settees  in  a  half-inanimate  condition.      Down  in  the  engine- 
room,  the  two  engineers  on   watch — senior  and  junior— have  their 
hands  full,  as,  with  every  roll  of  the  ship,  coal,  shovels,  and  rakes  go 
sliding  about  the  stoke-holo,  and  the  firemen  have  hard  work  to  keep 
their  feet  as  they  heave  the  coal  into  the  insatiable  furnaces.     The 
"greaser"  crawls  cautiously  about,  never  letting  go  the  hand-rail  with 
one  handj  while  he  holds  the  oil  can  in  the  other,  watching  every  pitch 
«nd  roll  of  the  ship,  and  revolution  of  the  engine,  to  get  an  oppor- 
tunity of  dropping  the  oil  into  the  cups  without  being  pitched  head- 
foremost into  the  crank-pits,  or  knocked  senseless  by  the  "  cross- 
beails "  or  "  pump-levers."     Night   is  fast  closing  in,  and  the  huge 
engine  seems  wrapped  in  a  misty  twilight,  except  just  where  a  solitary 
Ump  throws  a  stream  of  light  on  the  steam-gauges  and  clock,  which 
are  fixed  just  in  front  of  the  starting-platform.     Suddenly,  as   the 
electric  light  is  turned  on,  everything  Hashes  out,  briLdit  and  distinct, 
and  the  "  moving  rods  and  links  "  Hash  })ack  rays  of  light  from  their 
polished  surfaces.     The   engineer,   stauding   by  the  "  throttle-valve 
lever,"  his  whole  attention,  for  the  time  being,  taken  up  with  watching 
'he  pitching  of  the  ship,  and  preventing  "  racing  "  of  the  engines 
with  the  throttle — for  the  "  governor  "  has  suddenly  refused  to  act — 
glancea  wearily  at  the  clock  and  wishes  for  eight  bells.     The  huge 
iliip  civaks  and  groans  as  she  is  struck  again  atid  again  by  the  seas, 
»iid  the  incandescent  glow  of  the  electric  light  rises  and  falls,  for  it 
i»  impossible  to  keep  steam  steady  in  weather  like  this. 

Half-way  up  the  side  of  the  engiue-room,   standing   on   a   grating 
do«e  under  the  main  steam-pipe,  are  two  or  three  engineers,  working  as 
jif  for  dear  life  to  get  the  obstinate  governor  int/O  working  order  j  and 
?ntly  a  shout  announces  to  the  one  bolow  the  welcome  news  that 
^ufir  work  is  done.     As  the  connecting-bolt  is  put  in  place,  he  lets  go 
«n?  handle  of  the  throttle,  which,  worked  by  an  air-ve.=!sei  ia  the  stem, 
"P^'tis  and  shuts  itself  with  superhuman  force,  as  the  propeller  is  lifted 
clear  of  the  wat«r,  or  again  plunged  deep  into  the  waves. 
The  "  governor "  being  now  in  good  working  order,  the  engineers 
oa  watch  disappear  up  the  ladders,  and  the  second  and  his  junior 
'^pa  preparing  for  the  welcome  relief  which  comes  at  eight  p.m., 
'^Wn  the  fourth  takes  the  watch  till  midnight. 
All  coal  contains  a  certain  amount  of  dirt  and  slag,   which  soon 
kea  ap  the  fires,  of  which  a  certain  number  are  consequently  cleared 
the  beginning  of  every  watch.     In  rough  weather  this  is  no  easy 
▼W*  LVU,  H 


lU 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


work ;  tlie  fire  has  to  be  pushed  on  one  side,  the  clinker  palled  out,, 
the  embers  spread  over  the  bars  again,  and  fresli  coal  put  on.  Yet 
the  firemen  manage  to  keep  their  feet  while  working  the  heavy  rakes 
and  "  slices,""  and  avoiding  the  hot  clinkers  and  ashes  as  they  raka 
them  out  of  the  furnace ;  their  figures  now  standing  out  clear  and 
distinct  as  silhouettes  against  tlie  glare  from  the  open  furnace-doors^, 
now  half  hidden  by  clouds  of  steam,  as  the  hose  is  turned  on  the  bot» 
clinkers.  On  one  side  stands  the  engineer  holding  open  the  furuace- 
door  with  a  shovel  and  urging  ou  the  firemen  to  hurry  up  aud  get  tht»J 
fire  in  again  before  the  steam  drops  too  low.  Just  as  the  la.st  fire  ii 
finished,  a  tremendous  pitch  aud  roll  sends  men,  coals,  barrows,  an 
shovels  sliding  down  the  stoke-hole  in  a  confused  heap,  and  for  a  fewi 
seconds  the  stoke-hole  \s  a  very  pandemonium  of  confusion.  Then* 
comes  a  pause  as  the  ship  rights  and  an  awful  stillness.  As  the  stero, 
of  the  steamer  lifted,  the  engines,  Eicted  on  by  the  governor,  slowedji 
down ;  and  now  they  have  failed  to  go  on  again,  as  the  stem  drops.  | 
Something  is  wrong  with  the  governor.  ' 

The  engineer  rushes  into  the  engine-room,  tJie  engines  aro  crawling  i 
round  dead  slow,  and  the  junior  engineer,  with  his  feet  against  the 
bulkhead  and  his  shoulder  against  the  throttle-valve  lever,  is  exerting^ 
liis  utmost  strength  to  open  the  valve  which  has  been  jammed  shul 
the  too  sudden  action  of  the  governor. 

"  Can  you  manage  it  ?" 

"  No  ;  bring  a  hammer." 

A  rush  into  the  store — and.  as  the  engineer  reappears  with  a  copper' 
hammer  in  his  hand,  the  rising  steam  lifts  the  safety-valves,  aud  &i 
.sudden  dull  roar,  aa  it  rushes  up  the  escape-pipes,  warns  him,  and,^ 
shonting  to  the  firemen  to  close  the  dampers,  he  rushes  up  the  ladder: 
to  the  valve,  and  with  two  or  tliree  sharp  blows  brings  it  back  to  ita,i 
proper  position,  aud  off  go  the  engines  again — ^^just  in  lime,  as  two  opi 
three  tremendous  rolls  give  warning  that  tlui  ship  is  just  on  the  point 
of  losing  steerage-way.  All  this  has  taken  about  thirty  seconds,, 
though  it  seems  much  longer,  and  the  rest  of  the  engineers,  whoJ 
aroused  by  the  stoppage  of  the  engine  and  the  roar  of  escaping  stearnqj 
have  risen  from  their  bunks,  drop  back  on  their  pillows  with  a  sigh  o^ 
relief.  i 

*'  How's  things  working?"  asks  the  engineer  of  tiie  junior,  as  fcheji 
both  descend  to  the  lower  platform. 

'•  Low  presided  go-ahead  guide  working  warm.  I  have  given  thu 
greaser  extra  oil  for  it — all  the  rest  working  well." 

"  Guide  dangerous  ?  " 

"  Not  yet — but  it's  not  getting  cooler.'* 

"  How's  the  thrust  ?  " 


rtmg^ 


•  A  "  slioe  "  is  an  iron  bar  eight  or  nine  feet  long,  and  flattened  like 
cadi  wliich  is  used  for  breaking  up  clinker. 


>  a  chisel  ai^^H 

J 


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116 


■  IKeeping  just  the  same." 
,^11  right.     Watch  that  guide  vrpll.  and  let  me  know  if  it  goto 
any  ^txott^r  " — and  away  he  goes  into  the  stoke-hole. 

»Tlie  firemen  are,  still  toiling  away  and  trying  to  keep  up  ateam,  but 
^e  "^vork  is  beginning  to  tell,  and  now  and  then  on©  walks  ijito  th« 
eiigiT».«-room  and  takes  a  wistful  glance  at  the  clock,  which,  to  the 
nearly  worn-out  men,  seems  to  move  slower  and  slower  towards  the 
vfelcoxne  eight  bells.  Four  hoars'  work  at  the  fires  of  an  Atlantic 
racer  tells  on  the  strongest  man,  even  in  fine  weather,  and  when  tH<» 
\BJbox2.T*  is  increatjed  by  the  rolling  and  pitching  of  the  ship  in  a  heavy 
goa,  sUmost  passes  the  limit  of  human  endurance. 

"But  letting  the  steam  get  low  is  a  crime  not  soon  forgiven  by  the 
chief,  and  the  engineer  drives  and  urges  on  the  firemen,  who  go  run  nil 
t\v6  firea  with  rake,  slice,  and  shovel,  till  the  sweat  pours  off  them  in. 
rtreams. 

'*  Coal !  coal ! "  The  coal  is  being  used  up  faster  than  the  trimmers 
aw  bringing  it  out  of  the  bunkers,  but,  urged  on  by  the  shoufi,  twty 
w  three  trollies  shoot  out  from  a  small  dark  alley-way,  pushed  by 
men  as  black  as  the  coal  itself,  who  duck  their  heads  as  they  dive  after 
tlieir  trollies  through  the  low  passage  between  the  boilers,  and  dis- 
charge their  loads  in  the  centre  stoke-hole,  while  some  invisible  agency 
ihootfi  heaps  of  black  diamonds  out  of  the  bunker  doors  on  the  plates 
of  the  end  stoke-holes. 

A?  the  steam  rises,  the  engineer  pa.sses  into  the  engine-room,  and 
n«rty  runs  into  the  arms  of  the  junior,  who  is  just  coming  for  him. 
"  What's  the  time  ?  " 
"A  quarter  past  eleven." 
"  How's  the  guide  ?  " 

•'  Worse  and  worse — will  not  cool  without  water."' 
Together  they  proceed  up  to  the  grating,  where  the  greaser  stands 
close  under  the  cylinder,  throwing  huge  spla.shos  of  oil  from  a  large 
<»>  on  the  guide,  as  the  "  cross-head  "  descends  at  every  stroke — but 
*^  piilde  is  too  hot,  .ind,  each  time  the  slipper  ]M»sses  over  its  surface, 
IS  l«ft  as  dry  as  the  inside  of  an  o\'en.  Putting  out  his  hand,  the 
wgineifr  lota  it  rest  for  a  second  on  the  polished  surface,  but  instantly 
HiHtflifvi  it  back,  smarting  and  nearly  blistered  with  the  intense  heat, 
"  Put  on  the  water.'' 

He  greaser  passes  the  oil-can  over  to  the  junior  engineer,  and  runs 
^Wiertore,  reappearing  with  an  india-rubber  hose.  He  screws  one 
*»1  on  the  water-service  pipe  passing  up  the  column  of  the  engine, 
^  ti«fii  the  nozzle  to  an  eyebolt  under  the  cylinder,  so  that  a  small 
*^»«n  of  water  runs  down  on  the  hot  guide,  and  is  thrown  ofi'  in 
"••'fcjg  drops  by  the  "  cross-hoad  "  as  it  rushes  up  and  down  with 
*'*»y  revolution  of  the  engine.  The  greaser  ia  sent  off  to  look  after 
"*  flat  of  the  engine  ;  and  the  junior,  having  made  a  mixture  of  oil 


116 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jak. 


Mid  sulphur,  makes  dashes,  every  few  seconds,  into  the  scalding 
ahower,  with  a  long-handled  tar-brush,  with  which  he  applies  the 
mixture  to  the  "  guide." 

The  senior,  who  has  gone  into  the  stoke-hole  to  urge  on  the  fire- 
men, again  appears  on  the  platform  below,  and  shouts  up,  "  How's 
she  doing  now  ?  " 
' '  Getting  worse." 

"Well — it's  a  quarter  to  twelve  now — call  the  watch,  and  then 
fetch  the  chief  down  to  that  confounded  guide." 

•'  All  right !  "  and,  coming  out  from  under  the  cylinders,  drenched 
through  and  through  with  water  and  oil,  the  junior  goes  up  to  call 
the  third  engineer's  watch,  and  then  round  to  the  chief's  cabin.  He 
finds  that  gentleman  sitting  in  a  chair  in  his  shirt  and  trousers, 
puUiug  on  a  pair  of  boots,  and  listening  to  the  roar  of  the  engines 
below. 

'•"What's  that  water  on  for?"  is  his  first  question,  as  the  junior 
appears  at  his  door. 

"  Low-prosaed  guide  hot,  sir." 
"  Can't  you  cool  it  without  water  ?  " 
"  No,  sir — water's  been  on  twenty  minutt's,  and  it's  getting  worse.' 
"  How  are  the  intermediate  crank-pin  and  thrust  ?  " 
"  All  right,  sir." 
*'  Everything  else  all  right  ?  " 
*'  Yes, 'sir." 

''  All  right !  "  and  off  goes  the  junior  below,  as  fast  as  the  rolling 
of  the  ship  will  allow  him— now  going  a  few  steps  down  the  ladder, 
ast  the  ship  lays  over  to  port,  and  then  clinging  to  the  hand-rail,  to  save 
himself  from  being  pitched  headlong  to  the  bottom,  as  she  swings  the 
other  way.  The  senior,  who  has  taken  his  place  on  the  gratings 
during  his  absence,  now  relinquishes  the  "  swab-brush,"  and  goes 
bf  low  to  prepare  for  the  relief.  In  a  few  iiiinut.es  down  comes  the 
chief,  and  looks  at  the  guide— one  look  i;*  enough.  The  way  the 
polished  surface  is  left  dry  and  almost  smoking  at  eveiy  stroke  shows 
him  that,  were  he  to  lay  his  hand  on  it  for  the  twentieth  part  of  a 
second  it  would  leave  a  blister ;  and  withcmt  delay  comes  the  order — 
"Call  the  second!" 

As  the  junior  departs  to  obey,  eight  bells  sounds  from  the  deck — 
just  heard  above  the  rush  of  the  wind  over  the  skylights  ;  and  eight 
strokes,  sharp  and  clear,  reply  from  the  engine-room.  Before  the 
sound  has  died  away,  the  third  engineer  and  his  watch  are  half-way 
down  the  ladder,  to  gfive  a  welcome  respite  to  their  predecessors  j 
and  the  junior  sighs,  as  he  reflects  that  he  must  stay  below  till  the 
hot  guide  is  cool,  as  it  now  needs  bo  much  attention  that  the  engineers 
on  watch  cannot  look  after  it  and  the  engine  at  the  same  time. 
Again   descending  with  the  second,  he  finds  the  guide  beginning  to 


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RUNNfNG    FOR    RECORDS, 


117 


smolce,  and  the  water,   turned  on  full  by  the  chief,   comitiff  off  in 
cioiitfls  of  steam. 

'*  Here,  Mr.  Smith  !  "  shouts  the  chief,  as  the  second  makes  his 
apfj^aarance,  "  fetch  that  sparo  hose,  and  bring  the  water  from  the 
into nnedi ate  guide  service." 

rte    eight  to  twelve  watch  being  relieved,  all   go  off  with  the 

exception  of  the  two  engineers ;   and  the  senior  follows  the  second  to 

the      store,  returning  with  a  second   india-rubber  hose,   which   they 

attaoh  to  the  service-pipes  on  the  intermediate  engine,  and  lead  over 

to  tlie  low-pressed  engine,  where  the  junior,  seizing  the  nozzle,  tiirnB 

it  full  on  the  vertical  surface  of  the  guide,  which  now  begins  to  .«how 

sparks  and  a  dull  red  band  down  the  centre,  which  gets  brighter  and 

hrighter,  and  slowly  grows  broader  and  broader  every  time  the  crosn- 

beatl  rises  and  falls,  and  the  slipper  passes  over  the  glazed  surface. 

On  goes  the  water,  and,  as  it  strikes  the  heated  surface  of  the 
guide,  throws  off  clouds  of  steam,  through  which  loom  the  figures  ol 
the  two  engineers,  standing  in  a  shower  of  scalding  water,  every  drop 
of  which  gives  a  sharp  and  stinging  smart  as  it  penetrates  to  the  skin, 
and  now  and  then  causes  them  to  shrink  back,  with  a  muttered 
imprecation,  as  a  hotter  shower  than  usual  falls  over  them« 

Behind  them  stands  the  chief,  silently  holding  on  to  the  hand-rails, 
the  heels  of  his  boots  jammed  against  the  bars  of  the  gratings  on 
which  he  stands,  to  keep  him  steady,  as  the  ship  pitches  and  heaves  ; 
lud  the  second  moves  round,  giving  directions  to  the  store-keeper  to 
keep  the  oil-pots  (out  of  which  the  '"fourth"  is  "swabbing"  the 
gnide)  full,  now  and  then  shutting  off  the  water,  to  get  a  better  view 
of  the  guide,  and  turning  it  on  again,  and  occasionally  taking  the 
place  of  one  or  other  of  the  engineers,  as,  almost  blinded  and  sutio- 
cattd  by  the  splashing  water  and  the  fumes  from  the  oil,  they  retreat 
from  under  the  cylinders  to  mb  their  eyes,  and  wring  some  of  the; 
Water  out  of  their  wet  clothes. 

Minute  after  minute  passes,  and  the  minutes  crawl  into  long  hours, 

Md  still  the  engineers  work  on  in  their  fierce  fight  against  the  powers 

of  Nature — their  eyes  tingling  with  pain  from  the  hot  salt  water  and 

DQrntDg  oil — their  bodies  swaying  backwards  and  forwards  with  thf 

rolling  of  the  ship,  holding  on  with  one  hand,  while  they  direct  the 

Water  and  apply  the  oil  with  the  other,  jarred  through  and  through 

•very  few  minutes,  as — the  propeller  being  lifted  out  of  the  water — 

the  engine  makes  an  efTort  to  "  race,"  and  sbakea  the  grating  on  which 

ihey  stand,  as  if  it  had  been  made  of  a-spen   wands  instead  of  solid 

iron,  while  the  steamer  gives  a  tremble  throughout. 

The  passengers  in  their  berths  sleep  on,  or,  if  kept  awake  by  tiie 

LJl»Tigh  weather,  wonder  vaguely  how  long  it  will   Inst,  and  then  turn 

rer  and  try  to  go  to  sleep  again,  in  blissful  ignorance  of  all  that  is 

tog  on  below. 


118 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jaw.. 


Hour  after  hour  g'oea  slovrly  by — and,  as  the  morning  approachea, 
the  weather  moderates,  and  the  ship  becomes  steadier.  But,  in  spito 
of  all  the  water  poured  on  it,  the  guide  will  not  cool  down.  The 
enormous  friction  produced  by  the  hif^h  speed  of  the  engine  keeps  up' 
the  heat  ;  and  although  the  water  poured  on  has  slightly  reduced  the 
temperature,  it  fails  to  bring  it  down  to  the  normal  degree.  The 
only  cure  will  bo  to  slow  down  the  engines,  but  slowing  down  is  the 
very  last  resourcse  on  an  ocean  racer  nowadays,  when  the  Atlautio 
trip  is  80  accurately  timed  that  one  boat  often  beats  the  record  by  & 
few  minutes  only,  and  no  engineer  would  run  the  risk  of  losing  the 
place  gained  by  hiis  ship,  by  slowing  down,  as  long  as  he  can  sa/elf 
keep  at  full  speed. 

Four  o'clock  comes,  and  as  eight  bells  again  strikes,  the  third  engi- 
neer's watch  is  relieved  by  that  of  the  second — the  third  only  remaining; 
betow  to  take  the  second's  place  while  the  latter  looks  after  the  guide.' 

The  chief  goes  on  deck  for  a  few  minutes,  but  presently  retumsj 
'*  Any  cooler  ?  "  he  asks  the  fourth.  1 

'*  No,  air."  ' 

"Slow  her  down,  Mr.  Smith  " — the  order  comes  reluctantly  from, 
him  at  last. 

"All  right,  sir;"'  and  the  second  descends  to  the  lower  platform, 
sends  to  the  third  to  elmt  the  dampers,  and  as  the  steam  drops  a  pound 
or  two,  half  shuts  the  tlirottle-valve.  As  the  three  huge  cranks  gradu- 
ally case  down  to  half-speed,  the  sudden  lull  in  tin*  continuous  roar  of 
the  engines  is  almost  painful  to  the  ear,  and  the  beat  of  the  valves 
and  clank  of  moving  masses  resolve  themselves  into  distinct  noises, 
while  a  long-drawn  squeal  comes  from  the  hot  guide,  which  no^ 
rapidly  cools  down  under  the  reduced  friction  and  copious  streams  o£ 
water. 

The  electric  lights  are  beginning  to  pale,  as  a  dull  grey  dawn  shines 
through  the  skylights.  The  second — bting  now  free  to  attend  to  his 
watch — 'Bende  the  third  np  to  his  cabin,  juid  presently,  the  guide  having 
greatly  improved,  the  engines  are  once  more  put  at  full  speed,  and  as 
the  guide  continues  to  get  cooler,  the  chief  at  length  goes  oti"  to  bed. 

The  water  is  kept  on  for  some  time  longer,  and  after  it  is  shut  off 
the  two  engineers  by  turns  continue  to  swab  the  guide  with  oil  and 
sulphur. 

Ifc  is  nearly  eight  bells  before  the  second  at  last  declares  the  guide 
"safe,"  and  tLey  crawl  on  deck  to  get  breakfast  and  a  few  mouthfuls 
of  fresh  air  before  beginning  a  fresh  watch. 

As  the  bell  strikes  they  once  more  go  below,  to  drag  on  through: 
another  weary  four  hours,  when  they  are  so  tired  tliat  lifting  their 
limbs  is  painful,  and  r|uick  motion  an  agony.  Yet,  in  moving  round 
that  engine  and  feeling  its  brasses  and  rods,  should  a  man  hesitate  one 
instant  in  withdrawing  the  arm  stretched  out  to  teet  that  piston-rod^ 


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119 


it  would  be  shattered  or  rendered  useless  by  a  merciless  blow  from 
that  mighty  Temorseless  engine  which  it  can  control  like  an  obedient 
cbild. 

At   noon  the  fourth  watch  is  relieved  by  the  third,  and  the  two 

tired-out  engineers  at  last  get  a  respite,  after  nearly  sixteen  hours  in 

the  eiigine-room.     At  four  the  second  watch  takes  the  place  of  the 

^^  fbiid,  till  eight,  when  the  fourth  once  more  comes  on,  and  so,  unless 

^MtlDaiething  is  wrong,  it  goes  on  day  and  night  in  nnvarying  monotony, 

till  the  ship  passes  Sandy  Hook,  steams  slowly  through  the  Narrows, 

and  swings  into  her  berth  alongside  the  jetty  at  New  York, 

"  And  then."  innocently  remarks  a  passenger,  "  your  fun  begins." 
"  Does  it  ?  "  queries  the  engineer  to  whom  he  is  speaking.      "  Well 
—yes — if  completely  overhauling  that  engine  in  live  days  ia  fun,  our 
fan  does  begin." 

"  Overliauling  the  engine  !  why,  what  on  earth  is  wrong  with  it  ? 
it  ia  Working  all  right,  and  has  been  since  we  left  Liverpool." 

"  Y(?8,  but  it  has  to  work  right  all  the  way  back,"  is  the  reply,  and 
the  passenger,  not  caring  to  exhibit  any  more  ignorance,  walks  slowly 
•way. 

Yes,  everything  has  to  work  right  all  the  way  back,  and  nothing  is 
lefl  to  chance.  Every  day,  from  morning  till  night,  and  pcmetimes 
on  into  the  m'ght,  the  engineers  are  at  it,  cleaning  the  Iwilers  and 
oaunining  every  working  part  of  the  engine,  to  make  sure  that  nothing 
B  Wrong  or  likely  to  go  wrong  in  the  coming  run  across  the  Atlantic. 
It  is  only  by  unremitting  care  that  the  huge  engines  of  our  modem 
•nail  steamers  can  be  kept  in  good  order,  and  the  hundreds  of  trips 
JTwirly  made  "  to  time  "  across  the  Western  Ocean  show  how  well  these 
engines  are  looked  after. 

In  the  "  season  "  five  or  six  days  is  usually  the  limit  of  time  spent 

IB  New  York,  and  then,  with  engines  polished  and  clean  as  when  she 

ved,  and  looking  as  if  they  had  never  been  touched,  in  spite  of  the 

'act  that  they  have  been  completely  taken  to  pieces,  the  AtalanUt 

ings  out  stem  first  into  the  lludson,  and,  dropping  down  by  Castle 

ardeD  and  the  Bartholdi  statue  of  Liberty,   passes  out  through  the 

"MTowB,  and  is  once  more  put  full  speed  ahead,  with  her  nose  to  the 


Wow  is  tlie  chance  for  a  quick  passage,  as  wind  and  cuiTenta  are 
TJSusilly   favourable   on  the  eastward  run,  and  on  the  stately  steamer 

■hea.     Soon  the  land  sinks  below  the  horizon,  and  she  enters  the 

t,  steamy  atmosphere  of  the  Gulf  Stream. 

It  i«  a  hot,  calm  day  in  the  middle  of  summer,  tlie  sea  rolling  in 
long,  smooth,  oily  swells.  There  is  a  light  breeze  right  astem,  but 
the  hhip  is  steaming  as  fast  as  the  wind,  and  the  sails  hang  listlessly 
from  the  yards,  and  flap  against  the  masts  and  ropes.  As  one 
dcROeods  the  engine-room  ladder,  the  air  feels  close  and  deadly  heavy, 


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LJak. 


and  brings  on  a  dull  headache.  The  engineer  on  watch  is  dragging 
himself  round  as  if  his  limbs  were  of  lead,  and  even  the  engines  do 
not  seem  to  be  going  ahead  with  their  ustial  energy.  As  we  pass 
through  the  tuiini4  ^\hich  connects  the  engine-room  with  the  stoke- 
hole, the  stiHing  atmosphere  nearly  drives  ns  back.  There  is  not  a 
breath  of  air  cuming  down  the  ventilators^  and  the  heat  is  so  great 
that  one  has  a  sen&ation  as  of  a  lump  of  lead  in  the  ears,  and  one's 
voice  sounds  thick  and  far  away. 

The  firemen  are  stripped  to  the  waist,  and  the  engineer  has  very 
little  more  on,  being  only  distinguishable  by  the  gilt  band  and  badge 
on  his  caji,  as  he  moves  about  from  one  furnace  to  another,  directing 
the  fireraen,  or  regulating  the  water  in  the  boilers. 

In  spite  of  the  heat,  the  iires  burn  dull,  for  they  can  get  no  jur,  and 
the  firemen,  nrged  on — one  might  almost  say  driven — by  the  engineer, 
are  doing  "all  they  know,"  with  rake  and  shovel,  to  keep  up  steam, 
the  perspiration  running  in  streams  down  theii*  coal-begrimed  bodies, 
and  leaving  them  striped  like  zebras. 

Each  man  in  turn  falls  back  exhausted,  and  is  succeeded  by 
another,  who  lays  hold  of  the  Iieavj-  "  slice,"  and  works  the  fire 
through  and  through ;  but  all  to  no  purpose,  for  in  spite  of  all  they 
can  do  the  steam  will  not  rise.  In  technical  language,  "  she  is 
steaming  stiff,"  jind,  unless  the  wind  changes,  or  gets  stronger,  will 
continue  to  do  so. 

To  keep  on  at  this  work  withoat  drinking  is  imiiossible,  and  the 
firemen  consume  an  incredible  quantity  of  water  ;  but,  in  spite  of  all 
the  praise  bestowed  upon  this  beverage  by  ti-etol^nllers,  it  has  its 
dangers  when  drunk  to  excess,  especially  in  a  high  temperature,  and 
presently  fine  of  the  men,  who  has  been  indulging  too  freely,  is  seized 
with  cramps  in  the  stomach,  and  has  to  be  carried  on  deck,  leaving 
the  rest  tearing  away  at  the  obstinate  fires. 

Now  and  then  one  goes  up  to  lay  his  throVjbing  head  on  the  deck, 
gasp  in  a  little  fresh  air,  and,  if  possible,  gather  a  little  strength 
before  onco  more  attacking  the  fires  in  the  awful  den  below.  The 
forward  stoke-liolo  is  even  hotter  than  the  others,  and  the  heaps  of 
coal  and  ashes  lying  about,  the  sudden  glare,  as  furaace  doors  are 
opened  and  again  shut,  the  trollies  of  coal  pushed  out  of  the  bunkers 
and  returning  empty,  the  ash-buckets  passing  up  and  down  the  ven- 
tilators OS  the  ashes  are  hoisted  on  deck  to  be  thrown  overboard,  the 
rattle  of  lumps  of  coal  on  the  iron  Qoor-plates,  the  clang  of  furnace- 
doors  and  tire-irons,  and  seeming  general  confusion,  make  one  wonder 
if  Dante  would  not  have  used  the  stoke-hole  of  an  Atlantic  liner— had 
he  known  of  such  a  thing — to  illustrate  his  "  Infei'uo." 

The  fires  here  are  as  bad  as  the  others  ;  they  will  not  burn  well, 
and  the  engineer  and  two  of  the  most  hardened  firemen  are  trying  to 
raise  the  steam  by  working  the  coal  about.     The  former  flings  open 


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121 


the  door  of  the  first  fire,  and  holds  up  the  iron  shield  to  keep  back 
the  fierce  glare,  while  the  first  man  pushes  in  the  heavy  slice  and 
rakes  the  firt^  through,  sending  a  shower  of  glowing  ashes  down 
through  the  fire-bars  into  thi'  ash-pit.  Two  minut<^'6'  hard  tearing 
work,  and  the  man  steps  back  almost  exhausted,  the  shield  is  with- 
drawn^  and  the  second  man,  advancing  with  a  shovel  into  the  full 
glare  of  the  mighty  fire,  heaves  on  load  after  load  of  coal,  till  he  has 
covered  the  glowing  mass  with  a  smoking  layer  of  fresh  fuel,  and 
then  bangs  to  the  door. 

But  slicing  fires  soon  tells,  and  the  (irst  man  obliged  to  knock  oft 
work  goes  on  deck  for  a  few  minutes  to  try  and  pick  up  his  strength 
in  the  fresh  air.      Down  goes  the  shovel  as  the  second  man  seizes  the 
abandoned  slice  and  attacks  the  next  lire,  for  the  least  pause  at  once 
shows  itself  on  the  steam-gauge.     The  engineer,  too,  is  almost  done 
Qp.   but  there    is  one    more  fire   to   be  cleared  and    filled.     As  the 
fireman  drops  the  slice  for  the  shovel  he  calls  up  another  man. 
"  One  more,  my  hearty — give  her  fits  and  make  her  sing !  " 
The  fire  is  raked,  the  slice  withdrawn,  and  the  man  staggers  back. 
'*  Now,  my  hearty,  fill  her  up !  " 

On  goes  shovel  after  shovel   full  of  coal — first  right  to  the  back  of 
the  tire,  then  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  front — till   tho  glaring  white- 
liot  mass  has  a  black  top,  off  which  the  smoke  rolls  in  clouds. 
"That's  it— let  her  rip  1 " 

The  last  load  is  pitched  on,  bang !  goes  the  fire  door,  the  shovel 
Wis  from  the  man's  nerveless  hands,  and  utterly  douo.  up  and  ex- 
oausted,  hp  drops  on  the  iron  floor-plat«s,  and  vomits  like  a  dog. 

Such  is  modern  "  Life  on  the  Ocean  Wave,"  though,  of  course,  thii 
weather  is  not  always  bad,  nor  does  machinery  always  go  wrong  and 
work  hot.  On  the  contrary',  many  a  run  is  made  across  tlie  Atlantic 
withont  a  hitch,  and  in  fairly  calm  weather;  but  the  care  and  watch- 
folnees  of  the  engineers  on  duty  must  not  be  relaxed  for  a  single 
minute;  and  the  work  of  the  firemen,  though  intensified  by  bad' 
'^^ttther,  is  killing  enough  at  the  bust  of  times. 

Patent  fuel — a  composition  of  coal   tar,  crude  petroleum,  and  the 
"fuse  coal  dust  from  the  mines,  moulded  into  bricks — is,  when  good. 
jP^Btiy  preferable  to  bad  or  indiflVrent   coal ;   but   a   new  horror  is 
^'lg  introduced  into  the  stoke-holes  of  steamers  by  the  ease  with 
]*l«ich  this  fuel  can  be  adulterated  with  sand.     Not  only  is  it  next  to 
•Dpowible  to  "  keep  steam,"  but  a  great  deal  of  extra  work  is  thrown 
*>  the  firemen,  who  have  to  heave  on  deck  and  throw  overlward  huge 
lOwititifB  of  sand  and  grit,  which  fall  through  the  bars  into  the  ash- 
P'U,  instead  of  burning  and  passing  away  up  the  funnel  in  smoke,  as 
rt  would  were  the  fuel  made  of  the  proper  materials. 
In  some  cases,  things  are  made  harder  for  those  who  have  to  be 
3»p,  by  the  eagerness  of  the  captains  to  take  advantage  of  every 


122 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[3xs. 


slight  current  or  capfal  of  wind  that  may  be  in  their  favour,  in  order 
to  make  fast  runs,  not  perceiving  tho  false  economy  they  are  thus 
practising — for  a  steamer  will,  as  a  rule,  steam  mucli  better  and 
make  better  progress  with  a  very  light  breeze  abeam  or  ahead,  than 
with  the  same  breeze  astern.* 

On  one  Atlantic  eteamer  the  captain,  finding  a  current  and  vtry 
light  breeze  in  his  favour,  kept  the  ship  fair  before  the  wind  till  the 
stoke-hole  grew  so  close,  for  want  of  proper  ventilation,  that  the  men 
below  could  hardly  breatlie.  Tbe  chief  engineer  went  to  the  captain 
and  told  him  the  state  of  attairs,  expressing  bis  opinion  that  the  ship 
would  make  better  progress  if  he  would  alter  her  course  a  little  to 
the  north,  as  the  wind  could  then  blow  down  tho  ventilators  and  the 
ship  steam  better  in  conseqaeiice ;  but  the  captain  could  not  be 
brought  to  see  it,  and  kept  on  his  course  with  all  the  sails  set,  and 
flapping  idly  against  the  masts.  One  fireman  after  another  was 
brought  np  from  the  stoke-hole  sick  and  exhausted,  and,  at  last, 
the  chief  went  again  to  the  captain  and  told  him  that,  if  he  did  not 
soon  bring  the  ship  round,  he  would  soon  have  to  depend  on  his  sails 
altogether,  for  there  would  be  no  men  left  fit  to  work  the  fires ;  and 
the  course  was  altered  at  last.f 

Racing  across  the  Atlantic  is  fast  becoming  as  reckless  a  game  as 
ever  was  played  by  the  captains  of  Mississippi  river-boats,  with  this 
difference,  that  whereas  on  tho  Mississippi  the  jiassengers  were  in 
constant  danger  of  being  blown  up,  on  the  ocean  they  need  have  no 
fear  of  a  boiler  explosion,  the  danger  to  health,  life,  and  limb  being 
confined  to  tho  engine-room  staff. 

This  apparent  anontaly  is  explained  by  the  fact  that,  in  fa.st  ocean 
steamers,  economy  of  space  and  tuel  is  oun  of  the  chief  considerations, 
and  the  boilers  are  made  of  the  smallest  possible  size  that  will  supply 
the  engine  with  the  refjuisite  amount  of  steam.  The  consequence  it 
that  jb  is  often  OS  much  aa  the  firemen  can  do  to  keep  the  steam  np  tt 
the  working  pre.''sure,  as  it  is  used  up  by  the  engines  as  fast  as  i1 
can  be  generated,  and  only  with  the  greatest  difficulty  could  they  raist 
it  to  the  pressure  to  which  tho  safety  valves  arc  loaded.;^  Besides  this 
the  boilers  are  tested  to  double  the  working  prespuro  when  new,  anc 
frequently  examined  and  tested  afterwards  by  the  Board  of  Trade. 

Tho  Mis.sissippi  boats,  on  the  contrary,  being  able  to  obtain  fuel  a1 


•  This,  of  course,  only  applies  lo  very  lipht  ■winds  ;  for  if  the  wind  is  stronp  enongl 
to  force  ilself  dowu  Lbu  vectilatois,  the  J:ihLp  will,  oaturaUy,  make  most  way  with  i 
astern. 

t  Fact.  On  a  subsequent  voyage  of  the  same  Bteamer,  one  of  the  men  was  carried 
up  from  the  bunlter,  dead  from  congestion  of  the  brain.  The  ship  was  steaming  ai 
fast  as  the  wind,  and  tlic  fmoke  from  the  fuoncl  rose  vertically  up  in.stead  of  <Jroppinj 
in  a  long  trail  a.<;tcrn.  It  is  well-known  that,  in  the  Red  Sea,  captains,  in  a  like  case 
sometimes  turn  their  steamers  round,  head  to  wind,  in  order  to  rulicve  passengers  an< 
crew  from  the  cloi^c,  stilling  heat. 

%  Usnall;  only  one  or  two  pounds  above  working  pressare. 


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RUNNING   FOR   RECORDS. 


198 


fre<|oent  intervals,  from  wood-flats  and  liravber-wlmrves,  had  no  need 
to  economize  space,  mid  carried  boilers  of  ample  eize,  so  that  steam 
^osild  be  easily  raised,  till  it  roared  throug-h  the  safety-valvefi,  which, 
if  ckli  reports  are  true,  were  often  overweighted,  and  i^ometimes  with 
disastrous  resnUs. 

A.  few  months  ago.  a  very  good  cartoon,  illastrative  of  tho  pi'esent 
JifeKta  of  thing:3  on  the  Atlantic,  apiwai-ed  in  nn  American  comic 
peeper.  This  represented  the  captain  of  a  steamer  standing  on  the 
bridge,  with  a  speaking  trumpet  to  his  mouth,  shouting  down  at  a 
perspiring  engineer,  wIiosli  iiead  and  shoulders  protruded  from  a  man- 
hole in  the  opper  deck. 

*'  £)ifpncrr.  Wo  can't  go  any  faster,  sir — the  steam  is  up  to  work- 
JXJg  pressure,  and  the  firemen  are  all  exhausted  and  nearly  dying." 

*'  Never  mind,"  shouts  the  captain  through  his  trumpet,  "  get  up 
that  Bteam  at  all  costs ;  we  are  not  rmming  for  safety,  we  are  running 
for  records." 

**  And  if  this  is  the  state  of  things,"  asks  the  sceptical  critic,  ''what 
w  the  remedy  ?  " 

Remedy ! — Well,  as  long  as  the  present  excessive  competition  is 
teyrt.  up  by  the  public  demand  for  faster  and  cheaper  locomotion,  there 
will  be  no  remedies  until  steam  is  superseded  by  electricity  or  some 
er  motive  power,  coccept  such  as  the  steamship  companies  will  not 
rt  to  save  imder  compulsion — i.e.,  to  carry  larger  crews,  in  order  to 
pve  the  men  shorter  watches.  But  more  men  means  either  more 
""ioriey  or  a  reduction  of  wages.  The  latter  are  low  enough  already ; 
*ttd.  how,  ask  the  companies,  are  we  to  pay  any  dividends  if  we  have 
*^  carry  larger  crews  when,  at  tJie  present  rate  of  fares,  we  can 
"^rely  make  both  ends  meet  ? 

iarger  boilers,  witli  more  heating  surface  in  proportion  to  the  siae 
<"*  the  ADginee,  would  certainly  make  the  firemen's  work  less  arduous ; 
*Ot  naval  architects  are  already  hard  pressed  to  pro%'idp  room  for  all 
*^**«t  has  to  be  got  inside  the  akin  of  the  ship,  and  yet  leave  enough 
**Pgo-Bpace  to  render  her  a  paying  speculation — to  say  nothing  of 
*Ktra  first  cost. 

Tben  comes  the  question — "  Suppose  boilers  of  ample  size  are  pro- 
tided  in  any  one  boat,  how  long  would  it  be  before  the  owners  yielded 
the  temptation  of  running  the  engines  at  a  greater  number  of  revo- 
per  minute  in  order  to  obtain  a  higher  speed,  thereby  using  up 
iha  extra  steam  and  throwing  estra  work  on  the  firemen  ?  "    Probably 
oily  till  another  faster  steamer  was  built  by  some  opposing  company ; 
•nd  then  the  pitch  of  the  propeller  would  be  altered,  and  the  chief 
ioeer  get  his  orders  to  "  let  her  rip." 

Tb«  owners  of  the  Ttulonic  and  MaJrstic—thG  finest  and  newest  of 

the  *'  ocean  greyhounds  " — besides  having  spared  no  expense  to 

for  the  safety  and  comfort  of  their  passengers,  have  generously 


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THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jau. 


furnished  these  vessels  with  ample  boiler  power.  But  hardly  has  the 
first  of  these  ships  left  Liverpool  on  her  maiden  run  to  New  York, 
when  there  appears  in  the  papers  an  account  of  the  boat  and  her  per- 
formances, in  which  the  suggestion  is  made  that — the  boilers  being 
large  enough  to  supply  more  steam  than  the  engines  can  possibly  use, 
as  they  are  at  present  run — the  pitch  of  the  propeller  should  be 
reduced,  and  the  engines  run  at  a  greater  number  of  revolutions. 
Has  tho  writer  of  the  above  ever  had  to  drive  a  steamship  at  her  full 
power  as  he  here  suggests  ?  ProbabJy  not,  as  he  leaves  no  margin 
for  bad  or  indifierent  coal  and  other  emergencies.  Surely  it  is  time 
to  reduce  the  pitch  of  the  propeller  and  not  strain  ship  and  men  tx)  their 
utmost  when  it  has  been  proved  that  the  White  Star  liners  cannot 
"  beat  the  record  "  as  they  are,  or  when  a  larger  and  faster  steamer 
appears  on  the  ocean  racecourse,  and  they  are  obliged,  in  sheer  self- 
defence,  to  keep  up  their  reputation  for  speed. 

The  possibilities  of  obtaining  an  increasing  speed  with  steamships 
seem,  at  first  sight,  as  limitless  as  the  ocean  on  which  they  float ;  but, 
like  all  else,  they  must  end  somewhere.  At  one  time  it  was  supposed 
that  there  must  be  a  limit  in  size,  beyond  which  materials  did  not 
exist  of  sufficient  strength  to  enable  steamers  to  be  built.  But  wood 
was  superseded  by  ii'on,  and  iron  in  its  turn  by  steel  j  and  there  yet 
remain  the  possibilities  of  manganese,  bronze,  and  aluminium.  Then 
it  was  supposed  that,  as  engines  got  bigger  and  bigger,  the  momentum 
of  the  huge  moving  masses  of  their  crauks  and  rods  would  shake  the 
ships  to  pieces  ;  but  practical  engineers  langhed  at  this,  paid  a  little 
more  attention  to  the  design  and  balance  of  their  engines,  and,  as  they 
increased  in  size,  divided  their  power  and  adopted  twin  screws. 

Then  came  the  jdarm  that  no  ships  could  carry  the  enormous 
quantity  of  coal  necessary  to  keep  up  thair  speed  for  the  run  across 
to  America  ;  but,  again,  the  engineers  were  equal  to  the  occasion,  and 
engines  were  first  compounded,  then  tripled,  and,  finally,  several 
quadrupled  expansion  engines  have  been  built,  while  every  nerve  is 
strained  to  attain  economy  of  fuel  in  other  directions. 

Competition  waxed  fierce  and  strong,  and  shipowners  became  anxious 
lest  the  demand  for  speed  should  render  their  boats  unremunerative, 
through  the  great  reduction  in  the  cargo-space  caused  by  the  enormous 
bunkers.  But  still  the  race  has  gone  on,  and  the  passenger  traffic 
across  the  Atlantic  is  afisuming  such  enormous  proportions  that  it  is 
becoming  a  question  whether  it  will  not  soon  be  possible  to  bnild  and 
run  boats,  for  passengers  only,  across  the  Atlantic,  as  is  now  done 
across  the  Straits  of  Dover,  and  yet  make  them  pay. 

Next  came  a  crj'  that  ships  were  getting  too  large  to  enter  the 
docks — but  new  and  deeper  docks  were  speedily  built  and  the  entrances 
of  others  widened ;  till  now,  at  last,  it  seems  as  if  the  end  would 
only  come  in  view  when  ships  get  too  big  to  handle,  or  the  power  of 


d 


090}  RUNNING   FOR   RECORDS.  126 

driving  them  attains  such  vast  proportions  as  to  make  it  impossible 
to  baild  a  ship  large  enough  to  carry  the  necessary  fuel ;  and  who 
can  say  how  near  or  how  far  off  this  time  may  be  ? 

The  power  necessaiy  to  drive  a  ship  increases  as  the  sqiiare  of  the 
f^tfd*  and  it  would  seem  that,  at  this  rate,  a  limit  must  soon  be 
reached.  But  against  these  fearful  odds  engineers  and  naval  archi- 
tects work  on  undaunted,  ever  finding,  in  the  boundless  resources  of 
aiafinoe,  ways  and  means  to  overcome  each  fresh  difficulty  ;  and  ship 
after  ship  sails  forth  to  breast  the  Atlantic  billows,  to  bear  proud 
^ntnees  to  the  indomitable  perseverance  that  gave  her  birth,  and  the 
BritiBh  pluck  and  daring  that  drives  her  across  the  stormy  seas. 

J.  R,  Werner. 

*  This  proportion  is  somcwlmt  less  when  tlic  speed  exceeds  eighteen  knots. 


WHAT  STANLEY   HAS  DONE   FOR  THE 
MAP  OF  AFRICA. 


IT  ia  Bineteen  years  this  month  since  Stanley  first  crossed  the 
threshold  of  Central  Africa.  He  entered  it  as  a  newspaper  corre- 
Bpondent  to  find  and  succour  Livinji^stone,  and  camo  out  burniner  with 
the  fever  uf  African  exploration.  While,  with  Livingstone  at  Ujiji  he 
tried  his  'prentice  hand  at  a  little  exploring  work,  and  between  them  they 
did  something  to  settle  the  geography  of  the  north  end  of  Lake  Tan- 
ganyika. Some  three  years  and  n,  half  later  lie  was  once  more  on  his  way 
to  Zanzibar,  this  time  with  the  deliberate  intention  of  doing  eomething  to 
fill  up  the  great  blank  that  still  occupied  the  centre  of  the  continent. 
A  glance  at  the  first  of  the  maps  which  accompany  this  paper  (pp.  128-9) 
will  afford  some  idea  of  what  Central  Africa  was  like  when  Stanley 
entered  it  a  second  time.  The  ultimate  sources  of  the  Nile  had  yet 
to  be  settled.  The  contour  and  extent  of  ^'ictoria  Nyanza  were  of 
the  most  uncertain  character.  Indeed,  so  little  was  known  of  it  beyond 
what  Spokr  told  us,  that  there  was  some  danger  of  its  being  swept  off 
the  map  altogether,  not  a  few  geographers  believing  it  to  be  not 
one  lake,  bnt  several.  There  was  much  to  do  in  the  region  lying  to  the 
west  of  the  lake,  even  though  it  had  been  traversed  by  Spoke  and  Grant. 
Between  a  line  drawn  from  the  north  end  of  Lake  Tanganyika  to  some 
distance  beyond  the  Albert  Nyanza  on  one  side,  and  the  west  coast 
region  on  the  other,  the  map  was  almost  white,  with  here  and  there 
the  conjectural  course  of  a  river  or  two.  Livingstone's  latest  work,  it 
should  be  remembered,  was  then  almost  unknown,  and  Cameron  had 
not  yet  returned.  Beyond  the  Yellala  Ilapids  there  was  no  Congp, 
and  Livingstone  believed  that  the  Lualaba  swept  northwards  to 
the  Nile.  He  had  often  gazed  longingly  at  the  broad  river  during 
his  weary  sojourn  at  Nyangwt'.  and  yeamed  to  follow  it,  but  felt 
himself  too  old  and  exhausted  for  the  task.      Stanley  was  fired  with 


jggo] 


STANLEY  AND    THE   MAP    OF  AFRICA. 


the  some  ambitioa  as  his  dead  master,  and  was  young  and  vigorous 
enough  to  indulge  it. 

What,  then,  did  Stanley  do  to  map  out  the  features  of  this  great  blank 
daring  the  two  years  and  nine  months  which  he  spent  in  crossing  from 
Bagamoyo  to  Boma,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Congo  ?   He  determined,  with 
aa  accuracy  which  has  since  necessitated  but  slight  modification,  the  out- 
line of  the  Victoria  Nyanza  ;  he  found  it  to  t)e  one  of  the  great  lakes 
oC  the  world,  21,500  square  miles   in  extent,  with  an  altitude  of  over 
4000   feet,  and  border  soundings  of  from  330  to  580  feet.     Into  the 
south  shoro  of  the  lake  a  rirer  flowed,  which  he  traced  for  some  300 
miles,  and  which  he  sot  down  as  the  most  southerly  feeder  of  the  Nile, 
With  his  stay  at  the  Court  of  the  clever  and  cunning  Mtesa  of  Uganda  we 
need  not  concern  ourselves ;  it  has  had  momentous  results.     Westwards 
he  came  upon  what  he  conceived  to  be  a  part  of  the  Albert  Nyanza,  which 
iiB  named  Beatrice  Gulf,  but  of  which  more  anon.     Coming  south- 
wMds  to  Ujiji,   Stanley   filled   in  many  features   in   the  region  he 
tmveraed,  and  saw  at  a  distance  a  great  mountain,  which  he  named 
Gordon  Dennett,  of  which  also  more  anon.      A  little  lake  to  the  south 
he  named  the  Alexandra  Nyanza  ;  thence  he  conjectured  issued  the 
south-west  source  of  the  Nile,  but  on  this  point,  within  the  last  few 
months,  he    has  seen  cause  to  change  hie  mind.      Lake  Tauganyika 
he  circumnavigated,  and  gave  greater  accuracy  to  its  outline ;  while 
through  the  Lukuga  he   found   it  sent   its   waters  by   the  Lualaba 
to  the  Atlantic.     Crossing  to   Nyangwfi,    where  with  longing  eyes 
Liringstone   beheld   the    mile-wide   Lualaba  flowing  "  north,   north, 
north,"  Stanley   saw   his  opportunity,    and  embraced  it.     Tippu  Tip 
fiiiled  him  then,  as  he  did  later ;  but  the  mystery  of  that  grt?at  river 
he  hftd  made  up  his  mind  to  solve,  and  solve  it  he  did.     The  epic 
f'f  that  first  recorded  journey  of  a  white  man  down  this  majestic  river, 
which  for  ages   had   been   sweeping    its   unknown  way  through  the 
wntre  of  Africa,  he  and  his  dusky  companions  running  the  gauntlet 
uirough  a   thousand  miles  of  hostile   savages,    is    one   of  the  most 
•"emorable  things  in  the  literature  of  travel.     Leaving  Nyangw6  on 
^07ember  5,  1876,  in  nine  months  he  traced  the  many-i.slanded  Congo 
•<'«ve  Atlantic,  and  placed  on  the  map  of  Africa  one   of  its  most 
*'ilDng  features.      For  the  Congo  ranks  among  the  greatest  rivers  of 
"*  World.      From  the  remote  Chambeze  that  enters  Lake  Bangweolo 
*  «l«  sea,  it  is  3000   miles.      It   has  many  tributaries,  themselves 
'w'ding  bondrods    of    miles  of   navigable    drains  ;  waters  a  basin 
**  *  million  square   miles,   and  pours   into  the  Atlantic   a  volume 
*lteiated  at  1,BOO,000  cubic  feet  per  second.      Thus,  then,  were  the 
"lib  hood  lines  dra#rn  towards  filling  up  the  great  blank.    But,  as  we 
**Ofr,  Stanley   two*  years  later  was  once   more  on   his  way   to  the 
^*go,  tod.  shortly  after,  within  the  compass  of  its  great  basin>  he 
WjJcd  to  found  the  Congo  Free  State.     During  the  years  he  was 


130 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jajt. 


officially  connected  with  the  river,  either  directly  or  through  those 
who  served  under  him,  he  went  on  filling  up  the  blank  by  the 
exploration  of  other  rivers,  north  and  south,  which  poured  their 
voluminous  tribute  into  the  main  stream  ;  and  the  impulBe  he  gave 
has  continued.  The  blank  has  become  a  network  of  dark  lines,  the 
interspaces  covered  with  the  names  of  tribes  and  rivers  and  lakes. 

Such  then,  brietiy,  is  what  Stanley  did  for  the  map  of  Africa 
during  his  great  and  ever-memorable  journey  across  the  continent. 
Once  more  Mr,  Stanley  has  crossed  the  continent,  in  the  opposite 
direction,  and  taken  just  about  the  same  time  in  which  to  do  so. 
Discovery  was  not  his  main  object  this  time,  and  therefore  the  resnlta 
in  this  direction  have  not  been  so  plentiful.  Indeed,  they  could  not 
be  J  he  had  left  so  comparatively  little  to  be  done.  But  the  addi- 
tions that  he  has  madi;  to  our  knowledge  of  the  great  blank  are  con- 
siderable, and  of  high  importance  in  their  bearing  on  the  hydro- 
graphy, the  physical  geography,  the  climate,  and  the  people  of  Central 
Africa. 

Let  us  rapidly  run  over  the  incidents  of  this,  in  some  respects, 
the  most  remarkable  expedition  that  ever  entered  Africa.  Its  first 
purpose,  as  we  know,  was  to  relieve,  and  if  necessary  bring  away,  Emin 
Pasha,  the  Governor  of  the  abandoned  Equatorial  Province  of  the 
Egyptian  Sudan,  which  spread  on  each  sido  of  the  Bahr-el-Jebel,  the 
branch  of  the  Nile  that  issues  from  the  Albert  Nyanza.  Here  it  was 
supposed  that  he  and  his  Egyptian  officers  and  troops,  and  their 
wives  and  childn-n,  were  beleagured  by  the  Madliist  hordes,  and 
that  they  wore  at  the  end  of  their  supplies.  Emin  Pasha,  who  as 
Eduard  Schnitzer  was  bom  in  Prussian  Silesia,  and  educated  at 
Breslau  and  Burliu  as  a  physician,  spent  twelve  years  {18G4— 187G)  in 
the  Turkish  service,  during  which  he  travelled  over  mnch  of  the 
Asiatic  doininious  of  Turkey,  indulging  his  strong  tastes  for  natural 
history.  In  187G  he  entered  the  service  of  Egypt,  and  was  sent 
up  to  the  Sudan  as  surgeon  on  the  staff  of  Gordon  l*as]]a,  who 
at  that  time  governed  the  Equatorial  Province.  In  1878,  two  years 
af1:er  Gordon  had  been  appointed  Governor-General  of  the  whole 
Sudan,  Emin  EfJ'endi  (he  had  Moslemized  himself)  was  appointed 
Governor  of-  the  Equatorial  Province,  which  he  foand  completely 
disorganized  and  demoralized,  the  happy  hunting-ground  of  the 
slave-niider.  Within  a  few  months  Emin  had  restored  order,  swept  out 
the  slavers,  got  rid  of  the  I'Jgyptian  scum  who  pretended  to  be  soldiers, 
improved  the  revenue,  so  that  instead  of  a  large  deficit  there  was  a 
considerable  surplus,  and  established  industry  and  legitimate  trade. 
Meantime,  the  Mahdi  had  appeared,  and  the  movement  of  conquest 
was  gathering  strength.  It  was  not,  however,  till  1884  that  Emin 
began  to  fear  danger.  It  was  in  January  of  that  year  that  Gordon 
went  out  to  hold  Khartoum ;  just  a  year  later  both  he  and  the  city 


A 


1890] 


STANLEY  AND    THE    MAP    OF   AFRICA. 


131 


felt  before  the  Madhist  host.  Emin  withdrew  with,  liis  officers  and 
dependents,  numbering  probably  aboat  1500,  to  Wadelai,  in  the  south 
of  the  ptx>vince,  within  easy  reach  of  Albert  Nyanza. 

Rumoars  of  tho  events  in  the  Sudan  after  the  fall  of  Khartoum 
reached  this  country  ;  but  no  one  outside  of  scientiBc  circks  seemed 
to  take   much    interest    in    Emin    till    1886.      Rapidly,    however, 
Eumpe    became    awaro    what    a    noble    stand    this    simple   savant, 
who  had  Ijoen  foisted  into  the  position  of  Governor  of  a  half-savage 
province,  was  making   against  the    forces  of  the    Jlahdi,  and   how 
terefased  to  desert  his  post  and  hia   people.     Towards  the  autumn 
of  1B8G  public   feeling  on  the  subject  rose  to  such   a  height  that 
iW  British  Government,  which  waa  held  tu  blame  for  the  position,  in 
the  Sndan,    was    compelled  to   take    action.      Our  representixtive  at 
Zoozibiir,  ns  early  as  August  of  that  year,  instituted  inquiries   ag  to 
the  possibility  of  a  relief  expedition,  but  in  the  end,  in  dread  of  inter- 
national complications,  it  was  decided  that  a  Government  expedition 
*4s  impracticable.   In  this  dilemma,  Sir  (then  Mr.)  William  Mackinnon, 
Ciuirman  of  the   British   India   Steam   Navigation   Company,  whose 
connection  with  East  Africa  is   of  old  standing,   came  forward   and 
offered  to  undertake  the  responsibility  of  getting  up   an   expedition. 
Tb(j  Emin  Pasha  Relief  Committee  was  formed  in   December    1886, 
«nd  Government  did  all  it  could  to  aid,  short   of   taking  the  actual 
re«ponsibility.     "Mr.  H.  M.  Stanley  generously  offered  his  sei-vices  as 
iMiltT.  without  fee  or  reward,  giving  up  many  lucrative  engagements 
for  the  purpose.     No  time  was  lost.     The  sum  of  £20,000  had  been 
fabscribed,  including  £10,000  from  tho  Egyptian  Government.     Mr. 
SfAnley  returned  from  America  to  England  in  the  end  of  December  ; 
by  the  end  of  January  he  had  made   all  hia  preparations,  selecting 
nine   men   as  his  staff,  including  three    English    ofScers    and    two 
WTjseons,    and    was   on    his    way    to   Zanzibar,    which  was    reached 
nn  February    -1.     On   the   2oth   the    e.vpedition  was  on  board  the 
Xndura,  bound  for  the  mouth  of  the  Congo,  by  way  of  the  Cape  j  nine 
Eufrtpenn  officers,  sixty-one  Sudanese,  thirteen  Somalls,  three  inter- 
preters, G20  Zanzibaris,  the  famous  Arab  slaver  and  merchant,  Tippu 
Tip  and  -107  tif  his  people.    The  mouth  of  the  Congo  was  reached  on 
Hupch  18;  tJiere  the  expedition  was  transhipped  into  small  vessels, 
*nd  landed   at  Matodi,  the  limit  of  navigation  on  the  lower  river. 
From  Matadi  there  was  a  march  of  200   miles,  past  the  Cataracts 
to  Stanley  Pool,  where  the  navigation  was  resumed.     The  troubles  of 
expedition  liegan  on  the  Congo  itself.      The  question  of  routes 
much  difit'ussed  at  the  time  of  organizing  the  ex]7edition,  tho 
two  that   found   most  favour  being  that  from  the  east  coast   through 
Musai  land  and  round  by  the  north  of  Uganda,  and  that  by  the  Congo. 
laU)  the  comparative  merits   of  these  two  routes  we  shall  not  euter 
For  reasons  which  were  satisfactory  to  himself — and  no  one 


132 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[J  J 


knows  Africa  better — Mr.  Stanley  selected  tlie  Congo  route  ;  though 
had  he  foreseeo  all  that  he  and  hie  men  would  have  to  undergo  he 
might  have  hesitated.  As  it  was,  the  expedition,  which  it  ■was 
thought  would  be  back  in  England  by  Christmas  1887,  only  reachesd 
the  coast  in  November  1889.  But  the  difticnlties  no  one  could  bare 
foreseen,  the  region  traversed  being  completely  unknown,  and  th€» 
obstacles  encountered  unprecedented  even  in  Africa.  Nor,  when  th.^ 
goal  was  reached,  was  it  expected  that  months  would  be  wasted  L*^ 
persuading  Emin  and  his  people  to  qnit  their  exile.  Not  Ul^ 
keenest-eyed  of  African  explorers  could  have  foreseen  all  this. 

Want  of  sufficient  boat  accommodation,  and  a  scarcity  of  food  almos'*' 
amounting  t-o  famine,   hampered  the  expedition  terribly  on   its  waj*^ 
up  the  Congo.     Tliy  mouth  of  the  Aruwimi,  the  real  starting-point  oW 
the  expedition,  some  1500  miles  from  the  mouth  of  the  Congo,  vvasnot> 
reached  by  Mr.  Stanley  and  the  first  contingent  till  the  beginning  00" 
June  1887.      The  distance  from  here  in  a  straight  line  to  the  nearest^ 
point  of  the  Albert  Nyanza  is  about  4oO  niilea;  thence  it  was  believed 
communication  with   Emin  %voiild  be  easy,  for  he  had  two   steamer* 
available.     But  it  was  possible  that  a  detour  would  have  to  be  mad^ 
towards     the   north    so    as    to     reach    Wadelai    direct,    for    no  oni?- 
knew    the  conditions  which   prevailed   in    the  country  between  tli©- 
Aniwimi  mouth  and  the  Albert  Nyanza.      As  it  was,  Mr.  Stanley  took 
the  course  to  the  lake  direct,  but  with  many  a  circuit  and  many  an. 
obstruction,  and  at  a  terrible  sacrifice  of  life.     An  entrenched  camp 
was  established  on  a  bluff  at  Yambuya,  about  fifty  miles  up  the  left 
bank  of  the  Aruwimi.      Major  Bartt<-lot  was  left  in  charge  of  this,  and 
with  him  Dr.  Bonny,  Mr.  Jameson,  Mr.  Rose  Troup,  Mr.  Ward,  and 
257  men  ;  the  rearcolnmn  was  to  follow  as  soon  asTippu  Tip  provided 
the  contingent  of  500  natives  which  he  had  solemnly  promised.     Al- 
though the  whole  of  the  men  had  not  come  up,  yet  everything  seemed 
in  satisfactory  order  ;   explicit  instructions  were  issued  to  the   officers 
of  the  rear  column  ;  and  on  June  28,  1887,  Mr.  Stanley,  with  a  con- 
tingent consisting  of  389  officers  and  men,  set  out  to   reach    Emin 
Pasha.    The  officers  with  him  were  Captain  Nelson,  Lieutenant  Stairs, 
Dr.  Parke,  and  Mr.  Jephsou. 

Five  miles  after  leaving  camp  the  difficulties  began.  The  ex- 
pedition was  face  to  face  with  a  dense  forest  of  immense  extent, 
choked  with  bushy  undergrowth,  and  obstructed  by  a  network  of 
creepers  through  which  a  way  had  often  to  be  cleaved  with  the 
axes.  Hostile  natives  hara.ssed  them  day  after  day ;  the  paths  were 
studded  with  conct  aled  spikes  of  wood  ;  the  arrows  were  poisoned ; 
the  natives  burned  their  villages  rather  than  have  dealings  with 
the  intruders.  Happily  the  river,  when  it  was  again  struck, 
affiDTded  rfelicf,  and  the  steel  boat  proved  of  service,  though  the 
■weakened   men  found   the  portages  post  the  cataracts  a  great  trial. 


I 


I 

( 
I 


I 


I 


i«9o] 


STANLEY  AND    THE   MAP   OF  AFRICA. 


133 


It  WBS  fondly  hoped  tliat  here  at  least  the  Arab  slaver  had  not  pene- 
trated ;  but  on  September  1 6,  200  miles  from  Yambuya,  making  340 
milfs  of  actual  travel,  the  alave  camp  of  Ugarowwa  was  reached,  and 
kae  the  treatment  was  even  worse  than  when  fighting  the  savages 
of  the  forest.  The  brutalities  practised  on  Stanley's  men  cost  many 
of  them  their  lives.  A  month  later  the  canip  of  another  Arab  slaver 
was  reached,  Kiliuga  Longa,  and  there  the  treatment  was  uo  better. 
Tlwae  ao-called  Arabs,  whose  caravans  consist  mainly  of  the  merciless 
Manjuema,  from  the  country  betwet^u  Tanganyika  and  Nyangwfi,  had 
laid  waste  a  gri-at  area  of  the  region  tu  be  traversed  by  the  expedition, 
»that  between  August  31  and  November  12  every  man  was  famished  ; 
and  when,  at  last,  the  land  of  devastation  was  left  behind,  and  the 
native  village  of  Ibwiri  entered,  officers  and  men  were  reduced  to 
ikeletons.  Out  of  the  381)  who  started  only  174<  entered  Ibwiri,  the 
rest  dead,  or  missing,  or  left  behind,  unable  to  move,  at  Ugarowwa's. 
So  Weak  was  everj-body  that  TO  tons  of  goods  and  the  boat  had  to  be 
left  at  Kilinga  Longas  with  Captain  Nelson  and  Surgeon  Parke. 

A  halt  of  thirteen  days  at  Ibwiri,  with  its  plenty  of  fowls, 
te&nas,  corn,  yams,  beans,  restored  everybody  ;  and  173  sleek  and 
robust  men  set  out  for  the  Albert  Nyanza  on  November  24.  A  week 
Uter  the  gloomy  and  dreaded  forest  suddenly  ended  ;  the  open  country 
*M  reached ;  the  light  of  day  was  unobatructed  ;  it  was  an  emer- 
gence from  darkness  to  light.  But  the  diQicuities  were  not  over; 
•wne  little  fighting  with  the  natives  on  the  populous  plateau  was 
ntceesary  before  the  lake  could  be  reached.  Oii  the  12tb  the  edge 
<rf  the  long  slope  from  the  Congo  to  Lake  Albert  was  attained,  and 
wddealy  the  eyes  of  all  were  gladdened  by  the  sight  of  the  lake 
lyioff  Bome  3000  feet  almost  sheer  below.  The  expedition  itself  stood  at 
«  altitude  of  5200  feet  above  the  sea.  But  the  end  was  not  yet.  Down 
the  r«xpedition  marched  to  the  south-west  corner  of  the  lake,  where  the 
Kakongo  natives  were  unfriendly.  No  Emin  Pasha  had  been  heard 
of;  there  was  no  sign  even  that  he  knew  of  Stanley's  coming  or  that 
the  messenger  from  Zanzibar  had  reached  him.  The  only  boat  of  the 
"■tjfdition  waa  at  Kilinga  Longa's,  K)Q  niiles  away.  Of  the  men  9i 
were  Iwhind  sick  at  Ugarowwa's  and  Kilinga  Longa's  ;  only  173  were 
«  *>th  Stanley  ;  74  of  the  original  341  were  dead  or  missing  ;  and,  more- 
I     *'^er.  there  was  anxiety  about  the  rear  column. 

I  Stanley's  resolution  was  soon  taken.  Moving  to  the  village  of  Kavalli, 
^■M"*^  distance  up  the  steep  slope  from  the  lake,  the  party  began  a  night 
^^pBTch  on  December  15,  and  by  January  7  they  were  back  at  Ibwiri. 
Here  Fort  Bodo,  famous  in  the  records  of  the  expedition,  was  built. 
The  men  were  brought  up  from  the  rear,  and  on  April  7  Stanley,  with 
Jrphaon  and  Parke,  once  more  led  the  expedition  to  Lake  Albert, 
Ihis  time  with  the  boat  and  fresh  stores.  Meantime,  Stanley  himself 
«u  on  the  sick-list  for  a  month.     This  time  all  the  natives  along  the 


I 

4 


134 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


routo  were  frifndly  and  even  generous,  and  on  April  22  the  ei 
tion  reached  the  cliief  Kavalli,  who  delivered  to  Stanley  a  let! 
wrapped  in  American  cloth.  The  note  was  froiri  Emin,  and  stat 
that  he  had  heard  rumours  of  Stanley's  presence  in  the  district; 
b&gged  Stanley  to  wait  until  Emin  could  communicate  with  hi" 
The  boat  was  launched,  and  Jephson  set  off'  to  find  Emin.  dZU 
the  29th  the  Klu:dive  steamer  carae  down  the  lake  with  Emin,  ti-  3^^ 
Italian  Casati,  and  Jephson  on  board.  The  great  object  of  ti-2J 
expedition  seemed  at  last  to  be  all  but  fulfilled.  I 

But   the   end   was   not   yet.       There  was  the  party  at  Fort  Bocl.o»  1 
there  were  the  sick   further  back  with   whom  Lieutenant  Stairs  ha-<^ 
not  returned  when  Stanley  left  the  fort ;  and,  above  all,  there   wa-^ 
the  rear  column  left  at  Yambuya  with  Major  Barttelot.     It  would  take^ 
some  time  for  Emin  to  bring  do'VTTi  all  his  people  from  Wadelai  ani^* 
other  Btations.     So  after  spending  over  three  weeks  with  the  vacillating^^ 
Emin,  Stanley,  on  May  25,  vras  once  more  on  the  march  back  to  Fort 
Bodo  to  bring  up  all  hands.     He  left  Jephson,  three  Sudanese,  and  two 
Zanzibaris  with  Emin,    who   gave  him  102  nativea  aa  porters,  and 
three  irregulars  to   accompany  him  back.     Fort  Bodo  was  reached 
on    June  8,   and  was    found  in  a  flourishing  state,   surrounded    by 
acres     of  cultivated    fields.       But    of    the    fifty-sbc    men     left    at 
Ugarowwa's  only  sixteen  were  alive  for  Lieutenant  Stairs  to  bring 
to  Fort  Bodo.     As  there  was  no  sign  of  the  rear  column  nor  of  the 
twenty  messengers  sent  off  in  March  with  letters  for  Major  Barttelot, 
Stanley   felt   bound  to  retrace   his   steps  through  the  terrible  forest. 
This  time  he  was  better  provisioned,  and   his  people   (212)   escaped 
the  liorrors  of  the  wilderness. 

Fort  Bodo  was  left  on  June  16,  Stanley  letting  all  his  white 
companions  remain  behind.  Ugarowwa's  camp  was  deserted,  and  he 
himself  with  a  flotilla  of  fifty-seven  canoes  was  overtaken  far  down 
the  river  on  August  10,  and  with  him  seventeen  of  the  carriers  sent 
off  to  Major  Barttelot  in  March  ;  three  of  their  number  had  been 
killed.  On  the  17th  the  rear  column  was  met  with  at  Bonalya,  eighty 
miles  above  Yambuya,  and  then  for  the  first  time  Stanley  learned  of 
the  terrible  diaast/er  that  had  befallen  it : — Barttelot  sliot  by  the 
Manyuema ;  Jameson  gone  down  the  Congo  (only  to  die) ;  Ward 
away ;  and  Troup  invalided  home.  No  one  bat  Dr.  Bonny  ;  of  the 
257  men  only  seventy -two  remaining,  and  of  these  only  fifty-two 
fit  for  service.  No  wonder  Mr.  Stanley  felt  too  sick  to  write  the 
details  ;  and  until  we  have  the  whole  of  the  evidence  it  would  be 
unfair  to  pronounce  judgment.  One  thing  we  may  say  ;  we  know. 
from  Mr.  Werner's  recently  published  "  River  Life  on  the  Congo," 
that  before  Major  Barttelot  left  Yambuya  to  follow  Stanley  it  was 
known  to  Mr.  Werner,  to  more  than  one  Belgian  officer,  to  several 
natives,  and  to  the  Manyuema  people  with  Barttelot,  that  instructions 


i«9o] 


STANLEY  AND 


had  been  given  by  Tippu  Tip  f>o  these  last  to  slioot  Major  Barttelot 
if  he  did  not  treat  them  well.  Yet  no  one  cared  to  warn  the  Major,  and 
he  was  allowed  to  depart  to  his  almoat  certain  fate.  The  thing  is  too 
sickening  to  dwell  upon.  It  was  at  this  stage  that  Stanley  sent  home 
hi8  first  letters,  which  reached  England  on  April  1,  1889,  twenty 
months  after  he  started  from  the  Aruwimi,  and  over  two  years  after  h© 
left  England.  The  relief  was  intense  ;  all  sorts  of  sinister  rumours  had 
been  floated,  and  moat  people  had  given  up  the  e.T[jedition  for  lost. 

Once  more  back  through  the  weary  forest,  with  the  expedition  re- 
organized.  A  new  route  was  taken  to  the  north  of  the  river  through 
a  regbn  devastate!  by  the  Arab  slavers ;  and  here  the  expedition 
came  near  to  starvation,  but  once  more  Fort  Bodo  was  reached, 
on  December  20.  Here  things  wero  practically  as  Stanley  had  left 
them ;  there  was  no  sign  of  Emin,  though  he  had  promised  to  come 
to  the  fort.  The  combined  expedition  marched  onwards,  and  Mr. 
Stanley,  pushing  on  with  a  contingent,  reached  the  lake  for  the  third 
time,  on  January  18,  only  to  learn  that  Emin  and  Jcphaon  hod  been 
made  prisoners  by  Emin's  own  men  ;  the  Mahdi.sts  had  attacked  the 
station  and  created  a  panic,  and  all  was  disorganization  and  vacillation. 
At  last,  however,  the  chief  actors  in  this  strange  drama  wero  together 
again ;  and  Mr,  Stanley's  account  of  Emin's  unstable  purpose  ;  the 
long  arguments  with  the  Pnshn  to  persuade  him  to  come  to  a 
decision  ;  the  ingratitude  and  treachery  of  the  Egyptians ;  the 
gathering  of  the  people  and  their  burdensome  goods  and  chattels 
preparatory  to  quitting  the  lake — these  and  many  other  details  are 
fresh  in  om-  memories  from  Stanley's  own  letters.  But  the  main 
purpose  of  the  expedition  was  accomplished,  at  however  terrible  a  cost, 
M»d  however  disappointing  it  was  to  find  that  after  all  E)nin  was 
reluctant  to  bo  "  rescued."  When  the  start  was  made  from  Kavalli's, 
on  April  10  last,  1500  people  in  all  were  mustered.  An  almost  mortal 
illness  luid  Stanley  low  for  a  month  shortly  after  the  start,  and  it  was 
Miiy  8  before  the  huge  caravan  was  fairly  under  way.  Some  fighting 
,aad  to  be  done  with  the  raiders  from  Unyoro,  but  on  the  whole  the 
■omeward  march  was  comparatively  free  from  trouble,  and  full  of 
>nt«re«t;  and  on  December  G  Mr.  Stanley  once  more  entered  Zanzibar, 
which  he  had  lefb  two  years  and  ten  months  before.  Such  briefly  are 
•onifi  of  the  incidents  of  the  rescue  expedition;  let  us  now  as  briefly 
rom  np  the  geographical  results. 

nhen  Stanley  left  for  Africa  in  January  1S87  there  remained  one 
of  the  great  problems  of  African  hydrography  still  unsolved — what 
"  known  as  the  problem  of  the  "VVell6.  Schweiufnrth  and  Junker  had 
upon  a  river  at  some  points  which  seemed  to  rise  in  the  neighs 

irhood  of  the  Albert  Nyanza,  and  ap]jeared  to  fiow  in  a  north-west 
Erection,  The  favourite  theory  at  the  time  was  that  the  river  Well^ 
really  the  upper  course  of  the  Shari,  which  runs  into  Lake  Chad 


136  THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW.  [Jah- 


far  away  to  the  north-west.  Bat  as  the  Congo  and  its  great  feeders 
the  nortli,  and  the  lie  of  the  land  in  that  direction,  became  bette; 
known,  it  began  to  be  conjectured  that  after  all  the  Well6  might  Bend_  I 
ita  waters  to  swell  the  mighty  volume  of  the  great  river.  Stanley,  IT  ^ 
know,  hoped  that,  among  other  geographical  work,  he  might  be  able  t(^  i 
throw  some  light  on  the  course  of  this  puzzling  river.  But,  as  we  se^  < 
now,  the  cares  and  troubles  that  fell  upon  him  prevented  him  going  much- 
out  of  the  way  to  do  geographical  work.  While,  however,  Stanley  wasB-  \ 
cleaving  his  way  through  the  tangled  forest,  Lieutenant  Vein  G^le,  i 
one  of  the  Free  State  officers,  proved  conclusively  that  the  Well6  wa»  | 
really  the  upper  course  of  the  Mobangi,  one  of  the  largest  northern.  ' 
tributaries  of  the  Congo.  Bat  another  and  kindred  problem  Stanley- 
was  able  to  solve.  Before  his  journey,  the  mouth  of  the  river 
Aruwimi  was  known  ;  the  great  naval  battle  which  he  fought  there  on. 
hL«9  first  descent  of  the  river  ig  one  of  the  most  striking  of  the  many 
striking  pictures  in  the  narrative  of  that  famous  journey.  But  beyond 
Yambuya  its  course  was  a  blank.  The  river,  under  various  names, 
"  Ituri "  being  the  best  known,  led  him  almost  to  the  brink  of  the 
Albert  Nyanza.  One  of  its  upper  contributories  is  only  ten  minutes' 
walk  from  the  brink  of  the  escarpment  that  looks  down  upon  the 
lake.  With  many  rapids,  it  is  for  a  great  part  of  its  course  over  500 
yards  wide,  with  groups  of  islands  here  and  there.  For  a  consider- 
able stretch  it  is  navigable,  and  its  entire  length,  taking  all  its 
windings  into  account,  from  its  source  to  the  Congo,  is  800  miles. 
One  of  its  tributaries  turns  out  to  be  another  river  which  Jnnker  met 
further  north,  and  whose  destination  was  a  puzzle — the  Nepoko. 

Thus  this  expedition  has  enabled  us  to  form  clearer  notions  of  the 
^ydrographyof  this  remarkable  region  of  rivera.  We  see  that  the  sources 
of  the  Congo  and  the  Nile  lie  almost  within  a  few  yards  of  each  other. 
Indeed,  so  diflScult  is  it  to  determine  to  which  river  the  various  waters  in 
this  region  send  their  tribute  that  Mr.  Stanley  himself,  in  his  first 
letter,  was  confident  that  the  southern  Lake  Albert  belonged  to  the 
Congo  and  not  to  the  Nile  system  ;  it  was  only  actual  inspection  that 
convinced  him  he  was  mistaken.  How  it  is  that  the  Ituri  or  the  Aruwimi 
and  other  rivers  in  the  same  region  are  attracted  to  the  Congo 
and  not  to  the  Nile  is  easily  seen  from  Mr.  Stanley's  graphic  de- 
scription of  the  lie  of  the  country  between  the  Congo  and  the  Albert 
Nyanza.  It  ia,  he  says,  like  the  glacis  of  a  fort.,  some  3S0  miles 
long,  sloping  gradually  up  from  the  margin  of  the  Congo  (itself  at 
the  Aruwimi  mouth  1400  feet  above  the  sea),  until  ten  minutes  beyond 
one  of  the  Ituri  feeders  it  reaches  a  height  of  5200  feet,  to  descend 
almost  perpendicularly  2900  feet  to  the  surface  of  the  lake,  which 
forms  the  great  western  reservoir  of  the  Nile. 

But  when  the  term  "  glacis  "  is  used,  it  must  not  be  inferred 
that  the   aacent   from   the  Congo    to    Lake    Albert   is   smooth  and 


J 


i890] 


STANLEY  AND    THE   MAP    OF  AFRICA. 


137 


uDobstrncted.  The  fact  is  that  Mr.  Stanley  foand  himself  involved 
in  tli6  northern  section  of  what  is  probably  the  most  extensive 
and  densest  forest  region  in  Africa.  Livingstone  spent  many  a 
weary  day  trudging  its  gloomy  recesses  away  south  at  Nyangw6  on  the 
Laalaba.  It  stretches  for  many  miles  north  to  the  Monbuttu 
country.  Stanley  entered  it  at  Yambuya,  and  tannelied  his  way 
tlirough  it  to  within  fifty  miles  of  the  Albert  Nyanza,  when  it  all  of  a 
sndden  ceased  and  gave  way  to  grassy  plains  and  the  unobstructed 
light  of  day.  How  far  west  it  may  extend  beyond  the  Aruwimi  he 
cannot  say  ;  but  it  was  probably  another  section  of  this  same  forest 
region  that  Mr.  Paul  du  Chaillu  struck  some  thirty  years  ago,  when 
gorilla*hunting  in  the  Gaboon.  Mr.  Stanley  estimates  the  area  of  this 
great  forest  region  at  about  300,000  square  miles,  which  is  more  likely 
to  be  under  than  over  the  mark.  The  typical  Afiican  forest,  as 
Mr.  Drummond  shows  in  his  charming  book  on  *'  Tropical  Africa,"  is 
lot  of  the  kind  found  on  the  Aruwimi,  which  is  much  more  South 
American  than  African.  Not  even  in  the  "groat  sponge"  from  whicli 
ttt> Zambesi  and  the  Congo  draw  their  remote  supplies  do  we  meet  with 
Mch  impenetrable  density.  Trees  scatttred  alx>ut  as  in  an  English 
park  in  small  open  clumps-  form,  as  a  rule,  the  type  of  "  forest " 
comtnon  in  Africa ;  the  physical  causes  which  led  to  the  dense 
Packing  of  trees  over  the  immense  area  between  the  Congo  and  the 
Nile  lakes  will  fonn  an  interesting  investigation.  Mr.  Stanley's 
•iescription  of  the  great  forest  region,  in  his  letter  to  Mr.  Bruce, 
is  wHl  worth  quoting  : — 

"Take  a  thick  Scottish  copse,  dripping  with  ruin  ;  imagine  this  copse  to 
J*'«Biere  untlergrowth,  nourished  under  the  impenetralde  shade  of  anrient 
*«**,  ranging  from  100  to  J  80  feet  high;  Viriais  nnd  thorns  abundant; 
Ifti)' creeks,  meandering  through  the  depths  of  the  junglf,  and  sometimes  a 
•fetji  ttiHuent  of  a  great  river.  Imagine  thia  forest  and  jungle  in  jUI  stages 
of  difay  and  growth — old  trees  falling,  leaning  jierilously  over,  fallen 
prostnite ;  ants  and  insect-s  of  all  kinds,  sizes,  and  colours  murmuring 
w^urid;  monkevH  and  chimpanzees  above,  queer  noises  of  birds  and  animals, 
WMhesin  the  jungle  as  troops  of  elephtints  rush  away  ;  dwarfs  with  iM>isoued 
•nows  secui-cly  hidilen  behind  some  buttress  or  in  some  ilaik  ieces.s ;  strong, 
'''Own-bodied  aborigines  with  toirihly  sharp  spears,  standing  poised,  still  as 
^«»d  Humps;  rain  jvittering  down  on  3-ou  every  other  day  in  the  year;  an 
""p'llie  atmosphere,  with  its  dread  consequences,  fever  and  dysentery  ;  glcx»m 
*kw\ighout  the  day,  and  darkness  almost  palpable  throughout  the  night ; 
•odthirn  if  you  will  imagine  such  a  forest  extending  the  entire  distance  from 
*'ynoath  to  Peterhead,  you  will  have  a  fair  idea  of  some  of  the  incon- 
**ieBw  endured  by  us  from  June  28  to  Decemlier  5,  1887,  and  from 
*•*  1,  1888,  to  the  present  date,  to  continue  again  from  the  present  date 
'illabont  December  10,  1888,  when  I  hope  then  to  say  a  last  farewell  to  the 
^go  Foi-est." 

J4r.  Stanley  tries  to  account   for  this  great  forest  region  by  the 
loe  of  moisture  c-arried  over  the  continent  from  the  wide  Atlantic 
■the  winds  which  blow  landward  thi-ougb  a  great  part  of  the  year. 


138 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


tJ 


1 


But  it  is  to  be  feared  tite  remarkable  pbenomonon  is  not  to  be  ac = 

counted   for  in   bo  easy  a  way.      Investigation    may  prove   that    th« 
rain  of  tie  rainiest  region  in  Africa  comes  not  from  the  Atlantic,  bu 
the   Indian  Ocean,  with   its  moisture-laden   monsoons.     And   so  w 
should  have  here  a   case  analogous  to  that  which  occurs  in  Sent 
America,  the  forests  of  which  resemble  in  many  features  those  of  th^B| 
region  through  which  Mr.  Stanley  has  passed. 

But  the  forest  itself  is  not  more  interesting  than  its  human* 
denizens.  The  banks  of  the  river  in  many  places  are  studded  with  larg^ 
villages,  some,  at  least,  of  the  native  tribes  being  cannibals.  We  are^  ^ 
here  on  the  northern  border  of  the  true  nogro  peoples,  so  that  when 
the  subject  is  investigated  the  Aruwimi  savages  may  be  found  to  be 
much  mixed.  But  unless  Europe  promptly  intervenes,  there  will 
shortly  be  few  people  left  in  these  forests  to  investigate.  Mr.  Stanley 
came  upon  two  slave-hunting  parties,  both  of  them  manned  by  the 
merciless  people  of  Manyuema.  Already  great  tracts  have  been 
turned  into  a  wilderness,  and  thousands  of  the  natives  driven  from 
their  homes.  From  the  ethnologist's  point  of  view  the  most  interest- 
ing inhabitants  of  the  Aruwimi  forests  are  the  hostile  and  cunning 
dwarfs,  or  rather  pigmieSj  who  caused  the  expedition  so  much  ti-ouble. 
No  doubt  they  are  the  same  as  the  Monbuttu  pigmies  found  farther 
north,  and  essentially  similar  to  the  pigmy  population  found  scattered 
all  over  Africa,  from  the  Zambesi  to  the  Nile,  and  from  the  Gaboon  to 
the  east  coast.  Mr,  Du  Chaillu  found  them  in  the  forests  of  the 
west  thirty  years  ago,  and  away  south  on  the  great  Sankuru  tribu- 
tary of  the  Congo  Major  Wissmann  and  his  fellow-explorers  met 
them  within  the  past  few  years.  They  seem  to  be  the  remnauta  of  a 
primitive  population  rather  than  stunted  examples  of  the  normal 
negro.  Around  the  villages  in  the  forest  wherever  clearings 
had  been  made  the  ground  was  of  the  richest  character,  growing 
crops  of  all  kinds.  Mr.  Stanley  has  always  maintained  that  in  the 
high  lands  around  the  great  lakes  will  be  found  the  most  favourable 
region  for  European  enterprise  ;  and  if  in  time  much  of  the  forest  is 
cleared  away,  the  country  between  the  Congo  and  Lake  Albert 
might  become  the  granary  of  Africa, 

To  the  geographer,  however,  the  second  half  of  the  expedition's 
work  is  fuller  of  interest  than  the  first.  Some  curious  problems  had 
to  bo  solved  in  the  lake  region,  problems  that  have  given  rise  to 
much  discussion.  When  in  1864  Sir  Samuel  Baker  stood  on  the  lofty 
escarpment  that  looks  down  on  the  east  shore  of  the  Albert  Nyanza, 
at  Vacovia,  the  lake  seemed  to  him  to  stretch  inimitably  to  the  south, 
BO  that  for  long  it  appeared  on  our  maps  as  extending  beyond 
1°  S.  latitude.  When  Stanley,  many  years  later,  on  his  first  great 
expedition,  after  crossing  from  Uganda,  came  upon  a  great  bay  of 
^ater,  he  was  naturally  inclined  to  think  that  it  was  a  part  of  Baker's 


a89o] 


STANLEY  AND    THE   MAP    OF  AFRICA, 


lake,  and  called  it  Beatrice  Gulf.  Bat  Geesi  and  Mason,  members 
of  Gordon  Pasha's  staff,  circumnavigated  the  lake  later  on  and  found 
that  it  ended  more  than  a  degree  north  of  the  equator.  So  when 
Stanley  published  his  uan'ative  he  made  his  "Beatrice  Gulf"  a 
separate  lake  lying  to  the  south  of  the  Albert  Nyanza.  Mr.  Stanley 
Mw  only  a  small  portion  of  the  southern  lake^  Mnta  Nzige,  but  in 
time  it  expanded  and  expanded  on  our  maps,  until  there  seemed  some 
danger  of  its  being  joined  on  to  Lake  Tanganyika.  Emin  himself, 
daring  his  twelve  years'  stay  in  the  Sudan,  did  something  towards 
exploring  the  Albert  Nyauaa,  and  found  that  its  southern  shore  was 
fast  advancing  northwards,  partly  owing  to  sediment  brought  down 
by  a  river,  and  partly  due  to  the  wearing  away  of  the  rocky  bed 
of  the  Upper  Nile,  by  which  much  water  escaped,  and  the  level  of  the 
lake  subsided.  Thus,  when  Baker  stood  on  the  shore  of  the  lake 
in  1864,  it  may  well  have  extended  many  miles  farther  south  than  it 
does  now.  But  where  did  the  river  come  from  that  Mason  and 
Emin  eaw  running  into  the  lake  from  the  south  ?  As  was  pointed  out 
above,  Stanley  at  first  thought  it  could  not  come  from  his  own  lake 
to  the  south,  which  he  believed  must  send  its  waters  to  the  Congo, 
Bat  all  controversy  has  now  been  ended.  During  the  famous 
rarodas  of  the  1500  from  Kavalli  to  the  coast,  the  intensely  interest- 
ing ooimtr\-  lying  between  the  northern  lake  Albert  and  the  southern 
lake,  now  named  Albert  Edward,  was  traversed.  Great  white 
gra«8y  plains  stretch  away  south  from  the  shores  of  Lake  Albert, 
which  under  the  glitter  of  a  tropical  sun  might  well  be  mistaken 
for  Water;  evidently  they  have  been  under  water  at  a  quite  recent  period. 
But  soon  the  country  begins  to  rise,  and  round  the  base  of  a  great 
inoontain  boas  the  river  Seniliki  winds  its  way  through  its  valley, 
Irving  through  the  picturesque  glens  many  streams  of  water 
from  the  snows  that  clothe  the  '^mountain-tops.  Here  we  have 
•  splendid  coimtry,  unfortunately  harassed  by  the  raids  of  the 
"anyoro,  in  dread  of  whom  the  simple  natives  of  the  mountain -side 
*«t«n  Creep  up  to  near  the  limit  of  suow.  Up  the  mountain,  which 
"•^ut.  Stairs  ascended  for  over  10,000  feet,  blackberries,  bilberries, 
owlets,  heaths,  lichens,  and  trees  that  might  have  reminded  him  of 
England  flourish  abundantly.  Here  evidently  we  have  a  region  that 
^'"ght  well  harbour  a  European  population.  The  mountain  itself,  Ru- 
^"^•luori,  a  great  boss  with  numerous  spurs,  is  quite^evidently  an  extinct 
'"Ic&no,  rising  to  something  like  19,000  feet,  and  reminding  one  of 
^Kilimanjaro,  farther  to  the  east.  It  is  not  yet  clear  whether  it  is  the 
■Oje  moontain  as  the  Gordon  Bennett  seen  by  Stanley  in  his  former 
•^pcdition,  though  the  probability  is  that,  if  distinct,  they  belong  to 
™>  same  group  or  mass.  Apart  from  the  mountain  the  country 
grsdaally  ascends  as  the  Semliki  is  traced  up  to  its  origin  in  Lake 
Albert  Edward.    Mr.  Stanley  found  that,  after  all,  the  southern  Nyanza 


140 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jah. 


belongs  to  the  great  Nile  system,  giving  origin  to  the  farthest  south- 
west source  of  Egypt's  wonderful  river,  which  we  now  know  receives 
a  tribute  from  the  snows  of  the  equator. 

The  southern  lake  itself  is  of  compnratively  small  dimensions,  prob- 
ably not  more  than  45  miles  long,  and  is  900  firet  above  the  northern 
Lake  Albert,  llr.  Stanley  only  skirted  its  west,  north,  and  east 
shores,  so  that  probably  he  has  not  been  able  to  obtain  complete  data 
as  to  size  and  shape.  But  he  has  solved  one  of  the  few  remaining 
great  problems  in  African  geography.  The  two  lakes  lie  in  a 
trough,  the  sides  of  which  rise  steeply  in  placns  3000  feet,  to  the  great 
plateaus  that  extend  away  east  and  west.  This  trough,  from  the  north 
end  of  Lake  Albert  to  the  south  end  of  Lake  Albert  Edward,  is  some 
260  statute  milf^s  in  length.  About  100  miles  of  this  is  occupied  by  the 
former  lake,  45  by  the  latter,  and  the  rest  by  the  country  between,  where 
the  trough,  if  we  may  indulge  in  an  Trishipni,  becomes  partly  a  plain, 
and  partly  a  great  mountain  mass.  But  this  trough,  or  fissure,  a  glance 
at  a  good  map  will  show,  is  continued  more  or  less  south  and  south-east 
in  Lakes  Tanganyika  and  Nyassa,  wliich  are  essentially  of  the  same 
character  as  Lakes  Albert  and  Albeit  Edward,  and  totally  different 
from  such  lakes  as  Victoria  Nyanza  and  Bangweolo.  Here  we  have 
a  feature  of  the  greatest  geographical  interest,  which  still  has  to  be 
worked  out  as  to  its  origin. 

There  ia  little  more  to  'say  as  to  the  geographical  results  of  the 
Em  in  Pasha  Relief  Expedition.  There  are  many  minute  details  of 
great  interest,  which  the  reader  may  st-o  for  himself  in  Mr.  Stanley's 
letters,  or  in  his  forthcoming  detailed  m  <fttive.  In  his  own  charac- 
teristic way,  he  telb  of  the  tribes  and  ]l  pies  around  the  lakes,  and 
between  the  lakes  and  the  coast  ;  arjd  it  was  left  for  him  on  his  way 
home  to  discover  a  great  south-west  t-xtension  of  Victoria  Nyanza, 
which  brings  that  lake  witbiu  150  miles  of  Lake  Tanganyika.  The 
results  which  have  been  achieved  have  been  achieved  at  a  great  sacri- 
fice of  life  and  of  suffering,  to  all  concerned  ;~Tbut  no  one,  I  am  sure, 
will  wis!)  that  thi^  work  had  been  left  undone.  The  few  great 
geographical  problems  in  Africa  that  Livingstone  had  to  leave  un- 
touched Stanley  has  solved,  Little  remains  for  himself  and  others 
in  thp  future  beyond  the  filling  in  of  detjitla  ;  but  these  are  all- 
important,  and  will  keep  the  great  army  of  esplorera  busy  for  many 
jearsj  if  not  for  generations. 

J.  Scott  Keltie. 


WHEN  the  news  was  flashed  fi*oni  Venice  that  Robert  Browning 
had  died,  men  felt  as  of  old  tht-y  felt  when  a  great  king  had 
^aaed  away — one  who,  at  a  time  of  change,  had  absorbed   the  new 
18   and  thoughts  of  his  nation  while  they  were  yet  unshaped,  who 
Iliad  given  them  form  in  himself,  and' sent  them  forth  alive  and  fresh, 
to  be  loved  and   used  by  his  folk,  and  who,  continuing  to  shape  and 
Ttahape  them  with  more  and  more  completeness,  had  himself  quietly 
grown  into  such  a  power  that  he  impressed  the  seal  and  spirit  of  his 
personality  upon  the  character  of  his  people.     The  movement  is  slow 
of  Buch  a  life  and  the  strife  is  long,  but  at  last,  and  when  the  best  of 
hia  work  is  done,  he  comes  forth,   recognized  as  one  of  the  spiritual 
kings,  listened  to  by  all  as  one  of  the  prophets  of  mankind.     This 
was  the  history  of  Robert  Browning.     He  waited  long,  without  com- 
plaint, without  pretension,  for  hia  recognition  by  men  of  good-will ; 
Mid  he  had  the   happy  fortune  to  attain  it  before  he  died.     He  had 
lOTed  men,  and  he  lived  long  enough  to  feel  that  they  loved  him.     It 
is  not  the  common  lot ;  but  his  courage,  his  joyfulness,  his  consistent 
floondneaa  of  mind,  deserved  that  gratification. 

We  look  back  over  a  space  of  fifty-seven  years  to  his  first  poem. 
"Pauline"  was  sent  to  preaa  in  January  1833;  and  though  it  is 
eiceedingly  immature,  yet  there  has  been  rarely  any  youthful  poem 
which  more  clearly  foretold  that  a  new  world  of  poetry  was  about  tx> 
«>pen  its  doors  to  men.  It  has  absoluteJy  nothing  to  do  with  the  past. 
TTicre  is,  it  is  true,  the  sound  in  it  of  the  blank  verse  of  Shelley,  but 
it  does  not  belong  to  any  of  the  separate  countries,  which  yet  had  one 
atmoephere,  of  the  world  in  which  Wordsworth  and  Coleridge,  Byron 
■ad  Shelley,  Keats  and  Scott,  thought  and  felt.     It  was  part  of  the 


142 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


[Jan. 


first  mail  of  a  new  wave  of  emotion  and  thinking  upon  the  shoreB  of 
England.*  His  poetry  of  introspection  whicli  asked,  "  Who  am  I, 
wbence  have  I  come,  whither  am  I  going  ?  *'  began  in  it.  His 
poetry  which  grew  more  and  more  eager  round  theological  questions, 
with  a  wholly  new  turn  in  the  theology — which  went  below  dogma 
to  the  impassioned  human  desires  out  of  which  dogma  had  grown — 
began  in  it.  Hia  poetry  which  asked  what  was  the  aim  of  human 
life,  what  was  the  meaning  of  its  problem,  why  the  strife  was  so  hard, 
and  what  was  the  use  of  it — and  which  asked  this,  not  for  the  world 
at  large,  but  for  the  individual  in  the  world — began  in  it.  His 
poetry,  which  determined  to  represent  not  what  was  common  to  human 
nature,  to  all  men,  but  what  was  special  indifferent  types  of  humanity, 
and  special  to  individual  phases  of  each  type,  began  in  it.  Moreover, 
there  arose  in  it,  as  also  in  Tennyson — but  in  Tennyson  it  was  less 
original,  more  on  the  model  of  past  poetry — a  new  kind  of  natural 
description,  or  rather  a  new  element  in  natural  description,  the 
subtile  differentiation  of  which  J  is  too  long  to  speak  of  now,  but 
which  is  more  composed,  more  invented,  more  infused  with  in- 
tellect, less  drawn  on  the  spot  from  Nature,  more  surcharged  with 
humanity,  more  passionate,  more  conceived  in  colour  less  in  line, 
more  illustrative  of  the  human  purpose  of  the  poem,  than  had  before 
arisen. 

This  novelty  in  the  work,  connected  with  the  date,  is  full  of  interest. 
The  last  great  poetry  had  closed  about  ten  years  before,  in  the  deaths 
of  Shelley  and  Keats.  Both  of  them  felt,  but  Shelley  less  than  Keats, 
because  he  was  away  from  England,  that  the  world  in  which  they 
lived  was  exhausted  of  beauty,  interest,  and  excitement.  There  was 
none  of  that  popular  emotion  which  flowing  from  the  minds  and  hearts 
of  men  kindles  a  poet  and  forces  him  into  creation.  The  storm  which 
followed  on  the  Revolution  of  France  had  blown  itself  out,  and  Shelley, 
after  in  vain  striving  to  excite  himself  with  the  struggle   for  Hellenic 


•  I  say  "  part  of  the  wave,"  because,  even  before  '*  Paulino,"  Tennyson  had  begun  to 
write,  aii<l  the  same  new  elements,  tliougb  mingled  inoro  with  past,  motives,  appeared 
in  his  pncnis,  ''  The  Supposed  Confes.'sions  of  n  Sensitive  Mind  not  in  Unity  with 
Itself,"  "The  Poet,"  ana  "  The  Poet's  Mind,"  "Loyo  and  Death,"  the  manner  of  the 
"  Sleeping  Beauty"— all  puhlii^hcd  in  1830 — ilhisrtrate  tbe  new  paths  into  wJiich  i>oetry 
■was  turning.  The  same  things  jut  out  in  the  poems  of  his  brother.  They  arc  still 
more  marked  in  tbe  poems  of  1832.  "The  Palace  of  Art  "  is  steeped  in  them.  The 
"  Lotus-Eater."?  "  strikes  another  note  of  the  same  theme  ;  and  tbe  "  Lovers'  Tale,''  pub- 
lished privately  in  1833,  may  he  compared  throughout  with  "  Pauline."  How  liko,  we 
say,  yet  how  different  I  Nothing  would  l»e  more  fa.scinating  than  to  isolate  t lie  new 
elements  in  Tennyson's  works  from  1830  to  1933,  but  our  business  is  with  Browning. 
May  it  still  be  long  before  we  have  to  write  of  Tennyson  as  wc  are  doing  now  of 
Browning,  And  it  seems  as  if  it  woidd  be  long,  for  bis  last  volume  is  full  of  poems  so 
fair,  so  strongly  wrought,  so  joyful  in  their  sf  rongth,  so  pathetic,  and  so  passionate  that 
we  seem  to  be  reading  the  work  of  a  man  of  thirty-five,  in  the  plenitude  of  power. 
Goethe  wrote  well  at  eighty  years  of  age,  but  there  was  no  youth  in  his  works. 
There  i.*  nothing  in  literature  which  resembles  the  young  strength  and  feeling  of 
this  book  by  a  m.in  of  eighty  hut  the  production  of  the  "(Edipusat  Colonus  "  by 
Sophocles,  if  it  be  true  that  the  drama  was  given  to  Athens  when  Sophocles  was  so  old. 


«890] 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


143 


liberty,  took  to  lore-songs  and  metaphysics,  while  Keats  fled  back  to 
Greece  and  to  mediaeval  Italy  for  subjects.     Then,  in  a  dead  back- 
water of  exhaustion,  pretty  little   poems  of  pot-pourri  sentiment  and 
hric-ii-hrac  description,   like  those  of  Mrs.   Hemans,  delighted  and 
enfeebled  the  cultivated  world.      But  a  new  excitement  which  stiired 
the  dead  bones  now  came  on  England.     The  Reform  movement  was 
bora,  and  though  the  poets  did  not  write  about  it,  yet  they  breathed 
the  atiDosphere  of  passion  in  which  the  country  lived.     They  were  no 
longer  forced  to  go  to  Greece  and  Italy  to  stir  themselves  into  creation. 
They  found  their  impulse  in  their  own   country   and  their  own  age. 
They  took  that  excitement,  and  they  changed  it  in  themselves  into  an 
excitement  on  questions  of  the  soul,    of  life,   of  human  nature,  of 
^ataro  herself.      The  political  ideal  aroused  in  them  the  conception  of 
«  new  spiritual  ideal.     The  stir,  the  life,  the  battle  in  England  did 
not  become  subjects  which  the  Muse  could  treat,  but  they  awoke  the 
JJofic  from  slumber  and  filled  her  with  eagerness  to  do  her  own  work  ; 
and  as  the  ground  temper  of  the  world  had  changed  since  the  time 
of  Shelley  and  Byron,  since  it  no  longer  looked  backwards,  but  for- 
wards, the   work  of  poetry   also  changed,  and  looked  also  forward. 
Bat   the  new  elements  of  the  soul  of  poetry  were  all  in  confusion, 
mingled  and  tossed  together  like  a  sea  in  the  centre  of  a  hurricane, 
tumbling  up  and   down,   no  ordered   run  in  the  waves — elements 
anable   to    be    handled,  seized,   or    isolated,  their    relations  to   each 
other  unknown,  their  tendencies  only  gaessed  at,  what  they  would  be 
when  crystallized  as  yet  unimagined — so  that   we  do  not  wonder  at 
the   tentativeness,  the  obscurity,  almost  the  muddle  of  a  poem  like 
**  Pauline."     It  is  eminently  representative  of  the  fitful,  strange,  tor- 
mental,    moody,    wayward   time  ;   but,  while    we  say   this,  we  most 
remember  that  the  trouble  and  fantasy  of  that  time,  its  agony  and 
waywardness,  were  not  those  of  age,  but  of  growth,  not  of  an  ex- 
hausted, but  of  a  new-bom  period.     Therefore  their  evil,  in  g^o^vth, 
would  be  eliminated — if  the  jwet  were  true,  and  if  his  ago  pursued 
nobility.    This  was  the  case  with  Browning,  and  the  growth  was  swift. 
In  *'  Paracelsus,"  published  two  years  later  than  "  Pauline,"  in  1835, 
the  Togne  thoughts  of  "  Pauline  "  had  taken  clear  form  :  the  poet 
ime  master  of  his  '  ideas,  and   gave    them    luminous  shape  ;  the 
vrt%  ran  in  one  direction  before  a  steady  wind. 
Simoltaneously  with  the   political    excitement  and  with   the  new 
p<^tic  movement  arose  a  theological  excitement  and  a  religious  reform. 
U  took  two  distinct  shapes.      One  looked  backward  to  find  the  per- 
fection \o  which  it  aspired  ;   the   other  looked  forward   to   a   like 
Y'    '  Both  wished  fn  bring  religion  home  to  the  people,  and 

til     i  al  effect  of  both  lias  been  great.     One  was  the  movement 

which  Newman  led,  and  the  other  the  movement  which  Maurice  led. 


144 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


The  OQly  thing  I  wish  to  mark  in  them  waa  common  to  both.  It 
their  passion,  their  eagerness,  their  sense  that  a  new  world 
beginning,  their  indignation  at  the  apathy  of  the  age  just  bebm^^iB 
them  in  all  matters  of  the  aoul  with  God,  of  the  nation  oonceiveA.  " 
having  a  duty  to  God.  "  Let  us  re-create  theology  and  religious  "Ms 
as  its  form,"  they  cried  ;  and,  what  is  more,  they  did  that  work.  A 

This  impulse,  unlike  the  politicnl  one,  could  unite  itself  to  poet'fcsi; 
and  express  its  more  iileal  portion  in  verse.  It  was  an  impulse  wt»_:5c 
had  to  do  with  the  soul,  with  boiiea,  ph'asures,  and  aspirations  bey c:»  n( 
the  world,  with  the  shaping  of  the  right  way  of  living,  with  Nature,  ■%?v^it2 
the  heart  of  man,  and  God.  It  was  immediately  taken  up  by  Brown i-K3g. 
It  was  not,  save  very  slightly,  taken  up  by  Tennyson  till  181>2,  wl:»en 
such  poems  as  the  "  Two  Voices  "  and  the  "  Vision  of  Sin  "  api^eare-^J ; 
till  1850,  when  "  In  Menioriam  "  concentrated  all  its  questions  xo^x'X^^ 
the  problem  of  loss  and  sorrow.  To  Browning,  on  the  contrary,  t.ii< 
whole  theological  matter  in  its  application  to  tlio  question,  "What 
the  meaning  and  the  end  of  this  life  ?"  was  always  dear,  Btnd  continu 
dear  to  him  for  more  than  half  a  century  of  work.  In  "  Paracelsn* 
the  way  he  meant  to  meet  the  problem  and  his  view  of  it  were  clear.? 
laid  down,  and  from  that  view  he  has  never  swerved.  What  he  sai 
there,  he  went  on  saying  in  a  hundred  different  fasliions  through  th  ^^ 
whole  of  his  poetic  life.  In  "Pauline"  we  have  the  same  view,  bu"^^ 
unshaped,  in  broken  bits,  like  elements  in  solution  •  uncombined,  bu^ 
waiting  the  flash  of  electricity  through  them,  which  will  mingle  them,, 
in  their  due  proportions,  into  a  composite  substance,  having  a  clear 
form,  and  capable  of  being  used  for  a  distinct  puqiose.  That  flash 
was  sent  through  the  confused  elements  of  "  Pauline,"  and  the  result 
was  "  Paracelsus." 

This  is  the  history  of  the  poet  at  his  beginning  in  relation  to  the 
time  at  which  he  began.  I  have  no  intention  of  dealing  with 
"  Paracelsus,"  or  with  the  wonderful  world  that  was  created  after  it. 
That  were  too  large  a  task  ;  for  surely  no  other  modern  poet  has  had 
a  greater  variety  than  Browning  w^ithin  his  well-defined  limits. 
Nor  can  I  attempt,  in  the  few  hours  given  me  to  write  this  article,  to 
define  the  main  lines  of  his  work,  or  the  main  characteristics  of  his 
genius.  That  should  be  the  result  of  some  months  of  careful  reading  of 
his  poems  as  a  whole,  and  of  careful  thought.  It  may  be  years, 
indeed,  before  we  can  stand  enough  apart  from  him,  and  from  that 
deceiving  atmosphere  of  the  contemporary,  to  see  clearly  what  he  has 
done,  to  give  it  its  just  value,  and  to  distinguish  those  powers  and 
their  pleasures  which  are  unique  in  it,  as  well  as  useful  for  the 
growth  of  the  imagination  and  the  soul  in  mam  The  dead,  who 
have  been  great,  pass  through  a  period  of  enthusiasm  for  their  work — 
then  of  depreciation  tif  it ;  and  then  from  the  balance  of  the  two 
extremes  arises  at  last  the  just  appreciation  which  allots  them  their 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


145 


true  place  in  the  temple  of  poetry.  Our  gitrndchildren  will  know 
tJie  judgment  of  time  on  Browning.  Only  one  thing  is  quite  clear. 
That  judgment  will  give  him  a  lofty  seat  and  a  distinct  one  ;  and  I 
believe,  if  I  may  venture  to  prophesy,  that,  among  the  whole  of  the 
English-speaking  peoples,  and  in  proportion  as  they  grow  in  thought,  in 
spirituality,  and  in  love  of  men  and  women,  the  recognition  and  the 
praise  of  the  main  lx)dy  of  Browning's  poetry  wUl  also  grow,  and 
grow  into  a  power  the  reach  of  which  we  cannot  as  yet  conceive. 

What  I  have  yet  to  say  will  be  taken  up  with   "  Pauline."     That 
ia    a  matter  small  enough   to  treat  of  in   an  article  so  necessarily 
occasional  as   this.      Nevertheless,   it    has    its  own    interest.     Had 
'*  Pauline  "  been  rejected  from  his  works  by  Browning — were  it  as  poor, 
aa   imitative,  as  the  first   efforts   of  poets  commonly  are,  we  should 
have  no  right  to  speak  of  it.     But  he  has  republished  it ;  he  felt 
there  was  stuff  below  its  immaturity;  he  knew  it  was  original  and  of 
itfi  time,  and   that  in  the  history  of  his  poetic  development  it  had 
a  distinct  place.    It  was  crude  and  extravagant ;  "  good  draughtsman- 
ship and  right  handling,"  he  says  himself,  "  were   far  beyond  the 
Mtiat   at    that    time ;  "  but    he    was    right,  though  "  with   extreme 
repugnance  and  purely  of  necessity,"  in  retaining  it.     It  is  valuable 
for  the  history  of  poetry,  and  it  ia  valuable  for  the  history  of  his  own 
^ebpment. 

It  is  a  fragment  of  a  larger  design  ;  of  a  poem  which  was  to  repre- 
sent, as  in  dramatic  contrast,  various  types  of  human  life.  Of  these 
types,  some  were  put  aside,  or  worked  up  afterwards  with  other  poems. 
''  Pauline  "  ia  the  presentation  of  the  type  of  the  poet. 

It  ifl  remarkable  that  even  at  the  age  of  twenty  years  Browning 
Jiad  chosen  one  of  his  methods,  and  chosen  it  for  life.  Even  to  his 
latest  book  he  pursued  this  contrasted  dramatization  of  characters, 
•*tting  type  over  against  type,  and  specialties  of  the  one  type  over 
■gvnBt  another,  without,  strange  to  say,  any  power  of  making  a  true 
dnma.  The  character  drawing  is  superb,  but  the  characters  do  not 
cU»h  or  cohere  to  form  a  dramatic  whole.  They  stand  apart,  like 
peaks  in  an  Alpine  range,  each  clear  and  proud,  but  the  attempt  to 
coordinate  them  fails.  Here  in  "  Pauline  "we  have  the  poet,  but  the 
poet  b  the  confused,  chaotic  time  of  which  I  have  spoken.  We  find 
^  Caught  by  love  and  hiding  in  his  love  from  a  past  he  longed  to 
'orget.  He  had  sought  wild  dreams  of  beauty  and  good,  strange  fair 
^orldg,  and  the  end  was  vanity.  The  past  was  dead,  but  its  ghost 
lunted  him  and  made  him  for  ever  restless — the  shame  of  failure, 
oT hopes  grown  craven,  was  ever  with  him.  Once  he  had  "sung  like 
one  entering  bright  halls,"  but  he  had  not  been  true  to  his  aspiration. 
He  had  fallen,  out  of  the  enthusiasm  which  took  him  beyond  himself, 
m^r  the  dominion  of  self,  and  all  the  glory  departed.  And  a  fine 
lile  of  hia  soul  as  ft  young  witch  whose  blue  eyes 

vol..  LVII.  K 


i4e 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jas. 


"  Ai>  she  stood  nnked  by  tbe  river  springs 
Drew  down  a  god," 

but  who,  as  he  sat  in  the  sunshine  on  her  knees  singing  of  heaven,  saw 
the  mockery  in  her  eyes,  and  vanished,  tells,  with  much  of  the  after-force 
of  Browning,  of  how  the  early  ravishment  departed,  slain  by  self-scom 
that  sprang  from  self-worship.  Then  he  tells,  in  contrast  with  this,  of  the 
reverence  and  love  he  had,  and  which  still  survives,  for  one  great 
poet  whom  he  calls  '*  Suntreader,"  and  who  may  be  Shelley,  and  this 
adoration  at  the  root  of  his  soal  keeps  him  "  not  wholly  lost."  To 
strengthen  this  self-forgetful  element,  the  love  of  Pauline  has  now  come, 
and  something  of  the  old  joy  returns.  A  new  impulse  has  arisen  on 
him  out  of  the  universe.      Let  me  take  it,  he  cries,  and  sing  on 

"  fast  iis  fancies  come  : 
Rudely,  the  veme  being  as  the  mood  it  paints  ,*'  * 

This  is  the  exordium,  and  it  is  Browning  all  over — the  soul  aspiring, 
the  failure  to  realize  the  aspiration,  the  despair ;  and  then  the  new 
impulse  coming  whence  men  know  not,  which  bids  the  soul  aspire  again. 
It  is  failure,  then,  that  makes  growth  possible,  and  bids  man,  uncon- 
tented, reach  upwards  to  God,  from  whom  the  new  impulse  has  come. 
Then  he  strips  his  mind  bare.  What  are  its  elements  ?  he  asks. 
The  first  is  (and  it  is  Browning's  conviction  concerning  all  men  and 
women — ^the  root  of  his  clear  impersonation  of  them  in  which  he 
excels  all  modem  poets)  an  intense  and  living  personality,  linked  to 
self-supremacy,  and  to  a  principle  of  restlessness 

"  Which  would  be  all,  have,  see,  know,  taste,  feel  all." 

But  this  would  plunge  him,  "  while  confined  in  clay,"  into  the  depths 
of  self,  were  it  not  that  imagination  also  is  there,  and  never  fails — 
imagination  which  bears  him  beyond  himself!     With  that  there  is 

also 

"  A  need,  a  trust,  a  yearning  after  God," 

wliich  forces  him  to  see  God  everywhere,  to  always  feel  His  presence, 
to  know,  even  when  most  lost,  that  One  beyond  him  is  acting 
in  him. 

Of  thesOj  imagination,  fed  by  ancient  books  and  tales,  made  him  crea- 
tive, so  that  he  vjois  aU  he  read  of— *'a  god  wandering  after  beauty,"  or 

"  a  high-crostcd  chief 
Sailing  with  troops  of  friends  to  Tenedos. " 

liTever  was  anything  more  clear  than  these  lives  out  of  himself,  never 
anything  clearer  than  what  he  saw — and  the  lines  in  which  he  re- 
cords the  vision  have  all  the  sharpness  and  beauty  of  his  after-work. 

*  A  line  which  lay."^  down  one  of  the  critical  rules  in  accordaticc  with  which  Browning 
wishcB  the  metrical  movement  of  his  verse  to  be  judged. 


i89o] 


ROBERT  BROIVNING. 


147 


"  Morn  .... 
On  t\w  dim  clustered  isles  in  tb6  blue  sea. 
The  deep  groves,  and  white  temples  and  \ret  cares  : 
And  nothing  ever  will  surprise  me  now — 
Who  stood  beside  the  naked  Swift-footed, 
Who  bound  my  forehead  with  Proserpine's  hair." 

"  Yet  it  is  strange,"  he  goes  on,  "  that  having  these  things — God 
in  me  urging  me  upwards,  imagination  making  mine  an  infinite  world, 
I  should  aim  bo  low,  seek  to  win  the  mortal  and  material,  strive  for 
the  possible,  not  the  impossible — even  while  there  was,  beyond  all  I 
could  conceive  of  myself  in  God,  '  a  vague  sense  of  powers  folded  up 
in  me/  which,  developed,  would  make  me  master  of  the  universe," 

But  now,  having  aimed  low,  he  fell  into  the  sensuous  life — and  re- 
morseful,  sought  in  self-restraint  peace — turning  the  mind  against 
itoelf;  but  there  was  no  rest  gained  thereby.  For  it  is  one  of 
Browning's  root  ideas  that  peace  is  not  gained  by  self-control,  but  by 
letting,  loose  passion  on  noble  things.  Not  in  restraint,  but  in  the 
conscious  impetuosity  of  the  soul  to  the  highest,  is  the  wisdom  of  l[fi\ 
A  hundred  after-poems  are  consecrated  to  this  idea. 

So,  giving  up  that,  the  poet  returned  to  song.  But  song  alone  did 
•-■■■y  content  him.  Music — the  music  of  which  Browning  alone,  with 
^liiton,  has  written  well,  and  the  love  of  which  appeared  in  this  first 
poem— claimed  him,  and  painting,  and  thon  the  study  of  the  great  poets, 
in  whom  he  "'  explored  passion  and  mind  for  the  first  time ; "  till  now 
hia  soul,  fed  at  these  great  springs,  rose  into  keen  life ;  all  his  powers 
burst  forth,  and  he  gazed  on  nil  things,  all  systems  and  schemes, 
and  heard  ineffable  things  nngue.'^Bed  by  man.  Tlien  he  vowed  him- 
self to  liberty,  to  the  new  world  that  liberty  was  to  bring,  where 

"  Men  were  to  be  aa  gnd^,  and  earth  a»  heaven." 

All  Plato  entered  into  him  ;  it  seemed  he  had  the  key  to  life ;  his 
M>nl  rose  to  meet  the  glory  he  conceived. 

And  then  he  turned  to  ])rove  his  thoughts,  taraed  to 

"  Men  and  their  cares  and  hopfs  and  tears  and  joys  ; 
.\nd  as  I  pondered  on  tbeni  all  I  sought 
How  liertt  life's  end  might  We  attained— an  end 
Comprising  every  joy." 


Bnt  as  he  looked  the  glory  vanished,  as  if  it  were  a  dream  dissolved  by 
the  touch  of  reality : 

^B  "  I  said  'twas  beautiful 

^B  Vet  but  n  dream — and  <o  adieu  to  tt  ! 

W     Bat, 


First  went  my  hopes  of  perfecting  manlcind. 
And  faith  in  them,  then  freedom  in  itself 
And  virtnc  in  itself,  and  tlien  my  motivcii,  endti 
And  powers  and  loves,  and  himiaii  love  went  last. 


Sat,    Btrange  to    say,   this  seemed  his  suoceas ;  he  had  gained  the 
^rorld.     As  old  feelings  left,  new  powers  came — wit,  mockery,  int* Uec- 


148 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


Uas 


tiial  force,  a  grasp  on  knowledge ;  and  they  were  his  because  that 
aspiration  for  the  unknowable  had  gone.  God,  too,  had  vanished  in 
this  satisfaction^  and  in  the  temple  where  He  had  been  knelt  troops 
of  shadows,  and  they  cried— Hail,  King ! 

Then,  as  the  position  given  above  is  like  that  which  Wordawort.h 
relates  as  his,  when  after  the  vanishing  of  bis  expectations  from  the 
French  Revolution  he  found  himself  without  love  but  with  keen 
powers  of  analysing  human  nature — and  was  destroyed  thereby — bo 
the  passage  which  follows,  and  which  is  exceedingly  remarkable,  is 
built  on  the  same  theme  as  that  which  Tennyson  has  used  in  the 
"  Palace  of  Art " : 

"  The  stkadowa  cry, 
'  We  serve  thee  now,  and  thou  shalt  serve  no  more  .' 
Call  on  Ds,  prove  us,  let  us  worship  thee  !  ' 

And  I  said — '  Are  ye  strong  !     Let  fancy  bear  me 
Far  from  the  past.'     And  1  was  borne  away 
As  Arab  birds  float  sleeping  in  the  wind. 
O'er  deserts,  towers  ana  forests,  I  being  calm  ; 
And  I  said,  'I have  nursed vp  tnerffien, 
Thri/  mill  prey  on  me.'     And  a  band  knelt  low 
Anil  cried  '  Lord,  we  are  here  and  wc  will  make 
A  way  for  thee  in  thine  appointed  life  I 
(>  look  on  us  I '     And  I  saiil,  •  Ye  will  worship 
Me;  bnt  my  heart  must  worship  too.'  " 

He  is  not  yet,  however,  wholly  lost  in  seir.  The  plaguing  which 
drove  the  soul  in  thu  "Palace  of  Art"'  into  despair  begins  here 
in  the  felt  necessity  of  worshi[).  The  shadows  know  that  this  feeling 
is  against  them,  and  they  shout  in  answer : 

"  Thyself,  thou  art  nur  king  !  " 

But  the  end  of  that  is  misery,     Hi.'j  success  is  liis  ruin. 

Still  the  effort  to  realize  all  success  on  earth  goes  on.  "I  will 
make  every  joy  mine  own,  and  then  die,"  he  cries  ;  "  I  will  be  a  poet 
whom  the  world  will  love,  and  find  in  that  earthly  love,  satisfaction  ; 
I  will  have  full  joy  in  music,  in  old  lore  loved  for  itself  j  all  the 
radiant  sights  of  Nature — all  human  love  shall  be  mine.  My  fulness 
shall  be  on  earth." 

Yet,  "  when  all's  done,  how  vain  Beems  all  succefis";  the  curse  of 
decay  and  perishing  is  on  it  all.  "  And  now,"  he  cries,  "that  I  love 
thee,  Pauline,  I  know  in  touching  the  intiuit-e  of  love,  that  I  cannot 
rest  in  these  successes  of  earth ;  I  cannot  accept,  finality  "  : — 

•'  Sonls  alter  not,  .ind  mini>  must  progress  -till ; 
1  cannot  chain  my  soul,  it  will  not  rest 
In  its  clay  prison. 
It  lias  strange  powers  and  feelings  and  desires  ; 

They  live, 
Referring  to  some  state  or  life  they  live  unknown.". 

Therefore  he  tries  for  the  infinite — but  still  he  will  have  it  on  earth. 
He  will  have  ont^  rapture  to  fill  all  the  siml ;  he  will  have  all  knowledge. 
He  will  live  in  all  beauty.  He  will  liave  a  perfect  human  soul  which  at 
some  great  crisis  in  human  history  ^all   break  forth,  and  lead,  and 


•«9o] 


ROBERT  RROIVNING. 


oonquer  for,  the  world.  But  when  he  triwa,  everywhere  he  is  limited, 
his  aoul  demands  what  his  body  refuaea ;  everywhere  he  is  baffled, 
maddened,  falling  short,  chained  down,  unable  to  use  what  he  conceives, 
to  (prasp  what  he  can  reach  in  thought,  hating  himself,  imagining  what 
he  might  be,  and  driven  back  from  it  into  despair. 

What  does  this  puzzle  mean  ?     It  means  "  this  earth  is  not  my 

»her©  "— 

"  For  I  cannot  so  narrow  me  bat  that 
I  still  exceed  it." 


"  Yet,"  he  continues,  '•  I  will  not  yet  give  up  the  earth.  I  liave  lived 
in  all  human  life ;  it  is  not  enough  to  satisfy  the  undying  craving 
in  me.  Nature  remains,  and  perhaps  in  her  beauty  I  may  find  rest.  I 
oan  live  in  all  its  life;  "  and,  as  he  thinks,  he  is  carried  away  by  the  pas- 
sion of  external  beauty  mingled  with  his  love  for  Pauline.  "  Come  with 
me,"  he  cries,  "  out  of  the  world,"  and  there  follows  a  noble  passage 
of  natural  description  clearly  and  subtly  invented,  morning,  noon,  and 
evening,  with  their  colours  and  theii*  movement,  seen  and  felt  as  he 
and  Pauline  pass  upwards  through  the  changing  scenery  of  a  mountain 
glen  ;  a  passage  fall  of  manj^  of  those  sharpened  points  of  description 
in  which  Browning,  all  his  poetry  through,  concentrates  the  sentiment 
of  a  landscapxj! — and  the  passion  of  the  whole  rises  till  it  reaches  the 
height  of  eagerhess  and  joy,  when  suddenly  the  whole  firf  of  it  is 
rxtincrtiiahed  : 

"  I  caunot  be  immortal,  nor  ta^tc  all. 

0  God,  wLero  does  this  tend — these  .ntrnggling'  aims  ? 
WImt  wonld  I  have  1  What  is  this  tkep  which  .seems 
To  bound  all  1    Can  there  be  a  leaking  point 

Of  CTOWninj:  life  1    The  soul  would  never  rule  ; 
It  woold  be  first  in  all  things,  it  would  have 
Its  utmoKt  pleasure  tilled,  but,  that  complete, 
Commanding,  for  commanding,  sickens  it. 
The  laat  point  I  can  truce  is.  rest,  beneath 
Borne  belter  essence  than  itself,  in  weakness  ; 
Thw  is  mytclf,  not  what  I  think  should  be : 
And  what  i.n  that  I  hiingifr  fur  hut  God  ? 
My  God,  my  God,  let  me  for  once  look  op  thee 
Ab  tboogh  nought  else  existed,  'WC  idono  ! 
And  as  creation  crumbles,  my  souIb  spark 
Expands  till  I  can  say, — Even  from  myself 

1  need  thee  and  I  feci  thee  and  I  love  thee  ; 
]  lio  not  plead  my  rapture  in  thy  works 
Kur  love  of  tlice,  nor  that  I  feel  ah  one 
^Vho  cannot  die  ;  but  there  is  that  in  nie 
Wuch  turns  to  thee,  which  loves  or  which  i<l)ould  love. 
Why  have  1  girt  inyMlf  with  this  hell-dress? 
Why  have  I  laboured  to  put  out  my  life! 
Take  from  me  powers  and  pleasures,  let  me  die 
Ages,  eo  I  sec  thee  ! 
•  •••••• 

All  that  errs 
b  a  atmngc  dream  which  death  will  dissipate." 

___     ity  has  risen  on  him  again,  he  makes  an  end  in  perfect  joy. 

fTTlBlieve,"  he  cries,   '•  in  God  and   truth  and  love.      Know  my  last 

is  happy,  free  from  doubt  or  touch  of  fear." 


150 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[Jax. 


This,  again,  is  Browning  all  over.  These  are  the  motives  of 
"  Paracelsus,"  of  "  Easter  Day,"  of  "  Abt  Vogler,"  of  "  Andrea  del 
Sarto,"  of  "  Waring  "— 

"  Oh.  never  star 
Woi  lost  here,  but  It  rose  afar  1 " 

of  a  hundred  poems — motives  wrought  out  with  aBtonishing  variety^ 
in  characters  of  men  and  women  who  loved  nature  and  knowledge  and 
art  and  love  :  motives  consistently  kept  from  youth  to  age,  the  child, 
in  these,  the  father  of  the  man ;  never  better  shaped,  nor  with  greater 
force  and  individuality  than  at  the  trenchant  and  magnificent  end  of 
"Easter  Day/' where  the  questions  and  answers  are  like  the  clashing  of 
sharp  scimitars.  Take  the  close,  when  driven  from  all  earthly  suc- 
ceasea,  and  Jinding  that  to  stay  in  them  was  to  stay  in  ruin  of  lie 
soul,  he  breaks  forth  : 

'■  Thon  love  of  God  I     Or  let  me  die. 
Or  ^raul  what  simll  seem  Heaven  almost  1 
Let  mu  uot  know  that  all  is  lost. 
Though  lost  it  be — leave  me  not  tied 
To  Miis  despjiir,  this  corjiNC-like  bride  ! 
I,et  tbat  old  life  seein  niinu— no  more — 
With  limitation  as  before, 
With  darknpss,  hunger,  toll,  distress  ; 
Be  all  the  esirth  a  wildemi'ss ! 
Only  let  me  go  on,  go  on, 
Still  hoping  ever  and  nnon 
To  reach  one  eve  the  Better  Land." 

Out  of  the  same  quarry,  then,  from  which  '*  Pauline  "  was  hewn,  were 
hewn  all  the  rest.  The  interest  of  this  early  poem  is  that  the  blocks 
are  of  similar  shape  to  those  which  were  afterwards  used,  and  of  the 
same  stuflF.  But  the  stones,  though  quarried  oat,  are  only  roughly 
hewn,  unsculptnred  with  ornament,  not  fitted  to  each  other,  lying  as  it 
were  loose  about  the  <|uarry — as  indeed  in  the  confiised  time  at  which 
the  poet  then  livetl  tliey  were  likely  to  be. 

It  pleasures  us  thus  to  see  the  first  shaping  of  unorganized  thought, 
v'hcn  the  thinker  has  afterwards  built  them  into  a  nobly  archit«ctured 
temple,  when  he  has  been  foithful  to  his  first  conceptions  and  perfected 
them.  Few  have  been  so  consistent  as  Robert  Browning,  few  have 
been  so  true  to  their  early  inspirations.     He  is  among  those  men 

■'  Wlio,  when  brought 
Among  the  ta.sks  of  real  life,  hath  wrouglit 
Upon  the  ]>3an  that  pleased  his  boyish  Ihonght." 

It  is  well,  with  this  in  our  minds — it  has  been  well,  with  a  desire 
to  realize  this  constancy  of  purpose  and  effort,  to  look  back  to  his 
first  book  now  that  he  has  gone  from  us  beyond  the  antechamber 
into  the  plenitude  of  the  spaceless  Palace.  Then  we  feel  how  steady, 
how  fulfilled  his  life  has  been.  Fifty-seven  years  of  creative  labour ! 
When  we  think  of  that,  we  rather  rejoice  than  mourn.  Indeed,  there  ia 
nothing  to  mourn  for  in  such  a  death  coming  on  such  a  life.  It  was 
a  life   lived   fully,  kindly,  lovingly,  and  at  its  just  height  from  the 


««9o3 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


beginning  to  the  end.     No  fear,  no  vanity,    no  lack  of  interest,  no 

complaint  of  the  world,  no  anger  at  criticism,  no  **  villain  fancies,"  no 

laziness,  no  feebleness  in  effort,  no  desire  for  money,  no  faltering  of 

aspiration,  no  pandering  of  his  gift  and  genius  to  please  the  world,  no 

surrender  of  art;  for  the  sake  of  fame  or  filthy  lucre,  no   falseness  to 

his  ideal,  no  base  pessimism,  no  slavery  to  science  yet  no  boastful 

if^piorance  of  its  good,  no  despair  of  men — no  retreat  from  men  into 

»  world  of  sickly  or  vain  beauty,  no  abandonment  of  the  great  ideas 

or  disbelief  in   tiieir  mastery,  no  enfeeblement  of  reason,  such  as  at 

this   time    walks  hand-in-hand  with  the  warship  of    the  discursive 

intellect — no    lack    of    joy  and  healthy    vigour,    and  keen  inquiry 

and    passionate    interest    in    humanity — scarcely    any    special    bias 

rnnning    through    the    whole  of    his  work,    an  incessant  change  of 

subject   and  manner  combined  with  a  strong  bat  not  overweening 

individoality  which,  like  blood  through  the  body,   ran  through  every 

vein    of  his   labour  :   creative  and    therefore  joyful,    receptive   and 

therefore    thoughtful,   at    one  with   humanity   and  therefore  loving, 

aspiring  to  God  and  believing  in  God  and  therefore  steeped   to  the 

lips  in  radiant  hope ;  at  one   with    the  past,    passionate    with   the 

praaent,  and  possessing  by  faith  an  endless  and  glorious  future — it 

was  a  life  lived  on  the  top  of  the  wave  and  moving  with  its  motion 

fi%jTtx  youth  to  manhood,  from  manhood  to  old  age ! 

Why  should  we  mourn  that  he  is  gone  ?  Nothing  merely  feeble  has 
been  done,  nothing  which  lowers  the  note  of  his  life,  nothing  we  can 
regret  as  less  than  his  native  dignity  of  soul.  The  imaginative  power 
has  varied  throagh  many  degrees,  as  in  all  artists,  but  it  never  wholly 
failed,  it  never  lost  its  aspiration,  it  never  lost  its  pleasure  in  creation, 
it  never  painfully  sought  for  subjects.  It  was  nourished  by  a  love 
of  beauty  in  nature,  and  by  a  love  of  love  in  man  and  of  his 
wondrous  ways,  which  was  as  keen  in  age  as  it  was  in  early  manhood. 
Hia  last  book  is  like  the  last  look  of  the  Phcenix  to  the  sun  before 
the  sunlight  enkindles  the  odorous  pyre  from  which  the  new  created 
bird  will  spring. 

And,  as  if  the  Mnse  of  Poetry  wished  to  adorn  the  image  of  hia 
death)  he  passed  away  amid  a  world  of  beauty  and  in  the  midsb  of 
a  world  endeared  to  him  by  love.  ItAly  was  his  second  country. 
In  Florence  lies  the  wife  of  hia  heart  j  in  every  city  he  had 
friends,  friends  not  only  among  men  and  women,  but  friends  in 
eiveay  fold  of  Apennine  and  Alp,  in  every  breaking  wave  of  the  blue 
MiBditerranean,  in  every  forest  of  pines,  in  every  church  and  palace 
Bfid  town-hall,  in  every  painting  that  great  art  had  wrought,  in 
erery  storied  market-place,  in  every  great  life  which  had  adorned, 
hooonred,  and  made  romantic  Italy,  the  great  mother  of  beauty,  at 
whose  breasts  have  hnng  and  whose  milk  have  sucked  all  the  arts  and 
all  the  literatures  of  modern  Europe.  In  Italy  he  died,  and  in  Venice. 
Sea  and   sky  and   city   and  mountain  glory  encompassed  him   with 


152 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Ja.v 


loveliness,  and  their  soft  graciouanesa,  their  temj>erate  power  of  joy 
and  life  made  his  death  easy.  There  is  nothing  ?  which  is  not  fair 
about  his  departure,  nothing  unworthy  of  him,  nolhing  which  leaves 
behind  one  trace  of  pain.  Why  s:hould  we  mourn  him  ?  Strong  in 
Hfe,  his  death  was  gracious.  Mankind  is  fortunate  to  have  so  noble  a 
memory.  r  / 

Nor  has  ho  left  undone  that  which  gives  to  us^  further  right  to 
think  happily  of  his  death.  He  has  left  behind  him  a  religions  lore 
of  life,  based  on  faith  in  a  life  to  come.  It  is  well  that  both  our 
greatest  poeta  in  England,  that  is,  the  two  greatest  men  in  all  our 
modem  England,  men  whose  power  will  be  ever  young  when  every 
other  name  in  the  last  hundred  years  will  be  with  difficulty  remem- 
bered— for  the  Poet  is  the  eternal  Power — it  is  \wll,  that  both,  in 
an  age  whose  intellect  and  imagination  have  been  ?io*Veakened  by 
outside  knowledge,  that  it  has  become  unable  or  unwiling  to  see  God, 
and  has  no  shame  in  claiming  utter  death  as  the^rtrue  repose  of 
men — should  both  maintain  for  us  the  mighty  trulhs  of  Gkid's 
fatherhood  and  man's  perfection  beyond  death.  , 

In  a  material  world,  in  a  world  which  claims  the  -  Xsoning  of  tJie 
xmderstanding,  apart  from  emotion,  as  the  judge  of  all  hings,  Brown- 
ing never  faltered  in  his  claim  of  the  spiritual  as  the  firs-'  as  the  master 
in  human  nature,  nor  in  bis  faith  of  God  with  us,  m  king,  guiding, 
loving  us,  and  crowning  us  at  last  with  righteousnes  md  love.  In 
a  world,  the  knowledge  of  whose  educated  men  is  c  ^fly  concerned 
with  the  knowledge  of  death,  the  passion  of  which  is  ciiiefly  absorbed 
in  gathering  treasure  which  the  moth  and  the  rust  corrupt, 'the  ideas 
of  whose  upper  classes  are  decaying,  which  fears  the  fv  ture  and  clings 
to  the  past  as  if  the  morning  were  there ;  whose  culti  <  is  criticism, 
and  whose  outlook  in  life  is  too  often  the  outlook  cynicism  or 
Borrow  or  despair,  for  it  sees  nought  but  death  at  1  t  as  absolute 
monarch — this  poet  held  up  the  blazing  torch  of  L  ?  in  God,  of 
aspiration  to  that  life,  of  an  ineffable  glory  whir  v  was  to  fill 
humanity.  He  kept  his  contempt  for  hopelessness,  lis  hatred  for 
despair,  his  joy  for  eager  hope,  his  faith  in  perfection,  lis  pity  for  all 
effort  which  only  claimed  this  world,  for  all  love  wHlch  ^as  content  to 
begin  and  end  on  earth — his  reproof  for  all  goodness  and  beauty 
which  was  content  to  die  for  ever.  It  is  a  mighty  legacy  to  leave 
behind. 

And  now  Paracelsus  has  "  attained." 

"  If  I  stoop 
Into  a  dark  trcmciidous  sea  of  cloud, 
It  is  but  for  a  time;  I  press  God's  lamp 
Close  to  my  breas«t  ;  its  splendour,  soon  or  lat c 
Will  pierce  ithe  plooir\:  I  shall  emerge  uui;  di>\ . 
You  undcrstaixl  me  I    1  have  said  enough." 


STOn-uHI> 


'.ROOKI 


^^liicl 


"  rpIlE  keynote  of  Britiali  politics  just  now,"  said  an  eminfTit  mau 
A.  to  me  lately,  *'  ia  that  it  is  pai-ochial.  If  it  desires  anythiuy 
it  plots  to  obtain  it,  like  a  vestryman,  below  the  mai*ket  price."  But 
the  price  of  a  thing,  we  may  bo  assured,  is  on  a  scale  with  its  yalue, 
tnd  with  a  low  price  we  are  apt  to  get  a  damagwl  article.  The 
imperial  spirit  which  cheerfiilly  makes  a  present  sacrifice  for  a  remote 
ettd,  the  national  finance  which  sows  seed  for  the  future,  have  almost 
(iimppeared.  If  we  want  something  that  would  confessedly  be  a 
great  gain — the  federation  of  the  Colonies,  for  example,  the  federa- 
tioa  of  the  Empire,  or  the  pacification  of  Ireland — the  partisana  of 
tie  scheme  assure  us  that  it  will  cost  next  to  nothing,  while  its 
•opponents  clamour  that  if  this  disastrous  thing  be  done  the  British 
lyer  will  mayhap  have  to  disburse  another  penny  in  tl^e  pound, 
financing  may  be  ''  according  to  Cocker,"  but  it  has  ceased  to  be 
rding  to  Chatham.  We  will  neither  pay  nor  play  ;  a  great  design 
i!»  sore  to  be  troublesome,  and  the  vestryman  thinks  it  can  wait,  and 
•t  any  rate  he  flatters  himself  it  is  some  one  else's  business. 

The  federation  of  the  Australian  colonies  concerns  British  interests 
tios^r  tlian  any  question  for  which  we  keep  ambassadors  at  Berlin  or 
J'ans,  and  the  colonists  are  exhorted  from  time  to  time  in  eloquent 
■tides  to  overcome  the  hindrances  which  impede  it — hindmnces 
'liich  it  is  tolerably  certain  they  cannot  overcome  without  assistanct' 
withoot.  The  federation  of  the  Empire,  if  it  is  postjMjnfd 
"util  after  the  next  European  war,  will  probably  never  take  place 
*hile  Uje  world  lasts.  But  we  are  warned,  in  the  highest  political 
iuart<^'rg.  that  we  must  not  be  impatient ;  we  ought  to  wait,  it  seeme, 
fof  what  Providence  will  send,  as  the  little  politicians  of  the  nursery 
••it  for  what  Santa  Glaus  or  Epiphany  will  drop  into  their  stockings. 
TOL.  Lvn.  L 


154 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Feb. 


This  was  not  the  method  of  Burke  or  Chatham.  They  brooded 
over  State  problems  till  a  solution  was  found,  and  straightway 
strove  with  all  their  strength  to  create  the  essential  means  and 
agencies  that  the  end  might  follow.  It  was  not  by  the  modem 
method  that  the  British  Empire,  or  any  empire,  was  ever  made ;  and 
not  so  can  it  be  held  together.  If  the  British  taxpayer  cannot  look 
sacrifice  cheerfQlly  in  the  face  for  adequate  ends,  if  the  British 
statesman  cannot  draw  all  the  scattered  or  discontented  fragments  of 
the  Empire  into  one  confederacy  at  any  present  cost,  a  penalty  little 
dreamed  of  will  have  to  be  paid  by-and-by  for  their  incapacity  or 
neglect. 

A  rapidly  increasing  number  of  thoughtful  men,  at  home  and  in* 
the  colonies,  are  persuaded  that  Imperial  Federation  is  not  a  question; 
for  some  remote  future,  but  for  the  present.  Before  it  can  come  in 
any  intelligible  shape,  however,  the  Aiustralian  and  African  group* 
must  each  of  them  be  brought  under  the  authority  of  a  supremej 
Legislature,  entitled  to  negotiate  on  their  behalf.  This  is  the  first! 
and  indispensable  step,  and  the  way  is  barred  by  embarrassing  im- 
f)6dimentB.  But  they  are  impedimenta  which  a  child  can  see,  and  a 
statesman  could  remove.  They  are  not  new  or  nnexampled ;  quitei 
otherwise,  they  are  as  old  as  hiat,ary.  Thpy  forbade  the  union  of  tha 
Greek  States  two  thousand  years  ago,  and  of  the  Italian  States  five 
centuries  ago,  but  were  overcome  in  later  times  by  the  authority  ol 
George  Washington  and  the  genius  of  Alexander  Hamilton.  They* 
are  simply  local  jealousies,  and  they  only  await  the  intervention  of 
an  umpire  whom  the  dissentients  can  all  respect  and  trust.  This  is; 
^he  sine  qvA  lum  of  colonial  agreement.  Where  is  this  umpire  to  b© 
foand  ?  Colonists  smiled  somewhat  sardonically,  it  may  be,  at  the 
exuberant  hopes  of  the  London  press  a  couple  of  months  ago  that  Sir 
Henry  Parkes  was  the  essential  man.  They  knew  that  whatever 
way  Federation  may  come,  there  was  slight  probability  of  its  coming 
in  that  way. 

Sir  Henry  Parkes  is  a  man  of  great  ability,  and  sincerely  desires 
the  end  he  proposes.  He  has  been  a  constant  friend  of  Federation 
lindeed  for  thirty  years,  but  it  is  a  curious  phenomenon  that  probably 
Ihe  alone  of  all  his  class  in  Australia  does  not  recognize  the  fact  that 
he  has  rendered  himself  impossible  as  a  mediator.  No  one  has  dona 
more  to  sow  the  local  jealousies  which  it  is  the  main  business  of  an 
umpire  to  appease.  Here  are  a  couple  of  recent  instances.  The 
Colonial  Office,  in  the  old,  arbitrary,  blundering  days,  in  fixing  the 
'boundaries  between  New  South  Wales  and  Port  Philip  (now: 
Victoria),  gave  the  control  of  the  great  river  that  divides  them 
exclusively  to  the  elder  colony.  It  was  as  if  some  boundary  commis- 
sion assigned  the  exclusive  control  of  the  Tliames  to  Surrey,  ignoring 
the  claims  of  Middlesex.  The  waters  of  the  river  have  been  recently 
ased  for  irrigation  by  the   enterprising  population  of  "Victoria,  i 


t«9o]    THE   ROAD    TO   AUSTRALIAN  FEDERATION. 

after  the  example  of  Egypt  aud  Italy  they  design  to  make  imtneaee 
tracts  covBred  with  a  wortliless  scrub  blossom  like  the  orchards  of 
iJevon&hire ;  or,  if  this  hope  be  too  extravagant,  at  any  rat©  to  render 
thfim  tit  for  human  use.  But  the  Prime  ^Minister  of  New  South 
Wales  did  not  bless  this  beneficent  work.  On  the  contrary,  he 
lint^rposed,  declaring  that  his  colony  owned  the  water,  and  was 
[S&tjtled  to  forbid  the  waste  of  it  on  Victoria  enterprises.  Fancy 
Snrrey  forbidding  London  to  quench  her  thirst  from  the  waters  of 
htT  private  river,  and  you  will  understand  the  feeling  excited  on  the 
southern  side  of  tlie  Murray.  A  little  earlier  Sir  Henry  bethought  him 
that  the  name  of  his  colony  was  unsuitable  and  unsatisfactory.  And 
no  ilnubt  it  is.  New  South  Wales  is  a  ridiculous  name  for  a  country 
Inrger  than  the  British  Islands,  and  containing  cities  in  which  the 
whole  population  of  the  Principality  might  be  housed.  The  need  of 
11  change  had  been  debated  for  thirty  years,  and  it  was  one  very  proper 
tfl  be  made,  for  no  Australian,  we  may  be  assured,  ever  consented  to 
c»]l  himself  a  New-South-Welshman.  There  was  a  good  stock  of 
suitable  names  available,  but  Sir  Henry  pushed  them  aside,  and 
gravely  proposed  to  his  Parliament  to  change  the  name  of  the  colony 
fnim  New  South  Wales  to  Australia.  The  old  penal  settlement  of 
B(;t,Hny  Bay,  and  the  prosperous  colony  of  which  it  is  the  capital, 
w«T(f  to  be  Australia,  and  the  colonies  planted  by  the  free  enter- 
prise of  free  men  were  to  be  content  with  the  names  bestowed  upon 
^hm.  from  London  in  the  colonial  middle  ages.  A  jocose  legislator 
it  Melbonme  suggested  that  if  the  object  was  to  distinguish  their 
•miiory  from  Victoria,  they  might  call  it  Convictoria.  If  the 
'"  'iii)^rB  for  Yorkshire  brought  a  Bill  into  the  House  of  CommouB  to 
cater  on  that  important  county  the  name  of  England,  leaving  the 
lining  fragments  of  the  island  which  had  hitherto  borae  that 
tie  to  be  content  with  their  local  designations,  it  is  not  probable 
the  measure  would  become  law ;  and  Sir  Henry's  proix>sal 
oBturally  came  to  nothing.  It  was  never  a  danger  indeed,  for  the 
'  1  certainly  have  been   vetoed  by  any  Secretary  of  Slate  for 

.:-s  since  Lord  Glenelg;  but  it  was  an  insult,  and  it  damaged 
^h»  proposer's  reputation  for  practical  statesmanship  and  rendered 
for  the  time  being,  and  probably  for  all  time,  an  ira|X)ssible 
under  of  an  Australian  dominion.  U  he  lives  a  dozen  years  he 
n»*y  bo  a  leading  member  of  a  Dominion  Parliament,  but  he  will  not 
the  Fundaloi' ;  other  and  newer  men  will  reap  the  harvest  which 
helped  to  sow  long  ago. 

If  the  time  has  come  to  consider  how  an  Australian  confederacy 
btt  initiated,  it  will  be  worth  while  to  glance  back  at  the  im- 
ikt«  which  the  idea  has  encountered  hitherto.     Like  Hercules 
WM  attacked  in  its  cradle,  and  has  been  a  good  deal  buffeted  by 
«•  well  as  enemies  from  that  time  forth. 

W.tit worth    was    tlie    first    Australian    statesman.      His 


laS 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


tr«D. 


father,  Mr.  D'Arcy  Wentworth,  an  Irish  gentleman  in  the  public 
service  at  Sydney,  sent  him  to  England  for  education,  and  ho 
returned  from  Cambridge  with  a  good  stock  of  ideas  and  a  generoua 
jimbition.  He  founded  a  newepapor,  organized  the  memorable 
Patriotic  Aesociatiou,  and  by  his  speeches  in  the  Legislative  Council 
inflamed  the  populationj  free  and  convict,  with  tho  desire  for  social 
improvement  and  political  liberty.  It  was  he  who  framed  tbo  Con- 
stitution for  New  South  Wales  which,  with  slight  modifications,  has 
been  adopted  in  all  the  Australian  colonies.  In  this  instrument, 
Mr.  Wentworth  desired  to  insert  a  provision,  enabling  the  colonies  to 
federate  whenever  they  were  ready  and  willing  to  do  so  ;  ibr  from 
the  beginning  he  desired,  in  his  own  words  to  create,  "a  new 
Britannia  in  another  world."  In  1849,  the  Privy  Council,  reporting 
on  Australian  affairs,  recommended  that  one  of  the  governors  should 
be  appointed  Governor-General,  and  entrusted  with  the  authority  to 
convene  a  General  Assembly  of  Australia  in  any  part  of  her  Majesty's 
Australian  possessions  which  he  might  consider  most  convenient  when- 
ever the  need  arose,  or  he  was  invited  to  act  by  the  Legislative 
Assemblies  of  two  colonies.  Wentworth  rejKJatedly  pressed  the 
advantage  of  such  a  slumbering  power  on  the  Im|>6rial  Government. 
The  Legislative  Conucil  of  Victoria  came  to  his  aid,  echoing  the  same 
advice.  But  the  ignorant  fear  of  colonists  which  then  prevailed  at 
Westminster  was  too  strong  for  them.  They  got  a  dose  of  ofTicial 
slip-slop  instead  of  the  thing  they  asked  for,  and  the  simplest  and 
easiest  method  of  initiating  concerted  action  for  common  purposes  was 
snatched  out  of  the  hands  of  the  colonists.* 

But  the  moment  they  obtained  organs  throngh  which  to  make 
themselves  heard,  the  colonists  took  the  matter  into  their  own  hands. 
The  local  parliaments  assembled  for  the  first  time  in  185G,  and  in 
January  1857  tho  Legislative  Assembly  of  Victoria  appointed  a 
Select  Committee  to  consider  the  expediency  of  establisbinu'  i\  Federal 
Union  amongst  the  Australian  colonies,  and  the  best  means  of  attain- 
ing that  end.  The  members  were  selected  from  both  political  parties, 
and  it  must  be  admitted  they  were  well  selected.  Out  of  twelve 
persons,  then  all  with  a  single  exception  private  members,  three 
afterwards  held  the  office  of  Prime  Minister,  and  six  filled  the 
important  posts  of  Treasurer,  Attorney-General,  Minister  of  Public 
Lands  or  Commissioner  of  Customs,  and  another  became  a  Cabinet 
Minister  in  England.f     The  Committee,  after  prolonged  considera- 

•  "  I  ne-ed  scarcely  say,  that  tho  question  of  introducing  into  the  measuTca  lately 
before  Parliament  cLiuscs  to  establish  a  Federal  Union  of  the  Australian  colonies  for 
purposes  of  common  interests  ha.s  been  very  seriously  weighed  by  her  Majesty's 
Government :  but  they  have  been  led  to  the  conclusion  tliat  tho  present  is  not  a 
proper  opportunity  for  such  enactment,  although  they  will  give  the  fuUfst  considera- 
tion to  propositions  on  the  Rubject  which  may  emanate  m  concurrence  from  the 
respective  Legi^'l^ltures." — IjordJolm  Huttdl't  detpatch. 

•f  The  Select  Committee  consisted  of  the  following  persons ; — Mr.  Gavan  Daffy, 


i89o]    THE   ROAD    TO    AUSTRALIAN  FEDERATION.       157 


tion,  adopted  a  Report  declaring  that  the  interests  and  houour  of  the 
colonies  would  be  promoted  by  the  establishment  of  a  system  of 
mntnal  action  and  co-operation  among  them. 

"  Their  interest  suffers  [says  the  Report],  and  must  continue  to  Bufter, 
while  competing  tariffs,  naturalisation  laws,  and  land  systems,  rival  schemes 
of  immigration,  and  of  ocean  postage,  a  clumsy  and  inefficient  method  of 
communicating  with  each  other  and  with  the  Home  Government  on  public 
l>asinesR,  and  a  distant  and  exf)en8ive  system  of  judicial  appeal  exist ;  and 
the  honour  and  importance  which  constitute  so  essential  an  element  of 
national  prosperity,  and  the  absence  of  which  invites  aggression  fn>m 
foreign  enemies,  cannot  perhaps  in  this  generation  Iwlong  to  any  single 
colony  of  the  Southern  Group  ;  but  may,  and  we  are  jwi-suaded  would,  be 
speedily  attained  by  an  Australian  Federation  representing  the  entire." 

Some  adyantages  of  immediate  Federation  were  suggested,  which 
time  has  since  aliown  to  be  real  and  substantiaU 

"  Neighbouring  States  [it  was  s^iid]  of  the  second  oi-der  inevitably  become 
wnf&lerates  or  enemies;.  By  becoming  confederates  so  early  in  their  career, 
Ibe  Australian  colonies  would,  we  believe,  immeu.sely  economise  their 
strength  and  resources.  They  would  substitute  a  common  national  interettt 
lor  local  and  conflicting  interests,  and  waste  no  more  time  in  barren  rivalry. 
Tliey  would  enhance  the  national  credit,  and  attain  much  earlier  the  power 
of  tuidertaking  works  of  serious  cost  an<l  importince.  They  would  not  only 
«i''e  lime  and  money,  but  attain  increased  vigour  and  accuracy,  by  treating 
the  larger  questions  of  public  policy  at  one  time  and  place  ;  and  in  an 
Aiaemlily  which,  it  may  be  presumed,  would  consLst  of  the  wisest  and  most 
•^wrienoed  statesmen  of  the  Golonia!  Legislatures,  they  would  set  up  a 
•Uegnard  against  violence  or  disorder — holdinp  it  in  check  by  the  common 
*'iise  and  common  force  of  the  Federation.  They  would  possess  the  power 
of  more  promptly  calling  new  States  into  existence  throughout  their 
umnense  territory,  as  the  spread  of  population  re<juired  it,  and  of  enabling 
•*«h  of  the  existing  States  to  apply  itself,  without  confhct  or  jealousy,  to  the 
1*eial  industry  which  its  position  and  resources  render  most  profitable." 

On  the  method  of  attaining  Federation,  the  Committee  laid  dovvn 
*  principle  which  would  be  worth  the  attention  of  Sir  Henry  Parkes 
t<Hlay. 

"No  single  colony  [they  said]  ought  to  take  exclusive  possession  of  a 
*"'';M  of  such  national  importance,  or  venture  to  dictate  the  programme  of 
'  '  ■!  to  the  rest.  The  delicate  and  important  questions  connected  with  the 
I'l'^Lio  functions  and  authority  of  tlio  Federal  Assembly,  which  i)reseut 
MJPin.<«lvefi  on  the  thi'eshold  of  tho  inquiry,  cam  be  sohed  only  by  a  Confer- 
*iiT'  of  Delegates  from  the  respective  colonies." 

lliey  accordingly  recommended  that  such  a  Conference  should  be  irame- 
oiately  invited  to  assemble,  representing  the  Council  and  ^Vssembly 
'°  <?ach  of  the  colonies,  and  to  sit  in  a  place  to  be  determined  by  tha 
^'-'It'gntes  themselves  by  preliminary  correapondenci^'. 

This  Report  was  adopted  by  the  Assembly,  and  was  aflerwarda 
COBiTnunicated  by  message  to  the  other  House,  who  concurred  in  it. 

lirnun ;  Mr.  (afterwards  Sir  John)  O'Shonassy,  Mr.  (now  Right  Hon.U.C.E.)  ChiWers, 
Mooro,  Mr.  (now  Sir  Archibald)  Michic,  Mr.  Foster,  Mr,  Homo,  Mr.  Uriflitb, 
Kruut  Mr.  Hotkcr,  Mr.  Syme,  Mr.  (now  Sir  James)  McCulloch. 


158 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


[Kkb, 


Y 


It  was  my  duty  as  Chairman  of  the  Committee  to  commanicate 
with  leading  statesmen  in  the  other  colonies.  It  proved  an  e-a^ 
task  ;  most  of  them  would  have  been  ready  to  begin  themselves  a 
little  later,  but  they  were  all  prepared  to  accept  and  second  the 
beginning  which  had  been  made.  It  simplified  the  task  that  the 
colonies  to  be  consulted  at  that  time  were  only  New  South  Wales, 
South  Australia,  and  Tasmania.  Queensland  did  not  then  exist  as 
separate  colony,  and  Western  Australia  was  merely  a  penal  settli 
ment  on  the  fringe  of  a  vast  unoccupied  territory. 

The   proposal   was  immediately  taken   into   consideration   by 
consulted  colonies.     In  South  Australia,  both    Houses    reported 
favour  of  adopting  the  suggestion  of  Victoria  for  a  joint  Conference, 
and   appointed   three  Delegates,   two   of  whom  afterwards  held  the 
office   of  Prime  Minister,  to  repre.<?ent  them  there.     Tasmania  was 
nearly  as  prompt.     That  colony  also  selected  three  Delegates,  repre 
senting  the  two  branches  of  the  Legislature. 

A  couple  of  months  after  the  movement  in  the  Victorian  Pai'lii 
ment,  but  quite  irrespective  of  it,  Mr.  Wentworth,  who  was  then  in 
London,  presided  over  a  meeting  of  Australians,  and  on  their  behalf 
presented  a  memorial  to  the  Secretary  of  State  for  the  Colonies  urging 
that  a  Permissive  Act  might  be  passed  by  the  Imperial  Parliament, 
enabling  the  colonies  to  confederate  in  the  manner  most  convenient 
and  agreeable  to  themselves.  The  Secretary  of  State  replied  that  the 
colonies  which  now  possessed  responsible  Ministries  must  take  the 
initiative,  and  that  he  would  be  happy  to  co-operate  with  them 
obtaining  the  sanction  of  Parliament  for  any  measure  they  desired 
Thus  at  home  and  in  the  colonies  there  was  a  close  agreement 
what  ought  to  be  done,  and  on  the  legitimate  way  of  doing  it. 

But  the  assent  of  the  mother  colony  was  still  wanting,  The  prin 
ciple  of  Federation  had  wann  adherents  in  New  South  Wales.  Mr. 
Deas  Thomson,  formerly  Colonial  Secret^iry,  and  still  Vice-Chairraan 
of  the  Executive  Council,  who  was  among  the  foremost  of  them, 
procured  the  appointment  of  a  Select  Committee  by  the  Legislative 
Council  on  tlie  subject.  The  Report  was  a  State  Paper  of  great  value. 
It  urged  the  significant  truth  that  the  attempt  ought  to  be  made  at 
once,  as  time  would  probably  increase  its  difficulties,  and  aggravate 
local  jealousies,  as  indeed  it  has  done. 


ue 
as 


he     i 
sd.    J 


"It  is  impossible  [the  Iveport  declared]  to  contemplate  the  rapidly  increas- 
ing population  of  the  Australian  colonies,  and  the  future  development  of 
the  unbounded  resources  which  they  undoubtedly  possess,  in  the  great 
extent  and  diversified  character  of  the  country  which  they  embrace,  from 
the  tropical  regions  of  the  northern  districts  to  the  more  temperate  cUmates 
of  the  south,  and  their  consequent  adaptation  to  the  production,  in  a  high 
degree  of  perfection,  of  almost  every  article  suited  to  the  wants  and  luxuries 
of  society,  without  entertaining  the  most  confident  expectation  that  they 
axe  destined  in  the  fulness  of  time  to  rank  amongst  the  most  important 


iS9a3    THE   ROAD    TO   AUSTRALIAN  FEDERATION.      159 


cnumunities  founded  by  the  British  nation.  It  becomes  the  more  necessar)' 
therefore  in  this  early  stage  of  their  existence,  that  every  means  should  be 
wloirted  to  render  legif^lation,  on  matters  affecting  their  common  interests, 
DOtiudlj  Bdvantoj^eous  and  acceptable.  And  year  Committee  are  of  opinion 
tiut  a  measure  of  this  kind  cannot  be  longer  postponed,  without  the  danger 
of  creating  serious  grounds  of  antagonism  and  jealouay,  which  would  tend 
pwitly  to  embarrass,  if  not  entii-ely  to  prevent,  its  future  settlement,  upon  n 
satisfactory  ba^is." 

And  they  were  of  opinion  that  the  Conference  of  Delegates,  sug- 
gested by  Victoria,  ought  to  be  held  with  as  little  delay  as  possible. 

So  far  all  had  gone  well.  The  Upper  House  iu  all  the  colonies 
and  the  Legislative  Assembly  iu  all  but  one  were  ready  to  act.  But 
the  local  jealousy  which  the  Sydney  statesman  foresaw  and  feared 
w»8  already  an  active  agent  in  affairs.  Mr.  Charles  Cowper,  the 
Chief  Secretary,  who  dreaded  expei'iments  and  had  no  policy 
beyond  holding  fast  to  office,  vehemently  opposed  the  appoint- 
ment of  Delegates,  and  obtained  a  majority  against  the  proposal. 
It  is  right  to  note  that  among  those  who  contended  that  action 
ihould  be  taken  at  once  was  Henry  Parkes,  who  believed  that  we 
could  not  too  soon  bring  the  Australian  group  into  permanent  relations. 
But  party  feeling  and  petty  jealousies  prevailed,  and  the  scheme  of  a 
('■onference  at  that  time  foil  through,  a  majority  of  the  Delegates 
being  nnhappily  of  opinion  that  wo  conld  not  proceed  without  New 
8(mdi  Wales. 

After  a  lapse  of  three  years  the  question  was  taken  up  anew  in 
the  Victoria  Parliament,  and  a  Select  Committee  was  again  ap- 
pointed, inclnding  the  Prime  Minister,  three  gentlemen,  who  after- 
wards held  the  same  office,  and  four  others,  who  became  Ministers  in 
important  departments.*  The  Committee  recommended  that  nego- 
tiations with  the  other  colonies  should  be  renewed  at  the  point 
where  they  were  broken  off,  and  they  expressed  a  hope  that  the 
^ger  of  war,  which  then  prevailed,  would  overcome  all  locaJ 
difficaltieB.  South  Australia,  Tasmania,  and  Queensland  expressed 
themselves  willing  to  make  the  experiment,  but  New  South  Wales 
WM  still  the  difficulty.  Dr.  Lang,  always  a  prominent  figure  in 
Aoatralian  politics,  procured  a  Select  Committee  of  the  Legislative 
Aswably  on  the  subject,  in  which  he  had  the  assistance  of  eminent 
ncD— Mr.  Parkes,  Mr.  Darvall,  Mr.  Hay,  Mr.  Jones,  and  others  ; 
tW  it  taay  be  presumed  that  the  Cowper  morass  was  still  impassable, 
w  ihey  never  brought  up  any  Report. 

For  nearly  ten  years  the  question  slept,  but  in  August  1870  a 
Royal  Commiflsion,  with  larger  powers  than  a  Select  Committee 
POBtetBee,  was  appointed,  under  letters  patent   from  the  Citown,  to 

*  The  Ei&iues  of  the  Committee  weic  :  Mr.  Gavan  Duffv,  Chairman ;  Mr.  Kicholson, 
^'  Micbie,  Mr.  (V8baiia.sHy,  Mr.  McCulloch,  Mr.  Anderson,  Mr.  Mollisou,  Mr.  Culdwell, 
^i  lltwkc,  und  Dr.  Ev£iu«. 


160 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[FSB. 


take  up  the  questioni  again.  The  Speaker  of  the  Legislative  Assembly^ 
and  two  gentlemen  who  afterwards  held  the  same  office,  three  lawyers, 
who  were  in  succession  Attorney-General  of  the  colony,  two  leading 
politicians,  afterwards  Prime  Ministers,  and  two  or  three  others  of 
distinction  or  influence,  composed  the  Commission.  The  time  seemed^B 
singularly  fit  for  conceited  action,  for  Von  Moltke  was  on  his  way  t«>^B 
Paris,  and  the  colonies  had  no  military  organization,  no  fortifications, 
and  slight  hope  of  assistance  to  defend  their  fi-ontiers  if  England 
were  drawn  into  the  war. 

The  Commissioners  promptly  brought  up  a  Report  which,  among 
other  cognate  subjects,  discussed  the  existing  relations  between  the 
mother  country  and  the  colonies.  These  relations  were  represented 
ns  being  eminently  insecure  and  intriusically  unfair,  and  therefore 
liable  to  give  way  on  the  first  emergency.  This  was  the  language  j 
held  by  th©  Commissioners  •.~—  ' 

"  The  Biitish  colonies  from  whicli  Imperial  troops  have  Jie^n  wholly  with-  • 
di*awn  present  the  unprecedented  plieiiomenoii  of  resp<jnaibility  without 
either  corresimnding  authority  or  adequate  protection.  They  are  as  liable  to 
all  the  hazanls  of  war  as  the  United  Kingdum  ;  but  they  can  influence  the 
couiniencenient  or  continuance  of  war  no  more  th.-m  they  can  uontrol  the 
nio\'euient8  of  the  solar  sy.stera  ;  and  they  have  no  ceiiain  assurance  of  that 
aid  against  an  enemy  upon  which  integi*al  portions  of  the  United  Kingdom 
can  confidently  i-eckon.  This  i.s  a  rehitiou  so  wanting  in  mutuality  that  it 
cannot  safely  be  regarded  ii.s  a  lasting  one,  and  it  becomes  necossui*y  to  con- 
sider how  it  may  be  so  modified  as  to  afibi'd  a  greater  security  for  perma- 
nence." j 

Admitting  this  description  to  be  substantially  accurate  at  that 
time,  and  still,  the  remedy  no  doubt  lies  in  Imperial  Federation,  but 
in  1870  Imperial  Federation  was  a  vague  suggestion  which  nobody 
had  thought  out.  The  tendency  of  the  time  was  not  to  draw  closer 
together  the  colonies  and  the  mother  country,  but  to  drive  them 
apart.  In  London  eminent  statesmen  held  the  mad  theory  that 
Mngland  ought  to  cut  off  all  connection  with  the  spring-heads  which 
fed  her  from  afar  with  health  and  strength  in  order  to  escape  the  trouble 
of  keeping  watch  over  them.  This  theorj'^  had  not  many  friends  in 
the  colonies,  but  it  acted  ou  opinion  in  another  way ;  it  taught 
colonists  to  face  the  consequences  by  formulating  methods  of  protect- 
ing themselves.  The  Report  contained  a  proposal  for  which  Imperial 
Federation  is  a  wise  substitute,  but  it  belongs  to  the  history  of  the 
question  as  teacliiug  in  a  significant  manner  the  consequence  of 
It-aving  the  difficulty  to  settle  itself.  When  the  statesmen  who 
founded  the  Canadian  Dominion  were  in  London,  one  of  them  said  to 
me  on  some  difficulty  arising,  "  If  we  cannot  negotiate  successfully  in 
Westminster  in  summer,  we  will  negotiate  at  Washington  in  autumn." 
And  Australians  were  beginning  to  contemplate  a  measure  of  inde- 
pendent statesmanship  almost  as  decisive. 


iS9o]    THE   ROAD    TO   AUSTRALIAN  FEDERATION.       101 


Thi«  was  th«  propofial  in  the  Report : — 

"It has  Ijeen  proposed  to  establish  a  Council  of  the  Empire,  whose  advioo 
most  be  takea  before  vm  was  declAre<l.  But  this  measure  iii  so  fomgn  to  the 
gnins  ami  traditions  of  the  British  Constitution,  and  pretcupposea  no  large 
an  ahandonmetit  of  its  functions  by  the  House  of  CommonM,  that  we  diamiM 
it  frum  consitleration.  There  remains  however,  we  think,  more  than  one 
method  by  which  tlie  anomaly  of  the  present  system  may  be  cured. 

"  It  k  B  maxim  of  International  Law  that  a  Sovereign  State  oannot  be 
involved  in  war  without  its  own  consent,  and  that  where  two  or  more  States 
aiv  subject  to  the  same  Crown,  iind  allies  in  pea<^,  they  are  not,  therefore^ 
neceaauily  associates  in  war  if  the  one  i^  not  dej^etident  on  the  other. 

"Tbeaorereignty  of  a  State  does  not  arine  from  its  extent,  or  power,  or 
pcpoJatioD,  or  form  of  Crovemment.  More  than  a  century  ago,  Vsttel 
foimtikted  the  principle  now  universally  accepted,  that  a  small  comuxuoity 
mil  J  be  a  SoA'ereign  State,  no  less  than  the  most  powerful  kin^j^dom  or 
empire,  and  that  all  Sovereign  States  inherit  the  same  right*  and  obligation*. 

"'Two  Sovereign  StAtes  [says  Vattel]  may  be  subject  to  the  aame 
ffisce  without  any  dependence  on  each  other,  and  each  may  retain  its  rigfate 
m  %  free  and  Sovereign  Stat«.  The  King  of  Prussia  is  SoiVereign  Prince  of 
HinMiatel  in  Switzerland,  without  the  principality  being  in  any  manner 
■Did  to  his  other  dominions ;  so  that  the  fieuple  of  Neufchatel,  In  Tirtlie 
«f  tkcir  franchises,  may  s>^vye  a  foreign  Power  at  war  with  the  King  of 
nvak,  provided  that  the  war  be  not  on  account  of  that  principality.' 

"Whwton  end  other  modem  public  junsts  have  illuetrat^Hl  the  aame 
fWKi|iw  bjr  tike  case  ol  Hanover  and  England,  which,  though  they  were 
*IM  bf  persona]  union  under  the  same  Crown,  were  not  neoeowrily 
MMJites  in  w  or  responsible  for  each  other.  And  the  lateitt  writers  on 
iMoMtianel  Iaw  cite  the  more  modem  and  analogona  case  of  the  Ionian 
UttA^  •  State  garraoned  by  British  troops,  and  having  as  chief  magisttate 
a  Utd  High  Coouniadaoer  appointed  by  the  Queen ;  and  which  wae,  noi- 
•ttitiBdu^  adjudged  before  the  Brilaah  Coort  of  Admiralty  (on  a  prtvata 
•mMmb  aiising)  to  eonstitute  a  Soreragn  State  not  aasociated  with  the 
Caihd  Kingdon  in  the  Crimean  war.  nie  laat  chief  magistrate  bat  ona 
<f  Ikii  Sovwcign  State  was  anee  promoted  to  tlie  Govavonhip  of  the 
oit^  flf  Xew  Sonili  Waha,  and  thence  to  the  Goveraonhip  of  the 
AMaaoB  of  Canada.  The  Isst  Lord  H^h  Commksioner  was  ttmnsferred  to 
tl»  GewBtBsnlup  of  the  dniendaicy  of  Jamaica. 

'Wiikeet  wveslooking  ^  ijiiitinftanm  bet  ween  ec^onies  i'niMi>ting  of  men 
if  Asmme  «*%!&,  as  the  popaiatien  of  the  United  Kingdnw,  and  BCalai 
bgr  the  C^tiwn,  like  HsBoeer,  or  obtained  by  treaty,  like  the  looiaii 
J  it  is  s^ggHted  for  ooBadarstion  whether  the  rule  of  Intematiooal 
Uw  eadbr  wUeh  they  are  dedaied  oeotraLi  in  war  would  not  become  apptk 

■kb  Is  eaisum  enjoying  srif-goranmeat  by  a  single  addition  to  Umst 


t£  Vietcna,  for  example,  pruseifs  a  separate  Parliament, 
mad  Ataa^oishine  flag;  a  sepatate  naval  and  military  catab- 
All  the  pnhKe  appoinlments  are  made  by  the  local  GoeeiumeBt. 

liai  iiMmsni 1  fiiwi  Fii|,Iinil  shii  tufciLMM authority  witfcin 

» tke  Utoatm'a  ma— autatJTe;  and  in  the  IcDisa  Tahnii^  i^3e 
«imdt*edly  a  Soiraem  Statit,  the  Qoeen's  iii|SMljsliiii  was 
■  the  mme  manner.  Tlie  mn^  fanetaan  of  a  Ouiiai^gB  States 
n  IntanaticBal  Law,  whieh  the  eokmy  doaa  not  eMHiss  or 
tke  pMnv  flf  emktraetiagohl^atioDS with  other  Btatfls.  IVwBBi 
Mr  position  bam  that  of  States  nm- 


were  aotlionxed  by  the  Imperial  Ptolismsnl  to  i 


to 


162 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Feb. 


the  gi-eater  colonies  the  right  to  make  treaties,  it  is  contendeil  that  they 
would  fulfil  the  conditions  conatitutinf^  a  Sovereign  State  in  as  full  and 
pei-feot  a  sense  as  any  of  the  smaller  Statea  cited  by  public  jurists  to  illus- 
trate this  rule  of  limited  responsibility.  And  the  notable  conce?sion  to  the 
interests  of  peace  and  humanity  made  in  our  own  ilay  by  the  great  Powers 
with  respect  to  privateers  and  to  merchant  shipping  renders  it  proliaVile  that 
tliey  would  not,  on  any  inadequate  grounds^  refuse  to  recognize  such  States 
as  falling  under  the  ride. 

"  It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  this  is  a  subject  in  which  the  intei"ests  of 
the  colonies  and  of  the  mother  country  are  identical.  British  Btatesmen 
have  long  aimed  not  only  to  limit  more  and  more  the  expenditure  incun«d 
for  the  defence  of  ilistant  colonies,  but  to  withdraw  more  and  moi-e  from  oil 
ostensible  resjKinsibility  for  their  defence ;  and  they  would  probably  see  any 
honoui-able  method  of  adjusting  the  present  anomalous  relations  with  no  lesa 
satisfaction  than  we  should. 

*'  Nor  would  the  recognition  of  the  neutrality  of  the  self-goveined  colonies 
deprive  them  of  the  power  of  aiding  the  mother  country  in  any  just  and 
necessai-y  wai*.  On  the  contrary,  it  would  enable  theiu  to  aid  her  with  more 
dignity  and  effect ;  as  a  Sovereign  State  could,  of  its  own  free  will,  and  at 
whatever  period  it  thought  proper,  elect  to  become  a  pai-ty  to  the  wai." 

The  Report  also  recommended  that  a  Permissive  Act  stould  be 
obtained  from  the  Imperial  Parliament,  anthorizing  the  Queen  to  cail 
into  existence  by  proclamation  a  Federal  Union  of  any  two  or  more  of 
the  colonies  as  soon  as  Acte  had  been  passed  in  their  respective  Legis- 
latures, providing  in  identical  terms  for  the  powers  and  functions  to  be 
exercised  by  the  General  Legislature.  The  colonies  would  be  thus  left 
free  to  determine  by  negotiation  among  themselves  how  far,  and  how 
soon,  they  will  avail  themselves  of  the  power  thus  conferred  on  them. 

The  Report  was  sent  for  consideration  to  leading  statesmen  in  the 
neighbouring  colonies.  A  dozen  years  had  not  ripened  the  question 
for  action,  but  apparently  had  reared  a  plentiful  crop  of  new  objec- 
tions. In  the  correspondence  which,  as  Chairman  of  the  Commission, 
I  maintained,  I  found  the  desire  for  Federation  less  decisive,  and  tbat 
it  was  generally  hampered  with  new  conditions  and  qualifications.  In 
New  South  Wales,  Mr.  Parkes  was  "  unresen-edly  in  favour  of  seek- 
ing a  Permissive  Act,"  but  expressed  no  opinion  on  the  other  pro- 
posals of  the  Commission.  Sir  James  Martin  (afterwards  Chief 
Justice)  did  not  think  "  that  any  advantage  whatever  would  be 
derived  from  a  Federal  Union  j "  and  the  letter  of  Mr.  Forster,  late 
Colonial  Secretary,  bristled  with  ingenious  doubts  on  the  same 
subject.  Mr.  Edwai^d  Puller  (afterwards  Attorney -General),  and 
Mr.  Charles  Cowper,  who  had  retired  from  active  politics  at  this 
time  to  become  Agent-General  in  London,  assured  me  that  there  was 
universal  apathy  on  the  question  in  New  South  Wales,  Yon  Moltke 
noii  obstante.  In  South  Australia,  Mr.  Boucaut,  late  Attorney- 
General,  approved  of  the  Repoit  in  all  respects,  especially  the 
neutralization  of  the  colonies,  and  thought  its  recommendations 
ought  to  be  acted  on  without  delay ;  but  Mr.  Strangways,  who  had 


j||o]    THE  ROAD    TO    AUSTRALIAN   FEDERATION.        163 

held  the  same  oflice,  feared  that  Victoria,  a.s  the  strongest  and 
wealthiest  of  the  group,  defsigned  to  impose  her  will  on  the  smaller 
.jCokinies,  and  was  not  prepared  to  seek  a  Permissive  Act  or  toiicli 
"Federstion  till  the  Imperial  Parliament  had  passed  an  Act  recognizing 
the  colonies  as  independent  States. 

'■  I  think  [ho  said]  that  the  question  nf  the  neutrality  of  the  colonies  in 
time  (rf  war  onght  to  be  dealt  with  at  once.  I  con  see  no  reason  why  each 
of  ihein  should  not  be  declm-ed  by  Act  of  FnrUament  an  independent 
Sorerejpx  State  for  such  purposes,  but  to  remain  subject  to  the  jurisdiction 
of  h*r  Majesty,  in  manner,  and  on  the  points  to  bo  deckred  in  such  Acts." 

Mr.  Palmer,  Prime  Minister  of  Queensland,  had  no  objection  to  a 
Permissive  Act,  provided  it  were  not  to  be  acted  on  immediately ;  for 
Fderation,  though  pt-rmanently  necessary,  would,   he  conceived,  be 

mature  just  then.  Mr.  Lilley,  late  Prime  Minister,  approved  of 
•eUng  a  Permissive  Act,  provided  it  was  to  be  obtained  by  negotia- 
tion between  the  Colonial  and  Imperial  Governments,  "  without  the 
mwldlesome  interference  of  colonial  society  in  England ; "  while 
i(r.  Macalister,  Speaker  of  the  legislative  Assembly,  failed  to  dis- 
cover what  benefit  Federation  would  bestow  on  Queensland  at  present. 
Tismania  was  offended  by  some  idle  declamation  on  the  probable 
innexation  of  that  island  by  Victoria,  and  gave  but  a  languid  adhesion 
to  tbe  Report. 

The  press  in  the  chief  colonies  took  up  the  question  of  neutraliza- 
tiou,  and  debated  it  vehemently.  Some  of  the  leading  journals  were 
^anonate  partisans  of  the  scheme,  and  others  treated  it  as  illusorj' 
«ul  impracticable.  But  the  proposera  were  encouraged  by  finding 
thlft  a  similar  sentiment  existed  in  another  quarter  of  the  world. 
The  New  York  Chamber  of  Commerce  proposed  that  the  Government 
of  their  country  should  concede  to  Canada  advantages  of  the  same 
mUjpb  sought  for  the  Australian  group. 

"It  may  be  intimated  in  an  entirely  kind  spirit  [says  the  Report  of  the 
Chaokbor]  that  if  the  confederation  to  the  north  of  us  could  obtuin  from 
*hfl  Imperial  Gtrtexnment  a  guarantee  tliat  it  might  pre.serve  a  strict 
ft^Btiility  on  the  breaking  out  of  all  future  foreign  wars  in  which  it  htis  no 
i>l*wt,  it  might  count  on  pei-petual  peac«  and  tranquillity  and  uninterrupted 
Httaetnal  relations  irith  the  Unit^  States." 

w*  while  the  leading  States  of  Europe  were  at  war,  while  France 
vii  sadergoing  her  long  agony,  it  was  manifestly  no  time  to  propose 
to  foreign  Governments,  and  it  was  silently  postponed.* 


b  W  tiglit  to  nj  that  tbe  Commission  was  not  un.inimous.  Of  thiB  eleven  ComniU* 
^^n,  tvbdiarfented  from  the  proposed  neutralization  of  the  eolonie* :  these  were 
<^IL  FiilflVB  (aftenrards  Mr.  Justice  Fellows),  and  Edward  I.Angton  (ftfterwards 
«i»mL  Tbe  nine  who  si^ed  the  entire  Report  were — C.  Gavan  I>uffy.  Chairman  ; 
y*rii  XojphT  (Sir  Francis  Murphy,  Speaker  of  the  Legislative  Assembly) ;  C.  Mac- 
^^M  (allarwartle  Sir  Charles  MacMabon,  Speaker) ;  John  MacGregor  (afterwards 
*BHita «( Xliiea) :  J.  F.  Sullivan  (afterwards  Cammi!>sioner  of  Customs) ;  J.  J.  Casey 
V^feVWlslBldMer  of  Justice) ;  G.  fi.  Kerferd  [now  Mr.  Justice  Kerferd);  Graham 
^V(afiu«aJiLi  Prime  Minister,  and  now  AgeotrGeneral  in  London) ;  James  Graham 
l^liHAar  of  the  Lcgifilatire  CoQDCiJ). 


164 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[1 


In  passing  in  rapid  review  the  History  of  Federation  as  a  Parlia- 
mentary qaestion,  it  would  not  be  just  to  forget  how  much  the  press 
and  persons  unconnected  with  Parliament  contributed  to  keep  it  olire. 
There  were  essays,  lectures,  leading  articles  and  speeches  on  the 
subject  from  time  to  time,  and  the  hope  of  ultimate  Federation  was 
never  permitted  to  disappear  altogether. 

It  was  twelve  years,  however,  before  action  was  at  length  taken,  and 
on  a  limited  scale.  In  the  summer  of  1883  Anstraliana  learned  that 
France  meditated  planting  the  New  Hebrides  and  other  Pacific  islands, 
as  she  had  already  planted  New  Caledonia,  with  the  most  dangerous 
of  her  criminal  popiilataon>  and  they  knew  that  French  convicts  had 
the  faculty  of  escaping  from  penal  settlements  and  sheltering  in  the 
free  British  colonies.  They  heard  at  the  same  time  that  Germany, 
full  of  the  pride  of  her  great  success  in  France,  cherished  the  design 
of  seizing  New  Guinea,  the  portal  of  the  Pacific,  a  necessary  part  of 
the  defence  of  the  future  Australian  empire.  General  alarm  and 
indignation  was  felt,  and  on  the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Service,  the  Prime 
Minister  of  Victoria,  a  Conference  of  Colonial  Delegates  was  held  in 
Sydney,  representing  all  the  colonies  enjoying  responsible  govern- 
ment. This  convention  called  upon  the  Imperial  Government  to 
employ  active  remonstrance  with  Germany  against  a  design  which  was 
not  only  injurious  to  the  colonies,  but  in  violation  of  specific  treaty 
obligations,  and  they  besought  them  tn  occupy  New  Guinea  imme- 
diately, undertaking  to  provide  for  the  necessarj'  expense.  And  the 
imminent  public  danger  induced  them  to  recommend  that  application 
should  be  made  at  London  for  a  Permissive  Measure  enabling  the 
colonists  to  create  a  Colonial  Council  for  joint  action.  Such  a  Bill 
was  sent  home,  and  with  slight  alterations  at  length  passed  the 
Imperial  Parliament,  and  in  the  autumn  of  1885  the  Colonial  Legis- 
latures were  invited  to  grant  the  necessary  authority  for  bringing  it 
into  operation  in  Australia. 

The  Fedei'al  Council  to  be  created  was  to  consist  of  two  delegates 
from  each  of  the  Australian  colonies  possessing  responsible  govern- 
ments, and  one  delegate  from  each  Crown  colony.  It  was  to  meet 
at  least  once  in  two  years,  at  such  places  as  it  should  from  time  to 
time  determine.  It  was  to  have  legislative  power  with  respect  to 
fisheries,  the  prevention  of  the  influx  of  criminals,  the  enforcement 
of  the  judgments  of  courts  of  law  beyond  the  limits  of  the  colony  in 
which  they  originated  and  the  like,  and  on  such  of  the  following 
questions  as  might  be  referred  to  it  by  two  or  more  colonies : — 

"  CJeneral  defences,  quarantine,  pjitents  of  invention  and  discover}--,  copy- 
right, bills  of  exchange  aud  proinis.sory  notes,  uniformity  of  weights  and 
measures,  recognition  in  other  colonies  of  any  marriage  or  divorce  duly 
solemnized  or  decreed  in  any  colony,  naturalization  and  aliens,  status  of 
corporations  and  joint-stock  companies  in  other  colonies  than  that  in  which 


it»a   JHE   ROAD    TO   AUSTRALIAS  FEDBRATIOX, 

* 
ikttf  kn«  been  constiinted,  and  any  other  mattor  of  {j^onftml  Auitrnlaaian 
JBlvBsl,  with  respect  to  which  the  Lejfi'*!'*'^"*'"'  "f  *^>'^  sovoml  oolnniw  onn 
l^^ikiif  within  their  own  limits,  and  ns  to  wliii-li  it  is  iI.-khkhI  il.sir.iMn  flmt 
t^av  should  be  a  law  of  general  application." 

This  was  bat  a  feeble  copy  o£  tho  Fodemtion  the  oolonitiU  had 
sought,  creating  an  Australian  Dominion.  Ami  it  was  furtlii>r  liniilocl 
br piroviBOS  that  the  Acts  of  tlic  Council  should  only  oxtiMid  to  thr 
colonies  by  whose  Legislature  tho  subjoct-mattor  had  boon  rt«forrt<d  \o 
it,  ftnd  by  another  declaring  that  in  ca«o  tlu«  pi-oviftions  of  any  Act 
of  the  Council  should  bo  inconsistent,  with  tin.''  law  of  any  culnny 
affected  by  it,  the  local  law  should  prevail  and  tho  inoonHiiiboncy  have 
no  operation. 

The  gain  was  not  much,  but  at  least  it  accuHtouioil  tho  c()loni«*M  U* 
^P  BCttoj^ther,  and  was  the  basiR  tipon  which  uii  nrlnquato  ext'iin»ion  of 
r>"'^'=rs  might  be  founded.  Thi-  nt'W  law  was  to  Jiuvt*  no  (orct*  in  any 
I  ''  iiv  until  the  local  Legislature  passed  an  Act  accepting  it,  and 
fixing  a  day  upon  which  it  would  come  into  operation.  Kiit  all  the 
'.T  ir  colonies,  save  Victoria,  refused  to  accept  it.  New  /.ealund, 
M::g  far  outside  of  the  Australian  gronp,  had  a  Meparato  policy  and 
Kpuate  interests,  bat  when  New  South  Wabin  and  tSouth  AnRtraliA 
iWined  to  join  the  Council  became  practically  nnelnHM,  and  oidy  niH 
t''  '\imply  with  the  law,  which  reqnired  a  biennial  nie**liog,  Snith 
iostralia  has  since  joined,  bat  the  matter  is  not  much  mc!nd«<d,  an  tbi> 
iBOther  colony,  which  almost  equals  Victoria  in  p/pulalion  and  i^xcMxIft 
Hid  tenitory  and  revenue,  persistently  rcfu«e«  a^Jhe^ion, 

liii  at  this  oonjunctare  that  6ir  Jlenry  J'arkon  intitrpo^'S.     Hir 

Btmpf  is  a  poet,  who  has  risiofis  of  a  gr<*nt   empire   plaut^f]  on 

fttMwts  of  the  Pacifie,  and  be  is  a  litt}>)  too  impatient  of  fnUir- 

hicfa  be  regards  as  petty  and  sterile,     Ue  looks  npon   ih*' 

Cooncil  sad  its  dtwinatire  resnlM  with  the  «fe  ci  m 

V  and  if  it  be  pm  iiiiMibl«»  to  tnnalsto  his  eloqiMioe  iuUr  tktf 

v^pr  toBgne,  mjs  in  eftet  to  the  otibcr  Infers  of  ook«rial  nyiaion  : 

"3ty  MfastMte  friiwih,  Jim  fare  nadea  mA  mtm  of  thia 

^  ^op  sH  TOB  has*  baai  doia^  for  th«  bist  ittt  ymn  m  m 

^*Be  muk,  and  I  w3]  shov  joq  ham  to  pmcmd  in  sodi  ss 

m  pliriftil  hf  Ifca  Y«m  m  »y  tW 
that  be  win  aot  bet  caOad  in  m 
m  a«ar  Mr. 

cflba 


166 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


VB- 


There 


the  business,  which  has  hitherto  been  wanting.  There  can  be  xo 
Federation  of  the  Empire,  I  may  repeat,  until  the  Australian  and' 
African  grcapa  are  first  federated  among  themselves,  and  there  is  not, 
I  am  persuaded,  any  solid  hope  of  Australian  Federation  till  it' 
aiccomplishment  is  made  an  Imperial  question. 

Note  what  is  at  stake,  and  in  what  temper  the  hazards  of  the  gBcr'** 
are  regarded  from  Westminster  at  present.  Never  since  humc*^ 
history  began  was  so  noble  a  patrimony  treated  with  such  ignora*^^ 
and  perilous  insensibility.  While  Bismarck  is  roaming  the  unive: 
to  discover  some  shreds  nnd  fragments  of  unappropriated  territory  o: 
which  to  plant  the  Prussian  flag,  and  while  the  French  Republic  i 
loading  its  population  with  inordinate  taxes  to  pay  for  expeditions^ 
designed  to  snatch  a  barbarous  and  hostile  population  from  China 
what  do  our  politicians  at  home  do  ?  There  are  six  great  States  which--^ 
possess  more  natural  wealth,  wider  territory,  a  better  climate,  and  \ 
richer  mineral  deposits  than  the  six  greatest  kingdoms  in  Europe, 
where  a  new  England,  a  new  Italy,  a  neAv  France,  a  new  Spain,  and 
a  new  Austria  are  in  rapid  process  of  growth,  and  are  already  occupied 
by  a  picked  pripulation,  of  which  a  larger  proportion  Las  taken  per- 
sonal part  in  great  industrial  enterprises,  in  founding  cities,  planting 
commerce,  and  developing  the  resources  of  Nature  than  any  people  on 
this  side  of  the  Pacific  ;  and  these  prosperous  States  are  ready  and 
willing  to  unite  for  ever  with  the  nation  from  which  they  sprang,  on 
terms  of  fair  partnership  and  association.  And  they  are  no  insigni- 
ficant handful  of  men,  these  Australian  colonists ;  they  are  more 
numerous  than  the  people  of  England  were  when  they  won  Magna 
Charta,  or  the  people  of  the  United  States  were  when  the  stars  and 
stripes  were  first  raised  to  the  sky  :  resolute,  impatient,  independent 
men,  not  unworthy  to  follow  such  examples  on  adequate  occasion. 
But  what  cordial  liand  is  stretched  out  to  clasn  theirs  in  affectionate 
embrace  ?  What  joyful  reception  attends  a  proposal  to  confirm  in 
perpetuity  a  boon  such  as  no  nation  has  received  since  Columbus 
bestowed  on  Spain  the  primacy  of  Europe  ?  I  will  risk  the  reproach 
of  Celtic  exaggeration  ratlier  than  refrain  from  affirming  that  West- 
minster has  been  illuminated,  a  Te  Deum  aung  in  St.  Paul's,  and 
statues  and  columns  erected  to  commemorate  events  of  less  intrinsic 
importance  to  the  United  Kingdom  than  the  easy  victory  of  gathering 
under  one  government  the  colonies  of  the  Pacific. 

For  to  the  mother  country  the  victory  would  be  an  easy  one,  and 
if  L  too,  must  appeal  to  the  omuijTOtent  taspayer,  it  is  a  victory  for 
which  there  will  be  nothing  to  pay.  The  local  jealousies  of  the 
colonies  are  too  vigilant  and  distrustful  at  present  to  be  overcome 
except  by  some  friendly  interposition  from  without.  They  will  not 
listen  to  each  i>ther  just  now,  but  they  will  listen  to  the  mother 
country  whenever  she  speaks  through  authentic  organs.     The  Parlia- 


fi»9o]    THE    ROAD    TO  AUSTRALIAN  FEDERATION.       167 


ent  and  the  Sovereign  are  still  words  to  conjure  with.     There  are 
doubtless  many  ways  of  employing  their  influence  successfully ;  here, 
for  example,  ia  one  which,  if  not  the  best,  would  at  any  rate  answer 
the  purpose  proposed.     If  those  who  are  entitled  by  official  position 
to  take  the  initiative,  would  after  a  conference  with  the  leaders  of  the 
'fion — for  the  prosperity  of  the  State  is  not   the  property  of 
.  irty — induce  the  two  Houses  of  Parliament  to  declare  that  the 
Federation  of  the  Australian  colonies   is  of  high  importance  to  the 
Interests  of  the  Empire,  and  invite  the  local  Legislatures  to  consider  it 
•Mwwith  a  view  to  agreement,  we  should  be  on  the  road  to  a  settle- 
ment.    If  the  Queen  were  advised  to  appoint  two  lloyal  Commissioners 
t/>  carry  these   resolutions   to   Australia,    if  men   interested  in  and 
familiar  with    Australian  affairs   were   chosen— Lord   Rosebery    and 
Lord  Carnarvon  are  such  men,  for  example— the  wishes  of  the  Sove- 
reijfn  and  the  Parliament  would  remove  difficulties  otherwise  intract- 
able.   If  this  be  not  the  right  method,  let  a  better  method  be  adopted  j 
but  surely  it  is  time  that  there  should  be  an  end  to  the  base  apathy 
luch  is  permitting  a  great  opi>ortunity  to  slip  away  for  ever. 
If  these  Royal  Commissioners  visited  the  colonies  successively,  heard 
I  ohjections  of  leading  men,  and  reduced  them  to  their  minimum, 
ad  inthe  end  held  a  Conference  of  Delegates  from  the  Colonial  Legis- 
ires,  at  which  they  would  represent  the  Crown,  Federation,  I  am 
'pOBoaded,  would  be  obtained. 

The  Commissioners  would  have  difficulties  to  encounter,  doubtless, 
Bt  it  is  the  mitier  of  statesmen  to  remove  difficulties,  and  the  dele- 
|f»tes  of  the  mother  country  ought  to  consider  no  labours  too  arduous 
to  remove  them,  for  the  mother  country  is  primarily  responsible  for 
_^e  most  serious  of  them.  The  vexed  questions  are  mainly  tariffs, 
ionid  defences,  and  a  Federal  capital.  As  respects  tariffs,  there 
no  wonder  that  so  many  colonist.8  agree  with  Bismarck,  Gam- 
and  Mill  in  believing  that  native  manufactures  cannot  be 
started  by  private  enterprise  alone,  and  that  Government  may  properly 
M  to  its  aid.  There  would  be  no  difficulty  in  establishing  inter- 
lonial  free  trade  throughout  the  confederacy,  but  as  regards  external 
le  it  may  be  assumed  that  it  will  be  long  subjected  to  protective 
lies.  Either  the  entire  confederacy  will  adopt  them,  which  no 
w  looks  impossible,  or  each  colony  must  bo  left  to  take  its  own 
irse.  There  is  a  group  of  commercial  patriots  in  London  who 
Ilk  that  the  colonial  question  will  be  settled  effectually  if  only  the 
oniats  will  consent  to  abandon  Protection,  and  to  be  amerced  for 
orial  defences  in  a  Parliament  where  they  are  not  represented. 
Heniy  Parkes  has  encountered  these  gentlemen.  '"  In  commer- 
and  monetary  circles  [he  say.s]  the  question  is,  what  prulitable 
can  be  done  with  Australia,  and  never  what  advantage  can  arise 
by  our  drawing  closer  to  the  parent  State.      We  are 


168 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


seldom  thought;  of  by  any  class  of  the  English  at  home  aa  formln 
int-egral  part  of  the  Empire ;  "  though  it  is  easy  and  pleasant  to  afK" 
a  political  speech  with  that  hackneyed  quotation  ! 

If  Australians  would  only  consent,  like  their  own  flocka,  to  unde- 
an  annnal  fleecing !  But  they  have  too  bitter  a  memor}'  of  theii' 
spontaneous  and  unprotected  experiment  in  manufactures  to  do  tfcx  -^ 
When  Victorians  attempted  to  turn  their  abundant  raw  materiaX  ^ 
native  wool  into  serviceable  tweed,  the  dishonest  greed  of  Yorkshii'  -^ 
manufacturers  sent  out  a  shoddy  imitation  of  their  fabric  and  ruiu^^^ 
their  enterprise  by  selling  it  in  Melbourne  as  Australian  manufactur^^f 
It  is  idle  to  inrito  a  people  with  such  an  experience  to  lay  down  thet-  j 
arms  of  defence  and  trust  to  the  magnanimity  of  free  corapetition.  I 

On  the  question  of  national  defences  they  have  had  a  warninjg^ 
as  significant  to  beware  of  the  parochial  politics  of  Westminster. 
The  British  flag  is  floating  throughout  the  Australian  continent,  but 
it  is  long  since  there  was  a  British  soldier  to  protect  it.  To  effect 
a  small  annual  saving  the  Hag  was  left  afloat,  and  the  soldiers  com- 
missioned to  guard  it  were  withdrawn.  Economy  is,  doubtless,  one 
of  the  safeguards  of  a  nation,  and  there  is  not  a  budget  opened 
between  the  Tiber  and  the  Thames  which  would  admit  of  larger 
pruning  than  that  of  Downing  Street ;  but  to  leave  a  flag  undefended 
which  a  foreign  enemy  uiay  pluck  down,  and  whose  dishonour  might 
be  the  seed  of  war,  is  scarcely  a  point  at  which  a  wise  statesman* 
would  begin  his  retrenchnients.  There  is  a  local  force,  indeed — 
Volunteers,  with  abundant  courage  and  spirit,  but  commanded  by 
traders  and  civil  servants  mtli  imperfect  military  Bkill,  The  need 
of  professional  suldiers  was  so  strongly  felt  in  the  colony  that  the 
Government  of  \'ictoria  sent  to  the  Colonial  Oflice  an  offer  to  raise, 
clothe,  feed,  and  pay  a  regiment,  and  to  accept  its  oflicers  and  orders 
from  the  Horse  Guards,  on  the  sole  condition  that  in  case  of  war  it 
should  not  be  withdrawn  from  Australia,  and  this  offer  was  delibe- 
rately rejected.  The  net  result  is  that  the  anny  of  the  Empire  has  a 
regiment  the  leas — a  regiment,  let  the  taxpayer  note,  which  would 
not  have  cost  it  a  penny — and  in  case  of  war  the  colonies  are  without 
one  tiained  soldier.  We  may  be  assured,  then,  tliat  when  Austi-alians 
consent  to  pay,  aa  they  are  able  and  williuf^  to  do,  for  the  defence  of 
their  cities  against  the  disasters  of  war,  they  must  be  sure  they  shall 
obtain  the  defence  they  pay  for. 

With  respect  to  a  Federal  capital,  it  has  long  been  plain  tliat  it 
must  be  selected,  aa  Washington  and  Ottawa  were  selected,  to  allay 
jealousy  by  its  lemoteness  or  insignificance.  Wherever  a  Federal 
Parliament  House  and  Government  Offices  are  built,  private  enter- 
prise will  furnish  the  necessary  supply  of  hotels,  villas,  club-houses, 
and  the  other  equipment  of  a  season  city.  If  it  be  planted  on  the 
Murray,  it  will  be  equally  convenient  for  Victoriaj  New  South  Wales, 


s89o3    THE    ROAD    TO   AUSTRALIAN  FEDERATION.       1G9 


&n.d  Sontb  Anstralia,  and  no  conceivable  place   will   be   less    incon- 
venient for  tie  remoter  colonies. 

This  is  the  road  to  Australian  federation. 

But  the  hope  that  this  necessary  service  will  be  rendered  to  the 
colonies  and  the  Empire,  no  one  familiar  with  colonial  history  will  be 
too  ready  to  indulge.      Most  probably  it  will  not  be  done.     Nothing 
has  ever  been  done  for  colonies  from   Downing  Street  bat  to  awaken 
to  their  complaints  when  they  become  too  vehement  to  be  neglected. 
There  have  sometimes  been  eminent  statesmen  in  the  Colonial  OfEce 
during  the  last,  half-century,  and  the  permanent  staff  included  men 
who  had  distinguished  themselves  greatly  in  fields  that  lay  apart  from 
current  politics.      But  there  never  has  been  a  fixed  colonial  policy, 
except  to  let  ill  enongh  alone ;  there  never  has  been  a  thoughtful  and 
frnitfal  initiative  in  colonial  affairs.     The  great  colonies  are  supposed 
to  have  been   reared   and    nurtured   by  the  mother  country,  but  the 
ficta  are  in  constant  contradiction  to  this  theory.     British  colonies 
hive  been  created  by  British  emigrants,  and   by  them  alone.     Great 
cities  have  arisen  on  soil   where  they  were  officially  forbidden    to 
intrude.    Beneficent  laws  stand  on  their  statute-book,  which  were  more 
than  once  disallowed  at  St.  James's.    Colonists  were  warned  that  they 
oust  not  presume  to  manufacture   a   horseshoe  or  a  hobnail  without 
permission  from  Downing  Street.     Some  of  the  most  notable  spokes- 
oen  of  liberty  in  England  scoffed  at  the  idea  of  having  self-govem- 
inent  in  the  colonies,    Victorians  were  forbidden  at  the  outset  to  dig  the 
gold  which  baa  since  made  England   prosperous,  and  to  till  the  land 
which  sends  cattle,  wheat,  and  win©  to  her  porta.      They  were  flooded 
with  convicts  till  they  resolved  to   send   back  the  worst  villains   to 
England.     In  their  last  political   emergency  they  asked   advice  as 
from  a  parent,  and  a  noble   pedant  in  the  Colonial  Office  told  them 
to  go  home  and  settle  their  own   business   in   their  own  way.     The 
same  gracious  answer  will,  perhaps,  be   accorded  to  those  who  desire 
•■istance  at  present,  but  if  this  be  the  ultima  ratio  of  the  Colonial 
Offic«,  it  ia  difiBcnlt  to  comprehend  for  what  purpose  such  an  institu- 
tion is  supposed  to  exist. 

Better  feelings,  it  is  said,  prevail  of  late,  since  the  Imperial  Federa- 
tion League  have  awakened  England  to  her  great  responsibilities.  It 
n*T  be  80  in  some  degree,  bnt  it  is  doubtful  at  this  hour  whether 
tiwie  who  represent  the  opinion  of  the  mother  country  will  consoli- 
Art*  the  strength  of  the  Empire  by  prompt  and  friendly  action,  or  let 
things  drift  till  neglect  and  indifference  have,  in  the  fulness  of  time, 
CTMted  another  America  in  the  Pacific,  jealous,  suspicious,  and 
boitile,  courting  the  Cosaque  and  cursing  the  Britisher. 


Alpes-Maritimes. 


VOL.  VltL 


IT  is  not  of  my  own  accord  that  I  write  these  few  words  on  th& 
great  and  good  BiBhojj — the  great  scholar,  the  great  theologian 
— whom  death  has  taken  from  us  at  the  comparatively  early  age  of 
sLsty-two,  Although  I  have  known  and  loved  him  for  more  than 
thirty-five  years,  there  are  many  far  bettiT  qualified  than  I  am  to  pay 
their  tribute  of  affection  and  gratitude  to  his  honoured  memory.  Ali^H 
that  1  can  write  may  be,  and  will  be,  inadequate ;  and  it  is  only  owing  ^i 
to  the  accidental  inability  of  others,  at  short  notice,  to  speak  of  his 
work  and  character,  that  I  have  consented  to  express  the  feelings 
respecting  Iiim  which  he,  at  any  rate,  would  not  have  despised.  He 
was  my  private  ttitor  at  college.  lie  presented  me  with  all  his  books,  ^j 
in  succession  as  they  were  printed.  I  heard  from  liim  not  uafre-^^| 
quently.  He  did  me  the  honour  to  ask  for  such  small  help  as  I  could ^^ 
render  to  good  causes  in  which  he  felt  an  interest,  more  often  than  I 
was  able  to  obey  hia  call.  I  dedicated  to  him  the  best  of  the  poor 
Ixioks  which  I  have  written,  and  when  I  sent  him  anything  of  min& 
it  always  evoked  kind  words,  and  somi'times  kind  suggestions^  I 
tried  to  offer  him  "the  shadow  of  a  wreath  of  honour,"  which  he  did 
not  need  from  me  when  he  was  living  ;  T  trust  that  I  may  at  least  be 
pardoned  if  I  here  offer  to  him,  now  that  he  is  dead,  the  shadow  of 
that  wreath  of  grateful  acknowledgment  which  he  needs  still  less.  1 
do  not  pretend  to  be  able  to  reach  liigh  enough  to  place  it  on  the> 
forehead  of  his  statue  ;  but 

"  Ut  caput  in  magnis  ubi  non  est  tangere  signis 
Ponitur  liic  iinos  ante  corona  pedes." 

No  doubt  his  biography  will  be  written  by  some  competent  and 
sympathetic  hand ;  but,  as  in  the  case  of  his  great  and  like-minded 
predecessor.  Bishop  Joseph   Butler,  he   needs  a  biography  less  than 


i«9ol 


BISHOP    LIGHTFOOT. 


171 


most  men.  The  facts  of  his  inner  life  were  revealed  to  few,  perhaps 
fully  to  none.  His  letters  were  usually  brief  and  business-like,  and 
touched  but  rarely  on  his  deepest  feelings.  He  never  "  wore  hia  heart 
®n  his  sleeve  for  daws  to  peck  at."     It  will  not  be  possible  in  his  case 

"  For  knave  or  clown 
To  hold  their  orgies  at  his  tomb." 

His  best  biography,  his  truast  monument,  is  the  great  simple,  unselfish 
life  which  the  world  saw,  and  the  thought  and  toil  accumulated  in  his 
books.  Beyond  such  personal  incidents  as  may  serve  to  deepen  the 
influence  of  his  example  by  illustrating  the  beautiful  consistency  and 
aingle-mindedness  of  aim  which  reigned  throaghoufc  his  life,  there  is 
nothing  about  him  to  reveal,  as  there  is  nothing  to  conceal.  How 
often  have  we  read  biographies  of  men  intimately  known  to  us,  in 
which  the  chief  fact  of  their  history,  and  some  one  essential  element  of 
their  character,  has  been  intentionally  or  unconsciously  omitted  ?  And 
■oinetimes  this  has  been  the  very  fact  which  did  most  to  make  or  mar 
their  lives,  or  the  one  element  of  character  which  chiefly  influenced  their 
career.  No  mistake  of  that  kind  can  happen  iu  the  case  of  the  late  Bishop 
of  Dnrham.  His  career  was  uneventful  in  external  incidents  ;  the  circle 
of  his  relations  and  intimates  was  small ;  his  aims  were  definite  ;  his 
character  transparent  from  marge  to  marge.  lie  lived  a  life  fortunate 
and  happy  beyond  what  falls  to  the  common  lot ;  a  life  untroubled 
by  a  single  tragic  circumstance,  if  we  except  the  prolonged  trial  of 
the  illness  by  which  he  was  at  last  prostrated.  But  through  that 
loDg  career  of  unbroken  prosperity,  in  which  he  rose  from  the  position 
of  a  middle-class  boy  to  the  enjoyment  of  a  great  revenue?  and  the 
hcmonrs  of  a  princely  bishopric,  ho  remained  always  the  same  strong, 
■Utcere,  simple  man,  uniuflated  by  his  immense  success  as  he  would  have 
been  undaunted  if  it  had  pleased  God  to  try  him  with  failure.  ^Vhen 
tJMd  experienced  his  own  eminent  capacity  for  the  promotion  which 
)me  to  him  unsought,  his  friends  noted  in  him  what  one  of 
them  described  as  a  "  solemn  gladness."  But  no  one  ever  saw  in 
him  the  disguised  self-satisf action,  the  ostentatious  condescension, 
tlHS  arrogant  mock-humility,  the  airs  of  gracious  patronage  to  old 
eqaab,  which  are  but  too  common  in  smaller  natures  whom  accident, 
ormerit,  or  the  wirepullers  of  party  have  elevated  to  some  high  position. 
The  friends  of  hia  youth,  however  unfortunate  their  lot,  however 
hamble  their  circumstances,  however  unpopular  their  names,  remained 
his  friends.  He  did  not  forget  them,  or  ignore  them,  or  show  them 
th«  cold  shoulder,  or  oppress  them  with  hi.s  magnificence,  or  make 
tbttm  wince  under  the  exhibition  of  hia  social  superiority.  The 
^iwlnHiH  which  he  showed  as  a  young  graduate  to  his  juniors  was 
iwmtained  when  he  was  a  loading  Bishop  towards  all  worthy 
pnsbjtera  or  carates.     The  generosity  which  led  him  to  give  a  latge 


172 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Fra. 


snm  when  he  was  a  Cambridge  professor  to  the  rorcdos  of  St.  Mary's, 

made  him  spend  hia  income  with,  exemplary  munificence,  and  build 

and  endow  the  Church  of  St.  Ignatius  at  Sunderland  when  he  became 

Bishop  of  Durham. 

It  is  this  unity  of  his   life   which  is   one  of  its   most   beautiful 

characteristics.     The  prayer  of  Lightfoot  must  have  ever  been  that  of 

Wordsworth  : — 

"  My  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold 
A  rairbow  in  the  sky  : 
80  was  it  when  mj  life  began; 
80  is  it  now  I  am  a  man  ; 
So  be  it  when  I  shall  grow  old, 

Ur  let  lue  die. 
The  child  is  Father  of  the  Man  ; 
And  I  could  wish  my  days  to  be 
Bound  tach  to  each  by  natural  piety." 

And  that  prayer  was  granted.  There  have  been  men  whose  youth, 
"  full  of  idle  noise,"  was  in  sharp  contrast  with  their  manhood  ;  but  at 
no  period  of  life  was  Bishop  Lightfoot  unworthy  of  himself.  It  conld 
never  be  said  of  him  "  Dissi7nile!s  hir  rir  ct  ille  puer."  In  this  whole- 
ness and  wholesomeness  of  his  life  he  resembled  the  gi'cat  poet  whose 
death  was  so  nearly  simultaneous  with  his  own,  to  whom  he  once 
sought  an  introduction  in  my  house,  and  whom  he  greatly  admired. 
He  would  have  said  with  Mr.  Browning : — 

"  Have  you  found  your  life  distasteful  t 

My  life  did  and  docs  .«iniack  sweet ; 
Wa.s  your  youth  of  pleasure  wasteful  7 

Mine  I  suvcd,  and  hold  complete. 
Do  jnnr  jnvs  with  age  diminish  7 

When  mint)  fail  me  I'll  complain. 
Must  in  death  your  daylight  flnisb  7 

My  sun  sets  to  rise  again." 

There  are  two  lines,  characteristic  of  the  poet's  view  of  life  and 
duty,  which  I  think  that  Bishop  Lightfoot  would  have  regarded  as 
expressive  also  of  his  own  aim  and  opinion ;  namely, 


and 


"Take  one  step  onward,  and  secure  that  stop;  " 
"  Truth  is  the  strong  thing  ;  let  man's  life  be  true.' 


It  must  not,  however,  be  supposed  that  there  were  no  elements  of 
gaiety  and  humour  in  his  character.  Those  who  knew  him,  and  saw 
him  in  the  unreserve  of  his  lighter  houra^ — ^those  who,  even  in  his  later 
years,  have  seen  hini  among  his  '"boys"  at  Auckland  Castle — knew 
how  playful  he  could  be.  If  any  one  fancies  that  Ijightfoot  never  conld 
have  been  a  boy,  he  is  much  mistaken.  If  his  character  was  of  a  grave 
cast,  it  by  no  means  lacked  a  capacity  for  fun.  Among  other  anecdotes 
of  his  schooldays  some  of  hia  old  comrades  still  remember  how  one  day 
his  much-loved  master.  Prince  Lee,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Manchester, 
saw  him  standing  on  the  master's  desk,  and  called  out  to  him,  in  his 


i89o: 


BISHOP   LIGHTFOOT, 


178 


quick, energetic  way:  KaTa/3a,<aTa/3a,Kara/3a,icaTa/3a  ! — Kara/3^ffo^at, 
answere<2  Lightfoot,  with  a  broad  smile  on  his  face ;  iiuperturbably 
finishLng  the  Aristophanic  Hue.*  Dr.  Prince  Lee  has,  I  think,  not 
found  a  biographer,  but  the  eminence  and  warm  allegiaoice  of  his 
pupils — among  whom  we  may  name,  almost  as  contemporaries,  the 
late  Bishop,  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury',  and  Dr.  Westcott — are 
atnong"  the  many  proofs  of  his  exceptional  power.  The  greatness  of 
bis  pupils,  as  they  would  be  the  first  to  admit,  was  due  in  no  small 
measure  to  the  stimulative  character  of  his  teaching.     His  remark, 

*'  Ah !  B f.11]  ffio^ov  f^iovov  7rmreuf,"t  still  rings  in  the  memory  of 

one  of  them.  His  recommendation  of  Barrow  as  a  model  did  much 
to  mould  the  style  of  another.  The  one  word,  SoATrio-ft.f  which  he 
chose  to  be  carved  upon  his  tomb,  has  had  a  potent  influence  over  the 
imagination  of  a  third.  Prince  Lee,  though  very  unequal,  Bometimes 
Bpoke  with  great  eloquence  ;  and  I  remember  a  sentence  of  hifl,§  the 
spirit  of  which  he  must  have  breathed  into  the  studies  of  his  most 
promising  pupils.  It  was  this  :  "  You  must  not  only  listen,  but  read. 
You  must  not  only  read,  but  think.  Knowledge  without  common- 
Eense  is  folly ;  without  method  it  ia  waste  ;  without  charity  it  is 
fanaticism  ;  without  religion  it  is  death." 

1  first  made  the  acquaintance  of  Dr.  Lightfoot  when  I  was  an 
undergraduate  at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  and  he  was  a  young 
Fellow  of  that  foundation.  Before  I  knew  him  personally  I  had 
often  heard  of  him  as  the  Senior  Classic  who  was  supposed  to  have 
sent  up  papers  without  a  single  mistake  ;  and  1  remember  how,  night 
after  night,  the  steady  lamp  might  be  seen  burning  in  the  window  of 
his  room,  and  youths  would  point  to  it  and  say,  "  There  ia  the  great 
Lightfoot  steadily  at  work."  It  was  in  one  of  the  Long  Vacations, 
when  only  the  scholars  and  more  studious  undergraduates  were  allowed 

stay  up,  that  I  became  his  private  pupil.  Those  Long  Vacations 
rere  truly  delightful  times,   to   which'  many  look   back   as   to  green 

islandfl 

"  Acrois  the  barren  wastes  of  waadering  foam." 

1  can  still  recall  walks  to  our  afternoon  bathe — in  the  old  bathing- 
abed  in  the  green  fields  by  the  Biver  Cam— with  him  and  with  others 
who  still  live  ;  and  in  one  of  those  walks  I  remember  the  vivid  "  chaff" 
which  he  expended  on  one  of  his  old  schoolfellows,  which  showed  me 
how  much  sense  of  the  ludicrous  and  what  powers  of  sarcasm  lay 
»r  his  quiet  exterior  and  usually  shy  talk.  But  the  sarcasm  was 
rer  venomoua.  It  was  intended  to  heal,  not  to  wound.  It  was 
"Gentle  satire  klo  to  cbarity." 

1  am  not  writing  an  indiscriminate  eulogy,  and  I  cannot  say  that 
lightfoot  was  at  that  time  specially  eminent  as  a  private  tutor. 

•  Az.  V«p.  na.  t  Mark  t.  36.  J  1  Cor.  xv.  52, 

$  In  a  speech  at  tbe  opening  of  the  Bury  Athenaiom. 


174 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Vm. 


It  may  be  that  he  did  not  wholly  like  the  drudgery  ;  it  may  be  that 
he  had  bu  unpromising  pupil ;  it  may  be  that  his  massive  scholarship 
was  not  best  displayed  in  the  Greek  and  Latin  composition  which  then 
occupied  a  disproportionate  share  of  attention.  He  was  always  pains- 
taking and  conscientious,  and  he  was  kindness  itself.  Other  pupils 
probably  gained  more  from  his  tuition  tlian  1  am  honestly  able  to  say  that 
I  did ;  but  my  deepest  gratitude  to  him  was  due  to  all  that  I  learned 
from  him  in  later  years,  not  then.  I  once  offended  him — I  trust 
that  it  was  the  only  time  that  I  did  so^by  telling  him  when  I  got 
my  Fellowship  that  he  might  have  saved  me  many  gloomy  misgivings 
aa  an  Undergraduate,  if  the  Cambridge  system  had  dealt  a  little  more 
freely  in  words  of  encouragement,  I  said  tJiis,  not  by  way  of  any 
personal  complaint,  but  only  from  the  deeply  seated  conviction  on 
which  I  have  always  acted  as  a  principle  in  education,  and  which  to  my 
knowledge  has  produced  good  fruits  in  the  minds  of  some,  that  there  are 
youths  of  diffident  temperament,  always  inclined  to  luidervalue  them- 
selves, to  whom  the  total  dearth  of  hopefnlness  about  their  own  efforts, 
which  their  elders  and  betters  might  so  easily  inspire,  produced  the 
effects  sometimes  of  mental  paralysis,  sometimes  almost  of  death. 

The  secrets  of  Bishop  Lightfoot's  great  career  were  the  perseverance 
and  the  resolution  which  in  the  long  run  achieve  greater  results  than 
careless  genius,  and  are  not  liable  to  the  same  aberrations.  This 
was  remarked  in  him  even  as  a  schoolboy.  "  What  is  Joe  working  at 
now?"  asked  one  of  his  school-fellows.  "Is  he  learning  German?" 
''  Oh,  no,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  he  has  done  with  German,  and  has  gone  on 
to  Anglo-Saxon."  In  his  earlier  years  he  was  not  regarded  so  much  as 
a  man  of  brilliant  originality  and  exceptional  endowments  as  a  man  of 
untiring  industry  and  indomitable  purj^se,  devoted  to  the  training 
of  g[reat  and  solid  capacities.  Thus  he — as  has  often  been  noticed  of 
another  dear  friend  of  past  days,  Bishop  Cotton,  of  Calcutta — was  a 
man  who  continually  grew  in  power  and  ability,  adapting  himself  to 
erery  ofiBce  to  which  he  was  called.  A  favourite  line  of  his  old 
schoolmaster  used  to  be  Homer's 


"  aiiv  aptdTtvtti'  Kai  tnrupoy^ov  tpfitvai  aWutv." 

Dr.  Lightfoot  fully  absorbed  the  first  part  of  the  exhortation  in  the  sense 
of  "  always  doing  his  utmost,  and  always  being  his  best ; "  but 
I  do  not  think  that  he  ever  allowed  himself  to  covet  the  pre- 
eminence over  others  at  which  Hippolochus  enjoined  his  eon  Glaucus 
to  aim.  For  that  ambition  he  would  rather  have  substituted  the  line 
of  Hesiod,  which  was  so  often  on  the  lips  of  Socrates  : — 

Kao  ovva^iv  C   ipdnv  ttp  uQavaTmoi  Ofoiai-t 


Horn.  11.  vi.  20«. 


t  Hes  Op.  334. 


tioci] 


BISHOP   LIGHTFOOT. 


175 


He  put  forth  his  beat  endeavours  not  only  in  matters  of  relipon, 
bnt  in  the  routine  of  daily  life.  Thus,  when  he  became  a  I'rofessor 
«t  Cunbridge,  his  greatness  was  immediately  established.  The  im- 
mense range  of  his  acquisitions,  the  earnest  efforts  to  do  his  work  as 
well  as  lay  in  his  power,  were  at  once  recognized  by  the  Under- 
gradnatee.  The  frequent  failure  of  Professors  to  win  an  audience  is 
a  matter  of  common  complaint,  and  men  as  learned  in  their  own 
domain  as  Dr.  Lightfoot  have  not  succeeded.  But  there  was  iozne- 
tking  electric  in  his  quick  sympathy  with  the  young,  in  his  masculine 
independence,  in  his  strong  practical  good  sense,  in  his  matchless 
lucidity  of  exposition ;  and  these  gifts  caused  his  lecture-room  to  be 
throno^ed  by  eager  listeners.  The  late  Master  of  Trinity  was  not  given 
to  enthusiasm,  but  once  he  did  wax  enthasiastic,  as  be  de«cril)€d  to  me 
the  passage  between  the  Senate  House  and  Cains  College  "  black  with  the 
flittering  gowns  of  students"  hurrj'ing  to  imbibe,  in  the  Professor's  claat- 
'  ItfOtt,  a  knowledge  of  the  New  Testament  such  as  was  not  open  to  their 
km  happy  predecessors,  and  such  as  would  last  many  of  them  all  their 
IiTcs  as  a  fountain  of  valuable  exegesis  in  many  a  pariah  and  many  a 
fLiipit. 

And,  speaking  of  the  pulpit,  I  will  say  that  Dr.  Lightfoot's  preaching 
furnished  another  ilinstration  of  the  determination  which  carried  him 
I"  excellence  in  every  branch  of  work  which  he  undertook.  SV^hen 
he  began  to  preach  he  crested  no  striking  impression.  He  had  received 
from  Nature  none  of  tboee  gifts  of  persoo,  and  voice,  and  grace  of 
manner  which  stand  so  many  orators  in  good  stead.  His  delimj 
at  that  time  has  been  described  as  doU  and  moootoDOaa,  and  be  ww 
perhaps  conscioas  of  the  disadvaatages  against  which  he  bad  to 
*tmggle.  Bat  be  oompletelj  overcame  them.  As  a  fpeaJxr,  indeed^ 
he  never  attained,  as  a  role,  to  vbat  voold  be  called  efiective  ontotjf 
^ogh  those  wbo  knew  what  be  was.  and  hoar  impoanble  it  WM  &r 
him  to  My  anything  which  «m  not  worthy  die  beat  ttUrAm,  tra«ld 
'(thrr  have  listoied  to  him  than  to  almost  any  man.  But  aa  a 
]««wber  he  achieved  s  greataeas  which  wQl  not  be  foDy  tr»vigmmt\ 
VB^  those  three  wlmnes  of  varied  MiiBoua  are  printed  wfaidi  are 
ffadr,  or  nearly  ready,  tot  the  pnaB.     When  they  aee  the  fight,  I 


fKliere  that  the  general 
^riuch  I  have  wiy  often 
"Mjfaty  of  style  he  w 
*>or»  iaponant  than 
the  fim^-if  Dot  Uu  first- 
vnaoQs  were  often  altered  with  » i 
Best  poweifnl  cftet,  and  As 
•(«&»  to  be  kat,  an4  ^* 
ttKT,  I  will  inj     ami(^  the 
tint  they  trere 


of  than  win  jmtify  an  opinion 

ad  that,  if  a^tcr  be  iafittiteiy 

nnU  hsfvbeenankedaacMcr 

JnthaChnahcf  T^gjiBJ      Hb 

re«hi(^lDeena»the 


Mtfe 


176 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Fkb. 


first  of  his  sermons  whicli  eliowed  to  what  heiglits  he  could  attain 
was  that  which  he  preached,  after  the  death  of  Dr.  Whewell,  in  Trinity 
College  Chapel,  in  which  he  described  so  touchiiigly  how,  in  the  first 
flush  of  his  utter  grief  and  loneliness,  after  the  death  of  his  wife,  tho 
great  Master  of  Trinity  "  appeared  in  the  chapel  to  join  his  prayers  with 
ours,  not  shrinking  from  lis  as  from  strangers,  nor  fearing  to  commit 
to  our  sympathies  the  saddest  of  all  sad  sights,  an  old  man's  bereave- 
ment and  a  strong  man's  tears."  I  should  be  glad  to  quote  passage 
from  his  admirable  sermon  on  "  The  Father  of  Missionaries,"  and  from 
that  on  '*  The  Vision  of  God,"  preached  at  his  enthronement;  or  from 
that  on  Ezekiel'a  vision,  preached  at  the  opening  of  the  Croydon 
Church  Congress.  I  have  no  spEwe  for  such  extracts,  and,  indeed,  I 
never  heard  him  preach  a  sermon  which  was  not  admirable  and 
weighty.  But  I  may  refer  to  that  fine  picture  of  a  self-dedicated  life, 
which  he  sketched  at  the  consecration  of  the  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury to  the  Bishopric  of  Truro* — the  picture  of  one  who  ''  lays  down 
at  the  footstool  of  God  his  successes  and  his  failures,  his  hopes  and 
his  fears,  his  knowledge  and  his  ignorance,  his  weakness  and  his 
strength,  his  misgivings  and  his  confidences — all  that  he  is,  and  all 
that  he  might  be — content  to  take  up  thence  just  that  which  God 
shall  give  him." 

So,  again,  it  was  with  his  work  as  a  Biahop.  The  old  proverb, 
apjfjj  avSpa  Bi'iKvvai  was  true  in  his  case.  All  his  ruling  and  adminiB- 
trative  capacity  at  once  came  out.  He  has  left  his  diocese  one  of  th© 
best  organized  and  one  of  the  most  united  in  England.  Tlie  secret  of 
this  success  lies  in  his  own  words  on  the  day  of  his  enthronement : — 
"  I  have  but  one  idea  for  the  administration  of  the  diocese,  that  we 
should  all  strive  to  work  together  ;  that,  as  we  contemplate  the  awful 
amount  of  sin  around  us,  we  should  one  and  all  resolve  to  do  our  best, 
by  God'a  help,  to  lessen  this  gigantic  mass  of  evil,  and  should  be  careful 
not  to  give  or  take  unnecessary  offence  at  what  is  done  by  those  who 
are  labouring  earnestly  and  faithfully  in  the  same  cause."  Under  his 
rule  tho  diocese  was  divided ;  the  diocesan  work  flourished  ;  he 
preached  in  nearly  every  church  in  his  diocese.  Churches  were  built; 
home  and  foreign  missions  were  promoted.  Social  efforts  of  all 
kinds  were  set  on  foot.  The  dense  crowds  of  pitmen  who  watched  in 
silence  the  funeral  procession  as  it  passed  through  Tudhoe  and  Spenny- 
moor  showed  how  deeply  the  heart  of  the  people  had  been  touched  by 
the  work  of  the  shy  scholar  who  had  been  transformed  into  their 
Prince-Bishop- 

This  is  not  the  place  to  attempt  any  estimate  or  characterization  of 
the  great  work  which  it  has  been  given  him  to  do,  although,  if  it  had 
been  possible,  I  would  gladly  have  touched  on  the  subject.  But  I  may 
mention  one  feature  which  shone  conspicuously  in  every  branch  of 
•  On  St.  Mark's  Day,  1887, 


BISHOP    LIGHTFOOT. 


177 


labour  whicli  he  nndertook.     It  was  the  exemplary  tJwroughnus  which 
showed  the  ripest  fruit  of  the   best   form  of   Cambridge  training. 
Instances  crowd  upon  the  memory,  but  I  will  content  myself  with  one 
or  tffft     Fifteen  years  ago  he  was  asked  to  read  a  paper  on  MissionB 
at  the  Annual  Meeting  of  the  Society  for  the   Propagation  of  the 
Gx>spel.    Thousands  of  such  papers  have  been  written  which  have  been 
forgotten  a  few  weeks  at  the   latest  after  they  were  read.     But  Dr. 
Lightfoot  discharged  the  duty  in  such  a  way  that  his  paper  has  a  per- 
manent value,  and  is  a  most  important  contribution  to  the  literature 
of  missions.     It  finally  swept  aside  the  modem  assertion  that  missions 
i»«  lust  all  their  ancient  efficacy.      It  showed,  with  a  masterly  know- 
ledge which  few  possess,  and  which  fewer  still  would  have  had   the 
ptieoce  to  concentrate,  that  the  progress  of  Christianity  through  the 
ages  bos  been  quite  as  rapid  in  proportion  as  it  was  in  the  first  four 
ceatories.    It  thus  dissipated  a  sense  of  diacouragemont  which  weighed 
ieavily  on  many  minds,  and  it  gave  a  fresh  impulse  to  missionary  zeal. 
^nUce,  as  another  instance,  his   essays   in   the  editions  of  St.  Paul's 
Epistles  on  the  meaning  of  prcctorium.,  or  of  TrXiipuifia,  or  on  ivwvatfK;, 
or  the  dissertations  on  the  Christian  ministry,  on  St.  Paul  and  Seneca, 
and  on  the  "  Brethren  of  the  Lord."     Those  essays  are  absolutely  ex- 
IiAOstive  of  the  existing  materials  for  forming  a  judgment.     Tliey  are 
specimens  of  a  research   which  refused  to  be  wearied.     Once  again, 
take  his  edition  ef  the   *'  Epistles  of  St.  Ignatius  and  St.   Polycarp." 
Determined   to  get  to  the  bottom  of  every  question,  and  to  examine 
the  genuineness  of  the  Ignatian  Epistles  in  every  possible  light,  he 
ftdded  Armenian  and  Coptic  to  his  already  vast  stores  of  erudition,  with 
the  sole  object  of  examining  what  could  be  discovered  about  the  epistles 
in  those  languages.    Often  in  steamboat,  or  railroad  carriage,  he  would 
be  found  with  an  Armenian  or  Coptic  grammar  in  his  Land.    And  yet, 
ao  absolutely  unostentatious  was  this  newly  acquired  learning  that  a 
reader  might  easily  go  through  his  book   without  so  much  as  once 
Baticdiig   the    fact.     For  it  is  as  tme  of  him  as  of  any   man  that 
lived  that  he  wore 


Ij^^^^  "  the  weight 

^^^H  Of  all  that  learning,  lightly  aj  a  flower." 

V      He  avoided  controversy  as  much  as  possible,  but  when  he  was  called 
^■^oa  to  perform  the  functions  of  a  critic,  he  discharged  his  duty  with 
Hrire  perfection.     One  of  the  first  writing.s  which  brought  him  promi- 
nently into  notice  was  his  criticism  in  the  Journal  of  PkUoloijyy  of 
two   works   by  men    of  genius — the  edition   of  the   Epistle  to   the 
GbrinthUns,  by  Dean  Stanley,  and  of  the  Epistle  to  the  Ilomana  and 
Galsdaas,  by  the  Master  of  Balliol.     Exact  scholarship   was  not  of 
the  forit  of  the  beloved  and  gifted  Dean  ;  and  minute  gram- 
■od  critical  precision  was  not  the  immediate  object  of  Pro- 
Jowett.     Both  works  were  composed  from  an  exegetical  stand- 


d 


178 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVlEfV, 


point  different  from   that  of  Dr.  Lightfoot,  though  he  was  the  fi— 
to    recognize  the   high   nnd    permanent    importance    of   both, 
know  very  well   how  the  criticisms  of  such   works  would  have  bt — ?— 
written  by  the  shallow  and  pretentious  cleverness  of  some  smoll-mLm^K 
anonymous    critic    in    the    ordinary    religious,     semi-religious,     a^^ 
pseudo-religious   journals.     Long    experience   has  made    na    famil:s^ 
with    the   tone   of    superiority   which    such   writers  always   assunx^ 
with   their  studied   depreciations,   their  unfairness,   their  determira^ 
tion    to   ignore    every  merit,  to   exaggerate    every   defect,   and    nc^ 
to    attempt    to   understand   the   real    object   of  the  writer  whom   i^ 
is  their    one    aim   to   injure,    to   wound,   and   to  write   down.       Dr, — 
Lightfoot    was    endowed    with    a    nature,    and    had    attained    to   a 
goodness,  which  could  not  descend  to  those  abysses  of  the  ignoble. 
Very  far  different,    and   indeed  a   model   of  outspoken  yet   modest, 
manly,   and   respectful  criticism,   was  his  review.      No  author   could 
be  otherwise  than  grateful  for  such  corrections.      As  a  matter  of  fact, 
Dr.  Lightfoot  received  tht^  cordial  thanks  both  of  the  Dean  and  the  Pro- 
fessor, who,  in  later  editions,  gladly  corrected  the  errors  or  oversights  to 
which  he  had  called  attention.    So,  too,  there  was  a  controversy  between 
Dr.  Lightfoot  and  the  present  Bishop  of  Salisbury,  on  the  subject  of  the 
famous  views  of  the  former  upon  the  Christian  ministry  ;  but  it  was 
conducted  by  both  bishops  with  mutual  and  loving  court-esy,  and  not 
one  word  was  said  by  either  to  pain  the  feelings,  or  even  to  ruffle  the 
susceptibilities  of  the  other.     Some  may  say  that  in  his  other  chief 
controver.'^y — that  with  the  author  of  "  Supernatural  Religion  " — Dr. 
Lightfoot  showed  some  acerbity.      The  impression  is  a  mistaken  one, 
aa  those  who  read  the  papers  will  see.     Tlie  author  of  "  Supernatural 
Religion,"  in  his  recent  reply,  makes  no  such  complaint.    On  the  special 
points  of  controversy,  with  which  Dr.  Lightfoot  alone  wifihed  to  deal, 
the  unknown  author  hatl  laid  himself  open  to  many  refutations,  and  as 
the  issue  of  the  contest  was  one  supremely  important  in  itself,  and  of 
ooiMummate  interest  to  the  bishop,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  drive   his 
lance  home  between  the  joints  of  his  opponent's  harness.    But  if  he  ex- 
tenuated nothing,  he  certainly  set  down  naught  in  malice.    Of  insulting 
language,  and  of  acrimonious  personality  there  is  none.      There  are  no 
venomous  sneers,  no  corroding  epigrams,  so  that  in  this  region  again 
the  bishop  set  a  shining  and  greatly-needed  example.    0  si  sic  omnes  t 
His  attitude  as  an  ecclesiastic  is  akin  to  his  attitude  as  a  critic.    He 
was  a  man  of  large  and  tolerant  mind,  who  apprehended  too  seriously 
the  importance  of  the  deeper  and  more  vital  queetions  on  which  the 
issues  of  this  age  depend,  to  care  much,  if  he  cared  at  all,  about 
petty  squabbles.     He  had  learnt  from  St.  John  that  the  real  Anti- 
Christ  is  the  spirit  of  faction.      It  was  therefore  impossible  for  him  to 
take  any  share  in  the  manoouvres  or  intrigues  of  partisans.     We  can- 
not even  conceive  of  him  as  condescending  to  whisper  innuendoes  against 


a9>} 


BISHOP   LIGHTFOOT. 


179 


opponeiits  or  rivals ;  or  as  saffering  himself  to  be  actuated  by  pre- 
jodic^s  which  induce  a  colour  blindness  to  all  merits  of  thosa  from 
whom  we  differ.  Such  tilings  were  utterly  alien  to  his  temperament, 
mhI  belonged  to  a  region  immeasurably  below  his  habitual  aspirations. 
He  left  such  methods  to  falser  aims  and  meaner  spirits. 

"  Through  the  heather  an'  liowe  gaed  the  creepin'  thing, 
But  abune  wna  the  waft  of  an  angel's  "wing. 

When  he  became  a  Bishop,  there  were  many  who  feared  that  the 
sdiolar  n-ould  be  sacrificed  to  the  Church  officer,  or  that  episcopal 
drties  would  be  overbalanced  by  theological  pre-occupations.  It  was 
Br>t  so.  His  varied  erudition  had  not  been  purchased  at  the  cost  of 
practical  wisdom.  By  unswerving  diligence,  by  early  rising,  by 
stciwly  ose  of  tlie  fragments  of  time,  be  was  still  able  to  contribute  to 
the  liisrher  branches  of  scholarly  and  historic  research,  while  yet  he 
"as  an  active  and  most  useful  Prelate.  His  charity,  his  tolerance, 
liis  magnanimity,  tending  to  the  annihilation  of  all  that  is  petty  and 
PWiaaic,  gave  to  his  diocese  a  singular  sense  of  brotherliness  as  well 
«s  an  energy  of  devoted  service.  He  found  time  to  train  gratuitously, 
in  Auckland  Castle,  a  succession  of  youths,  who,  having  enjoyed  the 
idrantage  of  seeing  the  daily  spectacle  of  his  example,  are  now,  to 
4e  aamber  of  seventy,  working  as  clergymen  in  the  Church  of 
£of?laQd.  Into  two  great  movements  he  flung  himself  with  clear- 
^  '^^     H**  could  not  live  in  the  midst  of  a  district  inhabited 

'.  I'les  of  pitmen  and  miners  without  observing  the  ravages  of 

ttose  two  great  enemies  of  mankind — intemperance  and  impurity.  He 
btaine  by  choice  and  conviction  a  total  abstainer  and  a  prominent 
•i»wate  of  temperance  legislation.  He  spoke  on  this  subject  with 
perfect  firmness,  yet  without  bigotiy,  and  he  wisely  said  (as  every 
«nsibli^  abstainer  would  say)  that,  if  at  any  time  he  could  be  convinced 
tlwt  his  health  absolutely  required  the  use  of  wine,  he  should  then 
nnhflgitatiogly.  resume  it«  use,  believing  the  preservation  of  health  to 
^  ■•>'  duty  when  no  suprrior  duty  demands  its  sacrifice.      Of 

'  .  Cross  Society  he  was  the  president,  and,  if  I  mistake  not, 

tke  principal  founder.  When  he  spoke  on  the  platform  he  showed  the 
fumt  of  handling  a  difficult  subject  with  absolute  precision,  yet  with 
tksmost  refined  delicacy ;  and  we  cannot  doubt  that  by  his  words  and 
Im  example  he  has  greatly  contributed  to  establish  among  young 
lun  a  holier  and  more  chivalrous  view  of  the  relations  which  should 
]nnal  between  the  sexes  in  a  Christian  society.  He  was  himself,  by 
<iilibemt«  choice,  a  celibate ;  probably,  among  other  reasons,  because 
h  tfik  with  St.  Paul  that  as  matrimony  is  a  most  blessed  aid  in 
ibdMrging  many  of  life's  highest  duties,  so  there  are  particular  voca- 
tiou  to  which  it  may  be  a  hindrance.  He  may  have  thought  that 
tt  irogld  be  a  hindrance  to  the  vocation  to  which  God  had  called  him. 


180 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Feb. 


But  he  did  not  fall  into  the  anti-Christian  and  Manichjean  heresy 
which  treated  marriage  as  a  necessary  evil,  or  regarded  it  as  an 
obstacle  to  priesthood,  or  placed  celibacy  above  it  in  intrinsic 
meritoriousness.  On  the  contrary,  more  than  thirty  years  ago,  in  the 
controversy  which  arose  about  the  tenure  of  fellowships,  he  laid  down 
the  true  princi])lo  that  neither  matrimony  nor  celibacy  possesses  any 
inherent  superiority  over  the  other  condition,  but  that  each  is  best  as 
God  indicates  His  will  respecting  it  to  individual  men.* 

It  is  impossible  to  consider  the  life  of  Bishop  Lightfoot  without 
observing  its  singular  felicity  in  this  resi)ect — that  he  was  one  of  the 
few  who  all  his  life  long  seems  to  have  escaped  from  the  stings  of 
malice  and  detraction.  Many  public  men  of  the  present  day,  as  in 
all  ages,  have  lived  for  years  amid  incessant  attacks  of  which  they 
themselves  are  often  unable  to  account  for  the  bitterness.  In  not  a 
few  it  happens,  and  has  happened,  to  spend  their  lives  in  "  the  oppres- 
sion of  a  perpetual  hissing."  Take  the  case  of  four  of  the  most 
prominent  divines  of  latter  days,  Dr.  Pusey,  Canon  Kingsley,  Professor 
Maurice,  and  Dean  Stanley.  Their  personal  experience  would  have 
led  them  to  ratify  the  verdict  of  the  Laureate — 

"  Each  man  walks  witli  his  head  in  a  cloud  of  poisonous  flies." 

During  many  years  Dr.  Pusey  passed  tbi-ough  hurricanes  of  abuse. 
Canon  Ivingsley,  as  he  tells  us  in  one  of  his  letters,  was  at  more  than 
one  period  of  his  career  "  cursed  like  a  dog  "  in  the  public  prints, 
and  the  chief  religious  newspaper  of  the  day  said  of  his  strong 
and  tender  story,  "Yeast,"  that  "he  taught  immorality  and  in- 
sinuated atheism."  For  loag  years  in  succession  an  article  abusing 
Maurice  was  the  invariable  miiec  j^ifjitaiiie  which  was  required  in  the 
first  number  of  every  evangelical  periodical,  and  reams  of  insult  and 
slander  against  him  lie  rotting  in  old  files  of  the  Jii-coi'd.  I  have 
seen  a  paragraph  in  a  High  Church  paper  saying  that  if  (as  was 
probable)  a  statue  was  over  raised  to  the  Devil,  Dean  Stanley  would 
certainly  be  the  fittest  person  to  unveil  it ;  and  on  his  deathhed,  a^i 
he  lay  dying,  I  saw  the  last  number  of  a  very  superior  Church  review 
speaking  with  the  bitterest  contempt  of  his  Christian  Institutes — a 
review  which,  happily,  ho  was  too  ill  to  read,  so  that  he  was  uninjnred 
by  its  virulence.  Dr.  Lightfoot  eutirely  escaped  all  such  literary  and 
theological  assaults.  The  only  word  of  abuse  I  ever  read  against  him 
was  written  opposite  to  his  name  in  the  vi-sitors'-book  at  the  top  of 
Snowdon  nearly  forty  years  ago — written  probably  by  some  reckless 
Undergraduate  whom  he  had  tried  to  save  from  energetic  attempts 
to  throw  himself  away.  "  When  a  man  s  ways  plea-se  the  Lord," 
says  the  Book  of  Proverbs,   "  he  maketh  even  his  enemies  to  be  at 

•  His  words  arc  as  follows  (on  "  The  Celibacy  Question,"  Oct.  26, 1857) :— "  When  God 
has  not  only  permitted  but  sanctioned  both  states  of  lite  alike,  is  it  not  unreasonable  to 
hold  that  all  the  advantagea  are  on  the  side  of  the  one  to  the  exclusion  of  the  other  ?" 


BISHOP   UGHTFOOT. 


181 


paaee  vitk  bim."  But  I  do  not  think  thftt  Dr.  Ughtfoot  over 
Wd  maj  enemia.  To  what  was  this  duo  ?  Partly  to  tho  aonBO  of 
km  ||icat  kumi^^  piu-tly  to  bis  uncontmrersinl  way  of  pnracoiting 
etvn  cunliwwgial  trath.  He  certainly  did  not  suppn^ss  hia  viawa. 
SLtBoondosoas  abont  the  origin  and  tnio  functions  of  tho  ministry  aro 
not  those  which  seem  to  be  getting  almost  nnivrrsally  prevalent  among 
tbe  English  clergy.  Many  of  them  would  not  l>«  ploaaed  with  hia 
cKfrtanct  declaration  that  in  the  epistles  of  Ignatius  thero  is  to  bo 
fimnd  no  tinge  of  sacerdotalism.  His  views  on  rtn'ision— in  which  hia 
xofloenoe  told  with  gt^&t  power — ran  counter  to  those  of  IX>an  Hurgon 
and  his  numberless  adherents.  His  comments  on  Col,  ii.  20-23,  which 
he  explained  in  a  sense  directly  op]X)8ed  to  the  exaltation  of  aaoetioiam,  it 
only  one  of  many  comments  in  which  his  opinions  woro  not  thoao  of  tho 
Ritaalists.  And  yet  he  somehow  escaped  antagonism.  It  is  a  bleanod 
lot  for  those  by  whom  it  is  won  legitimiit«^ly  and  without  comjiromise. 
Bat  if  any  one  be  led  by  envy  of  such  spontaneoualy  grrtu1.«i  happi- 
ness to  win  it  by  unhallowed  means,  by  "  steering  between  the  Scylla 
and  Charybdis  of  yes  and  no,"  or  acquiring  a  reputation  for  Hnfi'ty 
and  moderation  by  "never  stating  a  proixwition  without  can-fuliy 
protecting  himself  from  seeming  to  exclude  \\w  contradictory,"  ho  iM 
not  following  the  great  Bishop's  examplo.  Ami  wlmtin-er  be  the  rare 
exceptions,  Christ's  rule  holds  all  but  univorsiiily  truf  :  "  BloHHed  ore 
ye  when  all  men  shall  hate  you,  and  persecute  you,  and  Hpi>ak  nil 
iner  of  evil  against  you  falsely  for  My  natiw's  sake  ;  "  mul  *'  woti  mito 
>u  when  all  men  shall  speak  well  of  you."  Tho  ruh'  is  itormal;  but 
every  now  and  then  the  Master  makes  blessed  ttxc«''ption«  for  thoiw 
whom  He  loves. 

I  have  tried,  then,  to  say  what  little,  at  the  moriifnt^  Koeined  worth 
saying  abont  the  great  career,  about  the  noble  character,  alnjut  mrnv^ 
of  the  manifold  labours  and  achievements  of  a  man  in  whom  pomtority 
will  probably  recognize  by  far  the  greatest  ecclesiastic  of  tlii>  preHt-ufc  day. 
Bat  his  chief  eminence  and  his  highest  claim  upon  our  gratitude  lies 
IB  thia — that  he  left  us  all  a  stainless  example.  He  soughl.  \\u  lionourN  ; 
though,  when  they  came  to  him  unsought,  he  accopt^-d  them  with 
hmniKty  and  thankfulness.  He  was  wealthy  witliout  ostentation  and 
witboot  avarice.  He  was  a  presbyter  who  row?  supcnnr  to  tlm  tz-mpta- 
tioB*  of  worldliness  and  ambition.  In  no  man  whom  I  have  ever 
kaown  was  there  leas  of  egotism  or  self-seeking,  and  in  this  too  be 
reaeiBbled  U>e  great  contemporar)-  poet  over  whom  the  grave  haw  ao 
vaeSDtly  cioaed.  Called  upon  to  face  death  at  an  age  comparatively 
pcvontsre,  when  years  of  fruitful  work  might  have  lain  before  him,  and 
it  seemed  open  to  him  to  win  a  secure  and  lasting  memorial  in 
miads  of  all  men,  by  completing  his  editions  of  St,  Paul's  Epistles, 
1  gradfring  his  longing  to  write  a  history  of  the  fourth  century,  he 
sat  thecal!  of  God,  and  left  his  unfinished  work  and  his  accumnlated 


182  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW.  [Fb*. 

materials,  not  only  without  a  murmur,  but  without  so  much  as  a  s%h 
of  regret  or  a  single  backward  glance.  How  can  I  end  more  fitly 
than  in  his  own  noble  words  ? — 

"  While  I  was  suffering  fit>m  oTerwork,  aod  before  I  understood  the  true 
nature  of  my  complaint,  it  was  the  strain,  both  in  London  and  at  home,  in 
connection  with  the  Pan- Anglican  gatherings,  that  broke  me  down  hope- 
lessly. I  did  not  regret  it  then,  and  I  do  not  regret  it  now.  I  should  not 
have  wished  to  recall  the  past  even  if  my  illness  had  been  fatal.  For  what, 
after  all,  is  the  individual  life  in  the  history  of  the  Church  %  Men  may 
come  and  men  may  go ;  individual  lives  float  down  like  straws  on  the  surface 
of  the  waters  till  they  are  lost  in  the  ocean  of  eternity.  But  the  broad, 
mighty,  rolling  stream  of  the  Church  itself — ^the  cleansing,  purifying,  ferti- 
lizing tide  of  the  river  of  God — flows  t)n  for  ever  and  ever." 

F.  W.  Farrak. 


«89ol 


OXFORD   PROFESSORS    AND   OXFORD 

TUTORS. 

REPLY   OF   THE    EXAMINERS    IN    THE    SCHOOL 
OF  MODERN    niSTORY. 


I. 


AS  charges  bave  been  made  by  Professor  Thorold  Rogers,  in  the 
Contemporary  Review  for  December  1 889,  against  the  conduct 
at  the  examinations  at  Oxford  by  resident  teachers  in  the  University, 
we,  the  undersigned,  being  non-residents,  who  have  acted  ns  examiners 
in  the  school  of  Modem  History  during  the  last  five  years,  wish  to 
express  oar  opinions  on  the  following  points  as  far  as  that  school  is 
eoooemed. 

1.  Thongh  there  may  be  a  danger  of  confining  the  examinations 
too  doaely  within  the  limits  of  the  teaching  given,  there  would  be  a  still 
greater  danger  to  the  maintenance  of  a  high  standard  of  knowledge 
from  the  exclusive  appointment  of  examiners  unfamiliar  with  th*- 
work  of  the  university,  and  therefore  liable  to  vary  the  standard 
aooovding  to  their  own  ideas  or  their  own  reading. 

2.  Attention  has  always  been  paid,  in  the  choice  of  examiners,  to 
th"  desirability  of  securing  either  non-residents  or  those  who  were  not 
ilin!Ctly  concerned  in  teaching  for  examination,  and  further,  during 
thp  last,  four  years,  only  two  of  the  examiners  out  of  four  have  been 
•ppointr<l  from  the  resident  teachers  of  history. 

8.  All  papers  set  in  examination  are  fully  discussed  by  all  fhe 
enminers  in  common,  and  care  is  taken  that  they  shall  test  knowledge 
of  tho  subjects  as  a  whole  apart  from  any  particular  theories  or  modes 
oftoaohing. 

4.  It  ifl  an  invariable  rule  that  no  exanuner  aiks  questions  in  vial 
fpnf  examination,  either  of  his  own  pnpils  or  members  of  h's  own 
QoUegf,      Further,  no  examiner  either  votes  or  expresses  his  opinion 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 

about  the  position  in  the  class  list  to  be  given  to  hia  pupils  or  members 
of  his  college. 

5.  We  bare  never  seen  the  smallest  sign  of  personal  favour,  or 
college  feeling,  or  partisanship  of  particular  opinions  on  the  jjart  of 
our  colloagues  who  have  been  resident  teachers.  The  only  considera- 
tions which  weighed  with  them  were  signs  of  industry,  mental  vigour, 
and  merit,  so  far  as  it  showed  itself  in  the  work  done  in  the 
examination. 

SAiiUEL  R.  Gardixek,  >\ 

Sometime  Professor  of  Moriern  History  at 
Kiug's  College,  Londau ; 

E.  S.  Beesly, 

Professor  of  Ancient  and  Modem  History 
at  UniversitT  College,  London ; 

W.  Hunt,  M.A.  ; 
M.  Ckeighton, 

Dixie  Professor  of  Ecclesiastical  History 
at  Cambridge  ; 

T.  F.  Tout, 

Professor  of  History  at  St.  David's  College, 
Lampeter ; 


NoD-rosident 

Examioers 

in  the  School  of 

ModernHiitory 

since 

May  1883. 


n. 

In  the  December  number  of  the  CoNTEMroRARY  Review,  Professor 
Thorold  Rogcr.s  brings  charges  against  the  system  of  teaching  and 
examining  pursued  at  Oxford,  more  especially  in  the  two  Schools  of 
Literro  Ilumaniores  and  Modem  History. 

These  charges  may  be  thus  bricGy  summarized  almost  in  the 
Professor's  own  words. 

The  College  Tutors  and  Zcclurers,  for  the  purpose  of  protrcting  their 
lymi  ig-norancc,  hoycoti  tJic  Professor's  lectures  by  dissuading  their  pupils 
from  aUcndivg  them;  and  then,  hainng  a  icorking  majority  in  tfie 
.sch4}ols  u'hicJi  they  represent,  audit  their  own  accounts  by  examining  those 
they  have  taught.  Under  tJicse  circinnstances  the  teridencies  of  the 
present  system  are  towards  a  sltallow  and  barren  rovtine,  the  vieious 
circle  in  which  the  lecturer  t):amines  and  permanently  tickets  the  pupil. 
Such  a  system  of  examination,  in  which  the  examiner  has  a  pecuniary 
interest  in  the  success  of  his  pupil,  w  not,  and  eannut  he,  free  from 
suspicion.  The  sy^cm,  in  shvri,  is  discreditable,  and^  as  the  Professor 
implies,  a  public  scandal. 

Although  here  in  Oxford,  where  we  are  well  accustomed  to  'Mr. 
Rogers'  inaccurate  statements,  his  sweeping,  ill-founded,  and  often 
ill-natured  criticisms,  these  formidable  charges  only  raise  a  smilo, 
it  is  otherwise,  no  doubt,  with  many  of  his  readers.  In  the  pablic 
interest,  therefore,  we  ask  leave  to  answer  these  charges,  so  far  as  the 
School  of  Modern  History  is  concerned,  by  a  plain  statement  of  facts. 


i8gol       OXFORD  PROFESSORS  AND  OXFORD  TUTORS.     185 


The  bcxly  for  nomiuating  examint-re  consists  of  six  members.  Tliree 
of  these  are  elected  by  the  Board  of  Faculty  iu  Modern  History,  tbe 
other  three  are  the  Vice-Cbauceilor  and  two  Proctors  for  the  time  beiug. 
The  Board  of  Faculty  is  composed  of  22  members.  Of  these  only  10 
represent  the  college  teachers,  being  selected  by  all  authorized  lecturers 
on  the  snbject,  and  very  often  not  all  of  these  are  college  tutors  or 
lecturers ;  thus,  at  present,  the  head  of  a  College  is  a  member  of  the 
Board,  and  last  year  the  Keeper  of  the  Ashmolean  Museum  also  fier\'ed. 
Ten  are  Professors  or  University  Readers,  who  are  ex-officio  menibers 
of  the  Board.  Two  are  co-opted  members,  one  Professor  S.  R.  Gardiner, 
the  other  the  Deputy  of  the  Regius  Professor  of  Modem  History  at 
Oxford. 

Thus  the  proportion  of  resident  teachers  is  at  present  only  9  to  13 
(last  year  it  was  8  to  11)  :  moreover,  the  chairman,  who  has  a  casting 
vote,  has,  to  the  best  of  our  beUef,  invariably  been  a  Professor  since 
the  foundation  of  the  Board. 

It  is  difficult  therefore  to  sf^e  how  the  three  electors  chosen  by  the 
Bo&rd  can  repi-esent  the  exclusive  interest  of  the  college  t.^achers  so 
far  as  those  interests  are  at  variance  with  those  of  tlie  Professors. 

But,  even  supposing  this  were  so,  it  is  self-evident  that  the  \'ice- 
Chancellor  and  two  ProctorSj  who  form  the  remainder  of  the  Body  for 
nominating  examiners,  and  who  are  in  no  way  necessarily  or  officially 
oaonected  with  any  one  school,  can  easily  prevent  any  improper 
tioimnatiun,  especially  Avhen  it  is  remembered  that  the  Vice-Ghancellor 
has  a  casting  vote. 

But  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  examiners  thus  ajipointed,  since 

the  date  of  the  last   Commission,  have  not   represented  the  resident 

tfachers  alone  can    be   conclusively  demonstrated.       Out   of  a  total 

namber  of   14  examiners  who  have  been   appointed  since  that  date, 

five  only  have  be^Q  college  tutors  or  lecturers;  of  the  other    nine, 

five  have  been  non-resident  (four  of  these  being  Professors  at  other 

Universities  or  Colleges,  and  one,  a  gentleman  in  no  way  connected 

witii  teacliing  in  the  University)  ;  one  was  Bi.shop  Stubbs,  late  Regius 

Prrjftnisor  of  Modem  History ;  one  the  deputy  of  tine  ])resent  Regius 

Profesflor;  one  a  reader  of  the  University;   one  the  head  of  a  College, 

wLu  'm  neitlier  tutor  nor  lecturer  of  his  College.     Thus  the  proportion 

of  LhoHe  representing  the    interests   of  the   college   teachers   on    the 

Plxauiining  Board  lias  been  only  as  5  to  9. 

In  the  face  of  these  facts,  it  surjiasses  the  wit  of  man  to  see  how 
the  examinations  can  have  been  manipulated  in  the  interest  of  the 
raudeot  teachers  in  the  manner  suggested  by  Mr.  Rogers. 

Sorely  it  is  to  be  deplored  that  Mr.  Rogers  did  not  take  the  trouble 
to  acquaint  himself  with  these  facts,  of  which  he  professes  au  intimate 
knowlrdge,  before  bringing  charges  against  a  body  of  gentlemen. 
That  the  Professor's   lectures  are  not  so  nunurous-ly  attended   as 
VOL.  LVU,  K 


186 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Fib 


could  be  wished,  the  return  of  188G  shows;  that  this  may  be  to  a 
limited  extent  the  result  of  the  definiteness  of  the  curriculum  set 
before  tie  student  we  do  not  deny  ;  that  this  limitation  of  the  subjects 
of  study,  absolutely  essential  though  it  be,  more  especially  in  such  a 
wide  subject  as  Modem  History,  has  its  evils  we  frankly  admit ;  but 
that  the  scantiness  of  attendance  is  due  to  the  boycotting  of  the 
Professor's  lectures  by  the  college  tutors,  for  the  purpose  of  protecting 
their  own  ignorance,  as  Mr.  Rogers  implies,  we  emphatically  deny. 
For  the  rest  we  are  content  to  leave  our  readers  to  judge  of  the  value 
of  our  critic's  statement  on  this  head,  from  the  inaccuracy  of  such  of 
his  assertions  as  can  be  brought  to  the  test  of  facts. 


A.  H.  Johnson,  N 

Sometime  Fellow  of  All  Souls' ; 

E.  Armstrong, 

Fellow  of  Queen's ; 

A.  L.  Smith, 

Fellow  of  Balliol ; 

R.  Lodge, 

Fellow  of  Bnwenose ;  - 


College  Tutors 

or  Lecturers 

who  have 

examined 

since 
May  1882. 


[*4,*  The  signatures  to  the  firtt  of  these  Replies  are  those  of  all  the  Non-Resident 
Examiners.  The  tecond  Reply  is  signed  by  all  the  College  Tutors  or  Lecturers  who 
have  examined  since  the  date  of  the  last  Commission — with  the  exception  of  one  gentle 
man  now  absent  in  India. — Ed.  C.B.] 


tSgoJ 


THE    FUTURE   OF    ENGLISH    MONARCHY. 


"1 /•"ORE  than  a  generation  has  passed  since  the  Prince  Consort 
_l.fj_  declared  in  a  speech  upon  a  public  occasion  that  Constitutional 
GoFemment  was  under  a  heavy  trial.  The  popular  imagination 
ocmverted  the  phrase  into  a  very  different  one,  which  the  popular 
memory  has  retained.  The  husband  and  most  intimate  and  influential 
cooBsellor  of  tie  Queen  was  thought  to  have  declared  that  represen- 
latire  institutions  were  on  tlieir  trial.  To  be  on  one's  trial  may  some- 
fiiBiiii  be  a  very  heavy  trial,  especially  when  there  is  no  great  confidence 
in  the  verdict  and  sentence  which  may  follow.  To  be  under  a  heavy 
trial  is  the  condition  from  time  to  time  of  all  men  and  of  all  things 
hatnnn.  The  Prince  Consort's  words  were  used  in  the  crisis  and  agony 
of  the  Crimean  war,  and  he  dwelt  with  emphasis  on  tie  difficulties 
which  are  inseparable  from  our  Parliamentary  system,  and  from  that 
iMfc  result  of  civilization,  a  free  newspaper  in  a  free  country.  Daring 
s  period  of  war  and  of  negotiation  secrecy  is  essential,  and  it  is  all  bat 
ioipoesibleu  The  Prince  said  nothing  which  had  not  been  urged  with 
casphasis  by  the  Duke  of  Wellington  nearly  half  a  century  before. 
Wellington  in  the  Peninsular  war  had  to  carry  on  a  I'arliamentary 
at  well  as  n  military  campaign.  Napoleon,  he  said,  could  run  great 
nka  for  the  chance  of  decisive  successes.  No  one  in  France  could 
oeomre  or  recall  him.  But  "Wellington  could  not  afford  to  lose  a 
angle  battle,  and  that  was  why  he  never  lost  one.  He  could  only 
t^A  when  he  was  certain  to  win.  His  successes  were  cavilled  at  and 
■ifiSauzied  by  perhaps  the  most  unpatriotic  Opposition  that  ever 
played  the  part  of  a  doleful  chorus  to  a  great  drama  which  had  a 
Uagdosn  for  a  stage.  His  strategy  and  tactics  were  adversely 
criticised  by  politicians  who  had  not  even  the  bookish  theories  of 
OCliello's  vitLmetical  lieutenant.     As  Chatham  boasted  that  he  had 


'188 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Feb. 


conquered  America  in  Germany,  so  the  mmp  of  a  faction  lioped  to 
conquer  Downing  Street  in  Spain.  The  consequence  waa  that 
Wellington  had  to  keep  almost  as  close  an  eye  upon  the  movements 
of  Parliamentary  parties  at  home  as  on  the  movements  of  Napoleon 
and  his  generals  in  the  field.  He  had  to  know  not  only  the  divisions 
of  a  battle,  but  divisions  in  the  House  of  Commons.  Defeat  meant 
recall.  To  these  considerations,  quite  as  much  as  to  any  peculiarity  of 
his  own  genius  and  character,  was  due  the  exaggerated  caution  with 
which  critics,  competent  from  the  military  point  of  view,  but  not 
understanding  the  political  conditions  of  the  problem  he  had  to  solve, 
sometimes  reproach  him. 

The  purpose  of  the  Prince  Consort's  speech,  though  he  did 
not,  so  far  as  I  know,  refer  to  the  precedent  of  Wellington's 
campaigns,  was  to  point  this  old  moral.  It  is  no  dei-ogation 
from  the  authority  of  Parliaments,  or  from  the  legitimate  influence 
of  the  free  newspaper  in  the  free  country,  to  show  forbearance 
towards  and  confidence  in  men  engaged  on  their  behalf  in  an 
enterprise  of  pith  and  moment.  If  you  have  a  giant's  strength  yoa 
are  not  bound  at  every  moment  to  be  showing  that  you  are  giganti- 
cally strong.  The  House  of  Commons  can  at  any  moment  make  and 
unmake  Slinistries.  The  obligation  on  it  is  the  stronger  to  select 
only  the  right  moment  for  making  and  unmaking  them.  Standing 
aloof  from  parties  and  representing  the  stable  and  penuanent  element 
in  the  Constitution  which  is  not  alFected  by  general  elections, 
Parliamentary-  divisions,  and  votes  of  want  of  confidence,  the  Prince 
Consort  in  1855  was  probably  the  only  man  in  Englnnd  who  could 
deliver  with  authority  words  which  it  was  necessary  should  be  spoken, 
but  which  nevertheless  it  required  no  slight  courage  to  speak.  The 
nation  had  been  taught  in  a  phrase,  which  perhaps  contains  as  much 
truth  as  any  one  can  reasonably  expect  to  find  in  half  a  dozen  words, 
but  which  certainly  does  not  contain  the  whole  doctrine  of  Constitu- 
tional Monarchy  in  England,  that  the  Queen  reigns  but  does  not 
govern.  A  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons  once  said  that  he  had 
only  eyes  to  see,  and  ears  to  hear,  and  a  tongue  to  speak,  what  the 
House  of  Commons  bade  him  see  and  hear  and  say.  Similarly,  the 
Queen,  it  is  thought,  can  only  think  and  apeak  as  the  Ministry  of  the 
day  bids  her  think  and  speak.  The  Prince  Consort,  however,  as  lie 
did  not  reign,  was  supposed  to  be  ambitious  of  goveraing ;  and  his 
intervention  in  public  afiairs  by  speech  or  action  was  childishly 
resented. 

In  the  Eve-and-thirty  years  which  have  passed  since  the  Prince 
Consort  spoke,  a  considerable  change  has  come  over  public  feeling ; 
not  the  House  of  Commons,  but  the  Monarchy  is  on  its  trial,  and  the 
Monarchy  is  on  its  trial  before  the  House  of  Commons.  In  the 
debates  of  last  Session  on  the  Royal  Grants,  Mr.  Gladstone  alone,  of 
that  party  which  deems  that  it  has  a  monopoly  of  a  near  and  long 


THE    FUTURE    OF  ENGLISH   MONARCHY 


189 


fatarp,  spoke  with  any  recognition  of  the  part  played  hy  the  Monarchy 
in  the  political  life  of  England  ;  and  JSIr.  Ciladsfcone,  to  whom,  in  the 
Mtnral  course  of  things,  not  many  years  of  the  long  future  of  Liberal 
ascendency  can  be  granted,  carried  with  him  into  the  Ministerial  lobby 
only  a  handful  of  peraonal  adherents.  Polite  phrases  were  used  by 
Mr.  Labouchere's  supporters  on  the  front  Opposition  bench,  which, 
bciwever,  amounted  to  little  more  than  veiled  good  wishes  for  a 
peaoefal  Euthanasia.  The  Monarchy  is  dying.  Long  live  the  Monarch. 
T<  mmturam  saliUamiis. 

It  is  possible  that  that  Liberal  party  of  the  future  which  is 
tireamed  of,  may  not  come  to  birth  at  all,  or  that  the  parturient 
Uadical  mountain  may  bring  forth  only  a  mouse.  The  coarse 
triiich  will  be  taken  by  the  newly  enfranchised  electors,  who,  if 
tfcey  are  of  one  mind  and  choose  to  exercise  the  power  they  have, 
la'  the  masters  of  England,  is  at  present  only  a  matter  of  speculation, 
of  hope  and  fear.  What  an  ancient  writer  says  of  war  is  as  true  of 
Democracy,  that  it  seldom  adheres  to  the  rules  laid  down  for  it,  but 
ttrikes  out  a  path  for  itself  when  the  time  comes.  But  though  one 
tidng  only  is  certain,  that  the  future  will  be  unlike  what  any  one 
ezpocte,  though  events  will  take  their  own  course,  and  will  decliue  to 
bo  driven  and  pulled  aside  by  whips  and  wire-pullers,  instrnmenta 
Mn<ely  loo  ignoble  for  Providence  or  even  a  self-reepecting  Destiny  to 
flsaploy,  it  does  not  do  to  be  indifferent  to  the  turn  which  attempts  are 
made  to  give  them.  Still  less  is  it  safe  to  neglect  more  general 
teodeuciee,  which  are  real  and  operative,  though  they  may  be  counter- 
acted by  otJiers  working  in  a  different  direction.  Loi-d  Melbourne 
]ay9  down  the  doctrine  that  it  is  not  safe  to  despise  a  book  because  its 
Mitlior  ia  a  ridicnloua  fellow  ;  Lord  Melbourne's  precept  was  necessary 
(or  his  own  guidance,  for  he  was  a  great  reader,  and  to  him  all  authors 
were  ridiculous  fellows.  Parodying  his  remark,  we  may  say  that  it  is 
not  safe  to  neglect  a  revolution  even  though  it  occurs  in  Brazil. 
According  to  the  version  which  first  reached  Europe,  an  Emperor  who 
had  done  nothing  wrong,  a  plant-coilecting  and  beetle-hunting 
Eaiperor,  an  Emperor  fond  of  dabbling  in  the  smells  and  explosions 
wlueli  to  some  people  make  up  experimental  chemistry,  a  reforming 
■ad  Constitution-observing  Emperor  to  boot,  was  suddenly  told  to 
•*B»TC  on  and  get  out  of  this,"  put  on  board  a  ship,  and  sent  across 
the  nas.  When,  on  Napoleon's  proclnmation  that  the  House  of 
Ibapuiisa  had  ceased  to  reign  in  Portugal,  the  Royal  Family  proceeded 
to  til*  port  of  Lisbon,  they  were  accompanied  by  a  weeping  crowd. 
Unpeople  of  Rio  Janeiro  parted  f^pm  their  lOuiperor  with  less  demon- 
ttnition  of  emotion  than  they  would  have  shown  to  a  popular  actress 
^M  mngiohall  entertainer.  He  was  left  off  like  a  suit  of  clothes 
^^Htfdl  was  worn  out  or  hod  become  uanishiuiiable.  Brazil  was  tired 
^^Kltetfig  an  Empire,  and  wanted  to  be  a  Republic.  As  the  Elder?,  o^ 
^^fciel  snddenly  discovered  that  they  mnst  have  a  king  Uke  Ihe  tval\ow?y 

hi 


190 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Feb. 


around  them,  so  the  generals  and  politieianB  of  Brazil  have  discovered 
that  they  must  have  a  fteaident  like  the  nations  around  them. 

This  sudden  dying  out  of  the  monarchical  sentiment,  its  extinction 
by  atrophy,  is  the  wonder  of  the  thing.  Other  monarchs  have  been 
deposed  because  they  oppressed  their  subjects,  or  resisted  their  will, 
or  were  centres  of  strife.  But  the  Empire  had  kept  Brazil  together. 
The  Portuguese  are  not  a  race  superior  to  the  Si)anish,  yet,  alone  of 
the  Americans  of  Latin  blood,  their  state  during  seventy  years  was  free 
from  civil  war  or  social  disorder.  The  Emperor  was  ready  to  do 
everything  he  was  asked  to  do,  even  to  going  away  when  he  was 
iisked  to  go  away.  The  fact  is,  I  imagine,  that  by  one  of  those  secret 
transformations  of  feeling  which  go  on  for  a  long  time  without 
emerging  into  distinct  consciousness,  even  in  the  minds  of  those 
subject  to  them,  and  then  declare  themselves  suddenly  and  with  a 
strange  simnltaneoiisness,  the  itiea  of  monarchy  had  become  in  Brazil 
slightly  ridiculous,  the  Emperor  had  become  an  incongruity,  and  out 
of  relations  with  his  place  and  time.  And,  though  epigrams  do  not 
kill,  a  general  sense  of  the  absm-dity  of  an  institution  may  be  fatal  to 
it  without  expressing  itself  in  a  single  epigram.  The  feeling  may 
I)©  unreasonable,  the  institution  may  have  a  rational  basts,  but,  in  a 
ronflict  between  feeling  and  fact,  the  fact  will  get  the  worst  of  it. 

There  are  traces  here  and  there  in  England  of  the  sentiment  which, 
jxilitically  speaking,  killed  the  Emperor  of  Brazil,  In  the  debatt*  on 
the  Royal  Grants,  a  member  who  is  popular,  if  popularity  is  to  be 
judged  of  by  e.scorting  and  shouting  crowds,  suggested  that  it  would 
be  desirable  to  terminate  the  engagement  of  the  Royal  Family  at  the 
death  of  the  Queen,  to  declare  that  the  throne  was  vacant,  and  that 
there  was  no  intention  of  filling  it  up.  Sir  Wilfrid  Tjawson,  who  is 
sometimes  witty  and  always  jocose,  has  improved  on  the  idea. 
Enraptured  with  the  cashiering  of  an  Emperor  in  Braisil,  which  he 
apparently  looks  on  as  Fox  looked  on  the  taking  of  the  Bastille,  as 
much  the  greatest  event  that  ever  happened  in  this  world,  he  proposes 
that  a  shorter  shrift  shall  be  given  to  monarchy  than  Mr.  Conybeare 
was  willing  to  allow  it.  He  is  for,  in  future,  engaging  kings  and 
•  •mperors  on  the  terras  of  a  month's  warning  or  a  month's  wages.  He 
thinlis  it  a  grand  idea  "  that  since  the  fall  of  the  Brazilian  Empire  the 
new  world,  from  the  frozen  north  to  the  sunny  south,  is  without  a  king 
or  emperor,  one  hereditary  grand  duke  or  hereditary  humbug  of  any 
kind."  Emperors  and  monarchs  are  pot  up  by  people  who  have  not  the 
sense  to  see  the  uselessne.ss  of  them,  and  children  will  some  day  ask, 
*'  What  was  a  king,  mamma  ?"  and  will  be  told  that  kings  lived  in  the 
dark  ages,  but  had  disappeared.  Even  Mr.  Gladstone,  while  sus- 
pending judgment  on  the  merit  of  the  revolution,  and  eulogizing  the 
character  of  Dom  Pedro,  expresses  sati-sfaction  at  the  example  whicli 
has  been  given  of  revolution  made  easy,  and  holds  up  the  Brasdiian 


i89o]       THE   FUTURE    OF  ENGLISH   MONARCHY.  191 

diort  way  witli  monarchs  for  approval,  in  comparison  with  the  long 
and  bloody  strife  of  former  times,  rormerly  anti-monarchical  Benti- 
ment  expressed  itself  in  the  fervent  Jacobin  aspiration  that  the  last 
king  might  be  strangled  in  the  bowels  of  the  last  priest.  Now  it 
takes  the  mild  form  of  a  month's  wages  or  a  month's  warning. 

Not  merely  baronetcies  and  Cumberland  estates,  but  human  nature 

••-•'T  vre  may  remind  Sir  Wilfrid  Lawson  in  i)as.^ng,  are  heredit^uy  in- 

luns.    Mental  qualities,  habits,  and  capacities  are  transmitted;  and 

mfn  whose  fathers  have  for  generations  followed  the  same  pursuits  are 

'  '^'■''    to   be  more  proficient   in  them   than  those  who  enter  from 

■  lit  spheres.     Allowance  must  of  course  be  made  for  exceptional 

caies  of  incapacity  on  the  one  side  and  capacity  on  tlie  other,  for  the 

growth  of  new  abdity  and  the  decline  of   old.      According  to  the 

modem  theory,  certain  qualities  become  imbedded  in  the  organization 

and  are  transmitted  along  with  it.     lu  each  man,  so  to  speak,  all  his 

ancestors  reside,  and  what  is  individual  and   special  to  him  is  the 

amallefit  part  of  the  total  life  he  bears  about  with  him.     In  this  sense 

Heine's  lines  are  not  true — 

"Es  blcibon  todt  die  Todtcn, 
Und  nur  der  Lobcndiger  lebt." 

On  the  contrarj',  the  dead  are  more  alive  than  the  living.  Moreover, 
the  circumstances  amid  which  the  heir  to  a  kingdom  grows  up  give 
him  at  least  the  opportunity  of  being  aopiainted  with  conceptions  of 
gOTemment  and  policy.  The  talk  about  him  may  often,  and  must 
aometimes,  be  of  these  things,  as  the  talk  of  graziers  is  of  bullocks  and 
fiuTB,  and  of  grocers  of  sugar,  and  possibly  of  sand.  Franklin  nsed 
to  i«j  that  an  hereditary  legislator  was  as  great  an  absurdity  as  an 
hflreditary  mathematician  ;  anylxKly  who  will  look  in  Mr.  Douglas 
Qalton'a  book  on  hei-editary  genius  will  find  that  hereditary  mathe- 
■flticianfi  are  not  absolutely  unknown  in  history.  In  truth,  the 
apecalations  and  researches  of  Darwin  and  his  predecessors  and 
IkyvrerR  deprive  the  FraukJin-Lawson  doctrine  of  the  axiomatic 
ithfalne^s  which  was  once  attributed  to  it,  and  if  they  do  not 
*ree  it,  yet  very  gravely  qualify  it. 

But  •  view  may  bo  true  without  being  popular,  and  if  monarchical 

it  ceases  to  appeal  to  the  imagination  and  to  justify  itself 

tliO  oommon-senae  of  men,  converts  will  not  be  made  out  of  l^arwin 

OaHon. 
For  a  long  time  we  have  heard  of  the  decline  of  the  monarchical 
ittment.  Air.  Lecky,  whose  "  History  of  England  in  the  Eighteenth 
itnry  "  is  more  alive  with  thought  than  any  contemporary  work 
of  the  i»me  class,  making  it  a  storehouse  of  political  reflection  on 
wlndi  «»t«dent.s  and  politicians  may  draw,  traces  this  decline  back  to 
irly  years  of  the  eighteenth  centur}*.  The  number  of  disputed 
to  the  various  European  thrones,  in  his  view,  contributed  much 


192 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Fbb. 


to  weaken  reverence  for  kings.  Its  decline  forms,  he  says,  one  of 
tlie  most  remarkable  political  characteristics  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury. The  thrones  of  England  and  Spain,  of  Tuscany  and  Parma, 
the  electoral  crown  of  Poland  and  the  succession  to  the  throne  of  the 
young  and,  as  it  was  thought,  moribund  king  of  Prance,  were  all 
disputed.  Mr.  Lecky  assumes  as  a  cause  what  is  not  a  true  cause. 
A  disputed  title  to  an  estate  does  not  involve  or  tend  to  produce  a 
weakened  sense  of  the  sanctity  of  property.  Just  as  little  does  a 
disputed  title  to  a  kingdom  involve  or  tend  to  produce  a  decline  of 
monarchical  sentiment.  Rather  it  assumes  monarchy  as  an  institu- 
tion fixed  and  unassailabl^j  though  there  may  be  uncertainty  as  to 
the  individual  ■monarch.  The  quesHou,  "Under  which  king?" 
implies  that  there  is  no  question  of  anybody  but  a  king.  Respect 
for  the  office  is  not  necessarily  impaired  because  there  is  doubt  as  to 
the  person. 

If  this  had  been  otherwise — if  the  stability  of  monarchy  had 
depended  on  the  stability  of  the  thrones  of  individual  kings — it 
could  scarcely  have  existed  in  T^ngland.  It  would  certainly  have 
disappeared  long  before  the  Commonwealth.  The  conflict  between 
the  House  of  Hanover  and  the  House  of  Stuart  was  not  the  first,  but 
the  last,  of  a  long  series  of  struggles  between  kings  in  possession 
and  pretenders  to  the  throne.  Tlie  history  of  England,  .so  far  as  it  is 
a  history  of  the  kings  of  England,  is  an  almost  continuous  record  of 
wars  of  succession,  in  the  open  field  or  by  secret  conspiracy,  from 
the  Norman  Contjuest  to  the  Rebellion  of  1743.  The  conflict  between 
William  I.  and  Harold,  between  the  sons  of  the  Conqueror,  between 
Stephen  and  Maud,  between  lienry  11.  and  his  children,  between 
Richard  and  John,  and  John  and  Arthur,  between  Richard  II.  and 
Bolingbroke,  between  Henry  IV.  and  the  partisans  of  the  Earl  of 
March,  the  Wars  of  the  Roses,  setting  on  the  throne  three  kings  of 
the  House  of  York  in  sequence  to  three  kings  of  the  House  of 
Lancaster,  the  victoiy  of  the  adopted  representative  of  John  of 
Gauut's  hne  over  the  last  of  the  reigning  descendants  of  Lionel 
Duke  of  Clarence — the  Lambert  Simnel,  Perkiu  Warbeck,  and 
Richard  Wilford  conspiracies  of  Henty  VII. *a  roign,  involving  the 
unhappy  Earl  of  Warwick,  son  of  the  ill-fated  Clarence,  in  a  oonnnon 
doom  with  two  of  these  counterfeit  princes ;  the  real  or  imaginary 
conspiracies  and  the  death  on  the  scaHbld  of  nobles  of  royal  lineage  and 
royal  ambition,  De  la  Pole,  Duke  of  Suffolk  and  Strafford,  Duke  of 
Biiokingham,  and  Margaret  Count-ess  of  Salisbury,  under  Henry  \'1II. ; 
the  brief  mock-qneendom  of  Lady  Jane  Grey,  and  the  dangers  which 
be^et  the  life  of  the  Princess  Elizabeth  under  Queen  Mary ;  the 
Norfolk  and  Babington  conspiracies  under  Elizabeth ;  the  prefcen- 
aious  of  Philip  of  Spain,  who  claimed  the  throne  not  merely  as 
his  wife's  heir,  but  as  the  descendant  of  John  of  Gaunt,  the 
Spanhh    Armada    being   quite    aa    much   a  djmastic  as  a  religious 


il90l 


THE   FUTIRE    OF  ENGLISH   MONARCHY. 


193 


eoterprise ;  the  more  formidable  pretensions  of  Marj^  Stuart — all  these 
ihings  show  that  insecurity  of  title,  and  the  fact,  or  constantly  appre- 
hended danger,  of  wars  of  auccessionj  run  through  English  history, 
Uom  the  Battle  of  Hastings  t-o  the  accession  of  the  first  of  the  Stuart 
kiags,  from  the  eleventh  century  to  the  sevent-eenth. 

The  intervals  of  undisturbed  possession  and  peace  were  comparatively 
rare  and  short.    The  doctiine  of  hereditary  right  was  very  loosely  held ; 
ii  inferred  merely  a  preferential  title,  and  was  subject  to  the  most  fan- 
tastic erasions.    The  younger  sons  of  William  I.  succeeded,  in  disregard 
of  tie  claims  of  their  elder  brother.    Henry  I.,  indeed,  affected  to  base 
\u$  claims  to  the  throne  on  the  fact  that,  though  not  the  eldest  son 
of  the  Dake  of  Normandy,   he   was  the  eldest  aon  of   the  king   of 
Eoglaod,  being  alone  born  after  William  I.'s  accession.     John's  title 
was  in   derogation  of   the  claim  of  the    son    of    his    elder  brother. 
Henry  VIII.,  with  the  authorization  of  his  Parliament,  made  a  testa- 
meotary  disposition  of  the   Crown,  entailing  it,  as  if  it  had   been  a 
landed  estate,  after  his  son,  upon  his  two  daughters,   both  of  whom 
ooold  not  be  legitimate.     Edward  VI.  attempted  by  his  ^'  plan  "  to 
•ft  aside  this  settlement  in  favour  of  Lady  Jane  Grey,  on  the  ground 
of  tho  bastardy  of  both  his  sisters.      Under  Elizabeth,  an  Act  of  Par- 
liament   made    guilty  of    treason  any  one  who   should  declare  any 
particular  person,  other  than  tlie   natural  issue  of  the  Queen's  body, 
to  be  entitled  to  the  throne.     The  hereditary  title,  on  the  Queen's 
deoth  without  children,  was  in  the  House  of  Suffolk,  the  descfudauts 
of  Henry  VlII.'s  elder  daughte^r,  and,  ou  gi-ounds  of  policy,  they  were 
set  aside  fur  the  Stuart  family.      An  hereditary  title  to  the  throne  is 
firmly  established  now,  by  Act  of  Parliament,  in  the  descendants  of 
the    Elect ress  Sophia;   but  the  principle  in  its  strongest  form   dates 
from  the  eighteenth  century,  iu  which  it  is  strangely  said  to  have  been 
bnpftired.     There  seems  to  be  little  ground  for  contending    that  in 
England  the  monarch  was  ever  held  to  rule  by  divine  right,  nt  least 
by  any  other  divine  right  than  that  which  sees  the  benediction  of 
Heaven  in  actual   possession  :    hcnti  pos&idcntea.       It  was  not  much 
heard  of  till  the  accession  of  James  I.,  and  was  used  by  him  to  supple- 
nmi  a  notorious  defect  of  hereditary  title,  which  he  wna  unwilling  to 
■lengthen  by  an  acknowledgment  that  he  owed  his  throne  to  election 
liy  the  nation.     The  fact  ia  that  James  I.  was  King  of  England  by  a 
kind  of  adoption,  not  altogether  dissimilar  to  that  which  prevailed 
BndM-  the  Koman  Empire,  and  with  the  working  of  which  M.  Renan 
is  io  well  pleased  that  he   would  like  to  see   it   introduced   into  the 
pablic  law  of  modern  Eiu'ope.     The  extreme   doctrine  of  divine  right 
which  Shakespeare   puts  into  the  mouth  of  Richard  II.   is  an  ana- 
ehrooiam.     It  belongs  not  to  the   fourteenth  century,   but   in  germ 
perhafM  to  the   closing   years  of  the  sixteenth    and   the    commence- 
«Knt  of  the  seventeenth,  to  the  Tudors  and  Stuarts ;  and  not  to  the 
Plantagenets.     In  the  wen 


194 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


[FEJt. 


"  Not  all  the  water  in  the  wide  rongh  se*, 

Can  wash  the  biihn  from  an  anointcrl  king  ; 
The  breath  of  worlilly  men  cannot  depose 
The  deputy  elected  by  the  Lord '* 

it  is  noticeable  that  it  is  not  the  hereditary  title,  but  election  by 
the  Lord,  the  consecrating  balm  and  not  primogeniture  and  role  o£ 
birth, 'on  which  an  Lualit-nable  right  is  babied.  So  in  Hamlet,  the  usurper 
and  murderer,  Clandiua  avows  himself  safe  in  the  shelter  of  that 
divinity  which  doth  so  hedge  a  king  that  treason  can  but  jjeep  to 
what  it  will.  A  subject  and  courtier  of  Elizabeth  and  of  Jainea  1. 
could  not  identify  divine  right  with  hereditary  title,  in  which  they 
were  lacking.  Elizabeth,  indeed,  during  the  Esses  rebellion,  is  said 
to  have  detected  incentives  to  sedition  in  the  stoiy  of  Bolingbroke's 
adventure,  and  to  have  exclaimed,  "  Know  ye  not  that  I  am 
Richard  II.  ? '"  But  if  we  are  to  suppose  that  Shakespeare  was  writing 
as  a  politician  and  not  as  a  poet,  it  must  be  kept  in  mind  that  his 
politics,  if  they  were  not,  as  is  sometimes  contended,  those  of  the  House 
of  Lancaster,  were  certainly  in  succession  those  of  the  Houses  of 
Tudor  and  Stuart,  whose  title  was  through  the  House  of  I^ancaster. 
Till  near  the  close  of  the  fourteenth  century  of  our  history,  the  doc- 
trine that  the  king  never  dies,  expressed  in  the  formula  of  the 
French  monarchy,  "The  king  is  dead  ;  long  live  the  king,"  did  not 
prevail.  Tho  reign  of  the  new  monarch  was  supposed  to  begin,  not 
on  the  day  of  what  is  now  called  his  accession,  but  on  the  day  of  his 
coronation  ;  the  interval  between  the  two  was  often  a  lawless  anarchy, 
and  the  king's  peace  died  with  liim.  The  inconvenience  which  this 
state  of  things  produced  when  any  considerable  interval  elapsed 
between  the  death  of  the  king  and  hib  coronation  made  it  necessary 
to  adopt  the  system  which  recognizes  no  interregnum.  But  the  older 
usage  shows  that  the  divine  right  of  the  king,  so  far  as  it  existed,  was 
in  the  office,  and  not  in  the  person  ;  that  it  was  confen*ed,  not  by 
hereditary  title,  but  by  popular  election  and  divine  sanction,  by  the 
acclamations  of  the  people,  whose  voice  was,  in  his  case  at  least,  recog- 
nized as  the  voice  of  God,  by  coronation  and  tlie  consecrating  balm.  It 
was  the  anointed  king,  the  deputy  elected  of  the  Lord,  who  ruled, 
and  not  the  inheritor  by  rule  of  birth,  though  the  two  qualifications 
usually  cohered  in  the  same  person. 

It",  therefore,  the  monarchical  sentiment  in  England  is  impaired,  its 
enfeeblement  cannot  be  attributed  to  the  decay  of  ideas  which  never 
had  any  hold  of  the  national  mind.  The  superstition  of  divine  right 
and  of  an  absolutely  indefeasible  hereditary  title  was  never  a  popular 
superstition.  It  was  a  kiugly  belief  iu  the  mind  of  James  I.,  a  bookish 
theory  with  Sir  Robert  Filmer  and  Sir  George  Mackenzie,  surviving 
from  the  Stuart  period  to  that  of  tho  House  of  Hanover  in  "  Old 
Shippeu,"  and  in  the  eccentric  and  learned  John  IJeeves.  It  was  a 
royal  dream,   a  clerical   dogma,    a  university   thesis,  an  antiquarian 


»89ol         THE   FUTURE    OF  ENGLISH  MONARCHY. 


195 


ket,  a  legal  pedantry,  a  branch  of  political  speculation  ;  but  it  was 
tli«?  belief  of  the  English  nation.    It  sprang  first,  as  I  have  before 
aid.  oat  of  James  l.'s  desire  to  find  another  than   a  popular  title  to 
his  throne,  and  was  strengthened  by  reaction  from  the  Parlianientaiy 
iriamph  over  Charles   I.,  from  the   Protectorate,  from  tbe  Exclusion. 
Bill,  wid  from  the  Declaration  of  Bights  and  the  Act  of  Settlement. 
The  thwries  of  De  ilaistre  and  Bonald  had  the  same  counter-re  vol  a- 
tionsrv'  origin  in  France.     In  England  the  doctiine  has  seldom  been 
note  tttn  militant,  an  affair  of  the  closet  and  pulpit,  of  the  university 
doister  or  the  lawyer's  chamber,  at  most  of  the  political   pamphleteer 
and  the  (Opposition  leader.     The  royalist  superstition  has  disapp<.'ared, 
bat  nut  necessarily  with  it  tho  monarchical  sentiment. 
Some  change  has,  however,  come  over  it   even  within  the  present 
or  during  a  yet  shorter  period,  as  any  one  may  convince 
ilf  who  will  turn  over  the  pages  of  the  late  Mr.  Bagehot's  book 
"The  English  Constitution."     When  that  little  volume  appeared, 
about  twenty  years  ago,  it  was   received  by  many  persons  as  a 
of  revelation  of  the  real  nature  of  the   institutions  under  which 
w#  live.     Otber  writers  had   been   detained  in  the  outskirts  of  the 
tdnple  ;  he  had  peneti-ated  to  its  inmost  shrine,  and  drawn  thence  the 
life  of  the  building.     They  had  been  engaged  in  the  forms ;  he  had 
reached    the    substance.     They    had    entangled    themselves    in    the 
BBchanism ;  he  had  laid  bare  the  very  pulse  of  the  machine.      "  The 
Mret  of  Mr,  Bagehot  "  was  this  :  that  the  English  monarchy,  in  the 
aiwacter  which    it   had    assumed   during   the  present   reigii,   was  a 
Apitse  for  hiding  the  real  elective  character  of  the   English  Con- 
ttitntion.     The  House  of  Commons  was,  of  course,  openly  elected  by 
I     Um  constituencies.      Ministers  were  nominally  appointed  by  the  Crown, 
\mk  they  were   really   chosen  by    Pai*iiament.     The   statesman    who 
poneflsed  in  a  higher  degree  than  any  other  the  confidence  of  the 
fUtj  which  hod  a  majority  in  the  House  of  Commons  was  prac- 
Hwlly  elected  by  that  party  to  tho  Premiership — that  is,  to  the   real, 
tkoDgh   temporary,  chieftainship  of  the  State — as  certainly  though 
Mi  BO  formally  as  the  President  of  the  Federal  Council  in  Switzerland 
(wfco  ii  not,  as  he  is  commonly  called,  President  of  the  Swiss  Republic) 
ia  efaosen  for  his  yearly  t^rm  by  the  Federal  Assembly.     The  elected 
laid  of  the  State,  the  Prime  Minister,  chooses  his  colleagues,  who  are 
»M|^ily  deaignated  for  him  by  the  position  they  have  attained  in  the 
Benap  of  Commons.     The  Queen's  business  in  the  matter,  allowing  a 
cartMii  nuu'gin   for  those  personal   accommodations,   that   reciprocal 
give  and  take,  without  which  neither  life  in  general,  nor  that  par- 
tienlar   branch  of  life  called    government,  can   be  carried   on,    was 
■tmply  that  of  graceful  »C(|niegcence. 

In     the    main    this    may    be    a    true     account    of    the    matter, 
tkoogh  it  had  not  even,  when  Mr.   Bagehot   wrote,  anite  the  nove 


relty 


196  THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW.  [Fbb- 

wliich  lie  and  his  critics  fancietl.  Lord  Macaulay  and  many  lesser* 
writers  had  said  it  all  before.  What  Mr.  Bagehot  did  was  to  re-stato 
what  wpre  then,  and  had  long  been,  the  commonplaces  of  constitutional 
doctrine  with  a  freshness  and  keenness  of  style  and  a  copiousness  of 
piquant  illustration  which  gave  them  the  aspect  of  discoveries,  almost 
of  revelations.  His  art  was  akin  to  that  of  the  careful  housewife  in 
Burns'  poem,  whose  skill  gar'd  the  old  clothes  look  ahnost  as  good  as 
new.  Rather  he  dressed  the  old  truth  in  new  clothes,  and  the  taUor 
got  the  credit  of  having  made  the  maji.  But  the  truth  was  not  to  be 
disclosed  beyond  the  sacred  but  limited  circle  of  the  initiated  who  read 
Mr.  Bagehot's  essays  as  they  originally  appeared  in  the  Ihrtnif/fUly 
MetHcWy  or  in  the  volume  in  which  they  were  afterwards  collected. 
According  to  ilr.  Bagehot,  the  poorest  and  most  ignorant  classes  in 
Ilia  time  really  believed  that  the  Queen  governed.  The  separation  of 
principal  power  from  principal  station  is  a  refinement,  he  says,  beyond 
their  power  of  conception.  "  They  fancy  they  are  governed  by  an 
hereditary  Queen,  a  Queen  by  the  grace  of  God,  when  they  are  really 
governed  by  a  Cabinet  and  a  Parliament,  men  like  themselves,  chosen 
by  themselves."  I  doubt  whether,  even  in  the  politically  distant 
period  at  which  ami  of  which  Mr.  Bagehot  wrote,  this  description  was 
true.  The  poorest  and  most  ignorant  classes,  strictly  speaking, 
probably  never  troubled  themselves  as  to  how  they  were  governed  at 
all.  Their  speculations  and  imagination  did  not  travel  beyond  their 
experience,  which  was  restricted  to  the  policeman  at  the  street-comer 
and  the  magistrate  at  petty  or  quarter  sessions.  The  needy  knife- 
grinder  represents  their  state  of  mind.  Mr.  Bagehot  constructed  for 
himself  a  stage  peasant  or  artisan  whose  naivete  he  brings  into  subtle 
contrast  with  his  own  keen  analysis. 

If  we  advance  beyond  the  poorest  and  moat  ignorant  classee, 
the  conception  of  royalty  which  prevails  is,  we  fear,  too 
generally  that  of  the  pot-house  oracle,  who  denounces  it  as  a 
useless  and  costly  extravagance,  the  greatest  of  all  our  spend- 
ing departments — a  department  in  which  there  is  great  pay  for  no 
toil,  and  in  which  the  sweat  of  the  working-man's  brow  is  by  a 
mischievous  chemistry  converted  into  fine  clothes  and  sumptuous  fare 
for  them  that  dwell  in  kings'  houses.  Wliether  this  view  prevailed  in 
Mr.  Bagehot's  time  or  not,  there  are  many  signs  that  it  is  prevalent 
now.  Like  the  rustic  in  Virgil,  who  foolishly  deemed  that  the  city 
which  is  called  liome  resembled  his  own  little  village,  the  field  or 
the  town  labourer  is  persuaded  that  the  Government  of  the  United 
Kingdom  is  simply  on  enlargement  of  the  municipal  or  county 
government  of  which  he  ha.s  direct  experience.  To  him  the  monarchy 
seems  a  mere  appendage  to  this  Government,  which  could  be  detached 
from  it  without  harm,  and  even  with  advantage — an  inconvenient  fifth 
wheel  to  the  coach,  a  flapping  and  fanning  drapery  getting  itsfrlf 


J 


dpi      THE   FUTURE    OF  ENGLISH  MONARCHY. 


197 


Htng^ed  witli  the  machineiy  and  impeding  it,  and  which  it  would  1>e 

dfSTable  1o  cut  away.     Within  the  memon-  of  men  still  living  it  was 

rertomarT  to  speak  of  the  King's  or  Queen's  Government.     Now  the 

jfciMr  is  never  heard  except  as  a  decorous  Parliamentary  formality. 

"Mr.  Gladstone's    Government "    and    ''  Lord    Salisbury's    Govem- 

arnt'  have  supersedeii  both  in   work   and   thought  "the  Queen's 

fioTcmment."     But  if  Mr.  Gladstone  or  Lord  Salisburj*  is  governor, 

whkt  is  the  Qaeen  ?  If  they  are  the  real  heads  of  the  State,  what  is 

jhe?    These  words  are  not  intended  to  describe  the  true  theory  ol 

stihitional  Government  in  England,  but  the  popular  impression  of 

which  School  Boards,  an  almost  periodically  extended  franchise, 

self-goremment  in  town  and  country,  and  neo-Radical  speeches 

htiv  ci«at€>d.     In  it  there  is  little  place  left  for  the  monarchical  idea, 

Mr.  Bagehot,  whose  doctrint-  has  the  fault  inherent  in  all  doctrines 

that  K^  bast'd  on  the  necessity  of  disguise   and   false  pretences  in 

fi»*rainent,   was    not    content    with    representing    monarchy    as    a 

lidly    embroidertxl  veil  or    screen    behind   which   the    prosaic 

'^  of  Parliamentary  and  Cabinet  Government  worked.      It  was 

>  riew  scarcely  less  essential  that  such  political  functions  as  the 

h  still  discharges  should  be  hidden.     He  seems  to  have  thought 

..,..;  .z  would  be  dangerous  if  the  fact  that  the  royal  robes  clothed  a 

Kmg  person,    and  not  a  mere  doll  or  puppet,  became  too  widely 

known.      *'  The  House  of  Commons,"   he  wrote,   "  has  inquired  into 

it  things  •,  but  it  has  never  had  a  Committee  on  the  Queen.    There 

no  authoritative  Blue-Book  to  say  what  she  does."     On  tho  other 

kand,   the  Queen    in  her  dignified  capacity  was  of    necessity  con- 

sptcnons.     Her  appearance  on  great  State  occasions,  her  function  as 

a  part  of  the  pageantry  of  State,  were  spectacular.     She  was  a  part 

of  the  outward  show  of  life,  the  largest  contributor  to  that  ornamental 

tide  of  government  without  which   it   becomes  dull  and  bare   and 

aainteresting.     Since  Mr.  Bagehot  wrote,  all  this  has  been  changed. 

Kit  w»8  private  has  been  made  public,  what  was  public  has  been 
drawn  into  privacy.  The  first  of  a  series  of  Blue-Books  on  the 
Qawo  was  published  in  1875,  just  six  years  after  Mr.  Bagehot's 
eaaay  on  "  Tlie  English  Constitution."  They  were  not  called  by  that 
nuat,  they  were  called  "  The  Life  of  his  Royal  Highness  the  Princo 
Cooaort,  by  Theodore  Martin."  Mr.  Bagehot  said  that  our  own 
generation  would  never  know,  though  a  future  generation  might,  how 
great  and  useful  had  been  the  part  played  by  the  Queen  and  the 
Prmoe  Consort — perhaps  it  would  have  been  more  correct  to  say,  by 
like  Prince  Consort,  in  the  name  and  with  the  authority  of  the  Queen — 
0  the  government  of  England.  He  thought  it  undesirable  that  tho 
fiidoBiiTe  should  be  mado. 

•* Secrecy ,"  be  said,  "is  essential  to  the  utility  of  the  Engliisli  monarchy 
M  it  DOW  is.     Above  all  things,  our  Royalty  i«  to  be  reverenced,  and  if  you 


198 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


CF». 


begin  to  poke  about  it,  you  cannot  reverence  it.  When  there  is  a  Select 
Committee  on  the  Queen,  the  charm  of  Royalty  will  be  gone.  Its  mystery 
is  its  life ;  you  c-annot  let  daylight  upon  magic.  We  must  not  bring  the 
CJuecn  into  the  combat  of  politics,  or  she  will  cease  to  be  reverenced  by  all 
combatants.     She  will  become  one  combatant  among  many." 

All  that  Mr.  Bagehot  thought  ought  not  to  be  done  has  been 
done  deliberately,  and  with  the  Queen's  own  sanction  and  authority, 
in  the  five  volumes  of  *'  The  Life  of  the  Prince  ConsorL"  The 
**  august  and  unknown  powers "  of  the  Constitution  have  been 
exposed  to  the  same  close  scrutiny  as  "  tlie  known  and  serviceable 
powers."  At  the  same  time  the  spectacular  part  of  the  monarchy  has 
been  retrenched,  and  almost  entirely  abolished. 

What  is  the  effect  of  this  double  change  on  the  public  sentiment  ? 
There  is  naturally  some  grombhng  at  a  spectacle  which  is  paid  for, 
but  not  exhibited,  at  a  theatre,  the  doors  of  which  are  almost  always 
closed.  As  regards  the  direct  action  of  the  Crown  in  pubhc  afiairs, 
the  cognizance  of  it  vouchsafed  to  her  subjects  by  the  Queen  has 
been  nearly  simultaneous  with  the  growth  of  the  idea  that  the 
directly  representative  element  in  the  Constitution  ought  not  simply 
to  be  predominant,  and  in  the  long  run  decisive,  but  exclusive,  and 
at  every  stage  in  the  conduct  of  affairs  the  sole  power. 

The  House  of  Commons  obeys  the  imperative  mandate  of  the  con- 
stituents. The  Ministiy  is  the  creature  and  instrument  of  the  House 
of  Commons.  The  right  of  any  power  not  thus  directly  oommissioned 
by  popular  suffrage  to  take  part  in  affairs  is  rudely  questioned,  and 
seems  to  be  submitted  to  only  by  way  of  contemptuous  tolerance  for  a 
survival,  not  destined  to  be  of  long  continuance,  from  an  older  state  of 
things.  The  attitude  practically  enforced  by  the  Queen  and  the 
Prince  Consort  upon  the  ilinistry  during  the  American  Civil  War  may 
have  been  wiser  than  that  which  Lord  Palmerston,  and  Lord  Russell, 
and  Mr.  Gladstone,  if  left  to  themselves,  would  have  taken ;  the 
Court  may  have  been  right  with  the  masses,  when  the  Cabinet,  or  its 
most  influential  members,  were  wrong  with  the  classes.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  feeling  of  the  Court  towai-ds  the  Italian  movement  for 
unity  and  independence  may  have  been  loss  generous  aud  sagacious 
than  that  of  Lord  Palmerston  and  Lord  Russell.  But  the  point  now 
raised  is  whetlier  the  Queen  had  the  right  to  be  in  the  right  against 
a  Minister  possessing  a  majority  in  the  House  of  Commons^ — whether 
it  is  within  the  province  of  a  constitutional  moiiai-ch  not  to  share  the 
error  of  the  Minister  of  the  day,  and  to  impose  caution  upon  him  in 
foresight  of  the  wiser  opinion  which  the  people  will  entertain  to-morrow. 
Of  course  there  is  the  perhaps  even  chance — let  us,  for  argument  sake, 
say  the  greater  probability — that  when  they  differ  the  Minister  will  be 
right  and  the  Monarch  wrong.  Even  so,  divergence  of  opinion,  though 
the  divergent  opinion  may  be    erroneous,  may   be  an  advantage  as 


t89o]      THE  FUTURE    OF   ENGLISH  MONARCHY 


199 


eiuorujg  deliberation,  and   tlie  attentive  weighing  of  all  sidos  of  a 
'ppstion,  before  action  is  taken.      Nevertheless,  to  a  public  incapable 
of  entertaining  more  than  one  idea  at  a  time,  this  is  a  bard  saying. 
Tbf  ftfjmiasion  that  the  principle  of  representative  government  is  in 
modern  societies  of  European  race  an  essential  principle,  is  converted 
into  tie  very  different  doctrine,  that  no  power  ought  to  exist  in  the 
Slate  which  is  not  derived  ftom  direct  popular  election.     A  more 
iins  political  philosophy  and    practical   statesmansliip  have  been 
J      .  .to  language  of  admirable  cleamt"ss  by  Mr.  J.  S.  Mill.     Censor- 
ing the  politicians  of  a  certain  French  school,  from  which  the  new 
K^^lsh  Kadicalism  seems  to  have  drawn  its  inspiration,  who  are  for 
dedacing  everything  from    a    single    principle    of  government,   and 
eschewing  everything  which  does  not  logically  follow  from  that  prin- 
cqile,  Mr.  Mill  says  : 

"  Ina>>tuucl),  liowever,  jus  no  j.'ovei-nnient  produces  all  possible  beneficial 
ofiectA,  but  all  are  attemled  with  more  or  fewer  inconveniences  ;  and  since 
theee  cannot  be  combated  by  tbe  very  causes  wjiich  produc-e  them,  it  would  Vje 
often  a  much  stronger  recommendation  of  some  practicjil  arrangement,  that 
it  does  not  follow  from  the  general  principle  of  tbe  government  than  that  it 
does.  Under*  government  of  legitimacy,  tbe  pi-esumpt ion  is  fur  rather  in  favour 
of  institution^^  of  i>oi>ular  origin ;  and  in  a  democi-ac}*,  in  favour  of  arrange- 
■lentjs  tending  to  check  the  impetus  of  popular  vnW.  Tlie  line  of  argumen- 
tataoo,  »y  commonly  mistaken  in  France  for  political  pliilosophy,  tends  to  the 
ntScCicul  conclusion  that  we  should  e.^ert  our  utmost  eflforts  to  aggravate, 
iast«af|  of  alleviating,  whatever  are  the  cliaracteiistic  imperfections  of 
tt'  of  institutions  which  we  prefer,  or  under  which  we  happen  to 

liv  •  /•  m  of  LoyiCf  vol.  ii.  p.  521,  tbiiiJ  edition. 

Ifc  is  the  fate  of  Mr.  Mill  to  be  praised  by  the  politicians  who  affect 
to  be  his  disciples,  and  to  be  neglected  by  them.  He  himself  is  almost 
A  muqne  example  of  a  man  who   in  qnitting   the   closet  for  Parlia- 
BMOlary  life  remained  true  in  the  House  of  Commons  to  the  doctrines 
which  he  had  thought  out  in  his  study.    With  others  a  change  of  pur- 
seems  not  to  be  complete  until  it  issues  in  apostasy.  If  Mr.  Mill's 
ine  be  sound,  and  in    theory  it   will    scarcely  be  questioned,  it 
fQUo>ir«  that  the  inevitable  defects  which  inhere  in  the  representative 
ajrit^m  of  government  require    to   be   checked  and   counteracted  by 
•nmngemcnts   based   upon  other  principles.      The   practicid  difficulty 
in  til*  way  is  of  course  thia,  that  the  predominant  power  in  a  country- 
is  always  Mnbttious  to  be  the  sole  power  ;  and  that,  when  forces  do  not 
exiflt  ftrOBg  enough  to  impose  checks  upon  it,  it  is  seldom  iu  the  mood 
to  impose  restraints  upon   itself.      A  power  strong  enough  to  give 
cfSectiTe  assertion  to  its  own  just  ri^rhta  is  u-iuatly  strong    enough 
to  womt   more    than    its    just     rights.       Democracy    is    as    little 
toienok  of  rivals    near    its    throne   as    despotism.     The    period    at 
a  jnst  balance   is  established    between   the  old   and   tbe   new 
the  powers   which   have  long  been   in  possession    and   the 


200 


THE    CONTEMPOHAliV  REVIEW. 


[: 


1 

It 


powers  enter'mg  oa  poasession,  is  usually,  as  time  is  countecL 
history,  but  a  moment — that  is  to  say,  a  generation  or  half  acentczarj. 
In  England  we  had  this  balance  from  1832  to  1868,  or  let  aa  sajr^  to 
1885.  Now  things  are  tending  to  the  ascendency  of  a  single  po  "^'^^^ 
in  the  State,  the  House  of  Commons,  and  to  that  of  a  single  class  i^\ 
tlie  community,  the  working  classes. 

That,  in  the  present  state  of  England  and  most  European  countri^^ 
practically  the  whole  adult  nalion  must  be  inchuled  in  the  repreaex*" 
tation,  with  or  without  distinction  of  sex,  and  with  such  conditions  ^ 
durable  residence  as  it  may  be  expedient  to  enforce  for  the  exclusio*^ 
of  the  mere  waifs  and  strays  of  society — the  vagabondage,  in  the  liter^ 
sense  of  the  term,  of  the  country — what  in  Switzerland  are  called  th^ 
homeless  classes  {hdmathlox)^  can  uo  longer  be  disputed.  The  theory 
is  in  the  ideas  of  the  time,  and,  moreover,  it  is  an  established  and  irre- 
versible fact.  Tliat  within  this  system  representation  should  be  in  pro- 
portion to  numbers — that  is  to  say,  that  groups  uumencally  equal  should 
return  an  equal  number  of  members — an  arrangement  which  prevsals 
in  Germany,  France,  Switzerland,  and  the  United  States,  but  to  which 
only  a  very  imperfect  approach  has  as  yet  been  made  in  England — 
follows  logically  from  the  democratic  principle  now  established  ;  and 
even  here,  where  facts  follow  logic  with  but  a  lame  and  halting  foot, 
wUl  no  doubt  presently  be  realized.  This  one  man  one  vote  doc- 
trine implies  that  every  vote  and  every  man  shall  count  for  as  much 
as  every  other,  and  carries  with  it  the  principle  of  equal  repre- 
sentation among  constituencies  numerically  equul,  and  of  the  equal 
power  of  each  vote  wit  liiu  those  constituencies — that  is,  of  proportional 
representation  as  advocated  by  Mr,  Hare,  Mr.  Mill,  and,  among 
men  now  engaged  in  public  life,  by  Mr.  Courtney.  Whether  logic 
and  equity  in  this  matter  are  destined  to  prevail  over  habit  and 
prejudice  ho  would  be  foolhardy  who  should  predict.  The  principle  has 
been  discredited  by  the  phrase,  "  representation  of  minorities,"  which 
untruly  describes  it^  and  at  present  expresses  the  means,  not  the  end, 
which  is  the  proportionate  reprt'sentation  of  the  majority.  Now, 
as  frequently  happens  both  in  England  and  the  United  States,  a  large 
majority  in  the  constituencies  may  return  a  small  majority  to  Par- 
liament, or  a  minority  of  voters  may  return  a  majority  of  representa- 
tives. This  is,  of  course,  in  direct  contradiction  to  the  democratic 
principle  that  the  majority  must  rule  ;  but  this  is  not  the  worst.  Our 
system  makes  it  possible  that  the  great  bulk  of  the  nation  may,  on 
particular  questions,  one  after  the  other  be  overruled  by  infiniteaimal 
fragments  of  it.  The  two  gi'eat  political  parties  may  be  nearly 
balanced,  as  they  almost  always  are.  In  this  case,  a  handful  of 
fanatics  or  theorists,  by  selling  its  support  to  the  candidates  who 
wUl  pledge  themselves  to  its  particular  crotchet,  may,  under  the 
present  conditions  of  English  political  life  and  morality,  succeed  in 
securing  the  return    of    a    majority  of    members    pledged    to    their 


iW      THE   FUTURE    OF  ENGLISH   MONARCHY. 


201 


political  crotchet.  This  has  been  the  tactics  of  the  opponents  of  the 
ConlAgions  Diseases  Act,  it  is  the  tactics  of  Sir  Wilfrid  Lawson  and 
^  local  optionists,  of  Mr.  Champion  and  the  Eight  Hours  Bill 
•gitators,  of  the  antagonists  of  compulsory  vaccination,  and  I  know 
Mt  what  besides.  It  is  thus  quite  conceivable  that  a  minority  of, 
*"jr,  three  hundred  thousand  voters  might  succeed  in  carrying  a 
pwject  opposed  to  the  opinions  and  feelings  of  three  millions- 

la  former  times,  the  House  of  Lords  might  be  trusted  to  throw 

ODf  a  moasare  which  came  before  them  noder  these  conditions.      But, 

oader  the  tyranny  of  the  democratic  idea,   wrongly  interpreted,  the 

ffoQse  of  Commons  is  disposed    to    resent    the  ^-indication    by  the 

flonjse  of  Lords  of  the '  real  opinions  of  the  majority  in  the  Commons 

W  ag^ainst  their  false  professions  of  opinion  ;  and  the  doctrine  that  no 

flBtitution  has  a  locm  standi  in  politics  which  is  not  based  on  direct 

elective  representation,  is  diffusing  the  same  sentiment  in  the  country. 

On  great  questions  which  divide  parties  an  appeal  may  be  made  from 

the  House  of  Commons  to  the  country  by  a  general  election.      But 

in  the  case  supposed,  both  parties  are   tarred  by  the    same   brush, 

Bad   at   any  rate  the  Ministry  in  power  derives  its  majority  from  the 

diqae  against  whom  it  would,  in  the  case  supposed,  appeal.     More- 

n  general  election  would  simply  bring  the  same  instrumentalities 

le  falsitication  of  opinion  into  play  once  more. 

le  Royal  veto  is  even  more  completely  out  of  the  question   than 

rejection  of  the  Bill  by  the  House  of  Lords.      But  why  may  not 

c»3untry  at  large  have  the  opportunity  of  imposing  its  veto  upon  a 

iB<>asDre  which  represents  not  its  own  convictions,  but   the  successful 

oneoring  tactics  of  busy  and  unscrupulous  organizations,  and  the 

rdice  and  want  of  principle  of  political  candidates  and  leaders  ? 

Supposing  an  Anti- Vaccination  Bill  or  an  Eight  Hoars  Bill  to  become 

the  circumstances  which  have  been   supposed — and   it   could 

;ely  become  so  in  any  other — why  should  not  an  appeal  be  made, 

on  the  principle  of  the  Swiss  Hf/crendum,  to  the  general  sense  of 

th«  country?     The  Sovereign  of  the  country,   standing   aloof   from 

political  parties,  would  naturally  be  the  person  in  whom,  when  there 

w««  reason  to  suppose  that  the  voice  of  the  nation  had  been  falsified 

in  i\xf  Parliamentary  representation,   this    right  of  appealing  to  the 

nation  at  large  wonld  be  vested.     Instead  of  the  merely  formal  assent, 

"  La  lieine  le  veut,"  or  the  obsolete  form  of  veto,  "Xa  Reine  s'aixiMra" 

we  aboald  have  at  the  initiative  of  the  Crown  the  decision,  "Zf*  ptuplf 

tf  rait^"  or  "  Lf  peupk  s  a  viseraS'     The   trouble  and  inconvenience  of 

liwjaeQt  and  vexatious  appeals  to  the  country  on  individual  projects  of 

bgiabtion  would  prevent  needless  recourse  to  tlie  Reftrcndum.      But 

■odar  our  present  Parliamentary  system,  I   do  not   see   what   other 

inmna  exist  for  relieving  the  country  from  the  domination  of  coteries 

»'  '  -,  which  are  able  to  turn  the  scale  between  the  two  parties 


202 


THE    CONTEMPORARY    RE  VIE  IV. 


in  favour  of  projects  which  both  parties  and  the  country  disapprova 
and  from  the  danger  of  snap  votes  on  questions  vitally  affecting  tin 
Constitution  and  the  future  of  England  in  a  Parhament  retumeii  as 
a  great  variety  of  issues  other  than  that  assumed  to  be  decidecl.  aft 
the  general  election. 

To  take  a  critical  and  proximate  inst^ance :  if  an  ostensibly  Kome 
llule  majority  should  be  returned  tAvo  or  three  years  hence  to   tJi© 
House  of  Commons,  it  will  consist  largely  of  peraons  whose  const*' 
ttients  care  little  or  nothing  about  Home  Rule,  but  who  think  that     ^ 
Home  Rule  majority  and  Ministry  will  bo  a  Welsh  or  Scotch  disest^^ 
blishment  majority  or  Ministry,  al  ocal  option  nnd  licensed  victualler^ 
disestablishment    Ministry,   an    Eight    Hours*   Bill  Ministry-,  a  laii^ 
nationalization  Ministry,  an  anti-vaccination  Ministry,  a  Ministry  not 
of  all  the  tali-nts,  but  of  all  the  fads  and  all  the  crotchets.      On  ff 
matter  such  as  this,  there  should  be  a  means  of  taking  the  sense  oT 
the  ]ieople  of  England,  simply  and  directly  and  without  the  intmsicai 
of  such  side  issues  as   deflect  the  votes   at   a  general   election  even 
though  the  appeal  be  nominally  made  only  on  a  single  ^xiint.     The 
coarse  bribe  offered  in  the  phrase  "  Home  Rule  will  help  the^e  things, 
!iud  these  things  will  help   Home  Rule,"  expresses  the  lowest  degra- 
dation of  general  jx>litics,  and  implies  a  system  of  more  corrupting 
|>urchase  and  sale  than  was  ever  practised  by  Newcastle  or  Wal]X)le. 
Even  on  the  lirfercjiJian  demagogic  incentives  would  be  freely  plied, 
and  endeavours  would  be  made  to  induce  men  to  vote  on  the  simple 
question  of  the  Union  or  of  separation  with  an  eye  to  other  questions. 
Electioneenng  tricks,  however,  would  be  practised  under  greater  dia- 
advantagea  than   at   present,    and    there   would   be   an   appreciable 
increase  of  probability  that  the   nominal  Issue  would  also  be  the  real 
issue  on  which  the  vote  would  be  taken. 

The  monarchical  system  is  not  essential  to  the  Mtfercvxluvi)  since  it 
exists  in  Switzerland,  both  in  its  individual  cantons  and  over  the 
confederation  as  a  whole,  and,  I  believe,  in  some  of  the  States  of  th& 
American  Union.  But  monarchy  offers  the  conditions  on  which  it 
could  best  be  exercised.  The  President  of  a  Republic  necessarily 
represents  the  party  in  power,  and  he  would  nut  appeal  to  the  country- 
against  what  is  his  own  policy.  The  same  remark  applies  to  the 
Prime  Minister  under  a  system  of  Cabinet  Government  such  as  ours^ 
No  doubt  it  might  bo  arranged  that  the  lirf'crcntlum  should  be  adopted, 
if  a  certain  proportion  of  the  electors  of  the  country,  or  if  either,  or 
both,  of  the  two  Houses  called  for  it  in  petitions  or  memorials;  and 
this  scheme  might  be  useful  as  an  alternative  in  default  of  the  spon- 
taneous action  of  the  Sovereign.  Bnt  the  easiest  and  promptest  method 
woidd  be  by  the  direct  action  of  the  King  or  Queen.  This  would  to 
some  extent  take  the  operation  out  of  the  hands  of  the  wire-pullers 
and  managers  of  factions,  the  producers  of  machine-made  opinion. 
Those  who  believe  that  the  monarchy  in  England  is  worth  main- 


rSjo]       THE   FUTURE    OF  ENGLISH   MONARCHY. 


203 


tiiaing,  hold  that,  it  is,  as  compared  with  the  immense  cost  of  Presi- 
intial  elections  in  tlie  United  States  and  of  the  administrative  mechanism 
rf France,  a  cheap  form  of  government;  that  it  is,  what  is  yet  more 
important,  a  pure   form  of  government,  the   choice    lying   between 
kwditary  sovereignty,  or   an  elective  and  temporary  monarchy  by 
jparclfflse,  calltn.1  Presidency  ;   that  it  familiarizes  the  public  mind  with 
fllifi  idea  of  other  public  interests  than  those  of  rival  parties  and  factions ; 
•btit  gives  dignitj'  and  splendour  to  the  forms  of  government ;  that  it 
|«ii  the  conception  of  an  England  whicli  is  more  than  the  soil  on  which 
ne  forty  millions  are  struggling,  sncceeding  and  failing — an  England 
aj?  between  a  glorious  past  and  a  hojieful  future,  of  which  the  men 
"f  f'xiay  are  simply  the  living  linlc ;  tliat  it  ensures  the  presence  in 
luitiittliate  contact  with  affairs  of  one  who  has,  at  least,  had  an  oppor- 
I  Rmity  of  following  them  continuously  through  a  generation,  it  may 
'»?iialf  a  century,  while  Ministers  have  come  and  gone  and  have  but 
fra^nentary  and  interrupted  acquaintance  with  them  ;  of  one  to  whom 
'^OBStions  of  State,  domestic  and  foreign,  are,  or  onght  to  be,  what  the 
rnre  of  st^jcks  are  to  City  men,  and  the  price  of  fat  oxen  to  farmers. 
These  considerations,  simpln   and   elementary  as   they  are,  are  yet 
Iniths  of  reflection  rather  than  of  simple  inspection.      The  prevalent 
ideft — that  no  one  ha.s  a  right  to  exercise  any  functions  who  has  not 
ken  cliosen  to  them  by  the  vote  of  a  majority,  can  only  be  qualified 
■id  corrected  by  the   conclusive  proof  that  the  functions  which  are 
titas  exceptionally  tolei-ated   are   real    functions,   and  that  they  are 
dbnoiisly  exercised  for  the  benefit   of  the  country.      The  maxim  of 
fmyment  by  results  will  bo  applied  to  the  monarchy,  except  as  regards 
Ike  numbers  of  the  younger  and  remoter  memliers  of  the  Royal  family, 
«i  whom  the  supply  may  exceed  the  demand,  with  the  economic  and 
pbUtieal  consequences   involved    in  it.     The  old  jealousy   of  a  king 
who  «hoald  attempt  to  govern  as  well  as  reign  still  subsists,  but  it  is 
tooampanied  by  a  contempt  for  a  king  who  reigns  without  governing, 
lad  a  disposition  even  to  question  the  title  of  a  new  king  so  to  reign. 
Ab  a  matter  of  fact,  English  kings  and  queens,  even  under  our  Parlia- 
BeatRry  system,  and  not  exclusive  of  the  Srst  two  Georges,  governed  a 
gr»t  deal  more  than  is  commonly  supposed,  and  the  disclosures  made 
in  tbr  Memoirs  of  Stockmar,  and  in  the  Life  of  the  Prince  Consor  , 
U»p  active  part  played  by  the  Queen  and  her  husband  in  public  affairs 
•"TP  received  in  some  quarters  with  misgiving.     This  jealousy,  how- 
•fw,  isi  not  likely  to  be  excited  when  the  governing  jiower  of  the 
kaig  ifl  seen  to  be  the  instrument  of  giving  more  effect  to  the  direct 
wfc«  of  the  people  in  their  own  affliirs,  in  correction  of  its  possibly 
mi.sinterpretation   in  the   House  of  Commons,  and  of  substi- 
1  certain  cases  the  popular  assent  or  veto  fur  the  Royal  assent 
ri  proj»'Ct8  of  legislation. 
Tbo   IVirliamentary    history    of    England   during    more   than    two 
entnnrs  has  been  &o  splendid  and  useful,  it   forms  so  brilliant  an 


204 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


\y— 


epoch  in  history,  that  there  is  difficulty  in  believing  that  it  requL 
readjustmeBt  to   altered  social  conditions.      Its    supremacy   tends 
become  indepeodenci'  of  the  nation,  its  omnipotence  an  all-meddli  a 
ness  ;   instead  of  representing  the  will  of  the  nation,  there  is  dan^^oJ 
a  danger  which  the  reduction  of  the  septennial  to  a  quinquenniaL       «- 
triennial  term  would  increase,  that  it   may  represent,  turn   and  t  u  r*n 
.aboat,  the  accidental   predominance,  jwssibly  of  a  factious  minocifcj'i 
■tor  even  of  a  balaace-tnniing  clique.    These  evils  have  declared  ther*'^ 
selves  elsewhere.       In  England  it  is  held  that  the   annual  raeetinj 
of  Parliament  is  essential  to  freedom,  and  it  is  secured  by  the  fa^ 
that  the  taxes  are  taken  only  for  a  year,  and  by  tlie  annual  passings*' 
now  a   little  altered   in   form,  of  the  Mutiny  Act.     In   many  of  tl» 
States   of    the   American   Union    it   is    expressly   provided    that  th^ 
Legislature  shall  meet  only  every  second  year,  and  then  for  but  shor^ 
periods,  in  order  to  limit  its  opportunities  of  law-making  for  the  sak^ 
of  law-making.      In  other    States   the    litfitauhim   exists,    and   tht? 
subjects  which   lie  within   the  scope  of   the   Legislature  are  strictly 
defined.     As  regards  the  Congress  at  Washington,  its  functions  are 
limited  under  the  Constitution  by  the  legislative  rights  of  the  several 
States,  and  by  the  interpretative  power  of  the  Supreme  Court,  as  well 
as  by  the  executive  authority.    As  a  Parliament,  in  one  sense  the  Hoose 
of  Representatives  and  the  f^enate  have  almost  ceased  to  exist,  the  real 
work  of  legislation  being  done  by  small   and  manageable  committees, 
whose  decisions  are  usually  accepted  without  revision  or  discussion. 

In  France,  though  the  Parliamentarians  triumphed  at  the  last  general 
election,  so  far  as  the  majority  returned  was  concerned,  the  Revisionists 
of  different  orders  ran  thera  close  in  the  popular  vote. 

In  Germany,  the  Parliaments  of  the  Empire  and  of  Pnissia,  and 
of  the  several  States,  are  very  limited  as  compared  with  the  functions 
of  the  Legislature  in  England.  Here  the  supremacy  of  Parliament  is 
in  danger  of  becoming  the  supremacy  of  a  caucus  and  a  dictator,  over- 
riding the  genera!  sense  of  the  nation,  to  which  there  ought  to  be 
some  mode  of  authoritative  appeal. 

The  principle  of  the  Itcferendum,  or  appeal  to  the  people,  at  the 
initiative  of  the  Crown,  on  particular  issues,  seems  the  best  mode  of 
counteracting  this  danger.  A  constitutional  reform  of  this  kind  would 
be  at  once  the  crowning  of  the  democracy,  and  the  democratizing  of 
the  Crown.  If  we  are  to  have  a  king  of  England  in  future,  he  must 
be,  like  one  of  his  Stuart  ancestry  in  Scotland,  the  King  of  the 
Commonsj  by  which  I  do  not  mean  of  the  House  of  Commons.  He 
can  no  longer  afford  to  be  simply  the  head  of  the  classes,  the  chief  of 
society  lit  its  conventional  sense,  the  culminating  point  of  the  aristo- 
cracy. He  must  belong  to  the  whole  people,  to  the  masses,  as  well 
as  to  the  classes.  Frederick  William  IV.  was  not  a  very  wise  ruler; 
but  he  said  a  wise  thing  when  he  declared,  on  his  accession,  that  as 
Crown  Prince  he  had  been  the  Gi-st  of  the  nobles,  but  as  king  he 
was  the  first  of  the  citizens,  of  Prussia. 


.J90]      THE    FUTURE    OF  ENGLISH  MONARCHY. 


205 


Thf'  great  evil  of  the  monarchy  is  the  Bocial  flunkeyism  of  which 
ii  ii  the  centre,  the  abject  snobbism  which  it  produces,  tho  base 
serrility  which  radiate  from  it  in  circles  ever  widening.  If  this  evil 
f?re  iflfl^'parable  from  it.  it  would  go  far  to  balance  its  political  advan- 
tJgM,  Nambers  of  persons  read  with  increasing  contempt  and  amuse- 
aaitthe  announcements  of  the  Couti  Circtdar  that  thfl  (^ueen  or  tho 
JViace  of  Wales  has  ridden  or  walked  ont,  "  accouipauied  "  by  this,  that, 
•r  the  other  small  Germau  princeling,  and  "attended"  by  some  great 
fii^liah  noble  or  exalted  English  lady.  The  apparatus  of  Lords-in- 
TTaiting  and  Women  of  the  Bedchamber  does  not  stir  veneration, 
lie  American  feeling,  often  pushed  to  limits  which  go  beyond  the 
«}uirements  of  a  legitimate  self-respect  against  |>ersonal  or  menial  / 

Tice,  is   atVecting   English   sentiment.      Great  dukes   do   not  now 

Datend  which  of  them  shall  air  and  which  of  them   shall  put  on  the 

of  the  king,  which  shall  hold  the  basin  in  which  he  washes  his 

ads,  which   shall   pour  water  on   them,  and  which  shall   hold  tlie 

rel — for  one  reason  because  we  have  no  king.      But  it  is  pretty 

certain   that   when   the  expenses  of  the   Court  have  to  be  revised, 

the  payment  of  a  nobleman  and  gentleman   for  discharging  menial 

fanctions  about  the  Sovereign,  or  for  pretending  to  discharge  them 

nod  not  doing  so,  will  be  sharply  overhauled.     It  is  probable  that  by 

tliat  time  a  feeling  may  have  grown    up  which  will   make    English 

ffrntleraen  hesitate  or  refuse  to  acci'pt  relations  other  than  those  of 

-h  gentlemen  towards  the   Sovereign,  who    in   this   relation   is 

•ig  more  than  the  first  of  English   gentlemen.      Under  the  early 

;i!i  Emperors,  the  humljlest   Horaan  citizen  would  have  felt  him- 

•elf  dislionoared  at  the  ide«  of  his  filling  a   place   about  the  person 

in  the    household   of  Caesar — in   fact,  the  idea   could   not  have 

-pf'd.    These  posts  were  therefore  left,  often  with  disastrous  political 

social  results,  to  slaves  and  freedraen.      According  to  Burke,  the 

taste  of  kings  and  princes  for  low  company,  dne  perhaps  to 

Hpulse  to  throw  off  completely  the  restraint  of  ceremony,  made 

H  expedient  to  give  household  places  to  great  nobles.     Whatever  the 

adTmntaigB  of  this  sy.'ttera,  which  in  its  time  may  have  had  its  uses,  the 

pablic  feeling  now  revolts  against  the  spectacle  of  menial  Dukes  and 

Dachcssee,  Lord  High  Footman,  to  borrow  a  phrase  from  Mr.  Gilbert's 

last   opera,  and  Lady    Chambermaids    or    Kitchen-mwda.      English 

BoTaltr    must   not    merely   be    seen    in     the    discharge    of   public 

&ioctioD»  which  cannot  so  well  be  performed  by  any  other  institution. 

l80  be  seen  to  l^  the  monarchy  of  the  whole  people  and  Dot 

/per  classes  only,  and  must  disentangle  itself  from  those 

(xjoditions  which  reduce  English  nobles  and  ladies  to  the  rank  of 

menials,  acting  in  an  ignoble  farce  of  I^ow  Life  Above  Stairs. 

Fba5K  H.  Hill. 


MR.    BARING-GOULD'S    NOVELS. 


SyilPATIIY  is  the  ink  in  which  all  fiction  phoultl  bf>  wntten; 
indeed,  we  shall  find,  on  examinatiou,  that  the  humour,  which 
scime  say  is  the  novelist's  greatest  gift,  and  the  |)Ower  of  chai-acter- 
drawing  by  which  others  hold,  are  streams  from  this  same  source. 
There  is  oft«u  bynipathy  without  humour,  as  so  many  ^Titers  with  a 
purpose  prove,  but  humour  without  syunpathy  is  misnamed,  and  difibrs 
from  real  humour  as  Dickens's  sportfniness  from  a  sai-castic  writer's 
sneers.  Dickens  is  the  greatest  of  the  humorist*,  because,  with, 
a  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  he  had  a  heart  tliat  was  a  well  o* 
sympathy  and  reflected  the  ]X>etry  of  the  meanest  objects.  Instead 
of  sitting  in  the  sconier's  chair,  the  humorist  is  the  true  lover  of 
hia  species,  and  hence  the  teare  that  so  frequently  tremble  on  his 
laughter.  Give  humour  and  pathos  the  chance,  and  they  ran  into  one 
like  two  drops  of  water ;  keep  them  apart,  and  they  die  of  want  of 
each  other.  If  it  were  not  false  to  call  Thuckeray  merely  a  satirist, 
this  would  wealcen  our  argument  by  denying  his  humour,  but  what 
we  often  speak  of  as  Thackeray's  satire  flows  direct  from  sympathy, 
coloured,  but  not  poisoned,  by  the  channel  in  which  he  chose  to  run 
it.  Thackeray  weeps  over  the  follies  he  chastises  as?  one  sad  at  lieart 
that  they  should  be,  but  your  satiribt  discovers  them  with  a  whoop  (rf 
satis  Fact  ion. 

Without  sympathy  character-drawing,  except  in  black  and  white,  is 
equally  im]X)S8ible,  and  for  the  reason  that  .sympathj-  is  the  only  cajidle 
to  the  human  heart.  Wanting  it,  the  novelist  may,  at  his  most 
ingenioua,  concoct  a  Wilkie  Collins  mystery  which  is  laid  aside 
with  a  headache  when  solved,  or  he  may  raise  the  hair  with  a  stage 
villain.  But  life  is  not  n  mechanical  puzzle,  nor  are  its  black  sheep 
made  out  of  a  suit  of  clothes  and  a  capacity  for  evil.   The  "  realist "  may 


MR.    BARING-GOULDS   NOVELS. 


207 


pktofifnph  a  dranken  peasant  beating  his  wife,  bat  that  photograph  is 

not  tie  peasant,  it  is  not  the  tliuusaudth  part  of  what  goes  to  t)ie 

makmgof  one  humble  man.    l^etter  not  put  that  drunkard  ou  paper  if 

JFOQ cannot  se**  him  with  some  of  the  attrilmtes  he  got  ffoiu  God,  if  you 

en  tiuTj  contemptuously  from  him  without  a  tear  for  the  boy  he  once 

niiiodthe  man  he  then  thought  to  be.     The  spiritless  drab  whom 

JOT  bve  photographed  at  his  feet  pli^jhted  hi^r  troth  to  him  long  ago 

inarountry  lane,  or  at  a  mean  hoarth  which  had  a  halo  round  it  that 

'Liv     Beware    l<'St   even    now.  now  that  they  have  come  to  this,  you 

^iiuiiJJ  exhibit  the  thing  in  your  camera  as  that  man  and  woman.    See 

tiem  atfain  many  times,  and  you  will  lind  that  the  bouI  is  not  dead, 

the  light  which  was  in  their  eyes  at  the  altar  gleams  there  fitfully 

till,  aad.  as  your  heart  beats  to  theirs,  it  will  fill,  not  with  scorn  but 

:  sorrow  that  a  man  and  woman  whom  God  has  not  deserted  can  fall 

'»  liiw.     But  if  you   have  not  sympathy  yon  will  see  none  of  these 

tliini^. 

Of  oor  eight  or  ten  living  novelists  who  are  popular  by  merit,  few 

r  ability  than  Mr.  Baring-Gould.      His  characters  are  bold 

...^  .  ...  .0  figures,  his  wit  is  as  ready  as  his  figures  of  speech  are  apt. 

Up  has  a  powerful  imaginatiou.  and  is  quaintly  fanciful.      When  he 

incribes  a  storm,  one  can  see  his  trees  breaking  in  the  gale.      So 

nonnoas  and  aecnrate  is  his  general  information  tliat  there  is  no  trade 

«r  profess^ion  with  which  he  does  not  seem  to  be  faniUiar.     So  far  as 

'ic  knowledge  is  concerned,  he  is  obviously  better  equipped  than 

-..  .   iileraporary  writer  of  fiction.    Yet  one  rises  from  liis  books  with 

» f*--ling  of  repulsion,  or  at  least  with  the  glad  conviction  that  his 

-  views  of  life  are  as  untrue  a.s  the  chai'actei*s  who  illustrat'i* 

- Here  is  a  melancholy  ca»e  of  a  novelist,  not  only  clever  but 

sncfrp,  undone  by  want  of  sympathy, 

Mr.  Baring-Gould's  cynici:*m  is  such  as  most  men,  with   a  tithe  of 

U>  enpacity,  are  anxious  to  turn  their  backs  on  at  five-and-twenty. 

"  We  betrin  life  iis  believers,"  he  saya,  "  and  end  it  as  sceptics.     As 

liwk  up  to  every  one  ;  as  old  men  we  look  down  on  all." 

• ..  .5  an*  for  the  fools  and  knaves.      The  foola  are  endowed  by 

Providence  with  luck  to  counterljalance  their  folly,  and  the  wise  are 

bnrfeiitid   with   conscience,   which    prevents  them    proCting  by  their 

■i^biB."     ••  When   we  attend  the  funeral  of  a  dear  relative,  do  we 

Mt  partake  of  the  breakfast  ?  .   .   .  .  The  widow  upstaire   has   her 

■  1  with  tears,  but  is  quite  sensible  whether  there  is  sugar  enough 

'     'vinl-Bance  with  the  lamb  ;  und  afterwards,   iii  the  hush  of 

_',   when  the  masons  have  closed  up  the  tomb  about  her 

-.  uud  file  monruers  are  gone,  she  will  speak  to  the  cook  in  a 

I  voice  full  of  suppresae-d  tears,  and  bid  her  mind  another  time 

i*  the  aiigar  in  the  sauce-dish  before  sending  it  in,  and  chop 

Ur  auiit  a  little  finer.     So  also  the  widower  who,  with   manly  aell- 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


ITT 


restraint,  has  bottled  up  his  tears  and  talked  of  the  weather,  thrc 
the  crust  of  his  cold  veal-pie  impatiently  to  the  margin  of  his  pla 
because  the  paste  is  not  flaky,  and  curses  his  destiny  because  now 
has  no  one  to  keep  his  cook  up  to  the  mark."  With  such  sentime? 
are  all  this  author's  books  tarnished.  It  is  said  that  there  is  a  gK 
market  for  "  smart. "  writincf  of  this  kind,  and  one  occasionally  he 
of  autlioi-s  complaining  that  they  have  to  write  down  to  it  to  lua^ 
living — though  there  are  surely  other  ways  of  breaking  stones.  >■ 
we  have  both  Mr.  Bai'i rig-Gould's  own  word  for  it,  and  t^videnct 
his  stories,  that  he  writes  as  he  feels,  lu  &  chapter  in  "  Richard  Cal> 
addressed  to  the  public,  he  says  that  he  is  an  earnest  worker  ■% 
would  rather  "tear  himself  to  pieces"  than  write  without  a  lofty  'v3L' 
and  in  '"The  (laverocks"  there  i.s  an  incident  that  unintentionally  pre 
what  one  is  forced  to  call  the  sincerity  of  his  heartlessness.  The  eC: 
only  contains  one  character  that  is  not  repulsive  or  silly — a  girl  caJ 
Loveday,  who  is  intt^ndt  d  to  be  veiy  good  and  affectionate.  Ye* 
few  days  after  she  hears  of  the  tragic  death,  as  she  supposes,  of 
husband,  Loveday  joins  a  jaunt  to  a  lively  country  fair,  and  it  ne 
seems  to  strike  the  author  that  such  callousness  would  be  painfu.1 
even  a  less  amiable  person.  It  has  been  argued  that  fiction  is  nov 
days  taking  the  clergj-man's  place,  but  may  that  never  be  if  t 
new  pulpit  is  to  tell  us  that  the  world  is  as  despicable,  its  face  such 
sham,  and  its  heart  so  rotten  as  Mr.  Baring-Gould  makes  them. 

If  Mr.  Baring-Gould's  characters  were  not  caricatures  he  wou 
prove  his  philosophy.  In  most  of  his  men,  who  are  not  offered  t 
laughter,  the  brute  element  has  such  a  master)'"  as  to  keep  the  otb 
elements  out  of  sight.  Perhaps  the  poor  do  not  suffer  more  at  II 
hands  than  the  wealthy,  but  his  misi-epresentatious  of  them  are  ci 
culated  to  do  most  harm,  and  such  treatment  of  a  class  that  mt 
suffer  dumbly  is  to  stime  readers  hard  to  bear.  Though  many  write 
of  the  present  time  have  discussed  the  poor  of  our  great  cities  wi 
warm  sympathy,  few  of  those  who  have  cast  their  views  into  the  foi 
of  fiction  have  added  much  to  our  knowledge  of  the  humblest  classt 
The  poor  have  little  for  which  to  thank  the  novelist  who  thinks  the 
80  miserable  that  theii*  state  is  best  painted  with  a  smudge  of  blac 
The  aim  is  admirable,  but  the  result  is  distortion.  Kven  in  a  Whit 
chapel  court  life  is  not  all  bJows  and  blasphemy.  It  is  many-coloure 
It  has  its  sons  and  daughters  who  do  sublime  things  for  their  mothej 
sake,  its  tender  husbands,  and  its  glee.  Dickens  knew  better  than 
be  always  writing  of  the  poor  on  black-edged  notepaper. 

But  it  is  not  excess  of  sympathy  nor  want  of  art  that  makes  M 
Boring-Gould's  pictures  of  the  jioor  untrue.  He  seems  to  despise  thei 
The  man  who  lives  by  digging  ditches,  the  woman  who  has  to  do  her  ow 
washing,  are  to  him  so  little  removed  from  the  beasts  of  the  field th; 
to  draw  a  distinction  were  only  tedious.     He  notes  their  failings,  ar 


n] 


MR.    BARING-GOULD'S   NOVELS. 


209 


hen  «huts  his  eyes.     The  refuse  brought  up  by  the  dredging  apparatus 

I hij sample  of  th©  river.     In  "The  Pennycomequicks "  a  poor  man 

'Wshis  wife,  child,  and  possessiona  in   a  ilood.  and  has  himself  oidy 

k leiv  momenta  to  live.      He  is  dinging  to  the  roof  of  a  hat,  when  the 

of  his  wife  sweeps  past,  and  this  is  how  Mr.  Baring-Gould 

"tljinbthe  heartrending  incident  would  strike  a  peasant:  ''The  man 

ked  after  it  and  moaned.      '  It  all  cornea  o'  them  fomentations,'  he 

id.    '  Sho'd  bad  pains  about  her  somewhere  or  other,  and  owd  Nan 

I  Bho'd  rub  in  a  penn'orth  o'  whisky.      I  was  agin  it,  I  was  agin  it 

-mj  mind  misgave  me,  and  now  sho's  taken   and  I'm  left,  'os  1  had 

1  to  do  wi't.      I  shudn't  miud  so  bad  if  I'd  gold  my  bullock.     I 

.  au  offer,  but  like  a  fool   I   didn't  close.      Now  I'm  boun'  to  lose 

neiything.     'Tis  vexing.'  "     This  recalls  the  doctor's  story  in  "■  Eve  " 

'a  man  who  sent  for  a  doctor  because  his  wife  was  ill,  and  was 

to  smother  her  under  pillows  to  cut  short  tlje  attendance  and 

the  bill  within  the  compass   of  his  means."      In  "  Mehalah," 

^on  either  side  of  the  east  window  [of  a  village  church]  hung  one 

ible  of  the  commaridraents,  but   a  village  hamorist  had  erased  all 

'  Dots '   in  the   Decalogue ;    and   it    cannot   be   denied  that  the 

BsliioQers  conscientiously  did  their  best  to  fulfil  the  letter  of  the 

thtw  altered."     The  poor  are  not  only  immoral,  bnt  without  taste, 

I  or  feeling.      Richard  Cable  is  a  widower  with  a  lai'ge  family  of 

nng children.*  Though  he  is  a  ]xior  man,  a  great  heiress  of  the  district 

rios  him,  and  they  are  to  live  on  her  estate.      Richard's  old  friends 

elcome  them  from  their  honeymoon  thus:  One  claps  the  lady  on 

shoalder,  a  second  offers  her  a  pail  of  shrimps,  and  a  third — the 

iy  one  who  is  even  "  half-drunk  " — invites  her  to  "•  shake  a  flapper." 

Tbc  Gaverocks '"  the  squire's  sou   is  found  by  some  of  the  poor 

fthn  neighbourhood  shot  through  the  brain,  and  they  present  the  corpse 

thf"  sqnire  in  this  way  :   "Here,  your  honour,  here  be  two  pocket- 

oks  and  a  purse  us  have  took  out  of  his  coat-pockets,  lest  they 

lid  fall  and  be  lost.     I  reckon  they  be  chuck  full  of  money.     And 

Iw  dry  and  would  like  a  drop  of  cider.''     "When  we  see  Loveday 

lliii  Ixmk  k-aving  the  district,  and   her  poor   npij^hbours  showing 

tir  appreciation  of  her  past  kindnesses  by  bringing  her  little  gifts,  Wf 

dnk,  here  is  our  autlior  sympathetic  at   la.st,      But  the  rht-umatic 

woman  who  brings  a  bottle  of  ketchup,  the  simple  little  ser\'ant- 

rl  whose  present  is  eggs,  and  all  the  others,  are  not  showing  heart. 

iir.  Baring-Gould,  who  thinks  he  understands  the  poor,  knows  that 

ily  (M'lfish  motives  actuate  them. 

Mr.  Baring-Gould's  powers  as  a  story-teller  are  in  spite  of  want  of 
ipnthy,  to  which  can  be  traced  other  failings  than  those  mentioned. 


'  The  Mitbor't*  protty  picttircs  of  the  ftimily  ami  Hichard'K  fond  rhapttodios  over 
"1  ut  tiUhfTT  >|ioilt.  as  efforts  at  ]iiitli(i«.  by  iicitbor  Mr.  Baring-GouW  nor  tbc  father 
lafi^Tvntly  quite  cortiun  whutlier  there  were  st-vcii  children  or  six. 


210 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


He  1ms  a  trick  of  upsetting  the  reader's  gravity  by  sudden  jump* 
from  tlie  serious  or  ' '  emotional  "  to  the  broadly  comic.  On  the  stage 
where  sadden  and  varied  effects  are  wanted,  this  is  perliaps  a  virtue 
at  all  events,  ''  exit  the  herOj  enter  the  comic  man  "- — -that  iss  to  say 
'*  exit  serious  interest,  enter  9  jest  " — is  a  favourite  stage  direction 
But,  though  a  comedy  scene  may  immediately  follow  a  pathetic  on( 
on  the  stage  with  excellent  effect,  both  situations  are  ruined  if  the 
coraic  man  walks  on  a  moment  before  his  time.  This  is  what  is 
constantly  happening  in  our  autlior's  novels.  One  has  seen  a  magic 
lantern  maliciously  work«l  so  that  as  the  picture  we  have  been 
admiring  is  withdrawn  from  the  slide  ifc  is  turned  upside  down,  when 
our  admiration  becomes  ridicule.  It  is  so  with  II r.  Baring-Gould, 
whose  humour  of^^n  burlesques  his  best  work.  Fuller  sympathy  widi 
his  characters  would  check  this  unfortunate  mannerism.  fl 

Though  he  has  an  obvious  sense  of  the  ludicrous,  Mr.  Barings- 
Gould's  comic  situations  are  usually  vulgar  and  farcical,  as  is  to  be 
expected  of  a  writer  whoee  humour  is  so  seldom  kindly.  On  the 
stage,  where  few  incidents  arouse  such  merriment  as  the  low  comedian 
falling  into  a  custard  pudding,  his  fun,  if  not  so  long  drawn  out, 
would  probably  answer  its  purpose,  but  the  readers  who  enjoy  his  wit 
must  often  find  his  humour  tiresome.  This  is  especially  the  case  ii 
some  of  his  later  novels,  such  as  ''  The  Pennyconiequicks,"  but  h« 
might  witli  advantage  condense  the  farce  of  all  his  stories.  A  fail 
sample  of  it  may  bo  repealled  in  "Richard  Cable,'"  where  a  whoU 
chapter  is  devoted  to  a  lady's  discovery  that  her  full-grown  nepheA\ 
has  been  in  the  presence  of  her  female  companion  mth  a  hole  in  hh 
stocking.  Over  her  shrieks  that  the  hole  is  the  size  of  a  threepenny 
bit,  and  that  he  is  consequently  ''  in  a  condition  of  partial  undress,' 
we  are  expected  to  laugh  through  a  chapter. 

Our  author,  who  complains  that  the  novels  of  to-day  are  too  short 
holding  out  for  seven  volumes  to  one  story,  has  been  criticised,  b( 
says,  for  making  his  characters  talk  too  smartly.  His  answer  is 
that  to  be  simply  the  literal  reporter  of  their  conversations  would  b< 
to  make  himself  tnireadable,  .and  he  gives  sarcastically  a  specimei 
page  of  what  the  critics  seem  to  want.  In  this  he  reports  all  th< 
nothings  naid  at  a  breakfast-table.  But  no  critics  could  be  so  absurt 
as  to  mean  what  he  says  they  mean.  They  know  that  selection  an( 
condensation  are  great  part  of  the  novelist's  art,  and  doubtless  the  com 
plaint  was  that  he  made  people  talk  contrary  to  their  character.  T( 
take  an  extreme  case — one  not  found  in  these  novels — no  typica 
villager  should  (|Uote  Herodotus.  It  is  undoubtedly  true  that  the  rani 
and  file  of  Mr.  Baring-Gould's  characters  are  too  clever  to  be  natural 
As  has  been  already  said,  he  is  himself  remarkably  apt  with  illustra 
tions  drawn  from  an  apparently  inexhaustible  fund  of  scientific  an< 
historical  knowledge.      ^XHien  he  speaks  in  his  own  person  he  use 


•M 


JfA    BARiyC-GOl-LDS   XOl'ELS. 


:ill 


tim  adranUge    kaa4rad»    of    times    «itk    admimbfe    eAect,    bat 

iaqiWBlIf  he  eaoaal  nsit  tfe  tgrnptition  of  miidmg  illitenfee  or 

fiirabiB  penoos  as  witty  and  weU4nfaniied  as  luinaelL     It  is  as  if 

kr  bflded  tliem  his  bag  of  knowledgev  and  invited  tkem  to  pidi^  uui 

•iono  priaas  each.     TLese  tbev  introduce  into  their  ooBTenalion 

•ith  (he  air  of  p«raona  who  own  the  bag,  which  compels  the  nMtW 

to  ibnn  a  new  eatimata  of  them.     Whetiier  tbej  be  rich  or  (wor,  at 

MKOr  in  peril,  the^  tend  to  start  off  with  "  yoor  action  renunds  me 

rf t^  ways  of  the  jelly-fish,  which,"  Jcc      Were  we  Uy  encounter 

1^  in  private  life  they  woold  choke  us  witii  a  string  of  metaphors 

ian  from  nataral  history.     In  the  theatre,  where  dialoin"?  most  be 

~ Idling, "  aoch  clever  talk  woald.  withla  limits,  be  comaiendable,  but 

trm  Uiene  it  robs  out  or  paints  over  in  a  new  colour  the  <|iialit>e8 

t^M  make  the  man.      From  a  bottle  labelled  castor  oil  we  do  not  look 

fer  alierry.     Mr.  Baring-Gonld,   of  course,  is  not  the  only  noVflist 

wio  truisgresses  in  this  way — and   doubtless   there   are  many  who 

weald  be  the  better  of  the  overflow   of  his  cleverness — but  consider- 

Mioo  will  show  ns  that  the  more  an  author  is  in  sympatljy   with  his 

ckaiaeters  the  less  chance  is  there  of  his  yielding  to  this  temiitatiiMi. 

Wfl  hare   really   returned   to   the  proposition   we  set  oil"  with,  that 

tivaeter-drawing  is  an  oflkhoot  from  sytnpittby. 

Aot  though  our  author  has  all  the  defects  that  want  of  ByiripiilJjy 
^li'W,  there  remains  a  writer  whose  novels  have  built,  liiiu   up  a 
npotation.     No   freak   of  fashion   is   responsible  for  his   rise.      He 
•»•«  his  position  entirely  to  ability,  and  we  have  yet  to  see  OJnoii^ 
wiat  writers  he  should  bo  classed.      It  has  been  remarked  luuro  thiui 
«nce  in  this  paper  that  his  weaknesses  as  a  novelist  pixjp-r  would   bo 
!«•  noticeable,  or  even  mij^ht  pass  for  virtues,  on   the  stage.      lie  in, 
uidicd,   essentially    a   melodramatic    writer,    thou^di    ton    niueh  <jf  a 
■tihst  to   weight  his  stories    with    the    bombastic    sentiment  that 
■oally  struts   through   melodrama.       The   melodrama  of    tliH  sta^e 
fnridea  cheap  sentiment  to  warm  the  spectatt^r's  hands,  but  r»'i»ders, 
however  carried   away   by  delight,  do   not  lay  down  their  IkkjW   to 
cbeer,  and   consequently   rhodomontade  caa    be   omitted    from  tlie 
lulodramatic  novel.     ^Melodrama  girea  na  a  painting  in  which  erary- 
is  as  in  real  life,  except  the  figuree.     They  are  porpoacJj  auHf- 
to  give  theui  greater  piominfTnce.  and  onderelopcd  oundi  are 
]y  more  struck  by  the  giant  than  they  woold  be  by  whal  tbef 
ir  ordinary  pensonc,  thoogli  be  ia  really  DoChing  more  Uian  one 
'themselves  reflected  large  opon  a  Mreen.     Ilia  dceda  are  made  to 
wnspoad  with  his  nae,  m  ava  the  mititm  far  ihem,  and  tfaoa  tht^ 
MMOOB  of  his  action  are  traosiMnat  lo  aa  >Ti'^*~*  ii^  oon\d  not  «t» 
«aiiy  follow  the  motma  «l  tfca  noe  fi^an  gvdsesd  to  tUtnuatt.     If 
«e  nade  ourseivaa  aeqwiBtod  «itli  the  a&UMBt»  peiM^  oo  *km^_ 
ABiodnmias  by  tlieir  ftinm  wa  w««id  dovUJew  diacover  titat 


212 


THE    CONTEMPORARY    REVIEW. 


[Tkb  . 


pieces  are   popalar  because  they  are  thought  so   true  to   life.      The 
passions  portrayed  are  human  passions  exaggerated,  and  so   only  the 
better   brought   home   to  the  spectator   whom  subtlety  of  character- 
drawing  on  a  minute   scale   would   bewilder.      Subtlety  of  a   kind  ia 
not,  of  course,  impossible  in  melodrama,  in  which  startling  contrasts 
are  obtained  by  making  a  character  not   one   walking  passion,   but 
several  which  struggle  for  the  mastery.      If  they  are  not,  however, 
larger  tban  life-size  they  are  out  of  keeping  witia  the  figure,  and  can 
no  more  be  shown  moving  him  than  a  toy  engine  can  pull   a  cart  of 
hay.      Comedy  has  obnonsly  no   place   in  melodrama,  which   has  for 
its  comic  aspect  farce,  and  farce  is  comedy  exaggerated.      In  the  play 
of  rral  life  the  comedian  laughs  with   his  own  mouth  ;  but  in  melo- 
drama ho  wears  the  grotc.sf|ue  face  of  pantomime. 

The  novel  of  melodrama  follows  the  same  rules  as  the  theatrical 
niplodranm,  and  Sir.  Bariug-Gould  conforms  to  them  all.  Through 
a  world  that  he  oilers  as  the  world  we  know  his  characters  stalk,  as  it 
were,  t«n  feet  high.  Any  one  of  his  books — except,  to  an  extent, 
''  !Mehalah" — illustrates  this.  We  may  take  "The  Gaverocks  "  as  typical. 
It  is  an  extremely  clever  story,  full  of  Ixjldly  drawn  characters,  of 
whom  not  one  is  absolutely  true  to  life.  Much  the  most  striking 
figure  is  the  old  squire.  A  century  or  less  ago  there  were  rural 
magnates  whose  manliness  was  founded  on  brutality,  who  ruled  their 
households  as  an  Iroquois  brave  may  have  controlled  his  squaws ;  who 
were  not  cruel  so  long  as  no  one  contradicted  them,  and  who  cursed 
and  drank  almost  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave  inwhattliey  considered 
the  fine  old  English  fashion.  Squire  Western  is  the  best  glimpse  we 
get  of  such  a  being.  Old  Gaverouk  belongs  to  this  class,  but  all  his 
points  are  magnified.  His  brutality,  his  shrewdness,  hi."!  colossal 
faith  in  himself,  his  farcical  humour,  are  the  stuff  these  squires  were 
largely  made  of  but  not  in  such  pi-oportions.  His  tions  are  also 
painted  with  the  generous  brush  of  the  melodramatic  writer.  The 
younger  is  merely  the  stage  villain  that  certain  theatres  keep  on  the 
premises,  and  the  other  is  a  good-natured  yokel  with  means.  With 
a  little  less  stolidity  hp  would  be  such  a  man  as  is  still  to  be  met 
with  at  countiy  houses.  Further  removed  from  life  than  Gerans  is 
the  doctor,  a  surly  and  evil  fellow,  as  dete.stable  and  uunatural  as  his 
professional  brother  in  "  Kve."  Loveday  is  the  persecuted  heroine  of 
melodrama,  and  Gerans  and  Rose  could  stand  for  the  comic  lovers. 
The  two  chai-acters  who  provide  most  of  the  fun  are  an  impossible 
lout  and  an  amiable  simpleton,  Paul,  whose  goodness  only  makes 
virtue  ridiculous.  An  effective  stage  play  could  certainly  be  written 
round  such  strongly  marked  characters,  all  for  showing  at  their  best 
in  tht)  limelight,  and  there  is  also  a  fine  dramatic  scene,  on  which 
one  curtain  could  fall— that  in  which  Loveday  is  suddenly  brought 
face  to  face  with  her  husband,  supposed  dead,   but   now  married  to 


a>p] 


MR.    BARING-GOULD'S   NOVELS. 


213 


MotiT  woman.  Even  Mr.  Ban ng-Gron Id's  method  of  writing  is 
ikeatrical,  a«  in  *'  Ere/*  where  Jasper  preeerves  his  secret  in  true 
ladodnniattc  manner,  and  at  ]a%t  drops  it  into  Barbara's  ear  inch  by 
indi  to  iocresaae  the  effect,  though  in  real  life  his  love  for  her,  not  to 
ipitkof  1u8  perilous  situation,  woald  make  him  blurt  it  oat.  Barbara 
hetieres  the  constables  are  hnrr}-ing  to  take  him,  while  ho  wastes  time 
jfw  hi  confession  to  her,  and  so  theatrical  is  the  whole  scene  that 
>  mtm  to  see  the  constables  waiting  at  the  wings.  Jordan's  confession 
murdered  his  wife  is  in  the  same  manner,  and  on  the  stage 
too,  oould  be  made  impressive. 

As  an  eectpe  from  the  hum>dreadfal-dmm  of  conventional  life, 
gives  hard-worked  men  each  a  sensation  as  ladiee  seek 
tbey  fly  to  ices.  Taken  for  what  it  is,  it  exhilarates,  but  there  is 
ao  reMOD  why  the  raelodraraatic  writer  should  not  be  sympathetic. 
C^ind  snbtle  insight  into  the  human  heart,  which  means  sympathy, 
ii  BOi  asked  of  him.  If  he  had  them,  he  would  cot  be  content  to 
•lite  melodrama.  But  kindliness  in  the  rough  he  should  certainly 
htttf  or  hb  work  will  leave  an  unpleasant  taste  in  the  reader's  month. 
Tbt  Mr.  Baring-Gould's  melodramas  are  cleverer  than  those  of  any  of 
kb  oootemporaries  is  undeniable,  but  they  would  be  better  art  if  they 
«we  more  geniaL 
Mr.  Baring-Gould  has  a  contempt  for  criticism,  though  it  may  be 
^oneai,  if  not  truer,  than  he  thinks  it.  In  *'  The  Pennycorae>. 
'old  Jeremiah, when  drowning,  as  he  believes,  thinks  of  anchovy 
aodf  as  his  tarewell  to  the  world,  quotes  .six  lines  from  "  D 
'*  which  he  had  learned  at  school  and  had  not  repeated 
Ibis  Bsy  be  complained  of,  the  author  says,  by  the  critic,  '  who 
hits  oa  Uioee  particulars  in  a  story  which  are  facts  to  declare 
to  be  imptMBbilities  and  those  characters  to  be  unnatural  which 
boat  nature."  But  the  critic  "  has  had  no  experience 
described,  or  he  would  know  that  what  is  described  above 
1l  ■  scoovdance  with  nature.''  Thus  the  poor  critic,  who  may  really 
W  —  "^r**  lo  do  his  best,  is  warned  off  the  course.  But,  though  he 
ha  Bok  bal  mfficient  experience  of  death  by  drowning  to  know 
«Wtb«r  this  ia  tkot  a  theatrical  exaggeration  of  what  is  understood  to 
W  a  &et,  be  can  cry  out  as  he  goes  that  honestly  to  think  our 
are  transcripts  from  nature  and  really  to  make  them  so  are 
things.  The  greatest  novelists  have  only  been  absolutely 
t»  Biie  ao«r  aod  again,  and  would  probably  have  agreed  that 
;■  t»  inm'd  in  reproducing  on  paper  the  men  and  women  tiaey 
ly  known  is  as  difficult  as  to  pluck  the  moon  and  walk 
it  onder  their  arms. 
A  JMC  void  may  be  reserved  for  "  Mehalah,"  which  is  31r.  Baring- 
X%  \i^  book.  The  subsidiary  characters  are  melodramatic,  but 
Bakes  the   story  romance.      Romanoe  gives  human 


214  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW.  C 

beings  at  their  most  picturesque,  but  it  does  not  caricature  th^ 
They  must  fit  into  the  picture  without  destroying  the  perspecti  — 
Probably  few  of  us  have  known  an  Elijah,  but  he  is  offered  as 
exception,  not  as  an  ordinary  specimen,  of  mankind,  and  as  su^ 
must  be  allowed  at  once.  The  author's  want  of  sympathy  preveic 
"  Mehalah's  "  rising  to  the  highest  art,  for,  though  we  shudder  at  tK 
end,  there  the  effect  of  the  story  stops.  It  illustrates  the  futility 
battling  with  fate,  but  the  theme  is  not  allowable  to  writers  with  tbf 
modem  notion  of  a  Supreme  Power.  Glory's  death  is  not  justifiable 
because  it  is  altogether  undeserved.  Tragedy  can  show  a  good  characte 
suffering  wofully  for  very  human  sins,  but  not  where  there  is  no  sin  C 
punish,  for  in  tragedy  justice  is  an  essential  element.  Thus,  thoug" 
the  work  of  art  can  never  be  written  with  a  "purpose,"  its  more 
stares  us  in  the  face  as  we  lay  down  the  book.  This  it  is  whi<x 
justifies  the  boast  that  the  highest  art  is  the  highest  morality.  Ii 
"  Mehalah "  it  is  not  retribution  that  overtakes  Glory,  and  so  th< 
story  falls  short  of  tragedy.  But  "  Mehalah  "  is  still  one  of  the  most 
powerful  romances  of  recent  years. 

J.  M.  Babris. 


490] 


THE  CRITICAL  STUDY  OF  THE  OLD 
TESTAMENT.* 


fE  aim  of  the  present  article  is  to  stute,  in.  unteclmicul  Iungiiiig<>, 
the  grounds  upon  which  the  criticism  of  the  Old  TeHtument  renin, 
to  explain  wherein  their  cogency  consists,  and  to  illuatratt)  some  of  thi* 
frincipal  conclusions  that  have  been  reached  by  critics.     Tlie  groutidH, 
itited  generally,  consist  in  the    observation  of  phainonienu,  whicli, 
neved  collectively,  constitute  a  cumulative  argument  incomputibl't 
nth  the  unity  of  authorship  of  the  books  in  which  they  an;  obiuirvcd. 
Ue  phaenomena  which  are  perhaps  the  mo.st  obvious  are  literary  ouch. 
h  the  first  place,  the  narrative  is  not  always  perf'.'ctly  cr^ntinuouK,  or 
pafectly  uniform ;  there  are  breaks  interrupting  the  conii<;cti'>u  of 
thought ;  or  what  is  apparently  the  same  occurrence  is  narrated  twic;. 
Further,  particular  sections  of  a  given  book  are  ol.yserv<:J  Vj  rkHf.iiMr 
oae another  in  style  and  phraseology,  while  differing  from  the  Kurround- 
ing  or  intervening  sections ;  the  refiemblanc^:!:,  mort^jver,  Wmn  hoi 
inUted  or  superficial,  bat  numeroaj»  and  sinxiiiiy  uiarkfcd.    lJiih:r".ii/yi:ii 
rf  phraseology  also  very  often  ooincldir  r«rz::Jirkab>.-  with  dl^ir-.tiCiii 
of  representatim  or  point  of  vjtw ;  tiiA  tl-r  O'y.v.r>lui*.'o;j  'A  dii!Vr<r.v>:}: 
it  not  cmifined  to  a  single  paj^batr?-  '^y-'  rrcur-.  v.  Lvvrrra^.  xLrj'-^yr'ti  I'ti.", 
wWe  of  a   book  or   sr-ritrr   of  'u>-i.? :  Ht.  f^r  l:jt'JUU'>:.  xi^rr^'/h  Ti.'- 
PentBteacii  and  the  Book  of  JcaI:-.^  or  rLc;  w,  Yy/.tLj.,  of  Y.\:.'jy:. 

ft  is  on  the  obeerrau^n  :f  Ei?i.  cJf*?r»o'>->:  t^At  ♦.•«!;  <;.•■>.>,-. %.v.  *X  ti-T 
(Hd  Testament  sutijaa-Vriy  T'S^t :  ii.v.  t.-  \LAr.rj^.  *r<j:i,>fi  v/  ';.-..r->. 
nqiecting  the  ttmctsrt  vf  iL*  ■::^^r*c::\  v/,-JCi.  ij-:  ^r.vifta.-.  v- .•%  Vy 
«»Kiidiiiate  aitd  *cxjc/::i.;  f  .'•  -Ju-r  y.^::xjc:jK\A..  vf  *—':  :-*.V^'»:  '.:jU':at>^i . 
vkieb  the  books  preseal. 


*  Ike  lawjit  aitieitr  it  lawi  itv"*"- 
Okfovd,  at  the  iBTiiaciac.  '/.  :•:•*  t-:i-m>> 

LMmr,  tatcrof  Xi^dkita.  Uii  JLtrvM 
MifltaatBeallBEdfaBlld.T    ■' Xi 


•-'.■•■V    '.•*:-!    UL- 

li«.'    li'.-V  '!lV'>li" 


'.iv;r-  '»,-'.   ■•.,•,■■. ,  ■/,■,,, 


'...-..r- 


■ii.i-.i 


.v;i»rj:»     .'r.-VV. 


216 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[Fki 


Is  the  inference  a  just  one  ?  Is  it  legitimate  to  argue  that  fro 
such  differences  we  may  infer  diversity  of  authorship  ?  We  possess  as3 
instance  in  the  Old  Testament  which  satisfies  us  that  it  is  so ;  and 
which,  at  the  same  time,  shows  us  what  the  method  of  a  Hebrew 
historian  was.  The  instance  is  the  Book  of  Chronicles.  One  of  the 
chief  sources  ased  by  the  compiler  of  the  Chronicles  is  in  our  hands — 
viz.,  the  narrative  contained  in  the  Books  of  Samuel  and  Kings. 
From  these  books  he  makes  a  series  of  excerpts,  which  he  inserts  into 
matter  based  upon  other  sources,  and  expressed  in  his  own  phrase- 
ology. We  ae*  the  two  styles  and  modes  of  representation  side  by  side, 
that  of  8amuel  and  Kings,  and  that  of  the  Clironicles.  We  loiow  that 
the  Book  of  Chronicles  is  of  composite  authorship  ;  we  olscrre  that  the 
work  of  the  different  authors  is  marked  by  differences  of  style  and 
representation.  It  is  a  reasonable  inference  that  when  elsewhere  we 
observe  analogous  differences  of  style  and  representation,  we  may  pre- 
sume difference  of  authorship.  We  learn,  moreover,  from  the  Book  of 
Chronicles  the  method  of  a  Hebrew  histxirian.  It  was  not  like  that 
of  a  modern  author,  to  re-write  the  narrative  in  his  own  words,  but 
that  of  n  compiler,  to  make  excerpts  from  the  sources  at  his  disposal^ 
and  to  incorporate  them,  with  or  without  alteration,  as  the  case  might 
be,  in  his  work.  Thus  the  Chronicler  sometimes  excerpts  passages 
from  his  sources  with  hardly  any  alteration.  At  other  times  he 
changes  a  word  rather  remarkably ;  or  expands  a  narrative,  taken 
substantially  from  one  of  his  sources,  by  introducing  many  fresh 
particulars  ;  sometimes  he  merely  appends  or  inserts  a  short  comment ; 
elsewhere  he  adds  entirely  new  incidents.  And  of  couiise  he  does  not 
scruple  to  omit  what  is  not  required  for  his  purpose — in  fact,  he  treats  his 
authorities  with  considerable  freedom.  The  methods  of  historiogi-aphy 
postulated  by  criticism  are  shown  by  the  example  of  the  Chronicles  to 
be  a  vera  eausa  in  Hebrew  literature.  Another  point  of  some  importance 
is  also  madp  clear  by  a  study  of  the  same  two  books.  Wo  learn  from 
them,  namely,  that  Hebrew  historians  used  some  freedom  in  attribut- 
ing speeches  to  historical  characters ;  for  in  this  book  there  are 
speeches  attributed  to  David  and  other  worthies  of  Israelitish  history, 
which  can  be  nothing  but  the  composition  of  the  Chronicler  himself; 
both  the  syntax  and  the  vocabulary  being  such  as  mark  the  latest 
period  in  the  history  of  the  languag^e,  and  being  often  quite  without 
precedent  in  pre-exilic  literature;  the  thought  also  often,  not  to  say 
usually,  displaying  likewise  the  characteristics  of  the  same  age.* 

The  observation  of  differences  such  as  those  mentioned  above  has 
satisfied  all  critics  that  the  historical  books  of  the  Old  Testament — 
except  the  shortest,  such  as  Huth  and  Esther — are  of  composite 
structure.     The  8imple.st  are  perhaps  Judges  and  Kings,  which  consist 

•  See  1  CtiTon.  xxix. ;  2  Chron.  xiii.  5-12,;  xv.  2-7;  xx.  3-12,  &c  ;  ami  <-ontrttst,  for 
instUDCO,  the  specchesln  2  CUron.x.,  which  are  uxcerpted  nearly  verbatim  from  1  Kings  liL 


^] 


ewDlttlty  of  older  narratives,  fitted  into  a  framework  provided  by  titc 

eoBpUw.     The  compiler  in  these  cases  is  strongly  inflneijccd  by  th<* 

t;i  Tit  and  principles  of    Deuteronomy ;  his  additions    are   in    style 

i-irkcdlv  different  from    the  sources  incorporated  by  him,  and  arc 

nsnallj  discoverable  without  difficulty.     The  structure  of  the  Penta- 

teaeh  and  Book  of  Joshua  is  more  complicated.      The  facts  presented 

by  these  books  authorize  the  conclusion  that  they  have  been  formed 

b7  the  combination  of  distinct  lui/rrx  of  narrative,  each  marked  by 

diinrteristic  features  of  its  own.     That  which  stands  out  most  con- 

ifBCBonsly  from  tlie  rest  is  now  often  termed  the  Pri4^ts   Cmtf,  and 

wprwented,  for  convenience,  by  the  abbreviation  F,    This  begins  with 

(rrti.  i    1-ii.   8,  and  contains  an  outline  of    the  patriarclml   historv 

iblloiving :  •   but  the  writer's  interest  evidently  centres  in  the  sacrilicial 

«nd  ceremonial  system  of  th«5  Israelites ;  and  to  the  description  of  this 

iia  work   is  chiefly  devoted,  t     The  principal  parts   of  the   Hook   of 

Joshua  which  belong  to  this  source  are  (in  the  main)   tho  account  of 

tike  distribution  of  the  land  among  the  tribes  in  Josh,  xiii.-xxi.      TIn' 

1   distinguishing  /'  from  tlir  othfr  sources  nre  so  marked  and 

-..:„.  rous  that  there  is  practically  no  disagreement  between  critics  as 

to  its  limits.     The  use  of  the  term  God  in  preference  to  »/f/wn'rtA  until 

Ex.  vi.  3  (whence  the  teruj  ElohUtic  tutrmtive,  formerly  given  to  this 

-•'T'^-),  though   the  most  palpable  to  the  English  reader,  is  but  one 

•n  among  many  which  recur  systematically  in  rombiualiort  with 

ther. 

\t  remains  in  the  first  four  books  of  th*-  IVnfali-uch  niid  in 
K  after  the  separation  of  /-*,  presents,  however,  still  marks  of  not. 
liein^  completely  homogeneous.  Some  sections  show  a  preference  for 
tbfi  term  Go<l  (though  the  absence  of  the  concomituni  criteria,  whit'li 
iT^larly  appear  beside  this  term  in  the  cases  just  ivferred  to,  forbids 
thcae  nections  being  assigned  to  the  same  source,  I'),  others  pn-fer  llic 
tenn  Jehovah  ;  tho  narrative,  moreover,  is  not  always  perfectly  con- 
tiaooiui,  or  written  utio  tenorr  ;  so  that  here  also  it  is  difficult  to  resist 
the  conclusion  that  the  narrative  is  really  formed  by  tht*  combinatim 
of  two  sources,  now  usually  denoted  by  ihe  two  letters  ./  and  A'.  It 
mnit,  however,  be  understood  that  the  criteria  distingul.shing  ./  and  !'' 
from  e»ch  other  are  decidedly  less  marked  than  those  diHtingui*lii«g 
/'  fnmi  JE  treated  as  a  whole,  and  that  thero  are  pnssngcs  in  which, 
chooirfa  the  narrative  seems  indeed  to  be  composite,  it  cannot  be 
dHtribut«d  with  certainty  between  J  and  E,  and  critics  differ  in  th*tr 


li^    itrirti".!  (^  i     Ti-.  ^*  •tLri'-a 


Gcii.    T. 


tiJTi    Ot   1 


•  b  M  uu>«nr»>wy  tu  enter  itore  jmiticmiatij  iatw  ite  ctjoweut 
TOL.  LVD.  r 


r2i  U.  i  17: 

tk]  ,  XXXiii 
'  Aptlttll, 

,f  oh  kit  it 
•ii*oi«iMl  with 


218 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Kkb 


analysis  accordingly.  The  view  taken  of  JE  is  tkat  there  were  two 
similar  narratives  embracing  the  Patriarchal  and  Mosaic  periods,  and 
that  a  compiler  took  extracts  from  each,  fusing  them  together,  and 
ao  producing  the  whole  which  we  denote  by  JE.  But  the  distinction 
between  J  and  E  is  leas  important  than  that  between  JE  as  a  whole 
and  P ;   and  they  may  be  treated  for  many  purposes  as  a  single  work. 

From  the  point  of  view  predominant  in  F  and  JE  respectively,  we 
may  term  P  the  pritstly  narrative,  and  JE  the  propfcetuud  narrative. 
The  difference  of  style  between  F  and  JE  is  strongly  marked.     Every 
attentive  reader  must  have  obaerved  the  contrast  between  the  narrative 
of  creation,  in  Gen.  i.  1-ii.  3,  and  that  in  Gen.  ii.  4-25 ;  and  the  same 
contrast   repeats  itself  to  the  end  of  the  Hexateuch.     The  priestly 
narrative  is  characterized  by  a  systematic  arrangement  of  material ; 
great  attention  is  paid  in  it  to  chronological,  genealogical,  and  other 
statistical  data ;  it  is  minute  and  circumstantial,  oven  in  ita  aim  to 
attain  precision  not  avoiding  repetitions ;   it  abounds  in  stereotypei 
phrases  and  formula!.    The  prophetical  narrative  is  free  and  flowing  j 
it  details  scenes  and  conversatious  with  great  force  and  i.'ividness  ;  the* 
style    is   much   mon-   varied,    and  its   representations   of   the  Deitjr 
(especially  those  of  J)  are  far  more  anthropomorphic  than  those  of  P  - 
Contrast,  for  instance,  Gen.  iii.-iv.  with  Gen.  v.  ;  or  Gen.  xxiii.  witls. 
Gen.  ?cxiv.     JE  also  contains  legislative  matter,  but  very  unlike  thafs 
contained  in  P — viz.,  Ex.  xx.-xxiii.  with  the  repetition  of  parts  of  xxiii. 
in  xxxiv.  17-26,     The  laws  in  P  are  almost  entirely  connected  with 
sacrificial    or  ceremonial  observances ;    those  in   JE  consist  of    tho 
Decalogue,  a  collection  of  dvil  ordinances,  and  elemmfart/  regulations 
respecting  religious  observances  (Ex.  XX.  23-26  ;  xxiii.  10-19  j   xxxiv. 
17—26),  very  different   from    the   elaborate,   minutely    differentiated 
system  set  forth  in  P. 

Deuteronomy,  except  shoi*t  passages  towards  the  end,  is  based 
upon  JE.  The  two  retrospects  (i.  C-iii.  ;  ix.  9-x.  11)  are  based  on  the 
narrative  of  JE — phrases  and  sentences  being  frequently  adopted 
ve-rhniim  :  the  legislative  parts  are  essentially  an  expansion  (with  com- 
mentaiy)  of  the  legislative  parts  of  JE,  but  coutnin  in  addition  a 
considerable  number  of  new  enactments  not  found  in  JE.  The 
characteristic  feature  in  Deiiteronoiuy  is  its  parenetic  treatment  of 
the  laws,  and  the  stress  which  it  lays  upon  the  moral  and  spiritual 
motives  which  should  prompt  the  Israelite  to  the  observance  of 
them.  What,  however,  is  peculiarly  remarkable  in  Deuteronomy  is 
the  nature  of  its  relation  to  the  Priests'  Code,  both  the  narrative 
and  the  legislative  portions  of  the  latter  being,  to  a  suqirising 
extent,  ignored  in  it,  and  sometimes  even  contradicted.*     At  least 

•  TIkto  !irc  piirallels  iu  Deuteronomy  with  tlni  group  of  laws  ticerptcd  in  Lev. 
xvii.-xjtvi. ;  but  with  the  Priests'  Code  proper,  so  far  as  it  touches  the  »ame  ground, 
it  is  geoerallj  in  disagreement. 


iS^o]       CRITICAL  STUDY  OF  THE  OLD  TESTAMENT.        219 

OM  oODclosion  follows  from  a  systematic  comparison  of  Deuteronomy 
wilfc  the  preceding  books  of  the  Pentateuch,  which  curiously 
fffUffifnuf  the  results  reached  by  the  literary  analysis — viz.,  that  at 
wlkftletw  date  Deuteronomy  was  written,  P  and  JB  had  not  yd  been 
gmhintd  tofjtiher,  and  JE,  apart  from  P,  supplied  the  basis  upon 
irhich  the  discooraea  of  Deuteronomy  were  constructed. 

The  Book  of  Joshua  is  similar  in  structure  to  Genesis — Numbers, 
txeept  that  here  the  narrative  which  corresponds  to  JE,  before  being 
combined  with  P,  must  have  passed  through  the  hands  of  an  editor 
nnbaed  strongly  with  the  spirit  of  Deuteronomy,  who  enlarged  it, 
Sometimes  considerably,  by  tho  addition  of  passages  expressing  tho 
principles  of  that  book,  and  conceived  in  its  style.  From  a  historical 
lint  of  view,  it  is  characteristic  of  these  additions,  that  they 
ize  Joshua's  successes,  and  represent  the  conquest  of  Palestine, 
«ilKted  under  his  leadership,  as  far  more  complete  than  the  earlier 
Mwnnts  authorize  us  to  suppose  was  the  case. 

Sach,  stated  in  its  broadest  outlines  and  its  simplest  form,  is  the 
criticnl  theory  of  the  structure  of  the  Hexateuch.  It  only  remains  to 
ftdd  that  the  different  sources  of  which  it  is  composed  must  bo  supposed 
Iv  have  been  combined  gradually,  not  all  at  once.  Some  critics, 
indeed,  consider  that  there  are  indications  that  all  the  stages  were 
not  80  simple  as  has  been  here  represented ;  but  whether  that  lie  so 
(IT  not,  the  principle  of  the  theory  remains  unaltered.  That  principle, 
ittted  brietly,  is  the  tjradwxl  formation  of  the  HinXxUcuch  out  of 
fn-gxiding  sources^  these  sources  being  still  (in  the  main)  clearly  dis- 
tiugmshable  in  virtue  of  the  diflerences  of  style  and  representation 
by  which  they  are  marked. 

The  distinction  of  sources  is  an  easier  matter  than  the  determina- 
tioQ  of  their  dates.  True,  the  more  attentively  the  Pentateuch  is 
cxsmined,  and  its  different  parts  are  compared,  the  more  difficult  it 
beoomes  to  see  how  the  current  view  of  its  being  written  by  Moses 
aa  be  sustained.  It  contains  indications  of  a  later  age,  which  have 
been  often  pointed  to,  and  never  satisfactorily  met.  Its  literary 
itraeture  also,  taking  the  simplest  view  of  it,  would  seem  to  imply 
nodes  of  compoiition  which  could  hardly  have  been  employed  as  early 
«•  the  times  of  Moses.  And  an  impartial  consideration  of  the  Uj/Is- 
idirc  di^ertnci:^  between  Deuteronomy  and  the  preceding  books,  makes 
k,  moreover,  impossible  not  to  feel  that  they  are  of  a  nature  that 
ouaot  be  reconciled  with  the  opinion  that  both  are  the  work  of  Moses, 
or  ercn  of  the  Mosaic  age.  These  differences  do  not  relate  to  super- 
fldal  features  merely  :  they  are  inherent  in  the  texture  of  the  several 
oodei  oonoenied,  and  relate  to  pointfl  of  central  significance.  The 
tbr«e  codes  of  the  Pentateuch — that  of  Exodus,  Eteuteronomy,  and  the 
PtMita'  Code — when  compared  with  snfficient  attention,  reveal 
pbaBomcna  which  create,  it   cannot    be   disguised,    a   very  decided 


220 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIK 


[r 


impression  that  they  took   shape  at  different  periods  of  history,  i^: 
represent  phases,  by  no  means  contemporaneous,  of  Hebrew  legisl; 
tion.      Even  tho   differences   between   Exo*^'':  *nd   Deuteronomy    j^; 
very  imperfectly  explained  by  the  supib^.^^on   that  the   latter  in  ti 
duces  changes  made  in  view  of  the  approaching  transition  to  settl. 
life  :   for  the  code  in  ExoduB  is  also  conceived  in  view  of  settled  liT* 
it  presupposes,  or,  in   any  case,    is  designed  for,  the   regulation   or 
society,  the  members  of  which  occupy  houses  and  hold  property  in  lara.< 
The  divergences  with  Leviticus  and  Numbers  are  still  more  remarkabl  < 
Deuteronomy,    for     instance,    presupposes    customs    and    institutio: 
respecting  the  tribe  of  Levi  entirely  at  variance  with  those  presenf 
in    the    two    preceding    books.       Making   every    allowance    for 
popular  and  general  scope  of  Deuteronomy,  one  cannot  but  feel  tk 
were  the  legislator  in  both  cases   the   same,  his  rhiimi  would  be  0:3 
of  which  the  original   would  be  at  once  recognized  in  those  bool^^^ 
But  this  is  just  what  is  not  the  case,  language  being  frequently  usi 
implying  that  some  of  the  fundamental  institutions  of  P  are  unknov 
to  the  writer. 

Thus  far  the  argument  has  been  but  negative.  The  parts  of  tl 
Pentateuch  do  not  all  date  from  the  age  of  Moses.  When  we 
positively  to  what  age  the  several  sources  belong,  decisive  criteria  fe 
us,  and  in  some  cases  divergent  opinions  are  capable  of  l>eicig  heli 
J  and  E  are  usually  assigned  by  critics  to  the  ninth  or  eightli  century 
B.C.  ;  but  it  would  be  rash  to  maintain  categorically  that  they  cout* 
not  be  earlier.  The  question  dejiends  partly  upon  the  view  take^ ' 
of  the  growth  of  literary  composition  among  the  Hebrews,  partly  oi> 
other  considerations,  for  which  perfectly  conclusive  standards  of  com- 
parison are  not  forthcojning.  In  style  t/ and  i' (especially  J)  belong 
to  the  golden  period  of  Hebrew  literature.  They  resemble  the  best 
parts  of  Judges  and  Samuel,  and  the  earlier  narratives  in  the 
Kings;  but  whether  they  are  actually  earlier  or  later  than  these  the 
language  and  style  do  not  enable  us  to  say.  There  is  at  least  no 
archaif  flavour  perceptible  in  the  style  of  JE.  Deuteronomy  is 
placed,  almost  unanimously,  •  in  the  reign  of  either  Manasseh  or 
Joaiab,  though  Dolitzsch  and  lliehm  think  that  there  are  grounds 
which  favoui-  a  slightly  earlier  date — viz.,  the  reign  of  Hezekiah.  The 
Priests'  Code  is  held  by  critics  of  the  school  of  Graf  and  Wellhausen 
to  be  ^ia^y-Deuteronomic,  and  to  have  been  committed  to  writing  during 
the  period  extending  from  the  beginning  of  the  exile  to  the  time  of 
Nehemiah,  Dillmann,  the  chief  opponent  of  Wellhausen,  assigns  the 
main  body  of  the  Priests'  Code  to  about  B.C.  80O,  but  allows  that 
additions,  though  chiefly  formal  and  unimportant  ones,  were  introduced 
afterwards,  even  as  late  as  Ezra's  time. 

Let  us  proceed  now  to  consider  biiefly  some  points  connected  with 
the  history.     Here  the  facta  force  upon  ua  oonclusions  at  variance,  it 


!Rh€ 


Jw  trith  the  parallel  texts  of  Samnel  and  Kings  can  leave  no 
ble  doubt  that,  though  the  differences  may  have  been  Eomei- 
|e»ggerated,  the  additions  made  by  the  compiler  of  Chronicles 
reprt»3entation  of  the  pre-exilic  period,  differing  from  that  of 
and  Kings  in  a  manner  that  cannot  be  adequately  explained 
Jsnpposition  that  they  are  reports  of  the  same  events  taken  from 
Bt  points  of  view.  A  narmtive  in  which  this  is  very  apparent  ia 
'  the  transference  of  the  ark  by  David  to  Jerusalem  in  2  Sam.  vi. 
who  will  be  at  the  pains  of  marking  in  his  text  of  Chronicles 
[xiii.-rvi.)  the  aMitiofu  to  the  narrative  of  2  Sam.,  and  will  con- 
beir  character  and  import,  will  perceive  the  truth  of  what  has  been 
H.  The  later  writer  has  modified  the  older  record,  so  as  to  bring  it 
Ib agreement  with  the  usage  of  his  own  day  ;  or,  in  other  words, 
kbanfl&rred  to  his  picture  of  the  earlier  period  elements  belonging  to 
I  o»m  age,  and  his  representation  is  coloured  accordingly.  It  ia 
ttoo  much  to  say  that  the  Chronicler's  picture  of  the  earlier  history 
ia  coloured  similarly  throughout. 

JOS  pha?numena,  however,  show   themselves  in   the   earlier 

books.    Let    ns  take  one  or  two  instances  afforded   by  the 

Jch.  which  seem  to  show  that  the  actual  historical  facta  have  been 

to  some  modifying  or  transforming  influence  before  they 

to   writing  in   the  form  in   which   we  have  them. 

iber  the  scene   (Gen,  xxvii.)  in  which  Isaac  in  extreme 

biases  his  sons;  we   picture  him  as   lying  on   hia  death- 

ww,  however,  all  realize  that,  according  to  the  chronology 

of  Genesis,  he  mnst  have  been  thus  lying  on  his  death- 

ytttrrf*  Tetwecan  only  diminish  this  period  by  extend- 

ly  the  interval  between   Esau's  marrying  hi.s  Hittite 

and  Kebekah's  suggestion  to  Isaac  to  send  Jacob 


222 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW 


:\ 


it  would  be  tediouH  to  dwell.  Let  us  pass  to  a  more  important  difiPi 
ence.  We  all  know  the  representation  of  the  '' tent  of  meeting"'' 
the  Book  of  Numbers,  how  its  position  was  assigned  in  the  midst 
the  camp,  how  regulations  were  laid  down  for  its  being  moved 
separate  portions  by  the  tliree  Levitical  families,  how  on  the  mar— >«S 
Judah  and  certain  tribes  preceded,  the  ark  came  in  the  centre,  a^arS 
the  procession  waa  closed  by  other  tribes  following  in  the  rear.  TXijt 
is  the  representation  of  tlie  Priests'  Code.  But  in  JE  there  ia 
totally  different  representation.  In  JE  the  "  tent  of  meeting  " 
ontside  th^  camp,  it  has  apparently  but  one  attendant,  Joshua,  and  %  "^ 
journeys  in  front  of  the  host.  Nor  does  this  representation  rest  upo*^ 
an  isolated  or  doubtful  passage  ;  it  recurs.  In  Ex.  xxxiii.  7-11  ^^ 
we  read,  ''  Now  Moses  used  to  take  the  tent  and  to  pitch  it  without-^ 
the  camp,  afar  off  from  the  camp  ;  and  he  called  it,  The  tent  of  meetings  1 
....   And  when  Moses  ivtnt  ov.t  unto  the  Tent,  all  the  people  rose  up,    < 

&c And  he  turned  again  into  the  camp :   but   his  minister^ 

Joshua,  the  son  of  Nun,  departed  not  out  of  the  Tent."  The  tenses 
used  show  that  not  a  single  act,  but  a  practice,  is  here  described. 
Now  if  we  turn  to  Num.  xi.  24-30,  we  shall  find  that  Jfoses  goes  to 
the  tent  of  meeting  with  seventy  elders — "  But  there  remained  two 
men  in  the  camp  .  .  .  .  :  and  they  were  of  them  that  were  written, 
but  had  not  (jont  onf  unto  the  Tent  ....  And  there  ran  a  young 
man,  and  said,  Eidad  and  Medad  do  prophesy  in  thr  camp  ....  And 
Moses  ffitt  him  into  thd  cafnp.^'  Here  there  is  the  same  representation. 
And  in  ch.  xii.,  after  Miriam  and  Aaron  have  complained  of  Moses, 
*'  the  Lord  said  nnto  Moses,  Come  out  ye  three  nnto  the  tent  of 
meeting.  And  they  three  wen^o?/^.  And  that  the  ark  journeyed  he/ure 
the  camp  is  stated  in  Num.  x.  33.  There  are  two  representations 
in  the  Pentateuch  of  the  tent  of  meeting,  one  that  of  a  simple 
structure  outside  the  camp,  the  other  that  of  an  ornate  structure  in  its 
centre  ;  and  in  reading  the  former  account  it  is  difficult  not  to  be 
reminded  of  the  ]>icture  in  1  Samuel  i.-iii.  of  the  apparently  simple 
surroundings  of  the  sanctuary  at  Shiloh,  and  of  the  manner  in  which 
the  ark  is  cared  for  in  the  times  of  Samuel  and  David  generally. 

"  It  is  evident,"  writes  Delitzsch,*  "  that  these  two  representations 
belong  to  two  different  narrators."  But  am  they  be  reconciled  ? 
Del itzBch,  though  he  discusses  certain  other  points  connected  with  the 
two  representations,  does  not  show,  or  even  attempt  to  show,  that  this 
is  possible,  Dillmann  is  obliged  to  own  that  F  describes  the 
Hanctuarj"  and  its  service  not  as  they  were  in  Moses'  day,  but  in  a  form 
which  had  been  gradually  developed  in  Canaan  from  a  simpler  Mosaic 
basis,  and  at  the  time  of  the  naiTator  was  already  reputed  ancient : 
from  this  point  of  view  and  in  agreement  with  the  ideal  perfection  with 
which  the  work  and  age  of  Moses  were  invested  in   bis  eyes,  he  may  . 

•  "  Zeitschrift  ffir  Kirchl.  Wissensctaft  und  Kirclil.  Lebbti, '  1880,  p.  69  :  cf.  ib.  1882, 
p.  229  (where  a  doxible  tratlition  is  rccognixed) ;  and  ' '  Die  Genesis     (1887),  p.  20. 


;?»]     CRITICAL  STUDY  OF  THE  OLD  TESTAMENT.        223 


bre  depicted  particular  traits  in  a  more  ideal   and  systematic  form 

tkn  that  in  which  tradition   actually  presented   them.      It  would  not 

'^  difficult  to  adduce  other  instances  of  similar  historical  incongruities 

fiiciitb  Old  Testament  presents,  and  which  resolve  themselves  some- 

linto  divergent  representations  of  the  same  occurrence,  sometimen, 

BiBt,  as  it  seems,  be  confessed,  into  actual  improbabilities.      What 

ii  particalarly  to   be  observed,   however,  is  that  the  difliculties   which 

ike  ordinary  view   of  the   Old  Testament    narratives  involveB,   ai'e 

flitirely  irrespective  of  the  miraculous  character  of  the  events  recorded. 

fir  differences  would  be  precisely  the  same,  were  the  occurrences  t-o 

fkicfa  they    attach   of  the    most    ordinary    every-day   character — 

tie  double  representation  of  the  tent  of  meeting,  the  double  narrative 

0/  the   spies    (Num.    xiii.-xiv.),    the  two    accounts    of   Saul's  ap- 

jRmtmeat  as  king,  or  of  David's  introduction  to  him,  the  divergent 

it«tion  of  the  position  and  revenues  of  the  tribe  of  Levi  in 

lomy    and    the    Priests'     Code,     the     treble    view    of    the 

iigli  place  at  Gibeon  in  the  Kings  and  Chronicles.*  And  they  arft 

laostly  also  of  snch  a  character  that  it   does  not  seem  possible  to 

f«»imt  for  them  by  the  supposition  of  our   imperfect   knowledge  of 

the  dicamstances  of  the  time.     The  very  fulness  and  circumstantiality 

of  the  divergent  narratives  renders   such  an  explanation   improbable- 

But  if  these  divergent  representations  exist,  the  caiTatives  which 

iuclade  them  cannot  be,  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  term,  historical ; 

•key  most  either  (as  in  the  case  of  Deut.  and  P)  reflect  the  usage  of 

^ftnnt  ages,  or  they   must   exhibit  to  us   tradUions    which   in  the 

fHceta  of  oral  transmission  have  been  modified  in  ahape,  and  perhaps 

a  Bome  cases  artificially  systematized  or  idealized,  and  which,  being 

floaunittcd  to  writing  at  different  times,  and  by  difi'erent  men,   have 

MKbed  OS  in  correspondingly  different  forms. 

Attempts  have,  of  course,  boen  often  made  to  meet  the  arguments 
critics ;  but  the  facts  are  too  numerous  to  be  disposed  of  by 
the  methods  which  their  opponents  are  able  to  employ.  The  ablest  of 
tbese  opponents  is  Dr.  W.  H.  Green,  of  Princeton,  U.S.,  who  seeks 
to  invalidate  the  analysis  altogether^  and  in  pursuit  of  this  object  sets 
><?un8t  one  antither,  with  some  cleverness,  the  divergent  conclusions 
which  critics  have  in  some  cases  arrived  at,  and  endeavours  strenuonaly 
to  aj^Iain  away  the  marks  of  composition  which  the  narrative  of 
iFBOtateDch  presents.  But  when  he  has  finished,  all  that  one  feels 
to  have  proved  is  that  a  particular  critic  has  failed,  or  that  the 
are  in  certain  cases  ambiguous ;  the  conviction  that  the 
ivo  is  compoflito  remains  as  before.     The   analysis  in  its  main 

I  wigjaal  muthor  of  1  Kings iii.  4-15,  narrates  Solomons  sacrifice  at  the  high 
Jib  OMtufcAt  approval:  to  the  iK-uteronoiiiic  rompiler  of  the  ISookof  Kings 
,SX  it  is  a  lliiw  in  Solomon's  obedience,  tbougb  excused  by  the  fact  that  the 
■as  not  yet  built:  the  Chronicler  justitip-s  the  kiiip  by  expluining,  2  Chron.  i. 
In  »  Trt.,,,.,...  inmrtrd   bi'twcrti  the  two  halvas  of  1   Kings  iii.   4  (which  in  here 

rds  "  for  that  was  the  great  high  place"  being  at  the  same  time 

Tiib^mack'  was  there  I 


224 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[Kki 


features  caunol  be  controverk'd  ;   if  it  bad  rested,  as  Dr.  ( !reen  supposes*, 
solely  upon  illusion,  tliere  would  not.  have  been  a  succession  of  acute  Con- 
tinental critics — who  are  ready  enouf^li  to  dispute  and  overthrow  one 
another's  conclasions  if  able  to  do  so — virtually  following  in  the  same 
lines,  and  merely  correcting,  or  modifying  in  details,  the  conclusions  of 
their  predecessors. 

It  may  be  worth  wliile  to  allude  briefly  to  a  few  of  the  arguments 
most  commonly  advanced  on  the  conservative  side,  and  to  ofTer  some 
indication  of  the  grounds  upon  which  they  must  be  held  to  fall  short 
of  the  mark.  The  commonest  is  perhaps  thisj  that  critics  all  differ :  a 
theoiy  reigns  for  a  time  and  is  then  overthrown  ;  their  method  is  in 
conseqaenc^■  a  refutation  of  itself.  This  argument  greatly  exaggerates 
the  points  of  difference  between  crit  ics,  and  dues  not  properly  distinguish 
them  from  the  point,s  in  which  critics  agree,  and  which  are  important 
points  (as,  for  instance,  the  distinction  between  F  and  JE).  Tlipn- 
id  an  evident  fallacy  in  arguing  that  because  the  conclusions  are  un- 
certain where  the  criteria  are  ambiguous,  they  are  likewise  uncertain 
where  the  criteria  are  clear !  There  is  an  area  within  which  critics 
agree,  and  a  margin  beyond  where  there  is  room  for  difference  of 
opinion.  And  where  there  are  rival  theories,  the  proper  course  is  to 
examine  Ihi^  grounds  on  which  they  rest;  this  will  generally  show 
either  that  one  has  a  more  substantial  basis  than  the  other,  or  that  the 
case  is  one  in  which  the  data  are  iusuflicient  for  deciding  between  them, 
and  we  can  only  say  that  we  do  not  know  which  is  correct.  Again,  o 
doubtful  detail  is  often  represented  as  if  it  invalidated  tho  entire 
theory  with  which  it  is  connected  ;  but  this  argument  overlooks  the 
fact  that  the  detail  may  be  unfsspntial  or  capable  of  modification.  It 
is  objecied  that  critics  prc-suppose  the  cutting  up  of  verses  intu  parts, 
which  they  assign  to  different  authors,  in  a  manner  which  is  incredible  ; 
but  thi.s  is  what  thp  ChronicUr  nctually  does,  as  the  example  in  the 
note  on  p.  22;«  will  havi^  shown,  li  is  said  that  "  Egyptianisms  appear 
in  Hebrew  at  about  the  time  of  the  Kxodus ;"  but  (what  is  un- 
accountably forgotten)  so  they  do  nt  ofkfr  times  as  inll  (for  instance,  in 
the  Book  of  Isjiiab),  being  in  fact  (so  far  as  they  deserve  the  name*) 
naturalized  in  the  language,  so  that  their  occurrence  in  a  given 
passage  ia  no  evidence  of  the  date  at  which  it  was  written. 

Another  objection  very  commonly  heard  is,  that  if  Deuteronomy 
be  not  the  work  of  Aloaes,  it  is  a  forgery,  and  its  author  seeks  to 
pass  off  hia  own  inventions  under  the  colour  of  a  great  name. 
In  estimating  this  objection  there  are  two  or  three  points  of  some 
importnnci'  which  ought  to  be  kept  in  mind.  In  the  first  place, 
though  it  may  seem  a  paradox  to  say  so,  Deuteronomy  iloc^  Tiot  claim 
to  le,  vritlcn  ly  Moses.  As  Delitz.sch  has  observed,  it  is  the  work  of 
an  author  who  mentions  Moses  in  thp  third  person,  and  so  introduces 

•  For  tlic  number  of  Egyptian  worrls  in    Hebrew    has  been  greatly  exaggerated, 
Kjpecially  by  Canon  Cook  in  the  "Speaker's  I'omincntary." 


lip]    CRITICAL  STUDY  OF  THE  OLD  TESTAMENT.        225 


him  M  a  speaker.      'Hi is  is  the  case  tliroughout   i.  I -5-,  iv,  41-v.  I, 
jxrii.;  rxix.-xxxi.     The    true   "author*'    of    I^euterononiy  is  thus 
tile  writer  who  ititroili«vx  Moses  in  the  Ihinl  prrson:  the  tllBconrsea 
pboed  iu  his  mouth  fall  consequently  into  the  same  category  as  the 
jjwcha  in  the  hiatorical  books,  of  which  (as  was  remarked  above) 
HUM  are  largt?ly,  others  entirely,  the  composition  of  the  compilers,  and 
» placed   by  them   in   the   mouths   of  historical    characters,      Thh 
&<?edom  in  ascribing  speeches  to  historical  personages  is  characteristic, 
mure  or  less,  of  ancii'ut  historians  in  general,  and  it  certainly  was 
falliiHreJ  by  the  Hebrew  historians.  The  proof  lies  in  the  great  similarity 
in  style  which  these  speeches  sometimes  exhibit  to  parts  of  the  nan*n- 
'  vr  which  are  evidently  the  work  of  the  compiler  himself      An  author, 
:'"  'lore,  in  placing  imaginary  discourses  in  Moses'  mouth  was  doing 
nothing  inconsistent  with  the  literary  practices  of  hia  time.     Very 
ponibly,  also,  as  Delitz.sch  supposes,  there  was  a  tradition  of  a  final 
£aooarK  delivered  by  Moses  in  the  plains  of  Moah  ;  and  it  is  far  from 
improbable  that  J£  itaelf  contained  some  notice  of  it,  of  which  the  dis- 
CQOrseflof  Deuteronomy  are  an  expansion.    Tliinlly,  the  laws  in  Deute- 
WBomy  are  certainly  not  the  author's  inventions,  nor  is  such  a  supposi- 
tion an  element  in  the  critical  hypothesis  respecting  it.     Many  are 
RpMted   from    Exodus  xx.-xxiii.  ;    others    are   shown    by    intrinsic 
gimnds  to  be  ancient ;  in  some,  no  doubt,  an  intention  formerly  in- 
iitinctly  expressed,  is  more  sharply  formulated :  but  on  the  whole 
the  laws  in  Deuteronomy  are  clearly  derived  frtim  em'renl  usage. ;  the 
iibject  of  the  legislator  is  to  insist  upon   their  impurtancs,   and  to 
supply  motives  for  their  observance ;  it  is  the  parenetic  getting  which 
not  the  laws.      Deuteronomy,  upon  the  critical  'view,  may  be 
ii  as  the  prophetic  re-formulation,  and  adaptation  to  new  needs, 
<i  an  older  legislation.       It  derives   its  authority,  not  from   an  ille- 
gilimate  nso  on  the  part  of   its   antlmr  ai  Moj-es'  name.  Imt  from    the 
C^nit  of  Xtaicjs   npon    which   it  rests,  the  provisions  of  which,  while 
m  •ame  cases  they  imply  (as  it  seems)  the  extension  and  application  to 
oew  cases  of    older   principles,    are  in   the    great    majority    nf    in- 
*Mj«s  the   direct  reproduction   of  more  ancient  enactments.     The 
objection  to  the  critical  view  of  Deuteronomy,  based  upon  the  assump- 
tion that  if  it  be  correct  the  book  must  be  a  literary  fraud,  appears 
tiw  to  be  one  which  cannot  be  sustained. 

A  amilar  objection,  which  is  not  unf requently  urged  with  reference 
te  the  Priests' Code  will  be  considered  immediately.  The  strength 
of  Uie  critical  position  lies  in  the  cnmulativc  (trt/innnU  by  which  it  is 
■"ipportrd.  It  is  upon  a  Mtnhinalurit  of  resemblances  and  differences 
•  literarj'  analysis  of  the  sources  depend.*^ ;  divergences  of 
iogy  do  not  stand  alone,  they  are  attended  by  differences  of 
trmtment  or  representation.  'Ilie  dilFerences  between  the  codes  again 
they  rrriir  ;  and  they  are  parallel,  in  a  large  degree, 
iding  differences  of  ceremonial  usage,  as  attested  by  the 


226 


THE   CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[Fww-i 


liistorical  books.  The  cumulative  character  of  the  argument  is  not 
usually  perceived  by  advocates  of  the  traditional  view.  The  expla- 
nations which  they  offer  of  the  facts  pointed  to  by  critics  iu  sapport 
of  their  conclusions,  contain  too  often  an  element  which  is  artificial 
or  otherwise  unsatisfying,  and  when  this  element  is  constantly  repeated 
it  gains  weight  rapidly,  and  in  the  end  proves  fatal  to  the  theory 
of  which  it  forma  a  part. 

With  certain  pro%-isoe8,  the  theory  advocated  by  Wellhausen,  or  at 
least  a  theory  approximating  to  that,  would  seem  to  be  the  one  which 
harmonizes  moat  completely  with  the  facts  of  the  Old  Testament. 
The  essential  feature  in  this  theory  is  that  it  places  the  completed 
8y^t.em  of  the  Priests'  Code  after  Deuteronomy,  and  in  fact  after 
Ezekiel.  We  find  in  the  Pentateuch  three  systems  of  law,  that  of 
JE  (contained  chiefly  in  Ex.  xx.-xxiii.),  that  embedded  in  Deutero- 
nomy, and  that  of  the  Priests'  Code^ — the  first,  especially  in  matters 
relating  to  ceremonial  usage,  containing  primitive,  rudimentary 
regulations  ]  the  other  two  exhibiting  a  prriffressicc  elaboration,  and 
specialization  of  details.  Any  one  who  will  compare  the  regulations 
respecting  the  three  Feasts  in  Ex.  ixiii.  14-17  with  those  in  Deut,  xvi. 
and  Num.  xxviii.-xxii.,  will  be  sensible  himsflf  of  the  contrast  between 
them.  And  with  these  differences  between  the  three  codes  there 
correspond  remaikably  similar  differences  in  practice.  The  freedom 
of  sacrifice,  the  relative  nnconventiotui.lity  of  ceremonies  connected 
with  it,  the  simplicity  of  the  feasts  and  religious  observances  as 
witnessed  to  by  Judges,  Samuel,  and  the  early  parts  of  Kings,  are  in 
harmony  with  the  principles  expressed  iu  JU.  The  standpoint  of  the 
period  following  Josiah's  reform  (which  is  reflected  in  those  parts  of 
the  Book  of  Kings  which  are  the  work  of  the  compiler)  agrees  with  the 
principles  inculcated  in  Deutsi-onomy.  The  point  of  view  of  the 
Priests'  Code  is  beginning  to  make  itself  perceptible  in  Ezekiel ;  it  is 
looked  back  upon  as  completed,  and  generally  recognized,  in  the 
Chronicles  (compUed  about  RC,  300).  'J'here  is  an  independent  con- 
sideration which  tends  to  confirm  this  conclusion.  The  tone  and 
repreeentation  of  ./A',  and  the  theological  truths  whii-h  find  expression  in 
it,  are  of  a  more  primitive  order  than  those  which  are  expressed  in 
F:  the  Priests'  Code  shows  marks  of  a  more  advanced  stage  both  of 
mental  habit  generally  and  of  theological  reflection  in  particular.  The 
stage  of  history,  ceremonial,  and  theological  thought,  to  which  the 
most  characteristic  parts  of  P  belong,  lies  hlwa'u  Dfnteronomy  and 
the  Chronicles. 

It  is  possible  that  to  some  the  arguments  advanced  in  the  last 
paragraph  may  be  thougiit  to  be  met  by  the  consideration  that  Moses, 
writing  under  Divine  inspiration,  would  not  be  confined  by  the  laws 
which  govern  ordinary  human  development,  and  that  the  maturity  of  the 
thoughts  expressed  iu  the  Priests'  Code  fatlmitting  it  to  exist)  is  no 
valid  argument  against  the  opinion  that  he  was  its  author.     In  thft 


>I9»1     CRITICAL  STUDY  OF  THE  OLD  TESTAMENT.       227 


jbstrect,  this  is  no   doubt   true;  but  it  must  be  remembered  that 

reyelation  is,  as  a  fact,  progressive ;  and  we  cannot  determine  upon 

»Df«cedeDt  considerations  how  much  or  how  little  it  may  have  pleased 

Ooi  to  reveal  to  a  particular  agent  of  His  will.      In  order  to  deter- 

mwie  this  question,  we  are  thrown  back  npon  the  evidence  of  history. 

y/' tlw  entire  Pentateuch  were  written  in  the  style  of  Gen.  i. ;   if  its 

representations  were  uniformly  consistent ;  if  the  other  historical  books 

tfitl  the  prophets   everywhere    agreed  with    it,  and  presupposed  its 

•'xist«iDce — in  other  words,  if  the  contents  of  the  Old  Testament  were 

oUierthan  they  are — there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  supposing  that  tlie 

stage  represented  by  the  Priests'  Code  had  been  reached  in  Mose^* 

time,  and  that  he  was  its  author.      But  we  can  only  deal  with  the  Old 

Testament  as  it  is ;  and  the  conclusions  indicated  alx)ve  rest  not  npon 

any  cl  priori  limitation  of  the  method  of  God's  revelation,  bat  upon 

tie  oburrcd  fact  that  the  Old  Testament  itself  contains  data,  which 

appear  to  (xtnlltct  with  that  supposition. 

It  is  a  mistake,  however  (though  one  not  unfrequently  made),  to 
appose  that  those  who  follow  Wellhausen  imagine  that  everything  in 
the  Priests'  Code  is  the  creation  of  the  exilic  period.  Such  an  idea 
•©aid  be  contradicted  by  obvious  facts.  Neither  Wellhausen*  nor 
'•'■■--  nt  qnestions  that  Moses  was  the  ultimate  founder  of  the 
.il  and  religious  life  of  Israel;  what  they  question,  and  what 
iflrieed  there  are  sufficient  grounds  for  questioning,  is,  that  he  was  the 
utLor  of  the  Israelitisb  institutions  precisely  as  they  are  set  forth  in 
!lw»  existing  Pentateuch.  Tlie  right  to  pronounce  Torah — i.r.,  to  give 
decisions  on  cases  submitted  to  them — to  determine  whether  or  not  a 
man  was  "  unclean,"  whether  or  not  he  had  the  leprosy,  whether  or 
not  he  was  liable  to  render  a  particular  sacrifice — belonged  from  an  early 
date  to  the  priests,  and  in  civil  matters  it  is  the  function  that  Mo-ses 
himflelf  is  represented  as  dischtirging  in  Ex.  xviii.  To  determine, 
towever,  points  like  these  would  require  at  the  outset  certain  fixed 
pnndpleis,  the  application  of  which  to  particular  cases  would  give  rise 
to  precedents  and  fresh  definitions.  A  body  of  Torah,  or  difFerent 
T/koth,  on  various  subjects,  would  thus  be  gradually  formed ;  and 
«n  excerpt  from  such  a  T&rdh  on  clean  and  unclean  food,  nearly 
*fcBlio«J  with  what  is  fonnd  in  the  Priests'  Code  in  Lev.  xi..  appears 
ID  Deot.  xir. ;  Deuteronomy  alludes  besides  (xxiv.  8)  to  the  priests 
poiiwiiig'  the  right  of  judgment  upon  cases  of  leprosy.  Ezekiel  also, 
m  vmaj  parte  of  his  prophecies,  presupposes  laws  or  institutions 
•Slirely  analogous  to  many  which  are  found  in  the  Priests'  Code.t 
iB  t^M  ]»  not  questioned  by  Wellhausen  and  his  followers;  what  is 
^Mtiooed  by  them  is  whether  the  earlier  prophets,  and  whether  even 
WwtWuuuiuy  andEzekiel,  presuppose  the  rompletai  Priests'  Code,  whether 

•  -  ttmarr  of  Israel,"  pp.  432,  438.  t  "  Theol.  Tijdschrift."  1883.  p.  199. 

t  |Hp*BlallT  '-  -'        'nstratum  of  laws  preserved  in  Lev.  xvji.-xxvi  (p.  3),  many  of 
p«r  .>e  in  Deuteronomy,   and,    in  subslauce,  are  certainly  pre- 

1  -'-T  hopei  to  d«>ftl  vrii h  thi-<  subjocl  more  fully  elsewhere. 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW.  [km. 

in  truth  they  do  not  presuppose  the  Tion-exiatence  of  parts  of  it.  It  is 
certainly  doubtful  whether  this  is  not  the  case.  Bat,  even  if  that  bo 
admitted,  it  is  clear  that  the  chief  sacrificial  and  ceremonial  institutions 
of  the  Priests'  Code  had  existpd  in  Israel,  under  simpler  forms,  from 
a  remote  period  :  what  ia  held  is  that  they  were  gradually  developed 
and  elaborated,  and  in  the  shape  ni  which  they  are  forvtviate-d  in  (hr 
Prirsts  Codr  that  they  belong  to  the  exilic  or  post-exilic  period.  In 
principle  the  critical  view  of  the  IViests'  Code  is  entirely  analogous 
to  the  critical  view  of  Deuteronomy,  In  its  main  stock,  it  consists 
not  of  tho  fabrications  of  priests,  sprung  upon  the  nation  as  a  thing 
unheard  of  before,  but  of  a  codification  of  ]>re-r.ristin;/  Temple  ifsn/ff.* 
Hebrew  legislation  took  shape  gradually  ;  and  J£^  Deuteronomy,  and  the 
Priests'  Code  represent  three  successive  phases  of  it.  The  great 
difliculty  connected  with  J*  arises  out  of  the  nature  of  the  historical 
matter  associated  with  it :  there  are  passages  in  which  it  would  almost 
seem  as  if  the  past  had  been  invested  with  ideal  attributes,  and 
depicted  with  an  ideal  completeness  which  could  not  have  appertained 
to  it  in  reality.  As  regards  the  laws,  future  investigation,  aided  by  a 
comparison  of  the  usages  of  other  Semitic  nations,  such  as  has  been 
instructively  exemplified  by  Prof.  W.  R.  Smith,  in  his  recent  volume 
''The  Religion  of  the  Semites/'  may  perhaps  succeed  in  determining, 
more  accurately  than  has  hitherto  been  done,  the  nucleus  which  is  old. 
The  laws,  even  in  their  developed  shape,  may  be  supposed  to  have 
been  attributed  to  Moses,  because  Hebrew  legislation  was  regarded, 
and  in  a  sense  regarded  tnily,  as  derived  ultimately  froni  him. 

As  hiis  been  said,  Wellhau.'^eu's  chief  opponent  in  Germany  is 
DlUmann.  Viewed  from  the  tr.iditional  st-andpoint,  however,  tho 
difference  between  the  two  critics  resolves  itself  into  one  of  degree 
rather  than  of  kind.  For  Dillmann  accepts,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
the  analysis  of  sources,  and  assigns  JI!  and  Deuteronomy  to  the  same 
general  periotls  of  history  as  Wellhausen  ;  but  he  holds  that  the 
main  stock  of  the  Priests'  Code  is  earlier  than  Deuteronomy,  and 
places  it  at  about  B.C.  800.  The  fact  of  so  many  institutions  of  the 
Priests'  Code  being  ignored  in  the  earlier  prophets  and  Deuteronomy, 
Dillmann  explains  by  the  supposition  that  the  Priests'  Code  was  an 
ideai  representation  of  the  aims  and  claims  of  the  Jerusalem  priest- 
hood, a  document  possessing  only  a  private  character  and  circulated 
only  among  the  priests,  the  principles  of  which  they  had  no  power 
to  enforce,  and  which  remained  consequently  a  dead  letter  till  circum- 
stances favoured  its  general  acceptance  by  the  nation.  To  the  pro- 
phets,  and  to   the  prophetical   author  of  Deuteronomy   (who  rather 

*S«e  Wellhaunen,  "Hist,"  pp.  366,  404;  and  Stade  (a  pronounced  adherent  of 
Wellhantien's)  "(Jt-scti.  dcs  V.  Lsrael*.,"  ii.  G6,  who  refers  in  particular  to  Lev.  i.-vii., 
xi.-xv..  xvii.-xxvi.  ;  Num.  v,,  vi.,  ix.,  sv.,  xix.,  as  consisting  for  the  most  part  of  laws, 
in  whidi  vwcrilten  prf-exilic  ii.sngc  appears  reduced  to  a  written  shape.  This  element 
in  \Veniiuii."«cn",s  t  liviir\  iieul  ralizus  an  objection,  which  is  not  uniiommunly  urged  against 
it,  and  which,  if  it  tiruiid  he  sustained,  would  be  most  cogent — vi?..,  the  iiLer«dil>ilitj 
of  the  iTe«Vb  accepting  aa  Mosaic  a  law  "manufactured"  m  Woe  during  the  exile. 


iS9s]      CRITICAL  STUDY  OF  THE  OLD  TESTAMENT. 


229 


pm  his  Eanction  to  usages  that   actually  existed),  a  document  of 
inch »  nature  might  well  be  either  unknown,  or  known  only  imper- 
'    '       It   must,  however,  be  allowed  that  there  is  something  arti- 
-    m  this    explanation,  especially  when  it  comes  to  be  applied  to 
details.  It  may  also  be  pertinently  asked  whether  it  is  probable  that 
a  s^Mm  such  as  that  of  P  would  be  projwunded  at  a  time  when  (as 
U  admitted)   there   was  no  hope   of  its  realization  ;  and  whether  it 
is  not  more  natural    to  treat  it  as  a  product  of  the  age  with   whose 
tfendencies  it  is  in  harmony,  and  whose  spirit  it  breathes,  tlian  of  an 
•ge  which  shows  no  acquaintance  with  it,  and  whose  most  representa- 
tire  men  evince  very  different  religious  sympathies.      It  is  possible, 
however,  that  both  Dillmann  and  Wellhausen  only  insist  too  strongly 
vA  unreservedly  upon  two   opposite  asjiects  of  the  same  truth — viz., 
that  the   Priests'  Code  is  of  mixed  character,  and  that    older  and 
vnunger  elements  have    been   blended  in  it.     Even    though   Well- 
hausru'a    general    position  be  accepted,    there    are  cases    in    which 
both  the  principles  and  the  precepts  of  the  Priests  Code   must  have 
been  tnfhoatr  long  before  the  period  of  the   exile,  though  they  were 
not,  perhaps,  bo  fully  matured  as  Dilhnann's  theory  would   postulate.* 
It  appears,  then,  from  what  has  been  said,  that  so  soon  as  we  study 
'     flMTeetament  with   care  and  minuteness  we  find  ourselves  con- 
■il   with  a  problem,  or  group  of  problems,  partly  literary,  partly 
hietorical,  which  the  traditional  views  respecting  the  origin  and  structure 
<if  its  dilierent  parts  do  not  solve,  and   the  nature  and  dimensions  of 
which  are  very  imperfectly  apprehended  by  those  who  seek  to  uphold 
those  views.     Hence,  as  it  seems,  the  conclusion  is  inevitable  that  the 
views  alluded  to  must   submit  to  be  modified.      Tin'  grounds  upon 
fhich  this  conclusion  rests,  and  the  direction  in  which  such  modifica- 
Bppears  to  be  necessary,  have  been  indicated,  at  least  in  outline. 
the  preceding  pages.      Accepting,  as  a  matter  of  course,  the  view 
the  Old  Testament   ia   a   record  of  God's  revelation  of  Himself 
man,  it  would  seem  that  both  the   writings  embodying   it,  and 
the  stages  through  which  it  passed,  and  the  modes  iti   whit-h  its 
ipients  WL-re  iniluenced   by   it,  have  not   been   altogfther  such  as 
had  supposed.     The  difficulty  does  nob    consist  in  the  liudrints 
bicli  the  Old  Testament  enunciates,  but   in  the  historiral  KfUinij  in 
rh   they   are    placed    before    us  ;   and   it  behoves    us  to  consider 
ler  we  have  in  all  cases  inteqjreted  this  setting  rightly,  whether 
b»ve   not   approached  it  with   precrmeeived  theories  of  wliat   the 
innel  of  revelation  must  be,  rather  than  with   the   humbler  aim   of 
diflfiovering,  by  a  calm  inductive  study  of  the  records  themselves,  what  it 
*«  been-   It  would  seem  that  our  current  views  of  inspiration  need  some 
ratlcin  and  nnision.      Revelation  is  made  uniformly  through  the 

i  ill  prini'ijtl'-  approtirln's  thai  of  Welllmusen.  tlioiitch  !ie  contem's 

r  u  tnorf  Btifit-nt,  traditiuiiJil  cleiiicnt  in  i*  tlmn  Wellliausin 

.,,,.  ,..  ../..o.v  concetlc.     Coaip.  "  Die  Uonusis"  (l(W"},  p.  26  "j. 


230 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Vnm, 


human  organ  ;  and  wo  should,  perhaps,  keep  in  view  more  f  uHy  than  w< 
always  do,  the  faculties  and  constitution  and  historical  conditions  attacU^ 
ing  to  and  limiting  this  organ.  The  inforaiing  Spirit  does  not,  aa  a  rule 
confer  new  powers  upon  the  men  whom  it  entploys  as   its  agents :  :m.1 
quickens,  exalts,  adapts  the  powers  which  they  already  possess.     Tfc»^e 
Jews  were  a  nation  like  other  nations  of  antiquity ;   it  is,  therefoi 
probable  from  analogy  that  they  passed    through    similar  phases 
mental   growth    and    similaj    stages   of   culture ;  their    narratives  «r»f 
events  in  the  distant  past  may  thus,  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose,  ha 
included  elements  akin  to  those  found   in   the   parallel  narratives  ol 
other  nations.     The   diflfereuces   will   lie   chiedy    in   the  ethical    at^cl 
spiritual  colouring  which  these  naiTatives  possess,  and  the   truths  of 
which  they  have  been  made  the  vehicle.    And  these  dtflerences,  though 
this  is  not  the  place  to  dwell  upon  them,   are   evidently  vt-ry  marked, 
Then,  again,  the  Jews  themselves  have  shown  that  they  are  a   race 
gifted  in  a  rare  degree  with  the  \x>wer   of  imagination.      The   prt»dic- 
tions  of  the  prophets,  which,  it  might  have  been  argued  antecedently, 
would  be  direct,  clear,  and  comprehensible  to  all,  ver\'  often  contain 
a  large  ideal   element,   wholly  um-ecognizable  in  the  fulfilment,  which 
perplexes    the    int^^rpreter    and  embarrasses   the  apologist.       If  this 
idealizing  genius  is  a  characteristic  of  the  nation,  must  we   not  be 
prepared  to  admit  that  it  may  have  been  operative,  partly  in  the  for- 
mation and  moultling  of  traditions  themselves,  partly  even    in    their 
registration  ?    As  regards  the  latter  point,  it  has  been  remarked  above 
that  the  Chronicler  has  certainly  given  an   idealized  picture   of   the 
pre-exilic  history ;   and    U  one    canonical   writer   has   done  this,  the 
possibility  must  be  conceded  that  another  may  have  done  so  as  well. 
The  distinctive  character  of  the  Old  Testament  narrative   lies  partly, 
of  course,  in  the  history  itself,  the  chief  actors  in   which,  in   spite   of 
faults  and  imperfections,  are  illumined  by  a  clearer  light  and  actuated 
by  purer  and  higher  principles  than  their  heathen  contemporaries,  but 
partly  also  in  the  point  of  view  from  which  the  history  is  treated,  and 
the  way  in  which  it  is  made  to  convey  ethical  and  religious  lessons, 
and  shown  to  reveal  the  hand   of  God   educating  the  race.      And  so 
even  where  the    narrative  is  not    the    work   of  an  eye-witness,   but 
records  traditions  which  only  gradually  assumed   the  shape  in  which 
we  now  know  them,  or  where  it  is  coloured  by  the  associations  of  the 
age  in  which  its  author  lived,  it  is  still  penetrated  by  the  same  spirit, 
and  is  made  subservient  to  the  same  aims.     "What  seems  to  be  needed 
at  the   present  time   is  a  more  comprehensive    theory  of  inspiration 
and  a  wider  view  of  the  faculties  that  have  co-operated  in   the  pro- 
duction of  the  Bible,  which  wUl  include  the  facts  which  critics  have 
observed,  and  a   few   of  which  have    been  noticed    in    the    present 
paper.      At  present  these  facts   are   an  outstanding  difficulty    which 
the  current  theories  do  not  explain  or  allow  for.      What  is  required 


«|o]      CRITICAL  STUDY  OF  THE  OLD  TESTAMENT.        231 

IS  >  ihttjry  to  which  the  facts  will  form  no  exception  and  no  tlifTi- 
cuity.  The  apologetic  use  of  the  Old  Testament  is  another  subject 
wMch  needs  to  be  adjusted  to  modern  points  of  view  and  accom- 
modated to  modern  conclusions.  Many  arguments  which  were  consistent 
with  the  stAte  of  knowledge  fifty  years  ago  are  now  antiquated ;  some 
must  be  abandoned  altogether,  while  others  require  to  be  modified  in 
lunn  and  re-stated.  Apologists  are  utill  too  apt  to  damage  seriously 
their  own  caose  by  adhering  to  untenable  positions  and  refusing  to 
sdmit  facts  which  are  patent  to  every  one  except  themselves. 

In  looking  at  these  qnesttona  from  a  practical  point  of  view,  it  is  of 
randamental  importance  to  disengage  the  religious  from  the  critical 
and  historical  problems.  Critical  investigations  concern  really  not 
Ha  fact  of  revelation,  but  its  mode,  or  form,  or  course  ;  upon  Christian 
dith  and  practice  they  have  no  hearing  whatever.  Moses  (as  we  'have 
seen  that  critics  admit)  was  indeed  the  prime  originator  of  Israel's 
national  life  and  peculiar  individuality :  but  the  law,  as  we  have  it, 
waa  not  his  work ;  it  assumed  the  form  in  which  we  know  it  by  a 
Hries  of  stages.  Certain  truths  were  not  possessed  by  the  prophets 
or  psalmists  so  soon  as  we  had  supposed.  Certain  prophecies  are 
tnaaferred  to  a  different  age  from  that  to  which  tradition  has 
•asigDed  them.  The  history  is  sometimes  coloured  by  the  associ^ 
doM  of  the  age  in  which  it  was  written.  The  doctrinal  and  moral 
troths  which  the  Old  Testament  enshrines  are  not  afie-cted  by  changes 
soch  as  these  ;  it  is  only  that  they  are  enunciated  by  different  persons 
and  in  a  different  age — an  age  which,  as  it  is  now  seen,  was  prepared 
to  receive  them.  The  fact  that  there  was  a  unique  spiritual  force 
operative  in  ancient  Israel,  moulding  the  character  and  directing  the 
aims  of  a  long  succession  of  its  leading  men,  and  impressing  thereby 
a  distinctive  ethos  upon  the  nation  as  a  whole,  is  not  touched  by 
critical  investigations.  What  critical  investigations  do  is  to  teach  (aa 
it  would  seem)  more  truly  the  course  and  method  by  which  it  operated. 
The  formularies  of  our  Church,  the  Creeds  and  Articles,  bind  its 
members,  indeed,  to  a  systeni  of  doctrine  j  they  leave  them  free  to 
•dopt  whatever  view  of  the  authorship  of  the  Old  Testament  books, 
<n  of  the  course  of  the  Old  Testament  history,  is  most  consonant  with 
the  facts  supplied  by  the  Old  Testament  itself.* 

S.  R.   Drfver. 


iph  OD   tbc  bcuring  of  statonients    in    the  Xew  Te^tameDt  upon  tho 
[iir^rn«-nt  of  the  Old  Testament  has  been  omitted,  as  it  appeared  to  be  i<up«r- 
Iftrr  Mr.  Gore's  ilisciissinn.  of  the  f>nme  subject  in  "  Lux  Mundi,"   p.  'Ahl  »<i. 
' » ilioiif^ht  ful  letter  in  the  (liuinlian,  December  34,  1889,  signea  "  A.  R.  ) 
II  only  remark  that,  as  it  appt'ars  to  him,  it  is  a  method  of  very  doubt- 
Tairi],  '   ■  Now  Testnuient  to  the  results  of  critical  inquiry,  and 

liat  t.i  ru  and   an  eye  to   the   future  will  rather  seek  to  show, 

i'  " -^  ,.,.....  uf  the  New  Testaiueni,  and  i^spccially  our  Lord,    were 

I.  I  with  thcAc  questions,  and  pasa  no  ju<lgment  upon  them. 


DEFOE'S    WIFE. 


W\'1  liave  abundant  materials  to  enable  us  to  form  &  judgmput  < 
Defof's  public  lil'".',  thougli  tin-  cunclusions  arrived  at  t>^ 
difiererit  ivrittTs  vary  to  an  extraordinary  extent  ;  but  of  his  |)rivar"t' 
life  and  domestic  relatiuas  very  little  is  known.  In  the  case  of  Swj/fe 
or  Steele  we  have  a  botly  of  private  correspondt-nce  %vbich  enables  u^ 
to  see  the  very  heart  of  the  writer,  and  in  the  caHe  of  Pope  there  aS9 
innumerable  letters  written  to  or  by  friends  which,  thuugh  allowance 
has  to  be  made  for  the  fact  that  many  were  composed  with  a  view  to 
publication  and  others  were  fabricatKl,  enabh^  us  to  funii  a  clear  idea 
of  the  poet.  But  when  we  turn  to  Defof  the  aid  furiiishi'd  by  private 
letters  fails  us  almost  entirely.  The  object  of  this  paper  is  to  set  forth 
some  new  facts  which  have  an  important  bearing  upon  one  or  more  of 
the  unsettled  ])roblems  of  Defoe's  life. 

The  biographers  tell  us  that  Defoe  was  twice  Married,  tlie  name  of 
the  first  wife  being  Mary  and  that  of  the  second  .Susannah;  '"their 
family  names  liave  not  readied  us,'"  This  statement  in  baaed  upon 
the  only  two  facts  bearing  on  the  subject  which  have  been  known  ; 
first,  that  "  SopTiia.  daughter  to  Daniel  l)e  Foe,  by  Mary  liia  wife," 
was  baptized  at  llackney  on  December  21',  1701  ;  antl  secondly,  that 
Defoe's  widow.  Su.sannah,  is  mentioned  in  the  letters  of  administration 
granted  to  n  creditrix  of  Defoe's  in  17t33.  I  shall,  however,  be  able 
to  show  that,  by  some  means  or  other,  thf  name  "  Susannah  "  must 
have  been  inserted  in  this  document  by  mistake,  and  that  there  is 
not  the  slightest  reason  to  think  that  Defoe  married  twice.  Among 
other  things,  the  facts  here  given  show  the  groundlessness  of  the 
suggestion  made  by  Mr.  Walter  Wilson,  and  supported  by  Mr.  Lee, 
upon  the  evidence  of  an  obscure  allusion  in  Dunton's  Life  and 
Enoia,  that  Defoe,  like  Dunton,  married  a  daughter  of  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Annesley,  the  minister  at  whose  chapel  Defoe's  parents  worshipped. 


DEFOE'S    WIFE. 


23S 


DeWs  father,  James  Foe,  son  of  a  Daniel  Foe  wbo  was  a  yeoman 

.-  ling  his  owTX  estate  at  Elton,  in  Northamptonshire,  was  a  butcher 

'•  pariah  of  St   Giles,   Cripplegate.      We  have  his  signature  to  s 

iient  in  October,  1705,  ami  in  the  Jieoicw   for   September   23, 

•  Defoe  alludes  to  him  as  his  "  late  father."      His  will,  moreover, 

•  !  eiistence  in  the  Probate  Court  of  Canterbury,  and,  as  probate  was 

-iited  to  Daniel  Defoe  on  February  '2b,  1706-7,  it  is  probable  that 

lis  Foe  died  early  in   1707.     ''James  Foe,  of  London,  merchant," 

;  iiiiwill,  executed  on  March  20,  1705,  directed  that  all  just   debts 

^tefe  to  be  paid,  and  that  his  body  was  to  be  buried  at  the  discretion  of 

cutor,  but  at  a  charge  not  exceeding  £20.      He  left  to  his  grand- 

ter,  Elizabeth  Ilol>erts,  £20,  to  be  paid  three  months  after  his  de- 

to  Mr.  John  Marsh  £20,  to  be  paid  within  six  months  ;  and  to  his 

[tousin.John  Richards,  such  moneyas  Richards  owed  him  before  the  lat  of 

'N'orember,  17(>i,  provided  that  a  fair  and  true  account  was  given  of  a 

p^kral  of  goods  committed  to  Richards  to  sell  on  or  about  the  6th  of 

ume  month,   and   that    he    paid   the   balance.      His  grandson. 

Foe,  was  to  have  the  testator's  gold  watch,  '"  now  in  the 

an   of    his   mother ;''    and   the    silver    watch    "  now    in   his 

eseion  "  was   left  to  his  grandson,  Francis   Bartham.      A  graud- 

jhter,  Anne  Davis,  was  to  have  a  bed,  furniture,  and  drawers  "  now 

1  the  possession  of  her  sister,  Elizabeth  Roberts."  to  bo  delivered  on 

I W  marriage  or  coming  of  age.     £100  was  to  be  paid  to  his  grandson, 

Ikniel  Foe,  at  the   age  of  tweuty-one.      The  remaining  part  of  the 

(aUt«  was  given  to  this  Daniel  Foe's  five  sisters,  to  be  divided  among 

by  their  father,  1  Janiel  Foe,  the  testator's  son  and  sole  executor ; 

Bt  ia  case  this  son  or   his  wife  '"  shall   by  any  accident  be  at  any 

•iine  80  distressed  as  to  stand  in  need  of  any  part  of  the  legacy  hereby 

-■    :;  unto  their  children  for  the  subsistance,  education,  or  clothing  of 

vuvif  said  children  " — the  words   "  for   the   subsistance,"  &c.,   were 

uterlined  before  signing  the  will — then  Defoe  or  his  wife  might  make 

MB  of  it  for  those  purposes,  and  it  should  be  allowed  by  the  children 

M  n  much  money  paid  to  them  on  account  of  the  legacies. 

From  this  will   we   learn,  among  other  things,  that  Defoe  had  a 

wter,  who  married  a  Mr.  Barthtun,  and  two  nieces,  who  may  or  may 

not  b»Te  been  children  of  the  same  sister.      We  learn,  too,  that  Defoe's 

-^dest  son  was  not  of  age  in  1705,      Probably  he  was  still  young,  for 

^Defoe  himself  waa  bom  only  in  1661.      In  early  life  Defoe  was  a  hose- 

^^■Mkr  in  Freetman's  Yard,  in  Cornhiil,  and  when  he  was,  perhaps, 

^Hpl  twen^-six  he  married.     Entries  iu  the  registers  of  St,  Michael's, 

j     Corahill,  hitherto  unnoticed,  show  that  on  September  7,  1688,  Mary 

Foe,  daaghter  of  Daniel  Foe  and  Mary  his  wife,  was  buried  in  the 

birer  mult — now   hermetically   sealed — iu  the  south   aisle  of  that 

ciarclL     Probably  this  was  Defoe's  first  child,  an  infimt,  named  after 

Utwife.     In  the  following  February  a  John  Foe,  son  of  John  Foe — 

TOL.LVIL  a 


23i 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


a  blank  is  left  for  tlie  wife's  name — was  buried  in  tho  same  vau 
and  itt  January  1G85-6,  Jane  Fenn,  servant  to  Mr.  Foe,  had  b< 
buried  in  tbe  churchyard.  We  already  knew  that  at  the  close  o: 
170G  Defoe  had  two  sons,  Daniel  and  Benjamin,  and  five  daughters, 
one  of  whom,  however,  Martha,  a  child,  died  soon  afterwards,  in  1707, 
at  Hackney.  Sophia,  who  was  in  aH  probability  Defoe's  youngest 
child,  was,  as  we  have  seen,  baptized  in  1701.  We  may  here  notice 
two  allasions  to  thesL^  children.  When  Defoe  was  released  from 
Newgate  in  the  summer  of  1704,  the  Queen,  as  he  tells  us  in  his 
Appeal  to  Honour  and  Justice,  '*  was  pleased  particidarly  to  inquire 
into  his  circumstances  and  family,  and  by  Lord  Treasurer  Godolphin 
to  send  a  considerable  supply  to  his  wife  and  family."  In  the  same 
pamphlet,  published  in  1715,  Defoe  refers  indignantly  to  a  recent 
slander,  that  he  never  paid  for  the  education  of  any  of  his  childi*en. 
"  I  have  sis  children,  I  have  educated  thera  as  well  as  my  circum- 
stances will  permit,  and  so,  as  I  hope,  shall  recommend  them  to  better 
usage  than  their  father  meets  with  in  tho  world  I  am  not  indebted 
one  shilling  in  the  world  for  any  part  of  their  education,  or  for  any- 
thing else  belonging  to  bringing  them  up." 

Bnt  we  have  yet  heard  nothing  of  Defoe's  wife  except  her  Christian 
name,  and  I  consider  myself  very  foitnnate,  after  tinding  particalara 
of  Steele's  first  wife,  whose  name  was  previoufily  unknown,  to  be  able 
to  perform  tbe  same  seixice  in  the  case  of  Defoe.  On  the  22nd  of 
October,  1714.  Samuel  Tiiffley,  of  Hackney,  gentleman,  made  his 
will,  and  this  document  furnishes  the  key  to  the  story.  Samuel 
Tuffiey  directed  that  his  body  was  to  be  decently  but  privately  interred 
at  the  discretion  of  his  dear  sister,  but  as  near  as  might  bo  in  the 
same  manner  as  his  dear  mother  was  lately  at  her  n-quest  interred  by 
him,  and  as  near  as  might  be  to  the  same  place.  He  gave  and 
bequeathed  to  Daniel  Defoe,  husband  of  his  dear  and  only  sister,  and 
to  his  tno  nephews,  Beniamin  and  Daniel,  and  to  his  four  nieces, 
Mariar,  Hannah,  Henrietta,  and  Sophia,  all  of  them  children  of  his 
dear  si-ster,  one  guinea  each  to  buy  n  ring.  £10  was  left  to  Susan, 
wife  of  Jonathan  Marshall.  All  the  residue  of  the  estate,  lands, 
tenements,  goods,  &c.,  except  as  here^ifter  excepted,  was  left  to 
Tuffley'a  known  and  good  friends,  Mr.  John  Pettit,  th<?  elder,  and 
Mr.  John  Pettit,  junior,  of  London,  woollen  drapers,  and  to  Mr.  Henry 
Langley,  of  Queen  hithe,  salter,  in  trust  for  and  to  the  only  use  of 
his  dear  sister,  Mary  Defoe,  now  wife  of  Daniel  Defoe,  of  Newington, 
County  Middlesex,  and  for  and  to  her  disposing  and  appointment 
absolutely  and  independently  of  her  husband,  or  of  any  claim  or 
demand  which  he  or  any  one  claiming  by,  from,  or  under  him  by 
right  of  marriage  or  otherwise  might  have  or  made  to  tho  same  ;  the 
intent  being  that  Mary  Defoe,  after  the  testator's  decease,  notwith- 
standing her  marriage,  might  fnlly  receive  and  enjoy  the  eflfecta  of 


>t9>] 


DEFOE'S    fVJFE. 


235 


tif  estate  as  universal   heir,    with  full   power  to   sell,   dispose,  ami 

tmufer  as  far  as  the  trust  abovo  mentiont-d  would  possibly  admit. 

Tbetrnstees  were  to  account  to  her  or  to  her  assigns  for  nil  the  profits 

yf  tlif  estate  and  to  none  other,  and  to  pay  her  or  her  assigus  eveiy 

fflt  monriis,  or  oft^mer  if  she  required,    all   the  profits  ;   and  a  receipt 

wifT  ber  hand  was  to  be  a  sufficient  discharge  to  the  trustees,  without 

n^iuinng  a  receipt  under  her  husband's  hand.      The  trustees,  or  two  of 

them,  were  at  any  time,  at  her  rexjuest,  given  under  her  hand  and  seal, 

' '  ^1!  or  make  over  for  such  coosiderations  as  she  agreed  to,  any  part 

w  :.  I  of  the  estate.     And  if  she  affixed  her  hand  and  seal  to  any  deed 

i  Jill?  with  the  trustee,  it  should  be  a  gfX)d  and  sufficient  sale  although 

liw  Lusband  were  then  living,  and  the  purchase-money  was  to  be  paid 

Ui  the  trustees  in  trust  for  her.     If  any  of  the  trustees  declined  to 

•ft,  full  power  was  given  to  the  remaining  trustee  or  trustees.     K 

n«nit"|  Defoe  died,  then,  and  immediately  after  his  death,  this  trust 

WM  to  expire,  and  Mary  to  enter  upon  all  the  estate  in  her  own  right 

loii  name.     And  as  her  children  might  suggest  that  the  trust  was 

nufle  in  order  to  preserve  the  estate  for  them,  Tufl3ey  expressly  declared 

tiiit  Ills  will  was  that  the  estate  should  be  preserved  for  the  sole  use 

<if  hia  water,  to  be  used  and  disposed  of  to  such  persons  as  she  thought 

ft;  and  if  she  thought  fit  to  bestow  any  part  on  the  children,  his  will 

»M  that  she  should  give  the  greatest  share  ''to  such  of  them   as 

hAxff>  with  the  greatest  tenderness,  duty  and  affection,  both  to  their 

lud  to  herself,  declaring  that  if  any  of  the  said  children  shall 

'    .  -   andntifuUy,  disobediently,  or  disrespectfully,  either  to  their 

•aid  father  or  mother,  and   continue   obstinately   to  do  so   without 

iBmbling  themselves  to  their  parents  and  obtaining  their  pardon,"  he 

"' led  that  "to  such  not  one  shilling  of  my  estate  shall  be  given, 

ire  being  as  much  as  in  rae  lies  that  the  said  children  should 

'd»-  krpt  in  an  entire  dependance  upon  their  said  father  as  well  as  their 

"■  •''  -,  declaring  that  it  is  not  from  distrust  of  or  disrespect  to  their 

iber  that  this  my  will  is  made  in  this  manner."     The  trust  was 

nol  to  descend  to  the  heirs  of  the  trustees  ;  and   Mary  might  name 

any  two  more  persons  over  and  above  the  trustees  appointed,  and  if 

t^"  of  the  trustees  died,  the  two  persons  named  by  her  should  act 

'•■««.     She  was  to  make  a  will  or  disposition  of  all  the  estate 

-iiiiin  {,wo  months  after  Tuffley's  decease.     All  deeds,  Ac,  relating 

V>  t!jp  mtate  were  to  remain  in  the  hands  of  the  sole  executor,  Mr. 

s*jnior,  for  the  use  of  the  trustees ;  each  of  whom  was  to  have 

n'."  ill  Iray  mourning.      Susannah  Marshall  and  Dorothy  Grove  signed 

this  Will  as  witnesses,  and  Jonathan  Marshall  affixed  his  mark. 

i<*l  Tufflt'y,  ••  late  of  St,  John's,  Hackney,"  appears  to  liave  died 
I"  ii".I'i,  for  on  the  23rd  of  August  in  that  year  probate  was  granted  to 
Marr.  wifr  of  Daniel  Defoe,  Pi-ttit,  the  executor,  having  ilicd  before 
tk*  tntator.     In  tho  bond  (and  for  this  and  other  information  I  am 


236 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


iudebted  to  Mr.  J.  Ciiallenor  iSiiiithj  the  sureties  are  Daniel   De  1 
the  elder,  of   Nevvingtoa,  geutleman ;  Daniel    Do    Foe,  janior,  of 
Mioliiiel's,    Cornhill,   merchant  j  and   Aaron   Laaibe,   of   St.    Mar—  '-^--^ 
Islington,  3<jriveuer.      The  penal  sum  was  £3000,  and  this  would 
considerably  in  excess  of,  perhaps  double,  the  value   of  the   persi 
estate.      What  real  estate  there  was  will  be  seen  hereafter.      We 
note  in  passing  that  the  Mr.  Henry  Langley,  Salter,  one  of  the  trus 
appointed   by  Tuffley,  was   probably  the  husband,  or   related    to 
huaband,  of  Defoe'8  daughter  Maria,  who  is  known  to  have   marrC-^ 
some  one  of  the  name. 

Defoe  died  in  April  1731.  and  was  buried  in  Bunhill  Fields,  t 
entry  in  the  register  being  as  follows:  "April  2G,  Mr.  Dubot^ 
Cripplegate."  His  wife  died  in  the  following  year,  and  was  buri^^ 
in  the  same  place:  "  1732,  December  17.  Mrs.  Defow.  Stokr 
Newington."  Defoe's  ftrst  biographer,  Chalmers,  referred  to  th^^ 
administration  of  his  goods  in  17;]o  ;  but  it  has  not  been  noticed  tha*^  j 
Mary  Dt-foe,  the  widow  of  Daniel  Defoe,  late  of  Stoke  Newington,  lef "t 
a  will,  dated  July  5,  1731  ;  probate  was  granted  on  December  30, 
1732.  She  made  her  will  according  to  certain  powers  of  disposition 
given  by  the  last  will  of  her  late  dear  brother,  "  Samuel  Tuffley,  of 
Croydon,  Esquire/'  concerning  such  estate,  lands,  goods,  &c.,  as  were 
given  to  her,  or  to  certain  trustees,  in  this  will,  for  her  sole  l^enefit. 
Of  this  estate  she  gave  lo  her  sous,  Benjamin  and  Daniel,  £1  each  to 
buy  a  ring  ;  and  to  her  daughter,  ilaria  Langley,  one-third  of  the 
protits  from  her  three  houses  in  White  Cross  Alley,  Moorfields,  to  be 
paid  as  long  as  the  executors  enjoyed  the  same.  The  remaining 
two-thirds  was  left  to  her  daughters  and  executors,  Hanuali  and 
Henrietta,  equally  ;  but  if  Maria  died  before  the  houses  were  out  of 
the  possession  of  the  executors,  her  share  was  to  go  to  the  other 
daughters  and  to  their  heirs.  Her  daughter  Baker  was  to  have  £1 
equal  with  her  brothers.  To  Hannah  and  Henrietta  equally,  and  to 
their  heirs,  was  left  the  farm  at  Dageuham,  Essex,  then  in  the 
possession  of  Henry  Camping,  tenant ;  as  well  as  all  the  rest  of  the 
estate,  including  all  plate  :ind  wearing  a]>parel. 

Lastly,  we  have  the  administration,  already  referred  to,  of  the 
goods,  <fcc.,  of  Daniel  Foe,  or  De  Foe,  late  of  St.  Giles,  Cripplegate, 
deceased.  On  the  7th  of  September  1733,  administration  was  granted 
to  Mary  Brooke,  widow,  principal  creditrix  ;  "  Susannah  Foe,  otherwise 
De  Fqe,  widow,  the  relict  of  the  said  deceased,"  dying  before  she 
took  administriitiun  ;  and  Daniel,  Benjamin,  Hannah,  Henrietta 
(spinsters),  Sophin  Baker,  and  Maria  Langley,  tlie  natural  and  lawful 
children,  and  only  issue  of  the  deceased,  being  first  cited  with  intima- 
tion but  in  nowise  appearing.  The  Long  Act  does  not  refer  to  the 
v/idow's  name,  but  adds  that  Defoe  died  *'in  January  1731—2."  The 
fact  that  this  date  is  quite  wrong  shows  that  the  information  f umifihed 


J 


#1 


DEFOE'S    WIFE. 


2ar 


fi«n  the  administration  was  taken  out  was  i:»iv?n  by  a  person  who 
bev  little  of  the  matter,  and  explains  how  the  widow's  name  camo  to 
be  given  &s  Sns&nnah.  The  name  is  distinct  on  the  bond,  l)nt.  nifty 
lure  been  written  over  a  carffnl  erasnw.  The  snretieB  were  Mary 
Broob,  of  St.  Leonard,  Shoreditch,  widow,  Grace  Porter,  of  the  same, 
widow  (each  of  whom  signed  with  a  mark),  and  Kdward  Inrnnii,  of 
1  St  Giles,  Cripplegate,  vintner. 

Virions  interpretations  have  been  put  upon  the  fact  that  lett/'rB  of 
I  idministration  were  takpn  out  by  a  credifcrix,  and  it  hna  been  siiggestetl 
I  flat  Mrs,  Brooke  was  tho  landlady  of  the  housf  in  which  Defof^  died. 
fKvsteiy  surrounds  the  closing  months  of  Defoe's  lifL%  and  the  tnatt/or 
lonljmade  worse  by  the  well-known  letter  to  his  son-in-law,  Henry 
Biker,  written  on  Augnst  12,  1730,  from  "about  two  miles  from 
eowich,  Kent."  In  it  he  speaks  of  the  inhuman  dealing  of  iiin 
son,  which  had  ruined  his  family  and  broken  his  heart.  "  I 
•^nded  upon  him,  I  trusted  him,  I  gave  up  my  two  dear  unprovided 
ciildren  into  his  hands;  but  he  has  no  compassion,  and  ruJT'ith  tlu-it* 
Dd  their  poor  dying  mother  to  beg  their  bread  at  his  door,  and  l-o 
iro,  as  it  were  an  alms,  what  he  is  bound  under  hand  and  senJ. 
the  most  sacred  promises,  to  supply  them  with  ;  himst'lf,  al^ 
nne  time,  living  in  a  profusion  of  plenty."  He  had  not,  he  (!Jvy», 
wife  or  child  for  many  weeks.  They  dare  not  come  by  water, 
by  land  there  was  no  coach.  In  the  absence  of  other  evidence 
»p  camiot  say  how  far  w«  can  take  this  letter  literally.  Possibly 
I^foe  had  some  special  reason  for  writing  thus  to  Baker ;  possibly 
his  mind  was  giving  way.  He  says  himself.  "I  am  weak,  hartng 
hid  some  fits  of  a  fever  that  have  left  me  low.  Bat  those  things 
audi  more."  It  will  be  observed  that  he  speaks  only  of  one  son. 
ad  it  is  not  clear  whether  he  refers  to  Daniel  or  Benjamin.  In  any 
omt  it  ia  evident  from  Mrs.  Defoe's  will  she  was  in  an  independent 
pBtkn  when  she  died,  and  was  able  ^q  lenre  the  bulk  of  the  pnv 
pB^  wUch  site  inherited  from  her  brotlier,  Srannel  Taffley>  to  hei 
vanned  daoghters.  Each  of  the  sons,  it  will  be  remembered,  and 
Scifkb  Bakar,  receired  onlj  a  sovereign  for  a  nog.     The  explanation 

■  n^sdi  Sophia  may,  perhaps,  be  found  in  th^  fact  that  IWore  her 
BMBif*  in  1729  De^  hsd  giren  to  her  intended  hnabaod,  Bakffr, 

■  •  fottioa,  B  tnod  for  £o<»  apoa  the  house  at  Nf^wingfon.     Tt  was 
poUbir  rmiiMilHied  ^at  she  had  thna  abrady  received  her  share. 

IVm  ace  rariooa  gromids  for  thinking  that  Defoe  was  nctwfthont 
**■%  ip**  boat  ike  firceinalaaee  tkai£  h^  wa«  able  t/>  lire  eomforf- 
^  ^  BtwBiHteM.  Ha  iMM^bAts  Haaraib  h^M  South  Ses  Stoek ; 
«d  '■  XTH  \m  took  Kirkwood  H^tb  od  leaae  from  the  Corporaifon 
rfHikhihu.  ife  wao,  however,  takas  for  Ua  daogltor  Bfluak,  »d 
*^  i—»  iw  thai  BBiigiii  ii]  to  a  Mary  SiewltM  ;  koC  fk  norCfags  wan 
^  4f  na  1727.     The   mnat   prnlMihIe>  erphmatton    of  IVfo*  tw* 


238 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


sir:^^*- 


making  a  will  geoms  to  be  that  his  property  was  secured  for  the  be 
of  his  family,  and  from  the  letter  to  Baker  it  would  aecm   that   itii  lu| 

been  transferred  to  ono  of  his  sons,  who  did  not  fulfil  the  condi.'ti  ioA 
upon  which  the  arrangompnt,  had  been  made.  Mrs.  Defoe's  own.  -j^rflj 
perty  wai  fortunately  strictly  settled  u]5on  her,  and  it  was  this  ^h9 
she  was  able  to  bequeath.  There  is  a  remarkable  passage  in  Sarjn 
Tufflpy's  will  about  wlmt  he  wished  done  in  the  case  of  the  dJB 
dionco  of  any  of  Defoe's  cliildren.  Perhaps  one  of  them  had  alre.^'^**-* 
when  that  sentence  was  written  in  1714,  shown  signs  of  bis 
character.  Daniel,  supposed  to  be  the  eldest  son,  is  said  to  t^'-^^j 
emigrated  to  Carolina ;  and  of  Benjamin  nothing  whatever  is  kni> 
ilr.  Wilson  had  no  ground  for  identifying  him  with  a  Norton  D^^* 
who,  if  scandalous  statomouts  by  Savage  and  Pope  could  be  belieV^"^ 
was  a  natural  son  of  Defoe's.  It  seeuia  not  improbable  that  it 
Defoe's  son  Benjamin  who  went  to  America,  and  not  Daniel,  of  wk-- 
deacendauts  Mr.  Wilsou  gives  many  particulars.  If  this  is  the 
we  have  an  explanation  of  the  absence  of  any  particulars  of  Benjam.— 
A  Mr.  Do  Foe,  now  in  Australia,  states  that  he  is  a  great-] 
son  of  Defoe,  and  that  bis  family  have  always  lived  abroad 
hia  grandfather — probably  Benjamin — left  England.  Of  Defo 
daughters,  Sophia  lived  happily  with  her  husband  until  her  dea 
and  Hannah  and  Henrietta,  the  latter  of  whom  married  Jo. 
Boston,  a  su])ervisor  of  excise,  are  buried  together  at  Wimbom 
Several  children  of  Daniel  and  Dorothy  Foe  were  baptized 
St.  James's,  Clerkcnwell,  between  170t  and  1708  ;  but  this  Danie/. 
though  probably  a  connection  i>f  Defoe's,  cannot  be  his  son,  uule^ss^ 
that  son  married  very  early  in  life.  Other  Foes  are  mentioned  in  the 
registers  of  the  same  pariah  ;  and  a  Daniel  Defot- ,  "  an  infant  and 
nursed  child,"  was  buried  at  Hackney,  in  1724.  On  Noveml^er  3. 
1720,  IVffley,  son  of  Nathaniel  Defoe  and  Mary  his  wife,  was  buried 
in  the  churchyard  of  8t.  Michael,  Cornhill  ;  and  it  is  probable  that 
"  Nathaniel  '  was  here  entered  by  mistake  for  "  Daniel,"  and  tliat  we 
thus  have  a  fresh  glimpse  of  Defoe's  son.  That  son,  as  we  have 
Been,  was  a  merchant  in  the  parish  of  St.  Michael  in  1725,  and  this 
child  had  for  ("bri.stian  name  the  maiden  name  of  Defoe's  wife.  Two 
great-great-granddaughter.'i  of  Defoe's — daughters  of  James  Defoe, 
who  was  the  son,  by  a  second  marriage,  of  Samuel  Defoe,  Defoe's  grand- 
son— are  still  living  in  London,  and  were,  a  few  years  ago,  very  pro- 
perly placed  on  the  Civil  List.  A  "  Mrs.  DefFoe,"  who  was  brought 
irom  Hackney,  was  buried  at  Bnnhill  Fields,  in  1737,  and  cannot  there- 
fore bb  identified  with  a  Mrs.  Foe,  whose  Christian  name,  curiously 
enough,  was  Susanna,  and  who  wrote  a  letter  (now  among  tie  manu- 
scripts at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge),  dated  March  ;50.  1739,  to 
Dr.  Warren,  thanking  bini  for  five  guineas  paid  by  him  for  her  use  to 
her  kind  friend,  good  Dr.  Grey.  She  was  a  "  poor  unfortunate  wid- 
dow,"  with  not  above  £7  a  year  to  maintain  herself  and  her  child. 


i9»] 


DEFOE'S    fflFE. 


239 


We  hare  another  glimpse  of  the  faniilj  into  which  Defoe  maiTiod  in 

tk?  »iJ]  of  Charles  Talfley,  a  brother  of  Mrs.  Defoe's,  whose  life  seema 

lohav?  been  somewhat  of  a  failure.    He  was  a  mariner,  late  of  H.M.S. 

Tk  Ciwit,  hut  sick  when  he  made  liis  will,  on  the  22nd  of  June, 

J7I1.    He  must  have   then   been  on  his  deathbed,  for  th^  will  was 

on  the  17th  of  July.      Of  such  worldly  goods  as  should  be  dtt© 

I  at  Lis  death  he  gave  to  his  honourable  fatlier  and  mother  one 

iWling  each  if  demanded,  ''  declaring  that  I  should  have  shown  my 

daty  to  them  in  a  larger  respect  were  I  capable,  but  am  hindered  by 

fliT  honest  intentions  of  paying  the  just  debt   from  me  due  and  owiug 

to  Mrs.  Mary  Simonds,  of  Allhallows,  Barking,  Ijondon,  widow. "'     He 

i^ft,  too,  one  BhilUng  each,  if  demanded,  to  his  brothers    Samuel  and 

Giles Tufiiey,  and  to  Aunt  Sarah  Tuffley.     All  the  residue  of  money, 

[wjp'g,  pay,  goods,  &c.,  went  to  his  loving  friend  Mary  Simonds,  the 

ole  executrix.      From  this  we  learn  that  Mrs.  Defoe's   parents  were 

|hDth  living  in  1711,  and  we  know  from  Samuel  Tuffley'a  will  that  the 

was  lately  dead,  in  1714;  the  father,  too,  was  probably  then 

iSeSamuel  was  in  possession  of  the  property, 

his  Serious   RejUxLions  Defoe  said    that  the  story  of  Jiobinsuii. 

\Crntof  Was  a  sort  of  allegory  of  his  own  life  ;  and  immediately  after 

we  apppurance  of  the  great  romance  an  anonymous  pamphleteer  had 

jaoliccd  how  the  title  could  be  applied  to  its  author,  and  had  published 

'The  Life  and  Surprising  Adventures  of  Mr.  D —  de  F — ,  of  London, 

Icsier,  who  has  lived  about  fifty  years  by  himself,  in  the  Kingdom  of 

iforth  and  South  Britain."     Defoe  did  indeed  live,  to  follow  the  title 

Sobinaon  Crnsot  still  more  closely,  "  seventy  years  all  alone  in  the 

ndof  Great  Britain."  He  was  misundei-stood  by  men  of  all  parties 

ag  his  contcmjjoraries.     His  name   does  not  appear  in  the  bulky 

olumeB  of  the  origiual  edition  of  the  Biographia  BrUariniea,  tJiough 

Urork  was  not  commenced  until  1747,  nor  concluded  before  1706  ; 

I  while  it  cannot  be  said  that  he  is  nowadays  forgotten,  much  that 

I  written   about  him  shows  an  extraordinary  mLsappreheneion  of  his 

er.      In  his  Serious  Ueflidiom  he  says,  in  the  person  of  Robin- 

Jsoe,  that   he  had   grown  old    in   affliction,   and   that  he  hml 

WKoA  that  the  remedy  against  universal  clamours  and  contem])t  of 

wokiixd  was    patience,  a  steady  life  of  virtue   and   sobriety,  and  a 

•"■brtJDg  dependence  on  the  justice  of  Providence.      And  in  similar 

■wd»  he  concludes  his  Appeal  to  Jlonour  aiui  Jtcsiic^,   Out    it  be  of 

a*  Wont  Enemies : — "  A  constant,  steady,  adhering  to  personal  virtue, 

•i  to  public  peace,  which,  I  thank  God,  I  can    appeal   to    him,  has 

•Iwjn  heen  my  practice,  will   at  last   restore  me  to  the  opinion  of 

•h»  and  impartial  men,  and  that  ijs  all  I  desire :  what    it  will  do 

vttt]iQM>  who  are  resolutely  partial  and   unjust  I  cannot  say,  neither 

P  tot  macb  my  concern." 

G.  A.  AlTKEN. 


THE  EIGHT  HOURS  QUESTION 


THE  argnment  addressed  to  the  pnblic  in  the  Di'cember  Nnmbi 
this  Revikw,  by  Mr.  Sidney  Webb,  has  not  made  the  real  issc«< 
easier  to  disentangle.  The  question  is  whether  Parliament  shoal^^ 
rognlate  the  hours  of  labour.  This  Mr.  Webb  very  fairly  states  ^ 
Bat  he  proceeds  to  develop  his  argument  by  speaking  of  "'  the  Eight^^ 
Hours  Bill  which  the  rising  Democratic  tide  is  now  making  inevit-  -^ 
able,"  and  telling  ns  "  that  every  politician  knows  in  his  heart  of 
hearts  that  a  reasonable  Eigbt  Hours  Act  will  probably  be  one  of  the 
earliest  fruits  of  the  next  General  Election."  Having  assumed  this  as 
beyond  doubt,  he  goes  on  to  assume  further  that,  in  passing  the 
Factory  Act?,  Parliament  decided  the  very  point  in  dispute,  and  that 
accordingly  *'  no  question  of  principle  really  remains  at  issue,  and  the 
important  task  of  to-day  is  to  clear  up  the  misconceptions  which 
hinder  popular  unanimity  on  the  subject,  and  to  devise  means  for 
the  practical  application  of  the  admitted  principles  to  the  com- 
plicated circumstances  of  modern  industrial  life.*'  For  the  rest^  Mr. 
Webb's  own  task  is  comparatively  easy.  In  a  simple  and  an 
nnostentatious  fashion,  he  steps  forward  as  having  the  nndoubted 
title  to  assure  ns  of  the  opinions  of  a  large  section  of  the  electorate, 
and  informs  ns  that  "  students  of  political  meteorology  among  the 
industrial  classes  already  begin  to  declare  that  the  party  which  first 
takes  up  the  Eight  Hours  Bill,  besides  effecting  an  unparalleled  im- 
provement in  the  social  condition  of  the  worker,  will  gain  the  Labour 
vote  for  half  a  generation." 

Now,  I  am  not  complaining  of  the  tone  of  the  article.  It  is 
Btudionsly  moderate  and  reasonable.  And  the  economic  discnssion 
of  the  effects  of  the  proposed  legislation  upon  production,  prices,  and 
international  relations,  of  which  I  pay  nothing  at  this  stage,  because 


tip] 


THE   EIGHT  HOURS   QUESTION. 


241 


it  appears  to  be  introduced  more  for  the  comfort  of  ns  who  are  in 

misfortnne  than  as  a  needless  argument  in  justification  of  the  inevit- 

«ile,  is  oaejiceptionable   in  form,   whatever  it   may  be   in  point  of 

labstance.     What    I   do    complain   of    is,   that    in   the    preliHiinary 

positions  he  takes  the  entire  situation  for  granted,  and,  while  pro- 

feadng'  to  present  us  with  a  logical   sorites,  assumes  the  very  point 

which  he  has  to  establish   as  its  conclusion.      Of  coorse,  if  it  bo  tnie 

tbit  the  vast   majority  of  the  working  classes   have  definitely   and 

finally  gone  on  the  side  of  the  legislation  in  question,  the  discushioii 

is  no  longer  a   practical  one.      Of  course,   if  Parliament  has  already 

cmliodied  the  principle  in  the  Factory  Acts,  the  controversy  is  merely 

u  to  detail.      It  would  follow  that  members  of  Parliament  in  general 

sliould  give  effect   to   the  national   conclusion,  although,  as  Mr.  John 

Marley  pointed  out  in  his  speech   at  the   Eighty  Club,  it  woald  7iof 

fcllow  that  particular  members  ought  to  agree,  if  elected,  to  give  any 

vote  to  that  effect.      Bnt  has  the  nation  come  to  any  snch  conclusion, 

or  IB  it  doing   so  ?     For  my  part,  I  must  controvert  some  of  Mr. 

Webb's  positions  as  to  this. 

Let  ns,  in  the  iirst  place,  see  upon  what  we  agree.     We  agree  that 
die  hoars  of  labour  ought,  as  far  as  is  practicable,  to  be  so  shortened 
»» to  enable  the  worker  not  only  to  preserve  health  and  strength,  but 
lie  have  leisure  to  recruit  hia  body  and  develop  his  mind.     ITie  con- 
jlrOTwgy  is  not,  in  other  words,  about  the  end,  but  about  the  means, 
the  position  of  Mr.  Webb's  Radical  critics  is   that   their  own 
lA«tlioda  offer  a    safer  and   more  certain  way   not  only  to   this  end. 
at  towards  the  general  ideal  of  equality  of  opportunity,  than  does 
'"  mme  of  the   Fabian   Society  by  its  legislative   short  cuts. 

•r  hold  that  if,  in  the  higgling  of  the  market,  Labour  is  to 
|lBi;gun  fluccessfuUy  with  Capital  for  a  large  share  of  the  profits  of 
wir  combined  application.  Labour  must  be  highly  organi/.e{l,  and 
that  accordingly  it  is  to  do  to  Labour  an  ill-service  to  withdraw  from 
ligation  what  haa  hitherto  been  not  only  part  of  its  rai^on  tf'Mrr, 
Bt  <ine  of  its  chief  and  most  successfully  accomplished  aims,  the 
lation  of  the  hours  of  labour.  The  sphere  of  discussion  is  thus 
►  good  deal  narrower  than  is  represented. 
Apain,  some,  at  least,  of  the  opponents  of  an  Eight  Hour?  Bill 
vtT  not,  what  is  currently  imputed  to  them,  an  abatract  principle  in 
h«r  ininds  which  compels  them  to  condemn,  without  regard  to  con- 
all  State  interference  with  adult  labour.  On  the  contrarv, 
;..'n  which  the  ordinary  opponent  of  tlie  Bill  takes  up  is 
Bply  that  formulated  by  such  economist.^  as  Mr.  F.  A.  Walker  and 
l»te  Mr.  Jevons.  Why  !^Ir.  Webb  should  hint,  as  hr  does,  t\m\ 
litter  of  these  writera  may  be  cited  in  supjiort  of  his  own  conclu- 
aa  I  cannot  imagine.  In  the  very  passage  which  he  qaotes  from. 
State  in  Relation  to  Labour."  for  the  proposition  that  there  nn* 


242 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


3 


cases  in  which  State  interference  with  tht^  hours  of  labour  -woxjl  JJ  b 
justifiable,  the  important  words  occur,  ''  If  it  could  be  clearly  s^:«owi 
that  the  existing  customs  are  injurious  to  health,  and  that  tJur^  -at-s  "< 
otJier  probable,  rmiedii"  The  whole  point  is  whether  this  last  coa<3  ifc»0E 
is  satisfied.  Mr.  Morley  and  hia  followers  are  not,  if  Mr.  W^^''" 
and  his  friends  would  only  believe  it,  talking  metaphysics.  And  "tzi^^y 
ought  not.  merely  becauae  they  happeui  to  have  formed  an  opinion 
a  matter  of  fact  and  VjusLneas,  to  be  confounded  wholesale  with 
members  of  the  Society  for  the  Defence  of  Liberty  and  Property- 
know  of  no  writer  who  puts  what  seems  to  me  to  be  the  true  poin-"** 
view  better  than  Mr.  Walker. 

"  I  should  rather  define,"  he  says,  in  condemning  the  abstract  doctri»-  ^^- 
ZaJisw /Iiire,  "  the  Mandiester  School   to  consist  of  those  free  traders  ^^^^^ 
carry  into  the  department  of  distribution  tliat  assumption  of  the  econoia.  '^ 
sufficiency  of  competition  whicli  the  whole  body  of  free  traders  ncfept  w^^  ,, 
dealing  with  the  ijuestions  of  exchange  ;  who  fail  to  recognize  any  di(Ferec»-_ 
between  services  and  commodities,   i>etween  men  and  merchandise,  wlm-^*^* 
require  tbcm  to  modify  their  doctrine  of  laissezfaire,  looking  on  a  MancheE^*^ 
spinner  as  possessing  the  same  mobility  cconoraicully,  as  being  under  "^ 
same  subjection  to  the  impulses  of  pecuniary  mterest  as  a  bale  of  Mancbei*'*^ 
cottons  on  the  wharf,  free  to  go  to  India  or  Iceland,  aa  the  diflerence  cpf 
penny  in  the  price  offered  may  determine ;  free  traders  who,  to  come  down  t^ 
single  practical  questions,  object  to  laws  against  truck  as  an  interferenc*^^ 
with  freedom  of  contract ;  who  oppose  exceptional  legislation  respecting  t^^^ 
employment  of  women  uiidergi-ound  in  mines  and  at  factory  labour  duringfj 
pregnum  y,  and  for  the  period  immediHtely  succeeding  continement,  on  the 
ground  that  such  niattei-s  should  be  regulated  by  the  interest  of  the  parties 
thereto;  who,  while  perhaps  approving,  on  socia!  considerations,  laws  regu- 
lating the  eniployment  of  children   in  mines  and   factoiies,  yet  deny  that 
such  regulations  have  any  economiad  justification,  holding  that  self-interest 
is  here,  again,  a  suflident  guide  ;  who  object  to  laws  or  compulsory  rules 
respecting  apprenticeship,  or  admission  to  the  professions,  to  the  govern- 
mental regulation  or  inspection  of  industiiai  opei-ations,  and  to  any  and  all 
acts  of  the  State  directed  to  the  promotion  of  prudence  and  fntgality  on  the 
part  of  the  working  classes."* 

But  this  repndiation  of  the  tendency  to  erect  the  doctrine  of  letting 
things  alone  into  a  paramount  principle  need  not  lead  us  to  the  opposite 
mistake  of  invoking  State  regulation  without  misgiving. 

"  In  considering  the  probable  tendencies  of  such  acts,"  continues  the 
writer  just  quoted,  "  we  should  bear  in  mind  bow  great  are  the  liabilities 
to  error  and  corruption  in  legislation  ;  how  certain  i.s  the  administration  of 
the  law  to  fall  short  of  its  interest  ;  how  mncb  better  most  i-esults  are 
reached  through  social  than  through  Icgjd  pressure  ;  how  destitute  of  all 
positive  virtue,  all  healing  etbcacj',  i.s  restniuit,  its  only  ollice  being  to  prevent 
waste  ;  how  frequently,  too,  good  sicts  become  bad  preccdents."t 

"  It  is  one  thing,"  writes  Professor  Cairnes.t  "  to  repudiate  the  scientific 
anthority  of  laissez  /aire  freedom  of  contract,  and  so  forth  ;  it  ia  a  totally 
different  thing  to  set  up  the  opposite  principle  of  State  control,  the  doctrine 

•  F.  A.  Walker.  "The  Wages  Question."  p.  161.  t  lh\d.  p.  171. 

X  "  Essay."  in  Politkuxl  Economy,"  p.  257. 


»] 


THE    EIGHT   HOURS   QUESTION. 


243 


«rp«lenul  goverDtuetit.  For  my  part,  I  accept  ueither  the  one  doctrine 
nor  ll« other,  and,  asapriictical  mile,  I  liold  laiJisez /aire  to  be  incomparably 
lliB  »)ifer  L'tiide.  Only  let  us  remember  tbiii  it  is  a  jtructical  rule,  and  not  a 
doftrine  of  science ;  a  rule  in  the  main  sound,  but,  like  most  other  sound 
pnrtital  rules,  liable  to  numerous  exceptions  ;  above  all,  a  rule  wliich  must 
Mmr  for  a  moment  be  allowed  to  stand  in  the  way  of  the  candid  con&idera- 
HflUof  itny  promising  propnssd  of  social  or  industrial  reforms," 

Is  the  statutory  regulation  of  the  hours  of  labour  a  case  within 
f  eiception  ?     Are  there  any  grounds  for  bo  regai'ding  it  ?     Thia 
a  qaestion — the  question  of  fact    rather  than   of  principle — and 
answer  it  we  must  do  what  1  think   lIi-.  Webb  and  his  frieuda 
do  not  io^look  at  the  fads.     There  may  well  be  cases  where  com- 
bination on    the    part    of  even    adult    labourers    is    not  reasonably 
possjble.     Whether  there   are,   in  point    of   fact,    any   such  coses  in 
is  country  is  doubtful.      That  of  the  shop  assistants  appears  to  be 
16  of  the  nearest  apj^roaches   to  an  example.      Probably,   too,  that 
Cftsnal  labourers,   weakened   by  want  and   privation,   and    lacking 
proper  sense   of  independence,  is  another.       The  success  of  the 
t  dock  strike,  and  tJie  possibility  it  has  disclosed  of  organizing 
flwnal  labour,  may  cause  us  to  pause  before  deciding  about  the  second 
twnjple;  and,  as  for  the  first,  it  remains  to  be  seen  what  public 
■  '    n  and  combination  may  yet  effect.      At  all   events  these  are  not 
istrationa  commonly  put  forward  by  the  advocates  of  an  Eight 
flours  Bill.      Their  case  has  been  largely  rested  on  what  is  by  many 
looked  on  as   the  altogether  exceptionally  strong  case  of  the 
.ind  other  underground  labourers.      It  will  be  useful  briefly  to 
MMune  this  case.   It  is  one  to  which  members  for  some  mining  consti- 
^wociea,  where  the  demand  for  an  Eight  Houi-s  Bill  ha.«i  been  strongly 
I»B8Bed,  have  had  to  devote  a  good   deal  of  attention,  and  have  had 
opportunities  of  gaining  some    reliable  inibrmation.     Now,  although 
underground  labour  is  not  nowadays  the  severest  or  most  unliealtliy  sort 
of  labour,  it  is  severe  and  unhealthy,  and  it  may  be  readily  conceded 
lliat  eight  hours  is  as  long  as  it  is  good  for  any  man  to  work  under 
gnnmd,  just  as  the  same   might  be  conceded  in  the  case  of  the  above- 
froQiid  work  of  the  agricultural   labourer,  who,  unlike  the  miner,  is 
Opoaed  to  the  most  varying  weathers  and  temperatures,  and  probably 
■n&ra  even  more  than  the  latter.    Yet  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that, 
oTiU  the  cases  given,  that  of  the  miner  is  probably  the  one  where  the 
ioUc&rence  of  Pai'liament  is  least  called  for.     How  do  matters  stand 
*t  preeemt?     With  the  possible  excej>tion  of  the  engineers,  the  miners 
of  this  country  are,  on   the   whole,  the  most  thoroughly  organized, 
from  a  Trades  Union  point  of  view,  of  all  the  classes  of  working- 
Bum.     Not  only  is  this  so,  but  probably  from  the  circumstance  that 
tteir  tame  ia  largely  spent  under  ground,  in   places   where  they  are 
iaiocseesible  to  intimidation  and  other  forms  of  illegitimate  influence, 
Umj  are  a  most  independent  and  self-assertive  body  of  men.     They 


244 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  RElTEfT. 


d 


ad  for'moet  pnrpoeee  in  oonoert,  and  wbere  titer  «xut  in  ifl| 
siderable  nimibeTB  can  nowadays  generally  cxwtrol  the  lepmMJ 
not  only  Parliamientary,  bat  Hnnicipal,  of  their  distfkt.  Hia 
is  that  whenever  they  choose  to  combine — atod  in  noflt  oases  tj 
chooae — they  can  dictate  their  own  terms  to  the  coUiej  f  im  uasaa  i 
houn  of  work,  and  within  limite,  provided  the  mazkct  is  •  nuii| 
M  regards  wages.  The  consequence  has  been  atzikii)^.  "niel 
Miners'  Unions  of  the  north-ea;^  of  Eng-land,  not  oontetit 
eight  hoars  day.  have  instituted  a  system,  which  has  now 
operation  for  a  long  tim<?.  of  sncceanre  shifts  of  men  whose  Auif, 
ing  period  is  six  and  a  half  to  Kven  honrs.  In  other  parts  of  H( 
the  regulation  of  the  length  of  the  miner's  day  is  in  his  own ) 
It  is  only  from  Scotland  that  serious  oomplaintf  haT<*  come  < 
eombination  of  masters  to  keep  the  men  at  work  more  Utaaj 
hoars.  Now.  in  Scotland,  the  facts  are  worth  noticing.  Tbeij 
f»»tare  is  thi^,  that  where  there  is  an  t-fficient  Union  there 
eight  hours  day.  and  that  there  is  a  departure  from  this  satid 
Htate  of  things  only  where  the  men  do  not  take  the  trouble  li 
the  Unions  in  an  efficient  condition.  In  the  East  of  Scotls^ 
example,  there  is  a  great  coal-mining  industry  distributed  a% 
oounties  of  Fife  and  Clackmannan  and  Mid  and  East  Lothiat 
tiiese  counties  there  are  two  large  and  efficient  Unions.  The  r^ 
that.  KO  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  ascertain,  there  is  only  ai 
pit  (a,  Midlothian  one)  where  there  is  systematic  work  for  moi 
eight  houjB,  and  in  that  pit  the  departure  from  the  rule  is  due* 
practice  of  the  men,  and  not  to  the  coercion  of  the  owner.  In 
on  the  spot  disclose  the  real  circumstances.  In  an  ordinary  ] 
Scot.]and  pit  the  normal  day  is  eight  hours.  But,  as  the  m 
paid  according  to  his  output,  there  is  a  temptation  to  etaj! 
ground  a  little  longer  in  order  to  make  more  money.  This  li 
becaufle  a  particular  miner  is  not  so  skilful  a  worker  as  his  neig 
Or  it  may  be  because,  having  a  larger  family  or  wanting  most 
desires  to  make  a  little  more  than  his  neighbour.  But,  whatei 
reason  of  the  practice,  it  is  not  a  general  one,  and  there  is  certai 
oompalsion  on  the  part  of  the  masters.  A  miner  remarked 
the  other  day  of  his  neighbour,  who  was  working  with  him  at  i 
of  a  gallery  ;  "  John  is  an  Eight  Hours  Bill  man  because  he 
an  Act  of  Parliament  to  protect  him  from  himself."  This  is  a* 
instance.  Some  of  the  men  who  are  loudest  in  demanding  legl 
aw  themselves  the  greatest  offenders  against  the  rule.  On  thi 
hand,  many  of  those  who  are  most  strongly  opposed  to  ParliaxI 
interference  are  men  who  them.selves  observe  the  principle' 
eight  hours  day  as  rigidly  as  does  an  Australian  miner.  Bl 
say  very  forcibly  that  there  might  come  an  exceptional  state  o^ 
in  which  they  desired  to  make  a  larger  ontput  per  man,  and  it 


THE   EIGHT  HOURS   QUESTION. 


245 


:  irciiild  be  most  inconyement  that  they  should  be  unable  to  do  so. 
Ij!  migbt  be  well  for  some  of  those  critics  who  denounce  the  opponents 
Eight  flours  Bill  for  miners  as  persons  of  doctrinaire  views,  to 
tdDto  to  the  £ast  of  Scotland  and  investigate  the  state  of  matters 
tboaelres.  Instead  of  a  poor,  helpless,  unprotected  class  of 
»,  they  would  find  a  large  number  of  keen-witted,  intfUigont, 
hard-headed  men,  well  able  to  take  care  of  themaelves,  and 
blj  conversant  with  nil  that  is  going  on  about  them.  People 
•  godowTi  the  pit  at  half-past  six  in  the  morning  and  are  out  by 
\  iu  the  aflernoon  have  abundant  time  for  the  study  not  only  of 
tics,  but  of  other  matters,  and  the  miners  of  the  East  of  Scotland 
time,  on  an  average,  as  well  as  most  pcopL-. 
,  it  may  be  asked,  if  this  is  so,  why  is  it  that  there  has  been  in 
I  very  region  so  strong  an  expression  of  opinion  on  the  subject  ? 
bT  is  it  that  at  meeting  after  meeting  of  the  men  resolutioas  in 
'  of  the  Kight  Hours  Bill  have  been  carried  ?  The  question  is 
1 30  perplexing  to  those  who  have  been  on  the  spot.  It  is  true 
taach  resolutions  were  carried  at  a  great  many  mcotlngs  some  time 
aod  that  even  now  probably  a  majority  of  the  miners  are 
ely  in  favour  of  the  Bill.  But  if  they  are  cross-examined  as  to 
'teasons,  these  are  found  to  resolve  themselves  into  two.  One  is 
iy  for  their  less  well-organized  brethren  in  the  West  of  Scot- 
There  are  many  districts  in  Lanarkshire  and  Ayrshire  where 
I  orgmization  is  of  a  miserable  description.  It  is  not  that  Unions  do 
I  exist  in  most  places,  or  that  there  are  not  able  and  capable  leaders. 
■  the  rank  and  file  of  the  men  ap]>ear  either  to  have  moral  back- 
Lof  an  inferior  fibre  to  tliose  of  the  East,  or  to  be  apathetic  about 
ion.  It  has  accordingly  become  possible  for  certain  colliery 
ownera  to  put  pressure  on  their  men  to  remain  at  work  as  long  as 
^  hours.  This,  of  course,  would  be  impossible  were  the  Unions  to 
^  action,  or  were  public  opinion  to  be  brought  tx>  bear  on  the 
■'P'oyer?.  Certainly  there  is  in  the  nature  of  the  circumstances  ud 
'PP'^Mit  reason  why  the  men  should  not  insist  on  an  eight  hours 
%  with  M  much  success  in  the  West  as  in  the  other  ptrts  of  Scot- 
^*^  To  do  the  Unions  justice,  in  most  even  of  the  Western  districts 
**J  have  gained  their  point.  There  are,  relatively  8i>eaking,  as  far 
•  J  have  been  able  to  ascertain,  very  few  places  where  tht;  day  Ls 
**  »n  eight  hours  one. 

Bat  there  is  another  and  more  general  reason  for  the  dfiiiaud 
'wch  hag  been  made  for  legislation.  There  is  an  idea  which  is 
^tfj  prevalent  among  the  men,  that  the  state  of  things  to  be 
'"'^'d  at  is  one  in  which  the  output  of  coal  could  be  so  completely 
^"twfled  as  to  enable  the  men  to  dictate  tlieir  own  terms  as  to 
"^S*-  The  Bucceas  of  a  policy  of  restricting  the  output  is  generally 
***"  for  granted.     But  putting  aside  the  objections  to   it   from  a 


24r 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


A 


public  point  of  view,  with  the  observation  that,  at  all  events,  i  -^ 
not  desirable  that  we  should  be  entirely  at  the  mercy  of  a  sL 
class  for  our  supply  of  coal,  any  more  than  for  our  supply  of  com,  -fc. 
question  remains  whether  it  would  be  practicable  so  to  limit  the  d^n 
put.  The  public  demand  would  surely  lead  to  the  employment  of  tcm.  on 
men  and  possibly  to  the  inlToduction  in  Scotland,  as  in  the  Nortla.  at 
England,  of  the  double  shift  system.  In  discussing  this  policy  r^^tl 
the  men,  the  impression  one  derives  is  that  it  has  been  very  nuperfecz^t/Vi 
considered. 

To  sum  up  the  situation  as  regards  under-ground  lalxjur,  the  re^  *^ 
of  the  evidence  appears  to  be   that  there   is  practically   little  or 
compulsion  to  woik  for  more  than  eight  hours,  except  in  a  few  pits- 
the  West  of  Scotland,  and  that  the  difficulty  there  could  be  got  rii^ 
by  the  Unions  themselves   with  a  little  effort.     Elsewhere,  there 
gre^t  division  of  opinion  as  to  the  expediency  of  any  legislation,* 
it   appears   that   the    real   object  of  those  who  are  in    favour  of 
is,  not  simply  to   regulate  the   hours  of  labour,  but  to   raise   wa| 
by  making  the  output  of  coal  the  monopoly  of  a  certain  class.      If  t^ 
question  is  put  to  the  country  whether,  under  these  circumstances, 
will  sanction  this  policy,  or  leave  the  hours  of  labour  to  be  efficirtiC^ 
regulated,  as  experience  has   shown    they  can  be.  and   nearly  alwa-,^^-' 
are,  iby  the  Unions,  the  answer  ought  hardly  to  be  doubtful. 

The  proceedings  of  the  Trades  Union  Congress  at  Dundee  las<^ 
autumn  probably  reflected  pretty  accurately  the  opinion  of  the  working 
classes  in  general.  There  was  a  remarkable  and  very  decided  repudia- 
tion by  the  Congress  of  the  demand  for  any  general  regulation  by 
statute  of  the  hours  of  labour.  But  in  the  case  of  mines  it  was  wud 
that  this  was  an  exceptional  case,  and  should  be  exceptionally  dealt 
with  by  the  Legislature.  The  opinions  of  working-men  are  very 
valuable  in  regard  to  their  own  trades.  But  where  we  are  dealing 
with  questions  relating  to  other  trades,  we  may  be  tempted  to  examine 
the  authority  for  their  opinions  somewhat  sceptically.  As  a  rule, 
they  are  at  work  all  day  and  cannot  get  knowledge,  from  experience, 
or  at  first  hand,  of  what  other  working-men  are  doing.  Nor  do  the 
various  srctions  of  the  working  cla.sses  hold  much  intercourse  with 
each  other.  The  opinion  of  the  average  member  of  Parliament  on  a& 
industrial  question  may  not  be  worth  much,  but,  strange  as  the 
assertion  may  seem  to  some  people,  it  is  probably  at  least  as  good  on 
a  miner's  question  as  that  of  the  average  joiner.  The  result  of  the 
proceedings  at  Dundee,  and  of  those  of  the  very-mnch-di\nded  meeting- 
of  mining  delegates  at  Birmingham  shortly  afterwards,  is  to  leave  the 
impression  that  there  is  a  strong  desire  among  the  miners  to  have,  or 

♦  At  th<!  present  monnmt  the  Scottwh  miners  are  makinp  more  mone.v  thftu  hmc 
V>ecn  the  case  fur  the  lost  nine  yeur^,  and  tho  result  is  that  but  little  Is  tu  be  heart! 
atncng  theoiselve.s  of  ihc  dcmund  for  legislation. 


av>] 


THE   EIGHT  HOURS    QUESTION. 


247 


mtliiir  to  retain,  an  eight   hours  day,   but   neither  unanimity   about 
I  Puiiimentary  interference,  nor  cause  shown  for  it. 

InotliiT  case  frequently  put    forward    is    that  of   the    workmen 

tntployetl  in  its  various  factories,  arsenals,  and  other  industrial  estab- 

liiiiiDeiits  by  the  Government.     Now,  most  people  will  agree  that  it 

!  ii  lUJiinently  desirable  and   right  that   the    Executive   should  set  an 

[umplo  to  ordinary  employers  of  labour.      There  is  sometimes  reason 

tothiuk  tliat  certain  officials  take  the  view  that  the  Goveriiuient  work- 

1I1H11  ire  in  tho  position,  not  of  onlinaty  workmen,  but  of  subordinate 

nfficialsjwlio  ought  not  to  combine  and  bargain  at  arm's  length  with  their 

aaployera  in  tho  osual  way.     If  there  is  any  such  opinion  abroad,  it 

m  well  be  that  it  ought  to  be  got   rid  of.      And   for  eti'ecting  this 

|MTp>*e-the  proper  instrument  is  a  Resolution  of  the  House  of  Commons 

"T»  Division  in  Committee  of  Supply.     On  the  balance  of  advantages 

\aii  disadvantages  it   is   probably  beat   that   the  Government  should 

'  W':iati>  with  the  Trade's  Unions  in  the  ordinary  way.      If  so,  there 

I* no  reason  why  the  hours  of  labour  in  its  employment  should  not  be 

nvtl/it<^d  in  the    customaiy  fashion,    the    great    employer   being,   if 

*««<»ry,  reminded    of  its  obligations   to   society  by  a  vote   of   the 

CotiiTiidns  who  control  it.      But  this  is  very  different  from  saying  that 

•icff  oijglit  to  be.  legislation,  or  that  the  privileges  of  Government 

• '' '11  "U  should  be  difierent  fix>m  those  of  other  workmen.     As  Mr. 

'       pointed  out  in  his  address  to  the  Eighty  Club,  the  tax-paying 

'  I  -ii  elsewhere  would,  were  this  to  be  so,  have  cause  to  complauu 

'    i,ey  were  paying  for  tlie  extra  comfort  of  their  fellow-labourers. 

n»CMa  of  the   Government  workman,  therefore,  no  more  than  that 

<fl|je  taiuer,  seems   to   fulfil   Mr.    Jevuns'   condition    that   no  other 

T^M)^  remedy  can  be    indicated  for   the  improvement   of  existing 

Ill  Tf  remains  a  third  instance,  which    has  been    prominently  put 

fiTwwd — that   of    railway    servants.       There   is   a    class    of    railway 

Kirant,  of  which  the  signalman  maybe  taken  as  a  type,  the  efliciency 

'  "'    li  k  of  great  moment  to  thw  public.     The  men  in  the  box  at  a 

ucdon  or  lenuinus  retjuire  to  be  constantly  on  the  ali*rt,  and 

n  w  acceseary  in  the  interest  of  the  public  that  they  should  be  so. 

la  tiiia  interest,   therefore,  it   is  *:|uite  proper  that  there   .should    be 

^l(n»l»tion  if  there  is  a  serious  evil  to  l)e  met.      The  principle  of  such 

!^l»tion  would,  however,  be  not  the  interest  of  the  men  themselves, 

■  ■'     proti'ction  of  those  who   travel   by  rail.     The  Unions,  which 

I  unoth'T  purpose,  do  nt>t  look  after  the  ]>ublic,  and  the  public 

Bait  therefore   protect    itself  in  tho    only   way    it  can.       Bat    in 

iwtaoc<^  wh«'rr  this  larger  interest  is  not  specially  concerned,  there  is 

wnvtton  to  suppotte  that  the  Unions  cannot  take  care  of  themselvea 

•"w«i  TTiui  ap^Mu-ently  the  general  sense  of  the  great  meeting  of  rail- 

*if  terrwits  which  met  to  consider  the  question  in  November  last  in 


218 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVfEfT. 


^ 


Ijoudon,  and  which  declared   that   low  wages  rather  than  the  exist^ioi 
hours  constituted  the  grievance  of  the  men.  < 

The  special   instances  cited  accordingly  appear  to  amount  to  v«?T 
little.      But  there  are  other  aud  positive  objections  to  anything  X -^ka 
the  propoaitions  put  forward  in  the   Fabian   Society's  Bill.     There      ^^ 
certain  textile  industriea  in  which  the  wbulesale  market  is  only  in       *^ 
active   condition    for    certain   niontha    of  the    year.       During  tls  ^^ 
months  large  wages  are  to  be  made,  and  high-orertime  pay  may       "{ 
earned  by  the  workman,  just  as  the  physician  or  barrister  may  e.^^*^ 
more  than  his  average  at  certain  periods  by  extra  work.      I  have  :*^*fl 
yet  met  the  workman  who  wished  to  abolish  the  special  opportunit>^^ 
of  this  period.      Here,   again,   the   Union  is  the  proper  authority^      M 
adjust  with  the  employer,  in  the  interests  of   its  members,  the  ter^x:*^ 
on  which  a   departure   is  to  be   temporarily  made  from  the  ordin^fcX^ 
conditions  of  employment.      Why  the   Home  Secretary  should,  unc3^ 
the  "  Trade  Option "  clause  of  the  Bill   in  question,    be  called   in    »-' 
the  instance"  of  a  conjectured  majority  as  a,dtiis  ex  machind  to  do  wha^  ■ 
organization  can  do,  not  only  naturally,  but  efficiently,  it  is  difficult  tc^ 
see.      The   knowledge   of  Mr.    Matthews     aud  his  inspectors    of   the^^ 
state   of  things  at  a  particular  season  in  mills  of  the  Border  Burgli*'-^ 
could  hardly,  on  the   most  favourable   supposition,  satisfy  the  hard- 
headed  workmen  of  the  district. 

There  is  no  evidence,  with  all  deference  to  those  who,  like  Mr.  Webb, 
assert  the  contrary,  that  the  majority  of  the  working-men  of  this 
country  desire  legislation  of  this  kind  for  themselves.  Sometimes  they 
desire  it  for  their  neighbours  under  a  mistaken  impression,  fostered 
by  the  advocate  of  certain  social  and  economical  opinions,  that 
their  neighbours  are  in  absolute  need  of  it.  It  ia  customary  to 
speak  of  the  "  labour  vote ''  as  though  it  rcpresenti^d  some  peculiar 
kind  of  opinion.  Mr.  W^ebb  and  his  colleagues  gently  threaten  the 
Liberal  party  with  it,  and  proceed  to  dress  up  in  electoral  statistics 
a  bogey  with  which  to  terrify  weak-kneed  politicians.  Until  the 
other  day  few  people  were  alive  to  the  import  of  their  proceedings, 
or  to  the  fact  that  the  House  of  Commona  was  rapidly  getting  into  a 
condition  in  which  a  large  number  of  it«  members  were  being  pledged 
to  support  an  Eight  Hours  Bill.  Only  one  side  of  the  case  was 
being  presented  to  the  candidate  or  the  sitting  member.  He  was 
asBored  at  his  meetings,  by  some  person  instigated  from  head-quarters 
in  London,  that  the  labour  vote  would  go  for  the  Bill,  and  that  if  he 
boggled  at  swallowing  the  entire  principle  he  must  at  least  swallow 
some  of  it — say  so  much  as  applied  to  miners'  or  t  Government  employ- 
ment. Much  alarmed,  and  hearing  nothing  of  the  other  side,  he  in 
many  cases  did  so.  Now,  the  average  elector  knows  no  more,  if  as 
much,  as  the  candidate.  Hearing  the  statement  that  such  a  BiJl  ought 
to  be  gone  for,  and  seeing  his  candidate  agree  to  it,  he  begins  to  think 


||RfHH  Ik  ^K  Vp  lOH  V]gaO  OB   tM  OthCT  WIK      AM  IbVI  tlM^ 


'  Am  0B  iaoicatioias  mat  tqi's  si.-uo  of  ilun<  i.h    ..^lltl^^u.• 

eipoaeate  of  those  opinions  on  otli<  .   ^  "   ^^twtU   'm<< 

witi  tie  working  clusoa,  8uch  iM  Mr.  Jnhn  Mt\H*y,  Mr** 
i,  Mr.  Laboacher©,  Mr.  Burt,  nml  Mr.  HnkAtllMo  t 
I mtced Btionglj  against  the  priuciplt*.  So  tVir  an  1  hn 
iaccenalD,  they  represent,  in  doing  so,  (ho  npiition  of  i\w  vnnf  niAjoi'lhy 
[iiibovnn  about  (fuir  oirn  tra(ft\  oxcviitlin^  pnHnilily  iii  IIim  rawc  of 
immera.  And  the  miners  are  not  itrily  ^hmiIIv  itivi*|i'i|,  Itiiti  id'  flu-ir 
«de  there  exists  the  peculiar  i-xplanfttiori  n!f«wly  liullcal-nd.  Mjr 
ODg belief  is,  that  when  thfcaHo  aKaiimt,  tin  I'ii^lii  lI'MirH  Hill  Itaii 
lasmoch  and  as  strongly  arg*^]  hh  han  i^otui  tlin  cann  Tmi'  )t,  (lie 
pI(5C0Qcemed  will  go  againit  it  by  an  ny^rvflwUnUin  rri^jrrritjr. 
iroold  imagine  from   the    currrnt    talk  that  th«   wrrV'  <> 

ahnosfe  witboot  exception  a  pimrnt  of  iM\uttf'  ntd 
[ineuaily  {mnoanoed  opiaiofM,     Notbing  ia  furtb'T  frrmi  )m]nf(  ifin 
•K,  M  those  who  hava  voiK  t/'    ' 


■Hknov.     Htf  » 


I 


Ib  £r«i  grtt^  Mv  Id  tfc« 
to«ehH«Mihai«»lfc 

Iksiufai  •»pBfir. 

EMtaoL   An  Mm 
»  nlk- b«  » <f^anr  ( 

■BrtHicdiMtlwSwaatBniih  ;^. 

c#ft«»hDai»df  laUfMB'. 

t&e  rb  wnfnr  i 

Starii.  .-  -ry  miiebi 

■a  rlar  tmllr  of  9  npnial 


#hw^  4IMi  ht  Uf  hfi 


m  9»  mn-''- 


fh  w\[\  wMfr  (Vy  \¥mf 


fftMii  difT  ifwMni^ 
Iff.  th«*  .Vfr.  Wrthh- 


'>  mill  Mil  acjon 

.act  flrind  in  polMeft     11U<^  t,, 

'Tf  oMiiy  'if  iii( 


.u; 


260 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[I 


theory  of  Collectivism  as  it  liaa  been  advocated  by  Marx  and  oti 
writers.     Now,  here  again  it  is  desirable  to  see  how  far  one  fit 
oneself    in    sympathy  with   Mr.  Webb.      We    may  think   that 
Collectivist  ideal  is  a  noble  one.     We  may  agree  that  we  ought 
possible,  to  make  capital  the  servant  instead  of  the  master  of  labc 
to  minimize  the  monopoly  of  capital  and  land,  and  to  seenre  a 
even  distribution  of  the  proceeds  of  industry.     The  aim  of  our  po' 
may  be  to  secure  equality  of   opportunity  for    all    alike ;  to  br 
down  the  az'tificial  barriers  of  class  distinction  ;  to  raise  the  stati 
labour,  and  to  remember  that,  as  politicians,  we  have  duties  of 
struction  as  well  as  of  destruction.      But  politicians  must  be  not  c^z^K^ 
idealists,   but  men  of  business.      In  other  words,  as  no  one  wo^^l:* 
more    readily  admit  than   Mr.   Webb,  they  must  bear  the  facte*         4 
human  nature  in   mind.      And   one   of   the   facts  of  human  na 
appears  to  me — and  here  also  I  think  ilr.  Webb  would  agree  with  m 
to  be,  that  you  cannot  do  all  this  at  a  stroke.      The  existing  order 
things  did  not  come  about  by  accident,  nor  yet  by  force  or  frau 
In  the  main,  it  is  the  result  of  tendencies   in   haman  nature  wf 
which  we  have  to  reckon.     It  may  be  that,  as  the  result  of  time  ar 
change,  these  tendencies  will  be  modified,  imd  that  we  shall  be  ab 
to  avoid  falling  into  slothfuSness  in  the  absence  of  the  greed  of  g 
with  its  good  as  well   as  its  bad  consequences,   of  the  stimulus 
iiction  which  it  supplies  to  the  plain  man,  as  well  as  of  the  seltishne 
which  it  engenders.      But  that  time  has  not  yet  come,  and  will  m 
come,  if  it  comes  at  all,  for  many  a  long   da}-.     And  until  it  doe*- 
come,  many  people  will  refuse  to  believe  in  experiments  the  object  of 
which  is  to  see  whether,  at  a  stroke,  the  new  order  of  things  c-annot  in 
certain  particulars  be  substituted  for  the  old.     The  point  in  an  Eight 
Hours  Act,  in  the  eyes  of  those  who  wish  to  substitute  a  socialist 
r^ime  in  place  of  that  vk'hich  at  present  exists,  is,  that  it  must  prob- 
ably, to  make  it  workable,  be  speedily  followed  by  statutory  regula- 
tion, not  only  of  wages,  but  of  the  general  relations  of  labour  and 
capital.     If  the  programme  be  accompanied  by  a  vigorous  campaign  in 
favour  of  land  nationalization,  there   will  then  be  every  prospect  of 
the  speedy  application  of  Collectivist  principles  to  capital  also.      Why 
not?  some  of  Mr.  Webb's   friends,  if  not  Mr.  Webb  himself,  will 
ask.      Simply  because  the  soil   is   far  from   being  prepared  for  tie 
reception  of  such  a  plant.      A  great   deal  must  happen,  and  a  great 
many  changes  take  place  in  the  opinions  and  motives  of  society,  before 
such  a  revolution  can  be  tried  without  the   prospect  of  immediate 
disaster.     It  is  all  very  well  to  advocate  Collectivist  ideals,  and  to  try  to 
incline  the  world  towards  them.     But  when  people  wish  to  introduce 
a  system  through   the  medium  of  measures  which  sigmfy  nothing 
in  practice,  if  they  do  not  signify  that  we  are  to  go  the  whole  way, 
the  matter  becomes  serious.     To  say  this  and  to  insist  on  it  is  to  do 


TBS  EIGHT  HOimS    QUESTIOX, 


wnog^to  the  ideals  tiiemselTes.     It  is  good  that  capital  (shoold  hm 

■nplr  t  OMatis  to  an  end,  the  instrament  of  tho  IfthoHrpr  wli»»n*vor 

i* practicable.      It  is  good  that  the  coramunity  should,  in  as  many 

Mare  consistent  with  the  public  well-being  and  oooTenipncp, 

tik*  means  of  production,  and  that  the  land,  which  muBt  always 

B  monopoly,  should   be.  where    this   can  be,  the  inonojKtly  of 

oommnnity  rather  than  of  the  individual.      Let  us,  then,  while 

iwpecting  existing  rights  of  property  which   cannot  \w   set   aside 

we  are  in  a  pjosition  also  to  set  aside  mucli  more,  take  such 

M  we  can  in  the  desdred  direction,  but  take  them  with  a  <ln« 

to  practical    possibilities.     Let   us  by  all   jnenna  fost-er   and 

ft  Collectivist  policy  wherever  the  world  is  rejuly  for  it.    Itut. 

Bot  let  ns  push  the  principle  into  operation  where  the  world  in  not 

ly  for  it,  and  where  its  adoption  can  only  lead  to  its  own  discredit. 

As  thugs  now  go,  the  tendencies  ai*e  all   in  t}ii>  direction'of  labour 

ig  B  much  larger  share  of  those  fruits  of  industry  which  are, 

oust  for  long  continue  to  be,  divided  between   it  and  capitnl, 

W  in  the  past  been  the  case.      Not  only  is  the  rate  of  interest 

'"?,  but  the  standard  of  wages  and  of  the  comfort  of  the  labourer 

'  '"!£:.     At  present  only  a  small   percentage  of  the  workers  of  the 

lielong  bo  any  combination  powerful  enrnigb  to  hold   its  own 

j'rocees  of  negotiating  with  the  capitalist  employer.      But  the 

aaiicarioos  are  that  the  capacity  to  combine  is  a  growing  one.     With 

•tended  political  power  and   with   a  eon.stanfly   growing  nmtiiint  of 

ifSpatby  directed  towards  his  position,  there  would  appear  to   bo  no 

Bout  to  the  extent  to  which  the   status    and    powfT   of  the  labounT 

■If  rise. 

,  a  formidable  objection  to  an  Eight  Hours  Hill  is  that  it  taken 
ODe  of  the  chief  motives  for  combination.  The  force  of  this 
was  very  apparent  in  the  cajje  already  referred  to  of  the 
miaerB,  As  the  agitation  for  legislation  gained  in  strength, 
ityand  influence  of  tie  Unions  diminished.  At  one  Union 
ng  At  which  I  was  present,  it  was  ^nth  great  difficulty  that  the 
amU  be  got  to  continue  the  appointment  of  the  collector  of 
H  caDtzibations.  This  state  of  things  has  been  in  part,  removed 
hf  tike  AMKMint  of  business  which  the  associations  have  had  ta  do  of 
IB  arsanging  a  proportionate  rise  in  wages  as  prices  have  risen, 
Uw  iaICRSI  of  the  members  in  their  combination  has  distinctly 
But  the  decline  of  enthusiasm  and  the  causes  of  its  revival 
I  object  lesson.  If  the  Unions  are  to  be  kept  in  an 
they  most  be  left  plenty  to  do,  and  if  we  remove 
*■■  tkea  the  roiponsibility  of  seeing  to  the  adjustment  of  hours, 
F**  •*  tkrir  bread  of  life  will  have  been  taken  from  them.  It  is  surely 
bi*^  the  peiot  to  nrge  against  this  conclusion,  as  does  Mr.  Weblji, 
^  fc*  rf  tbe  deinelopment  of  the  Union  principle  notwithstanding 


252 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


frFxi 


the  passing  of  the  Factory  Acte.    Those  conditions   of  male  »( 
labour  which  were  regulated  under  the  Consolidation   Statute  of  I 
were  matbera  which  never  had   been    and  never  could  be  efficie: 
dealt  with  by  any  ordinary  combination.     They   relate   not  to 
comprehended  subjects,  such  as  hours  of  labour  and  rates  of  wi 
but  to  standards  of  efficiency  in  mechanical  arrangements  and  8anit>a^ 
provisions,  often  of  a  highly  technical  character,  and   almost  alw«j5t 
requLiing  the  investigation  and  criticism  of  the  trained  intellect  o:£" 
professional  inspector.      Such  legislatiou  was  needed,  because  the  F»xx 
pose  for  which  it  was  wanted  could  not  be  effected  in  any  other  way. 
It  will  be  apparent  why  I  do  not  propose  to  follow  Mr.  Webb 
a  discussion  of  the  effect  on  prices  and  inteniational  trade  of  an  EL 
Hours  Bill.      If  such  legislation  implies,  and  will   by  degrees  eflT^'Cfc 
results   which  it  does  not  enact,  it   is  impossible  to  ascertain  viritl 
certainty  the  conditions  of  the  problem  to  be  answered.     Could  srx  d 
u  Bill  pass  without  more  passing  with  it,  I  am  disposed,  as  far  a^  4 
can  find  materials  for  judgment,  to  agree  with  Mr.  Webb  in  think Laof 
that  the  change  would  not  have  much  consequence  in  the  regio  ^*^[ 
under  discussion.     In   the    mining  industry,  for   example,  it  woi*    ^' 
probably  have  no   effect  at   all,  since  it  would   effect  no   substant*-   * 
change.      In  some  industries  of  a  textile  character,  where  the  forei^*^ 
market  exists  only  for  a  brief  period,  and   is  of  a   character  whi<^*^ 
cannot  be  seen  ahead,  it  might  produce  much  disturbance.      But  i-^^. 
the  majority  of  cases  it  is  common   ground  between  Mr.  Webb  anc:^ 
those  who  desire   the    shortening  of  the  existing  hours  by  bargaii^^ 
between  employer   and   employed,  that  increased   energy  and  inteUi— ' 
gence    would    probably  compensate    for   shortened    hours.     Yet  th^ 
very  difficulty  of  prophesying  as  to  the  future  makes  it  additionally 
undesirable  that  we  should  tie  the  hands  of  our  industrial  community 
in    any    hard-and-fast    fashion.      In    some   parts,   at  all   events,   of 
Australia  there  is  a  general  eight  hours  rule.      But  its  existence  baa, 
from    al!    accounts,    been    established    exclusively    by    combination. 
Besides  this,  Australia  is   a  young  country,  where  the  materials   of 
production  abound,  and  where  labour  natui'ally  commands  a  high  price, 
which  is  not  limited  by  the  uarrowf  r  margins  of  protit  in  the  opera- 
tions of  production  which  obtain  in  an  older  community.     As  regards 
the  operation  in  our  own  country  of  the  proixvsed  legislation,  we  are 
left,  so  far  as  experience  is  concerned,  practically  in  the  dark.      Why, 
then,  should  we  take  a  leap  which  may  land  us  we  know  not  where  ? 
The  working  classes  have  not  only  not  made  up  their  minds  in  favour 
of  such  legislation,  but  of  those  of  them  who  have  thought  about  it 
at  all  probably  the  majority  are  against  it.     No  necessity  for  it  has 
been  shown.      On  the  contrary,  the   evidence  is  conclusive   that  the 
desired  result  can  be  effected  by  combination.      And,  lastly,  we  cannot 
justify  it  on  the  ground  of  our  intention  of   treating  it  as  the  first 


il^J  TBB  EIGHT  HOlltS   QCRSTiOSs  ^>» 

itep  tonrds  a  statntoiy  regulation  of  waow, «'  noc  tKo  xV»m|iIo(o  vv.Ax't- 
nent  17  Puliament  of  a  Coliectirist  onlor  of  thii\c>,  TUU  (»<«(  vri^\ 
2M  rflookiiig  at  the  question  I  believe  to  Iv  tho  rt^  j^ixmuu)  wt  Un 
popularity  with  the  more  clear-headed  of  its  u|t)vt^-  tuul  utiddio  oinw. 
idrocates.  And  they  know  that,  if  it  is  even  8tat<HK  nl  lonNt  lintC  \\\' 
fleeuy-going  politicians  who  support  tho  pn^]HK<titu>ii  on  Iht^  ^imuiuI 
tbttlieir  constituents  wish  them  to  do  so,  will  W  iVi^ldonrd  tiwnv 

Bat  if  the  case  for  the  Bill  can  not  bo  HU8t«inod,  il  rollnwn,  iVnm 
tlieiiilare  of  the  subject,  that  the  case  against  itoan.  To  piiHn  tlm  Mill 
vodd  be  to  make  a  new  precedent.      Now  pn>ciMloiil.H  oii^lil.  iml.  thii 
In  freely  to  be  made  when  needed  merely  IiKcauHo  tlmy  nm  imw, 
lit  this  one  is  something  more  than  now.    Jt  in  iiiiHuliinvoiiH,  if  Uirwi' 
hi  any  force  in  the  considerations  of  fact  wliicli  hiivn  ulri'iuly   li^nn 
■ged.    One  of  the  political  tendencicH  of  tho  day  in  t^o  iiiMiiriin  iliui. 
vsdj  because  a  matter  touches  th';  af&irN  of  thit  working/  rluQeiN. 
tt^  akme  must  be  the  depositorif-s  of  wixdorn  ni)inil  il,.      Now,  ikiI, 
9ij  is  this  doctrine  new,  not  only  has  it  \ii-An  n-.innUtiU'A   \ty  I  Untn-. 
^We  in  the  past  most  completely  ftnloy-A   i},*:  rj,u\'u\ntin'  i,\ 
*cridng-men,  but  it  is  without:  foandati^n  in  ftu^..     A^  wrll  tt,iifhi 
way  that  because  the  Com  Law*  txriCfrrififi  t.h".  lhr,flU(tii  ':l;i«-9,  it,f. 
tfom.  of  that  clasa  as  to  tL>:>  4>r>!>,ir>n  ^^^yKr  f//   >.Ar<:   t-rf\t"\ 
odosTe  oousideTaQr.u.     Tbt  yTirxrlz,,.-^  ',i  r.v:  y..'^.\  H'r.rx  i'n.:  *^'l 
other  labour  propoBri.:!*  'xtxwz.  *tA  rr.yr.r:..\:.*.j  xt,  .stc/;-.  ^v^.  m  <!.:t.\t 
■  did  th*  Com.  Lapr*,     B-i*   "i*.i*   t -'•v.  .'.y-r/.^r.    *.'.orr.'.  wt-,  r-v*  'i'*,  .'./z 
iBBept  the  dairn.  waich  it  tJi^r-^'-'^i  '.n  *(".«.•  '^.f.xt:'   \f-,«cf.  ,v.^'-'.  ">.'. 
hive  dacuassd  :itt»>e  vitwrxr.r^H  T-.rn  -ii»*Mi  r.'.iv«-  'i-.^i-  v..-  -iui  .•/.A/.-.-^y 
fed  tia>si»:lT'>s  ac  ffia  i~»".n  ":ii»ni.   im'    wir  i-.i*    -.'.:'.-.»•  vi*-.'i«',r-.    ,-.j+^-</;    / 
nftrrng  ^.     If  :&fi^  oa*:"*   ut"  '.ni.Tw.nfi     ;t«»-;  vi*.*    m  *  *i«>    v»«*«/',  v. 
de  !«7pca!C  -gyrtigc*   um    :i**ftii    .t'   Ji-im«    .v*/:!*    .tr.py     mr.     h.-- 
o*n.    Wiar  "aw^  suih:  T"UTr  .';.  "ik  lav*  '^w  vwi»»  -.n   v^^n  mU't  o*/  i*vj 
obL  E  opser  riu:  riii«7  naf  j«*f   n&ifrrjmi;,  4V  »  v.-ior.n       ami    ^'»»'-- 

flii  hac  Seo  UiUl^.  "il**^    vil    j:*-..    u-    >.    I<-r»:MAn   «»    •tmstlJi-    .1.   rti-;    ••• 

CObU  brCK' T^  XHT  Trim,  uir    •.^:.--r'   »<*?./.'.     ■>'     :.,•    .-.i^:,  r-.i,>         K-.f    >**. 

a  3iir  amni"  i   •.*-»*?'    ■.•.»••    ii./i    t.^    .sit-.»    ,.-     \-, *'.'.'. f ^i'> r  f.   '•  <■ 

i  at   €USI.         '.r.:     ii-Lf'.:.^--:-.     ;     i      ■■•      i       kt      ,       :.i-      ..'.-(■  /*.      t 

mit  ir— Tswr.ir;;:    s :  ..>r>r     t..-'    ■    ;-.-.-.     .-i     .-•.    r,.,..t  >.- 
r.      I    timiir    T:;.srJ:.>r     .:..      !.i.i\^     .-..-■,.     •.-/•r.,..:.  .^.■.-«  --» 


♦  .-'*-     * 


264 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


the  least  favourable  circumstances,  against  a  great  aud  powe 
capitalist  organization,  has  strengthened  the  hands  of  the  oppoui 
of  an  Eight  Hours  Bill  more  than  anything  which  has  happened  f^ 

many  a  long  day.  If  so  much  could  be  done  by  the  poorest  workM^^sa 
enfeebled  by  their  poverty,  possessing  at  the  outset,  as  the  story  of  — th 
movement,  as  we  now  know  it,  shows,  no  real  organization,  pre»>  sai 
from  outside  by  competitors  for  their  places,  and  devoid  alike  of  ~*1m 
high  average  of  intelligence,  and  the  accumulated  resources  which  h_  avt 
enabled  other  combinations  to  succeed,  how  much  more  may  nob  2>* 
done  when  the  conditions  are  favourable  to  the  labourer!  Pul»/i^ 
sympathy  is  increasingly  with  hira.  The  extension  of  the  franchi^^ 
has  brought  with  it  a  far  greater  attention  to  his  case  from  bot-^* 
political  parties.  We  appear  to  be  approaching  a  time  when  it  wi^ 
no  longer  be  endured  that  labour  should  continue  to  be  dealt  mth 
a  commodity  to  be  bought  in  the  cheapest  market,  and  used  for  th^ 
purposes  of  the  dearest,  without  regai-d  to  the  results  to  the  labourer. 
High  profits  and  low  wages  are  no  longer  allowed  to  go  freely  hand 
in  hand.  The  improvement  which  has,  beyond  reasonable  question, 
taken  place  in  the  past,  in  the  status  of  those  who  work  with  their 
hands,  ahow^s  signs,  not  of  abating,  but  of  largely  increasing  its  rate 
of  progress.  It  may  be  that  the  Collectivist  ideal  of  Marx  and 
Schaeffle  will  never  be  realized,  but  at  least  it  promises  to  continue 
an  asymptotic  limit  towards  which  we  shall  ever  be  moving,  along  a 
line  to  which  no  end  can  be  assigned.  But  be  it  observed,  that  it  is 
not  through  interference  from  without  that  the  worker  has  progressed 
thus  far.  It  is  by  the  growth  of  his  own  intelligence,  and  by  a  more 
determined  reliance  on  himself.  It  has  been  said,  that  the  curse  of 
the  poor  is  their  poverty.  It  would  be  e<iually  little  a  truism  to  say, 
that  they  begin  to  be  well  oiF  when  they  cease  to  be  badly  off.  Then, 
for  the  first  time,  do  they  divert  their  attention  from  the  immediate 
necessities  of  their  miserable  condition,  and  gain  the  spirit  and 
resolution  which  the  eflbrt  to  raise  themselves  in  the  social  scale 
requires.  And  it  could  be  shown,  were  this  the  place  to  show  it, 
that  the  analogous  rise  of  the  middle  classes  to  equality  of  opportu- 
nity with  the  higher  has  takeu  place  along  similar  lines. 

Few  things  are  more  striking  than  the  rapid  increase  of  sympathy 
in  this  country  with  the  Collectivist  point  of  view.  We  feel  it  in  our 
pulpits  as  well  as  on  our  platforms,  and  it  is  thrust  on  us  in  oar 
literature  as  well  as  in  our  daily  Press,  The  fact  is  one  to  be 
recognized  and  not  deplored.  Such  sympathies  can  hardly  fail  to 
do  good,  and  gradually  to  bring  about  not  only  beneficial  changes  in 
our  laws,  but  higher  conceptions  of  the  duties  of  property.  What  we 
have  to  resist  is,  not  the  tendency  and  the  standard  which  is  being 
Bet  up,  but  the  desire  of  the  hotter  heads  to  accomplish  in  a  short 
time  wKat  can  only  be  the  result  of  a  slow  change.    Nothing  annoys  the 


iHb] 


THE   EIGHT  HOURS   QUESTION. 


965 


sitrMocialist  party  in  tliis  country   more  than  to  be  told  that  their 

9*m,  if  carried  at  once  into  effect,  would  import  a  fresh  divide  up 

a  Ae  iuunediate  future.      But  if  the  change  were  made  suddenly, 

ttd  wifboat  a  corresponding  change  in   human  nature,  surely  oxpuri- 

«B0?  teaches  us  that  the  criticism  is  a  just  one.    The  French  Revolution 

Wftiined,  for  this  very  reason,  a  negative  movement,  and  was  attended 

with  many  failures.      The  world  was  not  ready  for  1  lie  only  ciuiHtruc- 

1m  ide«5  which  its  later  leaders  had  in  their  minds.      Ijot  UB  not 

btjiei  the  lesson.      The  growing  demand  for  better  distribution  will 

■Mt  its  reeponse  outside  the  House  of  Commons,  and  will  op»^raUi  by 

ihng^  the  material  on  which  that  body  has  to  work.      But  that 

liiciiiil  cannot  be  changed    by  Acts    of  Parliament,   and  while  it 

Mttins  unaltered  the  duty  of  the  people's  men  of  business   is   to 

icoognixe  the  fact. 

Sm  history  of  the  world,  and  not  lea.st  that  of  our  own  country, 

that  time   may  bring  about  the   greatest  changes,  and   bring 

ikm  about  by  the  gentled   means.     It  may   I>e  that   failure    and 

^B^ipoiotment  would  be  t2>e  ooBseqoenoee  of  an  Eight  Hours  Act,  or  of 

IbinuDediate  inttx^duction  of  a  ColIecthriBt  systeia.    But  it  does  not 

Mow.  becaim  such  a  policy  will  not  saoceed,  that  the  order  of  things 

i^SBBitwhioiiitisdiret^ed  will  renuua,  merely  by  reaooti  ClMt  tiie  polkgr 

4Bnoi  reeerwd  eSett.    There  warn  %  peood  in  wkidi  the  eoo&tvjr  wm 

tfadad  with  diaeaaNoas  on  the  mantitr  of  cnttiiig  off  the  bead*  of 

^■fL    Thne  has  oome  •  period  wben  me  aak  oanHirea  «^ether  WB 

iMdnot  fay  BOBB  atarafce  get  lid  of  that  nonopoiy  of  the  naaaaaf 

iniactMo  whidt,  at  erezr  tarn,  oottfrenia  the  laboarar  in  the  atnggle 

to  mae>  hia  cwnHitkai.     Ike  dmrnmi/mm  Wve  oeaaed  ia  A»  §aft  «Mt> 

Ihe  poiai  ia  no  loagg  •  laartiaal  one.     Aad  ao  it  aagr  be  wiA  IIm 

■^  yet  he  Bo  wtiMtMly  te 
the  otkfv  the  ehawe  Mr  « 


and 


S.  B.  HaiJmw^ 


flbattihwartiiiFwti 
^Qtmt  Britain  hw 


«rl^lliel 


K  to  be 


»4r<ke 


<ftfca».aty< 


viti  ai« 


It    h,   4i 

iletlae< 


>4H.^^ 


PHILOSOPHICAL   BUDDHISM   IN   TIBE^ 


THEY  who  may  have  gathered  their  notions  of  Buddhism  from 
Sir  Edwin  Arnold,  or  from  the  Esoteric  ecstasies  of  a  Theosophist 
novel,  would  hardly  recognize  their  romantic  faith,  we  fear,  when 
observed  in  that  vulgar  field  of  operation — daily  life  and  practice. 
In  the  sacred  land  of  this  religion,  in  Tibet,  both  the  philosopher  and 
the  ploughnaan  are  to  be  met  with,  equally  earnest  in  their  respective 
patha  of  the  "  Doctrine  '* ;  but,  alas  !  nothing  in  their  faith  or  doings 
seeiuB  to  correspond  with  the  ideas  we  had  preconceived  upon  the 
subject.  The  creed,  which  we  were  told  had  succeeded  in  marrying 
Science  to  both  Mysticism  and  Poetry,  appears  before  us  in  its  coarse 
particulars.  The  philosopher  is  found  to  be  a  most  uiiwashen  and 
most  uniwetical  idler,  who  has  never  put  the  same  interpretation  on 
the  doctrinal  phrases  of  his  books  wliich  his  English  admirers  have 
painfully  attached  to  them.  The  ploughman,  too,  is  a  most  obstinate 
pagan,  who  has  heard,  in  truth,  of  the  great  Kyapgon  and  the  goddess 
Dolma,  but  knows  nothing  of  Shakya-muni  or  Nirvana  or  karmn. 
If  you  were  to  broach  to  them  the  theories  of  Esoteric  Buddhism, 
both  would  certainly  declare  that  the  Kueho  was  a  monstrous  learned 
gentleman,  but  his  notions  seemed  to  be  neither  those  of  the  lx>oks 
nor  those  of  daily  observance. 

Nevertheless,  the  Tibetan  form  of  Buddhism  oomes  direct  from 
ancient  India,  and  may  claini  to  be  as  deeply  philosophic  as  when  it 
was  taught  and  preached  in  Prakrit  vernaculars  in  Magadha  and 
Pitalipura.  In  Tibet,  more  minds,  more  lives,  more  money,  more 
ceremonial,  more  book-learning  and  book-writing,  are  devoted  to  the 
study  and  service  of  Buddhism— nay,  infinitely  more — than  in  any 
other  country  at  the  present  day.  Yet  it  may,  without  hesitation,  be 
roundly  asserted  that  the  Buddhism  of  moat  modern  European  writers 


J 


i«93]        PHILOSOPHICAL  BUDDHISM  IN  TIBET. 


257 


CO  the  subject  is  not  the  Buddhism,  past  or  present,  of  Tibet — nor, 
indeed,  of  any  other  Eastern  land.* 


How  THE  Doctrines  wehe  Bevealed. 

All  the  teaching  and  precepts  of  his  religion  are  comprehended  by 
tli«  Tibetan  Buddhist  under  the  inclusive  term  Cnnos  (pronounced  as 
It  IS  spelt  in  Ladak,  but  in  other  parts  of  Tibet  sounded  more  like 
«*^).    But  how  was  this  Chhos  lirst  revealed  to  mankind  ?     Tlie 
ronoeptiou  of  the  early  propounders  of  the  faith  seems  to  have  been 
lliat  their  reli^on  was  an  entirely  new  thing,  first  made  known  almost 
ui  their  owti  time  by  Buddha  Shakya-t'ubpa,  ■who,  according  to  received 
chronolog)',  probably  lived  circa  350  B.C.     However,  when  treatises 
CO  the  subject  came   to  be  elaborated   in   the   early   centuries    after 
Christ,  the  Oriental  love  for  piling  up  the  ages  and  dating  everything 
from  infinity  to  infinity  had  to  be  gratified.     So  the  Chhos  revealed 
bv  Sliakya-t'ubpa  was  averred  to  be  new  only  as  regards  the  present 
Mpa  or  age  in  which  we  are  now  living.     Kalpas  or  ages  innumerable, 
of  varying  lengths,  but  mostly  lasting  eight  to  ten  thousand  years,  had 
codored  and  passed  awa}'  before  the  present  era  set   in.     Now,  in 
«ach  of  the  three  ages  previous  to  our  own,  it  was  taught  that  a 
different  Buddha  appeared,  and  instructed  mankind  then  existent,  and, 
imleetl,  all  living  creatures,  in  those  self-same  doctrines  which  Shakya- 
J'ubpa  had  revealed  in  the  current  period.    Later  writers,  however, 
did  not  stop  here  ;  but  were  fain  to  carry  the  date  of  the  first  appear- 
ance of  a  Buddha  on  earth  back  to  earlier  times  still.  They  assigned 
omilar  teachers,   therefore,  to  the   three   epochs  preceding  the  last 
X\iTw ;  and  thus  declared  Shakya-t'ubpa  himself  to  be  the  seventh  of 
the  earthly    Buddhas.     Meditoval   mysticism,   nevertheless,    was  not 
contented  with  these,  and  has  enlarged  the  number  to  1000,  inventing 
names  for   each  one  of  them,     Many  of  these,  however,  have  yet  to 
i^ipear.      But  all  the  systems  agree  in  teaching  that  at  least  one  other 
Baddha  has  in  any  case  now  to  come,  who  will  complete  the  revelar 
tion  of  Chhoe  made  by  his  predecessors.     The  doctrine  of  the  Buddha 
to  oome    is   not    found  in  religious   books   written  previous   to  the 
■erenth   century   A.D.     His  name  in   Sanskrit  works   is  Maitreya ; 
and  by  Tibetans  he  is  styled  Jhampa  {Biiamspa\  "  The  Loving  One," 
In  the  temples  and  monasteries  of  Tibet  we  find  frequently  effigies 
•nd  paintings   of    the   seven   human   Buddhas,     However,   we   may 
Kmark  that  the  term  "  Buddha "  is  hardly  known   in  Tibet,  and 

*  We  mnat  except  from  our  sweeping  statement  the  Bnddliists  of  Ceylon,  who. 
Ilhnkily  enmigh,  in  recent  years,  have  permitted  EnropeanH  to  Te-tGach  them  tbcir  old 
ilBD  itt  lu  newly  developed  form  a»  interpreted  by  Christianized  modes  of  thought. 
Ibtj  }Mra  ago  the  ^Sinhalese  priesthood  were  intensely  illiterate;  but  prcBently 
luOpCMIl  M^iarship  broaght  about  u  revival  of  Icaminiz'  in  native  circles.  However. 
Ikt  Vaddliism  now  imbibed  was  really  a  foreign  importation — the  product  of  the 
i^ianknu  (pecnUtiona  and  mitdnt-crpTetationiJ  of  European  students. 


258 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Ytu. 


never  used  by  the  populacp,  Sang-gye,  Chomdende,  or  Chowo 
Rimiwclihi!,  being  the  colltxjuial  names  carrent.  Sang-gye  ("  The 
Increase  of  Purity")  ia  the  correct  apppUation  ;  and  the  Tibetan 
names  of  the  seven  Sang-gye  are  : 

I.   Bnam-par  Gzigs  :  "  He  who  saw  through  and  through." 
II.   Gtsug-tor-chan  :  "  He  who  had  a  crest  of  fire." 
;in.  Tams-chad  Skj-ob  :  "  The  Preserver  of  All." 
rV.   Kor-bn  Jig  :  "  The  Dissolver  of  the  Ronnd  of  Life." 
V.  Gser-t  ub  :  "  Golden  Might." 
VI.   Od  Srnng  :  "  The  Guardian  of  Light." 
Vn.   Shakya-t'ubpa  :   "  The  Mighty  Shakya." 

The  Age  of  Literary  Buddhism. 

One  commonplace  error  deeerves  here  si>ecial  mention.  People 
have  been  deluded  into  assuming  most  exaggerated  notions  con- 
cerning the  antiquity  of  Buddhism.  Certain  of  its  leading  doctrines 
are  indeed  ver)-  ancient ;  but  they  were  borrowed  from  Bralmiinism, 
which  was  itself  but  an  Oriental  variety  of  the  speculative  meta- 
physics of  Greece  and  Egypt.  Buddhism  in  its  developed  form,  as 
it  is  presented  to  ns  in  its  sacred  treatises,  is  really  comparatively 
modern.  Professor  Max  Miiller,  a  decided  partisan,  frankly  admits 
that  the  art  of  writing  waa  not  introduced  iuto  India  at  least  until  the 
first  century  before  the  Christian  era.  The  earliest  lucubrations 
never  pretended  to  detailing  anything  like  a  statement  of  facts  in  the 
life  of  an  individual  founder  of  the  Buddhist  faith.  It  was  only 
gradually  that  the  lay  figTires,  upon  whom  the  philosophy  of  the 
system  had  been  draped,  were  put  forward  in  books  which  certainly 
were  written  after  the  Christian  era  had  opened.  The.se  figures  were 
by  degrees  merged  into  one  pre-eminent  personality — the  Shakya- 
mnni,  whose  life  is  portrayed  with  a  certain  amount  of  fitful  detail  in 
such  works  as  the  Lalita  Vistara  and  Abhinishkramana. 


Brief  Biography  of  the  Last  Buddha. 

The  Tibetan  canon,  following  similar  statements  in  Chinese  works, 
seenus  to  make  the  last  Buddha  a  contemporary  with  King  Aaoka, 
who  flourished  circa  240  13. r.  At  any  rate  (in  Kangyur,  §  Mdo, 
book  xxviii.)  that  king,  as  a  lad,  is  made  to  meet  Buddha  in  his  earthly 
existence  begging  alms  in  the  mendicant  capacity.  We  need  not, 
however,  emphasize  this  point,  as  most  of  onr  schemes  of  Indian 
chronology  are  the  result  of  pure  speculation,  and  rest  on  data  derived 
from  Indian  authors,  who  are  proverbially  destitute  of  the  chronological 
faculty.* 

*  Even  King  Asokii's  date,  as  supposed  to  be  fbced  br  the  inscription  on  the  jVlla- 
babad  Column,  ia  not  beyond  suspicion.  There  wo  read  what  are  alleged  to  be  the  Pali 
Domes  of  certain  contemporaries  of  Anoka ;  but  these  Pali  synonvm.s  are  only  genedc, 
not indiviilaa,},  and  might  apply  to  later  monarchs  with  the  aame  dynastic  names. 


4%] 


PHILOSOPHICAL  BUDDHISM  IN  TIBET. 


259 


The  family  name  of  this  Buddha  of  oar  own  age  was  Gaatama,  the 
name  by  which  he  ia  commonly  known  in  Burmah  at  the  present  day  ; 
and  his  personal  name  was  Don-dub  (Sanskrit,  Siddharta).     However, 
belonging,  as  he  did,  to  the  royal  race  of  the  Shakyas,  his  usual  desig- 
nation is  that  of  Shaky a-t'ubpa  (Sanskrit,  Shakya-muni),  or  Shakya  the 
Mighty.     In  his  human  capacity  he  was  the  son  of  one  Za-tsang-ma, 
King  of  Kosala,  and  of  Gyu-t'ulraa,  his  wife.      He  was  bom  in  the 
province  of  Oude  in  North  India,  at  the  city  of  Serkyd-i-dong  (Sanskrit, 
Kapihirastu).     The  elaborate  legends  of  later  writers,  however,  aver 
his  conception   in    his   mother   to    have    taken    place    through    the 
nuracnloua  entry  into  her  side  of  a  six-bodied  elephant !    The  mother 
having  died  in  child-bed,  the  young  prince's  early  education  was  con- 
ducted by  his  annt,  who  likewise  acted  as  his  wet-nurse.    In  due  time 
he  had  bestowed  upon  him  a  wife,  whose  name  was  Sa-ts'oma;  and 
presently  he  thought  fit  to  take  unto  himself  a  second  spouse,  bearing 
thp  name  of  llag-dzinraa.     A  son  was  bom  to  him,  who  received  the 
appellation  of  Da-chen-dzin  (Sanskrit,  Rahula) ;  and  all  things  prospered 
with  the  young  father,  as  became  a  prince  full  of  power  and  pleasant 
oocnpation.      He  devoted  himself  both  to  gaiety  and  to  royal  sports ; 
bat  every  now  and  again  problems  concerning  the  object  and  miseries 
cf  human  life  obtruded  themselves  on  his  mind.      At  length  an  aged 
Brahmin  who  haunted  the  palace-grounds  began  to  instruct  him  in 
iJie  seeming  realities  of  life,  the  illusion  of  all  around  him,  and  the 
port  which   he  was  destined  to  play   in   the  destiny  of  human  affairs. 
Finally,  "having  visited   a   \'ill8ge  of  jxiverty-stricken  labourers,   and 
noticed  how  wretched  was  their  existence   from  birth   to  death,  be 
resolved  to    abandon    home  and  wife  in  search    of  the  truth.     He 
quitted  his  father's  palace,  and  spent  years  in  wandering  and  meditation. 
And  thus,  to  shorten  the  story,  he  at  length,  after  trial  of  various 
pkaaes  of  asceticism  and  social  communion,  arrived  at  full  knowledge 
of  the  Cbhos,   and  conquered  forthwith  every  desire   for  existence. 
Bebg  then    deemed    completely  victorious,  he   became    Chomdende 
(Bhagavan),  and  practicaLy  fitted    for    Nirvana.       Next,  so    far  as 
caa  be  gathered  from  many  confused  narratives,  the  hero  frequented 
nriinia  set    localities,  which   he  turned  into    his  preaching    places. 
One  place  wis  styled  the  Vulture's  Peak,  another  was  the  pleasure- 
ffirdcn  of  a  king  whom  he  had  converted,  and  so  on.      His  sermons 
*•«♦  chiefly  anecdotes  of  former  Buddhas,  with  expositions  of  right 
^bought  and  doctrine.      Most  certainly,   however,  not  one-hundredth 
pwt  of  what  is  ascribed  to  Buddha's  personal  utterance  and  regulation 
»»»  ever  delivered  by  the  hero  himself.     All  the  later  writers,  com- 
poiiag  treatises  five  hundred  years  and   more  after  his  demise,  put 
tfceir  effusions  and  speculations  as  proceeding  from  the  very  mouth  of 
Boddba.    In  the  end  Shakya-t'ubpa  retires  to  Kamampa  in  Assam, 
te  '  ■.:.d  by  thousands  of  followers,  dies  of  spinal  disease  under  a 

ps  i  rcffi.     Thus  he  enters  Nirvana. 


260 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Feb. 


The  T^VELVE  Actions  or  Characteristics  of  a  Buddha  in  the 

Flesh. 

1.  Descending  from  the  region  of  Dewachen, 

2.  Conception  in  the  womb, 

3.  Birth  from  haman  mother. 

4.  Exhibition  of  physical  skill. 

5.  Marriage  and  conjugal  diversion. 

6.  Belinquishment  of  family  ties. 

7.  Penitential  and  ascetic  exercises. 

8.  Conquering  the  demons. 

9.  Emerging  to  be  Baddha. 

10.  Preaching  100,000  sermons. 

11.  Dying  a  calm  and  natural  death. 

12.  Deposition  of  body  in  various  parcels  as  holy  relics. 
Sometimes  these  characteristics  are  expanded,  or  rather  sub-divided," 

into  an  enumeration  of  125  fin-le,  or  acts. 


Metensomatosis. 
the  hog the  tape-worm — the  crocodile, 

There  can  be  no  proper  appreciation  of  the  elaborate  fabric  into 
which  the  dogmas  of  Buddhism  have  been  built  up  unless  it  be 
remembered  that  one  fundamental  doctrine  underlies  their  vfhole 
position.  The  whole  rosts  upon  a  thorougli  acceptance  of  the  doctrine 
of  the  transmigration  of  souls  from  body  to  body.  Moreover,  in 
holding  tliis  principle,  Buddhism  asserts,  at  the  same  time,  another 
axiom — that  between  the  souls  of  man  and  the  lower  animals  there  is 
no  essential  distinction,  except  perhaps  a  generic  one,  th«  body  being 
merely  the  temporary  lodging-house  of  the  soul.  Buddha's  offer  of  a 
way  of  escape  from  the  misery  of  life  is  expressly  made  to  "  all  living 
creatures,"  not  to  human  beings  alone.  Such  a  principle  naturally 
follows  from  the  transmigration  theorj' ;  and  iu  this  the  Buddhist  is 
more  logical  than  the  Hindu,  from  whom  he  has  borrowed  the  idea. 
To  him — in  doctrine,  if  not  in  practice — the  lowest  form  of  animal  life 
is  sacred. 

When  a  person  dies,  the  aura  of  his  merits  and  demerits,  acting 
one  against  the  other,  has  naturally  moulded  his  soul  into  a  karnia, 
which  requires  to  be  re-born  into  carnal  existence,  accompanied  by  a 
body  properly  suited  to  the  worth  and  the  wants  of  such  karma. 
The  hirma  (or  las,  as  it  is  termed  in  Tibetan)  is,  therefore j  the  psychic 
development  naturally  ensuing  from  a  man's  actions  and  thoughts. 
Moreover,  the  body  proper  to  such  new  development  of  soul  is  not 
only  that  which  the  soul  has  fairly  earned  in  its  last-terminated  career, 
but  is  even  (he  only  vuderial  form  in  which  such  a  soul  so  shaped 
amid  make  itself  visible  upon  earth.     The  new  body  is  merely  the 


1890]        PHILOSOPHICAL  BUDDHISM  IN  TIBET. 


261 


mode  b  which  such  a  fresh  development  of  soul  must,  as  a  physical 
necearity,  manifest  itself  in  fleshly  form.     In  a  word,  that  new  body  is 
;/'"-  new  soul  looks  when  seen  by  vwrkd  fyrs.      A  very  pretty  theory 
md  one  which,  we  believe,  has  been  acknowledged  on  respectable 
BUtbority  to  be  highly  scientific. 
'1  iwever,  the  sentiments,  and   especially  the  nuraerons  illustrative 
;    i'tes,  to  be  found  in  the  books  considerably  modify   the  philo- 
sophical exactitude  of  this  theory. 

Baddha  Shakya-t'ubpa  (though  he  be  absorbed  long  ago  into  "  The 
Void"),  the  Three  Holies  (namely,    Sang-gye,   Chhos,    and   Ge-dun), 
gods  Lhai  Wangpo  Gyd-chyin  (Indra),  and  particularly  Chenrdisi 
Iralokit^svara)   and   Dolma  (Tara),  the  special  protectors  of  Tibet, 
re  indefinite  powers — according  to  the  books — of  changing,  improving, 
or  making  worse,  the  particular  condition  in  which  any  living   being 
to  l)e  re-boru.     Thus,  in  one  narrative,   an    nnfortunate   individual 
a  vision,  in  which  he  foresees  his  next  appearance  upon  earth  will 
be  m  the  form  of  a  hog.     He  proceeds  to  bewail  his  fate  with  heart- 
g  and  pithy  word-pictures  of  what  such  a  state  of  existence  will 
volve.     **  Ah,  me,  a  yard  !     0  horror,  a  sty  !     O   woe,   to  have  to 
OD  dang  all  my  days  !     Alas  for  the  seats  of  the  gods  and  their 
i^ty  at  the  solemn  assemblies !  "     Hearing  these  lamentations,  Indra 
Is  him   to    cry    for   help   to   Buddha.      This  he  does  j   and, 
happily,  he  finds  his  destiny  altered. 
Th^re  is  certainly  a  fine  sense  of  retributive   justice  in   the  theory 
jiich  assigns  a  fresh  life  to  a  man  strictly  resultant  upon  his  line  of 
.doct  in  a  past  career ;  but  the  weak  j>oint  would  seem  to   be  that 
in  the  new   existence   the   soul  is  totally   unconscious    as  to    what 
ught  it  into  its  degraded  or  higher  condition.     Its  desires  and  its 
are  adjusted  to  its  present  state.     There  remains  no  recol- 
of  the  Ufe  just  concluded   or  of  those   that  went  before.      One 
indeed,  see   a  certain  ingenious  equity  in  the  fate  which  in  one 
TibetaQ  murative  is  meted  out  to  a   loose   liver  among  the  Lama 
Entemity.     He  is  adjudged  to  be  bora  npxt  as  a  tape-worm  in  the 
bowels  of  his  mistress  ;  but,  alas,  how  is  that  tape-worm  ever  to  have 
the  chance  of  bettering  its  existence  ?     What  instigations  to  higher 
iiafl,  what  desires  after   purer  morality  can  it  ever   acquire  in  the 
•BteMl*  of  this  fair,  but  frail,  enchantress  ?     Nevertheless,  were  there 
itowmbranoe  of  the  fault  in  those  subterraneous  regions — the  con- 
mooioeaB  that  punishment  was  being  inflicted  upon  one — who  shall 
^JK  that  even  a  tape-worm  might  not  strive  to  govern  its  dark  doings 
^Hith  abetinenoe  and  rectitude  ? 

^H  I'mcttcally,  however,  we  believe  that  the  idea  of  the  next  life  being 
P^k  pccoliarly  repulsive  one  does,  in  even  the  sordid  lives  of  Tibetans. 
andw  some  wholesome  control.  One  of  the  most  munificent  alms- 
prvn  at  Taahi-lhampo  at  the  present  day  is  said  to  be  a  merchant 
many  years  resided  in  Khams,  on  the  Chinese  border,  mi^ 


262 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Fffl. 


amassed  a  huge  fortune  by  selling  goods  at  nnfeur  profit  to  the 
pilgrims  to  a  neighbouring  shrine,  as  well  as  by  usurious  loans  to 
them.  This  rascal  was  visited  one  day  by  a  Lama  of  unusual  sanctity. 
That  worthy,  having  observed  the  roguery  of  the  fellow's  dealings, 
succeeded  in  terrifying  him  in  a  very  thorough  manner.  He  declared 
that  he  had  had  a  vision  in  which  it  was  revealed  to  him  that  the 
merchant,  in  his  next  period  of  life,  would  infallibly  be  born  as  a 
crocodile.  However,  he  had  also  learned  that  charitable  deeds  durin|f 
the  remainder  of  his  days  might  yet  save  him  from  the  crocoilile 
existence.  The  conserjuencea  of  that  revelation  have  been  aatisfactorv^ 
The  repentant  merchant  for  the  last  thirteen  years  has  resided  at 
Shigatse,  and  has,  ever  since,  distributed  weekly  a  dole  in  money  to 
500  of  the  pooi-est  and  most  deformed  beggars  outside  the  gates  of 
Tashi-lhumpo  monastery. 

There  can  be  no  question  that  the  leading  doctrine  of  Buddhism  is 
the  theory  of  metensomatosis,  and  that  without  this  doctrine  as  a 
foundation  the  entire  superstructure  would  be  without  fulcrum  or 
weight.  All  the  preachments  of  Shakya-t'ubpa  and  the  writers  who 
have  invented  his  impossible  100,0U(J  discourses  derive  their  plausible 
force  from  the  cycles  of  miserablt?  life  asserted  to  be  in  store  for 
every  living  creature.  Renegades  from  Christianity  are  eloquent  with 
their  mis-statements  of  what  their  cast-otT  i^iith  owes  to  Buddhism. 
Christianity,  at  li^ast,  despised  and  repudiated  this,  the  keystone  and 
soul  of  all  Buddhist  philosophy.  But  even  this  foundation  doctrine 
was  borrowed  by  the  Buddhists  from  the  Brahminists,  and  by  the 
Brahmins  in  their  tarn  from  the  Greeks ;  for  no  Indian  philosopher 
has  been,  or  ever  can  be,  anything  but  a  plagiarist.  Give  him  a 
striking  thought,  yielding  scope  to  his  talents  for  innumerable  and 
useless  re-arrangements,  and  he  can  indeed  go  on  twisting  a  hideous 
chain  of  iogeuious  worlnnanship,  reaching  to  inJinity.  But  he  cannot 
originate.      He  will  'jo  on  without  stopping;  but  filari  he  cannot. 

The  Six  Classes  of  Beings. 

There  are  six  orders  of  living  creatures  into  which  the  transmi- 
grating soul  can  be  bom.  They  are  classified  iu  descending  grades 
thus: — (1)  Lha  ;  or  potty  gods.  (2)  Lhamayin  ;  or  they  who  are  not 
gods,  but  are  still  higher  than  men,  and  rvre  ever  fighting  with  the 
Lhii  for  a  higher  position  on  the  sacred  hill  of  heaven,  Mount  Sumeru. 
They  correspond  to  the  Indian  Asvran.  (:3)  Mi ;  human  beings.  But  in 
many  treatises  ^^'e  are  told  that  all  holy  men,  such  as  full  Lamas  and 
hermits,  rank  with  the  Lhil.  (i)  Dhli-do ;  properly  only  beasts,  but 
presumably  including  birds  and  other  lower  creatures  in  the  present 
classification,  (5)  Yi-dak  ;  gigantic  beings  hovering  between  earth 
and  hell,  and,  though  not  actually  among  the  damne<l,  yet  living  in 
torment.  They  are  represented  with  huge  bellies  and  with  bodies 
some  miles  in  length,  but  witJa  tiny  mouths,  incapable  of  admitting 


i%>]       PHoosopmcju.  si'DDmsa  i\  rmKr.        ^^m 


aay  bit  Ihe  nihwrteia;  morsels  of  fctcni     (t^)  }\yiki.''Xcn^\Mtn  iht^  fu^ 
laKfnti  of  tiie  inftnul  Tie«:ioiiis,  who  CAunot.  n>i«;^n  *  lli};r^<^r  iilMfm 

The  Mtsttkry  of  l.m\ 

Tlie  recipe  wliich  3iakya-tubp»  is  a1U\i;rfHl  to  hnw  ^^wn  t\^  tW 
care  of  the  schtowb  and  the  pains  to  Iv  fonnti  in  ovvrv  li(<«  (i^Km 
abnoBt  the  fonn  of  a  syllogism.  This  sylloji^imu,  wliioU  hiMi  tHtou 
wicRuIy  quoted,  may  be  thus  arrangotl : 

All  Sorrow  and  Fain  are  the  roault  of  MximI-imioo  ; 
All  Existence  is  the  result  of  Dosiro ; 

llierefore,  if  all  Desire  be  annihilAt«cl  in  tlio  houI,  Somiw  niul  I'niii 
will  no  longer  survive. 
Accordingly,  it  will  be  seen  that,  in  onlor  to  he  rid  nl'  rttirnm  itiiil 
pMD,  tiiere  can  be  no  remedy  but  to  escapn  from  nxiNliinr'H,  nr,  nn  iJio 
Buddhist  would  frame  it,  from  the  orb  of  triiiiNitii^i'Hl.ii»rt,  ftimi  iJin 
rnimtliTig  circles  of  birth  and  ro-birth  in  which  it  hurt  iMTDirm  ninii'n 
&to  to  be  caught  up  and  whirled  rr>ijnd.  Wh<fii  lUn  ilt^mrn  fm- 
eziitenoe,  which  is  supposed  to  indnrjc  all  nthf.r  <h'»ii-<'N,  htm  Imwh 
completely  oonqnered,  then  will  man's  nt,til  hiinin  «Mif.irn  lUtUv^rnin'r^ 
from  the  burden  of  having  to  liv; ;  it  will  (ia«!?.  vj<:ty/n«>u«|y  \ityitint 
(^dum-idan^das)j  and  enter  into  th*;  nuffrcintu:-/  »;•'!  Hniiluuity  »,S  ii'/t 
Being— of  Nothingness — htp-pfA  ir.  *.':i':'::-*'.r\t^l\tnrt-xtt)(rsi/A'.  of  Sirvuitn. 
Thus,  theoretically,  do^a  th*  phi>>«//;;hi.';si.  »*/;*♦>/.  ot    '//f,«»,  J#/,|/J 

ihoiild  be  the  diief  yrA:xr.  ^A  \\.  *u^::Jkf.U/ri,  nul  V,/-,  4,vi  m»/1  tt,tl 
of  ill  his  mgutid/m't. 

XtxtiV-:.  t:  .re  .V.  >  ■».»», 
Obe  CHI  w-*rll  xnixtT*  -iift  reitir.n  Wr  -.ia  *r. '.•«*.  AiV.r.*  '/  ^r.  y, 
M|Ual  BiaaBalaa.  ix-^i  ipr-.n  -:i,-  t.-,qf,'.v.i-  ',f.*xf,r  ■•■  \  r ■«--,*  »»»  ■.%,-^ 
iltimite  gcaZ 'c£  loi^  ^une^^rrn^r  'sr.ir.  A.'iy  ■,•'.•»  •■  ■  i  ■•-/ yy a^,f:>  -/ 
MntiJ  pKijuts.  ■'ffgiw:aJ7  -:iar  ru*^  n.ia.-.n  .n«/  >i»-  -;,jt.»>j'  #■  •■»«»v.. 
tkeBodc&dK  ir»«i  ▼!»  itar  vjn  *nri  i^-':r,tv»ri  r..  v.^'V-aci  ■■rtt»t  .i«., 
MsidBauTioii-JueiHtf  tesrp*  ■jr  ianr-,iiv-»s  H*--  Y.avp-:^  j  -rtat  -.»•  •.»»*■. 

jnUUlVUUlk  .^*AC.     _^  '»  .'t.iii'iil    !<'■    sa  \   /-CT  ti^'t  Ji^''^-^^      <<-■    u   ' /i»--.'i 

ihr.  JDSBUK.^    JanO*"         r''i'-    -'JWii :«••">    ■►•r"!!     C  1--..I.;,    •wAnci      .ro 

OSHBSmL'lC    ul     mrirsH    ti..!     '-.■■.r,'r„.-',t       rr  .      r      .rt\--    .r,t\      t* 

iiiK   inrinn    l«r-»nsar-.        .-.•■■. ■••c     v.-jQaT,ri--     f'    rJ.    ^A.-.-i-.fti 

"WjdiX     "ill*      Uttrrnj       e---..>r. .-■■:-        r         ;.,-.  •     -.f^-         ,r,.   e  .;- t^r,u:- 

^MlimUS     i-V'fS>,\        -.iT-j       ..'  ■•:a«»f        .   (^  •'.-•■.■'  V..         trt.fj^ 

3iiiuuiiiE^  'onttf  ..'."'",?•.•  .p-.-.-  .J. v.  .•-.    ,rt.r, .A-..-^. 

tar«>!?     n     .i- ^      ■'     '■    ■■-   .w»j      r-- •••■ ' 


264 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Fib. 


Notwithstanding,  every  on©  who  has  associated  with  the  oommon 
order  of  persons  in  a  Baddhist  country  will    have  discovered  that 
none  save  the  bookworms  have  any  notion  of  thu  philusophical  mean- 
ing of    Nirvana.      The    synonym    for  the    state  of   Nirvana  in    theas 
Tibetan  language  is  Mya-tigan-las  Das-pa,  contracted  colloquially  intc» 
Mifaitg-ddi  or  Nyang-dai ;  and  the  exact  signification  of  these  worda 
is,  "the  being  delivered  from  affliction."     Now,  that  is  truly  what  tha 
popular  conception  finds  in  Nyang-dai,  or  Nirvana  ;   not  annihilation, 
but  only  the  fullest  deliverance  from  all  that  is  disagreeable  in  human 
existence. 

The  philosophical  definition  of  Nirvana  is,  as  indeed  is  nearly  all 
else  in  the  system,  utterly  inconsistent  with  other  dogmas  of  the  faith. 
Thus  we  have  Buddha  Shakya-t'ubpa,  who  is  supposed  to  have  achieved 
the  state  of  Nothingness  and  Nirvana  long  ago,  still  spoken  of  as 
taking  the  deepest  interest  in  living  creatures,  and  with  so  much  of 
feeling  in  his  present  disposition  as  to  be  accessible  to,  and  even 
influenced  by,  their  prayers.  In  fact,  the  Buddha  in  Nirvana  has 
nearly  taken  the  place  of  the  Jehovah  and  the  Theos  in  the  Hebrew 
and  other  faiths  which  existed  long  anterior  to  Buddhism. 


Buddhism  In\'exts  a  Supreme  God. 

In  order  to  meet  the  difficulty  ju8t  referred  to,  and  realizing  the 
contradiction  involved  in  the  notion  of  Buddha  being  in  Nirvana,  and 
yet  attentive  to  our  prayers,  in  quite  the  later  days  of  Buddhist 
doctrine,  a  large  party  have  formed  a  schism,  and  have  invented 
wliat  is  styled  the  Adi-Buddha  theory.  In  this  new  system  a  heaven 
ha.s  been  created,  where  the  spirits  of  Buddhas  and  Bodhisattwas  are 
assembled  previous  to  manifestation  upon  earth,  or  before  absorption 
into  Nyang-dai.  This  region  is  named  Dewachen,  and  it  is  presided 
over  by  a  supreme  deity,  who  in  Sanskrit  is  style^l  Adi-Buddha,  and 
by  the  Tibetans  is  known  as  T'og-ma  Sang-gye,  or  else  as  Kuuzhii 
Snng-gye.  The  accessories  of  this  unorthodox  doctrine  are  very 
obscure.  The  chief  being  is  certainly  prayed  to  by  his  votaries,  and  is 
held  to  rule  especially  over  a  new  set  of  Buddhas,  who  had  previously, 
by  orthodox  Buddhists,  been  considered  as  existent  in  the  celestial 
regions.  Tliese  celestial  Buddhas  are  five  in  number,  and  under  the 
name  of  Dhyani  Buddhas  have  been  long  and  universally  believed  in. 
For  their  origination,  a  single  ray  of  light  is  said  to  have  filtered  ont 
from  Nyang-drd,  where  it  had  sprung  from  the  essence  of  all  the 
Buddhas  absorbed  there,  and  on  reaching  the  mansions  of  Dewachen 
the  ray  created  five  Buddha-like  emanations  correspondent  to  the  five 
human  Buddhas.  The  Dhyani  Buddhas  manifest  the  utmost  interest  in 
the  concerns  of  the  world.  Sometimes  their  interest  seems  to  be  shown 
personally,  bnt  usually  it  is  exercised  by  means  of  certain  vicegerents, 


PHILOSOPHICAL  BUDDHISM  IN  TIBET. 


265 


I  to  each  Dhyani  Buddlia,  who  are  desi^ated  Dbyani  BodJiisattwa. 

I  of  these  Bodhisattwas  is  Chenniisi,  special  protector  and  tulelary 

of  Tibet ;   another  is  Jam-pal,  who  has  taken  Nipal  under  his 

liar  care.      Personally   the   Bodhisattwa    are    saints    who  have 

ttined  to  the  position  antecedent  to  Buddhadom,  but  they  volun- 

rilyfoTfgo  the  bliss  of  Xirvana  out  of  philanthropy  toward  mankind. 

The  Five  Dhvam  Biujdhas,  with  xHEm  Correspondent 

BODHISATTWA. 
liuddha.  BodhitatUra. 

L  Rnam-par  Nang-mdzad  [Vairocbana]  : 

Kuntnzangpo  [Snmanta  Bhadra], 
n.  Mi-skyod  Dorje  [Akahobhya]  :  Dorje  Chhang  [Vajrapani]. 
IIL  Dzinsten  Jung-do  [Ratna  Sambbava]  :  Jampal  [Manjiishri], 
IV.  Od-pag-med  [Amitabha] :  Chenniisi  [Avalokitesvara]. 
V.  Donyod  Grubpa  or  Rnga  Sgra  [Amoghasiddha]:  Unascertained. 

I  l«.B. — ^The  Sanskrit  titles  are  placed  within  brackets. 


To  Reach  that  Goal. 

I  To  reach  the  ineffable  state  of  Nothingness  is,  accordingly,  in  theory 

long,  long  ambition  which  the  true  Buddhist  carries  with  him 

liiehout  his  circle  of  existences.      He  approaches  it,  he  swerves,  he 

t»l!<  back,  h^   re-ajiproaches,  is   nearly  there,  loses  a  step,  recovers  ; 

and  finally,  by  a  splendid   epilogue  of  meditation  and  self-denial  and 

vnrenal  benevolence,  makes  the  ultimate  flight  beyond.     There  are 

Ui  numerical  rules  as  to  the  multitude  or  fewness  of  the  births  to 

hp  previously  undergone.     There  is  no  record  of  its    having   been 

led  in  a  single  existence.     Moreover,  as  it  is  impossiblt^  to  know 

any  soul  first  entered  on  the  round  of  transmigration,  he  who 

•Mms  to  gain  Nirvana  at  one  boand  may  possibly  have  been  bom  in 

nfinity  previously.      When  a  being  has  really  made  up  his  mind  to 

Midi  Nirvana,  he  tuust  attain  by  perseverance  in  the  prescribed  ascetic 

rxcvciaes  to  the  various  settled  grades  of  perfection.     He  has,  it  most 

be  notn],  set  himself  apart  from  the  ordinary  mass  of  mankind,  and 

•tered  the  stream  which  flows  from  the  external  world  to  the  port  of 

^Kiiarge  from  all  being  and  existence. 

TTiefB  are  four  stagea  of  perfection  defined  by  Tibetan  Buddhists. 

I.  Gyiin-dhu  Shfi-pa  :   "  He  who  has  entered  the  stream." 
II.  Len-chik  Chhir  Yong-wa  :  "  He  who  comes  back  for  one  time 

nwre  " — i.e.,  he  who  returns  just  for  one  further  period  of 

earthly  existence, 
in.  Chhir  Mi-yon  g-wa:  "He  who  does  not  return" — t.e.,  being 

in  the  Bardo,  or  Dewachen,  but  not  prior  to  birth,  bat 

waiting  for  admission  to  Nirvana. 


266 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


IV.   Da  Chom-pa  :  "  He  who  has  conquered  the  en(?my  " — i.(.,  <^:o^ 
quered  existeuce  and  desire,  and  has  become   an  ^rfe-^*' 
or  complete  saint. 

A  Bdddhist's  Meditation. 

Attainment  to  the  grades  of  perfection,  and  thence  to  sMntshi] 
only  to  be  acquired  by  the  most  complete  abstraction  from  exte 
objections  and  the  profoiindest  internal  contemplation.     This  musfci    Ij 
persisted  in  for  months — nay,  if  possible,  for  years  together.    Thn_a 
the  Buddhist  hero  gradually  separated  by  his  own  earnestness  ftxr 
the  world  and  its  desires.      He  loses  all  notion  of  surrounding  thina. 
what  we  deem  to  be  realities  become  to  him  sheer  illusions.     Notbi.i 
ts,  but  the  idea  he  has  set  before  him. 

This  systematic  meditation  is  donoted  in  Tibetan  by  the  gen€»a 
term  Goia-pa^  but,  as  Jaeschke,  the  Moravian  missionary,  has  set  fox*: 
there  are  held  to  be  three  degrees  of  this  mental  concentration. 

(1)  Ta-wa,  or  contemplation. 

(2)  Gom-pa,  or  meditation,  properly  so  called, 

(3)  Chytj-pa,  or  exercise  and  practice. 
Contemplation    is  defined   to  be   that    state   which    is  deaf  to  m^ 

^louxids  prevailing  within  one's  hearing. 

Meditation  is  that  state  which  has  no  knowledge  of  the  existene  ^ 
of  oneself  or  surrounding  objects. 

Exercise  and  practice  are  attained  wIh'U  all  desire  vanishes  (fo^ 
the  time)  from  the  thoughts,  and  when  even  disgust  and  dislike  o0 
what  a  Buddhist  ought  to  dislike  no  longer  remain. 

The  actual  modes  of  meditation  are  various.  The  commonest  plan 
is  to  place  a  small  image  of  Buddha,  or  the  relic  of  a  saint,  or  even 
the  last  letter  of  the  Tibetan  alphabet,  before  oue.  You  an^  to  gaze 
tixedly  and  immovably  at  this  object,  until  everj'  other  idea  is  lost. 
You  continue  lookiiig  and  drawing  the  object,  aa  it  were,  into  your  very 
soul,  until  no  impressions  from  the  outer  world  seem  to  touch  you.  At 
length  you  gain  an  absolute  inexcitability  of  mind  and  deadnesa  to 
»ll  that  could  impress  you  from  without — a  full  absorption  in  the  idea 
of  Nothingness,  which  Buddha  is  supposed  to  embody.  This  state  of 
mental  inactivity  is  termed  Zhi-lhak,  and  whoso  acquires  that  con- 
dition of  mind  has  learnt  the  first  lesson  of  Buddhistic  holiness. 
Observance  of  the  moral  laws,  the  Eightfold  Path  of  Buddha,  is  as 
nothing  compared  to  the  jiractice  of  Zhi-lhak.  Any  lapse  from  these 
laws  in  ordinary  life  is  amply  atoned  for  by  every  occasion  that 
this  abstract  state  is  reached  ;  but  he  who  is  able  to  phmge  himself 
into  mental  vacuity,  and,  we  might  fairly  add,  idiocy,  merely  by  his 
own  cflTort,  unaided  by  any  sacred  object  of  contemplation,  will  soon  be 
♦»ndowed  with  Xgoi'duh^  or  the  supernatural  powers  of  a  saint. 


m>] 


PHILOSOPHICAL  BUDDHISM  IX  TIBET. 


267 


Theiv  are  various  species  of  saintly  meditation.  The  different  schools 
of  mysticism,  such  as  the  Du-kyi  Kliorlo  (Kalachakra),  the  T'eg-pa 
iTileii-pii.  and  others,  have  each  their  own  methods.  In  the^e  8yst^?ma 
Bmak  dired  ions  are  given  fur  meditating  on  tlie  inspirated,  or  else 
(B  tli«  expirated,  breath.  They  teach,  for  example,  how,  by  dint  of 
lon^<oiitinned  pi-actice,  the  power  may  be  acquired  of  liolding  back 
Ik  hnaih  for  an  incri?dible  length  of  time.  By  this  inspiration  the 
liriisaid  to  be  drawn  from  the  lungs  into  the  blood,  flowing  through 
Ho  veins  near  the  heart  styled  ro-iiut  and  Lt/ct)u/-i)ia,  and  thence  to 
aitwB  main  conduit,  the  u-nm  ,•  whereupon  a  delicious  feeling  of 
nniith,  comfort,  and  uncommon  lightness  is  experienced  inside.  This 
process  is  styled  *'  Tum-po "  ;  and  the  Tibetan  poet,  Mila-n'ii-pa, 
fflatcs  several  instances  where  the  internal  lightness  and  buoyancy 
thi  acquired  has  pennitted  the  operator  to  rise  from  the  earth,  and 
to  floftt  for  several  minutes  majestically  in  the  air. 
Another  favourite  device  for  compa.ssing  the  requisite  depth  of 
inctioQ  is  to  imagine  some  object  known  to  be  impossible  in 
p,  and  to  survey  that  in  the  mirror  of  the  mind's  eye.  The 
ibie  thing  usually  recommended  for  this  species  of  meditation  is 
I  BOW  ON  A  hare's  heap.  Contemplate  this,  pray,  from  all  points 
viaw,  likening  it  to  what  is  grands  noble,  and  yet  Himple.  ""  In 
says  Milaniipa,  '•  it  is  like  a  king  seated  on  a  cushioned 
I ;  to  the  right  it  is  as  an  ofScer  waving  a  flag  upon  the  hill- 
,  from  the  left  it  is  as  a  lotus  in  the  marsh ;  from  behind  it  is  as 
aus  jewel  of  the  Doctrine  appearing  from  the  ground  "  ;  and 
I  forth.  A  Til^et^n  poet  can.  hardly  be  devoid  of  imaginative  genius 
able  to  conceive  pretty  conceits  upon  this  f)ne-homed  and 
jpoetici!  lipust. 


Bldluilst  View  or  Virtie. 

lio  seek  to  instruct  the  general  English  reader  in  the 
PiOl  the  Eastern  creed  make  strong  point.s  in  their  expositions 
vi  the  Four  Noble  Truths  and  the  Eightfold  Path  to  A'irtue.  Those, 
■owwer.  who  have  had  any  practical  acquaintance  with  the  inner  life 
■riojttnions  of  native  Buddhists  of  professed  sanctity  and  genuine 
iMraio^,  Boon  can  enlighten  the  inquirei-  as  to  the  estimation  in  which 
Ih*  portion  of  the  Doctrine  is  lield.  Such  saints  rank  the  observance 
«  UM  mere  moral  maxims  as  the  poorest  and  least  desirable  of  the 
•MaininentB  proposed  to  them.  In  fact,  we  have  always  luund  that 
•■y  Bnropean  investigators  had  seized  on  these  moral  precepts  as 
?""•  of  great  price  amidst  the  general  dross  of  Buddhist  maundering, 
*^  ■eeoaplishgd  Naljor-pa  (Jogi)  has  hardly  even  known  of  their 
^^cnmnce  in  bis  lx>oks.  The  truth  is  that  our  Christian  interpreta- 
,  of  nut  Word  virtue  incapacitates  it  and  similar  expressions  from 


268 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Fm. 


being  rightly  employed  in  rendering  what  are  supposed  to  be  the 
corresponding  phrases  iu  Oriental  literature.  In  fact,  the  highcat 
manifestation  of  moral  perfection  amongst  Buddhists  is  held  to  consist 
in  the  power  of  performing  feats  of  jngglery.  One  who  possesses  the 
greatest  virtue  proves  his  claim  thereto  by  the  ability  by  which  he  can 
make  things  seem  to  others  what  in  reality  they  are  not.  This  magic 
power  is  styled  Hzn-t'vl,  and  it  does  not  imply  the  capacity  to  perfonn 
substantial  miracles,  but,  admittedly,  the  art  of  creating  illusions  sncb 
as  sliall  bafHe  all  attempts  at  unravelment.  Thus  MilarAipa  proves 
his  sainthood  by  appearing  to  fly  up  Jlount  Tise  astride  upon  a  banjo- 
shaped  tambourine.  He  lies  down,  moreover,  on  Lake  Ma-p'ang  and 
completely  hides  its  waters  with  his  body,  and  yet  (it  is  distinctly 
8tat«:'d)  his  body  retains  throughout  the  feat  ita  proper  size. 

The  ordinary  Tibetan  does  not  seem  to  vex  his  soul  much  as  to 
what  may  be  the  next  ts'c-rab,  or  period  of  existence,  in  store  for  him. 
He  believes  that  his  actions  now  will  tend  to  shape  the  condition  in 
which  he  is  to  reapjx-ar  at  his  re-birth ;  and  therefore  he  who  is  of  ft 
sober  frame  of  mind  possibly  seeks  to  influence  the  fate  of  the  future 
by  rectitude  of  conduct  now.  But  mere  morality  in  his  daily  bearing 
seems  to  him  to  be  of  much  less  power  in  developing  his  after-destiny 
than  tlie  due  performance  of  certain  prescribed  duties  of  a  purely 
mechanical  nature.  Moreover,  even  these  perfunctory  acts  of  the 
ivgulation  type  are  practised  by  him  on  account  of  blessings  to  be 
derived  in  his  present  life,  rather  than  because  of  remoter  rewanls  to 
be  realized  hereafter. 

The  B.UIDO. 

Between  death  and  re-birth,  a  certain  lap>se  of  time  is  held  to  be 
necessary,  and  during  that  time  the  spirit  of  the  departed  exists  in  an 
intermediate  state.  We  say,  the  spirit ;  but  both  the  common  and  the 
philosophical  belief  is  that  the  spirit  is  always  accompanied  by  an 
immaterial  body.  Moreover,  the  spirit  is  clothed  in  this  ethereal  body, 
not  only  while  it  is  separated  from  the  grosser  earthly  envelope,  bnt 
also  during  its  various  tenancies  of  material  frames  on  earth.  This 
immaterial  body  is  GifU-lus,  "  the  body  of  illusion,"'  and  it  passes  into 
the  intermediate  state,  giving  a  certain  form  to  the  soul  whilst  there. 
The  waiting  time  previous  to  re-birth  is  termed  the  Bardo ;  and  to  be 
quickly  delivered  from  the  Bardo  is  the  devout  hope  of  every  dying 
man  of  the  Buddhist  creed.  There  are  terrors  in  the  Bardo,  and  they 
aro  said  to  be  unspeakable.  Even  the  Buddhi>t  son]  shrinks  from  what 
is  so  near  akin  to  non-existence :  and  yet  he  philosophically  pretends 
to  labonr  after  the  attainment  of  ultimate  annihilation.  Ah !  the  true 
80q1  of  man  is,  ^er  all,  of  one  common  aspiration.  We  k-i7/  exist 
somehow,  somewhere.  Nothing  can  hold  us  back  from  individuality 
and  being.  Even  in  Buddhism,  annihilation  has  been  invented,  not  for 
popular  belief,  but  only,  like  the  theoretical  meeting-point  of  parallel 


iS^oI 


PHILOSOPHICAL  BUDDHISM  IN  TIBET. 


269 


iinrs  ia  matiieniatics,  to  give  a  symmetry  to  a  system  which  otherwise 
Tould  have  uo  logical  ultimatum  or  terminus. 

It  would  seem  that  the  holiest  of  men  are  not  exempt  from  under- 

guag  the  Bardo.     Even  the  souls  of  the  high  incarnate  Lamas,  the 

hads  of  the  mighty  monasteries  of  Tibet,  who  are  the  transmitted 

isma  of  the  greatest  saints  of  Buddhist  history,  must  stay  there  the 

allotted  interval  previous  to  reappearance.     Nay,   the  spirit  of  the 

Teneiable  Chenrdisi,  a  Jang  Chhub  Sempa  (Bodhisattwa),  which  so 

benevolently  returns  to  earth  to  animate  each  successive  Grand  Lama 

of  Lhasa,   endures  the  Bardo   at   eveiy  fresh  transmigration.     This 

period  can  never  be  less  than  forty-nine  days,  and  may  extend  to 

aereral  months.     Prayers  are  prescribed  for  the  shortening  of  thia 

intermediate  period,   the  appraisement  of  which   seems  to  rest  with 

Buddha  Shakya-t'ubpa.     Both  the   Bardo   and  thf  prayers  for    its 

»bbp?riation  are  among  the  improvements  inti-oduced  by  later  Buddhist 

doctore,  not   earlier,  certainly,  than  the  eleventh   century  a.d.     Not 

oonatarally  thuse  and  other  points  of  resemblance  between  mediteval 

Bcddhism  and  mediajval  Christianity  are  claimed  by  several  European 

iheologiists  as  the  result  of  the  missionary  enterprise  of  either  the  Nes- 

torian  Christians  in  the  earlier  centuries,  or  the  Roman  fathers  in  later 

times.    The  Bardo  and  the  prayers  for  its  short  duration  are  absurdly 

analogous  to  the  doctrinal  teaching  concerning  purgator}^     But   that 

Christians  could  have  derived  their  theories  thereupon  from  Buddhism 

is  anqoeationably  an  historical  impossibility.     In  the  early  Sanskrit 

works  this  intermediate  period  is  not  once  even  hinted  at. 

Some  Concluding  Words. 

T .     parallel  which  Arnold  attempts  to  draw  between  the  life  of 

■  -:  and  the  career  of  tlio   Buddha  is  as  unfoiind^^d   in  actual  fact 

■  it  is  chronologically  and  historically  impossible.    Christ's  life,  as 

poitiBjed  in  the  Gospels,  had  been  given  to  the  world  long  before  the 

mfmuiid  editions  of  Buddha's  career,  including  the  supposed  striking 

pMiHel  iacts,  had  been  invented  and  put  into  writing.      Max  Miiller, 

whofi^  disposition   is   to  give  a  greater  antiquity  than  justifiable   to 

eriTjfthing  Sanskrit,  confesses  that  the  art  of  writing  could  not  have 

been  known  in  India  more  than  100  years  before  the  Christian  era. 

UoKt  probably   it   was    introduced    even    later.     Now,    the    earliest 

wxnmts   of  Buddha    are    so    slight    and    unpioceable   as   barely   to 

indiTiilnalizo    the    hero    as    a    distinct    personality.       Yi*t,  on    Max 

MlllWg  theory,  they  could  hardly  have  been  written  more  than  a 

hm  jreuB  previous  to  tlie  Christian  Gospels.     Later  and  later  writings 

^adually  evolve  and  drape  with  more  and  more  substantial  details  a 

ddb<^l  '    '       out  of  the  shadowy  generalities  of  the  earlier  narratives. 

kaH  vs        ..IV  Sir  E.  Arnold  wish  us  to  believe  his  Buddha,  stolen 

bom  Seydel    the    German,   was   shaped  ?     When  were    the    works 


« 


270 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


lY&i 


from  which  he  has  drawn  his  facta  written  ?  Certainly  not  earlie 
than  the  fourth  century  after  Christ.  The  very  nucleus  of  thi 
Bnddha  biography,  giving  it  the  utmost  antiquity  possible,  as  w 
have  seen,  could  hardly  have  appeared  earlier  than  the  dawn  of  th 
Christian  era.  And  every  frank  student  of  Sanskrit  literature  mua 
confess  that  the  enlarged  biograpliies,  such  as  that  in  the  "  Lali* 
Vistara,"  evidently  were  written  several  centui-ies  lat«r.  If,  the~ 
there  exist  these  alleged  parallels  (as  they  were  clearly  in  the  cat 
of  Buddha  put  into  form  and  announced  in  the  Buddhist  woe 
some  centuries  after  the  Gospel  narratives  had  appeared)  it  woi=: 
seem  pretty  conclusive  who  were  the  copyists.  Nay,  if  these  paraLi, 
incidents  are  to  be  insisted  on,  the  Buddhist  authors  of  the  enlar^ 
biographies  of  their  hero,  it  must  be  allowed,  had  certainly  gci 
opportunities  for  learning  the  facts  of  the  life  of  Christ.  The  Syi-d 
Chi'iatians — "the  Christians  of  St.  Thomas" — had  been  some  ti^ 
settled  on  the  Western  Indian  coast,  in  Travancore.  when  "t 
later  details  were  invented.  K  the  most  probable  date  of  t 
appearance  of  the  greater  Buddhist  writings  be  taken,  we  might  s. 
that  the  ancient  Syrian  Church  had  then  hold  sway  in  Southern  ar 
Western  India  nearly  200  years,  even  if  wc  delay  the  formation  of  tB 
Christian  colony  to  so  late  a  time  as  oOO  A.n.  Jloreover,  the  latte 
would  not  lose  any  opportunity  of  circulating  their  tenets. 

But,  a.s  a  matter  of  fact,  there  is  no  analogy  in  the  leadiv^ 
occurrences  of  the  two  lives.  OXE  is  a  carpenter's  son  who  passe 
thirty  years  of  His  early  life  in  the  round  of  daily  toil  in  a  provindi 
viDage.  He  is  never  married ;  leads  an  active  life  of  practici 
temporal  as  well  as  spiritual  benevolence ;  His  doctrines  are  despise 
and  unsuccessful  during  His  life ;  and  He  dies  a  cruel  and  disgraced 
death.  The  othek  is  a  royal  prince,  living,  in  bis  father's  palace  : 
the  metropolis,  a  life  of  ease  and  pleasure ;  some  accounts  allegii 
immorality  even,  and  dissipation.  He  is  thrice  maiTied,  and  has  al; 
a  son.  After  his  conversion  and  perception  of  the  truth,  he  leads,  c 
the  whole,  an  inactive  meditative  career  j  does  nothing  for  the  me. 
temporal  relief  of  his  fellow-creatures,  believing  all  earthly  comfort  ar 
help  to  be  illusions.  His  doctrines  are  received  with  acclamation  evf 
by  kings ;  and  he  finally  dies  a  natural  death,  lamented  by  thousand 
and  buried  with  honours.*  Any  such  general  comparison  makes  tl 
minor  likenesses  of  petty  det-ails  lose  all  their  significance. 

Another  point  which  the  ordinary  reader  deserves  to  have  mac 
clear  to  him  is  this.  The  original  Buddha  of  the  Buddliist  religio 
and  of  the  ancient  Buddhist  classics  is  certainly  not  the  Buddha  t 
Sir  Edwin  jVmold,  or  of  your  modern  convert,  to  poetical  Buddhisn 
Tlie  Buddha  of  European  and  American  enthusiasts  is  quite  a  fancifi 
creation  of  their  own.      It  had  uo  existence   in  either  facts  or  do( 


PHILOSOPHICAL   BUDDHISM   IN   TIBET. 


271 


in  the  minds  of  the  original  inventors  and  propagators  of  tbt' 
[old  religion. 

The  truth  seems  to  be  somewhat  this.  We  have  all  of  us  been 
ibraight  up  from  the  earliest  childliooJ  in  an  atmosphere  saturated 
llrilli  Christian  teaching.  We  may  have  been  directly  tauglit,  and 
[♦v«n  personally  touched,  by  Christian  doctrines  and  their  practical 
ilication  in  daily  life.  On  the  other  hand,  we  may  have  had  little 
instruction  on  such  subjects,  and  religion  may  never  have  made 
Ji  conficious  impression  on  our  character.  Yet,  for  all  that, 
rtrther  the  teaching  has  been  earnest  or  superficial,  every  European 
hu  been  bred  up  in  a  society  permeated  with  the  results  and  feelings 
centuries  of  Christianity  have  given  rise  to.  Humanitarianism, 
f,  self-denial,  purity,  are  all  of  them  the  offspring  of  Christianity, 
»ve  come  to  be  recognised  even  by  the  irreligious  and  worldly 
uglj  and  noble  things,  and  as  essentially  part  of  any  religion.  Thus 
I  every  man  born  and  brought  up  in  England,  unconsciously  or  con- 
potiily,  possessed  of  a  mind  impregnated  with  such  preconceptions 
feelings,  His  cast  of  thought  is  insensibly  moulded  by  Christ's 
ching,  however  much  lie  may  befoul  with  his  lips  the  old  faith  now. 
so  it  comes  to  i>ass  that  when  he  fain  woidd  discover  or  make 
'  liimaelf  a  religions  hero  or  a  god,  he  cannot  help  endowing  him 
M  the  qualities  and  attributes  which  are  inseparably  asaociated  in 
'  soul  with  a  spiritual  Ideal. 

Apply  this  line  of  thought  to  modern  Buddhism.  There  we  find 
*t  the  translators  of  Sanskrit  works  on  the  subject,  who  have  had 
Christian  antagonism  for  the  creed  they  concern,  have  yet  had, 
it  were,  minds  evolved  out  of  Christianity  i^  well  as  Christian 
ainiscences,  and  have  rendered  expressions  and  sentiments  in  a 
and  ideal  manner,  which  the  Ea.stern  originals  were  never 
led  to  convey.  Even  renowned  scholars,  like  Rhys  Davids  and 
iberg — generally  dispassionate  and  unsmitten  with  any  taint  of 
new  eclecticism — cannot  help  being  l«"d  away  in  this  direction. 
Meanings  are  given  to  words  and  doctrines  such  as  would  occur  to  the 
Quistiftn-trained  mind,  Ijut  they  are  such  as  the  Buddhist  author  and 
Orientftl  reader  would  neither  conceive  nor,  uniustructed,  understand. 
tinui,  likewise,  has  the  Modern  Buddha  been  created.  He  has  been 
dowed  (by  the  unscrupulous  partisanship  of  new  converts),  either 
ilfally  Or  unconBciously,  with  the  character  and  sublimity  of  the  Christ 
ibeir  old  faith.  Accordingly,  it  comes  to  paas  that  the  hero  of  this 
»ad  dilettanti  religion  is  not  the  old  Bhagavan  and  Shakya-niuni 
Indian  conception,  but  a  mystic  hybrid,  a  modern  ideal  deity, 
*  taidful  impossible  Christ-Buddha,  ingeniously  comprftmised,  but 
Mistent.  f 

Gbaham  Sakdberg. 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  VOYAGE  WITI^^ 
GENERAL  GORDON. 


DURING  the  early  part  of  the  year  1882  General,  then  Colori* 
Gordon,  was  stationed  in  tlie  Jtauritius  Barracks,  in  commt 
of  the  troops  there.  Just  at  that  time  the  troubles  in  Basntoland  we/ 
gathering  to  a  head,  and  threatened  to  culminate  in  another  nati? 
war  ;  and  Colonel  Gordon  had  commnnicated  the  wish  that  he  shonlc 
be  allowed  to  proceed  to  the  affl-cted  region,  and  use  his  influence 
bringing  about  an  amicable  settlement  of  the  awkward  difficulty  which 
had  presented  itself.  Gordon's  offer  was  accepted,  and  tlio  EngUsh 
mail,  which  arrived  at  Mauritius  on  the  3rd  of  March,  18S2,  conveyed 
orders  to  him  to  proceed  forthwith  to  Cape  Colony.  Those  who  have 
studied  Gordon's  character  will  readily  understand  the  extent  of  Lis 
anxiety,  that  he  should  at  once,  and  without  a  moment's  unneceasaiy 
delay,  carry  out  the  injunctions  of  the  order ;  but  tJie  probability  of 
delay  did  present  itself.  At  that  time  the  facilities  for  passing 
between  Mauritius  and  the  Cape  were  verj^  inadequate,  and  Gordon 
at  once  perceived  that  to  wait  several  weeks  for  the  next  passenger 
steximer  would  mean  the  retarding,  if  not  indeed  the  ruin,  of  his 
mission.  The  commander  of  the  Ever  Victorious  army  hated  procras- 
tination, and  he  detennined  now,  if  it  could  possibly  be  done,  to  over- 
come the  difficulty  and  prevent  delay. 

In  the  Mauritius  harbour  there  lay  a  small  trading  schooner  of  300 
tons  burden,  named  the  Scotia*  and,  on  inquiry,  Gordon  was  informed 
that  thifi  tight  little  cmft  would  proceed  in  a  few  daya  to  Cape  Town. 
This  was  Ilia  chance.  Ho  at  once  communicated  to  the  captain  of  the 
Si'otia  his  intention  of  joining  the  ship  and  of  proceeding  with  it  to 
its  destination.      The   communication  came  as  a  surprise  to  all  on 

*[  The  Scotia  ■was  then,  anrl  is  now,  commanded  hy  Captaiu  Wm.  Duncan,  Eis^ton- 
Oii-Siwj,  ilorayshire. 


^ 


A  VOYAGE  WITH  GENERAL  GORDON. 


273 


baud,  and  the    captain's    wife    (who    sailed    with    her    husband) 

w«s  exceedingly   perplexed   that  no   time   was   left  to   make   more 

idefiuate  preparations  for  the  distinguished  passenger  ;   for  the  SiMtia, 

t  sn&U  vessel,  fully  manned,  had  no  pretensions  to  offer  either  the 

BHal  comfort  or  the  ordinary  conveniences  of  a  passenger  boat,  and 

the  reception   of    the  military   magnate    must   therefore    be   of  the 

httiableat,  if  of  the  kindliest,  description.     In  a  diary  of  the  voyage — 

I  wkicli  the  writer  has  had  the  advantage  of  perusing — and  under  date 

V'"'  I,  the  following  entry  is  made: — "At   i  P.M.   a  letter  came 

;■-  ?ay  that  Colonel  Grordon  (Gordon  Pasha)  was  going  as  passenger 

jwiti  M  to  Cape  Town.     It  took  us  all  by  suqiriae.     We  felt  rather 

tpatout  at  having  a  passenger  at  all,  and  more  especially  such  an 

[ulustrions  one.      However,  wo  have  to  make  the  best  of  it." 

Tlie  Colonel  informed  the  captain  of  the  Scotia  that  he  would 
w  OH  board  at  a  given  honr  in  the  afternoon,  and,  by  the  time 
on,  such  preparation.s  as  could  be  made  for  his  reception 
Completed,  The  afternoon  wore  into  evening,  however,  and 
•  evening  into  night,  aud  still  the  distinguished  passenger  did  not 
The  captain  and  his  wife  concluded  that  the  Colonel  had 
ilHDg«d  bis  mind,  and  were  just  making  everything  snug  for  the 
M  when,  close  on  midnight,  a  stealthy  step  was  heard  ou  deck, 
aext  minute,  the  missing  one  presented  himself  at  the  cabin-door, 
ipologized  heartily  for  neglecting  to  keep  his  engagement,  and 
to  explain  the  reason  of  his  lateness.  On  its  becoming 
he  said,  that  he  was  to  leave  Mauritius  in  a  couple  of  days, 
'  military  comrades  and  many  private  friends  had  resolved  to  make 
the  sabject  of  a  parting  demonstration.  ''  Tliis  sort  of  thing  " 
^heartily  detested;  and,  in  order  to  shun  the  ordeal  of  being  lionised, 
fe  had  ir&lked  into  the  country  a  distance  of  some  twelve  miles,  and 
•Itere  secreted  himself  till  darloiess  fell,  after  which  he  walked 
^*dt  again  to  the  town,  and  from  thence  to  the  Scotia.  No  wonder 
tint  the  captain  and  his  wife  were  somewhat  amused  at  the  explana- 
0»'  This  little  incident,  however,  did  much  to  reveal  the  man,  and 
^d«d  to  popularise  the  stranger  in  the  eyes  of  his  host  and  hostess. 
For  fta  hour  he  talked  lightly,  and  seemed  to  derive  much  enjoyment 
»|the  fact  that  he  had  succeeded  in  escaping  the  honours  his 
i  wished  to  bestow  on  him.  With  that  peculiai*  aptitude  which 
men  have  for  making  all  those  around  them  feel  happy 
^ease,  the  Colonel,  even  before  he  retired  to  rest  that  night, 
rly  established  himself  as  a  favourite  with  all  on  board ;  for 
hf  waj!  B  man  who,  as  the  captain  put  it,  "  sternly  resisted  all  fuss." 
Early  on  the  following  forenoon  the  sliip  was  besieged  by  visitors 
rto  CMse  to  bid  the  Colonel  (jod-speed.  They  by  no  means 
N^BcWDted  only  the  "  uppjer  crust "  of  Mauritius  society,  but  included 
taaj  in  the  middle  and  lower  class  of  life  to  whom,  at  one  time  or 


274 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


othfr,  Gordon  had  shown  kindness.  In  connection  with  this  receptio 
of  visitors,  an  incident  occtrrred  that  went  still  further  to  the  revealin 
of  Gordon's  gentlemanly  disposition.  Late  in  the  aft«>moon  a  laoi 
coated  officer  from  the  barracks — a  personage  of  '-high  degree "- 
strode  on  deck,  with  that  air  of  hauteur  which,  alas !  tliose  bearing  h 
Majesty's  commission  so  often  display  in  intercourse  with  the  mercha- 
marine.  Without  deigning  to  lift  his  cap  to  the  captain's  wife,  w 
happened  to  be  on  deck,  or  even  stopping  to  exchange  compliments  wi 
the  captain,  he,  whisking  his  cane  in  quite  a  lofty  manner,  aslc 
curtly  :  "  Is  the  Colonel  at  home  ?  "  Gordon,  who  saw  the  whole  p~3 
ceeding,  emerged  from  his  place  on  deck,  and  drDy  exchanged  civility 
with  the  officer,  whose  manner  had  suddenly  become  quite  ingratiati'm 
Tlu'  interview  was  a  brief  and  fonnai  one,  and,  when  the  digni£ 
young  oflaoer  stepped  down  the  gangway,  Gordon  stepped  up  toS 
captain  and  his  wife  and  offered  a  sincere  ajwlogj'  for  the  bad  mancft 
displayed  by  his  lust  visitor.  When  he  had  done  this,  he  took  occasi 
to  remark  that,  had  his  command  at  the  barracks  not  come  to 
end,  he  should  certainly  have  deemed  it  his  duty  to  tell  the  haug-l: 
fellow  what  he  thought  of  his  breeding.  "'He  had  no  more  rigli 
he  said,  "  to  corae  on  board  your  ship  and  act  as  he  li 
acted  than  the  occupier  of  tht»  ]*.rit,ish  throne  would  have  to  enl 
the  private  house  of  any  of  her  subjects,  and  demand  to  be  shop 
through  its  rooms,  without  first  securing  the  consent  of  its  ownec 
'Hvis  incident,  slight  as  it  may  appear,  seemed  to  give  tlie  Colons 
mucli  puin,  for  nothing  ofieiided  him  more  deeply,  or  called  forth  la 
jntligtial  ion  more  efiectually,  than  the  witnessing  of  an  ungentlemani 
aetion  of  any  kind.  ^ 

Gordon's  love  for  children  was  somewhat  akin  to  a  passion,  H 
several  of  the  Mauritius  boys  and  girls,  on  whom  he  had  been  accui 
toined  to  Ijest/iw — what  were  always  at  his  command — a  kindly  smil 
and  an  oncouraging  word,  came  on  board  the  ship  to  bid  him  goo^ 
bye.  One  little  lad,  in  whose  welfare  the  Colonel  had  taken  a  vei 
8|)ocial  interest,  came  among  the  rest,  and  was  introduced  to  tl 
caj>tain  and  hi.s  wife  as  *'  My  pet  lamb/'  The  child  brought  wit 
him  a  parting  gift  for  his  benefactor,  consisting  of  a  couple  of  bottle 
of  sherry,  and  these  he  presented  shyly  to  the  great  soldier.  Tl 
Colonel  thanked  his  favourite  very  warmly  for  the  gift.,  and  the 
parted  from  his  *'  pet  lamb  "  in  the  most  affecting  manner.  Tl 
b<ittles  of  sherry  wer^  not  uncorked,  nor  was  a  case  of  champagi 
that  he  received  as  a  parting  gifl  from  his  friends  disturbed  dnrin 
the  voyage,  for  Gordon's  habits  were  of  a  strictly  temperate  natxur 
and  it  was  only  on  the  rarest  occasions  that  he  could  be  induced  ( 
taste  stimulants. 

The  Colonel's  luggage,  which  was  of  a  very  meagre  descriptioi 
was  easily  stowed,  the  only  bulky  item  of  it  being  a  large  and  Ter 


3]       A  VOYAGE  WITH  GENERAL  GORDON. 


275 


hncfj  box,  addressed  "  Colonel  Gordon,"  and  with  the  word  '*  Sta- 
tiaaery "  printed  in  large  cliaractera  on  the  lid.  The  captain  was 
Bitanlly  mcch  exercised  as  to  how  and  when  his  illustrious  passenger 
intended  to  consume  such  a  tremendous  supply  of  writing  materials, 
bnt  the  real  (wntents  of  the  box  were,  as  yet,  a  secret. 

On  the  4th  day  of  April  the  anchor  was  weighed,  and  the  voyage 
to  the  Cape  begun.  The  wind  was  at  first  light,  but  on  the  following 
|4jj"aswell  prevailed,  and  Gordon,  who  always  admltlL'd  he  was  a  very 
sailor,  had  to  draw  on  his  heroism  to  support  him  under  mal  dc 
er.  In  short,  ho  utterly  failed  to  keep  up  ;  he  fell  sick,  and  was 
iJuctantly  forced  to  remain  below.  Indeed,  it  was  while  he  was  yet 
Bring  severely  from  the  horror  of  sea-sickness  that  he  became  a 
rneral,  for,  under  date  April  6,  we  find  this  entry  :  "  Yesterday  we  had 
a  Colonel  oa  board  ;  to-day  we  have  a  General,  for  this  is  the  day  of 
vox  passfinger's  promotion.  He  does  not  seem  to  attach  much 
onpoftance  to  his  honours."  For  the  next  day  or  two  (.-xcellent 
•*4er  prevailed,  and  the  General's  health  and  spirits  improved  pro- 
portionatply.  He  was  a  great  smoker,  aud,  seated  in  a  big  easy- 
d«a»r.  which  had  Ix-en  placed  on  deck  for  him,  enclouded  in  cigarette 
«Doke.  he  would  &it  for  hours  during  the  heat  of  the  day,  and  talk 
tt  tLe  most  entertaining  manner.  At  nightfall  he  would,  when  in  the 
Jminonr  for  it,  keep  the  watch  company  on  deck,  and  wliile  away  thy 
toQimn  by  drawing  liberally  from  his  never-ending  fund  of  stories, 
md  ve^ry  occasionally  he  would  touch  on  his  own  past  history  and 
future  prospects.  He  shrank  from  all  appearance  of  self-laudation, 
•DU  svonld  never  encourage  questions  that  would  involve  him  in 
DJtliingof  the  kind.  In  the  cabin,  of  a  night,  he  would  often 
^  his  conversation  to  flow  forth  in  a  swift  and  unbroken  current. 
*a8  jiis  talk  ever  frivolous.  Many  times,  indeed,  his  manner 
BUS,  and  even  solemn,  and  often  he  would  sit  for  hours  silent, 
apparently  deep  in  thought. 
■According  to  the  diary,  the  Gene  ml  possessed  one  theme  on  which 
specially  delighted  to  speak.  Under  date  April  8,  appears  the 
uowin^  somewhat  remarkable  passage  : — 

''The  (jt-neral  was  very  talkative  this  evening,  explaining  to  us 
pet  theory — viz.,  that  the  Seychelles  Islands,  which  aie  situated 
'the  north-east  of  Madagascar,  are  the  site  of  the  Garden  of  Eden  ! 
D*  gave  many  reasons  for  thinking  so— one  being  that  there  was  a 
fonnd  there  that  is  not  to  be  found  in  any  other  part,  of  the 
This,  he  is  conGdent,  is  the  '  Forbidden  Tree ' !      It  is  called 
Coco-de-Mer,  or  '  nut  of  the  sea,"  and  has  many  peculiarities.  The 
i»  shaped  like  a  heart,  but,  with  its  hosk  taken  off,  it  is  like  a 
I'a  Uidy  from  the  chest  to  tht«  knees.      To  raise  a  tree,  he  ex- 
i«l,  a  unt  is  laid  on  the  ground  and  covered  with  leaves.      By- 
•bjr,  a  shoot  comes  out  and  runs  along  the  ground,  and,  when  about 


276 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[fb 


twelve  feet  long,  it  takes  i*oot.  Tlie  root  is  iu  the  I'orin  of  a  bn 
four  feet  in  diameter.  The  tree  itself  grows  to  the  height  of  Ow 
liundred  feet,  and  is  only  about  nine  inches  thick.  It  is  forty-sev 
years  old  before  it  beaj's  fruit  and  its  nuts  grow  seven  in  a  banc: 
from  the  end  of  the  exteuded  arm,  each  weighing  perhaps  forr 
pounds.  They  take  seven  years  to  ripen.  The  leaves  are  twenty-:^ 
feet  long  and  fourteen  feut  broad,  and  can  bear  a  man's  weight !  ^ 
must,  indeed,  be  a  wonderful  tree."  ^M 

Many  times  during  the  voyagt-.  in  conversation  during  ~^ 
evening,  Gordon  would  revert  to  this  pet  theor}'.  But,  thog 
he  would  sometimea  become  quite  eloquent  over  the  subject,H 
argUTuenta  hardly  persuaded  the  other  occupants  of  the  cabin ; 
captain,  a  sound-headed  Scotsman,  '•  thinking  to  himself  that  if 
theory  was  a  correct  one,  then  Eve  must  have  experienced  considers 
difficulty  in  getting  tlio  '  apple  '  conveyed  to  her  husband."  S 

In  connection  with  this  eccentric  idea,  so  firmly  believed  in" 
Gordon,  let  me  mention  a  peculiar  and  somewhat  remarkabh'  incid^ 
as  given  in  the  captJiin's  own  words. 

"  One  morning,'  said  the  master  of  the  Scotiu,  ^'  I  was  work:! 
upon  deck  when,  in  his  usual  polite  manner,  the  General  camo  ai 
asked  me  to  give  him  a  hand  in  moving  the  largo  trunk  marked  '  Sfc 
tionery,'  which  had,  up  till  this  time,  occupied  a  place  in  his  rooa 
I  went.  He  merely  wished  its  position  reversed — that  is,  il 
address  side  turned  toward  the  wall,  so  that  he  would  not,  as  h 
said,  see  that  imposiug  word  *  Stationery '  meeting  his  eye  ever 
time  be  ascended  to  (he  deck,  or  descended  from  the  deck  to  the  cabin 
He  did  not  yet  tell  me  what  the  mysterious  box  contained,  but,  som 
days  later,  he  informed  me  that  he  wished  to  put  its  contents  int 
less  space,  and  respectfully  asked  me  to  help  him.  The  case  wai 
after  some  difficulty,  opened  •  and  judge  of  my  surprise  when,  instea 
of  books  and  papers,  as  I  expected,  there  met  my  eyes  a  great  nun 
ber  of  equally-cut  pieces  of  wood,  arranged  with  the  greatest  possibl 
care,  and  almust  filling  the  large  box.  The  General,  perceiving  tn 
surprise,  speedily  explained  to  me  that  this  was  a  treasure  he  prize 
more  highly  than  all  his  personal  belongings,  '  for,'  said  he,  suddeni 
becoming  serious,  *  this  is  the  wood  of  the  Coco-de-Mer,  the  "  Foi 
bidden  Tree."  I  beard,'  he  continued,  '  that  there  was  ut  one  titn 
seen  in  Mauritius  a  cht-st  of  drawers  mjuln  of  this  wood,  and,  thoug 
its  discovery  cost  me  protracted  search,  I  at  last  came  across  it  i 
a  second-hand  upholsterer's  shop.  I  ]mid  a  good  price  for  the  old  an^ 
rickety  piece  of  furniture,  and  depend  on  it,  I  would  not  have  \o§ 
the  rare  opportnnity  of  possessing  a  quantity  of  this  most  valuablifl 
woods — not  for  any  sum.'  "  ^* 

He   afterwards  presented  the   captain's   wife,  as  a   mark  of    thi 
greatest  favour,  with  a  piece  of  the  wood  which  he  so  much  cherished 


iSgo]        A  VOYAGE  WITH  GENERAL  GORDON. 


27 


Itadlkt,  together  with  a  pair  of  ostrich  eggs  which  he  gave  her,  as 
[  ft  keepsftke,  on  his  leaving  the  Scotia,  are  now  preserved  by  her  with 
I  the  greatest  care  and  veneration. 

A  certain  and  considerable  portion  of  every  day  was  sot  aside  by  the 

I  General  for  reading.     The  mail  which  brought  the  orders  for  him  to 

JBOceed  to  Sonth   Africa    also    broaght  a  month's  daily  papers — the 

JVwoi,  the  Standard,  and    the   Daihf  Nfica — in    all   nearly  a  hundred 

ifRat  sheets.     These,   which   he  took   with    him,   he   read    with  the 

Igieab^  eagemes.s  and  care,  and  the  rapidity  with  which  he  read  sur- 

Cproed  those  on  board.      Not  a  single  item,  however  tri-vial,  escaped  his 

ttotioe,  uid  of  this  he  gave  proof  when  giving  of  an  evening  what  he 

all*^  "a  digest  of  the  news  budget."      The  newspapers  exhausted,  he 

tickled  the  captain's  library,  which  happily    was  of  considerable  pro- 

jpKtions.    Nor  did  he  seem  to  have   any  particular  fancy  for  any 

lipecial  kind  of  literature.     Astronomy,  navif^ation,  history,  geography, 

1  whatever  else  came  lirst  to  hand,  seemed  to  be  0f[ually  acceptable  to 

iuc  mind,  for  he  read  the  books  as  eagerly  as  he  had  done  the  news- 

ptpers.     He  undoubtedly  possessed,  too,  the  enviable   faculty  of  ini- 

prtmg  to  those  around  him  the  knowledge  he  derived  from  his  read- 

J,  and  his  stock  of  infonnatiou  was  as  varied  as  it  was  accurate. 

the  captain  and   hie   wife  bear  testimony  as   to  that,  declaring 

to  sit  and  listen  to  his  conversation  on  any  subject,  that  lay  near 

hearts  was  indeed  a  pleasure  which  they  appreciated  very  highly. 

llyon  philanthi'Opic  questions  would  be  speak  with  the  gi-eatt^st 

sm  and  earnestness,  and   then   it  was  that  the  tenderness,  and 

lB]gwie88  of  his  heart  were  manifested  to  the  fullest  degree. 

Wlea  a  little  more  than  a  week's  sail  from  Mauritius,  the  wind  rose 
♦mldenJ)",  and,  as  suddenly,  a  dark  cloud  passed  over  tho  Geiienirs 
buoyancy,  for  he  had  a  wholesome  dread  of  a  stormy  sea.  The  higher 
the  waves  reared  themselves  the  lower  sank  his  vitality,  and  the  old 
nem,  Ma-aickness,  again  attacked  him  without  mercy.  He  re- 
coTwed,  however,  in  a  few  days,  and  was  soon  able  to  move  about. 
'■The  General  is  better,''  says  the  diary,  "but  as  he  ia  vfry  positive, 
and  would  sit  on  deck  during  the  rain,  it  is  to  be  feared  that  he  will 
be  ill  to-tnorrow."  The  prophecy,  alas  !  proved  to  be  only  too  true, 
nd  daily  Gordon's  health  went  from  bad  to  worse,  aa  this  entry  will 
ihow:— 

"Our  guest  has  been  very  .sick.  He  is  still  suffering,  and  all  the  wliile  we 
kftTthiul  corapamtively  fine  weather.  It  is  hani  to  snv  what  will  be<'0]]ieof 
kuB  whftu  it  is  rough.  He  is  not  improving'  in  heiilth,  far  less  in  spirits. 
Btdmra  to  be.  lainlnl  at  tht  first,  port  u>e  reach  !  It  is  surpri-siiifj  tliat  hi;  has 
!■<  httrt  ao  soon.  How  many  kinds  of  couiiige  there  must  be !  This  great 
•Idiermust  have  nmlergone  many  hard.ships  anil  seen  much  .siekne.-vS  durinii 
«•  tfgrols  in  Africa.  Besides,  hLs  life  in  China  was  not  till  ease  an<l 
••wtnew." 

Despite  careful  nursing  his  case  grew  worse,  and  his  suffering  and 


THE    CONTEMPORARY    REVIEW. 


misery  were  described  by  himself  as  "  far  more  severe  than  he 
ever  during  his  lifetime  experienced,  either  at  home  or  abroad," 
often  he  repeated  his  determination  to  go  on  shore  at  the  very 
port  the  Scotia  reached,  and,  one  morning,  after  a  sleepless  ni 
sickness,  ho  called  the  captain  to  his  bedside,  and  offered  him  £ 
he  would  make  for  land  with  all  possible  speed ! 

Bat,  under  date  of  Wednesday,  April  13,  wo  meet  this  encou 
ing  entry  :  "  Tlie  General  is  better,  and  is  getting  on  splendi<3 
Again,  the  captain  said,  his  free  and  ea.«;y  manner  returned  to  ] 
his  meiTy  laugh  and  cheery  word  could  be  heard  both  fore  and' 
and  his  cigarette-case,  which  had  remained  untouched  for  a  we$ 
more,  was  ngain  often  appealed  to.  He  had  a  great  love  for  nau 
erpressions,  and  used  to  vie  with  the  crew  in  his  frequent  use  of  1jl 
The  most  ordinary  story  he  made  amusing  by  padding  plentifully  1 
these.  In  those  bright  days,  after  he  had  mastered  tlie  sickneal 
became  happier  than  ever,  and  he  took  delight  in  jwking  fun  ai 
around  him.  He  had  his  big  armchair  taken  on  deck,  and  pll 
alongside  his  hostess'  work-table,  and  there  he  would  sit  for  b 
together,  with  his  favourite  cigarette  between  his  lips,  intently  rea< 
But  often  he  would  lay  the  book  on  his  knee  and,  as  he  puffed  tobi 
smoke  vigorously  froin  his  mouth,  his  mood  would  suddenly  chaj 
his  eyes  would  assume  a  "  far-away  "  expression,  and  there  for  an 
he  would  sit  almost  motionless  with  his  gaze  Used  on  the  sea. 
strange  fits  of  absent-mindedness  would  often  overtake  him,  even 
in  the  midst  of  conversation  with  his  hostess,  and  after  a  le 
interval  of  unbroken  quiet,  he  would,  by  an  apparent  effort, 
from  his  day-dream,  and  talk  lightly  as  before. 

Late  ono  beautiful  evening  lit'  and  his  hostess  were  sitting  toj 
on  deck,  he  smoking,  and  she  sewing.  Tlieir  conversation 
changeabli^  as  the  breeze  that  flapped  the  topsails  overhead. 
General  talked  of  the  perils  he  had  come  through  when,  some 
before,  he  commanded  an  expedition  in  search  of  the  som*ce  of  the 
nf  his  friends  and  home ;  of  hia  wanderings  and  privations  in  diffii 
f|uarters  of  the  globe  ;  and  of  the  momentousness  of  the  task  h© 
now  on  Ids  way  to  attempt  to  perform.  Suddenly  and  unexped 
the  conversation  turned  upon  the  subject  of  matrimony,  and  his  hoi 
ventured  to  ask  why  he  had  never  married.  For  some  secoudsi 
General  smoked  in  silence,  and  then,  speaking  slowly,  said  : — 

"  I  never  yet  have  met  the  woman  who,  for  my  sake,  and  ]>erbaps 
moment's  notice,  would  be  prepjired  to  siicrifice  the  comfortH  of  homi 
the  sweet  isociety  of  loved  ones,  ami  ncroinpany  me  whithei-soever  thedi 
of   duty  might  lend — accompany  uw  tu   the  ends   of   the  earth   per] 
would  irtand  by  me  in  times  of  danger  and  difficulty,  and  sustain  me  in 
of  hardship  and  perplexity.     Such  a  woman  1  have  not  met,   and  b 
one  alone  could  be  my  wife  I  " 


li9D] 


A  VOYAGE  WITH  GENERAL  GORDON. 


279 


Ik  answer   was    as  brief  as  it   was   emphatic,   and    the    topic  of 

is«trimony  was  not  further  touched  npon. 

Where  sickness  prevailed  Gordon  never  stood  inactive.      Several  of 

crew  of  the  Scotia  suffered  from  illness,  and  they  were  his  especial 

OK.    He  gpoke  kindly  and  cheeringly  to  the  poor  fellows,  and  either 

mi  to  them  himself  or  saw  that  they  were  supplied  with  literature. 

They  were  the  first  he  asked  after  in  the  morning  and  his  last  care  at 

.light.    He  had  pet  names  for  several  of  the  crew,  and  one  young 

whom  he  took  a  deep  interest  in,  he  called  the  "  Dover  Powder 

lonth,"  from  the  fact  that  he  used  to  have  a  "  Dover 's-powder  "  atlmi- 

to  him  when  he  lay  ill. 
While  on  board  the  Scotia  the  General  observed  tlie  Sunday  in  his 
characteristic  fashion.  A  large  portion  of  the  forenoon  he  devoted 
t™  a  close  and  careful  study  of  his  Bible,  and  he  invariably  wrote  out 
erteojive  notes  and  comments  on  the  portions  of  Scripture  that  might 
kave  been  engaging  his  attention.  This  done  he  would  lay  aside  liia 
oot«-book,  and  witli  his  lUble  lying  open  before  him,  would  engage  in 
deep  meditation.  If  one  entered  the  state-room  on  a  Sunday  fore- 
iDoo  he  would  find  the  great  soldier,  if  not  reading  or  writing  as 
bdioited,  sitting  in  his  favourite  seat  with  his  head  resting  heavily 
•  hiahand,  and  his  eyes  shut  as  if  he  were  asleep.  The  afternoim 
I0  devoted  to  conversation  and  general  reading. 
Not  long  before  the  time  of  which  we  write,  the  General,  it  will  be 
ed,  had  accepted  the  post  of  private  secretary  to  Lord  Ripwn, 
then  newly  appointed  Governor-General  of  India.  The  private 
:ary,  however,  suddenly  and  without  warning,  flung  up  the 
iatment,  to  the  surprise  of  everybody,  and  returned  home.  One 
,  in  course  of  conversation,  the  topic  of  fashionable  society  was 
touched  upon  and  Gordon  made  reference  to  the  reason  that  induced 
iflm  to  give  up  office  on  the  occasion  mentioned.  The  true  and  only 
tMaon  he  had,  he  said,  for  leaving  India  was  that  he  could  not 
pnt  up  with  the  ways  and  customs  of  the  high  social  circle  in  which 
hr  was  expected  to  move.  "  Dress  for  dinner,  dress  for  evening 
pwties,  dress  for  balls,  dress  and  decoration,  decoration  and  dress ! 
dqr  after  day.  I  could  not,"  said  Gordon,  "  stand  the  worry  of  it, 
ud  nther  than  do  so  I  gave  up  the  appointraent." 

General  Gordon's  absolute  faith  in  Providence  was  one  of  the 
leading  features  of  Ids  wonderful  and  peculiar  characfcr.  Not  once, 
e*r  twice,  but  often,  he  said,  he  had  been  reduced  to  little  short  of 
>rconiary  destitution,  but  he  had  always  beeu  granted  enough  to  do 
lis  torn,  and  assist  those  in  need.  For  he  parted  freely  with 
ne)',  and  this  weakness  of  his  was  ofiten  taken  advantage  of  by 
iy  perBons.  He  used  to  tell  of  a  friend  of  his  who  was  a  bit  of 
ft  spendthrift,  and  to  whom  he  (Gordon)  had  often  given  money.  I*ut, 
to  his  generosity  there  was  a  limit,  and,  in    reply  to  a   pressing 


280 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


appeal  in  which  his  needy  relative  declared,  by  way  of  a  threa 
if  the  money  was  not  sent  he  would  go  to  Patagonia.  Gordon 
replied :  "  Go,  and  I  trust  the  change  may  do  you  good." 

"  Captain,"  said  the  General,  as  they  both  sat  together  on  deck  oi 
ing,  enjoying  a  smoke — "  Captain,  you  remeinl>er  the  occasion  on  wl 
was  80  ill  with  that  horrid  sea-sickness,  when  in  my  sore  troiilile  I  < 
you  fifty  pounds  to  land  me  at  the  nearest  port  ?  I  could  have  heh 
my  bargain,  but  nothing  more.  I  have  been  miiking  a  rummage  ov 
pecuniary  possessions,  (in<l  1  find  that  I  can  scrape  together  exactl 
sum — all  1  possess  in  the  world." 

The  remaining  days  slipped  quietly  and  happily  by,  and  at  I 
the  voyage  of  almost  a  month's  duration  was  drawing  to  a  clos 
under  date  May  2,  we  read : — "  Saw  the  Cape  of  Good  H( 
four  P.M.,  and  were  within  sight  of  ita  lights  all  night ; "  and  i 
little  furthfT  on,  "  We  were  very  pleased  to  get  iriund  the  Ci 
last,  and  had  a  glass  of  wine  with  the  General  to  congratnlati 
other  on  the  event."  I 

At  length,  his  destination  reached,  the  General  parted  from 
on  hoard  the  Scotia,  not  before  faithfully  promising  to  come 
and  spend  an  evening  soon.  ("  We  will  miss  the  General's  coi 
much/'  says  the  diary.) 

In  a  few  days  afterwards,  therefore,  in  fulfilment  of  his  pii 
the  General  came  on  board,  and  stayed  the  evening ;  and,  oveii 
of  tea,  hf  told  the  captain  and  his  wife  of  an  awkward  situation  I 
found  himself  in  since  last  he  saw  them.  His  arrival  in  Cape 
was  known  only  to  his  two  nephews,  but,  when  the  intelligenc 
he  was  in  the  city  got  wing,  he  received  numerous  invil 
to  dinners,  suppers,  balls,  and  the  like.  He  went  to  an  e^ 
party  at  the  house  of  a  wealthy  and  influential  citizen,  and  ga\ 
account  of  his  adventures  : —  | 

"  At  last  the  time  came,"  he  said,  *'  when  we  had  to  tack  ahead  an 
unchor  in  the  dinin|^-hall.  1  was  offered  the  arm  of  my  ho.stcss,  and  hx 
on  to  the  port  side,  1  made  good  headway  for  some  time.  As  we  appr 
the  door  of  the  dining-hall,  I  cuuld  see  that  it  was  too  uhitovv  to  iillov 
room  for  two  clippers  under  full  .Hiiil.  I  tlierefriie  dropped  behin 
allowed  my  hostess  to  sail  ahead,  but.  failing  to  kt'Pj*  a  (iroper  looJi 
stupidly  jilanted  my  foot  on  my  e.'scort'K  dre.s8- tails,  and  rent  the  ga 
For  my  hc-iuous  blunder  I  received  a  wild  Imik  of  <lisapproval,  und 
not  easily  bo  forgiven.  During  the  evening  1  fell  intei  .''cveinl  oth 
takes,  and,  when  I  rose  to  leave,  the  company  seemed  as  hrnrdly  relit 
I  was."  *  *         j 

Thus  he  chatted  till  late  on  in  the  night,  when  he  took  a  final  faf 
and  left,  nor  did  his  host  and  hostess  ever  see  his  genial  face  of 
A  few  days  later  the  captain  of  the  Scotifi  received  a  brief 
from  the  General,  stating  that,  as  he  had  taken  command  i 
colonial  forces,  he  would  proceed  up-countrj'  immediately.  I 
not  forget  to  ask  particularly  after  those  on  board,  whoj  durii 


4»]       A   VOYAGE    WITH  GENERAL    GORDON.  281 

nent  Toyage,  had  received  so  much  Mndness  at  his  hands :  for,  in  a 
jatKdpt,  he  asks,  "  How  is  the  invalid  Martin  and  the  '  Dorer 
Ibwder  Toath '  ?  "  This  note  was  followed  by  another  (both  letters 
m  ovefiilly  preserved  and  highly-valued  by  the  captain)  in  which  he 
adnd  m  a  &voar  that  one  of  the  two  ostrich  eggs  he  had  given  to  the 
qitain's  wife  should  be  presented  to  his  "  pet  lamb,  Willie  Brodie," 
■dtken  fbUowB  the  benediction,  "  Good-bye,  all  of  Scot  in  !" 

Enrot,"  said  the  captain  of  the  Scotia,  "  on  one  other  occasion  when 
Gwal  Gordon  sent  us  his  compliments,  we  heai-d  no  more  of  him  till  his 
itA  1EU  lamented  in  both  hemispheres  and  his  name  was  on  every  lip. 
isl  I  often  think  that  could  we,  by  some  means,  liave  been  afforded  a 
^^laeinto  the  distant  future ;  could  we  have  witnessed  the  stirring  events 
Art  crowded  the  last  stages  of  bis  career,  and  looked  upon  him  at  the 
Boaent  when,  the  eyes  of  the  world  turned  towai-ds  bim,  he  so  dearly  won 
iainuBortal  title  'The  ITero  of  Khartoum,'  I  question  if  we  could  have 
bud  him  more  than  we  did,  when,  as  a  much  more  obsciire,  though  a  none 

km  noUe  man,  he  was  our  cabin  companion  on  board  the  Scotia." 

Wm.  H.  Spence. 


VOL 


THE    TAXATION   OF   GROUND-VALUEJ 


THE  object  of  the  following  few  pages  is  to  briefly  examine  t 
proposals  contained  in  a  pamphlet  on  this  subject,  which  h 
been  recently  issued  by  Mr.  Fletcher  Moulton.  Q.C.  The  author  b 
a  considerable  reputation  with  regard  to  some  other  subjects,  and  al 
apparently  writes  as  the  official  exponent  of  tlie  views  of  a  Sociei 
for  the  Taxation  of  Ground- Values,  And,  consequently,  his  \^ew 
and  the  reasoning  in  support  of  them,  have  a  primA  facie  claim  ' 
the  attentive  consideration  of  the  public. 

Mr.    Moulton   begins    (p.    o)   by   calling   attention   to    the    reed 
growth    of    local   expenditure   and   local   indebtedness,    and    remar! 
(p.  4)  that,  although  this  local  expeBditure  may  be  a  wise    econom 
the  local  taxation  by  which  it  is  met  is  felt  as  a  heavy  burden.       I 
points  out  that  the  whole  of  this  expenditure  is  raised  by  an   indi 
criminate  levy  of  rates  upon  the   annual   value  of  buildings,    whi 
consists  (rt)  of  the  value  of  the   structurt'  representing  a  capital  oi 
lay,  which  is  entitled  to  apeciaily  "  favourable  treatment,"  and  (ft) 
the  value  of  the  gi-ound  which  is  not  due  to  any  expenditure,  but 
"  the  presi^nce  of  the  town,"  and  partly  also  (p.  5)  to  the  creation 
the  community,  at  its  own  expense,  of —  ^^^1 

''  FixeJ   capital  in   the   shape  of  .streets,    biidges,   open  spaces,   pul 

buildings.  sewer.s,"  JL'c,  &c "  Even   the  more  ordinary  local  exp. 

dituri",  which  is  devoted  to  the  iruiinteuunce  of  existing  streets,  sewers,  A 
is  largely  for  the  benetit  of  the  lajidownera.  Their  laud  can  only  presei 
its  enhanced  value  l)y  the  maintenance  of  those  works  which  have  enab 
it  to  acquire  that  value." 

"Set'iiig,  then  (p,  I'p),  thut  these  swollen  gi-ound-valucs  (though  they  hi 
become  the  privnte  jnopLrty  of  the  landowuers)  are  chiefly  created  a 
miuntidned  liy  public  expenditure,  wliil«  the  value  of  the  buildings  in  a  to 

is  created  and  maintained  at  the  cost  of  private  owners these  t 

deacriptions  of  property  ought  to  contribute  to  local  taxation  in  vf 
different  ways  and  to  very  diti'ereut  extents." 


THE    TAXATION    OF    GROUND-VALUES.  283 

And  ttis  would,  in  fact,  have  been  the  case  long  ago  but  for — 

*The  pteTalence  of  a  notion  that  rates — though  levied  upon  Innded  pro- 

I)— are  in  reality  a  persona!  tax  pai<i  by  the  oet-upier,  and  that  they  are 

lieb  on  (i.e.,  made  pfopoi'tional   to)  the  annuid  vakie  of  premLse-s  solely 

I  the  rent  of  the  premises  he  occupies  is  taken  as  a  rough  measure  of 

"ty  to  coiitribute."  ....  "The  position  of  local  taxation  in  onr 

is,  therefore,    as   follows : — The    proceeds   are   to   a    large   extent 

eixled  in  crejiting  and  maintaining  the  enormously  enhanced  value  of 

|ft>llBdapon  which  the  town  is  built,  while  the  owners  of  that  land,  who 

rfn&t  thereby,  contribute  little  or  nothing  directly,  and  but  a  siiudi  part  in- 

[fortly,  to  that  Uisation." 

The  two  fundamental   principles   of  the   Society  are  then   (p.  7) 
iie£ned  to  be — 

.  *(I)  That  the  local  taxation  of  a  town  ought,  to  a  large  extent,  to  b©  levied 
I  the  o\Tners  of  the  land  within  the  town  in  proportion  to  the  annual 
n«of  their  land,"  and  (2)  "  that  no  arrangement  should  be  pi?rmitted  to 
■fwe  with  the  landowner's  obligation  to  pay  thia  tax  persomJly." 

first  of  these   propositions    is   justified    by  the    consideration 

I*  It  Lt  only  fair  that  the  groind-valueM  created  and   maintained  by  the 
eiieeaiiii  development  of  the  town  should  heiir  the  expense  of  the  common 
to  the  continuance  of  that  existence  and  that  development ;  " 

Be  Becond,  by  the  remark  (p.  8)  that — 

I*  Without  it  any  reform  will  be  delusive,  and  the  landowner  will  be  able, 
"•t  pw^ent,  to  slip  the  biinlen  from  his  own  shoiildei-s  to  that  (*tc)  of 
1  occupier  hy  reqiiiring  him  to  imdertako  to  pay  the  rates." 

[It  i«  thea  stated  that  to  carry  out  the  principles  of  the  Society 

ilion  is  neceasarj-,    with    tins    object    of    assessing    and    rating 

1  Mid  buildings  separately  ;  and  (p.  9)  of  fixing  the  land-rate  upon 

OKLera  of  the  ground-values  by  means  of  successive  deductions, 

^hich  are  to  be   made  from  the  occupier  downwards  in  respect  of  so 

of  every  rent  payable  as  represents  land-value.     This  present 

kalae  is  called  by  the   author  "  firoinul-valw:,"  and  is  entirely 

ependent  of  any   grouud-rent  that  may  actually  have  been  fixed, 

it  represents  the  actual  rental  value   i>/  //«■  I'dul  for  the   time 

Thcmltfi  levied  on  the  ground-value  should  then  (p.  10)  be  far 
ier  Uiftn  the  rates  on  the  value  of  the  buildings  (though  Mr. 
.  does  not  actually  recommend  at  present  any  legislation  with. 
I  object). 

'  f&daol  ii  ig  a  very  doubtful  question  whether  some  kind  of  buildings 
on  mitaiM  at  nil.     To  cmipel  n  mun  {the  italics  ai-e  not  Mr.  Moulti^m's) 
FP*5  •  A«riff  tax  iKenime  he  prfi/ers  to    liv*^  in  n  th-cent  and  wdi-buiU 
**'"'  ''•W  than  in  u  hovel  »avour»  of  the  at>»urditiea  of  the  icindow-tax." 

liaoocapied  land  must  bear  its  full  rate,  in  order  to  force  it  into 


ai84  THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW.  ^ 

the  building  market.  In  the  case  of  a  bnilding  held  at  an  bqI 
ground  rent  of  £100,  but  standing  on  ground  now  worth  £500  aye 
and  let  to  an  occupier  at  £1000  a  year  (so  that  the  value  of  1 
structure  is  also  apparently  £500  p«?r  annum)  the  occupier  C  \ 
deduct  from  the  rent  payable  to  the  owner  of  the  building  lease 
rates  on  £500,  the  ground  value ;  and  B  will  deduct  from  the  r 
payable  to  the  landowner  A  rates  on  £100,  being  so  much  of 
ground-value  rent  as  reaches  A,  B,  thus  paying  rates  on  the  £40M 
annnm  ground-value  rent,  which  he  himself  receives. 

The  above,  then,  is  as  fair  a  nsttini  as  I  have  been  able  to  maki 
the  main  arguments,  and  the  main  proposals  of  Mr.  Moulton's  p: 
phlet  upon  this  important  and  interesting  subject.  The  remaii 
of  the  pamphlet  is  devoted  to  answering  certain  objections  to 
proposed  scheme,  especially  with  reference  to  the  allegation  tha 
would  be  an  interference  with  existing  expectations  and  existing  i 
tracts.  These  answers  do  not  appear  to  me  to  at  all  meet  the  ol 
tions  in  que.stion  ;  but  I  do  not  intend  to  deal  with  them  at  pres 
both  from  considerations  of  space,  and  also  because  there  are  ol 
objections  to  the  scheme  that  appear  to  me  to  be  fatal,  and  that 
be  immediately  stated. 

Generally,  the  whole  pamphlet  is  written  in  an  easy,  flowing,  rat 
rhetorical  style,  which  is  unusual  in  treatises  of  this  nature,  andwl; 
is  well  calculated  to  attract  persons  who  are  usually  repelled  by 
logical  severity  of  economical  investigations.      Unfortunately,   as 
soon    appear,    ilr.  Moulton  has  not   been  able   to  combine  with 
too   attractive  method  that  precision   and   accuracy  of  thought 
language  wliich  are  tiie  most  essential  requisites  for  subjects  oiM 
nature.  ^ 

The  first  point  that  will  strike  an  attentive  readier  is,  that 
increase  in  land-values  is  ascribed  to  two  ditfereut  causes — nam 
(I)  "The  presence  of  the  town,"  and  "the  growtli  of  the  c 
muuity ;  "  and  (2)  the  expenditure  of  the  rates  ;  and  that  no  atte: 
ftt  all  is  made  to  distinguish  between,  or  ascertain,  the  amounti 
increase  which  are  respectively  caused  by  these  two  factors ;  and 
these  two  causes  are  sufficiently  distingaished  by  most,  if  not 
writens  on  political  economy,  the  increase  due  to  the  first  of  tl 
causes  being,  in  fact,  nothing  more  nor  less  than  our  old  friend, 
"  unearned  increment."  This  mistake  would  be  sufficiently  impor 
in  any  case,  but  in  the  case  of  this  pamphlet  it  appears  to  vitiate 
wholn  argument — which  is,  as  I  imderstand  it,  that  increased  li 
values  should  be^r  their  proportion  of  the  rates,  because  they  are  ea 
Iry  the.  ('.rpenditure  of  (he  rnfes.  If,  then,  a  portion  of  this  increaa 
not  caused  by  this  expenditure,  but  by  something  else,  this  portioi 
whatever  other  way  it  ought  to  be  dealt  with,  ought  not  to  be  rate 
respect   of  this  expenditure  ;  and   this  consideration  is   of  ti 


7HE   TAXATION   OF   GROUND-VALUES. 


285 


upirtaDce,  the  larger  the  portion  of  tke  increase,  which  is,  in  fact, 
'nueanied  iDcrement.'       How    largo  this   portion  in   fact   is,    Mr. 
nilon  iukfi,  as  I  have  stated,  not  endeavoured    to  ascertain,   and  I 
not  myself  try  to  estiniat^:".      Indt'ed,  it  appears  to  bear  no  pro- 
,  or  relation  whatever  to  that  portion  of  the  increase  of  ground- 
which  is  due  to    local  expenditure.      It  would   be  Lm possible, 
instance,  to  say  that  the   "  unearned  increment"  in  London  and 
ijftirespectively  bore  any  sort  of  projxirtJon  to  the  respective  rates  of 
jexpcnditure  in  the  two  cities  ;  but  it  dofs,  undoubtedly,  appear  to 
ad  I  think  almost  all  political  ecoiaon;i3ts  would  agree  with  this 
«r — that  wherever,  as  in  many  parts  of  Ijondon,  there  has  been  a 
land  striking  advance  in  grouud-vatues,  by  far  the  larger  propor- 
this  increase  is  due  to  ''  unearned  iiacremeut,"  and  not  to  local 
eaditare.    Indeed,  it  is  well  known  that  a  high  scale  of  local  ex- 
re,  or  what  is  known  as  "  heavy  rates,"'  has  a  distinct  tendency 
down  rents,  and  therefore  land-vahies. 
^Agun,  Mr.  MoiUton  justifies  the  rating  of  gixiund-values  because 
ixecreaicd  and  vuiintuined  by  the   common  outlay.      The  pre- 
paragraph  has  shown   that   the  extent  to  which  they  are  so 
td  is  uncertain  and  probably  small.      But,  to  let  that  pass  for  the 
at,  why   is    '^  vuvintciuxnce"    coujiled   with    '^'- craiiion"   to  the 
confusion,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  of  the  argument  ?     Increase  of 
l-Yulue  is  to  be  rated  because  it  is  created  by  local  expenditure, 
when  it  has  once   been  so  created,   is   the  whole  ground-value, 
il  and  increased,  to  be  rated  again  because  it  is  maintained  ? 
juent  local  expenditure  will,   according  to  the  argument,    be 
apied  in  making  an   additional   increase  to   the   already  increased 
und-valne,  and  this   additional  increase  must  therefore  be  rated 
the  benefit  bo  derived.     But  are  the   already  existing  gronnd- 
ii  which  are  necesstvrily  maintained  during  the  process  of  further 
e,  almi  to  pay  for  this  maintenance  ?     This  appeai-s  to  be  ruting 
'  OTW  in  the  couree  of  the  same  process,  and  for  a  necessarily 
it  resolt,  and  would  in  principle  involve  tho  rating  of  mort- 
smco  their  securities  are  undoubtedly  maiiUaiiicd  by  the  ex- 
Bfitore  of  the  rates. 

section  with  this   ix)int,   it  miiy  be  noticed,  first,  that  Mr. 

Uiftkes  no  attempt  to  distinguish  between  uri(jinai  grounJ- 

which  should  apparently,  on  the  principle  of  benefit,  not  be 

**  **  ^11.  and   incnvsi'd   ground-values  which   may  be  said  lo  bi' 

%doe  to  the  expenditure   of  rates;   and,  secondly,  that  he  is 

^ly  ignorant  or  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  a  considerable  portion 

•etual  presf-nt  ground-vahie  is  as  mueh  due  to  private  expenditure 

'•*«(•  buildings  standing  on  the  ground,  since  new   sti-eets,  foot- 

••ftTB,  &c.,  are,  in  all  ordinary  cases,  paid  for  not  (as  might  be 

from  certain  passages  in  the  pamphlet)  by  .the  ill-used  public, 


286 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[YHB. 


but  by  the  landowner  himself,  or  by  some  one  whom  he  pays  either 
in  money  or  money's-worth.  But  the  point  is  chiefly  important  as 
leading  directly  to  the  consideration  of  the  question,  "  Who  is  the 
person  who  actually  benefits  by  an  increase  in  ground-values  ?  "  and 
so,  as  I  believe,  to  tie  detection  of  the  central  fallacy  in  Mr.  Moulton's 
argument. 

Let  us  take  the  illustration  given  by  Mr.  Moulton  himself,  on  p.  11 
of  his  bookj  and  suppose  that  a  landowner  A  has  lot  land  at  the  rent 
of  £100  per  annum  for  ninety-nine  years  to  a  builder,  B,  who 
erected  thereon  a  structure  which  is  (apart  from  the  land)  of  the  rent 
of  £600  per  annum ;  and  let  us  also  suppost;  that,  in  consequence  of 
local  expenditure  alone,  the  value  of  the  ground  has  increased  to  L500 
per  annum,  and  the  value  of  ground  and  structure  together  to  £1000 
per  annum,  at  which  rent  it  is  let  to  C.  But  let  us  further  make  this 
additional  supposition,  which  is  necessary  for  tie  purpose  of  distin- 
guislxing  between  the  various  parts  of  which  B's  interest  is  composed — 
namely,  that  after  B  had  built  the  structure,  which  was  then  with 
the  land  worth  £600  per  annum,  he  secured  his  profit,  partly  in  cash 
and  partly  in  rent,  by  letting  the  structure  and  land  to  Bb  in  con- 
sideration of  a  premium  for  the  whole  ninety-nine  years,  less  one  day, 
at  an  annual  rent  of  £D00. 

The  position  of  the  parties  may  then  be  illustrated  by  a  diagram, 
in  which  the  rental  of  the  land  and  structure  is  repi-esenttd  on  a  scale 
like  that  of  a  thermometer,  each  division  representing  £100,  thus: — 


Original 
Ground- 
Value. 


Value  of  Structure  £500. 

of  wliich  B  takes  £<liH>  und 

Bb  the  rc-inaining  £100. 


Increase  through  Rates. 


£700     £800     £900    £10«K) 


£200     £300    £400    £/>(M)    £)5)iU 


£100 

At  the  commenceinent  uf  affairs,  then,  before  the  supposrd  increase 
in  ground-values,  the  position  of  the  parties  is  this — C,  the  occupit-r, 
pays  Bb  a  rt-nt  of  £G00  per  annmu,  being  the  full  rack-rental  of  the 
property,  but  deducts  fruin  this  paynunt  tht-  rates  on  £100,  being  the 
then  annual  ground-value  ;  Bb  pays  B  a  rent  of  £o00  per  annum, 
from  which  he  similarly  deducts  rates  on  the  groimd- value  of  £10U, 
and  thus  himself  obtaius  a  full  net  rent  of  £100;  B  pa}B  A  a  rent  of 
£100  piT  annum  from  which  he  also  deducts  rates,  and  thus  himst  If 
obtains  a  full  net  rent  of  £400  ;  A  ,is  the  only  owner  who  has  to  bear 
rates  on  his  ownership,  and  this  he  does  to  the  full  amount  of  the 
rent  he  receives,  although  a  very  considerable  part  of  it  must  have 
been  original  value,  totally  irrespective  of  local  expenditure,  and 
another  part  of  it  may  represent  private  expenditure  in  streets,  «S5C. 


<IM 


THE  TAXATION  OF  GROUND-VALUES. 


287 


Now,  sasame  that,  in  consequence  solely  of  local  expenditure,  the 

pooad-v&ltie  of  the  land  has  risen  to  £500  per  annum,  and  the  rack- 

mrtalof  land  and  structure  to  11000  per  annum  ;  and  let  us  again 

eonuder  tlie  position  of  the  parties.      C,  the  occupier,  now  pays  lib  a 

not  of  £1000  per  annum,  from  which,  however,  he  now  deducts  the 

atn  on  £500,  bt-ing  the  present  ground-valuL-  ;   Bb  pays  B  a  rent  of 

1300  per  annum  ott  the  whole  of  which  lie  tww  dt'diicta  the  rates,  and 

Ami  himself  obtains  a  net  rental  of  £lUOO  — £oOO=£500  per  annum. 

" '  per  annum  mor»'  than  ho  did  before  (exactly  the  amount  of 

_-  i-'.-reftae  in  groimd-valiu-)  ;   B  pays  A  a  rent  as  before  of  £l(l<) 

per  ranam,  on  which,  as  before,  he  deducts  rates,  and  therefore  him- 

jrff  nveives  a  rental  of  tlOO  per  annum  (tus  rales  ^m  the  whole  amount  ; 

toA  A  ppceives  just  the  same  us  before.     The  net  result  is  that  B, 

beautse  his  fixed  net  rent  of  £iO()  per  annum  has,  by  the  increase  of 

gniand- values,  been  brought  withiir  tin*  range  of  the  present  ground- 

nlttt,  has  to  pay  rates  in  respect  of  the  increase  of  £100  per  annum, 

•eery  penni/  of  which  goes  vnrak-d  into   tlic  pocket  of  Bb.     If  a  final 

praof  has  to  be   given  of  the  absolutely  arbitrary  character  of  the 

ail^ated  scheme,  it  is  only  necessary  to  consider  the  position  of  B 

4nrine  the   progress  of  the  increase  in  groand-value  from  £100  to 

!•  annum,  or  the  future  position  of  Bb  when  the  ground-value 

ivo  loOO  per  annum.    In  the  first  case,  B  would  have  seen  his 

it  of  £tW  per  annum  g^-adnally  becoming  subject,  to  taxation  in 

if  an  increjiso  in  ground-value,  in  the  benefit  of  which  he  was 

wed  to  share.    In  the  second  case,  Bb  will  at  last,  after  having 

i  an  increase  of  £400  per  annum  for  which  he  has  never  paid 

J-,  begin  to  pay  rat^es  on    further  increases,   because   it  just 

us  that  a  portion  of  his  rent  now  falls  within  the  ground- value 

iples  of  the  above  kind  might  be  multiplied  ad  infinitum,  but 
'IfOuld  all  tend  to  the  same  result.     The  simple  fact  is,  that  I  he 
penona  benefited  by  a  rise  in  ground-values  are  not  those  who  receive 
the  fixrd  primary  or  ground-value  rents ;  but  those  who  are  entitled 
eilher  to  possession  or  to  the  receipt  of  the  ultimale  or  rack-rentals. 
■  pwportion  to  the  extent  to  which  they  are  so  entitled ;  this  extent 
■jpin  being  measured   both   by  the   duration   of  the  time  for  which 
lh<7  will  be  so  entitled,  and  by  the  comparative  proximity  or  remote- 
am  of   that  time.      The  receipt   of  increa.se   iu  ground-value  has 
aotkisg  in  the  world  to  do  with  the  receipt  of  ground-value  as  origin- 
«njr  fixed.     The  gigantic    fallacy    (I    can   nse  no  weaker  expression) 
1  Mr.  Moulton's  projxjsal  consists  iu  taxing  the  receiver  of  original 
«d  groond- value  for  the  profit  which  accrues  to  the  receiver  of  the  in- 
'••■f  in  gronnd-value — namely,  the  person  entitled  to  the  ultimate  rent. 
It  nay,  however,  be  i-aid  that  A,  the  owner  of  the  reversion,  will 
l*ly  benefit  by  the  expenditure  of  such  parts  at  any  rate  of  local 


288 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEJT. 


[PS 


taxation  as  have  been  devoted  to  works  of  permanent  importancejH 
believe  myself  that,  even  independently  of  contract,  the  grievance 
verj'  much  exaggerated,  since  the  sinking-fund  for  the  repayment 
capital  expended  in  this  way  (which  is  all  we  have  to  consider)  iq 
very  small  proportion  of  the  rates  ;  and  that  when  contracts  are  ^ 
liberately  entered  into  to  pay  this  sinking-fund  there  is  no  real  gri__ 
aace  whatever.  And,  as  a  business  man,  I  do  not  agree  with  C 
Moiilton's  view  (p.  7)  that  the  effect  of  the  nncertainty  in  rates  i^M 
exclude  their  consideration  in  fixing  ground-rents,  and  think  it  i^H 
likely  that  (as  in  other  similar  cases)  the  result  is  to  cause  a  im§ 
allowance  to  be  made,  wLich  shall  cover  any  possible  increase.  !E 
my  main  answer  is  that  the  proposal  1  am  criticizing  is  one  for  tax:ij 
incomes,  not  reversions;  that  under  it  improved  leasehold  ground-ren 
which  are  merely  termiuablL-  anniuties,  and  in  most  cases  represeA 
actual  expenditure,  and  feu-rents  or  chief-rents,  which  are  mere^ 
perpetual  annuities  and  hare  no  reversion  attached  to  them,  would  fc 
rated  equally  with  freehold  ground-rents,  which  involve  a  reversion 
that  as  between  reversions  themselves  Mr.  Moulton  does  not  propos* 
in  any  way  to  estimate  the  value  of  the  reversion,  hut  merely  to  dednc 
rati'S  on  the  present  ground-rent,  which  he  himself  calls  arbitrary',  an< 
which  to  the  knowledge  of  everj'  surveyor  affords  no  indicntion  of  th( 
value  of  the  reversion  ;  and  that  Mr.  Slonlton  has  not  attempted  b 
draw  any  distinction  between  capital  and  income  expenditure  of  thi 
rates,  a  distinction  which  is  absolutely  vital  to  any  efiective  considera 
tion  of  the  subject.  When  a  proposal  to  rate  reversions  is  put  for 
ward  (and  few  pcojdo  who  have  not  considered  the  matter  can  fom 
any  conception  of  the  difficulties  and  dangers  surrounding  th 
iitterapt)  then  it  will  be  time  to  deal  with  any  such  projwsal  on  it 
merits. 

I  have  purjiosely  dealt  liere  only  with  one  or  two  main  and  funda 
mental  reasons  for  consideriug  JMr.  Moulton's  proposals  unfair  ant 
oppressive  in  their  tendency,  and  have  not  attempted  in  a  periodica 
which  appeals  to  the  general  reader  to  enumerate  the  almost  number 
Ifss  ways  in  which  such  legislation  as  ho  recommends  would  unsettb 
and  confuse  the  operations  of  those  who  are  accustomed  to  develop 
uianage,  and  deal  in  building  estates  and  house  property.  But  it  ma^ 
lie  useful  briefly  to  notice  what  class  of  persons  would  be  most  bene- 
fited by  the  proposed  change  in  rating.  It  is  quite  clear,  in  the  firsi 
place,  that  the  wealthy  inhabitants  of  fashionable  localities  would  gaii 
far  more  tban  thi'  less  opulent  class  who  reside  in  the  suburbs,  sinc< 
the  ground-values  in  respect  of  which  deductions  are  to  be  made  beaj 
a  far  greater  proportion  to  the  value  of  the  structures  in  the  formei 
case  than  in  the  latter.  But  to  the  middlemen  who  farm  out  single 
rooms  in  the  central  districts  to  the  very  poor  the  proposed  change 
would  be  a  veritable  godsend.     They,  of  course,  charge  to  their  tenanta 


»l9o] 


THE    TAXATION   OF  GROUND-VALUES. 


289 


■  rent  inclusive  of  all  rates,  and  would  hare  no  reason  whatever  to 
abtte  a  jot  of  their  demands  on  this  score.     But,  on  the  other  hand, 
tbey  would  be  entitled  to  deduct  from  the  rents  paid  to  their  landlords, 
id  loput  into  their  own  pockets,  the  whole  rates  on  the  full  value  of 
the  ground  on  which  their  houses  are   built,  estimated,  as  it  would 
ip'ra,  not  only  on  the  value  of  that  ground  if  used  for  its  present  pur- 
pose, bat  on  the  value  which  it  would  realize  if  cleared  and  then  applied 
*>  metre  Incrative  objects. 
Too  mnch  importance  also  can  hardly   be  attached  to  the  following 
ideration  (on  which  alone  it  would  be  pos-siblo  to  write  nearly  a 
'le  treatise)  namely,  that  for  the  cheap  development  of  land,  and 
p  erection  of  houses,  it  is  above  all  things  essential  to  bf  able 
ftud  capital  at  low  rates  of  interest.     This  capital  is  at  present 
rapplif^  to  a  very  large  extent  for    the   purchase  of  freehold  and 
leasehold  trround-renta,  because,  though  the  interest  is  low,  the  security 
19  aloiijst  iM?rfect,  and  the  income  is  absolutely  fixed.     If  this  security 
»  Once  assailed,  or  this  income  once   rendered  fluctuating,  the  wljole 
^  large  mass  of  cheap,  or  trust,  capital  will  forthwith  be  drnwn 
•'•debenture  or  preference  stocks  of  railways,  or  other  similar 
•ecnntieB,  with  the  sanctity  and  fixity  of  which  no   one,  so  far,  has 
bwn  found  bold  enough  to  meddle  ;  and  rents  will  inevitably  be  rniaed 
'D?h  the  higher  rates  of  interest  which  will   be  charged  for  the 
'1*1  and  not  merely  for  the  more   speculative  part,  of  the  capital 
WTexted  in  houses.    The  stock-splitting  operations,  which  have  recently 
b«ii  taking  place,  prove  to  demonstration  how  large  is  the  amount  of 
capital  smoking  investment  at  a  moderate,  but  fixed  return.     It  would 
h«'  an  act  of  p*>]itical  fatuity  to   drive  this  capital  away  from  being 
ntilizi'd  towards  the  production   of  dwellings  for  our  ever-increasing 
Minivers. 

'W  word  more  in  conclusion.      Mr.  Moulton  speaks  airily  at  page  6 

of  his  pamphlet  of  the  former  "  prevalence  of  a  notion  "  that  rates  are 

a  Uk  on  the  occupier,  and  are  levied  on  the  rent,  bt^cause  it  is  a  rough 

o*»wreof  his  ability  to  contribute.      Was  he  aware,  when  writing  in 

^UB  faithion,  that  this  '*  notion  "  is  the  deliberately  reasoned  conclusion 

^^B  (amongst  others)  the  greatest   modem  English  master  of  Political 

^^Biuniy.*     If  he  «Yrs   await?  of  this,  does  he  consider  it  right  in   a 

^^Hv,  priced  at  one   penny,   and  therefore  intended  for  the   mosses, 

to  006  language  so   obviously   likely  to    mislead    tho.sp  who  have  no 

■*•■»  rf  checking  his  statemi-nts  ?     If  he  was  vnt — but   here  it   is 

■w*0B*>W7  ^0  do  more  than  suggest  an  inference  ! 

C.  H.  S.\rc;ant, 

•  Sec  ••MiU'n  rrinciplcs  of  rolitical  Eci.iioniy."  liook  V.,  clwp.  iii.,  §  G. 


4 


.    UNIONIST  FUSION 


FOR  a  time  it  seemed  that  the  proposal  to  bring  the  two  secti 
of  the  Unionist  party  together  in  a  common  organization  a^^ 
under  one  name  had  been  abandoned.  But  it  has  been  revived  i 
late,  with  a  more  particular  view  apparently  to  the  inclusion  of  Lo^^* 
Hartington  in  the  Cabinet.  That  it  is  a  seductive  proposal  for  tl^-^ 
Government  party  must  be  allowed.  But  that  there  is  much  in  it  that 
purely  experimental,  and  that  if  carried  out  its  cousequenceSj  whateyi 
their  character,  could  not  be  slight,  must  be  admitted  too  ;  and  the 
fore  it  behoves  all  concerned  to  inquire  very  carefully  whether  fhey  w 
press  the  proposal  on  pitblic  attention  do  not  commit  a  common  faul' 
in  politics  by  running  after  a  fascinating  idea  with  eyes  for  nothing' 
but  its  fa.scinations. 

These  there  is  no  difficulty  in  understanding ;  but,  so  far,  no 
iicconnt  of  them  that  has  appeared  in  print  goes  beyond  the  presenta- 
tion of  a  glorious  vision,  in  which  all  that  is  sober,  wise,  and  strong 
gathers  under  one  banner — all  trivial  differences  discai'ded,  every 
grave  difTcrencp  rf>duce<l  to  triviality — in  order  to  quell  a  most  alarm- 
ing incursion  of  disorder.  Who,  being  a  patriotic  Briton,  does  not 
wish  that  it  could  come  true  ?  But  who,  being  a  sensible  Briton, 
does  not  wish  for  some  assurance,  before  the  friendly  clans  are 
gatluTod  beneath  the  one  new  flag  and  under  the  command  of  a 
•  committee  of  their  chiefs,  that  the  trivial  diflerencea  hare  been  dis- 
carded and  the  grave  ones  reduced  to  tririality  ?  It  is  an  important 
point,  because,  if  nothing  of  this  sort  happens  before  the  fusion,  the 
differences  may  be  carried  into  the  fusion  ;  and  the  result  ?  I  do  not 
say  that  there  is  any  certainty  about  it,  but  I  do  say  that  thero  is 
much  uncertainty.  What  usually  happens  on  the  intrusion  of  a  few 
'drops'  of  water  when  two  masses  of  molten   metal  are  run  together  ? 


UNIOMST  FUSION,  2&1 

hdeoca  bids  ns  remember  what  does  usually  happen,  and  look  to 
hat  ffonld  be  the  outcome  and   the  cost  of  similar  accidents  in  the 

of  party  fusion. 
He  prospects  of  such  a  proposal  as  we  are  considering  cannot  be 
fly  judged  without  regard  to  several  circcmstances  which  appear 
be  entirely  neglected.  The  suggestion  having  been  made,  and 
tp  than  once  ropeat<;d,  it  is  important  to  ask,  Whence  does  it 
Jf?  To  whom  has  it  been  addressed,  and  what  has  been  the 
ponse  to  it?  Quite  conceivably,  it  might  have  arisen  from  a 
ianeona  change  of  feeling  in  the  general  body  of  Conservatism 
the  one  haod  and  Liberalism  on  the  other :  a  change  so  complete 
:,  even  if  it  were  not  accompanied  by  a  demand  for  fusion,  aigni- 
readine^s  to  fuse  and  the  temper  to  remain  in  accord.  If  that 
;  £0,  the  proposal  would  stand  on  firm  ground,  and  somebody  may 
tottt  this  is  the  octual  state  of  the  cAse.  But^ — no  illusions  where 
Ml  w  dangerous,  however  pleasant  it  may  be.  It  is  not  true 
the  fusion  proposal  did  so  arise,  and  we  may  doubt  whether 
IS  a  sofBcient  modification  of  feeling  or  opinion  on  both  sides  to 
uil  belief  iu  the  scheme  as  generally  acceptable. 
»e  know  exactly  when  and  where  the  idea  was  first  broached.  It 
nuited  with  Lcird  Salisbuiy  at  a  time  of  stress  which  soon  passed 
F'  '^f  course,  the  Prime  Minister  ranuot  have  been  moved  by 
loaal  feeling  alone  when  he  said  that  he  would  readily  accept  Lord 
(tingtoQ  as  a  colleague  in  the  ilinistry.  Obviously,  he  must  have 
that  more  good  than  harm  would  come  of  such  an  arrangement, 
as  the  country  was  concerned.  But  how  was  the  suggestion 
reJ  by  those  whose  assent  was  invited  and  could  not  be  forced  ? 
coldness  in  some  places,  with  repulsion  in  others.  Some 
ridnals  liked  the  notion,  but  they  were  few,  and  Lord  Harfcington 
iU  iras  not  of  the  number.  It  soon  appeared  that,  as  a  body, 
OoDaervatives  were  strongly  opposed  to  it ;  to  the  Unionist- 
la,  as  a  body,  it  proved  yet  more  offensive  ;  and,  of  course,  that 
uite  enough  to  make  the  scheme  impossible.  But  it  was  not 
up.  From  time  to  time  the  suggestion  has  been  heard  of 
-dways,  however,  in  the  same  way.  It  has  never  proceeded  in 
pe  from  the  rank  and  file  of  either  party.  The  reek  of 
opinion  "  from  those  quarters  has  never  exhibited  a  trace  of 
for  fofiion,  while  signs  of  a  contrary  wish  have  not  been 
Bt.  Whenever  the  proposal  has  reappeared  some  Individ aal 
OT  less  distinction  has  raised  it ;  and  in  every  case  it  has 
rd  to  the  ground  again  at  once,  chilled  by  the  frost  of  general 
On  the  last  occasion,  indeed^ — when  the  suggestion  was 
y  rrvived  by  Lord  Hartington  himself,  and  support-t-d  imme- 
afterwards  by  Mr.  Chamberlain — surprise  kept  it  before  the 
or  come  days  :  the  wonder  being  why  they,  of  all  men,  should 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Fn. 


have  brought  forward  the  scheme  just  then,  nothing  being  known  to 
accoant  for  their  doing  so.  No  explanation  appeared,  and  again  the 
suggestion  waa  dismissed  by  common  consent.  Tlie  follovrers  of  Lord 
Hartington  and  Mr.  Chamberlain  would  have  no  more  to  do  with  it 
than  other  people. 

Wishing  is  of  no  avail  in  circumstances  so  adverse  as  these.  How- 
ever desirable  the  fusion  of  two  political  parties  may  be,  it  cannot  be 
accomplished  unless  both  are  willing,  and  cannot  be  attempted 
without  the  opposite  result  if  they  are  not.  But,  suppose  the 
( /Onservative  and  Liberal  Unionists,  the  geuei'al  body  of  them,  ready 
to  gratify  their  Ieadei"s  by  making  the  experiment,  would  a  wise  man 
decide  on  permitting  them  to  do  so?  Not  witb  much  confidence,  I 
should  think.  Some  ( 'ooservative  voices  have  spoken  in  favour  of 
tilt"  attempt — but  faintly,  and  with  the  hollowness  of  echo. 
Soim-  Liberals,  whose  jndgtnent  ranks  high  (and  not  officialized 
Liberals  either)  would  not  hesitate  for  a  uiomont ;  that  we  know. 
But,  one  and  all,  the  Liberal  support«ra  of  the  proposal  stand  upon  an 
assumption  of  extreme  fragility.  The  basis  of  their  reasoning  is 
that,  auialganiatinti  having  beei;  resolved  upon,  the  Conservative 
brethren  would  carry  out  the  idea  by  walking  the  whole  distance 
into  the  Liberal  cainp.  They  would  make  no  difficulty  about  that ; 
the  fact  being — (this  is  the  innnilVst  and  sometimes  the  avowed 
notion) — that  since  Mr.  Gladstone  has  preached  Home  Bi 
Conservatives  have  shed  their  Conservatism,  ^^'hat  there  is  in  the 
natural  order  of  things  to  account  for  their  doing  so  has  never  been 
explained,  I  venture  to  say,  oven  in  the  minds  of  those  who  seem 
to  believe  it  done.  However,  there  is  the  belief  and  the  expectation 
drawn  from  it.  Suggest  to  any  one  of  these  Liberal  Unionist  advo- 
cates of  fusion  that  the  Liberals  will  have  to  move  toward  Conserva- 
tism a  little  if  amalgamation  is  to  agree  with  lx)th  pa^'ties,  and  if  he 
thinks  you  sensible  he  will  hardly  bi^lieve  yoii  serious.  To  him  it  seems 
manifestly  impossible  that  the  Liberal  Unionists  should  make  a  single 
step  toward  Conservatisui,  and  not  much  less  than  an  outrage  to  ask 
them  to  do  so.  There  is  little  to  complain  of  in  that,  tor  it  testiiies 
to  well-settled  convictions,  which  are  always  respectable  ;  but  it  has  a 
great  deal  to  do  with  the  fusion  scheme,  obviously.  We  are  thereby 
informed  that,  as  soon  as  the  actual  business  of  amalgamation  was 
attempted,  the  prond  unyielding  spirit  of  Liberal  consistency  would 
clash  with  quite  enough  of  Tory  feeling  to  strike  (ire.  Why  not  ? 
Is  there  no  fighting  pride  in  Toryism?  no  remnant  of  the  Old  Adam 
in  persona  of  that  creed  ?  Can  it  really  b*'  supposed  that  Tory 
opinion  has  become  Liberal  from  the  root  beciiuse  of  a  controversy 
about  government  in  Ireland  ?  Or  is  it  imagined  that  the  later 
developments  of  lladicalism-— which  is  Liberalism  in  extremes — 
naturally  incline  Conservatives   to  adopt   more   "advanced"  opinions 


ve<^ 


Il90] 


UNIONIST  FUSION. 


29'd 


UieDudres  ?  None  of  tbese  questions  can  be  made  to  yield  an 
answer  favourable  to  fusion,  and  others  quite  as  cogent  and  unman- 
ageable might  be  set. 

This  being  so,  let  ns  see  what  might  be  expected  to  Iiappen  if  the 

two  parties  tried  the  experiment  of  combination.      Wc  will  assume 

Uut  the   initial    difficulty    of   persuading    both    to    abandon    their 

olil  designations    has   been   got   over.      A  cotiinion    name    Iiaa    been 

chceen  (never   mind    at    what    sacrifice   of    valued    associations    on 

■' -T  side),    and    a    stringent   necessary   rule    has    been    passed    by 

J  ;K  no  parliamentary  candidate  is  permitted  to  refer  to  his  previous 

ounnections  in  the  language  of  preference.     It  is  a  good  deal  to  take 

lor  granted,  but  let  so  much  be  assumed.      Now  comes  the  business 

of  •'sUbUshing  a  common  organization  in  every  constituency ;  and  as 

tooa  as  that  essential  detail  is  approached,  the  likelihood  of  scores  of 

TftlH  local  quarrels  comes   into  view.      At  once  we  are  confronted 

r.  i[ti   the    probability    of    contentions    like    those    which    have    dis- 

fracted  Birmingham  for  two  years,  and  which  no  authority  can  ever 

hope  to  compose.    As  matters  stand,  the  Unionist  parties  have  separate 

organizations  in   most  constituencies  ;   in  all,  I  suppose,  where  the 

liberals  are  fairly   numerous.     In  absorbing  one  of  these  into  the 

1   '• — (which  into   which?) — in  choosing  oflicers  for  the   common 

-i^.ciation,  in  making  rules  as  to  the  choice  of  Tarliamentary  candi- 

^tes  (and  no  candidate  can  have  belonged  originally  to  both  sections 

of  the  Unionist  party),  what  risks  of  open  and  even  of  furious  discord 

may  arise?     The  bye-elections  have  taught  us  whether  jealousies  and 

heart-burnings  do  exist  where   we    should  naturally  expect  to  find 

th'?m,  since  political  differences  are  commonly  a  growth  of  ineradicable 

diffrrences  of   temperament.     Again   and   again   we   have   seen   how 

the«>  jealousies  operate,  even  while  the  two  parties  are  not  mixed  up 

^■snun  to  grain  like  the  particles  of  saltpetre  and   charcoal  in  gun- 

H^owder.     Besides  the  local  associations,  there  is  the  central  office  to 

r   be  considered — the  head-quarters'  bureau  of  reference  and  direction. 

The  working    of    that   bureau,    the   admission    of  another   King   of 

Brentford  to  sit    with    the    manager  of   the    Central    Conservative 

I       Aasociation  and  watch   his  counsels :  here  is  another  detail  whence 

strife  might  spring  sooner  or  later,  and  probably  wonld. 

The«e,  however,  are  but  examples  of  dangers  which  theory  over- 
looks  and   practice    would    certainly    discover.     Cabinet    difficulties 
might  not,  but  yet  might  arise.       Indeed,  trouble  would  probably 
Wgin  with  the  business  of  Cabinet  reconstruction.      To  put  Liberal- 
Uniooiats  in,  Conservatives   would  have  to  go   out ;  a   matter  that 
WDoJd  become  very  afflicting  if  there  was  much  care  for  the  f|uestion 
*i  How  many  ?     To  men  of  strong  Conservative  feeling — and  there 
1.-V  pl«jty  of  them — that  would  be  rather  a  rousing  question :  for  the 
t'Jir  ambitious  young  Conservatives  in  the  House  of  Commons  it 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVlEtV. 


[Kkb. 


woalil  haw  a  particular  and  personal  interesb.     To  dip  further  into 
detail,  at  least  oae   energetic  Liberal-Unionist   could  not  join   the 
Cabinet ;    and    Mr.   Chamberlain    being   left   oat,    it   might    not    be 
unimportant  to  consider  what  Mr.  Cliamberlain  would  naturally  do  in 
that   situation.      One   thing  he   wuuld   do    like  all  the  rest  of   us : 
watch  most  narrowly  and  jealously  the  legislation  of  the  Mixed  Govern- 
ment.     If  he  did    not  think  this   legislation   suflicieutly  harmonious 
•with  Radical  i>rinciples,  such  as  were  embodied  in  the  Unauthorized 
Prograraiiiv  and  the  like,  he  would  denounce  it,  organize  against  it, 
'stump"  against  it;  and  this  he   would  do  all  the   more   probably 
because  thus  a  new  career  would   be   ojiened   to  him   where   every 
practical  avvnue  seemed  closed.     There  may  be  differences  of  opinion, 
of  course,   us  to  the  amount  of  uiischiel'   that    might   arise    for   the 
Government  party  in  that  way ;   but  there  can  be  little  doubt  as  to 
the  gravity  of  the  consequences  if  a  distinct  leaning  in  the  Cabinet 
to  Conservative  principli-s  on  the  one  hand,  or  to  lladical  principles  on 
the  other,  roused  rebellion  in  the  amalgamated  rank  and  file.      Hoiw 
much  easier  it  is   to    disagree   as   strangers   at  a    distance   than   as 
members  of  one  family  under  the   same  roof  is  pretty  well  known. 
Joined  in  the  same  local  club,  the  still -differing  Tory  and  Liberal 
would  watch  for  every  sign  of  party  d<miination  at  the  seat  of  Govern- 
ment in  Downing  Street;  and  they  would  do  so  with  a  restlessness, 
all  the  more  feverish,  all  the  more  likely  to  break  out  into  wrath, 
becau.^o  of  liie  marinr/e  dv  convcname  in  which  they  were  domiciled 
together.      Fusion,  or  no  fusion,  we  know  already  that  the   Liberal 
Unionists  have  no  idea  of  making  any  concession  to  Ton,'  principle 
and   the    Ton,-   teroperameut.      Aware    of   an    extreme    sensitiveness 
on  that  point,  their  leaders   scarcely  ever   speak   in   public   without 
betraying  a  consciousness  that  they  must  carefully  guard  themselves 
against  being  supposed  capable  of  anything  of  the  kind.      On  the 
other  hand,  the  later  developments  oF  EadicaUsm,  so  far  from  inclining 
Conservatives  to   adopt  more   "  advanced "   principles,   have    had    a 
precisely  contrary  eSect.     How  should  it  be  otherwise,  indeed  ?     It  is 
useless  to  nrgjie  right  or  wrong  in  such  matters ;  there  are  the  facts, 
and  they  render   it   all   but  certain   that   the  policies    of    a    mixed 
Cabinet  would  !)e  marked  from  both  sides  with  a  sharpened  jealousy, 
now  on  the  Wiitch  for  a  particular  and  special  grievance:   breach  of 
an  honourable  understanding,  to  wit. 

Therefore,  that  the  leaders  theiiiRelves  should  hanker  for  such  a 
"fusion" — which,  moreover,  ib  in  this  case  a  word  for  a  wish  rather 
than  for  anything  else — is  barely  comprehensible.  Difiiculties  with 
their  followers  they  must  desire  to  avoid,  and  we  know  that  on  several 
occasions  during  the  last  two  years  there  has  been  great  uneasiness 
in  both  camps.  It  has  been  seen  on  the  Conservative  benches  in  the 
House  of  ComittOQS,  and  has  disturbed  the  local  associationa  of  either 


UNIONIST  FUSION. 


295 


|Mrty.  Fusion  of  the  formal  kiud  that  is  gtill  recommended  from 
some  quarters  would  increase  the  risks  of  yet  greater  disturbance ; 
wliile,  as  to  a  Cabinet  of  Fusion,  that  harmony  should  last  long  there 
SMms  very  doubtful  indeed,  except  on  one  condition.  If  the  Conserva- 
tive members  of  the  Government  agreed  to  clothe  tliemselves  with 
Liberal  principles  (as  those  principles  havo  been  hitherto  distin- 
^ished  from  Conservatism,  and  as  they  have  hfretoforc  divided  the 
(iUlowers  of  Lord  Salisbury  from  the  followers  of  Lord  JIartington) 
tiia  Cabinet  itself  would  bo  harmonious  enough  no  doubt.  But  here  a 
coBftideration  comes  in  that  should  not  bp  lightly  treated.  Liberalism 
|i  a  wride  word  and  covers  a  very  broad  range  of  principle.  What. 
tf»--  ''  -  '  sort  of  Liberalism  that  Lord  Hartington  would  be  expected 
to  :   _  it  and  to  enforce  in  a  Coalition  Cabinet?     Or,  if  coalition 

stopped  abort  of  the  Cabinet,  what  sort  of  Liberalism  would  thr 
Government  be  expected  to  adopt  in  reward  for  fusion  in  the  consti- 
toeacy-orgauizations  ?  We  shall  not  exaggerate  if  we  say  that  it 
Attst  be  a  distinct  and  unmistakable  Liberalism.  It  must  be  so 
8ii  '  larked  from  the  beginning  of  the  arrangement  as  to  assure 
;!]•  -Hjrs   of   that    creed    that    they    have    not    erred — that  no 

(iladatonian  can  call  their  leaders  place-seduced  renegades  wit^ 
the  filightest  degree  of  plausibility,  or  ridicule  tliemselves  as  sold  to 
Ton^ism.  Lord  Hartington  must  see  that  he  would  be  expected  to  push 
forward  a  step  or  two,  instead  of  standing  on  the  foot  of  Whiggish 
UbuBlism;  or,  without  Lord  Hartington,  the  Government  whicli 
nqpnaented  the  amalgamated  party  would  be  expected  to  ad\-Bncv 
Uy(»ui  Whiggish  Liberalism.  But  how  would  that  suit  the  Conserva- 
tive*— the  born  Conservatives  who  form  the  bulk  of  tlio  Unionist 
cunDcctiou  in  the  constituencies  ?  And  whut  would  be  Lord  Hartijig- 
l</n's  position  as  a  Cabinet  Minister  under  such  cirotuustances  ?  what 
His  rvlations  with  his  colleagues  on  the  one  hand  and  his  own  party  in 
tii>«  country  on  the  other  ?  Excessively  uncomfortable,  we  must 
Mppoiie,  with  a  risk  of  declining  into  the  intolerable. 

AdiI  mark  this  ]x»int,  for  it  is  a  most  important  ont» ;   wliatever  the 
rvlfttious  of  Jtliuisters  to  each  other  there  could  Ije  no  resignation.    There 
«>al»i  beno  resignations  in  a  Coalition  Cabinet  formed  under  such  circum- 
r|  at  such   a  time — or   none   of  any   significance — ^vithout 
'  ii-  verging  on  disaster.      Vet,  in  the  ferments  precedent  to  a 

Uener^l  Election  such  as  the  next  one  is  likely  to  be,  or  when  the 
H?i»lation  of  the  last  Session  of  this  Parliampnt  is  being  prepared,  it 
IS  i-asy  to  conceive  of  strong  differences  of  opinion  both  in  the  Cabinet 
•«>d  witliout.  On  either  side  there  are  men  of  expediency  and  men  of 
PWiriplc.  How  to  win  the  election  will  be  the  main  point  with  the 
<*>• — bow  to  win  it  without  the  sacrifice  of  principle  which  was  so  much 
**di>ianed  in  the  Gladstonians  will  be  the  aim  of  the  other.  Nobody 
Oto  doubt  that,  as  we  come  nearer  to  the  end  of  this  Parliament,  the 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEfV. 


[YZB. 


choice  between  fighting  the  New  Radicalism  on  lines  of  CJonservative 
resistance  or  of  Liberal  concession  will  be  sharply  pi-esented  to  the 
Unionists.  That  choice  must  be  decided  in  the  Cabinet ;  and  the 
debate  upon  it  will  go  on  while  the  two  sections  of  tlie  united  party 
pour  in  their  opposing  influences  from  without.  It  must  be  so,  in 
the  natural  courae  of  things  ;  and  supjxjsiiig  that,  at  this  time,  we  have 
a  Coalition  Ministry,  the  diOiculty  of  accommodation  in  Downing  Street 
will  rise  to  a  majdmum.  If  sacrifices  are  forced  upon  the  representa- 
tives of  either  section  in  the  Cabinet,  they  must  not  include  resignation 
of  office.  If  sacriHces  have  to  be  submitted  to,  they  cannot  be  solved 
by  resignation,  or  even  by  any  avowal  of  subjection  for  ex])ediency's 
sake  to  what  is  felt  to  be  a  wrong  course  of  policy.  Anjrthing  of 
that  sort  would  put  all  at  loggerheads  just  when  an  oj>en  breach  of 
concord  would  be  fatal.  And,  yet,  what  would  be  the  position  of  Lord 
Hortington  or  Lord  iSalisbury,  what  would  thrir  position  be  in  the 
eyes  of  an  eagerly-jealous  following,  if  either  submitt**d  in  silence  to 
a  range  of  policies  that  announced  the  subjection  of  his  party  ? 
Of  courae,  resort  might  be  Lad  to  compromise,  and  that,  no  doubt,  is 
the  idea  for  the  occasion.  But  it  is  all  to  the  point  of  these  remarks 
that  a  compromise-policy  (supposing  it  attainable)  would  seem  far 
more  gracious  and  acceptable  if  it  were  not  bi4ieved  to  be  the  out- 
come of  bargaining  in  the  Cabinet — mutual  surrender  of  principle 
arranged  at  a  green  baize  table.  It  is  more  important  to  observe, 
however,  that  since  the  grand  question  for  settlement  will  be  whether 
the  New  Radicalism  is  to  hi'  fought  on  lines  of  Liberal  concession  or 
Conaervative  resistance,  compromise  would  be  unusually  difficult  of 
application.  Compromise  is  a  sweet  word,  and  the  thing  is  often 
excellent  in  such  disputes  as  go  before  the  County  Courts.  The  com- 
promise of  principle  is  far  less  easy,  as  well  as  far  less  lovely  ;  and 
the  composition  of  preci.se  oppositea  is  rarely  manageable  at  all.  To 
use  an  image  frequently  employed  in  the  debate  of  such  matters, 
this  is  a  case  in  which  hitting  on  two  stools  would  be  difficult  in 
attempt  and  hazardous  in  accomplishment.  The  supports  on  either 
side  might  be  expected  to  give  way  by  the  withdrawal  of  thousands 
of  Liberal,  thouBands  of  Conservative  voters — the  one  as  much  dis- 
gusted as  the  other. 

If,  in  short,  "  England  does  not  lore  Coalitions,"  the  distaste  is 
neither  so  vague  nor  so  unacccmntable  as  many  who  repeat  that 
saying  seem  to  suppose.  It  is  by  no  means  a  case  of  ••  I  do  not  like 
you,  Dr.  Fell."  Engliahmen  know  perfectly  well  why  they  do  not 
love  Coalitions,  and  feel  that  their  reasons  for  the  dislike  are  i-ooted 
in  experience  of  the  advantages  of  plain  conmion  sense  and  common 
honesty  as  guides  to  conduct.  A  little  sophistication  in  political 
afi&irs,  some  infection  of  the  complaint  that  sickens  the  air  of  West- 
minster, and  they  might  take  to  Coalitions  more  kindly ;  but  though 


Mo] 


UNIONIST  FUSION. 


29' 


tae  contagion  is  spreading  from  caucus  and  platform  nowadays,  the  mass 

af  political   opinion  in   England  retains  the  simplicity  which  made 

ooJitions  repugnant  to  it  fifty  years  ago.     They  are  disliked  for  the 

tniSc  in  principles  which  they  imply,  and  are  none  the  less  suspected 

■8  unworkable,  because,  in  almost  every  case  where  they  are  proposed, 

the  saggestion  proceeds   from   the  personal   ambitions,  the  personal 

es,  the  contentious  wants,  wishes,  exigencies,  of  two  or  three 

duals  highly-placed.     The  present  case  is  more  free  from  that 

mspicion  than  others  have  been,  but  not  free  altogether.     The  men  of 

the  day  in  politics,  or  most  of  them,  are  new,  and  have  yet  to  become 

eatabliahed  on  a  firm  footing.      For  various  persons  of  distinction,  the 

grand  question  of  the   reconstruction  of  parties  is  associated  with 

another — namely,  Who  is  to  lead  them  when  reconstructed  ?  where 

shall  /  be  in  this  case,  and  how  shall  I  stand  in  that  ?    The  temptation 

to  have  a  hand  in  the  process  of  reconstruction  is  therefore  very  great ; 

bat  no  man  can  hope  to  meddle  with  much  effect  unless  he  happens  to 

be  in  enjoyment  of  an  all-commanding  popularity.     At  present,  no 

such  p>er8on  exists  on  the  Unionist  side  in  politics,  which   is  the  only 

one  we  have  to  deal  with  in  this  discussion.     Neither  Ixjrd  Hartington 

■or  Lord  Salisbury  himself  can   claim  to  be   so  bleat ;  and  that,  of 

foorse,  is  another  reason  for  abandoning  these  projects  ofmechanical 

fision. 

On  all  accounts  it  is  a  business  that  had  better  be  left  to  "  the  heat 

conflict,"  of  which  there  will  be   no   lack  as  the   General   Election 

'8  near.      If  the  mechanical  fusion  could  be  accomplished  now  (as, 

tbaaks  to  the  unsophistication  of  tbe  electorate,  it  cannot  be),  the 

'      s  are  that  it  would  be  all  undone  in  this  very  same  "  heat  of 

^:Ji.cL. "     That  is  to  say,  it  would  fall  to  pieces  at  the  first  and  most 

critical  application  of  its  use.     In  the  two  sections  of  the  Unionist 

party  em  they  stand  side  by  side  there  are  many  potential  elements  of 

■coord,  but  there  are  also  some  potential  elements  of  discord.    Neither 

h»Te  yet  been  awakened  to  full  activity.     Accordances  and  discordances 

»Iike  are  slumbering  in  unknown  quantity  ;  and  there  is  no  likelihood 

thai  they  will  come  out  in  force  till  tbe  rival  leaders  have  definitely 

marked  down  the  lines  on  which  they  mean  to  Bght  in  future.    When 

tiw  Gladstonian  programme  is  published,  when  the  Unionist  programme 

n  declared,  and  the  grand  struggle  of  1893  begius  in  earnest,  the 

tank  and  file  of  both  sections  will  know  how  they  stand  in  relation  to 

thtir  own  leaders  and  to  each  other.      But  not  till  then  will  they 

0W,  or  not  till  then  will  the  knowledge  be  brought  home  to  them 

irmly  and  definitely ;  and  then  we  shall  see  for  the  first  time  a 

anal  movement  of  resolution  into  one  or  other  of  the  two  new 

rties  which  will  be  the  product  of  the  next  Geueral  Election.     In  the 

It  of  that  struggle  the  infusible  elements  on  each  side  will  ran  out 

KMDe  into  the  opposite  party,  some  (in  all  likelihood  no  small  portion 

fOL.  Lvn.  D 


298 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Feb. 


on  botVi  sideB)  into  sheer  evaporation ;  or,  to  speak  plain  prose, 
retirement  in  disgust  from  all  concern  with  politics.  According 
as  the  rival  programmes  are  finally  planned,  some  Liberal  Unionists 
will  go  back  to  their  old  chief,  some  Gladstonian  Liberals  will  drop 
their  present  connection,  some  Conservatives  will  stand  off,  leaving 
oompromiae  to  its  own  rottennees,  as  we  may  suppose  them  to  say  ; 
and  thus  a  lasting  fusion  will  come  about  by  the  only  effective  means. 
To  be  lasting  it  must  be  spontaneous,  and  we  must  wait  for  the  spon- 
taneity till  the  forces  get  to  work  which  are  necessary  to  set  it  in 
action.  Press  the  two  Unionist  sections  into  the  mould  of  fusion  now 
and  they  will  ily  off  here  and  there  with  all  the  stronger  repulsion,  all 
the  louder  eclat,  when  the  day  of  spontaneous  reconstitution  arrives. 

It  seems,  then,  that  while  the  temper  of  the  rank  and  file  of 
Unionism  renders  all  attempts  at  consolidation  impossible  just  now,  • 
no  good  would  come  of  the  project  if  it  could  be  carried  out.  The 
most  probable  consequences  would  be  a  repetition  of  the  Birming- 
ham bickerings  in  a  score  of  constituencies,  a  livelier  ferment 
of  jealousy  on  the  Conservative  benches  of  the  House  of  Commons, 
and  the  introduction  into  the  Cabinet  of  additional  hazards  of  dis- 
sension ;  and  all  this  as  preliminary  to  a  great  electioneering  struggle 
which  demands  the  utmost  provision  of  concord  for  success.  And 
yet  the  project  is  still  advocated— still  advocated  in  spite  of  the 
palpable  consideration  that  even  if  amalgamation  worked  fairly  well 
up  to  the  time  of  the  elections,  it  would  almost  certainly  Haw  and 
"  fly  "  when  the  rival  programmes  are  produced.  Then,  why  ia  it 
still  advocated  ?  This  is  essentially  a  matter  of  practical  politics ; 
yet,  so  far,  I  have  seen  no  argument  for  fusion  that  differs  in 
character  from  the  rhapsodies  of  Universal  Brotherhood  associations. 
Argument,  indeed,  there  is  little  or  none.  Its  place  is  taken  by  va^ne 
indulgence  in  the  language  of  longing,  as  of  those  who  sigh  for  a 
purer  and  brighter  world  below.  Yet  the  proposal  has  been  sup- 
ported by  men  of  whom  it  certainly  cannot  be  aaid  that  they 
are  hasty  or  injudicious.  It  must  be  observed,  however,  that  if  we 
except  Lord  Salisbury  himself  and  those  who  are  supposed  to  speak 
for  him,  the  preachers  of  fusion  are  all  on  the  Liberal  Unionist  side, 
and  all  of  a  certain  order — that  is  to  say,  above  the  rank  and  file  of 
the  party.  Possibly  this  may  be  explained  by  "the  lesson  of  the 
bye  elections."  It  ia  a  fact  that  liiberal  Unionist  candidates  for 
Parliament  are  not  always  backed  with  cordiality  by  Conservative 
voters.  The  consequence  is,  that  the  number  of  Liberal  Unionist 
representatives  is  dwindling  considerably;  and  the  fear  is,  that  it  may 
decline  yet  more  before  and  at  the  time  of  the  General  Election. 
That,  of  course,  is  a  very  grave  matter,  and  one  tiint  Eiffects  the 
official  members  of  the  party  above  all.  Not  that  the  Conservative 
Unionists  are  unaffecte<l  by  it,  since  they  do  not  gain  the  seats  that 


iS9»] 


UNIONIST  FUSION. 


299 


tn  lost  by  their  allies ;  though  it  is  sometimes  supposed  that  they 

would  gain  them  if  they  were  contested  by  Conservative  candidates. 

However  that  may  be,  the  most  striking  and  immediate  consequence 

of  the  loss  is,  that  the  Parliamentary  following  of  the  Liberal  Unionist 

btdere  is  melting  away.      It  was  never  very  numerous  ;  and  should  it 

oontinQe  to  decline  at  the  same  rate,  or  sufier  corresponding  reverses 

at  the  General  Election,  the  leaders  of  the  party  will  soon  have  a 

very  poor  show  of  numbers  to  back  their  personal  pretenaions  and 

Mthority.      Now,   whether   they   look    to   the    furtherance    of    their 

principles  or  their  own  place  in  the  world,  that  is  a  serious  matter 

far  them ;  and  so  it  may  be  that  their  desire  for  fusion — which  has 

been  expressly  advocated  as  including  the  common  and  equal  use  of 

the  whole  machinery  of  electioneering — has  blinded  them  a  little  to 

itfi  hazards. 

It  is  not  so  easy  to  account  for  the  favour  which  the  fusion  pro- 
posal seems  to  have  found  in  the  eyes  of  the  Prime  Minister.  Possibly, 
lie  is  leas  inclined  to  it  now  than  he  was  some  time  ago ;  and  then 
its  charm  for  him  appeared  to  be  relief  from  over-great  responsibility. 
A  Cabinet  fiision  was  his  first  desire.  It  has  been  an  extremely 
difficult  time  at  the  Foreign  Office.  More  than  ouce,  events  of 
tremendous  import  seemed  to  be  at  the  very  point  of  birth — events 
fraught  with  the  gravest  consequences  for  the  British  Empire,  and 
entailing  the  necessity  of  framing  decisions  of  an  equally  momentfjus 
character.  It  would  liave  been  only  natural,  then,  if  Lord  Salisbury 
had  wished  for  a  highly-placed  colleague  in  Lord  Hartington,  who. 
partly  on  account  of  his  known  gravity  of  judgment,  partly  on  account 
of  his  position  as  chief  of  an  independent  Liberal  party  compriHtng 
nuny  of  the  wisest,  and  most  sober  of  Englishmen — would  have  added 
greet  weight  to  the  decisions  of  the  Government  while  he  shared 
ilB  responsibilities  by  half.  It  now  appears,  however,  that  the 
dangers  have  passed  away  which  various  high  personages  admit  they 
trembled  at ;  and  though  they  may  revive,  and  revive  at  the  very 
time  of  our  General  Election,  the  day  of  their  return  seems  distant. 
If  so,  then  ali  the  less  reason  is  there  to  force  a  union  of  parties 
which  precipitancy  might  ruin,  and  which  cannot  be  true  and  lasting 
if  it  does  oot  come  about  spontaneously,  or  under  pressure  of  all  that 
is  really  capable  of  fusion. 

A«  we  have  seen,  this  pressure  will  probably  be  brought  to  bear 
io  the  stress  of  the  elections  ;  but  it  may  be  hastened  by  accident. 
What  will  happen  to  the  other  party  when  Mr,  Gladstone  disappears 
ia  a  matter  of  common  speculation  j  nothing  more  common,  in  fact, 
Bferjr  shuffle  and  change  that  is  likely  to  follow  upon  that  much- 
anticipated  event  is  discussed  openly  aud  at  large.  Meantime,  the 
potability  of  another  disappearance  from  this  mortal  scene  is  quite 
Jiafegmnded ;  not,  perhaps,  because  a  higher  degree   of   delicacy   is 


300 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[Yrb. 


demanded  where  Lord  Saliabuiy  is  concerned,  bat  becaase  a  complete 
failure  of  health  in  his  case  is  not  likely  to  be  followed  by  any 
serious  political  complications.  But  is  that  so  ?  The  question  has 
never  come  under  debate  in  the  newspapers  and  reviews,  but  it  is  a 
matter  of  deep  concern  in  the  official  entourage  of  the  Prime  Minister. 
A  sincere  solicitude,  and  the  doleful  chatter  of  gossip  insincere,  have 
probably  exaggerated  the  fear  that  he  is  "  not  strong;  "  but,  however 
that  may  be,  no  sooner  does  he  fall  ill  than  his  colleaguea  of  both 
sections  put  on  their  considering  caps,  and  the  buzz  of  speculation 
amongst  them  becomes  anxious  to  a  degree  that  seems  quite  unsus- 
pected beyond  their  own  immediate  circle.  In  the  language  of  the 
French,  they  have  reason.  The  Prime  Minister  is  not  much  con- 
sidered as  a  centre  of  stability,  but  that  he  is,  and  bis  withdrawal 
from  public  Kfe  would  put  everything  into  confusion.  It  is  unnecessary 
to  speak  of  the  rival  ambitions  at  his  side — the  various  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  same  office  whenever  he  has  an  unusually  bad  cold,  the 
claims  and  counter-claims  that  stir  in  Opposition,  the  arrangements 
of  Ministries  and  policies  that  instantly  take  form  in  different  minds. 
Enough  to  point  out  that  should  that  happen  on  the  one  side  in 
politics  which  we  are  quite  at  liberty  to  discuss  when  the  other  is 
concerned,  Fusion  would  become  at  once  the  question  of  the  day — 
of  the  hour.  And  where  would  the  question  centre  ?  It  would 
instantly  be  massed  upon  another — namely,  a  Ministry  with  or  with- 
out Lord  Hartington  ?  Supposing  him  to  be  in  the  land  of  the  living 
(a  moat  ungracious  matter  to  discuss,  all  this)  that  would  bo  the  grand 
point ;  and  how  much  would  be  involved  in  its  debate  and  decision 
need  not  be  said.  What  may  be  remarked,  however,  is,  that  when 
we  cast  imagination  forth  to  embrace  the  difficulties  and  contentions 
that  would  arise  upon  the  fusion  question,  should  it  be  forced  on  us  by 
an  event  that  shall  be  nameless,  it  is  easier  to  understand  the  argument 
against  the  premature  adoption  of  a  hazardous  project. 

Frederick  Grbrvwood. 


[NoTE.^lt  is  due  to  the  writer  of  "  The  Home  Rule  Moveme  nt  io  India 
ana  in  Ireland,"  in  our  January  number,  to  explain  tlmt,  owing  to  the  non- 
iirrival  of  a  proof,  two  or  three  printer's  errorj?  crept  iato  the  text:  on 
p^^re  79,  in  line  6,  1880  should  be  1888,  in  line  7,  £15,000  should  be 
£1500.— En.  C.R.] 


»%o] 


COMMUNISM. 


S' 


IIXCE  the  great  awakening  of  the  Renaissance  and  thf  Reforma- 
tion, each  century  has  been   entrusted  with  a  special  task,  and 
;»h  a  special  science  to  accomplish  it.    In  the  sixteenth  century  that 
iface  was  theology,  and  the  task  it  enjoined,  religious  reform.     In 
' .?  seventeenth  the  science  was  mora!  philosophy,  and  the  task  the 
.jfteaian  renovation  of  moral   philosophy.     The  eighteenth  century 
was  given  over  to  the  study  of  pilitics,  and  found  its  correlntive  task 
in  proclaiming  throughotit  Europe  those  natural   rights   already  in- 
taganted  by  the  Puritans  of  New  England.      While  the  nineteenth 
oroturj-  has  devoted  itself  to  p.iHtical  economy,  and  has  set  before  itself 
the  amelioration  of  the  lot  of  the  greater  number. 

The  sixteenth  century  says  to  man  :    "  Thou  shalt  no  longer  submit 

to  the  decisions  of  Popes,  but  thyself  search  the  Scriptures  for  Truth." 

The  seventeenth  centuiy  .says  :  "  Thou  shalt   no   longer  bow  before 

traditional  authority,  but  seek  oat  truth  by  the  light  of  reason."    The 

eighteenth  centuiy  says  :  "  Thon  shalt  cense  to  be  the  slave  of  nobles 

and  despots  who  oppress  thee ;  thou  art  free  and  sovereign."      While 

the  nineteenth  centnry  argues  :    "  It  is  a  grand  thing  to  be  free  and 

•overeign,  but  how  is  it  that  the  sovereign  often  starves  ?  how  is  it 

that  tho8«?  who  are  held  to  be  the  source  of  power  often  cannot,  even  by 

bard  work,  provide  themselves  with  the  necessaries  of  life?"     This  ia 

th*"  problem  which    now  lies   before  ns — a  problem  which  men  Lave 

endeavoured  to  solve   by   books,   by  lectures,   by  rude  violence,  and 

hare  hitherto  endeavoured  in  vain.     Yet  for  any  fresh  endeavour,  for 

any  new  light  upon  the  problem — Justice  among  men- — we  must  turn  to 

♦hat  recent  science,  by  some  called  political  economy,  by  others  social 

■•-i«nce,  whose  object  is  to  analyze  the  production  and  distribution  of 

wealth.      When    Voltaire    was    studying    history,    with  Madame   de 

TOL»  Lvn.  X 


302 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mak. 


Ch&telet,  and  attempting  to  discover  the  laws  which  rule  the  rise  and 
feU  of  empires,  he  fully  realized  that  for  his  object  a  knowledge  of 
political  economy  was  necesaaiy,  a  science,  at  that  period,  barely  out- 
lined. In  the  present  day  it  is  sufficiently  advanced  to  materially  aid 
our  researches  with  lessons  from  the  past.  All  social  problems  are 
certainly  not  l>y  any  means  new.  In  all  ages  the  unequal  distribu- 
tion of  the  good  things  of  the  earth  has  excited  the  astonishment  of 
the  wise  and  the  complaints  of  the  poor : — to  some  leisure,  luxury,  and 
power;  to  others  lalxiui*,  miser}'',  and  servitude.  In  the  introduction 
to  his  excellent  JTLitoirc  dc  i' Economic  Puliliipic,  Blainjui  writes: 
"  In  all  revolutions  there  are  never  more  than  two  parties  ;  those  who 
wish  to  live  on  the  produce  of  their  own  labour,  and  those  who  would 
live  on  the  labour  of  others."  This  very  true  remark  is  expressed  in 
another  way  by  Aristotle,  who  says  :  "  The  weak  are  ever  clamouring 
for  equality  and  justice,  the  strong  do  not  trouble  themselves  about 
the  matter."  It  is  obvious,  then,  that  though  no  verdict  has  yet  been 
reached,  the  case  has  been  in  court  a  long  time.  Inequalities  date 
from  the  earhest  stages  of  society,  though  the  most  cursory  glance  over 
history  shows  that  it  has  been  the  constant  effort  of  humanity  to 
combat  these  inequalities,  and  that  the  efibrt  has  been  increasingly 
successful.  In  our  own  time,  however,  new  circumstances  have 
arisen,  which  have  totally  changed  the  conditions  of  the  fight,  and  of 
these  circumstances  I  will  mention  three. 

In  the  fii-st  place,  those  who  live  by  manual  labour,  who  were  ij> 
the  beginning  slaves,  then  serfs,  and  are  now  but  the  "  lower  orders," 
are,  theoretically  at  least,  recognized  as  the  equals  of  the  non-worker, 
and  in  many  countries  have  already  legislative  rights.  Secondly ^ 
political  economy  has  discovered  to  us  the  causes  of  ine((uality  by 
explaining  how  wealth  is  distributed.  Lastly,  thanks  to  the  press^ 
and  the  spread  of  education,  tlie  workers  are  themselves  mastering  the 
mysteries  of  political  economy,  a  weapon  which  will  be  formidable 
enough.  These  circumstances,  and  many  others  which  I  cannot  enume- 
rate here,  endow  the  old  problem  of  inequahty  with  a  gravity  which 
it  never  previously  possessed,  and  which  is  now  appri'ciated  by  all. 
The  problem  therefore  calls  for  most  persevering  study,  for  so  long 
as  the  old  conservative  forces  exhibit  blind  terror  at  all  change,  and 
the  new  radical  spirit  frets  foolishly  at  all  that  is,  we  shall  be  swayed 
continuously  between  despotism  and  anarchy.  Careful  study  is  the 
more  requisite,  too,  hecauao  no  remedy  lias  yet  been  found  for  that 
evil  inequality,  the  source  of  which  we  have  discovered.  It  is  true 
that  remedies  have  been  invented,  and  each  patentee,  so  to  speak,  has 
been  convinced  that  hia  alone  was  the  universal  panacea,  just  as  not 
infrequently  the  confidence  of  a  raw  physician  is  in  pi-oportion  to  his 
ignorance.  Some  of  these  remedies  are  worthle-sB,  but  others 
certainly  repay  examination,  as  there  is  often  a  soul  of  truth  in  things 


COMMUNISM, 

ernmeoas.  and  one  may  possibly  pluck  out  a  jewel,  and  set  it  in 
eoDspicnous  daylight.  Wlien  the  improvement  of  the  condition  of  our 
fcllow-men  is  at  stake,  attentive  and  patient  examination  becomes  the 
Mrict  duty  of  humanity.  Let  us,  then,  examine  Commutiism,  the 
ifBwdy  which  is  offered  in  an  engaging  and  seemingly  scientific  form 
veil  calculated  to  seduce  the  public. 

The  importance  of  Communism  lies  in  the  fact,  that,  it  is  specially 
•ttractive  to  two  classes  of  men  of  mutual  sympathies,  reformers  and 
■uken.  The  former  are  drawn  to  it  by  a  sentiment  of  justice; 
lliAlafcterby  their  own  necessities.  The  two  broad  facts  at  the  base  of 
OoauBuoLsm  which  account  for  its  persistence  are,  a  rebentmeat  of  the 
inequality  of  conditions,  and  a  faith  in  the  principle  of  universal 
Intherbood,  a  principle  which  is  just  in  itself,  but  has  unhappily 
Veen  misapplied.  Not  in  vain  were  the  watchwords,  Ecpudit;/  and 
Fmtanity,  sounded  in  the  ears  of  enthusiasts  of  the  new  ideas ;  once 
grmven  in  their  hearts,  they  could  not  be  effaced.  But  how  are  these 
principles  to  be  applied  ?  How  is  society  to  be  reformed  in  accord- 
Miee  with  justice?  Communism  is  offered  as  the  solution  of  this 
dUBcnlty  ;  Communism,  that  dream  of  so  many  great  men,  the  in- 
ilfiiute  organization  of  the  earliest  human  societies.  Its  simplicity  seems 
to  make  it  feasible  ;  its  apparent  regularity  takes  the  imagination;  its 
•dloiir  of  benevolence  wins  the  pitiful.  It  is  adopted  without  reflection, 
■id  without  knowledge  ;  and  naturally,  for  it  necessitates  neither.  It 
ia  golden-mouthed,  and  draws  delightful  pictures  ;  its  descriptions  are 
BO  leas  fascinating  than  its  contrasts  are  striking  ;  but  it  reasons  little ; 
ft  does  not  appeal  to  the  intellect.  Of  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of 
■fi  economic  reform  it  has  nothing  to  say  ;  it  simply  ignores  them. 

Ab  for  the   workers,  is  it  likely  they   would  refuse   to  follow  this 

pitfi  strewn  with   the   flowers  of  Utopia?     Their  lot  is  often  veiy 

kvd,  (ilways  nncertAin,  and  appears  all  the  harder  in   contrast  with 

Ifce  Inxnry  in  their  midst.     The  eighteenth   century  tells   them   of 

•  tame  when  land  was  unappropriated,  when   man  was  a   proud  free 

agvnt,  rirtuouB  and  upright,  earning  his  substance  by  the  strength  of 

kia  Aims,  not  as  a  serf,  or  a  paid  servant,  but  as  a  warrior,  the  darling 

■n  of  nature,  whose  exhaustless  benefits  he  enjoyed.     They  are  told 

now  of  a  happy  future,  when  evil   shall   be  banished  from  the  earth, 

•nd  tsjuBtice  from  society,  when  there  shall  be  no  laws  nor  restraints 

iBVo  those  of  love,  no  limits  to  enjoyment  but   desire,  no  labour  but 

Boch  as  they  have  taste  for;  when  life,  in  a  word,  shall  become  the 

Vng  and  pleasant  feast  that  poets   sing  of.     Is  it  strange  that  they 

xne  ap  snd  msh  forward  with   outstretched  arms,  and  hearts  full  of 

Wipe,  to  embrace  these  visions  of  happiness  presented  to  their  excited 

ia^giiMlaoii!)  ?     They  would  have  these  dreams  realities  ;  they  would 

fllAa  tlieee  phantom  fancies  texts  for  legislation  ;  this  happiness,  of 

vlidi  tJbey  have  caught  a  glimpse,  they  want  actually  to  enjoy  •,   and 


304 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mae. 


if  society,  in  its  present  conditions,  resists  them,  and  rejects  their 
ideal,  they  stand  up  and  attack  it.  Yon  may  tell  those  who  have  not 
the  wherewithal  to  livt',  that  their  lot  is  inevitable,  that  the  majority 
must  ever  Bufier  so  that  the  minority  may  enjoy ;  they  Avill  not  believe 
you.  In  the  heart  of  sufiering  man  hope  dies  hard  ;  and  it  is  well  so, 
for  when  hope  is  dead,  what  ia  there  left  bat  revolt  ? 

Should  ytiu  bind  youtli  down  to  the  present  by  bonda  of  interest 
or  ambition,  it  will  yet  escape  you,  for  it  believes  it  has  a  mission 
to  fulfil,  a  certain  progress  to  realize.  It  were  vain  to  attempt  to 
detain  it,  yet  you  may  perhaps  guide  its  flight.  So  it  is  useless  to  tell 
these  enthusiasts  of  brotherhood,  that  humanity  falls  again  and  again 
into  the  sauio  errors  all  ending  in  ruin.  The  reply  will  be  an  affirma- 
tion of  indefinite  perfectibility,  an  article  of  faith  bequeathed  to  us  by 
the  eighteenth  century,  and  an  enumeration  of  the  startling  evidences 
of  progress  yrr'it  large  on  the  page  of  modern  histx^ry  :  the  printing-press, 
and  steam,  religions  liberty  and  equality  before  the  law,  the  wonders  of 
industry,  and  the  wonders  of  thought.  It  is  vain,  too,  to  add  that 
whitle  we  think  we  are  advaucing,  we  are  but  moving  in  a  circle-, 
blindly  turning  the  treadmill  of  our  centuries  as  of  our  lives.  Tlieir 
answer  is:  "  It  is  true  we  are  moving  in  circles,  but  they  are  the  circles 
of  a  vast  spiral  ascent  starting  from  the  mire  of  the  dibivian  period,  and 
reaching  to  that  invisible  sun,  which  Plato  called  Truth.  Coarse  clay, 
at  the  outset,  we  are  ever  perfecting  ourselves,  as  our  reason  grows, 
and  grasps  new  principles."  It  were  wiser  did  you  say  to  these  im- 
patient enthusiasts:  "  The  evil  is  indeed  great,  and  it  becomes  all  lovers 
of  justice  to  fight  against  it.  Analyse  it,  discover  its  cause,  that  you 
may  find  also  its  remedy.  Do  not  listen  to  the  voice  of  instinct,  about 
which  so  much  is  talked ;  it  is  the  voice,  not  of  mind,  but  of  matter. 
Do  not  trust  the  imagination  ;  its  impressions  are  all  embellished 
by  the  senses.  Feeling  will  not  suffice  •  you  must  have  knowledge. 
Cease  to  dream,  and  learn  to  know.  Your  Communistic  plans  are 
merely  the  delusions  of  your  heart ;  see  if  they  can  satisfy  your 
reason.  You  desire  liberty,  erjuality  and  fraternity ;  they  would  crush 
liberty,  violate  equality  and  impose  fraternity."  This  is  the  attitude, 
and  the  argument  that  I  have  adopted  in  the  following  pages.  Before, 
however,  putting  a  systom  to  the  test,  it  is  necessary  clearly  to  deter- 
mine its  nature  and  its  object. 

Communism,  as  generally  understood,  includes  any  and  every 
idea  of  reform  or  stxjial  progress.  Infatuated  with  the  prevail- 
ing order  of  things,  in  this  view  every  novelty  and  every  pioneer 
of  reform  are  tainted  with  this  heretical  Communism.  It  is 
the  spirit  of  evil,  disguised  and  metamorphosed  in  numberless 
ways.  Like  the  recluses  of  the  Middle  Ages,  these  fanatical  Con- 
servativea,  disturbed  by  the  phantoms  of  their  imaginations,  see  the 
Black   Monster  everywhere.     Communism  is  the   Satan  of  political 


t«9o] 


COMMUNISM. 


305 


roooomy.    Any  intervention  of  the  State  to  assist  the  needy  classes, 

-uii  to  lessen  social  inequality,  is  condemned  as  imbued  with  this  detest- 

»i>le  error.      Free  education,  public  libraries,  the  housing  of  the  poor, 

agrarian    lawB    for    Ireland,    limitation    of     the  hoars  of  labour — all 

tins  is  said  to  affoct  liberty  of  contract,  and  free  competition,  and  to 

he  Commanbm  more  or  less  pronounced,  which,  if  once  admitted,  will 

spread  throughont  the  body  politic.      But  the  principle  of  Communism, 

it  mast  be  remembered,   is  this :  that  the  individual  works  for  the 

profit  of  the  State,  to  which  he  hands  over  the  produce  of  his  lalxjur 

for  equal  division  among  all ;  so  that  all  shall  receive  the  same  amount 

«f  wM^efl.  or  rather  remuneration  corresponding  to  their  rerjuirements. 

Hie  maxim  which  sums  up  the  whole  system  is  well  known :  Fram 

OKk  accordin/f  to  his  strength,  to  each  accordin//  to  his  iu-(vl,f,  as  in  the 

cMe  of  a  family.     This  is  the  basis  of  the  social  order  advocated  by 

Mr.  Bellamy.      Communism  must  not  be  confused  with  collectivism. 

Id  the  collectivist  system,  all  the  materials  of  production  belong  to 

the  State,  but.  the  production   itself  is  in  the  hands  of  co-operative 

p3,  under  hierarchical  rule,  each   man  being  paid  in  proportion 

.-■  .Mj  labour.      Such  a  system  may  offer  egregious  difficulties,  but,  as 

it  aJmits  of  the  incentive  of  individual  interest,  it  is  not  of  itself  an 

impoMibility.      In  Belgium  the  State  holds  and  works  the  railways, 

in  Prussia,  many   mines  and  collieries,    and  in  France,  the  forests. 

There  is  nothing  to  object  to  in  the  principle  of  this. 

The  first  Christians  condemning  the  world,  its  prides,  its  distinc- 
tions imd  its  laws,  fled  to  the  deserts,  where  they  lived  in  common.  In 
tie  Mme  spirit.  Itousseau,  disgusted  by  the  inequalities  in  the  society 
of  his  time,  condemned  tho  individual  possession  of  property,  and  even 
▼entered  to  find  his  ideal  in  primitive  society,  and  advocate  a  return 
to  this.  The  social  condition  of  these  primitive  savages  is  pretty 
dearly  indic»t<'d  by  him  when  he  says :  "  Beware  of  forgetting  that 
the  fruits  belong  to  all.  and  the  earth  to  no  one."  Unhappily,  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  eighte^mth  centuiy  in  regard  to  the  "  natural  man" 
has  been  completely  chilled  by  the  accounts  of  modern  travellers,  who 
havf  found  him  frequently  more  ferocious  than  the  wolf,  who  does  not 
day  and  eat  his  fellows,  and  more  treacherous  than  the  tiger,  who,  at 
lfii«t.  makes  no  protestation  of  friendship  before  despatching  you. 
Contx'raporary  reformers  have  therefore  abandoned  their  search  for 
th»'  idi'ul  community  among  primeval  forests,  and  have  preferred  to 
■tndy  conventual  life,  and  the  Moravian  brotherhood.  Tho  organiza- 
tion of  a  ooraraunistic  society  is  exceedingly  simple.  All  the  means 
trf  production  belong  to  the  State ;  the  citizen  may  work  as  much  as 
hp  choowe,  and  also  consume  as  much  as  he  pleases.  This  is  pretty 
well  ft  «traiinary  of  Communism,  but  all  its  advocates  from  I'lato  to 
Mr.  Bellnuiy  have  adorned  it  with  more  or  less  ingenious  details,  and 
fittwoa  of  one  sort  or  another. 


306 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


I  should  like  here  to  glance  at  the  errors  on  which  CommunisTn 
founded.      It   seems  to  me  that  it  springs  up  in  tarn  from  t^ 
principles,  just   in  thomselves,    but  misunderstood   or   misapplied 
fraternity  and  equality.      There  are  thus  two  Borta  of  Communism  :   o^ 
which  is  based  on  the  idea  of  fraternity,  the  other  on  that  of  equalitjr*'^ 
Let  us  first  examine  the  former  kind,  to  which  alone  I  shall  refer  i^^ 
the  ensuing  section. 


If  I  look  down  into  the  innermost  depths  of  my  consciousnesB,  I 
become  aware  of  two  sentiments  from  which  all  others  spring,  I  feel 
in  the  first  place  that  I  exist  and  love  myself.  1  seek  my  own  happi- 
ness primorUy  in  the  acquisition  of  material  objects,  finally,  as  my 
reasoning  powers  grow,  in  the  acquisition  of  truth.  Here  then  la 
the  first  of  these  two  feelings — seljishness.  Moreover,  I  am  in  the 
midst  of  other  beings  like  myself,  and  if  they  do  not  attack  me  and 
there  be  nothing  to  excite  conflict  or  rivalry  between  us,  I  tend  to 
like  them.  This  then  is  the  second  of  the  two  feelings.  It  has  been 
called  sociahUity,  because  it  is  the  basis  of  every  sort  of  society, 
altrnism  because  it  involves  affection  for  one's  fellows,  and  fratemUy^ 
because  it  is  the  link  which  unites  the  great  human  family  together. 
You  may  analyze  the  feelings  in  all  their  infinity  dogrees  of  intensity, 
and  you  will  find  they  all  have  their  source  in  the  two  primarj-  senti- 
ments. Even  in  our  love  for  others  there  is  something  of  self-love. 
We  can  never  lose  consciousness  of  our  own  individual  and  personal 
vitality,  which  is  the  twurce  of  all  our  ideas,  and  the  arbiter  of  all  our 
desires.  But  self-love  assumes  a  disinterested  character  when  we 
rejoice  in  the  pleasure  of  others  or  grieve  over  their  sorrows.  Atnare 
est  altcruis  felicitate  dthHari,  says  Leibnitz,  and  this  is  the  finest  defi- 
nition of  love  that  has  ever  been  given.  All  our  actions  are  gtiided 
by  love  of  self,  and  love  for  others  under  the  names  of  ^"7y,  charity ^ 
sociabiliii/,  altrnisyn  or  Jrafcnrih/.  These  two  principles  are  the 
motive  powers  of  the  mind,  I  might  almost  say  the  pivots  of  life. 
Yet  Communism  ignores  one  of  them,  it  would  indeed  abolish  self-love, 
and  leave  only  love  for  others,  or  altruism.  Frat-emal  love  in  univer- 
sal brotherhood  is  the  sacred  theme  which  has  been  the  inspiration  of 
Communism  in  all  its  intoxicating  madness.  I  say  madness,  because 
the  attempt  to  uproot  from  the  human  heart  all  self-ward  feeling  is 
of  the  idlest.  It  will  thus  be  seen  that  Communism  bears  some 
resemblance  to  Qiuetism,  and  still  more  to  Pantheism,  in  that  it  tends 
to  absorb  individuals  in  humanity  and  humanity  in  God.  So  far  from 
loosing  the  passions  it  would  completely  subject  them  to  the  reason, 
for  ita  creed  is  that  in  spirit  alone  can  men  be  united.  Thus  it  calls 
on  all  men  to  live  the  rational  life,  which  it  maintains  is  the  only  true 
one.     It  aims,  moreover,  at  the  deletion  of  the  individual  with  his 


1  his 

J 


COMMUNISM. 


iaiiv\i^\  view  and  hia  individual  existence ;  lie  ia  to  be  merged  in 
ihe  coUectiveneas  of  the  social  body.  It  recognizea  no  distinct  or 
ae|»i»t^  btfresta,  talks  of  duties,  knows  nothing  of  rights ;  for  my 
rigbt  is  in  what  I  own.  and  if  no  one  owns  anything,  there  can  be  no 

I^t  iM  break  the  fetters  of  the    material,   cries   the  Communint, 
*n(i  scar  upwards   into   the   realm  of    the    spiritual,    where  in  true 
anity  we  may  worship  in  common  the  true,  the  beautiful  and  the 
good.    Private  property  would  sever  us,  distinction  of  interests  would 
be  a  Uir  to  union.      AH   happiness   is  increased,  by   being  shared  ;  to 
«ijjoy  together  is   double    enjoyment.      This   maxim   should   be   the 
ioaiw  of  all  effort,  for  effort  without  it  is  but  selfishness.     Meals,  too, 
siioald  be  eaten  in  common,  that  the   social  life   may   be  cemented. 
L«t  tu  institute  phidicies  as  in  Crete,  andries  as  in  Sparta,  si/ssitus  as 
in  .Athens,  or  ugapcs  as  among  the  early  Christians.     I'hese  common 
meab  will  be  at  once  a  means  of   communion  and  the  symbol  of 
broiiierhood.    Men  are  merely  members  of  that  collective  being  called 
Humanity ;  there  is  neither  I,  nor  thou,  nor  vk.      Why  should  we 
^bpmeral  sojourners  here  bring  war  into  the  world  by  setting  barriers 
in  the  road  of  the  hot  natural  impulses?     Love   should  admit  no 
divisions,    everything    should    belong    to    everyone.       Appropriation 
aogend^Ta  selfishness ;  let  selfishness  be  uprooted  from  the  earth,  with 
ihe  very  name    of    property    it    has    originated.      "  God,"  says  St. 
Ambroise,  "  crpated  all  things  for  the  enjoyment  of  all  men,  and  the 
etrth  for  a  common  possession."     Nature  herself,  therefore,  is  the 
author  of  Communism  ;  property  is  a  fraudulent  usurpation.      As  the 
■artik  is  mankind's  common  property  no  one  may  make  a  claim  in 
•XOesB  of  hia  requirements  in  the  name  of  property  diverted  from  the 
matsaan  possessions,    and    held  only  by  violence.      Being  one  vast 
family,  why  should  we  not  follow  the  laws  of  tlie  family  ?     The  earth 
IB  oar  c-omnion  mother ;   why  divide  her  ?      Why  cause  bloodshed  by 
our  fratricidal  quarrels  ?    Is  not  her  provision  sufficient  for  our  needs  ? 
I  we  share  her  blessings  in  common,  and  thrill  together  in  the 
of  her  harmonies,  why  not  enjoy  together  her  boundless  fecun- 
dity also? 

Self-sacrifice  makes  man  superior  to  beasts.  Self-sacrifice  should 
our  mle  of  life,  and  oar  highest  ambition.  Let  us  work  for  the 
of  others,  without  reckoning  the  pains  or  counting  the  cost.  The 
well-being  of  humanity  is  our  own.  Whoso  considers  himself  fails  in 
hit  duty  to  hia  fellow.  Selfishness  should  be  punished  with  dishonour. 
No  nnit  in  the  community  should  be  allowed  to  suffer  from  defects 
in  kit  individual  organization,  for  which  he  is  not  responsible.  If  the 
iMalth  or  other  requirements  of  a  unit  necessitate  a  greater  allowance. 
It  most  be  given.  Fraternity  knows  nothing  of  the  parsimony  of 
iTidaaliem.     Need  is  the  meamre  of  right.     On  the  other  hand,  if 


308 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mab. 


you  have  been  endowed  ^vith  greater  strength  or  higher  intelligence 
than  others,  you  may  not  use  these  gifts  to  your  personal  advantage. 
Is  it  a  provision  of  Providence  ?  Sovereign  justice  wills  that  you 
render  an  account  ol"  it  to  your  brethren.  Is  it  a  faculty  developed 
casually  ?  That  constitutes  no  right  in  itself  ;  you  owe  others  tJie 
use  of  your  superior  gifts.  To  devote  one's  ability,  one's  time,  in 
fine,  oneself  body  and  mind  to  the  service  of  one's  neighbour,  that  is 
the  whole  law  of  love.  Duty  is  limited  only  by  capacity ;  from  eack 
according  to  his  poicer. 

For  two  people  who  love  each  other,  the  greatest  happiness 
lies  in  proving  their  mutual  attachment.  The  recipient  of  a 
aervice  is  not  indebted  to  the  donor,  but  rather  is  the  douor  under 
an  obligation,  for  his  happiuess  consists  in  giving  pleasure  to  the 
object  of  his  affections.  One  cannot  even  conceive  gratitude  from  the 
recipient ;  it  would  be  an  insult  to  friendship.  Gratitude  is  rather 
the  natural  feeling  of  the  giver,  who  is  delighted  in  thr*  indulgence  of 
his  heart's  impulse.  All  the  members  of  the  Community  will  be 
animated  by  this  temper. 

Why  speak  of  justice?  Justice  is  a  measure,  and  love  needs  and 
win  have  no  measures.  Love  is  infinite,  inexhaustible.  It  throws  a 
veil  over  faults  and  negligences:  it  sets  aside  all  obligations  to  give 
to  each  according  to  his  deserts.  In  its  effusion  it  wipes  out  all 
differences.  Does  not  the  father  of  the  prodigal  son  do  likewise  ? 
Let  this  be  the  type  and  model  of  .society, '  As  things  now  are. 
man's  aflections  are  limited  to  a  narrow  circle,  within  which 
suffers  and  enjoys.  His  intercourse  with  people  at  large  is  rare, 
distant,  and  i-eseiTed,  and  is  usually  tinged  with  distrust  and  indiffer- 
ence. It  is  this  condition  that  fraternity  is  to  destroy,  Man  must 
feel  himself  to  be  a  part  of  a  whole,  must  realize  that  his  interest  is 
so  bound  up  with  that  of  society  that  be  suffers  or  rejoices  with  it. 
The  entire  community  should  live  in  each  one  of  its  members,  and 
eEkch  one  of  its  members  in  the  entire  community.  When  each 
believes  that  the  interests  of  others  are  identical  with  his  own,  all 
will  have  the  same  end  in  view,  and  joys  and  soitows  will  be  in 
common. 

Under  these  circumstances  all  control  becomes  superfluous.  The 
confhct  of  selfish  interests  is  at  an  end,  or,  rather,  self-interest  rightly 
understood  fashions  them  to  the  common  weal.  Government  is  then 
based  upon  "  the  persuasion  and  voluntary  consent  of  hearts."  All 
power,  in  fact,  becomes  useless ;  for  power  is  merely  foi-ce  employed 
to  impose  justice  on  the  relations  between  man  and  man,  and  that 
will  no  longer  be  necessary  when  private  interest  works  s^'mpatheti- 
cally  with  abstract  love  of  justice.  To  love  my  neighbour  is  to  benefit 
myself  ;  to  devote  myself  to  him  is  to  increase  the  sum  of  public 
happiness,  of  which  my  own  is  a  part.     Love  of  self  is  absorbed  in 


love  of  others,  and  I  can  only  love  myself  in  the  pewou  of  others,  wad 
0eek  my  own  happiness  in  theirs.  What  use,  then,  is  there  for 
the  State  in  this  contest  of  self-abnegation  ?  The  Stat<«  is  the  jx>wor 
that  enforces  the  performance  of  duty ;  but  duty  is  now  synonymoua 
irith  interest,  and  there  is  need  of  no  incentive  to  its  perfurnianoe. 

Such  are  some  of  the  familiar  arguments  of  Communism  in  its 
most,  spiritual  form.  We  find  this  view  in  Plato,  and  in  all  tl»« 
authors  of  Utopias,  who  took  their  cue  from  him  ;  we  find  it,  too,  in 
Gospel,  and  in  most  of  the  Christian  writers.  Listen  to  lioa8u«t*8 
ments  on  the  beautifal  words  spoken  by  Christ  in  Uis  last  prayer, 
snd  given  to  us  by  St.  John  : — 

"  At  Thou,  Father,  art  in  Me,  arid  I  in  TJice,  tfutt  thrifahn  may  fw  one  in  fa. 
That  there  may  be  between  them,  as  between  Us,  perfect  tHiimliCy,  fi'om  the 
fint UDongst  them  to  the  last;  that  there  may  be  coniplelo  fi-ienjHhip  and 
community ;  that  ejich  may  say  uh  it  were  to  hia  brother,  '  ull  tlmt  in  utino 
w  thine,  and  all  that  is  thine  is  mine.'  •  This,  it  is  often  neresHiiry  to  ro]>oat, 
WIS  in  reality  the  case  in  the  early  days  of  the  church.  '  And  thoy  woro  of 
OBe  heart  and  one  mind;  neither  said  any  man  that  anythiuK  ho  iiuHHoaHed 
■m  his  own,  for  they  had  all  things  in  commun.'  ThLs  Bysteiii  wiis  ofTuclual 
in  the  primitive  churcii,  showing  that  a  disposition  to  su(;h  an  mnau^^tiuH'tit 
arnst  bu  at  the  bottom  of  all  hearts.  Let  us  therefore  encrmni^i!  thm 
difspofiition,  let  us  commune  together,  let  an  bo  charitablfj  and  coinixinKioiwitQ, 
bokiog  on  none  with  disdain.  In  reality  all  are  equal ;  we  huvc!  nil  hnon 
created  from  the  same  dost,  and  we  all  alike  bear  the  image  of  (irMJ  in  cmr 
hearts.  Let  charity  equalize  all,  according  to  St.  Paul,  who  Wiyx  that  idl 
libould  be  equal.  And  to  that  end  he  writes  :  '  that  your  abundance  may  Ixi 
a  mpply  for  their  want,  that  their  abundance  also  may  b«  a  ttupply  for  your 
vant : '  and  he  repeats :  *  that  there  may  be  equality  as  it  iji  written  ;  he  thai 
hail  gatiiered  much  had  nothing  over,  and  he  that  liad  gathered  litlJK  had  no 
lack'  (2  Cor.  viii.  14,  15).  It  is  the  Divine  VS'iil  that  thwro  nhould  b«« 
«qujdity  amongst  men,  that  is  to  say,  that  none  Khould  be  in  wiuit ;  hut 
iaat  nil  i^hould  have  what  they  need,  and  that  there  Nhouhl  becorofMrtiMitiou 
for  inequality.  When  eholi  we  aay  with  oar  whole  heart  to  our  i«utr(Brirjg 
In-other  'all  that  i&  mine  is  thioe/ and  to  our  more  wealthy  Wotiu:r  'oil 
that  ii<  thine  is  mine.'  AJaa  '.  we  shall  never  Me  »uch  a  {terfect  tAMJU  <A 
things  in  this  world.  Vet  this  is  what  Clmat  holdft  forth  as  Hn  exauiple. 
Litt  us  seek  for  this  Divine  nfiixy.  Hy  God,  I  often  wide  my  ana«  to  my 
bvthrni.  my  fa€Mt  wanH  to  thcs  aad  aqr  bdveb  am  filad  with  mmmiIhi  ; 
I  voold  be  to  them  latttr,  mathrr,  fanthar  and  ditLtrf  trioA  mod  Manlar 
■11  in  fact  that  they  require  to  mtikm  thcaa  hftp^.*  * 

These  are  eloquent  wqmIi.  T*"|t''g  hum  m  beavt  snceRl/  tnwttf^ 
by  the  evils  whii^  wej|^  do«a  the  grtai  «■«  ci  —alrinil.  U  i^ 
this  feetiag  of  hummuij  wUdl  aasfy  alvaf*  girci  bvth  to  Coitffiritt 
ijctems.  Thoae  who  |TTlfiMl  tkA  tknv  "  -H— ^»-*-  foflac*  **  iffniV 
up  in  our  a^e,  ham  the  XmaAm»  «4  amm'B  aadb  mA  t^  Utmm 
pven  to  their  paBaoM,  ^aote  fcvjpt  thai,  haA  tte  mp»  <d  mtkftkf 
tad  the  aaiotA  of  fliialiMJij  mkmiwkai  tkm  mm  ikmU'mu.  9^  tkM. 
thftSntmthe  ijmiIi—  rf ifca  jrwiiiij.  iliii  li  jT"  mf^witi^^ 
jatioe  a&d  Tirtaa  veaa  hcaai,  and  iba 


310 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[liAB. 


whose  walla  were  the  sole  witnesses  of  their  piety,  alike  preached  the 
necessity  of  community,  seeing  no  other  remedy  for  the  evils  of  society. 
These  great  men  were  distressed  and  indignant  at  the  manifold 
iniquities  under  which  the  human  race  groaned.  They  conceived  a 
state  of  society  where  justice  should  reign  supreme,  and  where  mutual 
affection  should  unite  together  all  men,  henceforth  brothers.  From 
the  heights  of  ttiis  great  ideal  they  emptied  the  vials  of  their  wrath 
upon  luxury,  pride,  distinctions  of  class  and  private  property.  They 
quite  forgot  the  obstacles  that  personal  interest  and  the  instinctire 
desire  for  independence  placed  in  the  way  of  the  realization  of  these 
schemes  inspired  by  feelings  of  charity. 

Yet,  as  is  known,  these  plans  and  visions  were  not  wholly  and 
entirely  day  dreams.  Associations  founded  for  tJbe  abolition  of  pro- 
perty have  existed,  and  have  even  thrived  and  prospered.  But  in 
what  circumstances?  At  the  time  of  the  French  Revolution  (1789), 
religious  communities  owned  about  one-third  of  the  land  ;  towards 
the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century,  they  possessed  about  the  same 
proportion  in  Spain,  Italy,  and  Belgium.  At  the  present  day,  in  the 
last  named  covintry,  there  ai-e  over  2<J00  convents  and  religions  estab- 
lishments, almost  as  many  as  there  are  communes,  and  it  is,  I  think, 
universally  admitted,  that  if  these  absolutely  communistic  associations 
had  the  rights  of  poaseaaion  as  corporations,  in  less  than  a  century  the 
entire  country  would  be  in  their  hands.  If  once  religious  Communism 
bo  granted  a  legal  existence  and  power  of  inheritance,  it  will  certainly 
triumph  over  the  individualist  principle,  even  with  respect  to  the 
accumulation  of  wealth.  During  the  last  few  centuries  the  Jesnita 
have  been  eugaged  in  trade.  Several  convents  on  the  Continent  ^o  busi- 
ness successfully ;  so  that  if  the  members  of  these  orders  were  to 
live  what  may  be  called  a  spiritual  rather  than  a  material  life,  and 
were  ever  ready  to  .sacrifice  their  interests  to  what  they  consider  their 
duty,  they  might  yet  realize  Mr.  Bellamy's  Utopia. 

Between  pure  spirits  community  is  natural ;  between  brutes  it  is  an 
impossibility.  All  that  satisfies  the  tastes  of  the  mind — t.c,  the  poe- 
session  of  knowledge,  the  sight  of  the  beautiful  in  nature  and  art, 
may  be  enjoyed  by  a  number  in  common  !  Many  nations  and  suc- 
cessive generations  can  be  gladdened  by  fine  works  of  art.  The 
beautiful  and  the  true,  and  all  appertaining  thereto,  have  the 
divine  privilege  of  being  enjoyed  by  all  eimultaneously,  of  being  the 
entire  possession  of  each,  and  of  losing  none  of  their  charms  by  an 
increase  in  the  number  of  their  possessors.  The  more,  then,  men  rise 
to  the  appreciation  of  pure  ideas,  the  greater  is  their  serenity,  and  the 
greater  their  capacity  of  intimate  union  with  their  fellows.  Whereas, 
on  the  other  hand,  all  things  which  satisfy  the  senses  can  only  be  pos- 
sessed by  one  person  at  a  time ;  the  desire  of  two,  for  the  same  thing, 
is  at  once  a  source  of  dispute  and  conflict.     The  more  therefore  mea 


All  graift  BOB  «ko  adwMj^ted  OwwOTwrn  rMliMd  Uu«  UMl.  U 

«MtbeirdettretD«niksBiB«HBkiBdatMte  far  **  ijiiiilaal  *  tMl^P^ 

vUdi  oould    be  |iimiiliwhi1  in    onwiman.  And  to   reatricl  tW  iKpfM* 

Mlsfcr  imgiUe  tldnga,  tfae  pnawwikM*  of  wiuoh  it  mUmI^  raohlkv*. 

laad  Fbflo  and  listen  to  St.  FImI.     Hm  fonnfir  taUi  w  tl»  M]r  it  Ml 

oppreaor,  a  ^rrant,  a  wdght  holding  us  down  to  tiio  lovrar  r*0ont  t 

(be  latter,  that  it  is  the  aoarce  of  all  evil,  a  toni1<  MoU»in|t 

bat  decaj.      "  ^Mio  will  deliver  us  from  the  K>  .  ic^tUiy** 

The  possession  of  a  wife  engenders  jealoQuoa  and  qunnvlw ;  nmrrin^ 

i»  an  excJasive  and  personal  contract.     Tbercfon^  Sf<.  Pniil  oxttUa  vlr" 

gioity,  which  would  obviate  a  great  disconl.      IMutu  tliinkH  timb  wiv«t 

flhoold  be  held  in  common,  and  establishes  a  sort  o(  ohaiit«  proniitioutty, 

■»  as  to   make  the   union  between  mr<n  compli't**.      PluluiuRtn  ntui 

Jkaoetidsm  both  sacrifice  personality   and   uuirna(;t<.      A    nuiti    tininb 

acrifice   not  only  his  interest  but  his  will   to  livo  ''  in  o(«riimuitiiy"| 

he  most  renounce  self  entirely,   and  yield   imiilii-il.  iilx'dicrirn  In  hiii 

iiqierior,  who  has   sole  control  of  him,   liis  phyHituil   powcrn  ninl   liit 

tastes.     This   superior  may  be  society  in  jcenerul,  ait  r*^»ri«iMiiiltMl   l»y 

gUhudUf  or  it  may  be  an  individaal,      MonoNtic   c^mitnitriitiiM    woU 

■deratood  the  indispensable  conditlonii  for  life  in  (ioinrnori.     'VliPir 

diief  object  was  to  root  oat  firom  men'i  bearta  pridti,  cinonpiaowwMi, 

nd  lore  of  earthly  things,  benoe  the  tbree  voire  of  cbttitity,  pofvrljr, 

■d  homilitj.    Bot  to  attain  Iht*,  tbe  mmimpriag  of  thn  human  orgjuio 

■itiaa  was  so  atnined  that  it  sometiiMS  snapped^     Tbsae  ooaiflui* 

■jjcs,  bowewr,  aanrivied,  are  Hill  ia  ntjitgaei.  Mid  f*  WttMy^y*   BH 

«beB  oBoe  tiny  dsKxad  isom  tbe  emUivatiam  of  tbe  "  spMinel/  tMf 

lUl  is  sad  mogb. 

hf  mtn  <4  gsswi  to 


St  tbe 


mi  0&tti  m  alwwifair  m' 


ite 


Wei 


Imhf 


Ci^mm'^ 


hmmmm<d 


812 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mak. 


inequality."  It  is  necessary,  he  thinks,  that  there  should  be 
equality  of  condition  throughout  the  same  order,  for  it  would  be 
difficult  to  maintain  a  government  based  on  injustice  ;  and  he 
explains  in  detail  all  the  means  that  have  been  from  time 
to  time  employed  for  the  maintenance  of  equality.  Minos  and 
Lycurgus  attempt^'d  to  solve  the  problem  by  establishing  a  sort  of 
Communism,  and  the  institutions  they  founded  lasted  sufficiently  long 
to  excite  the  ill-justified  admiration  of  both  ancients  and  modems; 
but  inequality  finally  invaded  Sparta,  and  the  Greek  Republics  ended 
in  anarchy.  Montesquieu  shared  the  views  of  the  Greek  statesmen,  for 
he  says  the  btisia  of  a  republic  should  be  tnrtiie,  which  he  defines  as 
love  of  equality.  "  As  what  I  call  virtue,"  he  writes  in  his  introduction 
to  the  Spirit  of  Laws^  "  is  love  of  country,  that  is  to  say,  love  of 
equality,"  Again,  in  Book  \di.  chap.  2,  "  Equality  in  the  distribution 
of  riches  makes  the  excellence  of  republics."  These  are  maxims  which 
have  been  too  much  lost  sight  of  in  our  day,  as  they  have  not  been 
considered  applicable  to  the  present  age.  I  think  this  is  an  error. 
It  is  true  that  they  were  certaiuly  more  applicable  to  ancient  cities, 
where  the  citizens  were  comparatively  few  in  number,  and  where  all 
considered  themselves  as  eqaals;  but  at  the  present  time  precisely 
the  same  feeling  of  equality  is  spreading  throughout  all  classes.  I  am 
quite  aware  that  the  opinions  of  Montesquieu  are  not  wholly  reliable, 
because,  having  studied  ancient  society  much  more  than  modern,  he 
thought  more  of  artificial  than  of  natural  organizations.  Nevertheless, 
I  think  tliat  he  is  right  when  he  says  that  a  certain  equality  of  condi- 
tion is  essential  to  the  continuance  of  a  democracy,  even  though  that 
democracy  be  a  modern  one.  The  events  of  these  later  years  have 
given  still  further  proof  of  this.  When  those,  who  by  their  labour 
can  only  secure  to  themselves  insufficient  or,  at  all  events,  precarious 
sustenance,  have  a  voice  in  the  government,  it  is  more  than  probable 
that,  sooner  or  later,  they  will  do  their  utmost  to  alter  laws  which 
sanction  the  inequality  from  which  they  suffer.  Those,  on  the  other 
hand,  who  are  b^^tter  off,  support,  the  laws  already  in  existence,  and, 
to  maintain  them,  are  willing  to  have  recourse  to  a  dictatorship. 
So  that  democracy  tenuinates  in  either  anarchy  or  despotism,  and 
usually  in  the  one  as  a  result  of  the  other.  Under  any  circumstances, 
inequality  is  the  cause  of  its  downfall.  Such  has  been  the  lesson  of 
history  from  the  earliest  times,  and  such  also  was  the  lesson  of  history 
but  yesterday.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  the  opinion  of  Ariftotle  and 
Montesquieu  is  supported  by  facts.  Historical  changes  of  this  sort 
formerly  took  place  within  the  bmits  of  a  city,  or  at  most,  of  a  realm  ; 
they  never  occurred  everywhere  simultaneously,  because  each  city  and 
each  realm  had  its  own  peculiar  faith,  ideas  and  institutions.  In 
our  day  this  is  no  longer  the  case.  The  spread  of  Christianity,  the 
facilities  of  communication,  the  activity  of  trade  and  commerce,  and 


COMMUNISM. 


818 


■any  other  circumstances  have  broxight  all  Cbri.stian  nations  to  share 

tte  same  general  views,  and  to  face  the  same  social  problem,  modified 

leaidi  case  by  local  influences.    The  result  is  that  the  difficulty  which 

these  ancient  cities  within  their  narrow  limits,  at  present 

5,  and  threatens  still  further  to  ag^itate,  all  the  nations  of  Europe  ; 

that,  by   the  extension  of  its  sphere,    it  has   now  acquired  an 

>rt«iiica  which  cannot  fail  to  strike  every  one,  and  the  more  bo, 

we  have  lately  seen  an  Emperor  taking  the  lead  of  the  Socialist 

rement.      I  will   endeavour  to  demonstrate    by  what   process  this 

Ity  has  grown  so   in  modem   times,  and  how  certain  reformers 

luive  sought  to  solve  it  by  Communism. 

During  the  Middle  Ages  men's  minds,  being  sf.ill  slaves  to  custom, 
•ere  not  vigorous  enough  to  attain  to  auy  conception  of  the  rights  of 
ity.      With   tiie   Reformation,    that  bold   insurrection    against 
303  despotism,  a  new  era  of  things  commenced.     Holland  took 
anna  in  support  of  liberty  of  conscience  ;   England  shook  off  the 
of  the  Stuai'ts    and  proclaimed  the   sovereignty  of  the  peo]>le ; 
the  seas  Puritans  and  Quakers  founded  democracies  based  on 
nciples  of  universal  suffrage,  of  direct  government  by  the  people,  and 
universal  equality.    Finally,  the  eighteenth  century  adopted  all  these 
inciples  and  arranged  thera  in  systems,  and,  as  ia  well  known,   the 
French  Revolution  promulgated  them  through  the  world.     Since  that 
the  idea  of  equality    has    penetrated  everywhere  into    men's 
and  become  the  foundation  of  many  societies.     The  process  is 
as  follows  :  By  an  energetic  effort  of  self-assertion  man  comes  to  con- 
fider  himself  independent  of  the  institutions  under  the  domination  of 
which  history  would  place  him.     This  call  upon  nature,  or  rather  upon 
rmnfin  gives  him  a  glimpse  of  the  essential   right.s  of  man.     In  fact ' 
is  quite  impoesible  to  conceive  the  bare  idea  of  man,  without  a  glance 
that  goal  of  perfection,  whither  it  is  the  law  of  his  being  to  tend. 
Hioa  art  a  man,  thou  must  therefore  be  all  that  thy  name  implies  ;•' 
jy  development  is   thy  destiny.''    But  certain  conditions  are  indis- 
lie  for  the  accompliBhmi-nt  of  this  destiny,  and  these  may  be 
led  up  in  the  one  word  Lil>erty — liberty  of  thought,  freedom  of 
•etioiL,  and  property,  as  a  free  sphere  in  which  to  exercise  that  liberty. 
These  are  essential  rights.     They  belong  to  all,  for  all  are  of  one  kind. 
The  man  therefore  who  claims  freedom  for  himself  must  admit  to  his 
fetlows  the  enjoyment  of  the  same  right.     An  abstract  idea  of  e(|uality 
thsa  becomes  the  basis  of  the  new  social  order.     The  root  of  the  words 
sqsity  and   equality  is  cequus.      Justice  and  equity  could  never  be 
ooaoeired  without  the  idea  of  equality.  Jv*tum  ayjuaU  td.  says  the  old 
dsfiMtMH.     Aristotle  was  the  first  t-o  write  :  "  Right  consist*  in  an  equal 
pn|K«tk>n  "  (FoiU.  iii.  G).  In  Gr«e>pk  dilM-um  means  "just  and  e*jual."  It 
biaacribed  in  the  written  conntitutions in  the  following  words:  "  All 
ailnouare  equal  hrfort  the  laic,"  and  in  England  this  is  admitted  aa  a 


314 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mab. 


fact.  But  in  reality  all  men  are  not  in  enjoyment  of  their  primitive  rights, 
and  the  greater  number  lack  the  means  of  development.  They  have  no 
opportunity  fur  culture  of  the  mind.  Their  whole  time  is  taken  up 
by  manual  labour.  Thoy  are  not  free,  for  they  have  nothing  on  which 
they  can  employ  their  vital  energy ;  others  hold  the  land  and  capital, 
and  themselves  non-workers,  exact  from  the  workers  payment  for  the 
right  of  retaining  a  portion  of  the  bread  they  earn  by  their  labour. 
Private  property  is  an  essential  condition  of  liberty,  and  consequently 
of  the  development  of  human  destiny.  As  Sir  Louis  Mallet  recently 
remarked^  with  his  usual  penetration,  without  private  property  freedom 
can  have  but  a  merely  nominal  existence.  But  how  can  property  be 
assured  to  all,  it  being  of  itself  an  exclusive  appropriation  ?  And  here  we 
come  to  the  formidable  incongruity  between  the  right  to  live  by  working 
for  one's  livelUiood,  which  it  appears  ought  certainly  to  be  the  right  of 
all,  and  the  right  to  private  property,  which  seems  to  offer  an  invincible 
obstacle  to  the  exercise  of  the  former  right.  This  difficulty  requires  a 
few  words  of  explanation. 

A  man  is  born.  He  can  invoke  the  rights  that  this  incident  con- 
fers on  him,  and  therefore  the  right  to  procure  himself  food  ;  otherwise 
society  must  either  take  upon  herself  to  feed  him,  or  let  him  starve  to 
death.  Everything  is  already  appropriated.  The  exclnsive  private 
domain  of  those  ah-eady  in  existence  refuses  to  receive  the  newcomer 
or  to  give  him  sustenance.  What  is  to  be  done  ?  Do  you  deny  that 
he  has  certain  rights,  and  foremost  among  them  the  right  to  live  ?  Even 
you  yourself  enjoy  all  you  possess  merely  by  the  same  title  that  he 
appeals  to,  that  is  to  say,  your  birthright  as  a  man.  To  deny 
him  similar  rights  would  be  to  transgress  the  law.  Would  you  dis- 
pute his  exercise  of  tJbese  rights  ?  In  that  case  the  very  conception 
of  rights,  resulting  from  the  earliest  notions  of  individuality,  would 
fade  away,  and  nothing  would  remain  but  chance  and  strength.  But 
neither  strength,  chance,  occupation,  nor  conquest,  are  titles  to  adduce  ; 
they  may  all  be  summed  up  in  one  word — facts.  To-day  facts  may  be 
in  your  favour,  but  will  they  be  so  to-morrow  ?  Who  say  strength 
say  numbers ;   and  it  is  obvious  to  which  side  these  belong. 

The  progress  of  the  human  species  seems  to  be  arrested  at  this 
point ;  how  overcome  the  obstacle  in  the  way  ?  How  ensure  to 
every  man  education,  property,  and  even  work  without  attacking  the 
privileges  of  those  already  enjoying  all  these  ?  Which  of  the  two 
ideas — equality  or  exclusive  possession — will  gain  the  victory  ?  The 
future  destinies  of  the  civilized  world  depend  on  the  issue  of  these 
conflicting  interests.  What  indeed  is  civilization  if  it  does  not  enable 
the  greater  number  to  enjoy  their  necessary  rights,  and  to  have  a  share 
in  the  general  well-being,  education,  and  social  and  pwlitical  freedom? 
But,  once  again,  how  is  this  end  to  be  attained  ?  The  problem  is  as 
complex  and  difficult  to  solve,  as  it  is  serious.     As  a  rule,  economists 


I&p] 


COMMUNISM. 


315 


[ttaaks 


not  stopped  to    consider    it,    and  the    majority    of    Socialists 
answered  it  too  thoughtlessly.     During   the    eighteenth    oen- 
it  was  acknowledged   by  all  thoughtful  men,  though  its  com- 
factors  oould  not  be   as  clearly  perceived  as  they  are  now, 
to  the  progress  made  in  economic   science.     The  majority  of 
who,  during  the  last  century  and  the  present,  became  conscious 
the  difficulty  were  satisfied  with  calling  attention  to  it,  aui]  setting 
It  forth  with  more  or  less  precision  and  eloquence  ;  other  more  daring 
rafonners  sought  tx)  do  away  with  it,  after  the  manner  of  Minos  and 
Lycurgns,   by  Communism.       But  as   the    majority   of   them  were 
llaterialists,  they  have  given  this  creed  a  new  characteristic,  which  it 
is  essential  to  note  here.     They  denied  the  existence  of  evil  instincts 
in  man.     According  to  them,  man  is  essentially  good.     All  the  evil 
proceeds  from  established  institutions.     If  these  were  reformed,  evil 
voold  wholly  disappear.    All  the  passions  are  holy.    They  are  excellent 
springs  which  must  be  wiflL4y  controlled  and  worked  for  the  common  hap- 
piness. Nature  is  our  mother,  they  argue  j  why  resist  her  voice?  Instinct 
is  h«r  voice :  to  satisfy   it   is  our  right,  and  since  it  is  an  equal  right 
(far  all,  all  must  enjoy  equally,  as  enjoyment  is  our  destiny.     The  only 
wsy  to  effect  this  equality  of  enjoyment  is  to  institute  community 
nt  jxesesaions.     These  materialistic  Communists,  therefore,  instead  of 
•djiog   for  means  to    realize    equality   of    rights,    endeavour   to 
oteblish  absolute   equality  of  possessions.     According  to  their  view, 
Ban   is  no   longer  a  free  agent,  possessed    of    certain    rights,   and 
responsible  for  the  way  in  which  he  usies  them,  but  a  simple  unit  to 
he  placed  in  a  line  with  other  units,  so  that   none  may  exceed  the 
aniform  level.     The  syst^^m,  as  has  been  said,  would  turn  society  into 
L  A  sort  of  bed  of  Procrustes, 

H      For  rights  to  be  thoroughly  respected,  or  in  other  words,  for  all  to 

HcDJoy  complete  equality,  society  as  a  body  should  eat  with  the  same 

^■■Kmtii,  work  with  the  same  members,  and  feel  successive  sensations 

with  the  same  senses.     In  default  of  this  perfect  unity  of  society, 

wkich  alone   would   realize   the   absolute   idea  of  equal  rights  as  con- 

oesTpd  by  the  Materialists,  it  is  possible  to  have  at  least  meals,  work, 

[mid  pleasures  in  common.  All  care  should  be  taken  to  prevent  one 
baartng  a  larger  share  of  enjoyment  than  another.  If  necessary,  the 
aid  of  despotism  must  be  called  In  to  hinder  this.  The  principle  of 
aqnality  demands  it,  if  there  is  to  be  an  equality  of  sensations.  The 
iBittvidaal  possession  of  implements  of  labour  necessarily  entaib  certain 
£Bn«ucn  which  the  principle  of  r^ponsibility  sanctions.  Individual 
fMUBOn,  a  necessary  condition  of  all  lAbour,  and  individual  respon- 
aftOhy,  an  essential  condition  of  all  morality,  must  therefore  both  be 
abolislied.  Can  there  be  any  greater  inequatidt'S  than  those  which 
tmn\t  from  the  institution  of  marriagi'  ?  Womun  has  ever  been  the 
object  of  the  most  ardent  desin?,  and  the  source  of  the  greatest  joya. 


316 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mak. 


These  mnst  be  the  same  for  all,  says  the  Materialist.  What  then  is 
to  prevent  completo  promiscuity  ?  Logic  points  directly  to  it,  and 
there  is  no  moral  law  to  forbid,  it.  Is  not  indeed  the  voice  of  in- 
stinct in  its  favour?  Therefore  the  Communists  of  the  eighteenth 
century  added  to  their  doctrines  community  of  wives  as  well  as  of 
goods. 

Nature  herself  differeutiates  between  man  and  man.  Strength  of 
muscle,  or  of  limb,  quickness,  vigour,  or  special  intelligence  prevent 
uniformity  in  the  same  race.  All  are  differently  endowed.  But  these 
varieties  of  faculties  are  to  be  arrested  in  their  development. 
Phrenology  must  be  consulted  that  means  may  be  found  to  efface 
these  differences,  by  modelling  the  tender  heads  of  infants  in  the  same 
mould.  Such  a  course  would  ettect  material  equality-  The  uniformity 
would  be  complete.  Obviously,  too,  the  culture  of  the  mind  and  the 
various  talents,  constitute  sources  of  serious  inequality  by  developing 
those  tendencies  which  date  from  birth.  Let  all  culture  bo  prohibited, 
and  all  progress  arrested.  The  cultivation  of  the  soil  suffices  for  the 
maintenance  of  life.  Any  other  occupation  would  become  a  cause  of 
inequality  ;  let  ib  therefore  be  prohibited.  The  distribution  of  labour, 
in  itself  so  great  a  good,  would  be  wholly  incompatible  too  witji 
justice,  thus  understood  ;  for  labour,  if  distributed,  would  not  be  the 
same  for  all.  Let  each  then  cultivate  the  common  soil  for  himself, 
and  draw  from  it  what  ho  needs  for  the  satisfaction  of  his  wants. 
Freedom  of  thought  is  not  compatible  with  this  n'ifime ;  its  whole 
tendency  would  be  to  destroy  anything  of  the  kind.  The  greatest 
possible  care  must  bo  taken  that  the  laws  are  properly  executed,  and 
any  budding  superiority  must  be  at  once  nipped  with  an  iron  hand ; 
for  superiority  of  any  description  would  constitute  a  public  danger, 
and  an  attack  on  the  established  order  of  things.  'I'his  doctrine  is 
very  clearly  ex]>lained  in  the  Manifestc  des  Effcmx  dra  vn  up  by  Sylvain 
Mar6chale  at  the  time  of  the  conspiracy  ofBab<cufin  17GS^* :  "Equality 
of  condition  before  the  law  is  a  mere  day-dream  ;  if  there  l>e  one  single 
man  in  the  world  in  the  least  degree  richer  or  more  powerful  than  his 
fellows,  the  equilibrium  is  upset ;  there  must  be  no  other  difference 
amongst  them  but  that  of  nge  and  sex  ;  the  soil  belongs  to  no  one, 
the  fruits  of  the  earth  are  for  all  alike  ;  it  behoves  tlie  State  to  dis- 
tribute them  equally  amongst  all  men,  who  in  return  must  give 
enforced  labour,  the  description,  quality,  and  quantity  of  which  are 
regulated  by  the  State  alone.  Luxiiry,  which  bears  in  itself  the  stamp 
of  inequality  must  disappear,  and,  with  it,  all  great  cities,  hotbeds  of 
agitation  and  immorality.  Equality  im]iltes  the  common  education  of 
children  beyond  the  pale  of  their  jiarents'  supervision,  and  their  instruc- 
tion is  to  be  limited  to  useful  and  practical  knuwledg(^,  to  the  exclusion 
of  any  speculative  information.  When  this  system  is  once  established, 
no  one  will  have  the  right  to  express  an  opinion  opposed  to  the  sacred 


OMMUNISM. 


principles  of  equality,  and  the  frontier  will  be  inexorably  closed  to  all 
forei^  produce  or  foreign  ideas.  Finally,  in  order  to  assist  the  establish- 
ment of  the  new  state  of  things  public  and  private  debts  will  be  abolished," 
{Hist,  du  Social,  par  B.  Malon,  cb.  vii.)  Absolute  and  necessary 
despotism  is  then  the  last  stage  of  this  system  which  invokes 
liberty,  promises  happiness,  and  swears  by  equality.  It  recognizes  the 
independence  of  man,  and  makes  a  slave  of  him.  It  gives  free  vent  to 
\aa  appetite,  but  ties  up  labour.  It  liberates  him  from  the  obligations 
of  the  moral  law,  but  introduces  the  inquisition.  Respect  the  prin- 
ciple of  evil ;  it  is  an  instinct  of  nature.  Let  concupiscence  spread 
mchecked  ;  pleasure  is  the  great  aim  of  life.  Woe  to  him  who  rises 
nperior  to  his  fellows  in  either  genius  or  virtue  ;  he  is  infringing  the 
nghts  of  others,  and  violating  equality.  Why  proscribe  AriatideB  ? 
Because  he  is  a  just  man.  Dissolute  brutes  under  an  iron  yoke  is 
the  ideal  communism  which  materialism  dreams  of.  Herein  is  summar- 
ixed  the  entire  doctrine.  Man  is  desirous  of  family  joys,  and  of  the 
Kipreme  charm  of  liberty.  Instead  of  these  he  is  allotted  compulsory 
labour  and  promiscuity  of  intercourse.  Society  must  arrive  at  a 
ctatd  of  organization,  where  the  greatest  activity  can  be  displayed 
under  a  reign  of  the  most  perfect  order ;  the  materialists  offer  a  dead 
level  of  uniformity  and  general  servitude. 

It  should  be  observed  that  this  latter  theory  is  in  total  opposition  to 
primitive  communism.  Rousseau's  scheme  was  to  let  loose  man  as  a 
fipee  being  in  an  isolated  condition.  Baboenf,  on  the  contrary,  wished 
a  Conunanism  of  equality  organized  by  the  State.  Instead  of  an 
aggregate  of  persons  in  a  state  of  freedom  which  knows  no  laws,  yon 
hxTO  laws  cramping  individuals  into  a  condition  where  liberty  is  wholly 
BokBOwn.  In  the  one  instance  the  realization  of  Hobbe's  homo  homini 
Itrjm*;  in  the  other  Loyola's  maxim,  homo  perinde  ae  cadaver  ;  either 
bfo  withoat  order,  or  order  without  life.  In  both  cases  alike  justice 
n^^WMt  perish,  and  individuality  be  entirely  lost. 

^^Hniie  doctrine  here  explained  is  in  reality,  with  the  exception  of  a 

^Vvir  trifling  details,  that  of  the  communists  of  the  last  and  the  present 

B  eeBtmy.     It   entirely   differs   from   that  of  Plato,  the  ascetics,  and 

Bovxiet,  wheal],  nevertheless,  extolled  community  of  possessions.  The 

watb  tAocA  would  have  all  the  passions  fully  satisfied,  while  the  object 

«f  Uw  other  is  to  stifle  them.    The  one  reinstates  the  flesh,  denying  the 

vol;  the  other  abhors  the  body  while  exalting  the  mind.      The  onei» 

pnHHnil,  and  calculates  on  attaining  its  object  by  authoritative  measurea 

L      and  by  Uie  power  of  the  State ;  the  other  is  religious,  and   relies  for 

H    ita  nnwiHJ  oo  conversion  and  the  advancement  of  morality.     The  one 

H   !■•  its  origin  in  a  conception  of  rights,  appeals  to  self-interest,  and 

H   •i""  at  Uie  establishment  of  equality  ;  the  other  originates  in  a  con- 

eEftioB  of  doty,  appeals  to  charity,  and  seeks  to  establish  universal 

Cntenty.     Finally,  if  the  one  be  the  better  calculated  to  fire  the 

LTD,  •  Y 


818 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  RE  VIE  FT. 


[Mab. 


masses  by  a  perspective  of  material  enjoyment,  the  other  is  more  suited 
to  captivate  generous  and  enthusiastic  minds  by  the  vision  of  a  ter- 
restrial Eden,  and  by  the  ideas  of  justice  on  which  tliese  day-dreams 
are  based. 

m. 
Let  us  now  briefly  inquire  if  Communism  be  Buitable  to  men  as  they 
now  are,  and  as  they  aeem  likely  to  be  for  some  time  to  come.   Before 
pronounclnj^  a  judgment  on  this  point,  we  cannot  do  better  than  look 
at  Sbuart  Mill's  opinion  on  the  subject.      He  writes  as  follows : 

"The  restraints  of  Commimism  would  be  freedom  in  comparison  with  the 
present  condition  of  the  majority  of  the  Jiuman  nice.  The  generality  of 
labourers  in  this  and  most  other  t-ountries  have  as  libtlo  choice  of  occupation 
or  freedom  of  locomotion,  arc  pi-acttcally  as  dependent  on  fixed  rules,  and  on 
the  will  of  others,  as  they  could  be  on  any  system  short  of  actual  slavery.  If 
therefore,  the  choice  were  to  bo  made  between  Communism  and  all  its  chances, 
and  the  present  stato  of  society  with  all  its  sulTerings  and  inju-stices  ;  if  the 
institution  of  private  property  necessarily  carried  with  it  as  a  consequence, 
that  the  produce  of  labour  should  be  apportioned,  as  we  now  see  it,  almost 
in  an  inverse  ratio  to  the  labour  —the  largest  jxirtions  to  those  who  have 
never  worked  at  all,  the  next  largest  to  those  whose  work  is  almost  nominal, 
and  so  in  a  dosccnding  scale,  the  remuneration  dwindling  as  the  work  grows 
harder  and  more  disagreeable,  until  tho  most  fatiguing  and  exhausting  bodily 
labour  cannot  count  with  certainty  on  being  able  to  earn  even  the  necessaries 
of  life;  if  this  or  Communism  were  the  aliernative,  all  the  difficulties,  great 
or  small, of  Communism  would  bo  but  as  dust  in  the  balance." 

Mill's  opinion  should  put  ns  on  our  guard  against  hasty  judgments, 
and  precipitate  denunciation  of  Commnnism.  Nevertheless  there  ar©, 
in  my  opinion,  strong  objections  to  it,  so  strong  as  to  quite  suffice  for  its 
nnhesitatrng  rejection.  Mr.  Bellamy,  and  communists  of  his  stamp, 
blinded  by  th^ir  utopian  visions,  will  not  see  what  13  daily  proved  by 
experience.  From  each  avawdinj  tn  his  strength  they  say,  but  who  is 
to  be  judge  of  this  ?  The  State,  The  State,  then,  is  to  set  me  my 
task,  and  condemn  me  to  an  amount  of  laboor  which  is  to  be  settled 
solely  by  its  arbitrary  judgment.  What  is  the  difTerence  between  this 
and  the  galleys  ? 

To  enrh  accordiju/  to  his  wants.  But  who  is  to  limit  these  ?  Each 
individual?  No;  for  this  would  bo  making  caprice  or  gluttony  the 
measure  of  the  allotment.  The  State  then ;  that  is  to  say,  the  daily 
rations,  shall  be  fixed  by  law  ;  there  shall  be  a  national  "  pot  au  fen," 
a  sort  of  enforced  mesa  for  all  time.  This  is  no  longer  a  feast  of 
eqaals,  a  family  banquet,  or  the  evangelical  love-feast.  In  the 
Agnpc  the  State  had  no  part,  love  reigned  supreme ;  it  was  in. 
consecration  of  their  unity  that  the  members  of  one  great  family 
gathered  together,  a  communistic  institution  rendered  possible  by  evil 
overcome.  But  away  from  this  ideal,  the  memory  of  a  foregone  or  the 
forecast  of  a  very  far  off  future  age,  no  such  institution  is  possible 
save  by  constraint.  Communiem  may  also  be  reproached  with 
weakening  the   springs  of  activity   and  with  enervating  instead  of 


iS9o3 


COMMVSISM, 


■riaqlating  U»e  wilL  I(  is  eertam  tihak  umm  en  oa^  drur  kit  mmI»> 
naooe  frcnn  the  euth  bjr  dinft  of  labotur.  L«kbo«r  aeoasstelM  Mi  «Abit 
Against  the  instinct  o£  kj^enow,  a  oettain  degree  of  tvMb)»«  of  wkkli 
want  is  the  incentiTe,  and  t^  •atigEactkm  of  w«ttt  tbe  ivvm^.  If 
you  take  away  the  reward  for  the  tioable,  ywa  r«>QK»v«  the  slimultta. 
There  mast  be  direct  and  Immediate  oonnecclon  between  laU^ur  and 
its  produce ;  in  other  words,  the  labourer  must  feel  that  tlie  prodooe 
of  hia  labour  is  his  own.  If  the  produce  bo  entirely,  or  ewji  partially 
absorbed  by  another,  the  intensity  of  labour  will  bo  impaired.  Thia 
is  what  actually  take^  place  in  the  ssjciety  of  to-day ;  and  it 
would  take  place  to  a  far  greater  degree  in  a  state  of  sooiely  whore 
^li--  producer  had  only  a  certain  share  of  tlie  produce  allotted  hiui  ; 
;.  tr.ity  would  certainly  decrease,  as  there  would  be  no  iinuu'diatn 
connection  between  the  eflbrt  and  its  object,  between  Inbour  and  thw 
prodaoB  destined  to  satisfy  the  need.  The  producer  wauld  not  have 
the  full  enjoyment  of  his  own  creation. 

The    larger   a  community    is,  the  less    direct  ia    tho    connection 

between  labour  and  its  produce,  and  the  less  intense  is  Mm  artivity  liorn 

of  peal  want.      It  may  easily  be  conceived  that  in  a  Bociety  of  Hoiriti 

miliioas  of  persons  this  force  would  be  reduced  to  a  moro  miiumum. 

"'"  _'ious   communities,    in  order  to  compensate   for  this   inevitable 

!:i,  offered — as  a  reward  for  labour — happinesa  in  a  future  Mtato» 

which  acted  as  an  incentive  to  work,  in  the  place  of  want  or  a  doilrn 

to  enjoy  the  g<x>d  things  of  the  world  !     In  this  way  indur*try  WM 

encouraged  in  their  midst,  and  work   did  not  come  to  a  olandiitill. 

Bat  could  any  one  with  a  full  knowledge  of  men  of  the  present  day 

leasonably  suggest  that  tbey  ahoold  go  down  into  mines,  dig  oat  ore, 

wmk  in  factories  or  workshopB,  drive  enf^tnee ;  in  a  wofd,  acoonipUiih 

any  of    the  mnltitudinous   duties    inrolred    in    onr    indostrial  and 

eommercial  life,  with  a  view  to  aeciiriiig  h»pptaeH  bejond  the  graTe« 

and  the  joys  of  Paradise  ? 

On  the  contrary  it  is  sMCt  h^hljr  fmentmi  to  mpeet  t«  ferj  waj 
«Dd  stimulate  tbe  lacetiTS  of  peMMil  ial«rait.  Girt  H  iht  iwplssi 
miisf action  bgr  tiwifag  to  the  vodker  dw  lUI  ^ijiajntmi  of  M* 
produce ;  jostice  inOs  tfcsfr  ttas  sfcn^U  be  ssi.  Gmnudm  to  aU  turn 
■oope  for  their  eoogy ;  *imltij  ■'■■M  Imw  flii  m,  iMtht  isuito' 
neat  of  want  sal  tW  iemm  tm  I  yliwiti  i«ji/»iMt  migt  te  dw 
iiphere  of  labour;  ihtr  vil  fi*»  •  fttSffiom  lafttes  to  himttf* 
But  do  ndi  iiiwjit  'tm  mfmt  m  mtHiid  **  l^ftMy "  j  k  wmU 
eogeader  hatir^  mI  wmii  U  |iihrtgpi  Mff  U  mimtj,  Utk9 
lights  of  each  be  ciiaslf  4dtmt4  amd  pMaitoei,  0m  fiiftinpi  «f 

thtse  brotbstB  bs— »  shsObis  mdtmmdkm^htlifiitfimimtiVf 

Ultm 


820 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVFEW. 


tMAa 


boirnd  to  work  for  my  neighbour,  I  Bhall,  more  than  probably,  dialiko 
him ;  all  that  ig  oppression  entftila  hatred  of  the  oppressor ;  but  if 
both  of  us  enjoy  the  fruit  of  our  own  personal  exertions,  I  shall  h& 
animated  by  feelings  of  affection,  and  ready  even  to  make  sacrifices  for 
him. 

It  is  very  important  to  keep  the  two  primitive  sentiments  of  man 
within  the  compass  of  their  spheres.  The  sting  of  want  may  incite  tt> 
the  struggle  with  the  barrenness  and  parsimony  of  Nature,  ro  that  ease 
and  comfort  may  be  wrenched  from  her  ;  but  such  elevated  feelings 
and  aspirations  as  love,  abnegation,  and  brotherhood  must  not  be  invoked 
for  the  production  of  riches.  They  are  wholly  out  of  place.  Lovo 
must  no  more  be  a  speculation  than  labour  a  sacrifice  or  appetite  a 
right. 

If  every  man  in  his  own  legitimate  sphere  of  action  were  free  to 
produce  for  himself,  and  if  the  tax  of  idleness  were  abolished,  a 
epirit  of  fruitful  emulation  would  inspire  all  workers,  and  the  welfare 
of  one  woi/ld  not  spring  from  the  poverty  of  another.  What  moro 
than  this  could  be  desired  ? 

But  the  chief  objection  to  Communism  is  that  it  destroys  respon- 
Bibility,  and  consequently  sacrifices  either  justice  or  liberty.  Justice, 
in  its  practical  sense,  means  giving  to  each  his  due,  cuiqucsnum.  To 
each  according  to  his  merit  and  work,  is  a  very  old  maxim,  which  the 
consciences  of  all  nations  have  ever  accepted.  It  is  the  very  principle 
of  responsibility,  and  the  basis  of  the  moral  law.  If  thou  doest  well 
thou  shalt  reap  thy  reward,  if  evil  thy  punishment,  for  these  are  the 
sequels  of  thine  own  actions,  good  or  evil. 

It  follows,  then,  that  the  fundamental  precept  of  social  economy 
should  be  :  "  To  each  nnrkei'  his  produce,  his  entire  proditfc,  and  nothing 
hit  his  prodnce"  The  great  problem  of  social  organization  is  to  realize 
this  formula  of  justice.  If  this  were  once  applied,  pauperism  and 
divitism-,  misery  and  idleness,  vice  and  spoliation,  pride  and  servitude 
would  disappear  as  if  by  magic  from  our  midst.  Communism 
entirely  ignores  these  first  principles,  the  perception  and  realization 
of  which  are  the  constant  effort  and  crowning  glory  of  civilization. 
Zeal  or  cowardice,  cupidity  or  abnegation,  it  recognizes  no  difference. 
Each  one  has  his  work  appointed  him  j  one  does  it  ill,  another  not  at 
all — it  matters  not  ;  meals  are  served  to  al!  alike,  all  are  treated  in 
the  same  way,  the  idle  and  the  industrious ;  brotherly  feeling  ia 
tender  over  such  slight  delinquencies.  It  is  quite  clear  that  with  thi9 
fiystem  it  is  to  a  man's  advantage  to  do  as  little  work  as  pcssible,  all 
his  wants  being  attended  to  under  any  circumstances.  Vice  is  re- 
warded and  virtue  sacrificed.     Abnegation  offers  a  premium  to  lazinesa. 

When  two  persons,  out  of  politeness,  debate  as  to  which  sIiaK  not 
accept  a  service  each  is  anxious  to  render  the  other,  the  less  scru- 
pnlons  will  have  the  best  of  the  generous  contest.    It  is  precisely  the 


«*90l 


COMMUNISM. 


821 


nine  in  Communism,  wbicli  is  the  dominance  of  tho  weak  by  the 
■troDg,  of  the  active  and  industrious,  by  the  greedy  and  self-indulgent. 
Without  responsibility  morality  becomeB  a  word  devoid  of  signification. 
How  then  is  such  a  system  as  Communism  to  be  maintained  ?  There  is 
but  one  way.  Stringently  to  enforce  the  penal  code,  that  is  to  say, 
arrange  an  entire  scale  of  penalties  and  punishments,  regulate  all  the 
actions  of  private  life,  divide  the  workers  into  brigades  under  the 
Arbitrary  orders  of  an  overseer,  or  submit  all  the  questions  of  produce 
to  the  general  votes,  to  punish  auy  wilful  idleness  ;  substitute,  in  fact, 
lor  the  incentive  to  work  the  fear  of  the  gaol. 

Instead  of  emulation  and  personal  responsibility,  constantly  stiran- 
bting  to  increased  vigour  and  activity,  there  would  be  then  constraint 
in  balonce  with  indolence,  disgust  and  weariness  with  law,  and 
"  fraternity "  with  justice.  If  you  once  do  away  with  individual 
responsibility,  society  becomes  one  vast  wheel,  kept  in  motion  by  force. 
Bot,  let  ua  listen  to  what  Stuart  llill  says  on  this  subject : 

"The  objection  ordinoi-ily  made  to  a  system  of  community  of  property  and 
«qtuJ  distribution  of  the  produce,  that  each  person  would  be  incessantly 
occupied  in  evading  his  fair  share  of  tho  work,  points,  undoubtedly,  to  a  real 
difficulty ;  but  those  who  urge  this  objection,  forget  to  how  great  an  extent 
the  5.ime  difhculty  exists  under  the  system  on  which  nine-tenths  of  the 
bu-iuess  of  society  is  now  conducted.  TJie  objection  supposes  that  honest 
'  Ik'ient  labour  is  only  to  be  had  from  those  who  are  themselves  in- 
.  iaily  to  reap  the  benefit  of  their  own  exertions.  Cut  how  small  a  part 
tt(  ail  the  lalx)ur  performed  in  England,  from  the  lowest  paid  to  the  highest, 
it  done  by  pei'sons  working  for  their  own  beneiit." 

These  statements  of  the  eminent  economist  certainly  possess  a 
▼alae  which  we  will  not  contest ;  their  application  to  the  present 
•yet^ra  is  undoubted,  but  they  are  no  justification  of  Coramuniam, 
which  wonld  merely  extend  the  same  lamentable  defect  that  exists 
ID  oar  present  social  organization. 

Moreover,  at  the  present  time,  tho  ill-effects  of  the  wages'  system 
<yn  the  quantity  and  quality  of  work  are  considerably  mitigated  by  the 
jricman  being  closely  overlooked  by  his  master,  whose  interest  it  is 
sec  that  he  works  as  well  and  as  quickly  as  possible.  When  this 
erintendence  ia  too  difficult  to  be  effectually  carried  out,  work  ia 
iooe  "  by  the  job  "  instead ;  in  this  way  the  force  of  responsibility 
acts  either  directly  or  indirectly  on  the  workman  through  the  medium 
the  master.  This  is  generally  the  case  with  most  agricultural 
Ubour,  with  mines  and  small  industries.  It  is  quite  true,  as  Mill 
'obierves,  that  there  are  very  many  cases  in  which  the  stimulus  of 
private  interest  is  not  called  into  action.  For  instance,  many  func- 
4ioncaries  and  oflacials  in  large  companies  have  a  C.xed  stipend,  in  no 
way  dependent  on  the  way  they  do  their  duty.  In  such  cases,  it  must 
of  oooree  be  admitted,  that  the  principle  of  responsibility  ia  less  direct 
ka  itA  action,  and  yet  it  seems  to  me  that  it  has  more  influence  than 


822 


IHE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mas. 


in  a  Communist  association.  Tiie  superintendent  of  the  labourers  has 
the  hope  of  risiug  to  a  higher  post  and  of  receiving  higher  wages ;  in 
addition  to  this  he  generally  Leldngs  to  a  class  somewliat  above  the 
workmen  under  him,  and  he  is  thus  better  able  to  understand  that  his 
interest  lies  in  doing  his  duty  conscientiously ;  finally  he  knows  that 
if  he  does  not  work  well,  he  may  be  dismissed,  and  that  he  would 
thus  lose  a  position  superior  to  that  of  the  great  majority  of  those 
who  have  to  live  by  their  own  exertions.  All  these  stimulants  to 
activity  are  lacking  in  Communism.  The  superintendent  or  overseer 
is  not  urged  to  ilisjilay  the  utmost  zeal  in  his  power  by  any  hope  of 
better  pay,  or  fear  of  losing  what  he  already  enjoys.  True,  ho  has  a 
certain  intere&t  in  the  prosperity  of  Eociety,  his  own  being  dependent 
on  it,  an  interest  which  the  hired  workman  has  not ;  but  this  stimulus, 
which  might  be  efiBcacious  in  a  sinall  communistic  association  com- 
peting with  other  contractors,  would  be  of  no  possible  avail  in  a  uni- 
versal association  for  governmental  purposea,  for  there  would  be  no 
proportion  whatever  between  his  disposition  to  neglect,  and  thf  benefit 
he  could  obtain  from  the  addition  of  his  personal  produce  to  th& 
general  produce  of  some  millions  of  co-associates.  Nowadays,  when 
ft  workman  is  idle  he  is  dismissed  ;  as  the  Communist  workshop  would 
comprise  the  wholf  country,  dismissal  wonid  mean  exile,  a  punish- 
ment eo  seven-  that  it  would  probably  be  replaced  by  imprisonment. 
So  that,  not  self-sacrifice,  but  the  gaoler  would  be  the  pivot  of  the  new 
state  of  society.  I  am  of  opinion,  therefore,  that  Mill  goes  too  far 
when  he  sums  up  his  conclusion  as  follows : 

,  "  I  consider  that  nt  the  prpsent  time  it  is  an  open  question  as  to  what 
extent  the  power  of  labour  would  be  decreased  by  CommunisiD,  and  even 
whether  it  woulij  bo  so  at  nil." 

I  believe,  on  the  other  hand,  that  at  the  present  time  it  is  perfectly 
certain  that  nothing  but  very  fervent  religious  feeling  can  induce  men 
to  give  up  entirely  their  private  interests  and  their  own  free-will  for 
the  benefit  of  societj'.  The  experiment  has  been  made  several  times. 
Those  who  have  made  religious  conviction  the  basis  of  the  association 
have  sometimes  been  successful ;  the  others  have  invariably  failed. 

Communism  is  a  protest  against  the  existing  order  rather  than  & 
Bystem  of  organization  in  itself.  As  we  have  seen,  it  owes  its  birth 
to  an  erroneous  inference  from  the  principle  of  fraternity  or  firom 
that  of  equality,  but  in  neither  case  does  it  offer  any  hope  of  a  new 
social  order.  Real  study  of  man's  instincts  is  entirely  lacking  in  its 
doctrines  and  precepts.  It  disdains  to  study  becanse  it  only  recog- 
nizes in  our  present  state  of  society  spoliation  and  injustice,  and  the 
order  of  things  it  dreams  of  is  the  exact  reverse  of  what  it  sees.  It 
troubles  itself  nought  with  the  laws  of  production  and  distribution ; 
they  are  unessential,  and  are  to  be  entirely  set  aside.     There  ia  no 


tfgol 


COMMUNISM. 


323 


transition  between  the  forests  priroeval  and  paradise,  between  the 
wwidering  savage  and  angels  united  in  bonds  of  ineffable  love.  It 
does  not  understend  the  onward  inarch  of  civilization,  and  fails  to 
pQiceire  the  slow  and  arduous,  but  none  the  less  snre  and  glorioae, 
progpess  of  reason. 

The  problem  set  by  socialism — that  is  to  say,  by  the  science  of 
Mciety  and  civilization — is  the  following :  Since  men  are  equal  by 
right,  and  possess  divers  aptitudes  and  inclinations,  how  shall  the 
right  of  each  to  his  means  of  prodncticJn  be  secured  to  him,  and  how, 
it  the  same  time,  shall  labour  bo  stimulated  by  responsibility  ?  In 
Olfaer  words,,  in  what  manner  should  the  association  of  mankind  be  so 
«rgaiuzed  that  equity  may  govern  all  social  relations  ?  Comraunisn 
hM  not  answered  this  question,  because  it  has  never  even  asked  it. 
Its  aspiration  is  generous,  but  it  in  no  way  solves  the  difficulty 
before  us.  Since  Campanella,  Communism  has  not  made  one 
itep  forwards,  and  since  More,  it  has  gone  backward.  Two 
Ikiasand  years  ago  it  was  at  its  zenith.  Plato  was  its  inspired 
advocate,  and  St.  Paul  its  austere  apostle ;  while  the  days  of 
primitive  Christianity  were  its  period  of  religious  enthusiasm,  of 
daring  proselytism,  and  of  practical  realization.  Mr.  Bellamy's 
Utopia,  in  spite  of  the  charm  of  the  pictures  he  draws,  and  the  skill 
of  his  economic  arguments  seems  to  me  inferior  to  More's, 

Though  I  have  thus  pointed  out  some  of  the  chief  objections  to 
Comnionism,  I  am  well  aware  that  they  are  not  all  equally  important. 
But  I  think  we  may  draw  this  conclusion'from  them,  as  a  whole,  that 
as  long  as  men  are  such  as  they  now  are,  and  seem  likely  to  remain 
tar  some  time  to  come,  generous  minds  may  sigh  for  Communism  an 
aa  enchanting  picture  of  regenerate  humanity,  but  that  it  is  not  in 
its  |wefient  shape,  a  scheme  suitable  for  men.  In  the  sphere  of 
flooaomy  it  would  snap  a.sunder  the  spring  of  all  work  and  effort, 
while  in  the  judgment  seat  it  would  not  respect  justice,  seeing  that  it 
fails  to  ensure  to  each  the  fruit  of  his  labour.  The  second  defect  is 
more  serious  than  the  first,  for  there  is  just  a  remote  chance  that  some 
mt  of  motive  power  might  become  developed  in  man,  to  act  as  a 
tdanlos  to  production  with  the  same  force  as  does  private  interest ; 
W  men  will  never  willingly  submit  to  a  system  which  rewards  good 
and  bad  workmen  alike. 

The  sole  advantage  to  be  gained  by  studying  communistic  pro- 
gnounes  lies  in  the  fact  that  they  criticize  v^^th  more  or  less  eloquence 
aad  with  a  good  deal  of  truth,  the  abuses  of  our  social  organization, 
and  that  they  stir  up  an  enthusiasm  for  reform. 

If  we  may  judge  by  the  past  it  may  safely  be  affirmed  that  the 
futare  is  not  for  Communism.  The  system  of  property  ia  rather 
naktng  progress  than  losing  ground  ;  it  has  always  had  the  advantage 
of  powseaaing  a  principle  of  organization  superior  to  that  of  Commn- 


324 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mas. 


uiam.  Property  will  not  perish  ;  but  there  will  be  gradual  modiGcations 
in  the  manner  in  which  it  is  held.  It  will  become  more  and  more 
a  personal,  and  leas  and  less  an  hereditary  right.  Every  institution 
which  is  essentially  stationary  by  nature,  is  condemned  to  disappear, 
sooner  or  later,  because  all  things  change,  and  more  particularly  the 
thoaghts  and  faiths  of  men. 

Oa  the  other  hand,  principles  which  form  the  necessary  basis  of 
society  subsist  always,  being  accounted  for  and  jastified  by  our  very- 
nature  ;  only  they  are  gradually  modified  and  perfected  in  the  process 
of  general  progress.  The  relics  of  barbarous  times  disappear  one  by 
one  as  these  principles  draw  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  ideal  of  justice, 
growing  more  and  more  at  each  step  into  conformity  with  the  laws  of 
reason,  and  more  and  more  favourable  to  the  happiness  of  all.  Such 
ia,  and  has  ever  been,  the  destiny  of  property,  as  I  have  shown  in  my 
book,  '*  Primitive  Property."  The  laws  with  regard  to  it  have  always 
been,  and  still  are,  very  different  with  different  nations ;  frequently  they 
have  varied  very  much  with  the  same  people,  and  it  ia  perfectly  certain 
they  will  suffer  many  more  changes.  None  but  the  enemies  of 
property  would  wish  to  restrict  it  within  the  limits  of  its  present 
prescribed  boundaries.  Social  institutions  gradually  become  trana- 
fornied,  but  they  generally  develop  in  a  certain  given  direction,  and 
according  to  fixed  rules ;  at  all  events  during  many  consecutive  cen- 
turies. It  is  therefore  probable  that  property  will  become  modified 
In  the  way  I  have  indicated,  and  the  changes  which  have  already- 
taken  place  allow  of  our  foreseeing,  in  a  measure,  those  which  are 
likely  to  ensue.  Property  is  becoming  more  accessible ;  it  is  there- 
fore probable  that  a  time  will  come  when  all  will  share  in  it,  as  it  is 
essential  to  a  real  state  of  freedom,  and  the  true  development  of 
individuality  that  all  should  accomplish.  It  is  also  becoming  more  and 
more  a  reward  of  labour;  we  may  therefore  reasonably  believe  that  by- 
and-by  that  maxim,  which  is  at  once  both  the  absolute  negation  of 
Communism  and  the  most  sacred  justice,  will  receive  due  legislative 
recognition  :  To  each  the  produce  and  nothing  but  the  produce  of 
his  labour. 

Emile  dh  Laveleyb. 


iS9o] 


DR.   VON   BOLLINGER. 


IT  was  in  the  month  of  May,  1870,  that  I  first  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Dr.  Ignatius  von  Dolliiiger.  I  was  on  my  way  to 
the  decennial  representation  of  the  "  Oberammergau  Passion 
■,"  which  was  then  very  little  known  in  England,  and  of  which  I 
promised  Mr.  Delaue  a  description  for  the  Times.  It  was  the 
year  of  the  Vatican  Council,  and  Dr.  Diillinger  was  the  foremost 
figTire  in  the  opposition  to  the  dogma  of  Papal  Infallibility,  which  was 
taen  in  debate.  For  this  reason,  and  also  because  of  his  immense 
liiniiTig  and  of  his  great  personal  chai-m  (of  which  I  had  heard  from 
ftiends  of  his),  I  was  anxious  to  make  bis  acquaintance.  I  chanced 
lo  mention  my  wish  to  Mr,  Gladstone,  who  at  once  kindly  offered  me 
n  introduction,   and   gare  me,   at   the   same  time,   an   interesting 

■ t  of  his  first   meeting  with   Dr.    Ddllinger  twenty-five  years 

lisly.  I  called  on  Dr.  DoUinger  in  company  with  a  friend  who 
bnn  a  not  very  distinctively  Welsh  name.  On  greeting  him,  Dr. 
BoBiager  said :  "  You  are  Welsh,"  and  went  oft'  forthwith  into  a  most 
fatuifiting  digression  on  the  unsuspictcd  traces  of  Keltic  origin  which 
itiD  mrvive  in  the  language  and  nomenclature  of  persona  and  places 
■'  ^'  '1,  His  mind  was  a  wonderful  storehouse  of  knowledge  on 
ty  of  subjects,  and  the  knowledge  was  so  well  digested 
-^orted  that  it  was  ever  at  his  command.  He  was  a  great 
I  an  omnivorous  reader  in  the  literatures  of  Europe  and 
-  well  as  of  ancient  Greece  and  Rome.  And  his  acquaint- 
inth  men  was  as  various  as  his  acquaintance  with  books.  Hardly 
n\&u  of  note  passed  near  Munich  without  calling — not  always  with 
mtrodoction — on  the  great  German  theologian  and  scholar;  and 
y  made  long  journeys  on  purpose  to  see  him.  He  was  not  a  good 
i^nepondent;    indeed,    he    could    not    have    been.       He    was    the 


326 


THE    CONTEMPORARY    REVIEW. 


[Mas. 


recipient  of  an  immense  number  of  letters,  from  Royalties  downwards ; 
but  he  never  allowed  his  correspondence  to  interfere  with  his  hours  of 
study,  and  his  letters  therefore,  though  numerous  in  the  aggregate, 
were  sparse  to  individuals.  He  preferred  to  write  in  German,  bat 
wrote  fluently  iu  English,  French,  and  Italian.  He  read  Spanish  with 
ease,  but  I  do  not  know  whether  he  wrote  or  spoke  that  language. 

A  man  may  be  highly  intellectual  and  wonderfully  learned  without 
Ix'ing  necessarily  a  good  talker.  It  is  impossible  to  define  a  good 
talker,  for  the  accomplishment  is  infinitely  various.  There,  are  divers 
styles  of  good  talking,  each  excellent  in  its  way,  and  there  are  mea 
who  excel  in  more  styles  than  one,  of  whom  the  late  Mr.  Robert 
BrowTung  may  be  given  as  an  example.  In  general  .society  his  con- 
versation was  so  light  and  oparkling,  so  full  of  anecdote  and  repartee 
and  breezy  fun,  that  admirers  of  his  poetry  who  met  him  for  the 
first  time  were  sometimes  gri<'.vou5]y  disapjwinted.  They  had  pictured 
to  themselves  a  man  of  austere  and  dignified  mien,  who  spoke  like 
his  poems,  instead  of  which  they  met  a  very  cheery,  well  dressed,  old 
gentleman  whose  speech  was  by  no  means  oracular,  but  was,  on  the 
contrarj',  an  excellent  specimen  of  good  dinner  talk.  But  Browning 
could  talk  in  a  very  different  strain  when  the  opportunity  presented 
itself.  I  remember  a  summer  evening,  two  years  ago,  when,  after 
retiring  from  the  dinner-table,  he  started  a  discussion  on  the  doctrine 
of  evolution,  from  which  the  conversation  passed  to  Plato's  Dialogues; 
and  Brovraing's  conversation  was  so  brilliant  and  stimulating  that 
the  hours  sped  on  without  reckoning ;  and  when  we  thought  it  was 
verging  upon  midnight  we  fouud  that  it  was  already  the  dawn  of  another 
day.  Browning,  so  far  from  feeling  tired,  playfully  proposed  that  we 
should  continue  the  discussion  till  breakfast. 

To  this  class  of  talkers  Dr.  Dollinger  belonged.  He  seldom  dined 
out ;  but  he  once  did  mo  the  honour  of  dining  with  me  iu  the  Four 
Seasons  Hotel,  llunicbj  to  meet  some  friends  of  both  sexes,  including 
the  present  Vicar  of  Leeds  and  Mrs.  Talbot.  He  charmed  the  ladies, 
young  and  elderly,  with  the  brightness  and  lightness  of  his  conversa- 
tion, and  with  his  familiarity  with  topics  which  they  had  supposed 
mast  have  been  beneath  his  notice.  He  was  full  of  humour,  and  I 
have  never  known  a  man  who  had  a  keener  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  or 
laughed  more  heartily.  But  there  was  no  malice  in  his  humour  ;  like 
Bheet-lightning,  it  irradiated  without  hurting  the  objects  on  which  it 
played.  I  can  confirm  Mr.  Gladstone's  experience  in  affirming*  that 
I  never  heard  Dr.  Dollinger  speak  an  unkind  word  even  of  those  whom 
he  might  reasonally  have  regarded  as  his  adversaries.  Archbishop 
Scherr,  of  Munich,  was  a  personal  friend  of  Dr.  DoUinger,  and  was  at 
fiirst  on©  of  the  opponents  of  the  dogma  of  Infallibility.  At  the  railway 
station  of  Munich,  as  he  was  starting  to  attend  the  A^atican  Council,  h© 
«  See  Mr.  Gladstone's  article  in  the  Speaktr  of  Jan.  18. 


«S9o] 


DR.    VON  BOLLINGER. 


327 


Dr.  Dollinger  tJjat  in  the  event  (which  the  Archhiahop 
Ukoagbt  improbable)  of  the  dogma  being  proposed  in  the  Council,  it 
lAoold  have  his  determined  opposition.  For  a  time  the  Archbishop 
iBok  his  place  among  the  minority  of  the  Council,  but  he  yielded  at 
Wt,  and  excommunicated  Dr.  Dijilinger  for  not  following  his  example. 
T«t  1  never  heai"d  Dr.  Dollinger  speak  bitterly  of  him.  On  the  con- 
Inrj,  be  made  excuses  for  him  ;  urged  that  he  had  acted  under  pre3- 
■re  £noiu  Rome ;  pleaded  that  he  had  more  piety  than  strength  of 
*  :r  ;  and  declared  that  he  was  bound  to  act  as  lie  did,  or  resign 
__  :  -  -.  To  illustrate  the  Archbishop's  esprit  cxailc,  which  subordinated 
\u  jodgmeut  to  his  religious  emotions,  Dr.  Dollinger  one  day  told  me 
i£olk>wiDg  anecdote,  on  the  authority  of  Archbishop  Scherr  himself. 
th©  Archbishop  received  information  from  Rome  that  he  was  to 
presented  with  the  Archiepiscopal  Pallium  on  a  given  day,  ho 
■  began  to  prepare  himself  for  this  great  honour  by 
_  ._j  interval  to  retirement  and  religious  exercises.  The  I'allium 
.*-  rally,  but  not  invariably,  made  by  the  nans  of  one  of  the  Roman 
*Arrnte  from  the  wool  of  lambs  kept  on  purpose — a  fact  which  added 
1»  the  honour  of  the  gift.  On  tho  stated  day,  the  Archbishop's 
mTaot  announced  the  arrival  of  the  messenger  with  the  Pall. 
'  Ue  Arcbblfihop  expected  a  special  envoy  from  the  Vatican  and  a 
imal  investiture  sanctified  by  the  Papal  benediction,  instead  of  which 
liere  walked  into  his  presence  a  Jewish  banker  with  a  bundle 
Lis  arm,  out  of  which  he  presently  produced  the  Pall  with  a 
[UH  for  £200.  Keenly  as  Dr.  Dollinger  entered  into  the  humour  of 
■tory,  he  really  told  it  as  an  illustration  of  the  Archbishop's 
ty  of  character,  and  by  way  of  excusing  hia  conduct  in  excom- 

.. ting  himself.     "  To  him,"  ho  said,  "  the  dogma  presents  no 

?rable  difficulty,  and  he  cannot  understand  why  it  should  present 
oy  to  me.  He  bows  to  authority,  and  cannot  see  that  authority  has 
aomors  \o  do  with  historical  facts  than  it  has  to  do  with  mathematical 
fteta.**  He  was  always  prone  to  make  excuses  for  the  bishops  who 
tBBTptfwi  the  dogma  of  Infallibility — even  for  those  who  had  been 
•BOBg  ita  most  prominent  opponents  at  the  Vatican  Council.  He 
Aonved  in©  once  a  letter  from  one  of  the  latter,  in  which  the  writer — 
a  diatiogaished  prelate — declared  that  he  was  in  ead  perplexity.  He 
kad  proclaimed  the  dogma,  he  said,  while  still  remaiidng  in  the  same 
and  in  which  he  had  opposed  it  at  the  Council.  "  But  what  could 
1  do?  "  he  afked.  "  Can  one  be  in  the  Church  and  be  out  of  com- 
with  the  Pope  ?  Yet  can  it  be  right  to  proclaim  what  one 
Dot  believe  ?  Such  is  ray  dilemma,  and  it  has  made  mo  so 
that  I  have  thought  of  resigning  my  See.  On  reflection,  I 
iduaea  what  I  consider  the  safest  course."  "  Allowance  must  bo 
;  lo»  these  men,"  said  Dr.  DiiUinger.  "  Habit  is  second  nature, 
I  WW  mental  attitude  baa  been  so  invariably  that  of  unquestioning 


'328 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   RE VI EH' 


obedience  to  I'apal  authority,  that  when  they  have  to  choose  betwee: 
that  authority  and  allegiance  to  what  they  believe  to  be  historici 
truth,  their  secoQcl  nature  asserts  itself,  and  they  yield." 

On  a  aubfiequent  occasion,  1  asked  Dr.  DuUinger  if  he  thought  t 
Bifiiiop  of    Rotti'nburg  (Dr.    llefele)   would    end    by   accepting  t 
dogma.     The  case  was  iu  one  way  a  crucial  one.     As  an  authority 
the  historical  bearings  of  the  qtieetion,  Hefeld  was  the  best  equipp^ 
man  at  tlie  Couucil.       His  masterly   "  History  of  the   Councils  " 
accepted  as   the  standard  authority  on    all    hands.      Not  only  did 
oppose  the  dogma  at  the  Vatican  Couucil,   but  during  the  sitting 
the  Council  he  published,  through  the  Neapolitan  press,  a  pampi 
against  it,  basing  his  opposition  on  the  example  of  Houorius  as  a 
case.     Perrone,  the   great    theologian    of    the    Roman  College, 
a  strong   Infallibilist,    has    laid  it    down    in  his   standard    work 


"  Dogmatic  Theology,"  that  if  only  one  J*ope  can  be  proved  to  h 

given,  ex  cathcdrd^  a  heterodox  decision  on  faith  or  morals,  the  wbzj 
doctrine  collapses.     Hefele  accordingly  took  the  case  of  Honorius,  :3e 
proved  that  this  Pope  had  been  condemned  as  a  heretic  by  Popes  «; 
(Ecumenical    Councils.       Pennachi,   Professor  of  Church,  WveXovy 
Rome,   replied  to   Hefele,   and   Hefele  returned    to  the  charge  in 
rejoinder  so  powerful  that  ho  was  left  master  of  the  field.      If  ther 
fore  Hefele,  so  honest  as  well  as  so  able  and  learned,  accepted  ^tt^ 
dogma,  it  was  not  likely  that  any  otluT  bishop  of  the  minority  wou  T 
hold  out.     "  He  must  yield,"  said  Dr.  Dtilliiiger  to  me,  three  montlx^^ 
after  the  prorogation  of    the  Vatican  Council,   "or  resign  his  Se^. 
His  quinquennial  faculties  have  expired,  and  the  Pope  refuses  to  rene**" 
them  until  Hefele  accepts  the  decree.      At  tJais  moment  there  are  nine- 
teen couples  of  rank  in  his  diocese  who  cannot  get  married  because 
they  are  within  the  forbidden  degrees,  and  Hefele  cannot  grant  them 
dispensations."    ■'  But  since  he  denies  the  Pope's  infallibility,"  I  asked, 
"  why  does  lie  not  himself  grant  the  necessary  dispensations  ?  "      "  My 
friend,"  replied  Dullinger,  "  jou  forget  that  the  members  of  the  Church 
of  Rome  have  been  brought  up  in  the  belief  that  a  dispensation  is  not 
valid  wittoTit  these  Papal  faculties,  and  a  marriage  under  any  other 
dispensation  would  not  be  acknowledged  in  society."  The  event  proved 
that  DuHinger  was  right,      The  quinqennial  faculties  are  a  tremendoaa 
power  in  the  hands  of  the  Pope.     They  are,  in  fact,  Papal  licences,^ 
renewed    every    five    years,   which    enable   the    bishops    to  esercis 
extraordinary    episcopal     functions    that    ordinarily    belong    to    th 
Pope,    such    as   the    power    of    absolving    from    heresy,    schis 
apostasy,    secret  crime   (except   murder),   from   vows,    obligations 
fasting,    prohibition    of    marriage    within   the    prohibited     degre 
and  also   the  power    to  permit   the    reading  of    prohibited 
It     is    obvious    that    the    extinction   of   the   quinquennial   facul 
in    a  diocese  means  the  paralysis  in  a  short  time  of  its  ordi 


«^>] 


DR.   VON  BOLLINGER. 


S2d 


•dminiBtration.     It  amounts  to  a  sort  of  modified  interdict.     And  80 

Dr.  Hefele  soon  discovered.     The    dogma    was  proclaimed  in    the 

Titian  Council  on  the  18th  of  July,  1870,  and  on  the  10th  of  the 

LfAowisg  Apn'l  Hefele  submitted.      But  he    was  too  honest  to  let  it 

\  infnred  that  his  submission  was  due  to  any  change  of  conviction. 

I  deemed  it  his  duty  to  submit  in  spite  of  his  convictions,  because 

^(bopeaoe  and  unity  of  the  Church  is  so  great  a  good  that  great  and 

IT  pereonal  sacrifices  maybe  made  for  it."      Bishop  Strosamayer 

I  ont  longest  of  all ;   but  he  yielded  at  last,  so  far  as  to  allow  the 

1  to  be  published  in  the  official  Gazette  of  his  diocese  during  Ms 

in  Rome.      Nevertheless,   ho  remained    t-o  the  last  on  the 

firiendly  terms  with  Dr.  Dcillinger,  and  it  was  to  a  letter  from 

DoUingtr  that   I  was   indebted   for  a  most   interesting  visit   to 

hop  Strossmayer  in  Croatia  in  1876. 

To  some  able  and  honest  minds   Dr.  Dollinger's  attitude  on   the 

tirni  of  infallibility  is  a  puzzle.      His  refusal  to  accept  the  dogma, 

nle  he  submitted  meekly  to  an  excommunication  which  lie  believed 

be  nnjngt,  seems   to   them  an   inconsistency.      This   view  is   put 

in  an  interesting  article  on  Dr.  Dolltnger  in  the  Spectator  of 

'kit  JaBuary  18,  and,  as  it  is  a  view  which  is  probably  held  by  many, 

I  lie  gist  of  the  article  before  I  try  to  show  what  Dr.  Dollinger's 

B*  of  view  really  was  : 

ri'  was  something  very  English  in  Dr.  Dollinger's  illogical  pertinacity 
a  Voiding  his  own  position  on  points  of  detail,  in  Kpite  of  the  inconsis- 
of  that  position  on  points  of  detail  with  the  logic  of  his  general 
He  was,  in  fact,  more  tenacious  of  what  his  historical  learning  had 
(  him,  than  he  was  of  the  it  priori  position  wliith  he  had  pre^'iously 
— namely,  that  a  trtie  Church  must  Vie  infnllihle,  and  that  his 
H  was  actually  infallible.  No  one  hml  taught  this  more  distinctly  than 
ijger.  Yet  hrst  he  found  one  erroneous  di-ift  in  the  practical  teach- 
vt  iii>i  Church,  then  he  found  another,  tind  then  when  (it  last  his  Church 
\j  declared  that  the  true  ]>roTidfntiiil  gutiniutee  of  her  infallibility 
only  to  the  Papal  definition  of  any  tlogma  touching  faith  and 
■■li  promulgated  with  a  view  to  teach  the  Uhiireh,  he  ignored  that 
mr,  though  it  was  sanctioned  by  one  of  the  most  unanimous  as  well  a& 
«  of  the  most  numerously  attended  of  her  Councils,  and  preftrreil  to 
oimit  to  excommunication  rather  than  to  profess  his acceptnnco  of  it.  And 
t  Uler  he  cnme,  we  b«liere,  to  declare  that  he  was  no  more  bound  by  the 
'MS  of  the  Council  of  Trent  than  he  was  by  the  decrees  of  the  Council  of 
Vatican.  None  the  less  he  always  submitted  to  thti  disciplinary  authority 
I  Um  Cbtirch,  even  after  he  had  renouoced  virtually  her  dogmatic  authority. 
noTtdr  celebrated  mass  nor  assumed  any  of  the  functions  of  a  priest  after 
etcammunication.  In  other  wonls,  he  obeyed  the  Clmrch  in  matters  in 
vUdi  BO  one  hud  ever  claimed  for  her  that  iihe  cotthl  not  err,  after  he  had 
to  obey  her  in  matters  in  which  he  had  formerly  taught  that  shf 
■old  BOt  err,  and  in  whirh,  so  far  as  we  know,  he  liad  only  in  his  latter 
!«■»  taught  that  hhe  could  err  by  explicitly  rejecting  the  decrees  of  one  or 

General   Councik When   she  s.-iid  to  him,  "Don't   celebrate 

I  any  more,'  he  seems  to  have  regarded  himself  aa  n»ore  bound  to  obey 
thuk  mhen  she  uid  to  him,  *  Believe  what  1  tell  you.' " 


\(%r.r 


330 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


Dr.  Dijllinger  would  nob  have  accepted  this  as  an  accurate 
menfc  of  his  position.  He  would  have  denied  that  the  dogi 
Infalllbilit'y  "was  sanctinned  by  ono  of  the  most  unanimous"  ( 
Church's  Councilsi,  and  would  have  pointed  to  the  protest  of 
than  eighty  of  the  most  learned  and  influential  bishops  in  the  I 
Communion,  whose  subsequent  submission  he  would  have  discc 
for  reasons  already  indicated.  And  ho  would  have  been  g 
surprised  to  be  told  that  it  was  as  easy  to  obey  the  com! 
"  Believe  what  I  tell  you,"  as  the  command  "  Don't  celebrate 
any  more."  I  remember  a  pregnant  remark  of  Cardinal  Newmo 
myself  at  the  time  of  Dr.  Diillinger's  excommunication,  of  which  i 
approved,  though  accepting  the  dogma  himself.  "  There  are  s 
he  said,  *'  who  think  that  it  is  as  easy  to  bolieve  as  to  obey  ;  thai 
say,  they  do  not  understand  what  faith  really  means."  To  obc 
sentence  of  esconrmunication  was  in  no  sense  a  moral  difficulty  t 
Dijllinger.  He  believed  it  unjust  and  therefore  invalid,  and  he 
aidered  himself  under  no  obligation  in  foro  conmiaitice  to  obey  it 
did  not  believe  that  it  cut  him  off  from  membership  with  the  C 
of  Rome  ;  and  he  once  resented  in  a  letter  to  me  an  expression  ' 
implied  that  he  had  ceased  to  be  a  member  of  the  Roman  Oonimr 
He  submitted  to  the  sentence  of  excommunication  as  a  mat 
discipline,  a  cross  which  he  was  providentially  ordained  to  bear 
involved  nothing  more  serious  than  personal  sacrifice — subra 
to  a  wrong  arbitrarily  inflicted  by  an  authority  to 
obedience  was  due  where  conscience  did  not  forbid.  "  Believe 
I  tell  you  "  was  a  very  different  command,  and  could  only  be  o 
when  the  intellect  could  conscientiously  accept  the  proposition, 
bid  him  believe  not  only  as  an  article  of  faitli  but  as  an  hist 
fact  what  he  firmly  believed  to  be  an  historical  fiction  was  to  h 
outrage  on  his  intcllectaal  integrity.  For  let  it  be  remembere< 
the  Vatican  decree  defines  the  dogma  of  Papal  Infallibility  not  r 
as  part  of  the  contents  of  Divine  revelation,  but,  in  addition,  as 
of  historj'  *' received  from  the  beginning  of  the  Christian  faith, 
challenged  the  ordeal  of  historical  criticism,  and  made  thus  an  a 
to  enlightened  reason  not  less  than  to  faith.  To  demand  belie 
proposition  that  lies  beyond  the  compass  of  the  human  underst^ 
is  ono  thing.  It  is  f|uite  another  matter  to  demand  belief  in  a 
ment  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  which  is  purely  a  matter  of  hist 
evidence.  If  Dr.  DoUinger  had  been  asked  to  believe,  on  pj 
excommunication,  that  Charles  I.  beheaded  Oliver  Cromwell,  th( 
writer  in  the  Spectator  would  readdy  understand  how  easy  subm 
to  an  unjust  excommunication  would  have  been  in  comparison 
obedience  to  such  a  command.  But  to  Dr.  DoUinger'a  mind  thi 
position  that  Charles  I.  beheaded  Oliver  Cromwell  would  not  be 


»] 


DR.    VON   DOLLINGER. 


831 


I  preposterous,  not  a  bit  more  in  tho  teeth  of  historical  evidence, 

the  proposition   that   "  from    tho   beginning    of   the   Christian 

,*  it  was  an  acceptod  article  of  tho   creed  of  Christendom  that 

,  the  Roman  Pontiff  speaks  to  the  Church  cjc  cathtdrd  on  faith  or 

lis.  his  ntterances  are   infallible,  and  ''  are  irreformable  of  them- 

and  not  from  the   consent  of  the   Church."     He  was  firmly 

of  the    contradictory  of  that    proposition,   and   while   he 

of  that   mind   how    could  he  have  honestly   profcased  his 

BOP  of  the  dogma  ?     The  appeal  was  not  to  his  faith,  but  to 

liBMon.    It  was,  as  he   said   himself,  like  asking  him  to  believe 

;  two  and  two  make  five. 

*  Bat  there  is  an  ambiguity  in  the  word  *' infailible,"  and  the  writer 

Spedaior  uses   it  in  a  sense  in    which  Dr.   Dallinger  never 

it,  either  before  or  after  the  Vatican  Council.      In  the  most 

period  of  his  life  he  was  no  believer  in  the  Ultramontane 

of  infallibility,  whether  of  the  Pope  alone,  or  of  tho  Pope  as 

w«I  organ  of  the  Church  collectively.   The  Ultramontane  view  is 

'bishops  are  not  witnesses  of  the  faith  handed  do'wn  among  their 

I  from  generation  to  generation  ;   but  that  by  consecration  they  are 

Mtted  to  the  ecclcsia  docens  as   doctors  and  j  udges^  and   are   thus 

ted  snpernaturally  with  the  custody  of  the  true  faith.     So  that 

ithpy  assemble  in  Oecumenical  Council  they  are  not  witnesses  of 

'tnditional  and  immemorial  faith  of  their  ilocka,  but  of  the  faith 

lit  came  to  them  Bupematurally  iu  the  line  of  their  consecration. 

Diillinijpr  never  held  that  view.      To  him  the  infallibility  of  the 

iBJch  had  always  meant  a  co7isensm  of  historical  testimony.      The 

of  bishops  in  an  Oecumenical  Coilhcil  was  to  bear  witness 

Uy  to  the  faith  handed  down  in  their   dioceses.      If  there  was 

inanimity  in  this  testimony,  it  was  held  to  afford  decisive  proof 

tke  doctrine  thus   attested   was  part  of  tho  original  deposit. 

'Councils  had  to  deliberate  as  well  as  to  bear  witness;   to  track 

to  its  lair  and  expose  it  as  well  as  to  testify  to  the   truth  ; 

»  was  therefore  believed  that  the  promise  to  "  guide  them  into 

'OBth"  was  not  personal  to  the  Apostles,  but  was  made  officially 

"?!»  them   to  the   Church   at  large.       It   was   not   enough^   for 

B,  at  the  Council  of  Nicaea  that  the  bishops  tliere  assembled 

Iwkve  each  delivered  the  traditional   doctrine  of  his  See  on  the 

of  our  Lord's  divinity.     For  Arius  did  not  deny  the  divinity 

'^8t  in    express    terms.       He    disguised  his    denial  of    it    by 

BO  subtle  that  it  required   uncommon  skill  and  dexterity  to 

r\\m ;  and  it  was  illuminating  guidance  of  this  kind  that  was 

ed  to  the  Church,  not  an  infused  grace  at  the  consecration 

j*  e«d}  bishop  for  the  purpose  of  endowing  him  with  the  custody  of 


332 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


Others  again,  like  Joseph  de  Maistre,*  have  explained  Papal  infa 
bility  as  if  it  merely  meant  the  power  of  giving  a  decision  which 
£nal  and  from  which  there  can  he  no  appeal ;  the  same  in  ' 
Bpiritual  order  that  sovereignty  is  in  the  civil  order.  The  infallibij 
defined  in  the  Vatican  decree  is  different  in  kind  from  this.  1 
infallible  decisions  of  the  Roman  Pontiff  are  said  to  be  '*  irreformabl 
This  is  a  fandamental  distinction.  In  civil  government  the  soverei 
power  for  the  time  being  has  saprerae  jurisdiction  over  the  past 
well  as  over  the  present.  It  can  reform  and  revoke  past  decisions 
well  as  lay  down  the  law  for  the  present.  The  analogy  suggested 
De  Maistre  therefore  breaks  down  on  the  threshold  of  the  arguma 
Nor  is  this  all.  There  never  was  a  time  when  Dr.  DoUinger  admit. 
the  irreformabilifcy  of  any  ecclesiastical  decisions,  be  they  Papal 
Conciliar.  He  always  held  that  one  (Ecumenical  Council  ooi 
review  and  amnnd  (as  indeed  some  did)  the  acts  of  another. 

Moreover,  the  Vatican  definition  declares  that  the  ex 
decisions  of  the  Pope  are  not  only  "  irreformable,"  but  are 
themselves,  and  not  from  the  consent  of  the  Cbarch."  According 
Cardinal  Manning,!  this  means,  and  indeed  it  is  the  obvious  meani 
that  "  the  whole  Episcopate  gathered  in  Council  is  not  infallible  wil 
out  its  head.  But  the  head  is  always  infallible  by  himself.  .  .  .  .  Tl 
divine  assistance  is  his  special  prerogative  depending  on  God  alon< 
The  Vatican  definition  therefore  "  ascribes  to  the  Pontifical  acts 
cathcdrd,  in  faith  or  morals,  an  intrinsic  infallibility ;  and,  secondly, 
excludes  from  them  all  influx  of  any  other  cause  of  such  intrim 
infallibility."  "I  need  not  add,"  says  the  Cardinal,  "that  by  the 
words  many  forms  of  error  are  excluded  :  as,  first,  the  theory  thatt! 
joint  action  of  the  Episcopate  congregated  in  Conncil  is  necessary 
the  infallibility  of  the  PontifiT;  secondly,  that  the  consent  of  t 
Episcopate  dispersed  is  retjuired ;  thirdly,  that  if  not  the  express 
least  the  tacit  assent  of  the  Episcopate  is  needed.  All  these  ali 
deny  the  infallibility  of  the  Pontiff  till  his  acts  are  confirmed  by  t 
Episcopate,"  "which  is  to  deny  his  infallibility  an  a  privilege  of  t 
primacy,  independent  of  the  Church  which  he  is  to  teach  and 
oonfifm.' 

This  is  the  doctrine  which  Dr.  Diillinger  was  required  to  bslie'v 
not  as  an  article  of  divine  truth  revealed  to  the  Fathers  of  the  Vati« 
Council,  but  as  an  article  of  faith  always  held  "  from  the  beginning 


*  "  L'nn  et  I'autre  expriment  oette  h&ute  paiBsance  qai  ks  domine  tootes,  donttoal 
les  aatres  denvent,  qui  (jouvcrne  et  n'est  pas  gouvernde,  qui  ju^  et  n'cst  pas  jag< 
Qnand  nous  dLsons  que  I'Ef^lise  est  itifaillible  nous  no  demandons  poor  elle,  il  estbi 
esseatiel  de  Fobserver,  aucuo  privilege  particalier  ;  naaa  demandons  sealmeat  qa*e 
jouisse  dn  droit  comrann  il  toates  les  souverainetes  possible  qui  toates  ayissent  n6c4 
Bairement  comme  infaitliblea ;  car  toat  gouvcraement  est  absolii ;  et  da  moment  i 
Ton  pcut  lui  r^KiKtei  fioaa  prCtexte  d'eneur  oa  d'injustice,  iln'existeplug." — Du  P<q 
c.  i.  pp.  1&-1G. 

t  *'  The  Vatican  Cooncil  and  its  Deflnltiong,"  pp.  90-92. 


How  was  be  to  believe  it  consistently  with  his  historical  convictions  ? 
How  was  it  reconcilable  with  the  facts  of  history — with  the  fact  of 
6<Mnl  Coancils,  for  example  ?  If  the  Roman  Pontiff,  as  teacher  of 
tl»  Charch,  is  infallible  when  he  speaks  <u'  cathcdrA  on  faith  or  morals, 
wkv  were  Cooncils  summoned  at  all  to  decide  what  the  Pope  coald 
Te  decided  independently  of  them  ?  Why  the  long  sessions  and 
1  disputations  of  Nicaea,  Chalcedon,  Ephesus,  and  the  rest,  if  the 
could  by  the  fiat  of  his  infallible  prerogative  have  settled  the 
itter  at  once  ?  In  those  days  of  difficult  and  dangerous  travelling 
(Bd  precarious  postal  communication,  to  withdraw  the  bishops  of 
fCliMtendoni  for  months  from  their  Sees  was  a  serious  evil  to  the  Church 
large.  Would  it  have  been  incurrpd  without  necessary  cause  ? 
where  was  the  necessary  cause  if  the  Pope  could  decide  the 
er  infalUbly  of  himself,  "and  not  from  tlie  consent  of  the  Church  "  ? 
whvwas  the  Vatican  Council  cailpd  to  declare  the  Pope's  infalli- 
Jitj',  if  infallibility  belongs  intrinsically  to  his  office  by  lineal  heritage 
^Pet^ir?  Why  proclaim  as  anew  dogma  what  is  declared  to  have 
inji  boen  a  necessary  article  in  the  crcdenda  of  the  Church  ?  And 
it  did  the  Church  for  eighteen  centuries,  by  its  appeal  to  the  General 
cil,  practically  deny  tho  Pope's  alleged  prerogative  of  settling  all 
Dtroversies  on  faith  or  morals  "independently  of  the  Church"? 
These  are  specimens  of  tlif  questions  which  Dr.  Dollinger  found 
his  way  to  belief  in  the  Vatican  dogma.  I  have  often  heard 
aay  that  there  were  several  objections  to  the  dogma  which  were 
plj  decisive  against  it,  to  say  nothing  of  the  cumulative  force  of 
whole  mass.  Like  Hefele,  he  regarded  the  case  of  Honorius  as 
conclusive.  And  indeed  it  is  not  easy  to  see  how  that  objection 
be  removed.  The  attempts  that  have  been  made  to  surmount  it 
are  really  increased  the  difficulty.  Cardinal  Manning,  for  example, 
two  arguments,*  one  of  which  misses  the  point  of  the  objection ; 
the  other,  in  saving  the  infallibility  of  Honorius,  virtually  aur- 
that  of  the  Popes  who  condemned  him.  Even  suppose  we 
he  argues,  the  fall  of  Honorius,  what  then?  Does  "one 
ttkeo  link  destroy  a  chain,"  while  "  two  hundred  and  fif^y-six"  remain 
?  *'  I  would  ask,  then,  is  it  science,  or  is  it  passion,  to  reject 
cataolos  of  e\'idence  which  sun-ounds  the  infallibility  of  two 
1  *nd  fifty-gjx  Pontiffs  because  of  the  case  of  Honorius,  even 
■ippowd  to  be  an  insoluble  difficulty  "  ?  "  One  broken  link  "  does 
nbtedly  destroy  a  chain  on  which  anything  hangs  aa  completely 
»»  Wfwy  link  in  the  series  were  broken.  Perrone,  as  we  have 
iy  wwi,  aays  positively  that  only  one  error  committed  by  a  Pope 
.•c  '  -hil  pronouncement  would  be  fatal  to  the  doctrine  of 

ty.    His  words  are:  Si  vd  imicus  cJii.$7nodi  error  depre- 
■*■■<* »<ttT,opp(i7.cnf  onmes  ndductaa  p'dbati<m(3  in  nikHum  redactum  iri. 

pp.  116-118. 


lalfctdf 


'<^-  uni. 


'  T)ie  Vatican  Council," 
Z 


334 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


[Mas. 


The  strength  of  a  chain  is  proverbiaUy  in  its  weakest  link.      K  that  m 
broken,  all  that  hangs  on  the  chain  falls  to  the  ground. 

Bnf  Cardinal  Manning's  own  view  is  that  Honorius  needs  no 
defence.  His  language  is  "entirely  orthodox,  though,  in  the  use  of 
langnnge,  he  wrote  as  was  usual  before  the  condemnation  of  Mono- 
thelism,*  and  not  as  it  became  necessary  afterwards.  It  is  an 
anachronism  and  an  injustice  to  censure  his  language  used  before  that 
condemnation,  as  it  might  be  just  tocensnre  it  after  the  condemnation 
had  been  made."  f  Let  us  see  what  is  involved  in  this  argument. 
Being  appealed  to  by  the  Monothelite  Patriarch  Sergios,  of  Constan- 
tinople, Honorius  adopted  and  sanctioned  in  a  public  document  the 
technical  formula  of  the  Monothelites,  and  pronounced  it  a  dogma  of 
the  Church.  His  letter  is  extant  in  Greek  and  Latin,  and  his  words  can 
bear  but  one  interpretation.  Confessing  our  Lord's  Incarnation,  he 
asserted  that  He  had  one  will  only,  and  denied  that  He  had  two.  For 
this  Honorius  was  condemned  and  excommunicated  in  a  Conncil 
(a.d.  680)  admitttjd  as  ffieumenical  in  East  and  West.  Two  subscqnent 
Councils  repeated  the  anathema,  and  pvery  succeeding  Pope  down  to 
the  eleventh  century,  in  a  solemn  oath  at  liis  accession,  gave  his 
adhesion  to  the  Council  which  condemned  Honorius,  and  prononijced 
an  anathema  on  tliat  Pope  as  an  abettor  of  heresy.  In  other  words, 
a  series  of  Popes,  for  more  than  three  centuries,  publicly  admitted 
that  a  Council  can  sit  in  judgment  on  a  Pope,  and  condemn  him  for 
heresy;  and  in  particular  that  Pope  Honorius  was  justly  condemned 
for  heresy.  Individual  Popes,  moreover  (Leo  II.,  for  example), 
denounced  Honorius  as  a  heretic  in  very  energjetic  language.  If, 
then,  "  it  is,"  as  Cardinal  Manning  tells  us,  "  an  anachronism  and  an 
injustice  to  censure  his  [Honorius's]  language,"  the  anachronism  and 
injustice  have  been  committed  by  three  General  Councils  and  a  multi- 
tude of  Popes.  To  save  the  infallibility  of  Honorius,  therefore,  is  to 
.sacriOce  that  of  the  Popes  who  condemned  him  as  a  heretic.  I  do 
not  see  a  way  of  escape  from  that  dilemnifi.  I  know,  on  the  other 
hand,  that  the  case  of  Honorius  pi-esents  no  difficnlty  to  sincere,  able, 
and  learned  believers  in  Papal  infallibility.  I  cannot  understand 
their  state  of  mind,  and  thoy  will  probably  consider  me  too  biassed  to 
appreciate  their  reasoning.  But  Dr.  Zollinger's  natural  bias  waa  in. 
favour  of  believing  what  the  Roman  Church  taught ;  and  it  was  not 
without  a  painful  wrench  that  he  faced  excommunication  rather  than 
profess  belief  in  what  he  believed  to  be  untrue. 

The  controversy  on  Papal  infallibility  naturally  forced  Dr.  DoUinger 
to  reconsider  his  position  generally,  and  the  conclusion  at  which  he 
arrived  was  that  no  Council  could  be   received  as  CEcumenical,  cons»- 

•  Cardioal  Matming  would  find  it  hard  to  jirove  tliat  the  Monothelite  language  of 
Honorins  wtu  ever  coiumon  nmoDg  orthodox  thcologiaos. 
t  "  The  Vatican  Council,"  p.  223. 


tl90] 


DR.    VON  DOLLINGER. 


S35 


^MUtly  "B  bindicp  on  the  whole  Church,  since  the  last  Council  recog- 
oixed  as  (Ecnmenical  by  both  East  and  West.  That  opened  up  a 
Dumlier  of  qaestions  which  he  set  himself  to  study  with  the  ardour 
and  diligence  of  a  man  who  knew  the  magnitude  of  the  task  and  the 
precarious  tenure  of  a  life  which  had  already  passed  its  threescore 
jcan  and  ten.  He  began  to  re-stndy  ecclesiastical  history  afresh 
fretn  th*>  earliest  ages,  in  order  to  trace  the  genesis  of  the  cai-dinal 
OTTjre  which  have  afflicted  the  Church  and  done  so  much  harm  to  the 
Christian  religion.  It  is  to  l>e  hoped  that  he  lefl  matt-rials  for  his 
voBBmeiital  work  in  so  forward  a  state  that  some  of  his  disciples  may 
b»»  able  to  arrange  them  for  publication.  His  plan  was  to  apportion 
ecttain  collateral  and  illustrative  subjects  to  the  investigation  of  scholars 
working  under  his  own  guidance,  while  he  reserved  for  his  own  pen 
th<>  unravelling  of  the  Papacy  along  the  whole  course  of  its  develop- 
How  completely  he  had  reconsidered  his  whole  attitude  on 
^^,  -tical  subjects  will  be  apparent  from  a  bare  and  crude  sketch  of 

^H  t  >'U  the  Church,  which  he  wrote  down  forme  five  years  ago, 

^riti  the  expression  of  a  wish  that  I  would  undertake  it  in  conjunction 
witli  some  eminent  men,  English  and  German,  whom  he  named.  Mr. 
Gkdfltcne  had  often  expressed  to  me  the  wish  that  a  new  and  revised 
edition  should  Ije  published  of  Palmer's  "  Treatise  on  the  Church  of 
Cbnst  " — a  book  which  Cardinal  Newman,  since  ho  became  a  Roman 
CfttLolic,  has  characterized  as  the  ablest  exposition  of  the  position  of  the 
Chnrch  of  England  that  has  appeared  since  the  Reformation.  At  last 
I  ondertook  to  edit  a  new  edition  of  Palmer's  book,  and  consulted 
Dr.  EJiiUinger.  He  agreed  in  Mr.  Gladstone's  and  Cardinal  Newman's 
opinion  of  Palmer's  book.  "  English  theological  literature,"  he  wrote, 
**  poastweea  nothing  comparable  to  it,  or  which  could  replace  it.  The 
fltady  of  such  a  work  should  be  an  indispensable  requisite  for  every 
CHidiiate  for  Holy  Ordei-s."  The  lines  on  which  it  wiis  proposed  to 
Wing  out  the  new  edition  of  Palmer's  work  are  indicated  in  the  fol- 
bviog  extract  from  a  letter  which  Mr.  Gladstone  wrote  to  me  on  the 
■fajeet : 

"What  I  want  to   have,  on  the  Ijasis    of  Palmer's  book,  is  a  setting 

iertti,  Recording  to   the   methods    which   theological  science  provides,   of 

tke  CiviUu  bti,  the  city  set  on  a  hill,  the  pillar  and  ground  of  truth, 

»k«  UUjoUc  and  xVjhostoIic  Church,  /ortsetzutig   fler   Fleinchmrdung,  ex- 

■biud  not  as  against  Nonconformists,  nor  even    jirincipaJly  as  against 

^  a^Kremve    Church    of    Rome,    but    as    a    positive    dispenBation,    a 

idiviaely  given  to  the  religious  idea,  which  challenges  u-ith  authority, 

Wy  to  reason,  the  assent  of  the  rational  and  nght-minded  man, 

turn  with  all  other  claimants  on  that  assent.     I  want  some  solid 

•f"''''  ^^><^li  "h'dl  set  up  historical  or  institutional  Oliiistianity  to 

►  axinnct!  m  the  mile«  of  systems,  dogmatic  and  undogmatic,  revealed 

^WBvooleJ,  jwrticularist,  piigan,  secular,  antitheistic,  or  other,  which 

^^*  "8*^-     Hdvin?  spent  more  than  fifty  years  of  adult  life  [this  was 

•-!«r"";  -Tn  "'^"J  "'  *^'»  "*^'^'.   I  fi"d  tbe  method  I  descHbe  the 
wKwuj  of  iU],ttnd  I  wish  that  there  should  bo  a  text-book  oi  it  «or 


336 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mas. 


the  help  of  doubtful  or  iininstmcterl  minds.  Also  that  this  text-book, 
founded  on  the  principle  I  have  described,  should  iipply  the  principle,  lov 
the  benefit  of  F^iiglishmen,  to  tho  cu.se  of  the  Euglish  Chmuli,  under  the 
shadow  of  which  our  lot  is  providentially  cast," 

After  some  progress  liad  been  made  in  the  revision  of  Palmer's 
book,  it  was  found  that  parts  of  it  would  have  to  be  entirely  re- 
written, and  much  of  it,  which  events — particularly  the  Vatican 
Council  and  its  consequences — had  rendered  obsolete,  would  have  to 
be  omitted.  While  this  was  goinij  on  I  often  went  to  Munich  to 
consult  Dr.  DoUinger.  He  was  bo  kind  as  to  give  me  a  room  in  his 
library  for  study,  close  to  that  in  which  he  sat  himself ;  so  that  he 
was  always  at  hand  to  help  ine.  While  thus  engaged  one  day,  five 
years  ago,  he  advised  me  to  content  myself  with  a  revision  of  Palmer 
up  to  date,  and  devote  myself,  with  the  aid  of  some  scholars  whom  he 
named,  to  the  compoaition  of  an  entirely  new  book.  In  the  course  of 
the  afternoon  he  handed  me  a  rough  sketch  of  the  kind  of  book 
which  he  thought  would  be  nsefnl,  filling  up  the  sketch,  to  some 
extent,  dui'ing  a  long  walk  in  the  environs  of  Munich.  I  reproduce 
the  sketch  here  literally  as  Dr.  Dtillinger  gave  it  to  me  : — 

GENERAL  OrXLINE. 

Matters  to  be  treated  more  historically  than  systematically  and  polemi- 
cally : — 

Periods  (o)  A.D.  324- ;  {h)  A.i>.  G80  ;  (c)  Middle  Ages,  down  to  the  beginning 
of  the  thirteentli  centur}'  \  {d)  the  time  of  developed  Bcholasticism,  when  the 
authoritative  works  wure  written  by  Papal  eommandment,  or  imposed  as  bind- 
ing Liw  by  the  Popes  and  the  religious  Ordei-s—  Ale.xander  of  Hales,  Thomas 
Aquinius,  Duns  Scotus ;  («)  the  fourteenth  and  iifteenth  centuries  till  the 
dawn  of  the  Kefoniiatiou,  l.'j]?  ;  {/)  the  Council  of  Trent ;  (7)  the  period  of 
Jesuitic;!.!  domination  ;  the  chitnjSfei*  in  dogma,  morals,  and  genenxl  spirit  of 
the  Church,  introduced  by  that  Order, 

Consequently  seven  successive  survej's  of  the  state  of  dogma.  Tlie  dat«  of 
the  rising  of  each  new  dogma  can  generally  bs  fixed  very  accurately. 

Doctrine  of  <hrclopmcnty  as  it  is  taught  ]iy  tho  Fathers  and  the  .»^holastics 
(principaHy  Viucpntius  Lirinensis  and  Thomas  Aquinas),  to  bo  carefully  dis- 
tinguished from  Newman's  system. 

Doctrines,  where  tho  change  is  particularly  momentous  and  fraught  with 
far-i-eaching  conse<piences — 

1.  Authority  of  the  Bible  and  Tradition. 

2.  Penitence  and  Absolution  (attrition  or  contrition). 

3.  Making  marriage  a  Sacrament,  and  consequently  entirely  and  eac- 

clusively  a  matter  of  Papal  legislation. 

4.  The  all-engrossing  worship  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 

5.  The  vii'tue  of  faith,  as  it  is  taught  in  the  New  Testament  (justifying 

frtith),  changed  into  an  act  of  passive  and  blind  obedience  to  the 

Church,  or  rather  (since  1H70)  to  the  Pope. 
G.  The  greut  change  of  the  doctrine  of  grace  by  Augustine  and  the 

canons  of  the  Eleventh   Council  of  Orange ;  wliereas  the  Greek 

Church  preserved  the  ancient  doctrine. 
7.  Change  in  the  idea  of  sacrifice  in  the  Eucharist.     (Compare  Johnson'.* 

work  and  that  of  Benedict  XIV.  De  Missa). 


Origimml  utdependeitce  of  l^ntiona.1  Church.  The  Church  of  Armenia — of 
Pai*im  of  Abygginia  (Ethiopia) — (it  has  never  becu  in  cnniuiunion  with 
BaoMuxl  tbe  Western  Church)  ;  the  Church  of  Ireland  (Culdees),  which 
wm  indqieniient  down  to  the  time  of  St.  Mahichy,  in  the  twelfth  century  ; 
AttidSootei  Church  (Columba) ;  the  Afriam  Churcli — the  Spanish  Church, 
•iwre  tike  subjection  to  Rome  was  introduced  from  France  at  the  end  of 
tbe  eieTcaitli  century,  by  means  of  the  monks  of  Cluny. 

The  dumges  in  doctrine  and  practice  siuce  the  fifth  century  are  mainly 
ttemdufaL,  cajculated  to  make  the  Laitj'  more  dependent  on  the  services  of 
Che  CSergy,  and  to  increase  and  multiply  gifts,  ofl'erinps,  taxes. 

Biimi  ob^lienot  to  tbe  Church,  developed  in  its  perfection  by  the  Jesuits, 
4Dd  perverting  conscience  and  moral  judgment. 

Institations  directly  immoral  or  grt>ssly  superstitious: — 
(1)  The  Interdict,  baaed  on  the  idea  that  the  Hierarchy  can  punish  the 

innocent  instead  of  the  guilty. 
'.')  OrdeaJs   (direct  intervention   of    God   in  human   judicial  trials) 

oountenanoed,  consecrated  by  the  Church. 
^5)  The  extension  of  Exorcism  to  cases  of  all  kinds,  generally  confound- 
ing any  case  of  mental  disease,  lunacy,  or  uncommon  malady  with 
demoniacal  possession. 
Changes  in  doctrine  : — 

11)  Chiliasm   or  Millennium   doctrine  of   Wordsworth,    showing  the 

toleration  of  the  Primitive  Church. 
(A)  Tbe  fall  of  Satan  and  the  demons.     The  earlier  doctruie*  of  the 
Fathers  of  the  second  and  third  century  was  rejected,  and  a  new 
one  (fall  by  pride)  introduced  towards   the  end    of  tbe  fourth 
ctntury. 
(c)  Change  in  the  doctrine  respecting  the  authority  of  Councils  (St. 
Augustine,  Gregory    of    Rome).     St.  Aug\istine   said   that    one 
Council  could  correct  another.      Gregory  compared  the  fLrst  four 
Councils  to  the  four  Evangelists,  and  negatived  the  competency  of 
one  'Ecumenical  Council  to  amend  another. 
((I)  Change  respecting  the  worship  of  angels,  fables  and  lies  (apparition 

of  St.  Tklichael,  ic.)  by  which  it  was  established. 
i^)  Change  respecting  the  state  of  souls  after  death,  %'isible  even  now 
in  the    Roman  Missal.     A  state  of    peace    {requiee,  rt/rujerium) 
clumged  into  n  state  of  cruel  torture  by  fire.     Immense  influence 
of  the  fable.s  told  by  Gregory  of  Rome. 
(/)  Change  respecting  the  rite  of  anointing  the  sick.t 

Dr.  Df)lUnger  was  penetrated  with  the  conviction  that  the  great 
Ele  to  the  spread  of  Christianity  was  the  divided  state  of 
sodom,  and  he  gathered  together  in  Bonn,  in  187i  and  1875, 
Wprescntatives  of  the  Oriental,  Anglican,  and  American  Churches, 
together  with  representative  Nonconformists,  to  discuss  in  a  friendly 
wi^  the  diflirences  which  divided  them.  Want  of  space  forbids  my 
fong  into  that  episode  of  Dr.  DoUinger's  busy  and  fruitful  life. 
Tlnw  who  were  present,  as  I  was,  at  the  second  Bonn  Conference 
CM  MTRr  forget  the  tact,  learning,  courtesy,  intellectual  resource 
ttrd  agility,  and  exuberant  vitality  of  its  venerable  President,  Dr.  von 

T\ut  «&rlier  doctrine  "  was  that  tbe  full  of  the  angels  wiw  dae  U>  iteayualitj, 
"f  OcxJ.''  iDentioned  in  Gen.  vi.  1-4,  being  angcis. 
_J  '^  tbe  change  from  anointing  with  a  view  to  recovery  to  anointing  I'n  <x<reii»j#, 
v^Baikoe  \m  no  hope  of  recovery. 


338 


THE    CONTEMPORARY    REVIEfF. 


[MAB. 


Dollinger.  He  was  then  seventy-one  years  of  age,  but  there  was  not 
a  man  among  us  more  akrt  in  body,  and  none  half  so  alert  in 
mind.  On  the  last  day  of  the  Conference  he  delivered  an  address  on 
the  main  questions  which  divide  Christendom.  It  was  a  marvellooft 
exhibition,  both  intellectually  and  physically.  He  spoke  for  five 
hours — three  hours  before  luncheon  and  two  hours  after  luncheon. 
He  never  used  a  note,  and  never  hesitated.  He  stood  all  the  while  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  and  looked  as  fresh  and  vlgoroua  at  the  close 
of  his  address  as  if  he  had  been  doing  nothing  in  particolnr.  He  was 
a  man  of  splendid  physique  :  slim,  wiiy,  with  what  Mr.  Gladstone 
has  aptly  described  as  a  "  thatch "  of  hair,  which  began  to  show 
streaks  of  grey  only  within  the  last  few  years.  He  was  a  very  early 
riser — at  five  a.m.  tiJl  the  last  few  years.  He  breakfaKted  at  eight,  and 
dined  at  one  ;  after  which  he  touched  nothing.  He  was  hard  at  work 
in  his  study,  when  not  receiving  visitors,  till  about  four  or  five  in 
tho  afternoon,  when  he  took  a  long  walk,  and  charmed  any  one  w^ho 
had  the  privilege  of  being  his  companion  wnth  his  conversation.  He 
seldom  studied  after  hia  return  from  his  walk,  and  went  to  bed 
early.  I  am  disposed  always  to  think  well  of  a  man  of  whom 
children  and  animals  are  fond.  I  don't  think  I  ever  took  a  walk 
with  Dr.  Dollinger  without  being  touched  by  the  sight  of  children 
running  out  of  cottages  or  from  the  fields  to  greet  him  with  smiles 
and  kisa  his  hand  ;  and  I  noticed  more  than  once  the  friendly  terms 
on  which  he  seemed  to  be  with  animals.  He  spent  some  weeks  in. 
every  year  at  the  Tegernsee,  close  to  his  friend  and  whilom  pupil. 
Lord  Acton,  and  I  believe  that  he  kept  up  to  the  last  his  early  habit 
of  having  a  good  swim  daily,  whenever  tho  opportunity  presented  itself. 
Though  sanctioning  the  public  ministrations  of  the  Old  Catholics, 
he  never  took  any  part  in  them.  I  believe  that  he  obeyed  his  excom- 
munication strictly,  leaving  himself  in  the  hands  of  God,  and  accepting 
with  resignation  the  chastisement  that  had  been  inflicted  on  him, 
unjust  though  lie  deemed  it.  Ecclesiastic  as  he  was,  he  was 
eminently  a  man  of  the  world — a  keen  politician,  interested  in  social 
and  literary  subjects,  and,  in  a  word,  sympathetically  concerned  in  all 
that  touched  the  interests  of  humanity.  He  was  emphatically  a  m&n 
whom  it  was  difficult  to  know  without  loving. 

Malcolm  MacColl. 


»«9o] 


THE 

RESULTS  OF  EUROPEAN  INTERCOURSE 
WITH  THE  AFRICAN. 


ONE  of  the  most  remarkable  features  of  the  century  has  been  the 
phenomenal  interest  displayed  in  all  things  African.  One  dramatic 
8iirpnj$e  has  followed  another,  and  each  new  tale  has  seemed  more 
romantic  than  anything  heard  before.  The  popular  imagination  has 
be<ea  touched  by  the  varied  story  of  the  Dark  Continent  to  an  unpi*e- 
oedented  extent.  It  has  been  a  story  wliich  has  appealed  in  trumpet 
tonee  to  the  philanthropist  as  well  as  to  the  mere  lover  of  adventure, 
to  the  merchant  as  well  as  to  the  geographer,  and  to  the  Christian 
missionary  eager  for  the  spread  of  Christ's  kingdom  as  well  as  to  the 
I  patriotic  politician  anxious  for  his  nation'.^  aggrandisement. 

Frightful  wrongs  to  be  wiped  out,  deeds  of  high  emprise  to  be 
[achieved,  virgin  countries  to  be  com niercially  exploited,  valuable  scien- 
tiitc  discoveries  to  be  made,  myriads  of  people  steeped  in  the  grossest 
I  idolatry,  and  i-egions  more  or  less  capable  of  colonization,  where  no 
ttviiiaeii  tlag  floats — these  are  some  of  the  varied  elements  which  have 
jlibTown  a  glamour  and  fascination  over  Africa,  and  taken  men's  minds 
I  c^tive. 

People  are  ever   most  easily  swayed   by  that  which  touches  the 

I  feetings  and  imagiuatiou,  and  to  these  Africa  has  been  appealing  in 

mx  new  and  startling  ways  for  nearly  a  century,  caaKing  Chribtendom 

U)  tingle    with   its  name.      Not  the   least  interesting  feature  of  the 

pablic    interest  shown    in    the    Dark    Continent    is    the  apparently 

ttaslfiah    form    it    takes.       The    very    atmosphere    is    electric    with 

I,   religious,  philanthropic   and    commercial,  for   the   exclusive 

it  of  the  negro.      From  a  thousand  platt'orms  uud  pulpits  rises  a 

lOur  of  voices,  in  which  we    hear  with  never-ending   iteration  the 

fopolar  watchwords  of  the  day  :  civilization,  progress,  the  good  of  the 

*gro,  legitimate  commerce,  conversion  of  the  heathen,  and  other  high- 


340 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mab. 


sounding  phrases,  all  having  relation  to  the  goocl  things  to  be  done  for 
the  African. 

The  company  promoter  equally  with  the  private  trader  freely 
sprinkles  his  prospectuses  or  his  conversation  with  glowing  accountB 
of  the  great  benefits  which  the  African  is  to  derive  from  further 
intercourse  with  commercial  Europe.  We  are  told  to  picture  as  the 
result — the  negro  clothed  and  in  his  right  mind,  alternately  sitting  at 
the  feet  of  the  missionary  and  of  the  trader ;  learning  from  the  one 
the  truths  of  a  higher  and  better  life,  and  from  the  other  acquiring  the 
arts  of  civilixatioii. 

We  never  hear  now  of  the  trader  who  goes  to  Africa  with  the 
merely  selfish  object  of  making  his  fortune.  Each  and  all  have  become 
"  pioneers  of  civilization,"  thinking  only  of  the  native  first,  and  of 
self  afterwards.  Imbued  with  these  notions  as  to  the  aim,  character,  and 
results  of  our  rarssion,  we  daily  bum  incense  to  our  noble  selves  and  ask 
the  world  to  remark  tlie  glorious  work  we  have  accomplished.  We 
speak  as  if  the  good  to  the  native  had  been  enormous,  and  our 
intercourse  with  htm  an  unmitigated  benefit  and  blessing.  We  look 
back  with  pride  to  onr  sacrifices  in  the  suppression  of  the  slave-trade, 
and  point  to  our  West  Coast  settlements  as  centres  of  secular  Hght 
and  leading,  to  our  numerous  missionary  stations  as  stars  twinkling  in 
the  night  of  heathendom  with  a  heaven-sent  light,  to  the  returns  of  our 
trade,  increasing  with  every  new  entrance  to  the  heart  of  the  country, 
as  showing  the  spread  of  our  beneficent  influence. 

We  see  clearly  that  the  work  of  other  nations  has  been  pernicious  in 
the  extreme,  that  they  have  been  brutal  in  their  dealings  with  native 
races,  and  have  thought  only  of  their  own  sordid  interests  and 
national  aggrandisement — all  in  marked  contrast,  we  think,  to  our  own 
aims  and  methods.  That  they  resent  this,  however,  may  be  seen 
in  any  daily  paper,  each  being  equally  well  convinced  of  the  purity 
of  its  motives  and  the  disinterestedness  of  its  ends. 

Among  no  people  have  the  magic  words,  progress  and  civilizarion, 
been  more  persistently  used  than  among  the  French.  It  has  l>een  in  their 
interests,  too,  that  the  Germans  have  levelled  every  town  on  the  East 
Coast,  and  bespattered  the  ruins  and  the  jungles  with  the  life-blood  of 
their  inhabitants.  It  was  under  their  banner  that  Major  St-rpa  Pinto 
advanced  up  the  ShirS  and  slaughtered  the  Makololo,  who  did  not 
perceive  he  came  for  their  good.  In  fact,  it  is  the  same  with  all  the 
European  nations.  Whatever  has  been  done  by  them  in  Africa,  has 
been  at  the  dictates  of  civilization  and  for  the  good  of  the  negro, 
while,  as  if  not  content  with  that,  more  than  one  leader  of  African 
enterprise,  on  looking  back  over  hia  blood  and  ruin  marked  path,  has 
seen  the  evidence  of  a  guidance  and  sapport  more  than  human. 

But  we  must  not  suppose  that  this  .spirit  of  philanthropy,  Christian 
chivalry  and  altruism,  of  which  we  now  hear  so  much,  is  of  entirely 


d9o]       EUROPEAN  INTERCOURSE  WITH  AFRICA. 


341 


ntodeni  growth,  and  that  the  good  of  the  African  was  never  thought 
of  previous  to  our  day.  Quite  the  contrary,  in  fact.  It  was  the 
Bortogaese  who  alike  instituted  African  exploration  and  Christian 
fUlBrprise  among  the  natives.  Early  in  the  fifteeuth  century  they 
ooramenced  that  marvellous  career  of  discovery  which  stopped  not  till 
tbey  had  crept  with  ever-growiug  boldness  and  experienco  to  tha 
SDQiiiemmost  point  of  the  continent,  and,  rounding  the  Cape,  pushed 
OB  to  the  conquest  of  the  Indies.  But  it  waa  a  career  inspired  by 
BO  mere  sordid  motives.  The  desire  to  do  noble  and  worthy  deeds,  to 
cct^ld  the  Portugese  empire,  and  with  it  the  kingdom  of  God,  were 
the  underlying  exciting  causes.  Each  new  discovery  of  heathen  lands 
g»ve  a  new  impetus  to  the  vigorous  missiouary  enthusiasm  of  the 
time,  till  it  rose  to  a  pitch  never  surpassed. 

No  outward  bound  ship  was  complete  without  its  complement  of 
vikot  missionaries  vowed  to  the  cause  of  Christ,  and  before  the  close 
of  the  sixteenth  century  a  chain  of  missionary  posts  surrounded 
•Imost  the  entire  coast-line  of  Africa,  and,  especially  in  the  Congo  and 
Zambesi  regions,  extended  far  into  the  interior.  That  was  the 
fJoriooB  period  of  Portuguese  history,  when,  still  animated  by  the  highest 
Cbristian  and  chivalroaa  motives,  and  untainted  by  the  frightful  national 
iSwjaiieq  which  soon  afterwards  attacked  her,  Portugal  carried  on  a 
Boble  work  among  the  ^\irican  natives. 

That  period  unhappily  was  short.  Between  Philip  II.  of  Spain 
by  land,  and  the  Dutch  and  ourselves  at  sea,  Portugal  as  a  nation  was 
nearly  extinguished.  With  her  political  glory  and  lustre  went  all  else 
that  was  gr<?at  and  noble,  till,  lagging  behind  in  the  current  of  life, 
Ae  was  isolated  from  its  healthy  movement,  and  in  Africa  became 
the  noxious  malaria-breeding  backwater  we  have  so  long  known 
ker  to  be. 

With  the  fall  of  Portugal  from  her  high  estate  there  occurs  a  sig- 
aificant  blank  in  the  brighter  aspect  of  European  intercourse  with 
Africa.  Of  such  aspect,  in  fact,  there  was  not  a  glimmer,  for  England, 
Spain,  Purtugal,  Franco  and  Holland  were  hard  at  work  in  per- 
petrating upon  Africa  one  of  the  most  gigantic  crimes  that  has 
tret  stained  a  nation's  history.  For  two  centuries  that  crime  grew 
B  magnitade  and  far-reaching  consequences  of  the  most  direful 
fVwcnption.  Government,  churches,  and  people  alike  seemed  un- 
ooosciouB  of  the  frightful  wrongs  that  were  being  committed — wrongs 
fcr  eacoeeding  any  in  the  annals  of  Roman  despots  or  Eastern  tyrants. 
Hafypily,  tJie  conscience  of  Europe  was  only  masked,  not  dead.  The 
ad  of  the  last  century  heard  the  awakening  voice,  and,  once  made 
emsctotM  of  the  national  sin,  Britain  arose  and  ended  its  connection 
with  the  traffic  in  human  tlesh  and  blood. 

HesDwhile  an  Association  was  being  organized,  which  was  des- 
tbed  to  commence  a  new  chapter  in  African  history.     This  waa  the 


342 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEJT. 


[ILAB. 


African  Association,  whose  object  was  the  exploration  of  the  interior 
of  the  continent,  which  till  the  end  of  last  centnry  had  lain  an  almost 
absolutely  unknown  land  to  Europe.  Their  first  successful  man  was 
Mango  Park,  and  to  him  belongs  the  honour  of  pioneering  the  way, 
and  starting  that  marvellous  series  of  expeditions,  the  last  of  which  is 
even  now  filling  the  daily  papers. 

The  end  of  last  and  the  beginning  of  this  century  was  a  period 
fraught  with  great  things  for  the  future  of  Africa.  It  saw  not  only  the 
abolition  of  the  slave-trade  and  the  commencement  of  the  exploration 
of  the  continent,  but  also  the  landing  of  the  first  Protestant  mis- 
sionaries. It  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  Europe  was  determined  to  pay 
off  the  moral  debt  it  had  incnrred. 

Traveller  followed  traveller,  each  more  eager  than  the  other  to 
open  up  the  dark  places  of  the  continent.  Ninety  out  of  th© 
hundred  became  martyrs  to  their  zeal,  but  there  was  no  dearth  of 
volunteers  ;  fifty  were  ready  where  one  fell.  In  each  one's  instruc- 
tions were  the  magic  words,  "  opening  up  of  Africa  to  commerce  and 
civilization."  The  benefit  of  the  natives  was  always  mentioned  aloiig>- 
side  the  prospective  good  to  the  traveller's  country,  if  such  and  such 
objects  were  achieved.  Each  narrative  of  successful  exploration 
breathed  the  same  spirit,  telling  how  the  traveller  had  not  toiled  and 
aufi'ered  in  vain  if  he  had  done  something  in  the  interests  of  civili 
tion  and  the  common  cause  of  humanity. 

Nor  was  missionary  enterprise  behind  in  this  race  to  do  deeds  worti 
of  a  Christian  people.  Long  and  terrible  has  been  the  death-roll  of 
those  who  have  perished  in  its  cause ;  but  it  has  illustrated  the  saying 
that  "the  blood  of  martyrs  is  the  seed  of  the  Church." 

Thus,  almost  from  the  firat,  now  four  hundred  years  ago,  to  the 
last,  the  good  of  the  negro  has  ever  held  a  foremost  place  in  the  prth- 
gramme  of  African  expeditions.  During  that  long  period,  European 
commerce  has  exercised  its  influence  with  ever-widening  effect,  while 
more  directly  hundreds  of  lives,  and  untold  sums  of  money,  have  been 
spent  in  the  single-minded  hope  that  the  heathen  might  be  brought 
within  the  educating  sphere  of  Christianity.  In  addition  to  all  this 
active  agitation  we  have  to  take  into  consideration  the  incalculable 
effect  of  mere  example  ;  of  simple  contact  with  the  European ;  the  sight 
of  his  mode  of  life  j  his  dress,  houses,  and  all  the  amenities  of  civilized 
life. 

And  now  let  us  ask,  what  has  been  the  net  result  of  all  this  ? 
these  direct  and  indirect  efforts  aud  sacrifices,  and  all  this  intercourse 
between  the  European  and  the  African  ? 

The  impression  to  be  acquired  from  our  daily  papers,  our  missionary 
magazines,  and  from  pulpit  and  platform  oratory  is,  that  the  bene- 
ficent effects  are  enormous. 

Unhappily,  my  conclusions  on  the  subject  have  not  been  obtained 


844 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mab. 


to  happier  lands,  expressed  ter  coucem  lest  any  of  "  the  Africans 
should  be  carried  off  without  their  free  consent,  declaring  that  it  would 
be  detestable,  and  call  down  the  vengeance  of  Heaven  upon  its  under- 
takers," 

The  slave-trade  was  thus  not  started  in  absolute  ignorance  or  abeeuce 
of  a  consciousness  of  its  frig-htfuUy  criminal  nature.  Enlightened 
opinion  was  against  it,  but  it  was  au  opinion  easily  hoodwinked  and 
overruled,  and,  once  started,  the  trade  increased  at  an  enormous 
rate. 

For  quite  three  hundred  years  the  unfortunate  natives  were  treated 
as  wild  beasts  intended  for  the  use  of  higher  races.  As  wild  beasts 
and  things  accursed  they  were  shot  down  in  myriads  that  others  might 
be  enslaved  and  transformed  into  the  beasts  of  burden,  hewers  of 
wood  and  drawers  of  water  of  Europeans.  The  whole  land  was 
transformed  into  an  arena  of  murder  and  bloodshed  that  our  markets 
might  be  supplied,  our  plantations  tilled.  Chiefs  were  tempted  to 
sell  their  subjects,  mothers  their  children,  men  their  wives  ;  tribe  waa 
set  against  tribe,  and  village  against  village.  Between  Portugal, 
Spain,  France  and  Britain  many  millious  of  people  were  trausjxjrted 
to  the  American  plantations.  Before  that  number  could  be  landed 
in  America  several  millious  more  must  have  succumbed  in  /■onk;  and 
untold  myriads  been  shot  down  in  the  raids  in  which  they  were 
captured. 

Twenty  imllionia  of  human  bt'iugs  probably  undcr-estimates  the 
number  of  killed  and  captured  for  European  gain,  and  his  was  not 
the  most  foitunate  fate  who  lived  to  become  a,  slave.  For  him  was 
reserved  the  apectprle  of  Hlaughtered  relatives  and  a  ruined  home  ; 
for  him  the  slave-path,  with  all  its  horrars — chains,  the  slave-stick, 
the  lash,  the  killing  load  and  toilsome,  march,  the  starvation  fare,  and 
every  species  of  exposure  and  hardship.  For  him  also  were  all  the 
horrors  of  the  middle  passage  in  European  ship.^,  and  but  slight  was 
the  improvement  in  his  esperiences  when,  knocked  down  in  auction 
to  the  highest  bidder,  he  was  transferred  to  the  plantation. 

It  may  bo  urged  that  this  is  now  an  old  story,  that  the  slave-trade 
is  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  that  we  at  least,  as  a  nation,  have  atoned 
for  our  participation  in  it  by  enormous  sacrifices  of  money. 

If  compensating  the  slaveholders  means  atonement,  then  we  may 
rest  in  peace.  But  where  ia  the  compensation  to  Africa  for  the 
frightful  legacy  of  crime  and  degradation  we  have  left  Ix'hind  ? 
Where  is  the  reparation  and  atonement  for  the  millions  torn  from 
their  homes,  and  the  millions  massacred,  for  a  land  laid  waste,  for 
the  further  warping  of  the  rudimentaiy  moral  ideas  of  myriads  of 
people,  and  the  driving  of  them  into  tenfold  lower  depths  of  savagery 
than  they  had  ever  known  before  ? 


i89o]       EUROPEAN  INTERCOURSE  WITH  AFRICA. 


345 


For  answer,  it  will  no  doubt  be  said  that  "  legitimate  commerce" 
has  replaced  the  vile  traffic  in  haman  flesh  and  blood.  Still  the  same 
old  Btorj — legitimate  commerce — mag-ic  words  which  give  such  an 
tdractive  glamour  to  whatever  can  creep  under  their  shelter — words 
vhich  have  too  often  blinded  a  gullible  public  to  the  most  shameful 
md  criminal  transactions.  There  are  still  those  who  believe  that 
«wy  trading  station,  once  the  slave-traffic  was  stopped,  became  a 
b«con  of  hght  and  leading,  beneath  whoso  kindling  beams  the  dark- 
MOB  of  heathen  barbarism  was  bound  to  disappear.  The  truth  of  the 
mtter  is  that,  taken  as  a  whole,  our  trading  stations  on  the  greater 
part  of  the  West  Coast  of  Africa,  instead  of  being  centres  of  beneficent 
■ad  elevating  influences,  have  been  in  the  past  disease-breeding  spots 
which  have  infected  with  a  blighting  and  demoralizing  poison,  the 
wbole  country  around.  They  have  been  sources  of  corruption  where 
men  have  coined  money  out  of  the  moral  and  physical  ruin  of  the 
Bstions  and  tribes  they  have  supplied. 

What  has  been  the  character  of  this  so-called  legitimate  commerce? 
It  consisted,  to  an  enormous  extent,  of  a  traffic  in  xHo  spirits  and 
weapons  of  destruction — the  one  ruining  the  buyers,  the  other  ena- 
Uiitg  them  to  slaughter  their  neighbours.  It  is  a  trade  which  cora- 
auenced  in  congenial  union  with  that  in  slaves.  In  exchange  for 
Africa's  human  flesh  and  blood,  the  best  England  could  give  was  gin, 
iiim,  gunpowder,  guns  and  tobacco.  With  these  combined  we  inten- 
nfied  every  barbarous  and  bloodtliirsty  propensity  in  the  negro's  nature, 
while  arousing  new  bestial  appetites  calculated  to  land  him  in  a  lower 
depth  of  sqnalor  and  degradation. 

With  the  stoppage  of  the  slave-trade  the  gin-traffic  only  received 
k  more  powerful  stimulus.  To  its  propagation  all  the  energies  of 
tiie  traders  were  devoted.  For  spirits  there  was  already  a  huge 
dunand,  and  it  was  increasing  out  of  all  proportion  to  tln^  taste  for 
bKter  things,  it  required  no  exertions  on  the  part  of  the  merchants 
to  Bet  it  agoing,  and  once  started  it  grew  and  spread  of  itseK 
withont  any  danger  of  its  stopping.  The  profits,  too,  were  enormous 
ml  certain,  because  the  appetite  for  drink  had  to  be  assuaged, 
oo  matter  what  tlie  price.  Yet  in  all  conscience  the  pleasures  of 
intoxication  are  not  expensive  in  West  Africa.  Over  the  doorway  of 
kradreds  of  traders'  houses  might  be  hung  the  signboard  of 
Hogarth's  picture,  *'  Drunk  for  a  penny,  dead  drunk  for  twopence," 
only  the  "  clean  straw  for  nothing  "'  would  have  to  be  left  out.  With 
the  traffic  in  useful  articles  it  was  entirely  diflerent.  To  push  it  was 
n  slow  and  laborious  task,  and  the  profits  were  uncertain,  which  did 
not  suit  men  who  wanted  to  make  money  rapidly. 

Tl>e  result  of  this  state  of    matters  is  that   the   diabolical    work 
commenced   hy  the    slave-trade  has  been  efiectually  carried  on  and 


346 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


PLU 


widened  by  that  in  spirits.  I  for  one  am  inclined  to  believe  that  tb 
latter  is  producing  greater — and  what  ai'e  likely  to  be  quite  as  lasting- 
evils  than  the  former.  The  spirit  traffic  has  a  more  brutalizing  effect 
it  more  effectually  blights  all  the  native's  energies,  it  ruins  hi 
constitution,  and,  through  the  habits  it  gives  rise  to,  his  lands  are  lei 
as  desolate  as  after  a  slave  raid. 

What  are  the  most  characteristic  European  imports  into  Wea 
Africa?  Gin,  rum,  gunpowder  and  guns.  What  European  article 
are  most  in  demand  ?  The  same.  In  what  light  do  the  nativai 
look  upon  the  Europeans  ?  WhVj  a^  makers  and  sellers  of  spirit! 
and  guns.  What  largely  .supports  the  Governmental  machinery  ol 
that  region  ?     Still  the  samp  articles, 

Tlif  ships  which  trade  to  Africa  are  loaded  with  gin  out  of  al 
proportion  to  more  useful  articles  ;  the  warehouses  along  the  coast  arl 
filled  with  it.  The  air  seems  to  reek  with  the  vile  stuff,  and  evert 
hut  is  redolent  of  ita  fumes.  Gin  bottles  and  boxes  meet  the  eye  a^ 
every  step,  and  in  some  places  the  wealth  and  importance  of  the  varioul 
villages  are  measured  by  the  size  of  the  pyramids  of  empty  gin-bottloi 
which  they  erect  to  their  own  honour  and  glory  and  the  envy  «« 
poorer  districts.  Over  large  areas  it  is  almost  the  sole  currency,  acd 
in  many  ]mrt8  tho  year's  wages  of  the  negro  factory  workers  is  poa^ 
in  spirits,  with  which  they  return  home  to  enjoy  a  few  days  of  fien^ 
debauch. 

Outside  such  towns  as  Sierra  Leone  and  Lagos,  which,  thanks' 
special  circumstances,  form  small  oases  in  the  wild  wastes  of  barbaris."! 
not  the  slightest  evidence  is  to  be  found  that  the  natives  have  b^nt 
influenced  for  good  by  European  intercouj"se.    Everywhere  the  tender»-< 
is  seen  to  be  in  the  line  of  deterioration.     Listead  of  a  people  '*  wlx  i 
unto  harvest "  crying  to  the  Churches,  *'  Come  over  and  help  us  "  ; 
the  merchant,  "  We  have  oil  and  rubber,  grain  and  ivory — give  ua 
exchange  your  cloth   and  your  cutlery  "  ;  or  to   the    philanthropil 
"  We  are  able  and  willing  to  work,  only  come  and  show  us  the  way  '*- 
in  place  of  such  appeals,  the  one  outcry  is  for  more  gin,  tobacco,  eH 
gunpowder.     To  walk  through  a  village  on  the  Kru  Coast  is  lik^ 
horrible  nightmare — the  absolute  squalor  of  the  huts,  the  uncultiv&'b 
lands — the  brutality  and  vice  of  their  o^vnera,  is  without  a  parallel 
the  uutouched  lands  of  the  interior.    There,  woraon  and  cbildi'en,  w3 
scarcely  a  rag  on  their  filthy  besotted  persons,  follow  one  about  eag^« 
beseeching  a  little  gin  or  tobacco.     Eternally  gin  and  tobacco,  har<3 
the  slightest  evidence  of  a  desire  for  anything  higher. 

Oar  West  African  settlements  instead  of  being,  as  they  sho-ca^ 
bright  jewels  in  the  crown  of  England,  are  at  this  day — thanks  to  ^ 
melhoda  of  dealing  with  them — standing  monuments  to  our  disgr*^*^ 
Everything  tending  to  the  elevation  of  the  unhappy  people  '%^ 
inhabit    them    has    been    blighted.      We  have  done    everything 


1 


EUROPEAN  INTERCOURSE  WITH  AFRICA. 


U7 


CNPer  to  sappress  all  habits  of  industry  and  stop  the  develop- 
«£  tbe  resoorces  of  the  country.  We  have  made  Bare  that  no 
ky  tastee,  no  varied  wants,  should  be  aroused.  The  result  is  now 
in  the  backward  condition  of  the  settletnents.  and  the  fact  that 
ITeet  Coast  negro  has  been  transformed  into  the  most  villanous. 
herons,  and  vicious  being  in  the  whole  of  Africa. 
Mt  a  similar  downgrade  result  is  likely  to  lie  the  outcome  of  the 
'tag  up  and  exploration  of  East  Africa  is  only  too  apparent. 
B  three  years  ago,  in  lecturing  on  Africa  and  the  liquor  traffic,  I 
occasion  to  draw  a  happy  contrast  between  the  benuticiol  results 
the  East  Coaat  under  the  Mohammedan  mle  of  the  Saltan  of 
nbsr.  and  the  deleterious  effects  of  European  rale  on  the  west 
t  «l  the  continent.  Since  that  time  a  gr(«at  political  change  has 
•  orer  the  Eastern  region.  The  Germans,  after  shamefully 
ingaflide  the  rights  of  the  Sultan,  have  commenced  their  civilizing 
W.  'Towns  have  been  demolished  and  hundreds  of  lives  sacrificed. 
r  mison  stations  and  all  the  carefully  nurtured  germs  of  thirty 
nof  nnselSsh  work  have  been  more  or  less  blighted. 
It  would  be  t^Dmething  if  we  could  think  that  we  had  seen  the 
Hi;  but  we  cannot  forget  that  the  Germans  are  almost  the  sole 
NBMtoBTS  of  gin,  that  their  merchants  are  quite  as  keen  to  make 
!■?■  M  OQTB,  while  considerably  liehiiid  ns  in  their  views  as  to 
Ik  liglitB;  and  when,  in  addition,  it  is  remembered  that  at 
^  Bafia  Conference  it  was  the  Germans  who  strenuously  opposed 
l]Hk3Btion  of  the  liquor  traffic  on  the  Congo  and  the  Niger,  we 
P*  W  my  means  be  hopeful  of  their  future  action  in  their  newly 
•■"d  taritoriefl. 

*»i»faad  almost  certain  that,  as  soon  as  they  have  pacified  the 
■»  fcy  means  of  copious  blood-letting,  they  will  continue  their 
P  tf  drilization  by  the  introduction  of  the  gin-traffic  which  the 
^"'fcMiiiiii  dim  ruler  prohibited.  They  will  find  a  ready  market, 
'■^  '•inn  has  already  inoculated  the  inhabitants  with  a  taste  for 
Jii|aore.  In  a  few  years  the  work  of  the  Fatherland  will 
to  tlie  world  by  a  great  development  in  the  value  of 
to  their  new  conquest,  which,  to  t.ho.se  who  can  recwi 
iaee,  will  be  a  measure  of  the  rate  at  which  the  ruin  and 
of  the  natives  is  proceeding. 

we  have  a  moral  duty  laid  on  us  to  prevent  this  same 

We  ourselves  assisted   the   Germans  to   take  the 

■anbar  8  territories,  and  therefore  we  are  in  some  measure 

fcr  what  they   do.     In   East   Africa  there  is  no  vested 

tnde  to  consider.     As  yet  it  has  got  no  footing.     There 

f  demand  for  it.      It  would  be  well  if  some  action  could 

I  would  ensure  that  it  never  did  get  a  footing.     If  the 

rise  they  will  not  socriflce  the  future  well-being  of  their 


[8 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


[Mas. 


new  settlements  to  any  consideration  of  present  and  immediate  profit 
But  that  13  almost  too  much  to  expect.  Certainly  we  have  seen 
nothing  in  the  post  methods  of  the  Germans  to  make  us  hope  much, 
and,  unhappily,  we  cannot  come  to  them  with  clean  hands  to  off» 
them  advice. 

It  may  ba  nrged  that  in  this  survey  of  the  results  of  European 
intercourse  with  the  African  I  am  only  showing  the  dark  side  of  the 
picture.  Perfectly  truo,  because  there  is  no  bright  one  as  seen  in 
the  bird's-eye  view  I  have  been  taking.  What  is  a  missionary  here 
and  there  compared  with  the  thousand  agents  of  commerce  who,  with 
untiring  and  unscrupulous  industry,  dispense  wholesale  the  deadly 
products  in  such  great  demand  ?  What  is  a  Bible,  or  a  bale  of  usefal 
goods,  in  opposition  to  tho  myriad  cases  of  gin,  the  thousand  gnns 
which  compete  with  them  ?  What  chance  has  a  Christian  virtue 
whore  the  soil  is  so  suitable  for  European  vice — where,  for  every 
individual  influenced  for  good  by  merchant  or  missionary,  there  are 
a  thousand  caught  up  in  the  Styx-like  flood  of  spirit-poison  and  swept 
oft*  helplessly  to  perdition  ? 

It  would,  however,  be  presenting  an  entirely  misleading  picture  of 
the  situation  were  I  to  restrict  myself  to  the  distant  and  general 
prospect.  As  already  said,  a  closer  and  more  detailed  examination 
reveals  many  bright  points  in  the  night-like  darkness.  Of  these,  none 
scintillate  with  a  more  promising  light  than  the  enterprises  of  the 
Christian  missionary.  And  yet,  however  promising  for  the  future, 
when  we  look  around  and  see  with  what  rapid  stridps  the  emissaries 
of  Islam  have  made  their  influence  felt  throughout  the  whole  of  the 
Central  and  Western  Sondau,  and  left  the  mental  and  spiritnal 
impress  of  tlieir  civilization  upon  the  natives,  we  cannot  but  sadly' 
wonder  at  the  comparatively  small  headway  that  their  Christian  rivals 
have  matle  against  the  sodden  mass  of  heathendom.  As  compared  with 
the  progress  of  Mohammedanism  in  Africa,  Christianity  in  these  lands 
has  been  practically  at  a  standstill.  Wherever  Mohammedan  seed  has 
been  bohti  there  it  has  taken  root,  and  there  it  has  remained  to  flourish 
with  a  vigorous  grip  of  the  soil  which  nothing  can  destroy.  The  same 
cannot  be  said  of  Christian  seed :  it  has  ever  been  as  a  delicate  exotic, 
difficult  to  plant,  more  diflicult  to  rear,  and  ever  requiring  outside 
support  and  watering. 

What,  then,  is  the  secret  of  this  discouraging  state  of  matters  ?  It 
cannot  be  fur  lack  of  good  men  and  true.  Of  snch  there  have  been 
hundreds — -men  who  have  been  possessed  with  tho  very  highest  ideals 
of  duty,  and  who  have  literally  burned  out  their  lives  in  the  ardour  of 
their  missionary  enterprise.  . 

The  explanation  is  simply  this :' Mohammedanism  has  succeeded 
becanse  of  its  elasticity  and  its  adaptability  to  the  peoples  it  sought 
to  convert.     It  has  asked  of  the  heathen  negro  apparently  so  little, 


EUROPEAN  ISTERCOVRSE    lilTH  AFRICA. 


ftod  jet.  In  reality,  so  much,  considermg  what  he  is  ;    for  in  that  littlo 

"!e  the  gi?rms  of  a  great  spiritual  revolntion.    In  fact,  it  is  in  a  manner 

:  '01056  of  its  verj  inferiority  as  a  religion — looked  at  from  our  stand- 

"xnt — that  it  has  snooeeded ;  and  because  it  has  just  presented  that 

^laoont  of  good  which  the   negro  ^could   comprehend  and  assimilate. 

Moreover,  the  Mohammedan  missionaries  have  l>een  like  the  natives 

linselrea — men  who  spoke  the  same  language,  lived  the  same  life. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  Christian  worker  has  accomplished  so  little 

[•ccaose  he  has  tried  to  do  so  much.     He  has  seldom  comprehended 

the  problems  he  has  had  to  face.     His  edacation  has  rarelj  been 

«i^>ted  to  the  work  before  him,  and,  filled  with  much  enthusiasm  and 

jnioor  and  more  erroneous  ideas,  he  has  gone  forth  too  often  to  do 

more  than  tlirow  away  his  life  with  but  small  result  to  the  cause 

has  at  heart. 

The  missionary,  as  a  role,  has  ignored  the  fact  that  men's  minds 
can  only  assimilate  ideas  in  proportion  to  their  stage  of  development. 
He  acts  as  if  he  could  in  a  single  generation  transform  a  being  at 
the  foot  of  the  ladder  of  human  life  into  a  civilized  individual,  and 
laiae  a  degraded  heathen  at  a  stroke  to  the  European  spiritual  level. 
Filled  with  such  beliefs,  he  has  ever  attempted,  in  defiance  of  all 
«nrnTnna  sense,  to  graft  Christianity  in  its  entirety  upon  undeveloped 
ii  brains.  Instead  of  taking  a  lesson  from  his  successful 
.  umedan  brother-worker  in  the  mission-field,  and  simplifying 
_;  i^.-i'sentation  of  the  Gospel  truth,  he  has  generally  done  his  best 
to  stupefy  his  hearers  with  views  and  doctrines  which  have  been  beyond 
ihcir  spiritual  comprehension. 

It  has  rarely  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  better,  like  the  Moham- 

-Bsdan.  sow  one  good  seed  which   will  grow  and  fructify,  and  strike 

nd  permanently   into  the  life  of  the  negro,  than  a  thousand 

-...^..  only  remain  sterile  on  the  surface. 

B«fore  any  great  advance  will  be  made  in  the  Christian  propaganda 

ica,  a  total  revolution  in  the  methods  of  work  must  be  accom- 

r— u.J.  Surely  the  time  has  come  when  professorships  for  the  prepara- 

lioa  of  missionaries  should  be  founded,  so  that  men  might  be  sent  out 

properly  armed  for  tJie  conflict,  instead  of  leaving  theiu,  as  at  present, 

to  enter  the  mission-field  not  knowing  what  they  have  to  face,  imbued 

«Hh  the  unworkable  traditions  of  bygone   times,  and  hampered  by 

lW  onsuitable  theological  training  for  the   ministry  which  they  have 

leoored  among  a  civilized  people,  and  which  in  Africa  b  worse  than 


Oace  the  negro  is  attacked  in  the  right  spirit,  and  with  a  suitable 

ihiioe  of  weapons   from  the  Christian  armoury,  I  venture  to  predict 

P«Do  mre  splendid  results  to  Ch^i^tianity  than  has  ever  marked  the 

of  Islam.    For  the  negro,  with  all  his  intellectual  deficiendes, 

lly  a  very  religious  individual.     In  his  present  helplessness 

[fOL.  Lva.  2  A 


350 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mab. 


ftnd  darkness  he  gropes  aimlessly  about  after  an  explanation  of  his 
Burroandings,  and  finds  but  slight  consolation  in  his  stocks  and  stones, 
his  fetishism  and  spirit-worship.  That  he  gladly  adopts  a  loftier  con- 
ception is  shown  by  the  avidity  with  which  he  accepts  as  his  God, 
Allah — the  one  God  of  the  Mohammedans.  We  cannot  be  too  quick 
in  entering  the  field  in  opposition  to  the  religion  of  Islam,  however 
great  may  be  its  civilizing  work  among  the  natives,  or  splendid  its 
beneficial  influence  in  raising  up  a  barrier  against  the  devil's  flood  of 
drink  poured  into  Africa  by  Christian  merchants.  For  unhappily  its 
ultimate  results  belie  the  promise  of  its  initial  stages  araong  the  lower 
levels  of  humanity,  if  we  are  to  judge  from  Morocco  and  other 
ilohammedan  empires  ;  and  we  have  only  too  good  reason  to  fear  that 
what  in  the  present  is  a  great  blessing  to  myriads  of  negro  people  in 
the  Central  and  Western  Soudan,  may  become  a  deplorable  curse  to  the 
generations  of  the  future. 

In  view  of  these  facta — namely,  that  our  intercourse  with  Africa 
has  been  almost  one  long  career  of  crime  and  sliame,  fraught  with 
direst  consequence  to  a  whole  continent  of  people,  and,  in  addition, 
that  our  varions  missionaiy  enterprises  have  not  accomplished  the 
amount  of  good  which  might  reasonably  bo  expected  of  them — one 
might  be  temptf  d  to  ask,  ought  we  not  to  retire  altogether,  and  leave 
Africa  and  the  African  alone  ?  To  such  a  question  I  should  answer 
most  emphatically,  No.  We  must  not,  if  wd  could,  and  we  ought  not 
even  if  we  would.  We  have  laid  ourselves  under  an  overwhelming 
load  of  debt  to  the  negro  which  centuries  of  beneficent  work  can  never 
repay.  We  have  not  made  reparation  and  atonement  for  the  evil  w© 
wrought  with  the  slave-trafiic.  The  hydra-headed  beast — the  gin  and 
weapon  trade — is  still  continuing  its  ravages,  still  bringing  new  terri- 
tories under  contribution.  We  brought  the  monster  into  being,  and 
ours  is  the  duty  to  give  battle  to  it,  and  rest  not  till  we  have  not  only 
checked  its  desolating  career,  but  slain  it  outright. 

Here  is  indeed  a  gigantic  task,  which  we,  as  a  Christian  people^ 
cannot  shirk.  It  would  be  well  if  we  heard  less  about  high-sounding- 
impossible  schemes  for  the  suppression  of  the  present  Arab  slave-trade, 
and  more  practicable  proposals  for  the  stoppage  of  our  equally  ruin- 
working  comnuTCo  in  .spirits  and  weapons  of  destruction.  Let  us  stop 
our  Pharisaical  trumpeting  from  the  houes-tops  over  the  pounds  we 
spend  for  the  converFion  of  the  heathen,  while  our  merchants  continue 
to  make  fortunes  out  of  their  demoralization.  Instead  of  talking  of 
retiring  with  our  enormous  gains — a  proceeding  which  would  only  bo 
in  harmony  with  all  our  dealings  with  the  natives — conscience  calls 
aloud  that  wo  should  put  ourselves  in  sackcloth  and  ashes,  and  set 
about  sweeping  our  commerce  and  our  politics  free  from  the  iniquities 
by  which  they  have  hitherto  been  characterized.  That  accomplished. 
we  have  before  us  the  stilt  more  mighty  task  of  undoing  the  evils  pro- 


lifft]       EUROPEAN  INTERCOURSE    JVITH  AFRICA.       351 

ptg&ted  daring  the  last  three  centuries,  and  inaugurating  the  real  work 
of  civilizatioQ — religion,  working  hand  in  hand  with  no  hypocritical 
make-Wlieve  "  legitimate  commerce." 

Justice  might  indeed  join  hands  with  such  as  demand  our  with- 
drawal from  Africa  were  there  no  indication  on  our  part  of  a  conscious- 
tt«s  of  wTODg-doing — of  a  dcsii-o  to  reform  where  we  have  erred,  to 
retrace  oor  steps  where  wo  have  gone  astray.  Bat  already  on  all 
udes  there  are  signs  of  hope — signs  of  the  approach  of  a  brighter  day 
aad  of  better  things  for  the  negro.  The  national  conscience  is 
awakening — men's  eyes  are  being  opened  to  the  real  character  of  our 
douogs  in  the  Dark  Continent.  Societies  have  been  formed,  vowed 
to  the  suppression  of  the  worst  evils,  and  are  spreading  their  inSluence 
at  a  rapid  rate.  Governments  are  becoming  more  and  more  alive  to 
their  duty  to  the  ignorant  savages  who  have  come  under  their  rule,  and 
are  striving  to  check  the  liquor  traffic  where  it  has  been  established, 
and  to  absolutely  prohibit  it  where  no  hold  has  yet  been  obtained. 
The  sympathetio  ear  of  the  Houses  of  Parliament  has  been  obtained, 
aad  Churches  of  all  denominations  are  lending  the  weight  of  their 
ioflucDce  to  the  good  cause.  Still  l>etter,  merchants  themselves  are 
becoming  alive  to  the  fact  that  they  are  engaged  in  a  business  they 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of,  and  are  seeking  for  a  way  of  escape  from  the 
situation  in  which  they  have  placed  themeelves.  Public  companies, 
t4»,  armed  with  the  powers  of  a  Iloyal  charter,  are  entering  the  field 
with  enlightened  views  as  to  what  their  aims  and  objects  should  be. 
More  especially  do  they  take  a  stand  i^inst  the  further  development 
of  the  ruinous  traffic  of  which  so  much  has  already  been  said,  appa- 
rantly  determined  to  restrict  and  finally  extirpate  the  vile  thing. 

Of  such  we  have  no  better  example  than  the  Iloyal  Niger  Company. 

which  since  it  got  its  charter  has  started  on  a  career  bright   with 

^BHBpe.     The  British  East  Africa  Company  is  anotlier  which  we  may 

^^^^Bpe  will  never  soil  its  hands  by  any  misdirection  of  its  commurcia) 

I     dealings  with  the  people  under  its  rule. 

Aa  a  bright  spot  in  the  black  expanse  of  Africa,  let  me  point  with 
pride  to  what  our  Scottish  merchants  and  missionaries  are  doing  on 
Lake  Nyassa. 

There,  hand  in  h.and,  commerce  and  religion  are  pursuing  a  common 
end.  Filled  with  the  noblest  aspirations  of  their  great  pioneer, 
Ijivingstone,  and  the  best  characteristics  of  their  native  country,  the 
band  of  Christian  heroes  have  planted  their  flag  on  a  rock,  and, 
ttnfurling  it  to  the  breeze,  have  taken  the  helpless  heathen  under 
their  protection  in  the  name  of  Christ  and  humanity.  Sword  in 
hand,  they  have  driven  back  tho  slave-raiding  hordes  in  the  north, 
aad  now  they  stand  prepared  to  repel  the  equally  desolating  wave  of 
PortngueBe  aggression  which  threatens  them  from  tho  south.  At 
SDch  a  crisis,  it  is  car  duty  as  individuals,  as  a  Christian  people,  as  a 


' 


353 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mab. 


nation,  to  see  that  that  flag  is  never  again  lowered,  and  that  those 
who  protect  and  gather  round  it  are  supported  and  encouraged  in 
their  glorious  struggle. 

In  such  facta  wo  see  clearly  that  the  tidal  wave  of  evil  has 
coDOTuenced  to  turn,  and  that  a  new  and  more  beneficent  current  is 
asserting  itself.  But,  happily,  not  only  commercially  and  politically 
are  there  signs  of  the  approach  of  a  brighter  day. 

It  is  gradually  dawning  upon  Missionary  Societies  that  their 
methods  have  not  always  bfen  the  most  suitable  for  the  work  to  be 
done.  In  this  respect  our  Scottish  Missions  have  also  been  taking 
the  lead.  They  have  sent  of  their  best  to  carry  on  the  difficult  work. 
They  no  longer  disdain  the  helpiug  hand  of  the  layman,  but  see  in 
the  artisan  and  the  merchant  co-workers  in  the  same  field.  In  every 
respect  they  have  broadened  the  basis  of  their  operations  and  grappled 
in  a  more  modem  and  common-sense  spirit  with  the  question  of 
Christian  propaganda,  and  how  best  to  come  in  touch  with  the  unde- 
veloped degraded  nature  of  the  negro.  This  spirit  is  likewise  reflected 
in 'the  communications  to  our  missionary  magazines .  Throughout, 
these  manifest  a  more  \'igorou3  and  healthy  tone,  and  are  made  np 
less  of  the  weak  milk-and-water  demanded  by  spiritual  babes  and 
sucklings. 

Thus,  with  missionary  enterprise  starting  forth  new  armed  on  a 
more  promising  career  of  Christian  conquest ;  wtth  commerce 
purging  herself  of  criminal  iniquities,  and  joining  with  religion  in 
the  work  of  civilization,  what  may  not  bo  predicted  of  the  future  of 
Africa !  Already  the  remotest  comers  have  heard  the  glad  tidings  of 
the  coming  good — uttered  in  a  still  small  voice  perhaps,  and  possibly 
unheeded,  uncomprehended — but  bound  to  catch  the  heathen  ear  at 
last,  and  grow  in  form,  in  volume  and  in  harmony,  till  they  swell  into 
one  grand  pajan  and  Christian  hymn,  which  shall  be  heard  in  every 
forest  depth  and  wide  waste  of  jungle. 

Then  in  the  far  distant  future.  Englishmen  who  shall  be  happily 
alive  to  hear  that  hymn,  may  indeed  be  able  to  speak  of  the 
beneficent  results  of  European  intercourse  with  the  African,  knowing 
that  the  sins  of  their  fathers  have  at  last  been  expiated,  and  the  blot 
on  the  national  honour  wiped  out. 

Joseph  Thoh^son. 


Isaac,  and  of  Jacob,  the  God  who  later  became  sublimated  and 
fttherealized  into  the  God  of  Christianity,  was  in  his  orif^in  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  the  ancestral  fetish  stone  of  the  people  of  Israel, 
however  sculptured,  and  perhaps,  in  the  last  very  resort  of  all,  the 
moaumental  pillar  of  some  early  Semitic  sheikh  or  chief."  This  is 
Mr.  Grant  Allen's  conclusion,  published  in  the  Fortnightbj  Ilcnew 
(Jan.  1890).  The  opinions  are  trenchant,  and,  perhaps,  if  Mr.  Allen 
■provea  his  case,  we  may  as  well  shut  up  the  Book  of  the  Uistory  of 
Behgion.  It  is  all  stated  here  in  a  paragraph.  You  begin,  in  the 
very  first  resort  of  all,  with  a  monumental  pillar  of  a  Semitic  sheikh. 
Or  rather,  you  don't,  after  all,  begin  with  that,  but  with  the  ghost  of 
">e  Arab  sheikh  himself,  which  sanctifies  the  pillar.  Mr.  Allen  forgot  to 
Joention  the  ghost  in  his  conclusion,  but  he  had  referred  to  him  before. 
'iist,  then,  the  ghost,  next  the  grave  pillar  sanctified  by  the  ghost,  then 
•^e  pillar  carried  about  in  the  ark  as  a  portable  fetish.  Then  (after  or 
•»fore  that)  the  fetish  recognized  as  the  God  of  Abraham,  then  the  God 
of  Abraham  etherealized  into  the  God  of  Christianity  ;  then,  I  may  add, 
"^  God  of  Christianity  sublimated  into  the  "  Unknowable  "  of  Mr. 
"Crbert  Spencer,  which,  however,  Mr.  Frederic  Harrison  spells  with 

*  small  "  u."  Here  is  the  whole  history  of  Keligion,  unless  we  ask 
^•ly  one  particular  fetish  stone,  out  of  so  many  millions  strewn  over 
*'  tie  world,  was  etherealized  (a  process  including  pulverization)  into 

*  God  like  the  God  of  Christianity.  This  too  may,  no  doubt,  be  as 
'"dily  explained  by  one  of  the  fairy  tales  of  popular  Science  as  the 
•Jwelopment  of  the  strawberry,  or  the  aquatic  habits  of  the  water- 
ooitl. 


I 
I 


354 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mak. 


But  the  student  of  tbo  History  of  Religion  may  not,  after  all,  be 
satisfied  that  Mr.  Allen's  conclasions  are  unavoidable.  Perhaps  my 
friend  Mr.  Allen  will  permit  me  to  show  him  how  he  "  can  easily 
avoid  "  drawing  his  obvious  inference,  or,  at  least,  how  other  people 
can  avoid  it.  For  the  inference  is  based  on  more  than  one  conjecture 
of  the  most  avoidable  sort. 

Mr.  Allen's  conclusions,  as  readers  of  hia  article  will  see,  imply 
several  propositions.  One  of  these  is  that  Mr.  Allen  knows  what  the 
ark  of  the  Covenant  contained,  and  that  its  contents  were  tiot  that 
which  the  only  accessible  evidence  declares  them  to  have  been.  The 
ark  did  not  contain  the  Tables  of  the  Law  (as  in  1  Kings  viii.  9),  but 
it  did  contain  "  an  object  made  of  stone,"  and  that  object  was 
"  Jahveh."  Again,  Mr.  Allen's  conclusions  imply  the  proposition 
that  aJl  worshipped  or  sacred  stones  were  once  ancestral  grave- 
atones,  or  that  their  sanctity  was  derived  from  a  real  or  supposed 
resemblance  to  ancestral  grave-stones.  Once  more,  if  we  are  to  agree 
with  Mr.  Grant  Allen,  we  must  believe  that,  when  a  "  fetish  "  stone 
is  found  in  certain  relations  with  a  god,  the  god  derives  his  origin 
from  the  stone. 

All  these  propositions  are  highly  disputable,  and,  perhaps  it  may 
be  shown,  are  not  demonstrated  by  Mr.  Allen.  If  we  can  show  this, 
it  will  be  quite  easy  for  us  to  avoid  drawing  his  obvious  inference, 
and  thinking  that  wo  know  more  about  the  origin  of  Jehovah  than 
the  most  learned  and  "  advanced  "  Biblical  critics  now  believe  them- 
selves to  know. 

Now,  what  evidence  have  we  as  to  what  the  ark  really  contained  ? 
We  have  1  Kings  viii.  9,  "  There  was  nothing  in  the  ark,  save  the 
two  tables  of  stone,  which   Moses  put  there  at  Horeb."     Either   we 
must  accept  this  evidence,  or  admit  that  we  know  nothing  about  the 
matter.    The  evidence,  let  it  be  admitted,  is  understood  to  bo  neither 
very  ancient,   nor    very   authentic.       But,    if  we   suppose  it   to  be 
false,  then  it  must  go ;  we  have  no  business  to  choose  the  part  of  it 
which  suits  Mr.  Alien — namely,  the  existence  of  stone  in  the  ark,  and 
to  reject  the  statement  that  there   were  two  stones,  containing   the 
Decalogue.      This  mode  of  treating  legends,  admitting  what   we   like 
and  discarding  what  we  dislike,  has  been  criticized  sufficiently  by  Mr. 
Orote,  in  his  chapter  on  Greek  Heroic  Legend.      Again,  if  Mr.  Allen 
is  right,  then  surely  all  the   traditions,  by  many  critics   allowed   to 
be   old,  about  the  Decalogue  and  the  two  tables  of  stone   must   have 
been  invented,  and  inserted  in  Scripture,  to  account  for  the  discovery 
of  two  stones  (not  one)  in   the  ark.     These  are  mere  guesses  :  we 
may,  to  be  brief,  admit  or  reject  the  evidence,  but  we  deal  in  pure 
guesswork  when  we  say   the  author  of  1   Kings    viii.   9   told  the 
truth  when  he  said  there  was  stone  in  the  ark,  but  invented  a  pious 
[fraud  when  he  said  there  were  two  stones,  inscribed  with  the  "  Ten 


••9«>] 


JTAS   JEHOVAH  A   FETISH  STONE  F 


355 


WopiB."  However,  Mr,  Allen's  guess  is  not,  probably  he  does  not  put  it 
forth  as  being,  original.  He  has  "  great  allies  "  to  whom  he  does  not 
appeaL  Thus  Kuenen  says,  '*  Was  the  ark  really  empty,  or  did  it 
(XKitain  a  stone,  Jahveh's  real  a}K>de,  of  which  the  ark  was  only  the 
jpository  ?  This  we  do  not  know,  although  the  latter  opinion,  in  con- 
BMiiOD.  with  the  later  accounts  of  tho  Pentateuch,  appears  to  us  to 
po&esB  great  probability."  But  Kuenen  adds  that  "  we  cannot  draw 
•ay  entirely  safe  conclusions."  •  He  elsewhere  remarks  that  "  Jahveh 
was  worshipped  in  the  shape  of  a  young  bull."  "  Bull-worship  was 
really  the  worship  of  Jahveh."  f  Thus  a  god  was  worshipped  as  a 
jx>nQg  bull,  who  probably  had  his  abode  in  a  stone. 

Welthausen  again  observes  that,  if  there  were  stones  in  the  ark, 
they  probably  served  some  other  purpose  than  that  of  writing  mate- 
riola,  and  says  that  "  the  ark  of  the  Covenant,  no  doubt,  arose  by  a 
<h»nge  of  meaning  oat  of  the  old  idol."  + 

1  make  Mr.  Allen  a  present  of  these  conlirmatory  conjectures  by  emi- 
MSit scholars.  M.  Kenan's  guess  is  that  the  ark  "contained  objects 
^  general  interest,"  that  it  was  a  small  portable  case,  holding  the 
best  things  in  the  Israelitish  collection.  These  opinions  are  all  mere 
** shots,"  and  are  of  no  historical  value;  or,  as  Kuenen  mildly  puts 
it,  "  not  entirely  safe."  This  part  of  the  argument,  then,  is  peculiarly 
perilous. 

We  next  examine  Mr.  Allen's  theory  that  all  sacred  stones  have  been 
grave-stonea,  or  were  worfchipped  because  sanctity  attached  to  them 
from  their  resemblance  to  stones  sanctified  as  grave-stones. 

Here  the  controversy  would  have  been  easier  if  Mr.  Allen  had 
consolted  and  given  references  to  original  authorities.  But  his 
examples  of  stone-worship  are  mainly  taken,  as  he  acknowledges^ 
from  works  by  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer,  by  Mr.  Tylor,  and  by  myself. 
X  IV,  to  omit  references  makes  easy  reading,  and  perhaps  easy  writing, 
bui  it  does  not  permit  a  student  to  correct  his  author,  if  that  author 
<d»nce8  to  overlook  important  facts  in  his  context.  It  is  really  im- 
ible  to  know  about  these  obscure  matters,  as  far  us  they  can  be 
at  all,  without  taking  trouble,  and  working,  as  it  were,  at  first 
hand.  To  myself,  Mr.  Allen's  whole  argument  seems  vitiated  by  the 
le  that  "  the  origin  of  all  which  is  most  essential  Ju  religion  "  is 
rived  •'  from  ghost-worship  and  ancestor-worship."  Mr.  Allen 
kioks  that  this  has  been  brilliantly  demonstrated  by  Mr.  Herbert 
5Cer.  Not  even  by  Mr.  Tylor,  I  think,  has  any  such  demonstra- 
b6«a  really  and  convincingly  made.  I  am  not  persuaded  that 
l-lhs  germs  of  a  belief  in  tho  »ujKrnatural,  still  less  of  tho 
itial  in  religfion,  arise  in  ghost  and  ancestor  worship,  or  in  any  other 
agle  Bcnrce  whatever.     The  bane  of  those  studies  is  the  exclnsive 

♦  "The  Kdigion  of  Israel."  vol  i.  233,  Lon<lon,  1874.  f  Ibid,  p.  236. 

J  ••  nUlory  of  l«racl,"  p.  393,  Edinburgh,  1885. 


356 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mas. 


belief  in  single  '*  keys  of  all  the  creeds."  These  are  onlj  opinions,  to 
which  anthropology  has  led  me.  But  my  opLnions  have,  at  least  as 
to  certain  details  of  Btone-worship,  the  support  of  Mr.  Tylor.  "The 
ideas  with  which  stone-worship  is  concerned  are  vinlli/ariouSy'^  he 
Bays,  "  and  the  analogy" — the  analogy  which  suggests  the  conjectnro 
that  stones,  like  menhirs,  cromlechs,  and  so  on,  were  worshipped  as 
representatives  or  embodiments  of  gods — "may  be  misleading."  To 
"  multifarious "  ideas  and  practices  I  am  loth  to  assign  one  singl* 
origin  ;  but  Mr.  Allen  would  trace  them  all  to  the  worship  of  ghosts 
or  ancestors. 

Ho  begins  by  thinking  it  unnecessary  to  prove  that  the  erection  of 
an  upright  stone  is  one  of  the  commonest  modes  of  marking  a 
place  of  burial.  The  *'  prehistoric  savage  "  "  erected  a  pillar  over  the 
tumulus  of  a  dead  chief."  That  depends  on  whether  the  prehistoric 
Bavage  had  any  chief,  and  whether  lie  practised  earth  burial.  But 
head-stones  are  certainly  very  commonly  erected  over  tombs. 
The  question  is  whether  the  peoples  who  now  worship  stones, 
or  who  did  of  old  worship  stones,  also  always  erected  pillars  over 
their  dead. 

Common  as  the  practice  is,  if  Mr.  Allen  is  to  stow  that  stone- 
worship  arose  from  ghost  and  grave-worship,  he  must  prove  that  stone- 
worshippers  do,  or  once  did,  bury  their  dead  under  such  stones.  Now 
Lucian  remarlied  long  ago  that  "the  Greeks  bum  their  deadj  thePer- 
Bians  bury  them;  the  Scythians  eat  them,  and  the  Egyptians  mummify 
them  ;  "  no  head-stone  being  needed  in  three  cases  out  of  four.  Some 
savages  carry  the  bones  of  the  dead  about,some  devour  the  dead,  some,  as 
Apolloniue  Rhodius  tells  us,  bang  them  in  bugs  from  trees,  some  expose 
them  on  platforms  ;  some,  like  the  ancient  Hebrews  in  Genesis,  bury 
them  in  the  walla  of  caves,  some  embalm  them  and  set  them  up  in. 
the  temples,  some  sink  them  in  the  sea.' 

Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  quotes  many  cases  of  burial  in  caves,  in  huts^ 
in  houses,  on  elevated  platforms,  under  sheds,  and  so  forth.  The 
sheds,  huts,  houses,  become  temples,  he  thinks.  But  it  is  plain  thatr 
in  many  cases,  head-stones  are  not  needed  nor  used,  and  yet  the 
people  who  do  not  buiy  under  head-stones  worship  stones,  as  we  shalT 
Bee.  Whence  did  those  stones  gain  their  sanctity  ?  It  may  b&- 
alleged  that,  at  some  period,  all  stone-worshipping  races  buried  under 
head-stones,  but  that  needs  proof,  which  is  not  offered. 

Are  there  no  instanticc  coniradidoricc  of  people  who  bury  under- 
head-stones,  or  under  pillars  of  wood,  yet  vrorship  no  pillar  nor  stone, 
on  one  hand,  or  worship  stones,  and  yet  do  not  erect  them  over  graves  ?' 
Mr.  Allen  does  not  touch  this  essential  question ;  his  theory  absolutely 

•  Garcilasso  de  In  Vepa,  "Com,  Ileal.,"  i.  56 ;  Apol  Rhod.  iii.  202;  "Legends  oJ 
Hawaii,"'  p.  ;,y  ;  "Among  Cannihuls,"  Lumliollz,  p.  278.  where  buria]  in  the  earth  i» 
also  nsed  ;  Pietschmann,  second  part  of  his  "  History  of  riiccnicia,"  in  Oncken's  "  Alg. 
Ge«chicht" 


X^] 


WAS   JEHOVAH   A    FETISH   STONE? 


357 


demands,  as  preliminaTy,  a  study  of  burial  customs,  but  no  sucb  study 
»  offered.  Want  of  room  may  have  hindered  him  from  examining 
and  presenting  the  evidence  in  detail ;  yet  such  a  presentation  seems 
necessary.  For  example,  some  Australian  tribes  erect  sculptured 
pillars,  yet  I  never  heard  that  they  worshipped  pillars.  Mr.  Allen 
himself  states  that  the  Samoans  mark  the  grave  by  a  little  heap  of 
stones,  a  foot  or  two  in  height,  but  the  stones  which  (among  other 
tilings)  the  Samoans  worship  are  Fongo  and  Toafa,  two  oblong  smooth 
■tones,  on  a  raised  platform  of  loose  stones.  Here  it  is  rather  the 
platform  of  loose  stones  than  the  smooth  oblong  stones  which  ought 
to  be  sacred,  if  the  sacredness  be  derived  from  marking  a  place  of 
burial.  Or  can  it  be  shown  that  the  Samoans  once  buried  their  dead 
under  oblong  smooth  stones  ?  * 

However,  stones  often  mark  a  place  of  burial,  undeniably,  and 
when  victims  are  sacrificed  at  the  tomb  "their  blood  is  constantly 
smeared  on  the  head-stone  or  boulder  that  marks  the  spot."  Here, 
again,  we  have  no  reference  to  original  authorities  as  to  the  diffasion 
of  this  custom,  whether  wide  or  restricted.  Bat  "  after  a  time  the  grave 
and  the  stone  get  to  be  confounded  together,  and  the  place  itself 
oomes  to  have  a  certain  sacredness,  derived  from  the  ghost  which 
haunts  and  inhabits  it."  Mr.  Allen  now  quotes  Major  Condor's 
theory  of  menhirs  "  erected  as  memorials  and  ivorshipped  as  deities," 
ud  of  dolmens,  cairvis,  and  cromlechs  in  similar  case.  We  have 
marked  Mr.  Tylor's  more  cautious  warning  against  misleading 
analogies.  But  stones  answering  to  three  at  least  of  the  four  classes 
— menhir,  dolmen,  cairn,  cromlech — assuredly  existed  in  ancient 
Qansan,  and  are  often  named  in  the  Old  Testament.  We  shall 
examine  later  the  part  they  play,  or  may  be  supposed  to  play,  in  the 
legends,  the  history,  the  ritual,  and  the  religion  of  Israel. 

Mr.  Allen  now  advances  some  cases  of  stone-worship.  The 
Samoan  example  of  the  two  oblong  stones,  parents  of  the  Rain  God, 
hafl  already  been  mentioned.  In  the  case  of  the  tall  coral  sandstone 
o£  the  Augustine  isles,  Mr.  Allen  does  not  tell  us  whether  the  islanders 
ertet  such  sida-  over  graves,  and  he  is  as  iiKlifieront  to  the  burial 
en^ma  of  the  stone  or  slab-worshipping  Gilbert  Group  race. 
Goddesses  there  are  flat  slabs  ;  does  any  such  corresponding  difference 
appear  in  the  grave-stones  of  men  and  women  in  the  Gilbert  Group  ? 
Or  do  the  people  of  the  group  erect  stones  over  gi-aves  at  all?  Among 
•he  Ehonda  each  god  has  a  stone  under  the  tree  in  the  village.  Do 
the  Kbonds  place  head-stones  on  gi'aves  ? 

In  Peru,  stones  were  placed  "  to  represent  the  penatesof  households 

nnd  the  patron  deities  of  villages.*'     How  did  the  Peruvians  bury  their 

niiiiiniir-il  dead  ?  Mr.  Allen  does  not  tell  us,  but  Garcilasso  says  "  they 

'■iili.'kliiiHd  their  Ynca's   body  so  as  to  keep  it  with  them,  and  not  to 

*  Mr.  ADeaqaotea  Hr.  Turner,  withoat  name  of  bo>ik  oitod,  or  note  of  page. 


358 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


CStHB. 


lose  sight  of  it,"  *  No  stone  was  needed  here.  In  Fiji  the  gods  and 
goddesses  "  bad  their  abodes  or  shrines  in  black  stones,  like  smooth 
round  mile-stones,  and  there  received  their  offerings  of  food.t  Mr. 
Allen  takes  this  from  Mr.  Tylor,  who  takes  it  frona  Williams's  "  Fiji 
and  the  Fijians."  J  Mr,  "Williams  gives  a  sketch  of  a  stone  named 
Lovekaveka,  "  the  abode  of  a  goddess  for  whom  food  is  prepared." 
The  sketch  may  be  consulted  by  the  curious,  who  will  see  the  real 
nature  of  the  stone  at  a  glance.  Assuredly  it  is  not  sepulchral.  The 
Fijians,  moreover,  do  not  bury  their  dead  under  stones  like  this,  but 
under  small  houses  with  roofs  from  three  to  six  feet  iiigh.§  This  pre- 
vents the  grave  from  being  defiled,  "  for  a  Fijian  burial-ground  is 
usually  a  veiy  filthy " — instead  of  being  a  very  sacred — "  place." 
Some  are  buried  in  temples  for  this  reason.  Such  are  the  graves  of 
chiefs.  Common  people  have  graves  edged  round  with  stones,  or 
with  a  stone  at  head  and  foot.  It  is  open,  of  course,  to  Mr.  Allen  to 
argue  that  all  graves  were  originally  thus  marked ;  hence  the  worship 
of  stones  in  Fiji.      But  this  is  conjectural. 

In  all  these  cases  Mr.  Allen  never  once  proves  that  the  people  who 
worship  stones  employ  similar  stones  to  mark  resting-places  of  the 
dead.  If  they  do,  he  should  not  spare  such  an  important  link  in  his 
argument ;  if  they  do  not,  it  would  only  be  fair  to  mention  this  gap 
in  the  evidence.  One  may  doubt  whether  he  ever  asked  himself  the 
question.  Let  me  now  give  an  example  of  a  stone-worshipping  people 
who  do  not  use  head-stonea.  The  Hawaiiana  deposit  the  bodies  of 
their  dead  in  caves,  but  the  bones  of  chiefs  and  kings  were  tisuallj 
destroyed  or  hidden  lest,  they  should  bo  made  into  Csh -hooks  or  arrow- 
heads for  shooting  mice,  by  their  enemies.  Some  were  thrown  into 
the  sea,  others  concealed  in  caves  after  partial  cremation.  In  the 
royai  tombs  which  do  exist  are  probably  few  royal  bones.  The  bones 
of  one  great  chief  were  eaten,  after  being  pulverized.  The  stones 
which  are  worshipped  are  brought  from  a  certain  beach  in  the  south  of 
the  island.  They  are  believed  to  propagate  their  own.  species.  A 
selected  stone  ia  taken  by  its  owner  to  the  athletic  sports.  U  tha 
owner  wins  hia  race,  the  stone  is  admitted  to  be  a  god.  If  he  fails, 
he  throws  it  away,  or  makes  it  into  an  axe-head,  lliere  is,  perhaps,  little 
trace  of  ancestor-worship  here,  not  more  than  in  the  superstition  which 
leads  burglars  to  carry  a  piece  of  coal  in  their  pockets,  "  for  luck." 
In  Hawaii,  then,  I  find  no  head-stones,  but  plenty  of  worship  of 
stones  which  never  stood  over  graves. || 

Mr.  Allen  next  remarks,  very  pertinently,  that  when  certain  stones 
had  once  become  sacred  (from  thfir  position,  as  he  thinks,  of  sepulchral 
monuments),  other  stones  resembling  those  might  come  to  be  regarded 

*  "  Com.  Heal.,"  i.  93.    f  Williams's  "Fiji,"  i.  2'JO.   %  Ix)tidoi),  1858.   §  Op.  citA.  IW. 
II  "  legends  and  Myths  of  Hawaii."    By  His  Hawaiian  Majesty,  Kulakaua,  Preface 
{quoted}  by  Hon.  R.  M.  Daggett.     New  York,  1888,  pp.  41,  S'J- 


«%D] 


VTAS  JEHOVAH   A    FETISH   STOSE  ? 


359 


_  drriiM  as  eontAining  an  indTrellIng  ghost  or 

Tidi  b  my  probftble.  Bat  he  is  not  reallj  aided  here  by 
Mrs  abocT  of  «  fish-ahaped  stone  prayed  to  bj  fishermen,  a 
into  a  god  of  yams,  and  so  forth.  A  simpler  expla- 
KiitB  tbeae  imtanoea.  The  New  Caledonians  bary  stones  like 
vitk  Aa  yaai  roots  to  fertilize  them.  The  Zanis  regard  any 
pdlfcle  wfaidi  distxnedy  resembles  a  bird  or  beast  as  a  god  which  will 
koB^  hsd:  in  hunting  that  game.  It  is  a  case  of  timUia  similibus : 
Take  aSsefia  fike,  m  rety  oommon  idea  in  early  thought.* 

If  tlus  -new  be  aooeptod,  ^oets,  ancestors,  and  head-stones  of  giaTaB 
Wre  **i*^*g  to  do  witk  the  adoration  of  yam-shaped,  fish-ahaped, 
mad  IbiiI  rfisiiml  pebbleB.  Thns  we  may  assuredly  find  many  ex- 
SH^ks  of  stoue- wot  ship  which  need  not  be  derived  from  ancestor- 
■wahit*.  little  but  confusion  comea  of  the  desire  to  trace  multi- 
ftnoos  pfceafloifeaa  to  one  single  origin.  Mr.  Allen  would  work 
bck  to  his  fiiftxinte  origin  by  snpposixLg,  as  we  hare  seen, 
Aii  tke  gbost  and  the  grmve  lent  the  first  sanctity  to  certain 
Stanes,  mnd  then  that  other  stones  were  sympathetically  affected 
hf  tkis  attnbote.  Sanctity  amoog  stones  was  ''  catching,"  so  Mr. 
i&B  giTee  a  few  examples  of  worshipped  stones  '*  where  no  im-> 
we£ale  oonnectioin  with  any  particular  grave  seems  definitely 
iayiied."  Hub  reads  as  if,  in  most  of  his  earlier  instances,  a 
Wfiirf^>»«'  between  tlie  holy  stones  and  some  particular  grave  kad 
Ihb  **  definitely  implied."  But  we  have  seen,  on  the  other  hand,  that 
there  was  not  even  an  attempt  made  to  prove  any  such  connection  in 
iitb  ^^^Tnpl^  cha&ai  from  Samoa,  St.  Augustine  Island,  the  GDbert 
Gfoopi,  among  the  Khnndu,  in  Fiji,  and  so  on,  while  the  Hawaiian 
CMS  was  an  inBlautia  etrntradidoria.  There  was  among  all  these 
bit  a  aiagie  inmtinn  of  grave-marks,  the  tinj  cairn  in  Samoa,  where 
Bot  cairns  fact  laige  oUong  atooee  were  said  to  exist  among  other 
ohyorte  of  worship.  Thns  Mr.  Allen's  new  cases  of  worshipped  stones, 
^  where  no  connection  with  any  particuW  grave  is  implied,^  so  far  are 
aach  on  a  level  with  his  other  nmrn.  ''  The  Dacx>tahs  t  pick  up  a  round 
heoUer,  paint  it,  imd  then, addressing  it  as  'grandfather,'  make  oficrings 
is  it,  and  pray  it  to  deliver  them  from  danger."  Here  Mr.  Allen  is 
gxatified  by  the  trace  of  anoestor-worfhip  in  the  term  "  grandfafther.* 
B«t  that  may  be  a  mere  **  hanoor^ving  name."  Do  the  Daootaha,  a> 
a  matter  of  fact,  morAap  Aeir  grandfathers,  and  do  tlMjr  fdaoe 
looad  boulders,  capable  of  being  "  picked  np,^  on  the  tombs  of  their 
dead?  Hus  ought  to  have  been  looked  into.  A£  a  rule,  the 
Bed  Indian  tiibea  erect  wooden  pillars,  carven  with  the  totems  of 

*  Mr.  J.  J.  AtkiiMon  g»ve  mc  4b»  Htm  ri^r^-vmn  tasp.    7%e  Burewi  of  BtlmniWy 
la^FaBUagtno  |iubU«}MSoaIoa«doopi«iaf  tbeZon  ;>.  and  oq«.  im  eagle.  t£« 

Ift villi:.  War.  kin  my  own ooOaoCioa.    It  ahoni'  vith  me»l  and  powdered 

Mb  «  evUia  tntatvaic  bst  daa*  sol  '  get  iu  Meau»  recouir. " 
t  TrkK.  L  147  ;  BtiWilrraft.  ii.  3W ;  ilL  K». 


360 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[MAX. 


the  dead  man  reversed.  But  do  they  worship  those  stdcc  ?  Mr. 
Allen  notes  that  where  sticks,  not  stones,  mark  graves,  as  among  th» 
Siberian  Samoyedes,  sticks  are  more  worshipped  than  stones.  By 
parity  of  reasoning  this  should  be  so,  too,  among  the  Redmen  of 
the  carved  and  heraldic  grave-post,  and  in  Australia.  Bat  Mr.  Allen 
does  not  enter  on  that  Bubject.  There  is  a  difficulty  in  accepting  even 
the  theory  that  "  all  the  European  sacred  stones  are  cromlechs,  dolmens, 
trilithons,  or  menhirs,"  and  thus  are  sepulchral.  These  stones  unde- 
niably retained  a  sanctity  in  Christian  times ;  but  was  that  a 
fresh  development  of  folklore,  or  did  folklore  retain  the  exact 
ritual  of  heathendom  ?  The  latter  is,  no  doubt,  the  more  probable 
theory,  as  a  rule  ;  but  superstitious  beliefs,  if  not  sanctity,  are  attached 
by  folklore  to  the  stone  arrow-heads,  or  elf-shots,  which,  in  the 
heathen  times,  when  they  were  made,  had  no  more  magical  value  thsta 
a  bullet  has  to-day. 

Again,  Mr,  Allen  himself  mentions  two  European  sacred  stones — 
the  stone  of  Scone  in  the  coronation-seat,  and  an  Irish  fetish,  worshipped 
as  late  as  1851 — which  are  neither  menhirs,  nor  dolmens,  nor  crom- 
lechs, nor  trilitlions,  which  cannot  be  shown  to  have  had  any  historical 
connection  whatever  with  graves  and  ghosts.  Nor  is  any  such  con- 
nection proved  by  the  Fijian  idea,  that  boulders  have  sex,  and  beget 
pebbles.  Tha  animation  and  human  character  of  everything  ig  part 
of  early  belief ;  and  it .  would  be  rather  hasty  to  derive  that  belief 
from  ghosts  and  graves,  though  the  attempt  has  been  made.  Mr. 
Allen  now  speaks  of  sacred  stones  which  have  been  carried  about  like 
the  stone  "  Jahveh  "  of  his  theory,  in  tribal  migration.  We  know  that 
the  Israelites  carried  the  "bones  "  (or  the  mummy)  of  Joseph,  as  the 
English  carried  those  of  the  Hammer  of  the  Scotch,  and  as  Australian 
blacks  carry  the  remains  of  their  kinsfolk.  Of  course,  if  you  cany 
the  bones  of  a  man,  you  do  noi  carry  his  head-stone  too ;  it  were 
superfluous.  Nor,  again,  is  a  tolerably  large  grave-stone  very  porta- 
ble, though,  if  Mr.  Allen  is  right,  and  if  the  inner  stones  of  Stonehenge 
were  bronght  "  into  Britain  from  the  Continent,"  the  objection  from 
weight  of  course  falls  to  the  ground,  and  I  do  not  in  any  case  insist 
on  it.  Whether  the  "  fancy  Fijian  stones,"  carried  to  a  certain 
Samoan  isle,  were  once  grave-stones,  there  is  nothing  to  show.  That 
sacred  stones  of  some  kind  may  be  and  have  been  carried  about  is, 
however,  certain ;  that  they  ever  were  head-stones  of  graves,  there 
appears  to  be  no  proof ;  it  is  an  inference  of  Mr.  Allen's. 

As  to  the  coronation-stone  of  Scone,  we  only  know  it  in  its  present 
shape.  Emphatically  it  never  could  have  been  a  head-stone,  but  I  wiU 
grant  that,  for  all  I  know,  it  may  have  been  a  chip  of  an  old  block 
which  was  once  a  head-stone.  That  is  merely  matter  of  conjecture. 
Had  Israel,  like  Scotland,  a  coronation-stone?  Mr.  Allen  appears  to 
think  so,  because  (2  Kings  xi.  14)  Jehoash,  at  his  coronation,  "  stood 


«l9o] 


WAS   JEHOVAH  A    FETISH  STONE? 


361 


the  pillar  as  the  manner  was."  This  was  in  Solomon's  Temple. 
Mr.  Allen  think  that  a  pillar,  in  a  temple  of  Solomon's  date, 
lily  aoEwers  to  a  menhir,  or  other  ancient  sepulchral  stone  ? 
is  precisely  the  kind  of  text  where  an  instinct  warns  a  man  to 
I  eoQsalt  the  original.  Now  the  Hebrew  word  for  a  sacred  pillar-stone 
iilfasaebah.  But  the  word  used  for  pillar,  where  we  read  that  the 
king  "  stood  by  the  pillar,"  is  ammfirf.  Clearly  enough  the  king  waa 
It  the  inner  end  of  the  Temple  court,  facing  the  people,  and  he  took 
his  stand  by  one  of  the  two  famous  decorated  bronze  pillars  which  Hiram 
ol  Tyre  made  for  Solomon  and  erected  in  the  porch  of  the  Temple 
(\  Kings  vii.  15).  Mr.  Allen,  of  course,  may  argue  that  these  decora- 
tive bronze  pillars,  eighteen  cubits  high,  were  derived,  in  the  long 
ran,  from  manhirs,  or  from  grave-stones ;  but  he  should  not  confuse  two 
totally  different  Hebrew  words,  representing  two  utterly  different  things. 

Mr.  Allen  now  reaches  another  province,  where  he  finds  matter 
which,  in  itself,  I  consider  quite  fatal  to  his  theory.  He  remarks,  with 
truth  pTX)bably,  that  the  sacred  stones  of  a  backward  religion  often 
pet  themselves  (if  I  may  say  so)  built  into  the  edifice  of  a  later 
religion.  Thus,  certain  sacred  stones,  in  Greece,  were  "  Hellenized," 
as  he  puts  it,  and  had  a  new  meaning  attached  to  them,  perhaps  by 
kelp  of  a  divine  name  of  Greek  religion,  as  the  title  of  Zeus  Cappotas, 
*y.,  was  given  to  a  boulder  which  may  have  been  worshipped  before 
iha  worship  of  Zeus  was  introduced  ;  or,  as  Mr.  Allen  prefers  to  put 
it,  developed.  We  cannot  now  tell  which  of  those  expressions  is  correct 
in  each  instance.  Again,  "  Islam  has  adapted  the  Kaaba  "  (sic),  "  the 
great  black  stone  of  the  Holy  Place  at  Mecca."  *  Precisely  ;  but  even 
Mr.  Allen  does  not  assure  us  that  Allah  "  had  his  origin "  in  this 
black  stone  !  AVhy,  then,  should  he  assume  that,  even  if  the  ark  con- 
tuaed  a  stone,  and  was  the  sanctuary  of  Jehovah,  therefore  Jehovah 
ma  developed  out  of  the  stone  ?  f  The  recognition  of  the  Caaba  by 
ICohammed  was  really  due  to  local  patriotism  and  policy.  He  got 
Xeocfton  his  side  by  reserving  for  it  religions  privileges  to  which  it 
<Mved  its  wealth  and  importance.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  the  ancient 
wacahippers  of  Jehovah,  like  the  Prophet  of  Allah,  might  have  made 
%  tttoilar  concession  to  a  powerful  tribe,  even  if  Mr.  Allen  could 
^MBOiiBtrate  that  a  sacred  stone  was  really  carried  abroad  in  the 
«k.  Jehovah  would  no  more  necessarily  be,  in  that  case,  "  an 
Moestral  fetish  stone  in  origin  "  than  Allah  was,  in  origin,  a  black 
iloaittat  Mecca. 

W«  now  come  to  the  sacred  stones  which  undeniably  existed  in 
Canaan.     What }  Mr.  Allen  calls  the  menhir  or  pillar,  is  the  Hebrew 

*  IL  Ren&nbu  thesame  illnstratioa. 

t  Zt  Buiy  neem  pedantic  to  object,  but  the  reason  for  writing  Kaaba  ia  not  obvioar. 
"  r«id  apelling  is  Caaba,  the  reccivorl  .xpellinflr  Js  Ka'ba. 
lOmpareKaenen's  "  Iteligioiiof  Isrritl,"  i.  390;  ncil.  in  pre-prophetic  times.  Kuonen 
ltl|p*d  th»t  Abrabam  was  not  originally  a  sloae  god. 


362 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mab. 


Massebah,  often  rendered  '•  image  "  in  our  version.  For  cairn  also  thero 
JB  a  Semitic  name.  But  that  any  of  the  Hebrew,  Aramaic,  or  Arabic 
words  for  *'  altar  "  means  a  tfnliticn  is  not  known  to  scholars.  Gilgal 
probably  means  a  stone  circle.  Mr.  Allen  calls  it  a  great  Stonelienge. 
About  the  cairu  at  Mizpah,  llr.  Allen  says  it  was  "  doubtless  a 
sepulchral  monument."  Of  this  there  is  no  pmof  at  all,  we  cannot 
go  behind  the  Hebrew  tradition  (Gen.  xszi.  46) ;  and,  if  Mr.  Allen 
knew  Scotland  well,  he  would  know  that  cairns  are  t-rected  for  many 
varioos  puqjosea,  not  only  for  sepulture,  M.  Kenan  attributes  this 
custom  to  the  Touaregs.  ('aims  maybe,  and  often  are,  shepherda* 
landmarks  ;  again,  they  may  commemorate,  liko  a  cairn  by  the  way- 
side near  Clattering  Sliaws  in  Galloway,  the  scene  of  an  event  not  three 
years  old.  The  "  JehoTist  "  priests,  as  ilr.  Allen  oddly  calls  them, 
may  have  "  Jehovized  '"old  pillars  and  cairns  in  Canaan,  by  e.xplaining 
them  as  memorials  of  patriarchal  history,  or,  like  other  cairns  and 
obelisks,  they  may  really  have  been  memorials.  It  is  not  true  to  Bay 
that  the  oldest  legends  in  Syria  regard  holy  ])lftces  as  graves.  The 
converse  is  the  case  ;  it  is  the  characteristic  of  motiirn  legend  to  change 
ancient  sanctuaries  into  graves  of  saints.  The  old  heathen  sanctuary 
of  Ashtaroth  Carnaim  has  for  LjOO  years  been  honoured  as  the  grave 
of  Job.  On  the  other  hand,  when  Genesis  tells  us  that  Jacob  set  np 
a  pillar  on  the  grave  of  Rachel,  Mr.  Allen  asks  us  to  think  this  an 
attempt  to  "  Jehovize  "  an  early  sacred  stone.  How  can  he  know  ? 
The  stone  may  have  been  a  head-stone  of  a  grave,  whether  of  Rachel 
or  not  is  not  the  question.  Rachel  ia  not  an  historical  character,  bat 
the  eponyma  (and  possibly  an  old  goddess)  of  the  house  of  Joseph. 
The  Jehovization,  if  any,  consists  in  making  the  sacred  stone  of  & 
goddess  into  the  grave  of  a  human  ancestress. 

There  were,  at  all  events,  many  sacred  stones  in  Canaan.  They 
were  parts  of  Canaaaite  religion,  and  when  the  Israelites  conquered 
the  country  these  stones  were  adapted  into  the  local  worship  of 
Jehovah.  Jahveh,  saya  Mr.  Allen,  "  would  tolerate  no  otlier  Bacred 
stones  (sir)  within  his  own  jurisdiction.'*  Kuenen,  onthe  other  hand, 
remarks  that  "  the  Jahveh  worshippers  deemed  it  uunecessarj'^  to  assume 
a  hostile  attitude  towards  the  stone  and  tree  worship."  In  truth 
there  were  difterent  "  attitudes '"  in  the  long  history  of  Hebrew  re- 
ligion. Kuenen  holds  that,  even  so  long  ago  as  the  invasion  of 
Canaan,  many  Israelites  were  above  the  belief  that  the  sacred  stones 
were  either  gods,  or  dwellings  of  gods.  Thus  Mr.  Alien  thinks 
Samuel's  stone  of  victory,  Ebenezer,  was  "  originally  worshipped  before 
proceeding  on  an  expedition"  (1  Samuel  vlii.  12).  Kuenen.  on  the 
other  hand,  scouts  the  idea  that  "  such  a  man  as  Samuel  ascribed  bis 
victory,  not  as  Deborah,  for  example,  ascribed  hrrs  to  Jahveh,  but — 
to  some  stone-deity  or  other."     How  this  harmonizes  with  Kuenen's 


i««e^ 


WAS   JEHOVAH   A    FETISH   STOXE 


363 


idea  that  Jehovah's  real  abode  was  probably  a  stone,  I  koow  not,* 
Bowerer.  the  Canaanite  stones  were  early  admitted,  more  or  less  per- 
haps under  protest,  into  Israelite  worship. 

Tims  Hosea  says  that  the  p<H)pIe  of  Israel  shall  abide  many  days 
vithomt  king,  and  without  prince,  and  without  sacrifice,  and  without 
pilar  (^ifoMebah)  (Hosea  iii.  4).  Thesei  pillars  were  c<>nsured  when 
^lodns,  perhaps  in  the  ninth  century  B.C.,  was  written,  but  noboily 
denies  that  Israel  had  copiously  ashamed  them  into  .Tehovoh's  cult. 
TWae  stone  pillars  were  no  more  than  the  symbols  of  the  ]Jre8«mce  at 
die  sanctuary  of  a  god  who  was  not  himself  a  stone-go<l,  any  more 
tkan  Zeos  or  Apollo  was  a  stone,  because  a  stonn  lay  in  his  tempi© 

Saeki  stones  may  have  oxistetl  at  Gilgal.  and  probably  did.  but  Mr. 
jklleii  puzzles  one  when  he  says  that  Jt'hovah  was  "  domiciled  "  tliere. 
When  the  very  oldest  Hebrew  poetry  allots  a  dwelling  to  .lehovali,  that 
dwelling^  is  Sinai,  as  in  the  Song  of  Deborah,  f  To  be  brief,  sacred  stones 
existed,  survivals  of  Canaanitish  times,  in  many  holy  places  of  Jehovah. 
They  were  ofiFensive  to  what  we  may  call  the  Puritanism  of  tJie 
rsforming  prophets.  But  they  no  more  meant  that  Johovali  ivaa 
"  domiciled "  in  them,  there  and  nowhere  else,  than  Huitailopochtli 
WES  domiciled  in  "  the  Maypole  in  the  Strand,"  itself  an  offence  to 
Puritanism.  The  prevalence  of  the  opinions  of  Iho  ]iropln'ts  led  to 
the  destruction  of  these  sanctuaries  as  heterodox,  in  the  reigu  of 
Joeiah  :  they  had  been  sanctuaries  of  Jehovah,  but  not  orthodox 
■anctuaries. 

We  now  come   to   Mr.   Allen's   remarkable  theory   that  *'  Jahveh 

was  sn  object  of  portable  size  ....  for  he  was  carriwl  fixiin  Shiloh  in 

Us  ark."     He  seems,  if  I  do  not   misunderstand  him,  to  i^ntertain 

saother  odd  theory,  that,  in  ancient  belief,  Jehovah  was  not  only  in 

the  srk,  but  was  nowhcrr  t/se.      He  is,  as  it  were,  even  more  eugor  for 

one  angle  place  of  worship  of  Jeliovah,  namely,  before  the  nrk,  than  the 

Hebrew  compilers  of  what  VVellhauBon  calls  **  the  Priestly  Code,"  and 

eoosiders  later  than  the   Captivity.     Mr.   Allen   quotes  texts  where 

Dnrid,  dancing  before  tJie  ark,  is  said  to  "  danco  before  Jahveh,"  at 

Kirjath-jearim,     But,  while   the  ark   lay  at  Kirjath-jearim,  Samuel 

Bod  the  people   "  poured   forth   water  before   the  Lord  "  at  Alizpak. 

Mr.  Allen   apparently  must   allow  that   "  Jahveh "   could    be  in   at 

Irsst  two  places  at  once,  a  difficult  feat  for  a  "portable  object"  to 

woomplish  (1    Samuel   vii.  G).     However,    Mr.    Allen    is  convinced 

that  Jeborah  himself  was  at  "  first  personally  present  in  the  ark  that 

coveted  him."     To   be   sure    this   is   inconsistent  with   the   frequent 

Mcrtfices  to  Jahveh  where  the  ark  was  not,  and  where,  therefore,  in 

*  Kn«nni,  op.  tit.,  i.  334. 

t  It  i<  tro*  that  M.  Maurice  VeniM  diApntcs  the  aoHnnity  of  thp  novg.     Renan'» 
'  Hui.  linMi»^  i.  193 ;  Jodger,  r.  4 :  Jirrtie  de  tliut.  da  Rd.,  xix.  i.  p  66, 


« 


364 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[Mab. 


Mr.    Allen's  opinion,  Jehovah   could  not  be,  which  meet  us,  in  the 
Bible,  at  every  turn. 

We  have  shown  that,  whatever  was  in  the  ark,  Jehovah  was  dis- 
tinctly not  confined  to  that  sanctuary,  but  rather  dwelt  in  Sinai,  and 
could  manifest  himself  where  he  pleased.  Places  where  he  was  believed 
to  have  manifestd  himself  were  chosen  as  sanctuaries,  were  often 
marked  by  sacred  stones,  and  were  spots  of  sacrifice,  and  of  meet- 
ing between  man  and  God,  just  as  the  ark,  also,  was  a  place  of 
meeting,  a  portable  chapel  of  high  saoredness.  All  this  does  not 
prove  that  a  stone,  still  less  a  grave-stone,  was  in  the  ark.  Even  if 
such  a  stone  were  there,  it  need  no  more  be  the  origin  of  Jehovah 
than  the  Cnaha  was  the  origin  of  AUah,  or  the  stone  of  Delos  the 
origin  of  Apollo. 

Readers  of  Mr.  Allen's  essay  will  have  observed  that  he  says  nothing 
about  Semitic  burial  customs.  Did  the  oldest  Semites  place  stones  of 
the  sacred  sort,  or  others,  over  the  graves  of  their  sheikha  ?  We  know 
little  or  nothing  about  this.  Herr  Pietschmann,  in  Oncken's  ''  AUge- 
meine  Geschichte  "  (Abt.  175,  pp.  206,  207),  is  a  partisan,  so  far,  of 
Mr.  Allen's.  He  believes  that  Phoenician  sacred  stones  were  ori- 
ginally grave-stones,  anointed  that  the  oil  might  comfort  the  ghost 
below,  a  favour  later  extended  to  gods,  when  they  were  evolved  from 
ghosts.  But  did  Phoenicians  use  such  burial-stones  ?  ITiat  Herr 
Pietschmann  hardly  proves.  We  don't  know  at  all  what  the  oldest 
graves  in  Phceniciu  were  like.  Those  we  do  know  are  simply  binna 
cut  into  the  walls  of  caverns  (pp.  196,  197).  Small  houses  were  built 
over  earth-graves  where  caverns  did  not  exist,  or  a  tree,  a  fountain,  a 
high  rock  was  chosen,  and  the  dead  interred  near  that  natural  monu- 
ment. With  Herr  Pietachmaun's  guesses  about  ghosts  or  gods  in 
these  trees  or  rocks  we  have  nothing  to  do.  The  theory  of  the  head- 
stone, and  Avhy  it  was  oiled,  is  a  mere  "  shot."  The  Phoenicians  are 
not  shown  to  have  buried  under  head-stones  at  all.  Mr.  Allen  will 
find,  if  he  cares,  a  more  serviceable  ally  in  Goldziher's  "  Mahomme- 
danische  Studien  "  (p.  239).  Goldziher,  like  Mr.  Allen,  is  a  Spencerian. 
He  remarks  that  the  Arabs  adored  stone  pillars,  called  Ans^b,  and 
he  quotes  from  heroic  Arab  poetry  a  passage  in  which  ifu'^wija,  in 
an  address  to  a  dead  man,  swears  ' '  by  the  offering  I  made  at  thy 
black  Ans&b."  Here  pillar  and  grave-stone  bear  one  name,  and 
that,  late  as  it  is,  is  all  the  evidence  (with  what  else  Goldziher  infers) 
that  I  can  lend  Mr.  Allen.  M.  Renan  remarks  that  the  heathen 
nomad  Arabs  used  to  leave  their  AnsAbs  behind  them,  to  be  worshipped 
by  the  next  occupiers  of  the  district.  But  the  bearing  of  all  this  on 
pre-Mosaic  Israel  is  remote. 

I  have  now  examined  Mr,  Allen's  contention.  I  have  tried  to  show 
that,  as  to  what  really  was  in  the  ark,  wo  know  nothing,  unless  we 
accept  the  evidence  of  1  Kings  viii.  9.      I  have  endeavoured  to  prove 


iSgo]  WAS  JEHOVAH  A    FETISH  STONE?  365 

that  Mr.  Allen  has  not  demonstrated  sacred  stones  to  derive  their 
wauMtj  from  their  places  as  grave-stones.  "  How  such  a  conception  *' 
(the  presence  of  the  Godhead  at  the  sacred  stones)  "  fibrst  obtained 
eurreiicy  is  a  matter  for  which  no  direct  evidence  is  available,  and 
which,  if  settled  at  all,  can  only  be  settled  by  inference  and  con- 
jecture."* 

I  have  given  examples  to  prove  that  stone-worshipping  races  are 
not  shown  to  nse  head-stones,  as  a  rale,  and  that  races  who  use  posts 
do  not  worship  them.  Finally,  I  have  alleged  that  the  presence  of 
a  sacred  stone,  in  the  cult  of  a  god,  by  no  means  proves  that  the  god 
was,  in  origin,  a  stone.  On  the  whole,  perhaps  the  conclusion  is  that 
we  may  "  easily  avoid  "  Mr.  Allen's  inference  that  Jehovah  was,  in 
origin,  a  grave-stone,  especially  as,  even  according  to  Mr.  Allen, 
iUme-woardiip  is  a  degradation  from  the  certainly  more  ethereal  worship 
of  an  ancestral  spirit. 

Hie  trath  is  that  abundance  of  belief  exists  to-day.  Mr.  Allen, 
who  bdieves  in  his  own  theory  or  romance  of  Jehovah,  must  have 
plenty  of  faith,  and  perhaps  it  is  unkind  to  assail  it  by  critical 
methods,  and  to  shake,  it  may  be,  the  creeds  of  people  who  take 
their  theology  from  the  magazines.  Few  of  them,  however,  will  read 
a  dnll  pedantic  essay  which  asks  for  facts,  and  they  will  prefer  a 
&eile  reliance  on  an  article  not  strong  in  those  hard  uncomfortable 
flibject8.t 

Andrew  Lan«j. 

•  Robertson  Smith,  "Religion  of  thf  .S»-iaitp»,"  p.  188. 

t  Mr.  Allen  might  replj  to  me.  t>i  i/hdiiw,  im  the  stren^h  of  a  lino  in  mj  "3Iyth. 
Btul,  and  Religion  "  (ii.  83).  wh>'!r>>  Jf-hovah  is  said  to  have  been  "  borne  in  his 
■■fc,"  like  Hnitzilopochtli.  But  rhe  mntark  was  a  blun^lnr  of  meroorr,  sinc«>  cot- 
neted.  Jehovah,  in  the  only  »;viil«n''e  we  p«i'jsei<«.  sits  on  thft  Mercy  Seat,  between 
tht  Chembim.  For  the  Tabemar-Ie,  Mr.  Allen  miti^ht  find,  if  lie  looked,  a  very  curious 
■ffige  analogy,  which  would.  I  am  «iire,  dfliirht  him,  ami  which  is '-a  point  nnt 
Hted  by  Gemans."  In  connerricm  wirh  <rone  worship  it  in  intere.stin);  that  in  an 
>itkle,''An  Infancy."  by  Miss  Inseliiw,  in  /.onffMonn  .Vaffnine  (Febniary  IflOO).  she 
^iMOthat,  as  a  child,  she  believeil  in  the aniin.ition  of  al!  store*  :  the  "  animi-tio  " 
"  sof  mind  surriving  in  her  earliest  attempts  at  thons^ht. 


'*.  wn. 


:i  H 


I 


TITHES. 


THE  removal  of  an  abnse,  liki*  tlie  drawing  of  a  rotten  tooth,  ia 
always  postponed  until  thf  misery  occasioned  by  it  has  beoome 
absolutely  unendurable.  For  some  time  past  there  have  been  signs 
that  the  tithe  system  as  at  present  existing  in  England  and  Wales  is 
trespassing  on  the  extreme  limit  of  public  tolerance ;  and  the  futile 
effort  of  the  Government  last  Session  to  grease  the  wheels  of  a  rusty 
machine  has  only  serv»'cl  tn  put  in  cleamr  light  its  absurd  incongruity 
with  the  national  life  nf  to-day.  English  rural  life  is  embittered ; 
Wales  is  driven  almost  to  the  vei^e  of  rebellion ;  and  the  muttered 
incantation  of  ''  Ihav  and  order  "  will  have  just  as  little  effect  on  this 
side  of  the  Irish  8ea  as  on  thi-  other.  What  with  rent,  tithe,  rates 
and  taxes,  farmers  have  too  much  to  pay  on  their  present  profits  ;  and 
until  the  burden  is  lightened,  either  by  increasing  their  income  or 
lessening  the  demands  on  theni,  any  short  and  easy  method  of  recovery 
will  only  make  mfttt<Ts  worse.  Why  the  Home  Secretary  should 
suppose  recovery  through  the  County  Court  to  be  a  more  agreeable 
])roce83  than  recov«.ry  by  the  tithe-owner's  bumbailifl",  it  is  difficult  to 
understand.  The  former  process  looks  more  respectable  certainly  ;  but, 
like  the  silken  cord  supposed  to  be  conceded  to  ari.stocratic  gallows-birds, 
it  chokes  them  all  the  same.  It  is  easier  to  comprehend  the  reason  for 
taking  the  rent-charge  direct  from  the  landlord  ;  but  if  the  fai-mer  is 
not  aware  that  he  himself  will  have  still  to  pay  it  indirectly,  with  a 
probuble  clinrgc  for  commission,  he  is  even  simjiler  tban  we  tliought 
him.  The  projwsal  to  reduce  the  tithe  proportionately  to  any  fall  in 
prices  and  in  rent  sounds  rea.sonable  only  so  long  ns  we  ignore  the  renl 
natnre  of  the  settlement  accepted  by  landlords  in  the  Commutation  Act. 
This  has  been  shown  with  admindde  lucidity  by  Earl  Grey,  who  speaks 
now  with   unique  authority.     Tithe  redemption,  though  approved  by 


TITHES, 


367 


»  good  a  Liberal  »a  Mr.  Herbert  Gardner,  means  after  all  an  invest- 
ment by  the  landlords,  on  which  they  will  look  for  a  return  in  higher 
rants.  The  only  other  solution  short  of  thi-  diversion  of  the  tithe  to 
relieve  other  burdens  on  agriculture — in  other  words,  disendownient 
ef  the  CTburch — would  be  the  conversion  of  the  tithe  rent-charge  into 
Isod.  That  is  to  say,  every  estate  or  holding  might  be  made  to  yield 
sp  a  portion  sufficient  to  pay  the  present  rent-charge  on  the  whole  of 
it.  These  plots  wonld  tJius  become  the  absolnte  property — bo  fiar  a« 
that  is  poflsible  in  the  case  of  land — of  the  present  tithe-owners.  If 
to  such  a  aolntion  there  could  be  added  a  provision  against  alienation, 
tiwre  is  very  much  to  bp  said  for  s«nch  proposal  from  the  point  of  view 
of  the  land-nationalizer.* 

The  above  proposals  are  enumerftted  now  only  for  the  purpose  of 
indicating  thf  scope  of  the  present  paper.  With  the  myst-eries  of  the 
origin  of  tithes  I  have  nothing  whatever  to  do.  There  they  are : 
tUf*  y  amU,  flits  y  ri'stcnt.  I  am  conservative  enough  to  be  *'  dead 
■guiut"  their  abolition.  In  fact,  they  can't  be  abolished  even  by 
an  Act  of  Parliament.  The  only  question  is,  who  is  to  get  them  ?  It 
will  be  well  to  establish  this  point  before  returning  to  deal  more  in 
«)etail  with  the  above  alternative  solutions  of  the  tithe  problem  ? 

Many  farmers  and   some  of  their  friends   demand  a  reduction    of 

tiibe  under  the  impression  that  they — or,  as  they  put  it,  agriculture 

— wofkM   get   the  beoetit.      But  except  to   thd   possible  extent   of  a 

OMrely  temporary  relief,  while  certain  leases  are  running  out,  thifl  is 

of  ootirse   impossible.      For  the  owner  will  get   the   kighest  rent  he 

esn  for  his  land  ;  and  if  that  land  is  relieved  from  any  public  burden 

hitherto  borne  by  it,  of  course   it   may  be   expected   to  yield  to  the 

Isndiord  an  additional  amount  at  least  equal   to  this  relief.      Since 

1886,  the  tithe  has  ceased  to  be  a  reserved  quantity  of  produce,  and 

hsa  become  a  reserved  amount  of  rent.      It  no  longer  pretends  to  be 

a  tenth   of  the   produce ;   it  is  avowedly   and  by   legal   definition   a 

charge  on   the  rent.      The  general   practice,  according  to  which   thf 

trnant  pays   the   tithe,  has   disguised   this   fact,  and   deluded   many 

f^roiers  into  the  notion  that  they  are  oppressed   by  greedy  clergymen. 

But  the   truth    of  course   is  that   the    farmer  pays  his  rent  in  two 

portitms,  one  of  which  goes  to   the  tithe-owner  and  the  other  to  his 

Uadlord.     If  he  pays  £20  to  the  former  and  £80  to  the  latter,  his 

wsl  Jtnl  is  £100.      But  because  he  is  in  the  habit  of  paying  the  two 

ttioimto  separately,  he  calls  the  latter  alone  his  "rent,"  and  supposes 

As  £20  paid  to   his  parson^  or  other  tithe-owner,  to  be  something 

OT^snd  above  his  rent.     Then,  not  unnaturally,  in  hard  times  there 

>ins  bto  his    confused  brain  a    notion   that   if  those    Liberationiat 

'  '"         ■    nt  misintorprctation  it  should  he  s^aiil  lliattlic  present  writer  on  It  accepts 
p/ui  the  Ten  t'oramandmeiits — and  the  Be:atitiKles  a.4  well :  "  Bleutd  an 
'       •      M.r  iktij  thall  uiherit  the  earth."     It  is  matnly  because  the  present  holders  are 
•;k,  IhAi  they  are  not  likely  to  inherit  it  much  longer. 


368 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mar. 


fellowa  had  their  way  it   would  be   leflb  entirely   to  his  ''  voluntary 

principle  "  to  pay  or  withhold  his  dues  to  the  Church,  and  hence  he 

would  sit  so  much  easier,      I  have  been  told  by  a  rural  magnate   that 

nothing^  would  "  fetch  "  agricultural  labourers,  aud  even  farmers,  like 

an  appeal  to  the  country  on  the  disendow ment  of  the  Church.      But 

if  it  is  on  grounds  like  the  above  that  they  favour  such  an  issue,  their 

political  support  would  be  baaed  ou  illusion.      Still,  if  the  tithe  were 

devoted  to  some  form  of  public  expenditure  which  is  now  paid  out  of 

rates  or  taxes,  the  fanner  would  obviously  be  a  gainer  to  that  extent. 

Thus,  in  the  above  supposed  case  of  a  farm  yielding  i80  rent  and  £20 

tithe,   if   the    latter    were    diverted    to    purposes    of  existing    local 

expenditure,   the  farmer  would   still   bave    to  pay  his  tithe,  but  he 

would  quite  sjave  the  amount  in  rates.    Whether  even  in  that  case  the 

landlord  would  take  it  out  of  him    in   additional   rent  is  a  question 

rather  beyond  the  scope  of  the  present  discossion.      The  point  to  be 

fixed  now  is  the  indisputable  fact  that  the  tithe  rent-charge  is  not  an 

addition  to  the  rent,  but  a  part  of  it ;  and  that  whoever  may  get  it 

the  tithe  absolutely  cannot  be  abolished  so  long  as  rent  is  kept  up  at 

all.      In  other  words,  accepting  the   ordinary   theory   of  agricultural 

rent,  the  tithe  represents  part  of  the  ''  excess  produce  beyond  what 

would  be  returned  to  the  same  capital  if  employed  on  the  worst  land 

in  cultivation."     We   may  of  course  change  the  name  of  this  part  of 

the  "  excess  produce."      We  may  taboo  the  word  tithe,  and  think  we 

have    alwlished    the    thing.      But  that   would    be   a  delusion.      The 

"  excess  produce  ''  would  still  go  to  some  one  ;  and   that   part  of  it 

now  called  tithe  would  still  be  paid.     This  is  what  I  meant  by  saying 

that  tithes  cannot  be  abolished  even  by  an  Act  of  Parliament. 

This  is,  perhaps,  not  generally  dieputad,  though  sometimes  through 
want  of  clear  apprehension  the  logical  and  inevitable  consequences 
are  ignored.  But  a  plea  is  put  in  on  behalf  of  farmers  that, 
owing  to  the  unexpected  working  of  the  Commutation  Act,  the 
amount  of  the  tithe  rent-charge  has  become  excessive.  Thus  we  are 
told  of  farms  on  which  the  tithe  is  nearly  equal  to,  or  in  some  instances 
even  greater  than,  the  part  of  the  rent  paid  to  the  landlord.  But 
why  should  this  be  thought  so  very  dreadful  ?  Is  there  not  another 
side  to  it  ?  Surely  a  good  Liberal  like  Mr.  Herbert  Gardner  might 
find  some  comfort  in  the  reflection  that  the  landlords,  by  a  deliberate 
and  carefully  considered  act  of  their  own,  have  consecrated  so  large  a 
portion  of  their  annual  revenues  to  the  public  service.  Take,  for 
instance,  the  cases  mentioned  by  Mr.  George  Baylis,  of  Wyfield 
Manor,  Newbury,  in  a  letter  to  the  Daily  Ncic&  of  Januwy  18th.  I 
reproduce  hire  his  exact  figures,  only  slightly  altering  the  titles  at 
the  head  and  adding  a  fourth  column  of  totals  : — 


ia9>] 


TITHES. 


369 


Beat  paid 

BcDt-eliargr 

Ki.at  or  FiBW. 

Acre*. 

to 
LaiKllord, 

p»idto 
Tithe.o»rn«r, 

Total 
Biai. 

1M9. 

IB89. 

Knigbton  Fann.  ShrivenbAin      .... 

950 

£200 

£1(56 

£366 

Chiy>cl  Vuna,  Leek  ham  p»tead    .... 

326 

142 

108 

250 

Peoclose  Farm,  Winterboiirne   .... 

398 

144 

148 

292 

Smnbolt  Farm.  Sjiarshtilt 

300 

110 

74 

184 

[AI.    '     '    •  li  Farm,  Bradfidd    .     .     .     . 

230 

71> 

61 

140 

^                   "n  Farm,  rangboiirnc     .     . 

95 

21 

29 

50 

[p^  ..,..:... 1.  East  Gurston,  about    .     . 

350 

Nil 

90 

90 

S699 

£6t>6 

£676 

£1372 

The  first  thing  that  strikefl  us  in   looking  at  this  table  is  that  tho 
total  rent,  as  shown  in  the   fourth   column,  inclusive  of  the  reserve 
diarge  called  tithe,  is  remarkably  low.     The  average  is  very  little 
above    ten    shillings   an   acre.      Even  if  we  exclude  Pounds  Farm, 
which  is  said  to  pay  nothing  at  all  to  the  landlord,  still  the  average 
rPDt  of  the  rest  is  under  eleven  shillings.      Now  if  we  remember  that 
King  Charles  I.,   when   anxious  to  become   chief  speculator  in  Ver- 
muyden's  project   for   draining  the   Fens,   based    hia   calculations  of 
profit    on   the    assumption    that    reclaimed    land   would    pay    thirty 
ihillings  an  acre  as  rent,*  there    is  something   almost  humiliating  in 
the  confession  that  the  soil  of  famous  Berkshire  should  now  be  worth 
nesrly  two-thirds  less  than  that  rent.      Of  course  King  Charles  was  a 
TBfy  sanguine  man,  and  his  calculations  were  often  wide  of  the  mark. 
Still,  after  deducting   a  considerable    percentage  on    that  account,  it 
does  appear  odd  that  there  should   be   such  a  contrast  between  that 
estimate  of  land  snatched  from  the  tide  and  the  present  rents  of  royal 
Berks  after  two  centuries  and  a  half  of  national  progress.     One  almost 
Guieies  that  many  an  Irish  farmer  would  think  himself  very  well  off 
indeed  if  he  could  get  land  as  good  at  twice  the  rent.      For  the  land 
of  these  farms,  as  I  am  informed  on  good  authority,  is  not  at  all  bad. 
I  am  told   it  is  not  well  adapted  to  permanent  gi-asses,  and  therefore 
does  not  lend  itself  readily  to  the  general  tendency  t«  substitute  meat 
for  com.      And  of  course  these  are,  as  a  general  rule,  the  only  alterna- 
tives possible  t/o  the   imagination  of  the    British    farmer.      But  as  a 
matter  of  fact.,  on  these  very    farms  the  pait    of  the  rent  paid  to  the 
l&Qiilord  asetl  formerly   to   be   very  much   larger,  in  some  cases  twice 
or  nearly  thrice  as   much  as  the  "  t«tal  rent  "  set  forth  in  the  above 
table. 

I  may  be  told  that  such  rents  were  obtainable  only  before  the 
repeal  of  the  Corn  Laws,  or  al  any  rate  before  the  full  effect  of  that 
bentificent  measure  was  felt.  Be  it  so.  But  aff^r  all  it  does  seem 
panling  to  an  urban  ignoranms  like  myself  that  good  land  within 
forty  or  fifty  miles  by  rail  of  the  greatest  centre  of  population 
*  Mr  Willitm  Dugdale-,  "  History  of  Emb&EikiDenl  and  Drainage." 


870 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


rujki 


on  earth  should  not  be  aLle  to  yield  produce-value  of  one 
pound  an  acre  more  than  the  worst  land  in  cultivation.  Nay, 
the  margin  between  it  and  the  worst  land  able  to  return  a  bare  sus- 
tenance to  the  cultivator  is  little  more  than  half  that.  It  is,  as  we 
have  seen,  scarcely  more  than  ten  shillings,  including  the  part  of  rent 
paid  as  tithe.  Well,  surely  there  must  be  something  wrong  here. 
Perhaps  the  farmers  take  too  narrow  a  view  of  the  capacities  of  their 
native  soil  when  they  can  conceive  of  notliing  it  will  produce  but 
bread,  beer,  or  beef.  Perhaps  they  are  too  contemptuous  of  the 
Channel  Islanders  who,  happy  in  ilome  Rule  and  small  ownerships, 
adapt  their  agricultural  practice  to  the  necessities  of  their  position. 
Perhaps  old-fashioned  leases  or  estate  regulations,  obstructive  of 
scientific  methods,  are  not  so  obsolete  as  we  are  sometimes  told  they 
are.  Perhaps  sporting  traditions,  shared  by  farmexs  a£  well  as  l&ud> 
lords,  are  not  quite  consistent  with  liiijheKt  agricultural  art.  (^\xt 
Aryan  progenitors,  when  they  passed  fi-om  the  grade  of  savage 
hunters  to  that  of  rude  cultivatora,  would  appear  to  have  kept  a 
considerable  spice  of  their  barbarous  instincts;  and  their  children 
have  ever  since  been  endeavouring,  with  indifferent  success,  to  unite 
in  themBelvea  the  wild  hunter  and  the  quiet  farmer.  Thus,  an  urban 
iginoramus  would  naturally  think  that  the  puq>oeeof  a  fence  is  effective 
enclosure,  with  the  least  |)oasibIe  encumbrance  of  the  land.  But  those 
who  know  better  tell  me  that  the  two  main  purposes  of  a  fence  or 
hedge  are  to  afford  shelter  to  game  and  an  easy  and  safe  jump  to 
horsemen.  To  set  up  a  barbed  wire  fence  is  as  wicked  as  to  shoot  a 
fox ;  and  in  maintenance  of  such  rules  of  morality  boycotting  is  a 
virtue.*  However,  I  am  of  course  incompet-ent  to  discuss  such 
questions.  I  only  mention  them  as  illustrating  tlie  baffled  peT])lexitj 
felt  by  some  of  us  when  we  are  assured  that  good  English  land 
within  fifty  niih-a  of  the  greatest  market  in  the  world  cannot  be  made 
to  yield  twenty  schillings'  worth  per  acre  of  excess  protluce  beyond 
that  of  the  poorest  land  in  cultivation.  Taxes  and  rates  afford  no 
explanation   whatever.      For   in   estimating  the   former  we  have  no 

•  1  nott'  in  tlip  Dajlij  Xewn  of  Kebruar>'  4,  a  summary  of  a  letter  received  by  the 
e<Htor  from  Mr.  T,  H«lls,  of  Colville  Hall,  While  Kodiup,  describinj;  "  hi»  experience*, 
on  the  day  of  tlie  first  rueel  this  season,  when  from  250  to  300  riders  came  across 
his  farm.  A  large  proportion  having  no  nerve,  tliey  oonccntrated  up>on  a  'weak 
place  in  liis  fences,  and  here  waited  for  eacli  otlitT  like  a  tlock  of  sheep  to  get 
over;  the  consequence  being  llmt  the  young  wheat  and  clover  ut  the  spot  wa* 
'  trampled  out  of  existence.'  Only  the  other  day  five  of  these  timid  riders  fofted 
one  of  thfi  farm  gatcK  off  its  hinges  nnd  broke  it  up,  so  that  it  will  require  to  be 
replaced  by  a  new  one."  Of  coarse  we  are  told  that  the  Essex  farmcrb  ha\-e  no 
ofc^tion  to  genuine  hunters,  hut  only  to  i  lockney  imposti.>r«.  If  that  is  true,  it  only 
shows  that  the  Essex  farmers  have  not  read  Darwin's  chapter  on  the  "Struggle  for 
Existence."  If  they  had  they  would  be  aware  how  very  slight  are  the  causes  which 
may  involve  life  or  death  in  a  .severe  competition.  At  any  rate,  they  might  kiunr 
that  the  pound  weight  which  sinks  a  swimmer's  Qose  six  inches  under  watvr  is,  for  all 
practic«l  purposes,  equal  to  the  hundredweight  which  wonid  sink  him  six  fathoms. 
The  genume  hunter  may  be  lighter  on  the  land  thttn  the  Cockney  impostor,  but  too 
,  heavy  for  all  that. 


rti4  TITHES.  S:\ 

right  to  exdade  iadiRKt  x&xaci:z  :  a:ii  i:  i:  :<  iitoIuu^U.  M^f  nImV.  ilust 
tJMt,  taldii^  all  pabiic  caarj«s  :ii>eifdi.7.  VrM^^wh  A:«..i  Av.x^rl«'ji:t  skniM^t'» 
kwe  faesTier  bafdens  to  b^ar  :han  ours.  a:s^.  vc^:  :V.K<ir  ^)»ttu$^ss  i» 
prafitaUe.* 

Bttt  for  the  pnrpose  ot*th.lsarvr.s2i«»nt.  wo  iii>  :u^:  :i>'»Hi  t..»  xlott^i  uiui<« 
wbetker  the  lotr  rentable  valae  of  English  IaihI  unvl<>r  mv  tnt^to  is  liv.^ 
iaolt  of  gpcnrting  owners  or  slavish  oultivatiou.  Whiit.^wi*  In*  thr 
trath  on  that  point,  and  whether  the  ilepnwon  Ih^  ]vriiKiiit«iU  «.>r  \wl, 
it  ia  obviously  the  doty  of  thi>se  who  n^gttnl  tho  nation  hm  iiUiinui^ 
landowner,  to  keep  a  lirm  grip  on  that  {wrt  of  tho  rent  wiiioh  wh^ 
■ooepted  in  183G  as  an  equivalent  for  tithe.  The  prt«si<iit  iipplimiiou 
of  the  rent-charge  ought  not  to  be  allowed  to  obsinuv  this  tint  v.  'rim 
greater  part  of  it  goes  to  the  national  Church,  of  which  ui)  rttiiMouNliUs 
conaiBtent,  or  oonstitntional  definition  ciui  be  glv<>n,  i<\oo|>t  tliat  it  in 
tbe  English  nation  considered  ecclesiastically.  Anotlit^r  iwiM  nC  tlii> 
rent-charge  goes  to  certain  great  semi-eccloxiiuit.iciil  coi^r**";  <^i"' 
the  remainder  is  absorbed  by  lay  impropriators,  who  liiivi<  1lii>ir  piii- 
perty  by  descent  or  purchase  from  charlentd  robbora  of  cliinrltfri.  Hut , 
as  Lord  John  Russell  said,  in  introducing  tlw  lUll  of  IK.'WI,  in  tuty  fnnf 
"it  is  the  property  ofthe  nation,  though  parlicipatiHl  irt  liy  in(liviiliiitlH."f 

The  subtle  exceptions  taken  by  pedantic  HcIinliirN  Ui  Hii» 
broad  assertion  are  clever  quibbU'H  rathor  tliun  ntriouM  oliji'clionK.  it. 
may  be  true  that  until  the  creation  of  tli<;  H^trclcsia^i  icul  i'mmuittfinti 
there  was  no  common  fund.  It  is  tru(^  tliat  lith'^s,  ^Ii^Ijck,  and  lu-dilfui- 
Mtical  estates  of  all  sorts  are  brjfally  the  propt^rly  of  i-or|M«iuli«/ji^, 
•do  or  aggregate,  having  local  <?xiKi'riic«'  and  {><'i-fi<^tiiitl  ;:ij<y-^-:ft;i</ii.  ii. 
iseqnallytme  that  Epping  P'onrK'  jk  vttttUi'l  in  (li<s  l/milnti  I'nui'i.  ni 
Oonmon  Council.  But  vw-ry  urns  knowK  tlj;it  thi^i  la  n.'-n-ly  a  fut- 
venient  method  cf  holding  tlie  lau'Jsin  qu«rhlj';fj  i''jr  ijuhl:-:  »>•*■ ;  mi4  il 
I  were  to  deny  that  Epping  J-"or*r>;t  ik  nn^l'jjml  i/r'j]/i' :■*..'.  it"  ant*'  j' 
finnally  belongi>  1/j  Xh"  ':'jr[/jnX\<)r:  of  l/jtA'iu,  J  *:).'*  A  !ja\«-  i-..-^ 
M  mndi  pedamic  ;uBtJtjcai*.io:j  t*  ajy  »jf  <'j«:  if-,':'j-*-A>* .'■■.:  a^itfji-j-* 
nCerred  to.  Xaj,  incir*-.  ti*  t.;*:.'->-  a^'J  Ar...';>  t/i-.-'jti'/ni'/  •;?  '^*«:  »•, 
«KirfeMat3cal  oC'rport.Tk>L^  Lbvt  W;.*-:.  Lfa;  d*"^;  vv  J''*sr,.jb."  «". »  ,.-  t  j.-.'^.- 
tkat  baa  nerer  bwc  T.iaj-h".i«!:>*id  r.  ywi^t  '.>!  jju ■.■•. .'. 
bare  nerw  bwh!  yrrj'.thrrry  '/.  \ia  ^  •:;.■  '.'f  J/.'.^':;vr. 
■or  Jtmirii*^**;  '.'i-  ot.<-  ;."vi.vJ  '.i-u* 
nocwKtas^a    rv.-i   t    : -li'.sK-fM'       jj-.: 


aod  bcBi  MWJt  K'  v*-".  ^  us:  u*  '»v'ju«i'.''   •.•.««  ■••'.. 

*  II  nnj  i»»  tBiit  '.ua'  •  ic-;  ;*•    iu    -i-!!  ■       Imi     ■  i.i    .■ 

win- ISBI+    ••IIKI-     «"!'     «!'    4     lii>ll:il;»l      ;-'i'.i  •■■•■i 

Soichif;  uiiL  iiuii'ii.vi;  •i.'i;'.':iji."  v  I'l  mj  .  .■ 
ite  ouh;  «if  orTia^n.    uva*  ;•■  litni'liMi  Vi-  in'fi.-- 


'.vpt.    ,v".-;>- 

.-.y      V,. 

^._.     ,v,,  »',.rit 

•:  V.'   Ji  ' 

.•:    hi  .'^ '.-•../ 

'.'  jy.jr 

JZ-^Kf,'-:'..-.'."  ^• 

'.''  •/■/  .' 

»•  >'<        <.<••"  ! 

V,    h-.i'-'i 

,  'it    ','.• 

■  •/'••i*'.-. ■.••■■ 

f,  .■            ■•   1.' 

llllKMi,          1.. 

fi'.'ri 

iil.i:-!  •     ./ 

.      ^^    .     V  .:.... • 

1    i.lli<.' .<  <tl 

:   .     '..I.  '■       111 

'  :ytr.t„*  ;   sf 

.     ■.!    -.1 ..  ;■.!.' 

II     hl(>'<.il<' 

372 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Habl 


called  the  Arclibishops  of  Canterbury  and  York,  and  the  corporations 
impersonated  in  tlie  Rectors  of  Doddington  aud  Stanhope,*  have  had 
many  thousands  of  pounds  deducted  from  their  annual  incomes  for  the 
purpose  of  enriching  poorer  cor])orations,  without  the  least  regard  to 
locaJ  contiguity. 

Of  course  this  has  been  done  in  due  legal  form  under  direction  of 
I'arliament,  But  the  moral  justiiication  for  the  changes  eifected  was 
obviously  a  recognition  by  the  public  conscience  that  the  incomes  of 
these  local  corporations  were  in  the  nuture  of  a  trust  for  national 
objects,  and  might  righteously  be  redistributed  in  accordance  with 
changing  national  needs.  It  is  useless  to  object  that  the  new  appli- 
cations of  the  property  were  still  ecclesiastical.  That  has  not  been 
entirely  so  in  Ireland.  And  even  apart  from  the  precedents  we  have 
for  the  diversion  of  eccieaiastiuul  property  to  secular  uses,  our  reply  to 
the  pedantry  about  ecclesiastical  corporations  is  amply  sufficient.  We 
are  accused  of  vulgar  ignorance  for  talking  al>out  ecclesiastical  tithes 
as  national  property.  With  a  sinile  of  conscious  superiority  our 
critics  t-ell  us  that  they  ai'e  the  immemorial  property  of  local 
corporations.  On  this  we  observe  that  in  point  of  form  our  critics 
are  irreproachably  correct ;  but  in  point  of  fact  the  Legislature  has 
never  Iiesitated  to  redistriljute.  re-apply,  and  generally  to  hand  about 
the  property  of  these  corporations  as  public  convenience  might  dictate. 
In  other  words,  Parliament  has  treated  such  funds  as  available  for  the 
nation  as  a  whole.  There  is  no  possible  jnstification  for  such  a  course 
except  that,  morally,  though  not  technically,  they  are  national  pro- 
perty.f  And  we  prefer  being  s u bs tan tt ally  right,  though  technically 
■»vTong,  with  Lord  John  Russell,  Mr.  Gladstone,  and  ilr.  W.  H.  Smith,! 
rather  than  technically  right  and  substautially  wrong  with  Lord 
Selbome. 

The  main  points  insisted  on  hitherto  arc  these  two :  first,  that 
ecclesiastical  tithe  is  a  part  of  rent ;  and  next,  that  it  is  public 
property.  Before  going  farther,  it  is  necessary  perhaps  to  say  a 
passing  word  on  the  tithes  held  by  private  impropriators.  Such 
property  is  a  historic  scandal.  Of  course,  I  do  not  mean  that  it  is 
any  disgrace  to  the  present  owners.  But  it  is  a  sunival  from  those 
bad  old  times  when  true  kingship  was  ilead,  while  democracy  was  not 
yet  bom,  and  when,  to  use  the  slang  of  the  modern  market,  national 
affairs  were  *' cornered"  by  limited  cornpanies  of  Court  parasites. 
Still   Sir   William    liarcourt   had  clearly   the  advantage  in  a  recent 

*  These  livings  were  formerly  worth  £730G  and  £4843  respectively.  They  Lave 
been  reduced  ;  the  former  by  throe-fourths  (roughly),  the  latter  by  two-thirdB,  and  the 
income  applied  elsowh<"re. 

t  Technically,  there  is  not  a  shred  of  national  property  in  existence.  The  nearest 
approach  to  it  is  Crown  properly.  But  even  thai  is  not  technically  but  only  morally, 
practically,  and  substantially  the  properly  of  \\w  nation.  The  truth  is  there  is  no 
form  known  to  the  law  by  which  the  nution  can  hoM  property,  except  by  veMing  it  in 
the  Crown  or  some  corporation,  solo  or  apRregate. 

X  At  the  opening  of  the  debate  on  the  Address  (February  12)  both  of  the  latter 
statesmen  spoke  of  tithe  as  "  national  iiropcrty," 


i«9ol 


TITHES. 


373 


•Dooanter  with  certain  critics  who  challenged  him  to  show  why 
impropriat'ed  tithes  are  not  to  be  considered  national  property 
•qually  with  ecclesiastical  tithe.  They  were  national  property  once, 
but  they  were  alienated,  and  they  are  so  no  longer,  except  in  the 
l>ense  that  the  land  itself  which  yields  them  is  in  the  last  result  the 
n&tion's.  It  may,  indeed,  be  fairly  argued  that  national  projierty 
conveyed  away  contrary-  to  public  policy  by  an  irresponsible  and 
tmscropulons  monarch  ought  to  be  resnmable  on  easy  terms.  It  is 
difficult  to  conceive  of  any  moral  objection  to  an  Act  declaring  that 
tin  the  decease  of  the  unborn  heir  to  the  younge-st  now  living 
expectant  successor,  such  property  shall  revert  to  the  nation.  But 
the  difference  between  the  lay  impropriator  and  the  ecclesiastical 
bolder  is  obvious.  The  former  has  heirs  with  legal  expectations  ; 
the  latter  has  not.  The  former  receives  the  tithe  on  no  conditions 
whatever,  exct'pt  such  as  are  imposed  on  all  honest  citizenship ;  the 
Utter  receives  them  on  condition  of  performing  certain  public  func- 
tioDS.  The  former  is  a  private  individual ;  the  latter  is  a  corporation 
— in  most  cases  a  corporation  of  one  person,  but  still  un  ofiRcial 
corporation.  The  former  can  sell  or  mortgage  his  tithe  ;  the  latter 
cannot.  The  former,  unless  under  a  private  testamentary  arrange- 
ment, holds  the  pro{>erty  in  trust  for  no  one  but  himself  and  his 
heirs.  The  latter  is  entrusted  daring  good  behfiviour  with  the 
property  to  maintain  him  in  the  discharge  of  public  duties.  These 
dif&rences  are  palpable  and  fundamental,  and  they  ire  not  lessened 
by  the  smart  rejoinder  that  Parliament  is  just  as  able  to  disendow  the 
former  as  the  latter.  Of  course  it  is ;  or  to  enact  that,  either  or  both 
•Kail  be  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered.  But  though  both  forms  of 
property  are  equally  subject  to  Parliamentary  omnipotence,  there  may 
1m  Tnoral  grounds  for  the  exercise  of  that  omnipotence  in  the  one  case 
which  do  not  exist  in  the  other.  And  that  is  all  for  which  we 
contend.  For  my  part,  I  should  very  much  like  to  see  impropriated 
thbes  resumed  by  the  nation.  But  I  respect  and  sympathize  with 
the  national  sentiment  which,  on  the  whole,  is  against  committing  new 
crimes  for  the  purjxjse  of  redressing  old  ones. 

Yet  though  for  such  reasons  a  broad  distinction  must  be  drawn 
betw(y?n  the  two  classes  iif  tithr-owiuTS,  it  is  ct^rtuin  that,  as  in  1836 
•0  in  th*'  future,  any  legislation  that  touches  the  mode  of  estimating 
or  of  collecting  tithe  will  necessarily  affect  both  classes.  And  this, 
J,  is  a  snflBcif'nt  guarantee  to  the  cU-rgy,  even  if  they  had  no 
ff  that  the  value  of  tithe  will  not  h<^  violently  or  directly  reduced. 
n*e  descendants  of  sixteenth-century  Church  robbers  are  not  as 
powerful  as  their  fomfnthers.  Still  they  are  quite  strong  enough 
to  reaist  being  robbed  in  their  turn.  In  fiirthtir  consideration,  how- 
ever* of  the  alternatives  that  have  been  suggested   as  a  remedy  for 

*nit  troubles.  I  leave  the  lay  owners  out  of  account.  It  is  in  the 
jnU-rest  I  shuU  plead,  and  with  this  they  are  not  concerned. 


374 


THE    CONTEMPORARY    REVIEW, 


[Vab. 


Whatever  may  be  the  canse  of  the  difficulty  found  even  by  Berk- 
shire farmers  in  paying  tithe,  their  eaac  is  mild  indeed  compared  with 
the  friction,  agitation,  and  passion  stirred  up  in  Wales.  Fur  here 
the  purposes  to  which  ecclesiastical  tithe  is  devoted  Aggravate  the 
objections  felt  to  claims  considered  exceasive.  The  position  is  so 
different  in  the  Principality  from  what  it  is  in  England,  that  the 
Welsh  fanners  will  probaljly  be  far  more  difficult  to  appease  than 
liieir  English  brethren.  And  we  need  not  wonder  at  it.  The 
only  matter  for  wonder  is  the  long  patience  with  which  they 
have  endured  the  arrogant  claim  of  a  small  minority  of  their 
<X)untrymen  to  have  their  clergy  and  worship  paid  for  by  a  reserved 
rent-charge  on  Welsh  land.  With  the  suffc-rings  recently  endured 
by  the  clergy,  as  the  victims  of  a  bad  system,  we  may  well  sym- 
pathize. But  the  sympathies  of  their  own  adherents  ought  to  be 
shown  in  something  more  than  words.  It  is  of  no  use  to  blame 
ih&  Welsh  farmers,  who  have  been  taught  by  I'arliamentary  neglect 
that  they  must  expect  no  reform  till  they  make  the  present  law 
unworkable.  These  men  have  a  r^ennine  gi'ievance.  ITiey  have 
talked  about  it,  argued  about  it,  find  petitioned  about  it  long  enough. 
They  now  say  they  will  stand  it  no  longer ;  and  we  shall  find  onoe 
more  that  "  force  is  no  remedy."  Mi^anwhih-  ricli  Anglicans  would 
do  well  to  put  their  hands  into  their  pockets  on  behalf  of  the  Welsh 
■clergy.  For  it  is  tolerably  certain  that  the  burden  of  their  support 
will  never  be  peacefully  borne  by  the  land  again.  But  it  does  not 
follow,  because  the  clergy  are  to  cease  to  receive  tithe,  that  it  should 
be  made  over  to  the  landlord.  Yet  let  the  Welsh  farmers  bear  in 
mind  that  this  is  just  what  would  happen  if  the  tithe  were  nominally 
abolished.  They  would  find  that  though  the  name  was  gone  the 
thing  remained.  Only  it  would  go  into  the  landlord's  pocket  instead 
of  the  parson's, 

The  casea  of  England  and  Wales  are  different  then  in  this  respect, 
that  in  the  former  there  is  no  sharp  and  urgent  pressure  for  the 
secnlarization  of  tithe,  while  the  latter  will  not  be  pacified  without  it. 
But  as  tithe  will  continue  and  will  have  to  be  collected  in  both,  there 
remain  some  questions  interesting  to  both  alike.  These  questions 
affect  the  value  of  tithe,  Its*  mode  of  collection,  and  possibilities  of 
farther  couimutAtion  or  trausnvutation.  All  farmers  and  some  land- 
lords say  that  the  Act  of  183(>  has  worked  qnite  differently  from  the 
expectation  of  its  framers,  and  has  given  to  the  tithe-owner  mnch 
more  than  they  intended.  They  therefore  claim  a  re- assessment, 
which  of  course  is  to  ell'ect  a  reduction.  It  is  odd  to  find  landlonl 
And  tenant  agreeing  in  this,  since  their  motives  are  so  ditferent. 
The  landlord  wants  to  get  more  rent,  and  the  tenant  wants  to  pay 
less.  It  is  certain  that  the  effect  of  a  reduction,  were  it  ]x>s8ible, 
would  disappoint  one  of  them  ;  and  I  rather  think  it  would  be  the 


«S9o3 


TITHES. 


875 


taiAnt.  But  agaiiut  these  two  appears  the  tithe-owner,  and  declares 
that  he  is  worse  used  than  either.  He  surrendered  in  1836  any 
poombility  of  substantial  increase  in  the  value  of  his  property,  and 
accepted  in  return  a  legal  guarantee  that  it  should  never  be  less  than 
tke  net  average  received  during  the  seven  years  previous  to  the  Act. 
Tfce  re&son  for  expressing  the  amount  he  was  to  receive  in  terms 
cf  wheat,  barley  and  oats,  was  not,  as  too  often  supposed,  an  agreement 
tint  his  income  ought  to  fluctuate  with  the  fortnncR  of  the  farmer, 
Ob  the  contrary.  Earl  Grey,  a  living  witness  of  what  took  place 
at  the  time,  tells  us  tliat  it  was  believed  a  septennial  average  of  these 
oom  valoes  would  be  more  stable  than  the  value  of  gold.  One 
kmdred  sovereigns  might  have  less  or  more  pnrchasing  power  in 
tweut)  years'  time.  But  if  the  hundred  sovereigns  were  first  turned 
into  three  equal  portions  of  wheat,  barley,  and  oats  at  the  average 
price  of  1829-183o,  and  this  com  wjw  then  converted  into  money  at 
the  Kverage  price  of  1850-1856,  it  was  believed  that  the  tithe-owner 
•oqld  get  the  same  value.  "  Thus,"  said  Lord  John  Kussell,  when 
introducing  the  Bill,  "  the  tithe-owner  would  receive  payment 
Moording  to  the  fluctuation  in  the  value  of  grain,  whUh  must  U 
taken  to  represent  tlu  fluctuation  in  th*  mlw.  of  vione^"  *  The 
•xjrds  I  have  italicized  are  obviously  tlie  key  to  TiOrd  John's  intention, 
though  the  former  part  of  the  sentence  might  appear  to  justify 
another  view.  He  thought  that  the  one  Buctnation  would  neutralize 
tho  other:  and  so  the  tithe  would  retain  approximately  the  same 
patchasiag  power.  Under  the  operation  of  this  rule,  the  tithe- 
0<mer'«  hundred  pounds  have  at  times  risen  above  par ;  the  value  is, 
hwrever,  now  about  22  below  par ;  and  the  owner  is  a  disappointed 
nan,  not  less  loud  in  his  complaiuts  than  the  farmer. 

Both  landlord  and  farmer  are  eloquent  on  the  disastrous  effects,  so 
fiv  aa  they  are  concerned,  of  Corn  Law  repeal.  They  say  it  has 
pwmanently  brought  down  landlords'  rent,  and  that  the  rent-charge 
9ti^i  to  be  reduced  in  like  proportion.  To  this  the  tithe-ownera 
reply  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  rent-charge  has  been  brought 
dovn  22  per  cent.,  and  as  they  were  promised  stability  of  value 
ia  rttum  for  obvious  sacrifices,  it  would  be  unreasonable  to  ask  them 
to  take  lass.  The  farmers  fortify  their  demand  by  asserting  that 
ia  1836  no  one  expected  the  repeal  of  the  Corn  Laws  ;  and  that  if  it 
bad  been  thought  possible,  provision  wonld  have  been  made  for 
a  nsraloation.  But  they  are  mistaken.  For  Ilansard's  columns 
thow  that  the  possibility  of  Corn  Ijaw  repeal  was  several  times 
■antjflned  during  the  debates,  and  that  neither  Lord  John  Russell 
Bor  Sir  Robert  Peel  was  disturbed  by  the  prospect.  Mr.  Lennard, 
■mber  for  Maldon,  said,  as  reported  : — 

"Ko  proviMon  wnn  mude  for  that  period,  if  ever  it  .should  arise,  when  the 
•   Hansarrt,  vol.  xxxt.  col.  19.'i. 


376 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mar. 


Com  Laws  should  be  repealed,  and  wLen  those  lands  which  were  cultivated 
as  corn  lands,  in  consequence  of  tlit>  luonopoly  given  by  those  laws,  should  be 
thrown  out  of  cultivation.  In  fjict,  it  allowed  for  no  future  modification  of 
the  rent-charge."  • 

He  mentioned  lands,  seven  or  eight  miles  from  London,  which  were 
paying  tithes  of  thirty  to  forty-two  shillings  an  acre.  In  view  of  the 
intolerable  burden  that  would  be  felt  if  the  Com  Laws  were  repealed, 
he  moved  an  amendment  giving  an  opportunity  for  re-valuation  at  the 
end  of  each  decennial  period.  Now  aurely  in  that  House,  elected  by 
ten-poundera  in  towns,  and  fifty  pounders  or  freeholders  in  the 
country,  agriculture  and  the  landed  interests  had  a  preponderant 
representation.  Yet  so  coldly  was  the  amendment  received  that  it 
was  withdrawn.  In  the  House  of  Lords  a  still  more  remarkable 
incident  occurred.  The  Archbishop  of  Canterbnry,  having  an  eye  to 
future  enclosures  of  commons  or  waste,  wanted'  \io  insert  a  clause 
giving  the  Church  a  share  of  the  land  in  lii'u  of  tithe.  The  proposal 
was  reasonable  enough,  if  for  Church  we  read  nation.  But  Lortl 
Ashburton  was  very  angry  at  the  suggestion. 

"  It  wiis  a  much  greater  hardshij)  on  the  landowners,"  he  Raid,  "to  be 
called  on  to  pay  tithe  for  Innda  which  inifrbt  go  out  of  cultix'ation  than  for 
the  tithe-owiier  to  be  deprived  of  tithe.s  for  lands  which  might  hereafter  be 

encloKed He    knew    in    many   cases,    purticuhirly    if   there   should 

be  any  altenition  in  the  Corn  l^awt;,  that  it  would  te  to  the  interest  of  owners 
of  lnud  to  give  up  land  altogether  to  the  tithe-owner  rather  than  pay  tithe 
for  it." 

The  last  words  should  be  noted  by  landowners  who  think  their 
fathers  made  a  bod  bargain  over  tithe-commutation.  With  his  eyes 
open  to  this  possibilifcyj  Lord  Ashbnrton  did  not  think  it  necessary  to 
oppose  the  Bill. 

On  tlie  whole  the  tithe-ownei's  seem  to  have  the  best  of  it  when  the 
subject  of  dispute  is  the  present  value  of  tithe.  But  there  are  other 
parties  to  the  issue,  or  rather  I  should  say  there  is  one  party,  of  far 
more  iuiportance  than  all  other  disputants  put  together  ;  I  mean  the 
nation.  If,  as  Lord  John  Russell  said  without  contradiction  from  Sir 
Robert  VqbI^  tithes  were  national  property,  tlien  the  tithe  rent-charge 
remains  national  jiroperty,  and  we  are  bound  to  take  care  that  it  is 
not  diminished.  To  prevent  misunderstanding,  it  is  perhaps  necessary 
to  repeat  that  this  claim  on  the  tithe  as  national  property  is 
independent  of  any  opinion  one  way  or  the  other  as  to  the  pro]:triety 
of  its  present  application.  Ihose  wlio  thiuk  tliat  the  best  application 
of  this  national  property  is  to  the  support  of  a  particular  Church, 
equally  with  those  who  think  this  the  very  worst  use — apart  from 
immoral  applications — to  which  it  could  be  put,  must  surely  desire  that 
this  public  estate  shall  be  kept  intact.  Its  pecuniary  value  cannot 
be  estimat«<l  accurately  until  we  get  the  return  of  ecclesiastical 
revenues  ordr-red  on  the  motion  of  the  late  Lord  Addington,  then  Mr, 

*  Hansard,  vol.  xxxi. 


iS9o3 


TITHES. 


377 


Habbard.  Bat  we  ought  tu  protest  against  any  re-assesament  which 
woald  reduce  the  tola,!  amount.  Without  objecting  to  the  possible 
correction  of  local  anomalies  in  the  distribution  of  the  burden,  we  may 
doabt  whether  landowners  or  farmers  would  care  for  this  if  it  did  not 
inToIve  a  redaction  in  the  proportion  of  estate-tithe  to  estate-rent.  If, 
however,  that  is  allowed,  it  may  be  impossible  to  get  compensation  by 
rationg  the  proportion  on  other  estatea  where  it  is  abnormally  low. 
The  reault  would  almost  cei"fcain!y  be  a  reduction  in  the  value  of  the 
pablic  property  for  the  benefit  of  landholders ;  and  against  thia  the 
stewards  of  the  nation  are  bound  to  protest. 

The  doctrine  of  contract,  often  pressed  unfairly  by  the  rich  and 
strong  against  the  poor  and  weak,  may  very  justly  be  upjield  against 
the  land  monopolists  who  agreed  to  commutation.  In  the  plenitude 
f  their  power,  when  politically  omnipotent,  they  agreed,  for  the  con- 
venience of  themselves  and  their  tenants,  to  give  certain  pei'petual 
rent-charges  on  their  lands  in  consideration  of  release  from  an 
annoying  and  irritating  claim  to  tenths  of  the  produce.  They 
obtained  a  hand.some  bonus  for  doing  so.  The  value  of  tithe  was,  on 
the  whole,  immediately  reduced,  and  they  were  excused  henceforward 
firom  paying  tithe  on  their  own  improvements,  Vthh  their  eyes  open 
to  all  contingencies,  including  the  ptxibable  repeal  of  the  Corn  Laws, 
they  concluded  that  they  would  make  a  good  bargain  if  they  sur- 
rendered for  ever  to  the  public  service  a  carefully  defined  rent-charge 
in  lieu  of  tithe.  In  such  a  case  contruct  certainly  is  sacred  ;  and  we 
ought  to  hold  them  to  theli-  bargain.  If  the  rent-charge  has  come  to 
bear  a  larger  pi-oportion  to  the  remaining  balance  of  rent  than  they 
expected,  this  may  or  may  not  be  their  own  fault ;  but  it  is  certainly 
not  the  fault  of  the  nation.  It  is  perfectly  preposterous  that  the 
pablic  should  be  asked  to  surrend^-r  their  part  of  the  rent  because  the 
landlords  prefer  sport  to  agriculture.  If  the  farmers  support  them 
.in  their  old-world  barbarism,  let  the  farmers  look  to  them  for  the 
needful   reduction  in  rent.     But   don't  let  them  ask  tlie  public  to 

{uiesce  in  a  reduction  of  public  revenue.     The  soil  of  this  country 

jperly  treated  must  surely  be  capable  <.if  supplying  some  of  our 
home  wants,  such  as  fniit,  fr<'8h  vegetables,  flowers,  poidtry,  eggs  and 
batter.  It  is  all  very  well  to  ridicule  urban  ignorance  of  rural 
buainesa.  But  at  present  we  have  the  law  on  our  side  ;  and  I  venture 
to  hope  it  will  not  be  altered  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  public  estate. 
The  landlords  must  b<»  content  with  what  i.s  left  a.(i.^.r  the  tithe  rent- 
charge  is  paid ;  and  if  they  say  it  is  not  worth  while  to  keep  their 
estates  on  such  terms,  let  them  act  on  Lord  Ashburtons  suggestion 
and  surrender  them.  At  any  rate  they  might  agree  to  such  a  refocm 
in  t^-nure  and  conveyancing  as  would  imabte  thera  to  sell  land  as 
n*aiiily  as  railway  shares. 

Provided  that  the  whole  value  of  tithe  is  retained  for  public  UFe, 
the  mode  of  collection  has  but  a  secondary  interest.    There  can  be  no 


Z7S 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[Mas. 


objection  to  making  the  lantllord  pay  it  directly,  instead  of  indirectly 
as  at  present.  Indeed,  many  landlords  do  so  now,  and,  I  presume,  find 
no  difficnlty  in  repaying  themselves.  The  tenant  in  such  instances 
simply  pays  the  whoh-  rent  to  the  landloni  instead  of  dividing  it 
between  the  latter  and  the  tithe-owner. 

Tithe  redemption  is  open  to  the  objection  tJiat  it  increases 
danger  of  dissipating  the  public  estate.  So  long  as  it  consists  in  a 
rent-charge  we  know  where  it  is  ;  but  I  doubt  whether  any  one  knows 
where  all  the  money  has  gone  that  has  been  spent  in  redemption. 
Certainly,  fi'om  a  radical  point  of  \iew,  it  appears  desirable  that 
where  the  public  have  their  hands  in  they  should  stick  to  their  hold 
on  the  land.  Besides,  one  dot's  not  see  what  agriculture  is  to  gam 
by  it.  If  a  landowner  sponds  £100  in  redeeming  £4  annual  rent- 
charge,  lie  simply  puts  the  letter  into  his  pocket  instead  of  passing  it 
on  to  the  tithe-owuer.  The  land  pays  no  loss  than  before,  and  the 
farmer  is  not  in  the  slightest  degree  relieved.  The  idea  of  agricultural 
relief  through  tithe  redemption  seems  to  ignore  the  fundamental  trnth 
that  laiullord's  rent  phis  tithe  rent-charge  eqnal.s  the-  whole  economic 
rent  of  the  land.  Tu  lessen  the  latter  is  to  increase  the  former;  and 
though  tlie  landlord  might  find  the  investment  a  good  one,  tie  farmer 
would  be  no  bftter  off,  and  the  public  would  lose  as  above  suggested. 

There  is  more  to  be  said  for  the  proposal  to  accept  on  every  estate 
of  sufficient  sixe  a  jTortion  of  land  equivalent  ia  annual  value  to  the 
rent-charge  on  the  whole.  This  would  form  a  considerable  national 
estate  in  the  management  of  which  land-uatioualixers  might  hereafter 
try  their  principles  before  adventuring  on  a  greater  scale.  But  there 
are  obvious  difficulties  on  the  other  hand.  Small  estates  could  not 
well  be  treated  in  this  way,  and  would  still  have  to  pay  their  tithe 
rent-charge.  We  should  not,  therefore,  get  rid  altogether  of  the 
existing  friction.  It  may  also  fairly  be  maintained  that  a  rent-charge 
uticoraplicated  with  troubles  of  management  is  a  much  more  con- 
venient fonn  of  public  property  in  land  thsm  the  immediate  ownership 
of  the  soil  would  be.  When  the  above  method  of  accommodation 
waHi  suggested  in  18-3fi,  the  objection  felt  on  both  sides  in  Parliament 
was  that  it  would  not  be  safe  to  entrust  bo  much  land  to  ecclesiastical 
coqiorations.  ITie  nation  which  stands  ready  to  resume  the  property 
now  in  the  hands  of  the.se  corporations  would  have  to  manage  it  by 
officials  or  boards.  These  would  probably  be  as  ill  adapted  as 
ecclesiastical  cttrporations  to  such  management  as  is  involved  in 
immediate  ownership.  On  the  whole,  we  may  agree  with  Mr.  Henry 
fJeorge,  in  considering  that  a  pecuniary  burden  on  land  is  a  better 
form  of  public  property  than  immediate  ownership.* 

*  This  is  my  intf  rpn-taiion  of  ilii-  "  single  fa.x  '*  theory.  Tax  the  laiKl.  lie  says,  up  to 
its  f:ill  uiinual  value,  but  lenvi>  tbe  iumitMUnti-  ownership  in  private  hniubi.  That  is. 
The  luttion  knows  whit  to  do  with  the  ground  rent,  but  wouhl  not  know  what  to  do 
with  tic  laad. 


t»9ol 


TITHES. 


379 


Finally,  there  is  the  suggestion  made  by  Lord  Hramwell  in  a  letter 

to  fche  TinieSy  tJiat  if  the  landed  interest  rues  the  bargain  of  1806,  the 

only  fair  way  out  of  it  ia  to  restore  the  datm  <juit  ante,  and  bt^gin 

■gain  <i'   mny).     Abolish  commutation,  he  says  in  efTfCt;   and  try  how 

yoa  likt*  that.    The  suggestion  has  all  the  shrewd  humour  characteristic 

of  his  lordship's  clear  insight  and  racy  utterance.    It  is  n  ivell-merited 

rrdvctio  tul  uhsunlinn.      It  awnkens   us   to  an  apprehension  that  the 

Bystem  of  tithing  produce  belonged  to  an  old  world  which  has  passed 

•way,  and  is  dead  beyond  recall ;   while  the  principle  remains  that   a 

portion  of  the  return  from  land  belongs  to  the  community.    But  those 

rho   kick  against  the  perpetuity   of  the  borden,  would  do  well  to 

C'l»errt>  that  other  features  of  the  old  world  are  passing  away  besides 

the  tithing  of  com,  or  of  '*  mint,  anise,  and  cmnmin."     The  weightier 

matters  of  the  law,  judgment,  mercy,  and  truth  are  impressing  the 

pabltc  conscience  more  than  they  used  to  do.      Judgment  pronounces 

the  Church  establishment  to  be  an  anachronism,   as  well  as  a  gross. 

failnre  and  a  caricature  of  Galilean  Christianity.     Mercy  bewails  the  lot 

of  oar  poorest  poor  as  a  shame  to  our  civilization,  and  pleads  that  the 

cnmnonnity's  ancient  share  in  the  returns  of  the  land  should  go  no  more 

to  bishops,  or  chapters,  or  priests,  but  to  the  refinement  and  culture  and 

comfort  of  common  life.    No  doles,  miscalled  ''  charity,"  can  ctTect  thia. 

Bat  the  employment  of  four  mil  lions  a  year  in  schools,   people's 

palaees.  and  means  for  popular  recreation,  could  do  much.     And  truth 

declares  that  the  depression  of  airricnlturt^  is  no  necessary  result  of  free 

ttBfde,  bat  the  inevitable  cousequeiicc  of  a  land  system  iinadapted  and 

unadaptable  to  the  social  and  cnnimi'rcial  life  pursued  by  unshackled 

cooinjerce.      If  land  could  be  boiitflit,  8old,  and  transferre<l  as  eiisily 

ai  CVmsols;  if  rural   England  were   less  a  rich  man's  playground  and 

nKirva  poor  man's  farm;  if  every  occupant  of  land  were  absolutely 

free  to  make  the  best  of  it,  had   thf>  same  rights  as  in  Ireland,  and 

wrn»  wist?  enough  to  sacrifice  game  to  crops;  if  delicately  tilled  soil 

and  trim  fences  could  be  secured  against  the  trampling  and  breakage 

trf  moanted  Goths  ;   if  every  future  farmer  had   some  years'  scientific 

tcuning  and  practice  ;  if  the  needs  of  towns  wore  studied,  and  obstinate 

boo^lic  habit  compelled  to  adapt  itself  to  the  markets  of  the  nineties 

instead  of  the   markets  of  the  'teens;   and  If  rfiihvay  companies  were 

UjfckA  to  give  rapid,   sure,  and   cheap  carriage  for  produce  withont 

partiality  or  favour — the  land  of  this  country  would  be  well  aljle  to  pay 

*U  and  more  than  the  charges  laid  upon  it.      Therefore   I  hold  that 

tadical  reform,  and  not  juggling  with  the  bargain  of  1830,  is  the  true 

•olntion  of  the  Tithe  Question. 

J.  AlLINSON  PlCTOff, 


[Mar. 


A   PLEA   FOR  THE   PUBLISHERS. 


ABOUT  two  years  ago  I  was  induced  to  send  forth  into  the  world 
a  book  which,  of  course,  would  have  been  very  ranch  for  the 
advantage  of  mankind  in  general — if  it  had  been  extensively  read. 
My  book  was  not  a  bulky  one,  nor  a  costly  one ;  it  was  only  a  single 
volume,  and  its  price  was  seven  shillings  and  sixpence  nominally. 
The  venturti  has  proved  fairly  successful  ;  the  nmubf  r  of  copies 
sold  runs  into  four  figures ;  the  sale  is  still  going  on  ;  the  critics 
are  lenient  where  they  are  not  laudatory.  I  liave  reason  to  be  proud 
and  grateful,  and  T  am  itiore  than  content. 

But  it  so  hap])ened  that,  wheu  I  received  my  publisher's  statement 
of  account  some  few  weeks  ago.  my  friend,  the  Rev.  Theodore  Grunip, 
was  paying  me  a  visit ;  and  Mr.  Grump  is  a  man  with  a  grievance 
which  he  takes  every  opportunity  of  airing.  Mr.  Grump  is  a  vei-y 
learned  man,  and  a  somewhat  prolific  author.  He  has  produced 
several  volumes  of  great  merit,  voluuies  that  are  referred  to  and  made 
liberal  use  of  by  .second-hand  compilers  mucli  more  frei[uently  than  is 
generally  known.  Nevertheless,  friend  Theodore  is  not  a  popular 
writer,  never  will  be^  never  can  be  j  he  has  not  by  Nature  the  hmcly 
and  he  has  never  been  taught  the  art  of  writing  attractiv»'ly  ;  his 
books  are  consequently  "  useful "  and  '■  valuable,"  but  they  do  not 
sell,  and  their  author  is  somewhat  soured,  and,  as  I  have  s.tid,  ho  lives 
now  to  air  his  grievances, 

I  have  observed  that  when  a  man  has  published  books  which  the 
public  persist  in  neglecting,  that  man  has  not  so  much  quarrel 
with  the  stupid  and  brutal  millions  who  will  not  buy,  as  he  has  with 
the  crafty  and  cunning  band  of  robbers  who  will  not  sell.  Unsuccessful 
writers  are  always  passionately  set  against  the  publishers.  On  this 
particular  morning,  when   I   had  carefully  pocketed  tlie  cheque  which 


A    PLEA    FOR    THE    PUBLISHERS. 


381 


Cfttne  to  me,  I  tossed  over  the  account  to  my  reverend  friend,  who 
tkeo^enpoxi  set  himself  to  examine  it.  I  thought  he  would  congratulate 
me  on  mj  good  fortune.  Judge  of  my  surprise  then,  when,  instead 
of  felicitations,  I  was  startled  by  a  storm  of  fierce  invective  and 
•Imost  incoherent  denunciation  of  my  worthy  publisher  in  particular, 
and  of  all  publishers  that  ever  lived  in  the  general.  I  was  really 
go  carried  away  by  the  torrent  of  Mr.  Grump's  eloquence  that  I 
fairly  lost  my  breath,  and  could  only  stammer  for  want  of  words. 
Bat  when  it  came  to  this  pass,  that  (Jrump  challenged  me  t;0  make  a 
bet  of  half  a  crown  with  him — he  loudly  protesting  that  my  "  precious 
nooeasful  book,"  as  he  contemptuously  called  it,  had  not  paid  my 
wrpenses  in  pens,  ink,  and  paper  for  the  year — I  really  felt  compelled 
to  pull  him  up  by  resolutely  asserting  that  he  was  talking  nonsense. 

On  examination  it  turned  out  that  Grump  meant  a  great  deal 
by  his  "  pens,  ink,  and  paper."  He  meant  not  only  stationery  in  the 
narrower  sense,  bot  he  included  all  newspapers,  reviews,  magazines, 
uid  books  which  I  had  thought  it  more  or  less  necessary  to  pay 
money  for  during  the  year  1889.  Even  so,  I  felt  sure  that  he  had 
greatly  exaggerated  my  expenditure,  and  though  I  declined  to  make 
it  a  matter  of  wager,  I  there  and  then  drew  up  a  careful  list  of 
aO  such  payments  as  might  fairly  come  under  the  designation  which 
my  friend  had  made  use  of,  and  we  spent  an  hour  in  making  out  the 
aocoant. 

I  am  bound  to  say  that  the  result  was  a  little  mortifying.      I  found 
tiiat  the  pursuit  of  literature,  if  tested  by  a  comparison  between  the 
looome  derived  from  my  successful  volume  and  the  expenditure  uix>n 
pais,  ink,  ami  paper  during   the   past   year,  had  proved  a  somewhat 
eostiy  laxury.      It  was  certainly  jiroved  that  I  was  some  pounds  out 
of  pocket  by  indulging  in  the  pleasure.-?  of  reading  and  writing.     The 
balance  waa  clearly  on  the  wrong  side.      I  confess  to  a  feeling  of  morti- 
fication, which  was  not  lessened  when  I  fonnd  that  Mr.  Grump  was 
jabitant.      If  there  is  one  speech  more  insulting  and  provoking  than 
«xiother  when  a  man  is  smarting  under  the  sense  of  defeat  and  disappoint- 
inwit,  it  is  that  maddening  and  diabolical  reproach — ''  I  told  you  so  !  " 
Gmmp  kept  on  repeating  this  again  and  again,  till  we  almost  came  to  a 
downright  quarrel,  till,  in  fact,  I  was  bo  irritated,  that  I  declined  to 
listen    any   more  to   his  furious   denunciations    of    booksellers    and 
pnblijjhers.     I  brought  our  dispute  to  a  close  at  last,  by  protesting 
that  I  ooald  no  more  bring  myself  to  believe  that  all  the  publishers 
in  the  nineteenth  century  were  swindlers,  than  I  could  believe  that 
•11  the  clerg)'  of  the  fourteenth  century  were  fools  and  hypocrites ; 
sad  that  if  I  could  believe  either  one  or  the  other  of  these  assertions, 
I  Aoald  find  life  not  worth  living. 

Tlie  truth  is  that  friend  Grump  had  taken  an  unfair  advantage  of 
m«  in  this  wager  of  his,  and  had  dexterously  managed  to  have  a  trot 
TOL.  ISXX.  2  C 


382 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REMEW, 


upon  his  favourite  hobby  by  resorting  to  a  not  uncommon  sophistical 
artifice.  He  granted  that  my  book  had  brought  me  a  profit,  but 
inasmuch  as  all  the  profit  had  been  spent  before  it  arrived,  there- 
fore he  rpiietly  assumed  tliat  there  was  no  profit  at  all — the  volume 
had  not  paid  for  ''  pens,  ink  and  paper."  The  inference  to  be  drawn 
from  that  statement  is  not  so  obvious  as  at  first  sight  might  apprar. 

There  are  some  intellectual  employments  which  require  a  very 
small  stock  in  trade.  A  mathematician,  for  instance,  may  pursue  his 
investigations,  even  into  the  higher  branches  of  pure  science,  with 
very  few  books.  But  if  a  man  be  more  than  ordinarily  interested  in 
the  great  problems  of  history  and  all  that  they  involve  and  have 
an  irrepressible  hankering  to  know  what  is  being  discussed  in 
his  favourite  subjects,  he  m'u&l  keep  himself  in  touch  with 
the  thought  and  discoveries  of  others.  If  he  be  a  dweller  in  a 
great  city  he  has  clubs  and  libraries,  newspapers  and  periodicals, 
books  and  maps,  almost  at  his  elbow,  to  say  nothing  of  the  living 
men  whom  he  may  consult  with  at  any  hour.  But  if  he  be  a  dweller  in. 
the  wilderness  he  must  count  the  cost  of  having  literarj'  tastes,  and 
that  cost  he  will  have  to  pay  in  coin  of  the  realm.  I  hold  it  to  bo 
simply  impossible  for  a  very  needy  man  to  keep  pace  with  the  his- 
torical research  of  our  time  if  his  lot  be  cast  in  a  country  village. 
Any  man  who  has  lov^t  his  heart  to  the  Muse  of  history — even 
though  he  can  in  no  sen.'*e  claim  to  be  an  historian — is  a  man  with 
tastes,  and  such  a  man's  ''  pens,  ink,  and  paper  "  must  needs  come  to 
a  great  deal  in  the  course  of  the  year.  Such  a  man  may  be  con- 
sidered a  fortunate  one  who  can  pay  the  reckoning  by  the  profits  of 
his  own  goosequill. 

"When  I  put  forward  this  view  of  the  case  to  Mr.  Grump  he  would 
not  have  Jt ;  and  he  proceeded  to  assure  me  that  the  position  he  took 
up  was  founded  upon  a  solid  basis  of  principle,  which  he  then  and 
there  proceeded  to  enunciate.  On  examin.ition  it  appeared  that  be 
had  a  whole  bundle  of  "  principles  *'  which  he  was  anxious  to  put 
forward ;  but  the  principles  appeared  to  me  to  be  false  and  untenable 
at  the  best,  and  at  the  worst  to  be  mischievous  and  immoral. 
But  inasmuch  as  I  find  that  Mr.  Gnimp's  teaching  has  not  been  \vithoiit 
its  efi'ect,  that  his  "  principles  "'  are  rather  widely  accepted,  and  that 
in  some  circles  the  evil  of  the  discontented  is  apt  to  be  at  once 
accepted  as  the  voice  of  the  wronged,  I  feel  myself  moved  to  say  a 
word  upon  the  supposed  grievances  of  authora,  so  far  as  such 
grievances  are  supposed  to  result  from  their  dealings  with  tiieir 
publishers. 

Mr.  Grump's  main  assumption  is  that  every  book  is  a  work  of  art 
upon  which  a  certain  amount  of  skilled  labour  has  been  bestowed,  and 
that  for  that  the  labonrer  has  a  moral  right  to  receive  his  reward. 

To  begin  with,  it  must  be  remembered  that  there  is  good  art  and 


A   PLEA   FOB    THE    PUBLISHERS. 


bad  art,  and  that  the  amount  of  labour  expended  u}X)n  this  or  that 
iformance  is  no  measure  of  the  value  of  the  work  produced.  It 
y  be  almost,  laid  down  as  a  rule,  that  the  stupid  man — the  bad  artist 
in  proportion  as  he  is  deficient  in  great  ideas,  will  in  that  proportion 
6pend  himself  upon  elaboration  of  details,  so  attempting  to  conceal 
feebleness  and  poverty  of  thought  by  wrapping  it  up  in  mere  verbiage. 
It  is  the  very  essence  of  bad  art  to  attempt  to  make  up  for  want  of 
quality  by  increase  of  quantity.  The  clumsy  literary  artist  is  the 
aathor  who  gives  his  readers  ten  pages  to  get  through  when  one  page 
would  do  as  well,  or  better.  Because  a  book  has  given  me  a  great  deal 
of  tumble  to  write,  it  by  no  means  follows  that  I  deserve  to  be  paid  for 
uqr  work  by  the  hour. 

In  the  second  place,  the  market  value  of  a  work  of  art  is  deter- 
mined by  the  demand  that  exists  for  it.  You  can  no  more  command 
ft  retam  for  the  fruits  of  a  large  expenditure  of  toil  than  you  can 
oommond  a  heavy  crop — not  to  speak  of  a  high  price — by  increasing 
the  balk  of  seed  sown  over  a  given  area.  A  book  may  be  a  good  book 
^—Ktx  excellent  book  in  its  way — but  the  question  is,  does  any 
brg©  section  of  the  public  want  it  ?  If  not,  then  you  have  missed 
jDor  mark.  Yon  have  made  a  bid  for  the  support  of  the  great  hosts 
of  readers  ;  the  response  is  given  against  you,  and,  whether  your  re- 
jection and  disappointment  is  due  to  the  bad  taste  of  the  community 
-  not,  the  fact  remains  the  same. 
Bnt  when  you  have  written  your  book,  you  either  mean  to  give  it 
4vay  or  to  make  raerchandijie  of  it.  If  you  choose  tx5  print  it  for  private 
armlation  you  will  not  need  the  help  of  a  publisher.  But  in  the 
other  case  two  courses  are  open  to  you  :  you  may  sell  it  outright,  or 
yoa  may  let  it  out  for  hire,  just  as  you  may  deal  with  an  estate  or  a 
houae — ^that  is,  yon  may  sell  the  freehold,  or  you  may  give  a  lease  of 
H,  for  a  consideration,  to  a  leaseholder. 

If  yon  sell  your  property  for  a  lump  sum,  what  further  concern  have 

yoo  in  it?     The  purchaser  having  paid  you  the  price  agreed  on  may 

keep  it  to  himself  for  his  own  delight  and  amusement,  or,  if  he  thinks 

fit,  he  may  so  deal  with  it  that  only  a  limited  and  privileged  few  shall 

«joy  a  sight  of  it.     At  any  rate,  you  have  no  voice  in  the  matter. 

When  a  man  has  spent  the  best  part  of  his  life  in  laying  out  oma- 

nmtal  grounds  and   planting  belts  of  choice  trees  round  the  mansion 

Ibat  he  built  in  his  yonth,  it  must  be  very  annoying  to  see  the  next 

owner  cutting  them  all  down ;  but  the  place  no  longer  belongs  to  him, 

•ad  there  ia  no  more  to  be  said.      If,  on  the  other  hand,  you  do  not 

«eti  your  work  of  art.,   but  only  let  it  out  to  hire,  again  your  interest 

ni  Tour  property  is  strictly  limited   by  the  tenhs  of  the  agreement 

which  you  have  entei-ed  into.      You  make  your  bargain  with  your  eyea 

•pWi  lind  you  accept  the  offer  made  you,  because,  at  the  time  you  cloaed 

^■»fi  it,  il  was  the  best  offer  you  oould  get. 


384 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mas. 


The  bargain  as  between  an  author  and  his  publiaher  is  one  that  is 
perfectly  well  understood.  It  is  a  compact  ent<'red  into  between  a  crafts- 
man with  more  or  less  skill  and  productive  faculty,  but  very  little  else,  and 
the  capitalist  who  is  ready  to  enter  into  a  speculation,  and  find  a  market 
for  the  craftsman's  wares.  Mr.  (J  rump,  in  his  lofty  and  magnificent 
way,  says  it  is  a  compact  in  which  one  side  contributes  brain-work 
and  genius,  and  the  other  side  provides  money,  nothing  more.  Is  that 
quite  a  true  way  of  putting  it  ?  Is  there  no  brain-work  needed  in  the 
management  of  a  great  publishing  business  ?  Are  authors,  as  a  dasSy 
distinguished  for  anything  that  may  be  called  genius,  even  in  the 
loosest,  acceptation  of  tliat  word  ? 

But  the  agreement  with  which  we  are  now  concerned  is  undoubtedly 
based  upon  the  understanding  that  a  book  having  to  be  published,  the 
publisher  is  callfKl  upon  to  supply  all  the  capital,  to  take  all  the  trouble 
of  throwiug  the  book  upon  the  market,  and  to  bear  all  the  loss  if  the 
venture  proves  a  failure. 

What  does  the  author  contribute  ?  His  literary  "  work  of  art,** 
which  he  may  be  said  to  let  out  for  hire  to  the  capitalist,  who  hopes 
to  make  his  account  by  printing  it  and  selling  it.  The  terms  on 
which  the  author  lets  out  his  manuscript,  in  nine  cases  out  often,  are 
either  that  he  shall  receive  a  royidty,  or  fixed  payment,  on  all 
copies  sold ;  or  half  the  net  profits  of  the  venture — accounts  being 
made  up  pfriodlailly  according  to  agreement.  If  he  have  bargained 
for  a  roi/alfi/y  the  author  gets  his  payment  on  sales,  whether  the  book 
has  yielded  a  profit  to  the  capitalist  or  the  reverse.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  hv  has  bargained  to  receive  htilf-piofits,  the  capitalist  still  takes 
all  the  risk.  The  worst  that  can  happen  to  the  author  is  that  there 
is  no  profit  balance  to  divide.  The  roifnUy  system  is  so  obviously  fair 
and  reasonable  that  there  is  no  need  to  say  much  about  it.  The  haJf- 
projits  system,  however,  I  have  again  and  again  heard  loudly  declaimed 
against  in  very  strong  language.  I  have  never  but  once  published 
a  book  on  the  system  of  half-profits.  When  I  did  so,  I  received  on 
two  editions,  which  were  sold  in  three  or  four  years,  about  fifteen 
pounds,  which  was  a  great  deal  more  than  I  deserved.  The  third 
edition,  of  wliich  the  publisher,  on  false  information,  was  induced  to 
print  B  very  large  number  of  copies — entailed  a  heavy  loss,  which  fell 
entirely  upon  the  unlucky  capitalist.  That  is  my  experience  of  half- 
profits.  To  this  day  I  cannot  help  feeling  certain  qualms  of  con- 
science when  I  think  of  that  transaction  ;  but  I  have  never  returned 
that  fifteen  pounds,  and  if  I  had  offered  to  do  so,  I  am  quite  snrethat 
my  publisher,  being  an  honourable  and  high-minded  man,  would  have 
refused  the  offer  with  something  like  indignation.  I  had  done  my 
part,  he  had  done  his.  Either  through  an  error  in  judgment,  or  from 
mere  ill-luck,  the  accounts  showed  a  loss.  So  much  the  worse  for  the 
loser ;  but  by  the  compact,  whatever  it  was,  an  honest  man  would  abide. 


tS9o] 


A    PLEA    FOR    THE   PUBLISHERS. 


385 


It  seems  to  be  forgotten  by  many  authors  that  a  manuscript 
is  not  a  booJ:.  Before  it  becomes  what  we  now  understand  by  a  book, 
it  has  to  be  printed,  to  begin  with  ;  before  its  very  existence  can  be 
nude  known  to  possible  purchasers,  it  has  to  be  advertized  in  some 
wmy  or  other ;  it  has  to  ran  the  gauntlet  of  reviewers  in  the  press  ;  it 
kifl  to  be  introduced  to  the  world,  and  distributed  among  the  retail 
trade.  All  this  means  expenditure,  and  all  this  expenditure  of  capital 
biJs  upon  the  publisher,  and  upon  him  alone. 

The  author,  meanwhile,  sits  passive — sits  and  waits.  He  does 
nothing,  he  can  do  nothing.  His  self-respect  and  modesty — if  he  have 
ny — forbid  him  from  "  pushing  the  sale"  of  his  volume.  He  leaves 
sll  this  to  the  publisher.  The  paper  and  the  printer's  biU,  the  cost  for 
sdrertisements,  the  distribution  of  presentation  copies,  the  commission 
ti  salary  paid  to  travellers,  the  rent  for  storage  of  the  unsold  stock,  all 
these  and  the  like  affect  him  not  one  jot,  and  he  is  immensely  indig- 
aant  that  these  matters  all  appear  in  the  account,  together  with  a  not 
iiftreasonable  charge  for  commission  on  moBey  advanced.  He  never 
thooght  of  all  this.  His  calculations  were  of  the  simplest  and  most 
innocent  character.  An  edition  of  his  volume,  limited  to  1000 
copies,  will  cost  to  print,  say  £200 — that  is,  four  shillings  a  copy  ;  800 
are  sold  at  ten  shillings  a  copy.  Profit  £200.  His  share, 
tiwrefore,  £100,  and  a  potential  profit  of  £50  by-and-by.  Lot  to 
kis  dismay,  the  printer's  bill  stands  at  less  than  half  the  sum  total 
of  the  expen.se  incurred  in  bringing  the  volume  into  the  market  ;  and 
instead  of  his  share  yielding  him  £100,  he  finds  that  he  has  to  con- 
tent himself  with  less  than  a  fifth  of  what  he  deluded  himself  into 
expecting.  And  yet,  what  right  had  he  to  indulge  in  his  golden 
drvam  ?  Did  he  suppose  that  the  book-merchant  was  so  romantic 
and  quixotic  and  philanthropic  an  enthusiast  that  for  the  honour  and 
glory  of  introducing  some  unknown  writer  to  the  reading  public,  he, 
tho  publisher,  was  eager  to  become  the  aforesaid  writer's  banker,  and 
to  begin  by  allowing  him  to  overdraw  his  account  ? 

I  will  not  enter  into  certain  qu^^stions  of  fact  which  I  am  not 
([Qalified  to  discuss — such  as  the  difference  between  the  real  and  sup- 
poaed  profits  realized  by  publishers  as  a  class  ;  or  as  to  the  amount 
of  capital  embarked  in  the  book  trade,  and  the  percentage  paid  upon 
that  capital  all  ronnd.  This  kind  of  inquiry,  and  the  statements  put 
forward  on  one  side  or  the  other,  seem  to  me  to  be  very  like  drawing  a 
Ttd  herring  across  the  scent.  The  main  issue  is  surely  a  plain  one. 
Aw  our  controctfito  be  binding  upon  us  so  long  only  aa  we  find  it  pro- 
Stable  to  ourselves  to  keep  them,  but  as  soon  as  we  discover  that  what 
wt  aotd  yesterday  is  worth  more  to-day,  are  we  at  liberty  to  repudiate 
the  barg^ain,  and  throw  our  bond  into  the  fire  ? 

When  I  hear  authors  and  liturarj'  men,  who  ought  to  know  better, 
Jppreaa  themselves  in  the  reckless  way  in  which  some  of  them  do 


386 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[MAJ 


against  the  capitalists,  on  whose  support  and  co-operation  they  depenc 
and  must  always  depend,  for  getting  name  and  fame,  at  any  rate  a 
the  outset  of  their  career ;  when,  too,  I  reflect  upon  the  meaning  < 
the  assumptions  to  which  they  commit  themaelvt'S,  and  the  tendency  « 
those  assumptions,  wliich  they  are  doing  their  best  to  win  acceptani 
for — I  am  tempted  to  ask  myself,  "  Are  our  moral  instincts  getti* 
feebler  ?  Are  we  losing  our  sense  of  honour  ?  Is  our  respect  fl 
the  sacredness  of  plighted  troth  on  the  wane  ?  In  the  ethics  of  t: 
future  win  it  appear  that  no  engagements  need  be  binding  which  tm 
one  of  the  contracting  parties  may  flnd  it  to  his  advantage  at  aoi 
time  to  break  ?  " 

The  profession  of  literature  is  a  very  noble  profession ;  I  do  3 
presume  to  call  myself  one  of  its  members.  I  could  never  gain  alL- 
lihood  by  my  pen  ;  but  they  who  have  to  any  extent  the  ear  of  t 
reading,  and  therefore,  presumably,  the  more  thoughtful  public,  i 
answerable  to  God  and  man  for  the  way  they  use  their  large  oppc 
tunitiesof  usefiilnebs,  and  he  whoae  voice — for  it  is  a  voice — islisten^ 
to  by  the  millions  over  all  the  world,  has  the  burden  of  a  tremendoa 
responsibility  upon  him,  the  weight  of  which  he  can,  by  no  mean 
'^relieve  himself  of.  If  they  who  ought  to  be  the  trainers  of  the  nation* 
conscience  are  helping  to  confuse  it,  and  helping  others  to  believ 
that  literary  workers  are  oidy  workers  for  hire,  and  dett^tmined  o! 
getting  thatj  even  at  the  price  of  broken  faith  and  broken  pledges- 
then  there  can  be  but  a  gloomy  outlook  for  us  all — the  days  of  sham 
are  at  hand. 

Augustus  Jessopi 


Il90l 


ANGLO-CATHOLICISM— THE  OLD  AND 
THE  NEW.* 


'HIS  book  may  be  described  aa  a  new  series  of  "  Tracts  for  the 

Times;"  but  the   ''  Times"  have  changed,  and  with  them  the 

■Trtct*."     The  noise  of  battle  is  not  in  the  new  as  in  the  old  ;  the 

iUn  have  been  bom  in  the  age  of  "  sweet  reasonableness,"  they  do 

fbdignantly  address  an  apostate  Church,  or  an  impious  State,  but 

gently  to  succour   a   "  distressed    faith,"  loving  the  faith   and 

^ing  its  distress.     They  believe  that  "the  epoch  in  which  we  live  is 

I  of  profound  transformation,  intellectual  and  social,  abounding  in 

needs,  new  points  of  view,  new  questions,  and  certain  therefore  to 

Ire  great  changes  in  the  outlying  departments  of  theology."     The 

lalification  ia  careful,  but  more  easily  made  tlian  applied  ;  a  change 

the  circumferejice   of  a  circle  changes  the   circle  all   the  same. 

'Theology,"  it  is  confessed,  •'  must  take  a  new  development;"  bat  ''a 

development,"   though    it  be    but  of  a  single   organ,  afi'ects  the 

9le  organism,  all  its    parts    in    all   their  relations,   internal   and 

»1.     '"To  such  a  development  these  studies  attempt  to  be  a 

tribation."     The  writers  are  men  of  learning,  piety,  and  sincerity, 

'■errnntfi    of  the  Catholic  Creed   and   Church,"   but  they   are    also 

believers  in  evolution  and  in  theology  as  a  living  science.     The  com- 

on  is  excellent.      "  The  Creed  and  Church  "  are  the  organism, 

nen  are  its  Living  energies,  the  forces  and  conditions  of  the  time 

the  environment ;  and  if  the  thoughts  generated  in  the  environ- 

■•ot  penetrate,  quicken  and  modify  the  energies  of  the  organiHm,  we 

n^ojolentedly  leave  the  new  life  to  reckon  with  the  old  restrictions. 

A  book  like  this  is  suggestive  of  many  things,   especially  of  the 

••LaxMnnfli.  A  Serie«  of  Studio*  in  the  Religion  of  the  Incarnation."  Edltwl 
IrOwtai  Oow.  M.A..  Principal  of  Pnsey  House,  Fellow  of  Trinity  College,  Oxford. 
■****•  Joho  MumiT. 


388 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mar. 


changes  that  have  happened  within  the  last  sixty  years.  In  1833  the 
first  issue  of  the  "  Tracts  "  began,  breathing  the  courage,  defiance  and 
furious  despair  of  a  forlorn  hope ;  in  1890,  the  men  who  have  replaced 
the  old  leaders  are  within  the  citadel,  victorious,  proposing  their  own 
terms  of  peace.  The  revolution  has  come  full  cycle  round,  which  meana 
the  counter-revolution  is  at  band.  It  were  a  curious  question,  why,  in 
what  is  fancied  to  be  a  critical  and  sceptical!  age,  so  extraordinary  a 
revolution  has  been  achieved.  Perhaps  this  very  critical  scepticism  has 
helped  to  achieve  it.  Sceptical  are  always  credulous  ages  ;  the  more 
radical  the  disbelief  in  things  fundamental,  the  easier  the  belief  in 
things  accidental ;  where  faith  in  God  is  hardly  possible,  acceptance  of 
an  ancient  historical  Church  may  be  as  agreeable  as  it  is  convenient. 
It  belongs  to  the  region  of  the  phenonu'na!,  it  lives  in  the  field  of 
experience,  and  so  men  wlio  think  God  too  transcendental  for  belief 
may  conceive  the  Church  as  real  enough  to  be  deferentially  treated. 
The  thing  is  perfectly  natural :  what  has  died  to  the  reason  may  live 
all  the  more  tenderly  in  reminiscence.  Make  a  thing  beautiful  to  such 
persons,  and  it  becomes  attractive,  which  is  an  altogether  different 
matter  from  its  being  true  or  credible.  But  one  thing  is  clear,  the 
real  cause  of  success  has  been  faith  ;  for  victories  are  won  only  by  men 
of  convinced  minds.  In  this  case  they  have  been  mocked,  ridiculed, 
and  have  looked  ridiculous,  but  they  have  been  in  earnest,  and  have 
prevailed.  Over  them  our  modem  Samuel  Butlers  have  made  merry, 
collecting  the  materials  for  a  new  "  Hudibras,"  richer  than  the  old  in  the 
grotesrjneries  of  sartorial  pietism,  and  the  too  consciomsly  conscientious 
scrupulosities  of  the  well-applauded  martyr  for  a  rite  or  a  robe,  only 
in  this  case  the  robe  is  not  the  livery  of  "  the  scarlet  woman,"  or  the 
deadly  splendours  of  "  the  Babylonish  garment,"  but  the  very 
garniture,  the  sacred  and  seemly  vestments  of  the  truth  of  God. 
The  situation  ia  full  of  exquisite  irony  ;  the  delusion  of  the  old  hyper- 
Calvinist,  who  was  sure  only  of  two  things,  his  own  election  and  the 
reprobation  of  the  immense  multitude,  becomes  seemly  and  sane 
beside  its  modem  parallel — the  superb  egotism  which  enables  many 
excellent  but  most  ordinary  men  to  believe  that  their  order,  whose 
constituents  are  often  selected  and  formed  in  a  most  perfunctory  way, 
is  necessary  to  the  Church  of  God,  and  has  command  over  the 
channels  and  the  instruments  of  His  grace.  If  Englishmen  had  their 
old  sense  of  humour,  the  notion  could  not  live  for  a  single  hour;  and 
where  humour  fails,  so  coarse  a  thing  as  ridicule  has  no  chance  of  success. 
For  ridicule  is  the  test  of  ti'uth  only  to  men  who  fear  laughter  more 
than  God.  Men  like  Samuel  Butler  see  a  very  tittle  way  into  the  heart 
of  things — nay,  do  not  see  the  things  that  lie  on  the  surface  as  they , 
really  are.  The  man  who  has  a  genius  for  caricature  has  a  bad  eye 
for  character  ;  he  who  is  alwaj-s  in  seai-ch  of  the  ridiculous  never  finds 
the  truth.      So  Anglo-Catholicism,  if  it  is  to  be  understood,  must  be 


iS9o]        ANGLO-CATHOLICISM— OLD    AND    NEW. 


389 


itodied  from  within  as  well  as  from  without,  in  relation  indeed  to  the 
forces  that  created  its  opportunity  and  conditioned  its  progress,  but 
dw  88  it  lives  in  the  niinds  and  to  the  imaginations  of  the  men  who 
hare  been  its  chiefs  and  spokesmen. 


The  Anglo-Catholic  reWiral  may  in  its  origin  be  said  to  have  been 
the  pnjduct  of  three  main  factors  :  Liberalism,  the  inadequacy  of  the 
old  Church  parties  to  the  new  aituation,  and  the  spirit  of  Romanticism 
b  religion.  The  political  conditions  supplied  the  provocative  or 
ax'&sional  cause ;  the  inability  of  the  existing  ecclesiastical  parties 
to  deal  with  the  emergency  supplied  tha  opportunity ;  while  the 
Romanticist  tendency  in  literature  supplied  the  new  temper,  method, 
'  nint,  order  of  ideas.  Our  remarks  on  these  points  must  bo  of 
_-  L.iefeat- 

1.  It  is  usual  to  make  1833,  the  year  when  the  issue  of  the  Tracts 
begmn,  the  beginning  also  of  the    ecclpaiastical   revival,  though  for  a 
Ufm  yenra  before  then  the  waters  had  been  gathering  underground. 
liberalism  Just  then  seemed  •victorious   all   along   the   line,  and  had 
effecffd  changes  that  were  as  to  the  English  State  constitutional,  but 
M  to  the  English  Church,  revolutional.     The  Deists  of  the  eighteenth 
ceotury    had    died,   though   only  to   return  to    life  as  Philosophical 
Radicals,  learned  in  economics,  in  education,  in  theoretical  politics,  in 
aetbods  to  promote  the  greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest  number, 
tfumgli    the    greatest    number    was    largely    middle    class,    and  the 
happiness   was    more    akin   to    social  comfort   than   moral    beatitude. 
The  Roman  Catholics,  just  emancipated,  were  still  suffering  from  the 
sodal  proscription  which  in  England   is   the   worst  sort  of  religions 
diBability,   and   seemed  a  people  with  memories  but  without   hopes, 
with  illustrious  names  but  without  leaders,  enfeebled    by  having  lived 
as  long  as  aliens  amid  their  own  flesh  and  flood.     The  Dissenters, 
tffWigtbened  by  their  recent  enfranchisement,   and  as  it  were  legiti- 
mated by  the  State,  were  demanding  still  ampler  rights,  freer  educa- 
tion, universities   that   knew  no  Church,   while   also   mastering   and 
nunballing  the  energies  that  were  largely  to  determine  the  march  of 
rrfonn.      The  Episcopal  Church  was  the  grand  bulwark  against  Rome 
tnd  stood  in  very  diflTerent  relations  to  the  two  forms  of  dissent,  the 
'ic  and  the  Protestant :  to  the  one  it  stood  as  became  a  bulwark, 
-—  .uLely  opposed  ;  but  to  the  other  its  relation  was  rather  mixed  :  one 
Church  party  was,  for  theological   reasons,  sympathetic,  but  another 
«i«,  for  ecclesiastical  reasons,  at  once  tolerant  and   disdainful,  feeling 
ii  to  a  superfluous   auxiliary,  which  would  exist   and  assist   without 
otker  its  existence  or  assistance  being  wanted. 

The  effect,  then,  of  the  political  changes  had  been  twofold  :  they  had, 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  RE  VIE 


on  the  one  Hand,  broadened  the  basis  of  the  English  State,  m; 
terms  of  citizenship  distinctively  civil,  and  incorporated  or  a* 
classes  that  hiwl  hitherto  been  dealt  with  as  aliens.  But,  on  thi 
hand,  they  had  worked  for  tlie  English  Church  what  can  only 
scribed  as  a  revolution.  For  up  till  now  it  had  been,  and  inde 
is,  more  easy  to  distinguish  Church  and  State  ideally  than  ac 
the  English  constitution  may  be  said  to  have  recognized  their 
difference,  but  to  have  affirmed  their  material  identity.  Par] 
is  in  theory  the  English  people  assembled  for  purposes  of  legi 
the  English  Church  is  in  idea  the  same  people  associated  ; 
purpose  of  worship.  The  supreme  legislative  authority  is  < 
both  Church  and  State,  our  great  ecclesiastical  Laws  are  as  : 
source  and  sanction  civil ;  our  civil  authorities  appoint  the  m 
fill  our  great  ecclesiastical  offices.  Civil  penalties  follow  the 
tion  of  ecclesiastical  laws,  and  our  ultimate  ecclesiastical  tribui 
all  cilvil.  The  Act  of  Uniformity  was  passed  and  enforced 
civil  power,  and  under  it  dissent  was  a  civil  offence  punished  by  ci 
political  penalties.  The  same  power  determined  at  once  the  bool 
Bubscribed,  the  persons  who  were  to  subscribe  them,  and  the  U 
the  subscription.  The  practice  was  intelligible  and  logical 
on  the  theory  that  Church  and  State  were,  though  formally  di 
materially  identical  j  each  was  the  same  thing  viewed  under  a  d 
aspect,  the  civil  legislature  being  at  the  same  time  in  its  owi 
also  the  ecclesiastical.  So  long  as  the  theory  even  tolerably 
aponded  with  fact  the  system  could  be  made  to  work  ;  but  once 
and  State  ceased  to  be  and  to  be  considered  ns  being  co-extensi 
system  became  at  once  illogicaJ,  unreal  and  impracticable.  N< 
Acts  which  emancipated  the  CathoUcs  and  abolished  the  Tests,  d 
that  for  the  State  dissent,  whether  Catholic  or  Protestjint,  hod 
to  exist ;  that  to  a  man  as  a  citizen,  it  could  no  longer  ap] 
categories  of  Couftirmist  or  Nonconformist ;  in  other  words,  it 
be  a  State  with  a  Church,  but  had  ceased  to  be  a  Stat©  that 
tried  to  be  a  Church,  Nor  did  this  change  stand  alone  ;  it  h 
another  more  flagrant,  if  not  so  radical.  Dissenters,  Catho 
Protestant,  had  not  only  by  the  State  been  abolished  for  the 
they  had  been  admitted  to  Parliament,  and  to  all  the  funct 
legislators.  But  as  Parliament  was  the  supreme  Legislature  J 
Church  as  well  as  for  the  State,  it  happened  that  men  whose  i 
tive  note  was  dissent  from  the  Chnrch  were,  by  a  constitutional 
which  enlarged  and  benefited  the  State,  invested  with  leg 
authority  over  the  Church  they  dissented  from  ;  and  men  the  ' 
could  not  truthfully  recognize  as  fully  or  adequately  Christian, 
by  civil  action  and  on  civil  grounds  lawgivers  for  the  very 
kt  refused  them  recognition.  The  anomalies  in  the  situatio 
ay ;  but  to  the  State  they  were  only  such  as  were  insepai'ab 


tf9B]        ASGLO-CATHOUCISM—OLD  AND   NEir.  301 

ili  ptogma  out  of  a  mixed  civil  and  ecclesiastical  socioty  into  n 

ncietj'  pnzely   and  simply    ci\'il,  while    to  the  Church  tlioy  wi-n^ 

fnidBiieiital  contradictions  of  its  very  idea  as  national,  atid  hh  hiicIi 

oa^  to  haTie  been  felt  intolerable.     And  the  inexorable  logic,  of  iho 

■loitkm  soon  became  manifest.     The  WhigH  wen^  in  t]w  amMMiilanl, 

iridi  ample  oppcfftonity  to  gratify  their  traditional  disboiit^f  in  Churrh 

dnns  and  lore  of  Church  lands,  especially  as  n  mi^anH  of  cntalin^r  ii 

|iiaotic  aristocracy.    The  Royal  Commisaion  on  KcclcHifiHiJunl  Hnvf-inu-n 

iw  ippointed,  the  bishops  were  advised  to  set  their  hoitH<;  in  onlor,  und 

duBtthe  half  of  the  Irish  Sees  were  suppressed.     'i'h«;  onilijiik  wmm 

wk  hopeful,  and  in  the  Church  camp  there  was  rag<:  not  iiinii'iin/U-A 

lUi  despair. 

%.  Within  the  English  Church   the  old  VHri'!ti«;M  of  thoti;^ht  anfl 

ylaej prevailed,  but  all  were  chifracterized  by  th<:  nam':  uui'Am-.K-  I'tt 

tte  new  circumstances.     The  High  Church  uhK  bt  wm  lint^.,  t>i<;  o'A 

ebinlioiu  loyalties  had  become  impossible,  and  ^uf.xn.^A-.ti  hy  «;.;.  u-:yt 

iinl  its  character  had  deteriorated.     It  waf,  :ik<;  ik\  k:j:.".:.*  *'A!;.ty 

vkae  pride  is  sustained  by  inveterate  ^tr^yA.r:'-'*  ar.'i  *.;  'r  r  f /..>/*. /jt, 

rf  conquests  in  a  time  too  remote  t«,   \m-  j, 'a.>a.'.*.;.'    r<::.'.::.'/  ■t'., 

ft bd bnilt  on  the  royal  prerogative:  '>..*:  'i.  .:.■  r./r.-   '.'  *'.    r  f.y 

kd dofined  and  determined  the  right  o:  ilr  O. "..";,•.  v.  '/<  -■  ■  ';.-  ."•. 

rflm people;  its  authority  within  tr.e  .S*aV:  >■.%.-   %.  :'-.•-.•  '/  :..i    <''-. 

■a oonld  not  secede  from  the  Ch'::rcL  irh:,-.-.*   '>.:./  o.v^v    v,    '.*, 

^B^.     It  was  a  perfectly  intellij?:''"- •r-':^.:';"   *'-'    %^   'A;'.*"'*    »>.' 

•■■  intelligible,  but  then  its   pr:r!:*r;/  -■.•*'.'.■..»  rf   •'...  r  ■  />  '..•   ... 

li^t ;  onoe  the  premiss  had  vaz,  cLrtr-.-'^.    :•   f:..vi'     •--/■-:-,.«    '^^^ 

•wts,  thetheory  ceased  to  be  e2^*r  :.v.*-.-.v',v.-  •,•   -.v  .•-•v         /^ .    * 

Hb without  reason  is  never  a  hap-Tj  .-'»: :    ^ ut.-   •,  >-  -.it,-;  ^  .-'/i    * 

fcaunliies  the  obstinacy  br  •■■iiri.  h  . --^t   tv.  •?-.    ••vv^.    «,  /•/, 

Uf  of  the  ei^teenth  oKit'irj  tl-^   H_ia    V"    -■    -.jfe*'.     :-<'j«.-' 

■gnng  dynasty,  ploct^  iraicc   J.i    .-.*   ;.*;%"    -.    -    ''^  '>-;.-«.'    ^j. 

4etnMonitplott45d.    A::c  ^i^^ -Jii-  .--rr.v  .^'   v     ^j  -    ■  ->-<•.     .> 

•y  4ft  theory  being  k  =<c^^  t*  -,-.  :  '         -..  x.   *-  :.,     .  > 

^aittemptedadiettcS'.c.  -jf  -_!.•:  r.-.,-  •.     -.-      ■' -        "  v    .   .-..■  ■ 

■fcoi  hsnaony  vi&  t=i»  fzzi^iii-'irjb   v-i'^-    .  -    <.-.      .  •  m  .  ,  ^?    /    .. 

*■*•  oa nerer »  jfr* -B-lriii -i'  'rrja-   i^       -f  •■■   .-    «    •^'.-.j-  <    ^ 


■■g-  Ufa  4^  jj^  ^^^^   ^j,^  ^.,  ^  .^  ^  ^ 

_^^— fr  X-  lib*  ?>Tr.T:'~ 


392 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mab. 


tave  been  termed  the  type  of  religion  most  characteristic  of*  the 
English  people.  On  the  intellectual  side  it  was  timid,  hwni,  formal, 
closed.  Its  hatred  of  rationalism  turned  into  fear  of  reason  ;  it  lived 
within  its  narrow  tidy  garden,  cut  its  tree^  of  knowledge  into  Dutch 
figures,  arranged  its  flower-beds  on  geometrical  lines,  hut  was  careful 
never  to  look  over  the  hedgo  or  allow  any  wild  seeds  from  the  outer 
world  to  take  root  within  its  borders.  Yet  by  a  curious  necessity  the 
spirit  of  an  age  lives  even  in  the  strongest  reaction  against  it,  and  to 
the  formal  rationalism  of  the  eightuentli  century  the  Evangelical 
revival  owed  its  violently  conventional  theology,  the  foolhardinesa 
which  could  represent  the  relations  of  God  and  man  by  a  series  of 
formulated  and  reasoned  abstractions.  But  whatever  may  be  said  of 
itiS  theology,  the  heart  of  ita  piety  was  sound  ;  it  might  be  narrow,  but 
it  was  dpep  and  genuine.  Men  who  did  not  know  it  took  offence  at 
its  manner  of  speech  touching  the  more  awf  nl  mysteries  of  being,  and 
sneered  at  it  as  oi/ie/'-worldliness.  But  no  piety  was  ever  more  healthily 
and  actively  humane.  Face  to  face  with  a  corruption  that  might 
appal  even  the  society  of  to-day,  it  pleaded  for  purity  of  manners  and 
created  a  social  conscience  and  moral  shame  where  for  centuries  they 
had  been  asleep.  In  an  age  which  knew  no  duty  of  rich  to  poor,  or 
of  educated  to  ignorant,  save  the  duty  of  standing  as  far  ofl'as  possible 
and  leaving  them  in  their  vice  and  filth,  passions  and  poverty,  it 
awakened  an  enthusiasm  for  their  souls,  and  a  love  for  their  outcast 
children  which  yet  was  so  blended  with  love  of  their  lx)dies  and  tlieir 
homes  as  to  coin  the  now  familiar  proverb,  so  characteristic  of  the  then 
Evangelical  faith,  "  Cleanliness  is  next  to  godliness."  In  a  time  when 
humanity  was  unknown  in  the  prison,  and  a  merciless  law  became  even 
criminal  in  its  dealings  with  the  guilty.  Evangelical,  and  indeed 
specifically  Dissenting,  piety  began  the  more  than  Herculean  work  of 
reforming  the  prisons  and  Christianizing  the  law.  In  a  period  when 
the  less  civilized  races  were  regarded  only  as  chattels,  or  as  means  of 
replenishing  the  coffers  or  gratifying  the  ambitions  or  even  the 
passions  of  the  more  civilized,  the  same  piety,  in  spite  of  the  mockery 
of  clerical  wits,  and  the  scorn  of  the  New  xVuglicans,  who  could  not  love 
the  wretched  "niggers"  because  they  "concentrated  in  themselves  all  the 
whiggery,  dissent,  cant,  and  alxmiination  that  had  been  ranged  on  their 
aide,"*  in  apite,  too,  of  the  antagonism  of  statesmen  and  of  all  interested 
classes,  taught  the  English  people  to  consider  the  conquered  Hindu, 
the  enslaved  negro,  the  savage  African  or  South  .Sea  Islander  as  a  soul 
to  be  saved,  and  ^o  created  in  England  and  America  the  enthusiasm 
that  emancipated  the  slave  and  created  the  rudiments  of  a  conscience, 
if  not  a  heart,  in  the  callous  bosom  of  English  politics,  and  even  in 
the  still  harder  and  emptier  bosom  of  English  commerce.  Nay. 
Evangelical  piety  must  not  be  defamed  in  the  homo  of  its  birth ;  it 
*  Hurrell  Froude :  "Remains,"  part  i,  vol.  i.  p.  382. 


tlysj         ANGLO-CATHOLICISM— OLD   AND   NEW.  393 

was  the  very  reverse  of  o/A«r- worldly,  intensely  practical,  brotherly, 
benevolent,  beneficent,  though  somewhat  prudential  in  the  means  it 
Dsed  to  gain  its  moat  magnanimous  ends.  He  who  speaks  in  its  dis- 
praise, either  does  not  know  it  or  feels  no  gratitude  for  good  achieved. 
Happy  will  it  be  for  Anglo-Catholicism,  which  we  may,  in  contra- 
distinction to  the  Evangelical,  term  the  sensuous  and  sacerdotal 
revival,  if,  once  it  has  run  its  inevitable  course,  men  can  trace  but  half 
us  much  of  human  good  to  its  inspiration.  Great  are  the  things  it 
has  achieved  for  the  idea  of  tho  Church,  for  the  restoration,  which  too 
often  means  the  desecration,  of  churches,  for  the  elaboration  of  worship 
and  the  adornment  of  the  priest,  but  the  final  measure  of  its  efficiency 
will  be  what  it  accomplishes  for  the  souls  and  lives  of  men. 

Bat  two  things  disqualified  the  Evangelicals  for  adequate  dealing 
with  the  emergency — their  intellectual  timidity  and  their  want  of  any 
safficient  idea  of  the  Church.       Tlieae  two  were  intimately  related; 
their  theology  was  too  narrowly  individualistic,  too  much   a  reasoned 
method  of  saving  single  souls,  to  admit  easily,  or  without  fracture, 
those  larger  views  of  God,  the  universe,  and  man,  needed  to  guide  a  great 
society  in  a  crisis,  or,  as  it  were,  in  the  very  article  of  revolution.    They 
did  not  sufficiently  feel  that  the  Church  was  a  sort  of  spiritual  Father- 
land, within  which  they  had  been  born,  through  which  they  lived,  for 
Vliose  very  dust  they  could  love  to  die.    The  Evangelicals  have  often 
been  described  as  the  successors  and  representatives  of  the  Puritans 
within  the  Anglican  Church,  but  here  they  were  their  very  opposites. 
The  Puritan  theology  was  remarkable  for  its  high  and  catholic  doctrine 
of  the  Church,  so  conceiving  the  sovereignty  of  the  Redeemer  that  the 
body  in  which  He  lived  and  over  whicli  Ho  reigned  could  never  be 
dependent  on  any  State  or  subordinate  to  any  civil  power  whatever.  The 
high  Anglican  rather  than  the  Evangelical  has  here  been  the  l*uritan's 
heir,  though  the  Anglican  has  lowered  the  splendid  idea  he  inherited 
by  giving  it  a  less  noble  and  a  less  catLolic  expression.      It  was  the 
want   of   sQch    a    vivifying    and    commanding    idea    that    lost   the 
Evangelical   the  leadership  of  the  Church   in  its  hour  of  storm  and 
oisifl. 

4.  So  far,  then,  it  seemed  as  if  the  battle  against  vigorous  and  vic- 
tori'jag  Liberalism  must  be  fought  on  the  lines,  abhorred  of  the  old 
High  Church,  of  the  old  latitudinarian  utilities.  Church  and  State 
were  allies,  their  union  was  duo  to  a  contract  or  compact,  by  which 
th>'  Church  received  so  much  pay  imd  privilege,  and  the  State  so  much 
lervice  and  sanction.  To  argue  the  question  on  this  ground  was  to  be 
defeated ;  there  was  no  principle  in  it,  only  the  meanest  expediencies, 
profits  to  be  determined  by  the  utilitarian  cnlculue,  with  contract 
broken  when  profits  ended.  It  was  at  this  moment  that  Romanticism 
■■nimed  an  ecclesiastical  form,  and  emerged,  changed  in  name,  but 
Dochanged  in  essence,  as  Anglo-Catholicism. 


394 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[MAS. 


RomnnticisTJi  may  be  described,  as  the  literary  spirit  which, 
bom  partly  in  tht-^  frenzy  of  the  Revolution,  and  partly  in  the 
recoil  from  it,  executed  in  the  early  decades  of  this  century  ven- 
geance upon  the  rationalism  of  the  last.  It  was  not  Knglish  merely, 
but  European  ;  it  had  achieved  great  things  on  the  Continent 
before  it  took  shape  here.  In  France  it  produced  Chateaubriand, 
whose  rhapsodical  Gdnir.  was  at  once  a  coup  dc  tlUatrt  et  (Tautel, 
Joseph  de  Maistre  and  the  idealization  of  the  Papacy.  In  Germany, 
it  blossomed  into  tie  Stolbergs  and  the  Schlegels,  who  preached  the 
duty  of  a  flight  from  the  present  to  the  past,  and  bolieved  that 
they  preserved  faith  by  indulging  imagination ;  and  througli  the 
school  first  of  Tubingen  and  then  of  Mnnich,  as  represented  by 
Muhler,  it  entered  theology,  furnishing  Roman  Catholicism  with  a 
new  and  potent  apologetic  and  Anglican  with  a  no  less  potent 
source  of  inspiration  and  guidance.  Its  characteristic  was  an  ima- 
ginative handling  of  its  material,  especially  mediajvalism  and  its 
survivals,  with  a  view  to  a  richer  and  happier  whole  of  Ufa. 
Rationalism  was  an  optimism  which  glorified  its  own  enlightened 
stge,  and  pitied  the  ignorance  and  superstition  of  the  earlier  men ; 
but  Romanticism  was  an  idealism  which  wished  to  transcend  the 
present  it  disliked,  by  returning,  either  with  Wordsworth  to  a  severe 
simplicity,  all  the  more  refined  that  it  was  so  rustic  and  natural ; 
or,  as  with  Scott,  to  the  gallant  days  of  chivalry  and  the  rule  of 
the  highly  bom  and  bred.  All  were  subjective,  each  used  a  different 
medium  for  the  expression  of  himself,  but  the  cliaracteristic  thing 
was  the  self  expressed,  not  the  mt-dium  employed.  The  Lake  poets 
sang  in  praise  of  Nature,  but  it  was  the  Nature  of  the  poet's  dream, 
sleeping  in  the  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  shore.  Scott  loved  to 
picture  the  past,  but  his  was  the  past  of  the  poet's  fancy,  not  the  hard, 
grim  world,  where  men  struggled  with  existence  and  for  it,  but  an 
idealized  arena,  where  noble  birth  meant  noble  being,  and  only  a 
villain  or  a  hypocrite  could  lift  a  hand,  even  for  freedom,  against 
a  head  that  was  crowned.  In  this  use  of  the  imagination  there 
was  more  truth  but  less  reality  than  there  had  been  in  the  cold  and 
analytic  methods  of  the  previous  century.  Rationalism,  for  want  of 
the  histttrical  imagination,  sacrificed  the  past  to  history.  Roman- 
ticism, for  want  of  the  critical  faculty,  sacrificed  history  to  the  past. 
What  one  finds  in  the  elegant  yet  careless  pages  of  Hume  is  a  record 
of  events  that  once  happened,  written  by  a  man  who  has  never  con- 
ceived so  as  to  realize  the  events  he  describes ;  what  one  finds  in  the 
vivid  pages  of  Scott  is  a  living  picture  of  the  past,  but  of  a  past  that 
nevor  lived.  This  is  the  veiy  essence  of  Romanticism,  the  imaginative 
intf^rpretation  of  Nature  or  history,  but  it  is  only  the  form  that  is 
natural  or  historical,  the  substance  or  spirit  is  altogether  the  inter- 
preter's own. 


•S9o] 


ANGLO-CATHOLICISM—OLD   AND   NEW 


395 


1.  Now  it  was  this  Romanticist  tendency  that  was  the  positive  factor 
cf  Anglo-Catiolicism.  While  the  other  two  sets  of  circamstancessup- 
l^ied  respectively  the  occasion  and  the  opportunity,  this  gare  the 
crettire'  impulse  ;  it  was  the  spirit  that  quickened.  The  men  in  whom 
it  took  shape  and  found  speech  were  three — Keble,  Newman,  Pnsey. 
Berittpa  we  ought  to  name  a  fourth,  Hurrell  Froude  ;  bat  he  lives  in 
Kefrman.  He  was  theswiftest,moBt  daring  spirit  of  them  all ;  his  thought 
0  hot,  as  it  were,  with  the  fever  that  shortened  his  days  ;  his  words  are 
^nfiosed  as  with  a  hectic  flush,  and  we  must  judge  him  rather  as  one  who 
moved  men  to  achieve  than  by  his  own  actual  achievements.  The  three 
we  have  named  were  in  a  rare  degree  complementary  of  each  other  ;  they 
were  respectively  poet,  thinker,  and  scholar,  and  each  contributed  to 
lite  movement  according  to  his  kind.  Keble  was  a  splendid  instance 
of  the  truth  that  a  man  who  makes  the  songs  of  a  people  does  more 
than  the  man  who  makes  their  laws.  His  hymns  are  a  perfect  lyric 
«Kpre88ion  of  the  Romanticist  tendency;  in  them  the  mood  of  the 
Bomeiit  sjwaks  its  devoutest  feelings  in  fittest  form.  This  was  the 
secret  of  their  power.  They  are  without  the  passion  of  the  mystic, 
tbe  infinite  hunger  of  the  aoul  that  would  live  for  God  after  the  God 
H  cannot  live  without,  the  desire  to  transcend  all  media,  win  the 
immediate  divine  vision,  and  lose  self  in  its  supreme  bliss  ;  rather  are 
tiicy  the  sweet  and  mellow  fruit  of  "  pious  meditation  fancy-fed," 
which  loves  means  as  means,  feels  joy  in  their  use,  in  reading  their 
iiieamng.  in  being  subdued  by  their  gentle  discipline ;  and  which  loves 
God  all  the  better  for  the  seemliness  and  stateliness  of  the  way  we  get 
to  Him.  Keble  learned  of  Wordsworth  t-o  love  Nature,  to  read  it  as  a 
▼ailed  parable,  or  embodied  allegory,  spoken  by  God,  and  heard  by  the 
mal;  he  learned  of  Scott  to  love  the  past,  and  seek  in  it  his  ideals. 
His  love  of  God  became  love  of  his  own  Church,  of  what  she  had  been, 
wiat  ah©  was,  and,  above  all,  of  what  she  ought  to  be,  of  her  ancient 
monnments,  her  venerable  institutions,  her  stately  ceremonial,  her 
Mints  and  her  saints'  days.  And  by  his  sweet,  meditative,  poetic  gift 
be  made  what  he  loved  seem  lovely.  What  ecclesiastical  ]>o]emic8, 
pMTOchial  activity,  and  sacerdotal  ritual  never  could  have  accomplished, 
his  hymns  achieved;  indeed  >  they  not  onlymmle  those  otliers  jx>ssible, 
bot  even  necessary,  creating  for  th^m  that  disposition,  that  readiness 
xeeeiTe,  to  learn,  and  to  trast,  which  is,  according  to  Newman,  the 
iter  part  of  faith.  It  is  by  sure  instinct  that  the  name  of  Keble 
Iiu  been  seized  as  the  name  most  typical  of  the  i\jiglo-Catholic  revival. 
He  aeiacd  tJie  prevailing  sentiment,  and  translated  it  into  a  form  at 
poetic  and  religious,  and  by  so  doing  tnmed  a  rising  tide  or 
into  the  service  of  his  party  and  his  Church.  But  the  secret 
■trength  may  become  the  source  of  their  weakness.     The  man 


396 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mar. 


of  piouB  and  meditative  fancy  may  evoke  the  historical  spirit,  and 
make  the  present  beautiful  in  the  light  of  aoi  idealized  past ;  bat  when 
the  appeal  is  to  history,  scientific  criticism  becomes  the  ultimate  judge, 
and,  though  its  judgments  are  slow,  they  are  inexorable  as  those  of  God. 
2.  Newman  was  more  rarely  gifted  than  Keble,  but  his  gifts 
though  of  a  rarer  and  higher  order,  were  less  pure  in  quality.  He  had  in 
a  far  higher  degree  the  poet's  temper,  and  more  of  his  insight,  creative 
genius  and  passion.  It  was  his  misfortune  to  be  an  ecclesiastic  in  & 
stormy  criaisj  and  indeed  to  be  of  the  crisis  the  foremost  and  cha- 
racteristic polemic.  He  had  a  subtle  and  analytic  intellect,  but  dia- 
lectical rather  than  speculative,  discursive  and  critical  rather  than 
synthetic  and  constructive.  He  had  more  of  the  mystic's  nature 
and  intensity  than  Keble ;  the  passion  for  God  burned  in  his  spirit 
like  a  fire,  impelled  him  as  by  an  awful  necessity  to  the  Infinite,  yet 
divided  him  from  it  by  a  still  more  awful  distance.  He  loved  to 
seek  everj'where  for  symbols  of  the  divine,  which  would  at  once 
assure  him  of  the  Eternal  Presence,  and  help  him  to  gain  more  con- 
sciouB  accoas  to  it ;  yet  he  had  the  genuine  mystic's  feeling  that  all 
means  were  inadequate,  and  so  divisive ;  as  mediative  they  held  tie 
spirit  out  of  the  immediate  Presence,  and  not  only  shaded  bnt 
obscured  its  glory.  Hence  he  had  none  of  Keble's  love  of  means  as 
means ;  he  had  too  much  imagination  to  be  satisfied  with  the  sensuous 
aeeroliness,  the  Laudian  "  beauty  of  holiness,"  which  pleased  Keble's 
fine  and  fastidious  but  feebler  fancy ;  what  he  wanted  was  to  stand 
face  to  face  with  ( !od  himself,  and  to  find  a  way  to  Him  as  sure  as 
hia  own  need  for  Him  was  deep  and  real.  But  to  find  such  a  way, 
never  an  easy  thing,  was  to  one  situated  and  constituted  like  Newman 
peculiarly  hard.  For  as  deep  and  ineradicable  as  his  passion  for 
God  was  his  scepticism  of  reason,  which  is,  in  the  last  analysis,  tiie 
subtlest  of  all  scepticisms  aa  to  God.*  And  it  is  the  least  tolerable, 
because  the  most  paralysing,  to  the  man  with  the  spirit  and  temper 
of  the  mystic.  To  believe  in  God,  yet  to  doubt  His  real  presence 
in  the  reason,  is  to  be  impelled  to  imagine  that  what  in  man  has 
most  of  God  is  also  remotest  from  Him,  and  most  completely  ont 
of  His  control ;  and  so  the  inexorable  logic  of  the  situation  forces 
the  man,  if  he  does  not  surrender  his  doubt  of  the  reason,  either 
to  surrender  all  certainty  and  all  reality  in  his  knowledge  of  God,  or 
to  end  the  conflict  by  calling  in  some  violent  mechanical  expedient, 
such  indeed  as  Newman  was  slowly  but  in-esistibly  driven  to  adopt. 
Whence  this  sceptical  tendency  came  in  Newman's  case  is  too  large  a 

•  This  interitretation  of  Newman  is  admirably  illustrated  by  Mr.  Hutton,  "  Modern 
Guides  of  Engrlisb  Thought  in  Matters  of  Faith,"  pp.  78  IT.  The  conclnsion  was  not 
intended,  but  is  only  on  that  account  the  more  significant.  "It  is,  I  think,  profound 
pity  for  tho  restlessness  and  insatiability  of  human  reason,  which  has  ina'le  him  a 
Roman  Catholic."  Jiut  the  "  pity  '*  i.s  only  the  superficial  expression  of  the  deeper 
scepticism,  which  so  doubts  ''  God's  Spirit  as  revealed  in  conscience  and  reason,"  as 
to  require  an  infallible  institution  for  their  control. 


«89o] 


ANGLO-CATHOLICISM— OLD   AND   NEW. 


397 


to  be  here  discussed ;  but  we  may  say  he  owed   it,  partly, 
perhaps  mainly,  to  native  intellectual  qualities,  partly,  to  his  place  in 
thfi  reaction  against  Rationalism,  and,  partly,  to  an  anthor  he  greatly 
lores  to  praise,  who  possibly  represents  the  greatest  mental  intiiience 
came   ander,  Batler.     The   reaction    against  Rationalism    was  in 
Ncinzian  rapre  a  matter  of  imagination  than  of  reason ;   and  he  hated 
aod  disowned  its  results  witliout  tninscending  its  philosophy.      As  a 
oonnequence,   he  shared  in  the   common  inheritance  of  our  modem 
English  thought,   that  doubt    of  the   reason   which    has    become    in 
tbe  more  consistent  philosophies  either  a  reasoned  doubt,  or,  what  is 
tbe  same  thing  adapted  to  a  positive  and  scientific  age,  a  reasoned 
!j«Kience.     And    to    the  difficulties   or   antinomies    of    his    thought 
Batler    more  than  any  man  awoke  him.     The  undei'lying  or  mate- 
rial idea  of  the  '■  Analogy,"  what  may  be  termed  the  theory  of  the 
correepondence  of  the  physical  and  spiritual  realms,  especially  when 
further  qualified  by  the  influence  of  Keble,  gave  indeed  to  Newman 
kis  grand  constructive  principle,  the  notion  of  the  sacramental  sym- 
bolism of  Nature;  but  its  formal  and  regulative  maxim,  ''  Probability 
is  the  guide  of  life,"  was  more  creative  of  disturbance  and  perplexity. 
For  to  a  man  of  his  temper,  mental  integrity,  and  theistic  passion,  as 
■ore  of  God's  being  as  of  his  own,  it  must  have  seemed  a  sort  of  irony 
to  make  such  a  maxim  the  judicial  and  determinative  principle  in  a 
religions  argument.     It  may  be  said   to  have  formulated  his  master 
probrem — How   is    it    possible    to    build  on  probable    evidence    the 
certitude  of  faith  ?  or,  How,  by  a  method   of  probabilities,  can  the 
ndstcnce,   if  not  of  necessary,  yet   of   infallible  truth,  be  proved  ? 
Indeed,  Butler's  probability,  which  was  not  without  similar  tendencies 
m  his   own  case,  determined  the  search  which   landed   Newman  in 
Papal  infallibility. 

We  have,  then,  to  imagine  Newman,  witli  his  mystic  passion,  his 
pkiloeophical  scepticism,  and  his  apologetical  maxim,  called  to  face  the 
disiotegratiTe  and  aggressive  forces  of  his  time.  He  could  face  them 
in  strength  only  by  maintaining  his  intellectual  integrity,  and  from 
the  antinomies  of  liis  thought  there  were  only  two  possible  ways  of 
ncape,  either  by  a  higher  philosophy  or  a  higher  authority.  And  of 
tiiMe  two  each  was  exclusive  of  the  other.  If  the  way  by  philosophy 
bad  been  chosen,  then  the  process  of  reconciliation  would  have  been 
isusaoent  and  natural,  the  antitheses  of  the  formal  understanding 
wonld  have  been  overcome  by  the  synthesis  of  the  transcendental 
iCMon.  But  to  choose  the  way  of  authority  was  to  deny  that  any 
natural  process  of  reconciliation  was  possible,  and  to  seek  to  silence 
Ihe  inward  dissonances  by  the  sound  of  an  outward  voice ;  the  deeper, 
of  eoonse,  the  dissonances  grew,  the  more  authoritative  had  the  voice 
to  be  made.  For  many  reasons — constitutional,  educational,  circum- 
ftantial,  social — the  philosophical  way  was  not  selected,  and  Newman 


89B  THE    COSTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

began  his  wonderfal  pcilemical  career  a  mystic  vs.  fait;,   i   bkt 

philoBophv.  a  seeker  after  an  anthority  able  to  snbdit:  u-  seen 

and  Tiudicate  tibe  faiili.      His  power,  studied  in  oanneciiicc.  ini 

marvelloTiE  literari-  faculty  and  intense  religionb   EmcenT;.-    2-  ■: 

cable  enougb,  bnt.  regarded  as  a  question  in  philoBopnica   mi:: 

it  is  more  complex  and  dii&cnlt  of    anaiysib.     2so  xosl.  .sa- 

thoronglily  understood  the  men  of  hie  age  :  m^  man  of  senin.-  ^r-*: 

comprehended  the  problems  of  his  time,  or  conrdbnt^c:  les;  t>  - 

solution.     It  is  remarkable,   considering  hit   immense  procuciT 

and  the  range  and  kind  of  subjects  he  has  handled,  aovr  w 

stmctive  principles,    speculative    and    historical,    car    br    tomu 

his    works.       The  critical   philc«ophy    he    doeh   no*    seen.    t<    i 

cared  to  understand.     Modem  criticisn:.  a.''  regard.''    iJotL  pimd 

and    methode.    he    never    tried     to    master,    o:     '^v-i,.   ooiecii"' 

to    conceive.      The    scieniilic  treatmem    oi"  history    i-   tor  alis 

niE:  spirit    and   aims  to  be   comprehended   py   him.      HL'-  onv 

fdderable  historical   \^'ork    it:   but  an  overgrown  polemical  pami 

— a  treatise   on  the  controversies  of  hit  own  time^  disguiseil  i 

iiistory.     Hit  *•  Doctrine  of  Development  "  ii^  nor  original,  anil  si 

from  being  the  equivalent  tif  evolution  is  it*  autithesi'-  and  cantn 

lion.     It  mav  be  loiric  applied  tc>  doirmu.  but  is  not   science  op] 

I;.'  history.     HiF  most  considerable,  at   once  piiiiosophiciil  and  S} 

getical  work,  may  be    described  as    u   treatise    on  tiie  necesir 

the  personal  equation   in  reiicion :  it   imores  what   i.'-  primary 

universal  in  the  reav'ii!  that  it   may  buiid   on  wiiat   if-  specihr 

acquired  in  the  individual.      Hut   it  is   w-  parador  tr  say.  tJioK 

eienient*   o:    hi^    jiiuioBrrpiiicul  weaim^Ff-    hovf-   beor   soarfet   of 

literary  and  conirov»rsial   ptr'-nptL.     Th*  v^-ry  .severity  c:  tht-  cm 

IV.  iiii-  owi.  RTiirii  ims  ri'^-'i-  '-iti    tit-   pr' diunti-p"  i«-^ns'   o:  urv  tV.t 

iL  om'  day  'X  th*    ;»r'77t-''siti''i^  o:   L'vii;!:   mai.- — tii*.    i.>ev-iideTmen" 

TJiought.  motivt .   anc    crjiisciontrt-    thai    ?Qmt    a:'  limii^'c.  and  pss: 

:u.    t»einr.    bounL   ;\v  luv    ye;   il  Te"'-C)h   iuruiniM   tiit-  law  tiiai  b 

;:.      Oonvi.-T^.ioui-  :ii-    nnr-    sirenuou^  that  tiiey  wor*   iormuiatec 

iMiiliicn  unci  huvf  iit^-i.  ut-icl  amicl  rontroverd"'.  int-^mal  and  exter 

;.   nietv  tiiii*   i?^  nf^tiiiiiC    iesi-  thai.  i.  cr*>n'n?  lo-^  '■•.•iiirion.  an  inw 

;niariiiati-.ii"..   usinr  tii-    :i:strciiieutf   >j:  sniiil*^  uiui-rTiir .  and  dcai 

arcrunivn:  :i    siiee.'i    n:    v 'in tiro;; ^   rrat*-    unc    'ore*; .  uavf-  enablec  ] 

tv   aturt*!»r  vi'ii    ;;ii'.Mi;jili-il.  ..Ci!'!.    irresjsTin;- .  "nr^ve:    met  who  cc 

:»T  reu:"i;-"C  m.>?:  fa^iy  liirom.*!.  '.lit    .'  in>.'i-':»C'   o:  munrinaiion.     S 

luei.    i-.:    ii&>  :v«i..    SI  iicj;j-c..    ;■. ■i:'^:'rT!»('.    ih-u^i.    iy  ii   prc»ceaB  t 

aiirfiivr,    .nv  ■.•vf'r^i  .vt^r-il    ratii-'-    zh.'.i.    r"iv..vinpec    tie    reason.    J 

til'-    ITT  :-t^.-    ii!     \v.:>    puTsut'i.    v.-itiii-tu:     ^^    i:i:    the    coxmtierptrt 

Us-    11T- ••.—*-   I:;    iijii,    ii;-::Ti-    nuTsuet    v.jrii;?..      Imtt   ha^  never  b» 

i».    iiUi     ■■■     nrjuci.    a:     i»jii?o:    iit    ,.•.!•»«:    cv.     :iJw*tiiT:    aj^    for  scuf 

■0--        .mi-iii-r^iiL     iilfiftri-nrr    h«>    xv^^i.    r    «irr    of   moral 


iS)o]       ANGLO-CATHOLICISM—OLD   AND   NEW. 


399 


he  has  reasoned  as  if    the    men    who   held  the  principles  he 

must    themselves    be    odioas.       Hence    came    what    Blanco 

Tuite  called  his  "  deceiving  pride,"  and  his  resolute  sacrifice  of  old 

to  new  views.     Hence,  too,  the  temper  I   will   not  call   in- 

cnint,  but  so   severely  and  logically  authoritative   that,  to  quote 

snoo  White  again,  '*  he  would,  as  sure  as  he  lives,  persecute  to  the 

ith  i/he  had  the  direction  of  the  civil  power  for  a  dozen  years.'" 

'  are  the  invariable  characteristics  of  the  man  who  bases  a  faith 

finthority  on  a  scepticism  of  the  reason.     Newman,  with  all  that  he 

I  for,  represents  the  struggle  of  English  empiricism  to  remain 

pineal,  and  yet  become  imaginative  and  religious. 

8,  But  tlie  scholar  of  tho  baud  was  as  notable  in  his  own  order  ae 

poet  and  thinker  in  theirs.     Pusey,  indeed,  was  less  a  scholar 

a  schoolman,    these    two     1)eing    distinguishable    thus:     the 

bolar  lovos  learning,  and  uses  it  as  an  instrument  for  the  discovery 

'trath,  while  the  schoolman  is  a  learned  man  who  uses  his  learning 

a  means  of  proving  an  assumed  or  formulated  position.     The 

!  studies  that  he  may  cultivate  mind,  develop  and  exercise  the 

es ;  but  tlie  schoolman  searches  that  he  may  find  authorities 

terify  his   axioms  and  justify  his  definitions.     The  scholar  aims 

'  tibjectivity,  seeing  things  as  they  really  were,  how  and  why  they 

sued,  whither  tended,  and   what  achieved  ;  but  the  schoolman 

llhroughout  governed  by  subjectivity,  brings  his  system  to  history, 

1  his   researches   that    history    may   be   made   to    furnish 

fence  of  tJie  system  he  brings.     Now  Pusey  had  the  making  of  a 

in  him,  though  he  never  became  what  he  could  have  been. 

I  had  a  susceptible,  sympathetic,  assimilative  mind,  combined  with  a 

largeness  of  nature  that  at  once  (jualified  him  to  understand 

and  distinguished  him  as  a  man  men  could  trust.      His  famous 

quiryinto  the  Probable  Causes  of  German  Rationalism  "  admirably 

atea  his  mental  qualities,  especially  the  susceptible  and  assimila- 

It  is   full    of    his    German    teachers,*    their    spirit,    method, 

Is,  though  all  has  passed  through  a  conservative  English  mind. 

taad  honest  enough  to  defend  a  cause  by  being  just  to  the  cause 

But  in   Oxford,  Keble  and  Newman  superseded  Tholuck, 

Pii»y  passed  from  the  scientific  to  a  local  and  insular  stand- 

thp  scholar  became  the  schoolman.     What  he  was  to  the  new 

aent  Newman   has  testified  ;  he   brought  to  it  the  dignity  of 

•cademic  office   and   social  rank,  weight  of  character,  counsel, 

faculty  and  speech,  the  service  of  vast  erudition,  and  reverence 

'  w  Bonrces  hia  erudition  explored.     He  had  precisely  the  qualities 

needed  to  consolidate  and  guide  the  party.      Keble's  fancy  had 

the  Church  and  its  past,  had   made  its  worship  poetical,  had 

i^L^'  *^^  '  Inqiiirv "'  owed  to  Thohick,  and  his  jnclgment  on  the  use  made  of 
*'*'*»l.»e<;  Witte's  "bas  Lcbcn  Thohick'g,"  vol.  ii.  pp.  242,  243. 


400 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[TAKE. 


toached  its  services  with  Jlnt?  and  well-ordered  emotion  ;  Newman's 
genius  had  filled  the  Church  with  new  meaning  and  new  ideals^ 
his  elorpience  had  pealed  throu<^h  it  like  the  notes  of  a  mighty  organ 
waking  long  silent  echoes,  and  had  kindled  in  men  a  new  enthusiasm 
for  their  transfigured  Church  ;  and  now  Pusey's  erudition  came  to 
search  the  Fathers  and  the  Anglican  divines  lor  evidence  that 
the  new  was  the  old,  and  based  on  venerable  and  invariable  tradition. 
Keble  was  loved,  Newman  admired,  but  Pusey  trusted.  Keble  moved 
in  an  atmosphere  of  reverence  and  emotion,  difference  in  his  case 
did  not  breed  dislike ;  the  xerj  men  wlio  most  disagreed  with  his 
theology  were  most  subdued  by  his  hymns.  Newman  was  even  more 
feared  than  admired ;  the  men  that  followed  doubted,  uncertain 
whither  he  might  lead,  the  men  that  resisted  disliked,  certain  that  he 
tended  with  increasing  momentum  whither  they  did  not  mean  to  go. 
But  Pusey  had  Newman's  strength  of  conviction  without  his  dangerons 
genius  j  he  was  conser\^ative  not  because  sceptical,  but  because  con- 
vinced ;  he  loved  his  Church  in  the  concrete,  and  he  lived  to  prove 
that  she  embodied  the  "  quod  semper,  quod  ubique,  Cfuod  ab  omnibus 
creditum  est."  On  any  dubious  or  questioned  point  he  was  ready 
to  bi'ing  determinative  evidence  from  his  recondite  lore ;  on  any  critical 
occasion  he  was  no  less  ready  to  use  the  pulpit  of  St.  Mary's  as 
a  platform  for  the  issue  of  a  raaniiesto.  And  so  tlie  movement  others 
created  Pusey  controlled,  and  in  his  hands  its  character  became  fixed 
as  a  creation  or  Renaissance  of  Eomanticism  conditioned  and  tempered 
by  scholasticism. 

III. 

1.  To  these  men,  then,  the  progress  of  events  in  literature  and  phi- 
losophy on  the  one  hand,  and  in  Church  and  .Stato  on  the  other,  com- 
bined to  set  the  problem  :  How  can  the  Church  be  rescued  from  the 
hands  of  a  State  penetrated  and  commanded  by  '■  Liberalism,"'  and  be 
elevated  into  an  authority  able  to  regulate  faith  and  conscience,  to 
control  reason  and  society.  What  Newman  named  Liberalism  was 
a  single  force  disguised  in  many  forms,  rationalism  in  religion,  revolu- 
tion or  reform  in  politics,  Erastianism  and  latitudinarianism  in  Chiurh. 
It  was  the  spirit  of  change,  negation,  disintegration,  destraction.  The 
Church  must  destroy  it,  or  it  would  destroy  the  Church,  and  with  it 
faith  in  God,  godliness,  religion.  To  save  the  Church,  two  things  were 
necessary — to  invest  it  with  divine  lUithoiity,  and  all  the  rights  flowing 
from  it,  and  to  sft  it  strong  in  its  anthority  and  rights  over  against  the 
apostate  State  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  rebellious  reason  on  the  other. 
With  sure  instinct  the  New  Anglicans  began  by  assailing  the  Reforma- 
tion. The  Puritans  had  disapproved  and  opposed  the  royal  autliority, 
because  it  arrested  and  restrained  the  Reformation ;  but  the  Anglican 
liated  the  Reformation,  because  it  had  been  effected  by  the  royal  authority. 


AXGLO'CATHOLICISM—OLD   AND   NEW. 


401 


the  old  days,  when  the  king  reigned  by  the  grace  of  God  and  tkrough 
kbe  zeftlons  spirits  of  the  Episcopal  beuc}i,  the  Anglican  had  lored  the 
royal  supremacy,  and  soundly  punished  the  Puritan  for   denying  it : 
bat   wten  in  the  process  of  constitutional  change  the  royal  became 
•oly  the  form  or  mask  of  parliamentary  supremacy,  which  in  its  turn 
was  but  the  instrument  of  the  hated  "  Libei'ulism," — then  the  Anglican 
became  as  convinced  as  the  Puritan  of  the  excellence  of  independency.* 
The  aecolar  arm  in  touching  had  ^^Ton^ed  the  Church,  and  while  the 
men  who  did  it  and  those  who  suffered  it  to  be  done  were  alike  re- 
firoacbed,  she  was  pictured  as  the  gracious  mother  of  peoples,  with  her 
heroic  yet  saintly  sons,  and  clinging  yet  stately  daughters  alxmt  her, 
CtMting  the  literature,  civilizations,  ai-ts,  and  whatever  made  life  rich 
tad  beantLful,  and  remaining  benignant,  though  forlorn,  in  the  midst 
at  ft  greedy  and  graceless  posterity,  blind  to  her  beauty,  and  forgetful 
of  her  beneficence.      But  Newman  touched  a  higher  strain  ;  bis  genius 
loomed  to  ask  aid  from  sentiment ;  ho  called  upon  the  Church  to  become 
mUitant  and  equip  herself  in  the  armour  of  her  divine  attributes.     The 
£tete  might  suppress  bishopricSj  but  bisliops  were  independent  of  th© 
Sute  ;  they  were  before  it,  existed  by  a  higher  right,  were  of  apos- 
tolical descent  and  authority,  stood  in  a  divine  order  which  the  State 
bad  not  made  and  could  not  unmake.     And  as  with  the  bishops,  so 
vith  the  clergy ;  their  orders  were  sacred,  inalienable,  instituted  of 
God,  and  upheld  by  Him.     And  their  functions  corresponded  to  their 
•othority  ;  to  them   had  been  committed  the  keys  of  the  kingdom  ; 
they  coald  bind  and  loose,  and  were  by  their  commission  empowered 
to  act  in  their  Master's  name.     In  their  hand-s  too,  and  in  theirs  only, 
wect)  the  sacraments,  and   '*  the   sacraments,  not  preaching,  are  the 
floorces  of  divine  grace."     The  sacred  order  was  the  condition  of  the 
Church's  being,  and  the  factor  of  its  efficiency  j  where  the  authorized 
priest   was  not,  the  sacraments   could  not  be ;  and    no  sacraments 
naant  no  Church,  no  life  communicated  by  Baptism  and  maintained  by 
the  Eucharibt.     And  the  Church  which  ministered  life  by  her  sacra- 
Bents,  guarded,  defined,  and  interpreted  truth  by  her  authority  ;  for  to 
the  being  aud  belief  of  the  truth  an  authoritative  interpreter  was 
eren  more  necessary  than  an   inspired  source.     And  this  was  to  be 
nd  in  tradition,  not  indeed  as   collected  and  preserved  by  Rome, 
kg  contained  in   the  lathers,  and   as   gathered   from  them  by 
A**g*fiT"  scholars  and  divines.      Home  was  corrupt,  but  Catholic  ;  the 
Pnxtestant  Churches  were  corrapt  and  sectarian  ;  but  the  Church  of  the 

•  It  is  Ittrtractive  to  see  how  similar  ideas  uniler  similar  conditions  demand  for  their 
cspteauoo  rimilnr  terms.  Thus  the  earliest  treatise  from  the  High  Chtirch  point  of 
vinr  or  '  '>'^  -^''t'loct  is  Charlea  Leslie's ;  the  title  runs  :  "  TLe  case  of  the  Regale  and 
il  llkt  '  c  stated,  in  a  Conference  eoncerninp  the  Indcpendt-ncT  of  the  Church 

Vaoii.ir  ■n  earth,intbc  exercise  of  her  purely  Spiritual  power  and  authority." 

ima  zxMCXij  rvprodaces  the  very  idea  as  to  the  relation  of  Church  and  State  held  hj 
<kdw  vbo  wexe  the  ancestors  of  tbe  Iftter  "Independents.''  Indeed,  the  ADgUcatt 
"tsitaDomj  of  the  Church  "  is  but  the  Puritan  independency,  or  rather  a  single  aspect 
«(]t,Hid  tbe  Presbyterian  "Crown  rights  of  the  Kcdecmcr."' 


402 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mabl 


FatAiers  was  Catholic  and  pure,  and  after  it  tlie  Anglican  was  fashioned, 
and  tried  to  walk  in  its  light  and  read  the  truth  with  its  eyes.  And 
so  a  proud,  coherent,  and  courageous  theory  of  the  Church  stood  up 
to  confront  and  dare  the  State  ;  to  rebuke  it  as  of  the  earth,  to  speak 
to  it  as  with  the  voice  of  heaven,  to  command  it  to  revere  and  obey 
where  it  had  thonght  it  could  compel  and  rule. 

It  is  no  part  of  my  purpose  to  criticize  the  Anglican  theory  ;  it  was 
the  work  of  men  who  made  an  impassioned  appeal  to  history,  but 
were  utterly  void  of  the  historical  spirit.  The  past  they  loved  and 
studied  was  a  past  of  detached  fragments,  violent  divisions,  broken 
and  delimited  in  the  most  arbitrary  way.  Their  canon,  "  qnod 
semper,  quod  ubique,  quod  ab  omnibus,'''  they  honoured  in  speech 
rather  than  observance  ;  the  "  semper "  did  not  mean  "  always,"  or 
the  '*  ubique  "  everywhere,  or  the  "  ab  omnibus  "  by  all ;  but  only  such 
times,  places  and  men,  or  even  such  parts  and  sections  of  times,  places 
and  men,  as  could  be  made  to  suit  or  prove  the  theory.  Tlien,  for 
tin  authority  to  be  of  any  use  in  the  region  of  truth,  it  must  be  authorita- 
tive, accessible,  self -consistent  and  expUcit ;  but  this  authority  was  not 
one  of  these  things — it  was  only  the  voice  of  these  very  simple,  very 
positive,  unscientific,  and  oft-en  mistaken  men.  Their  supreme  diffi- 
culty, which  broke  down  the  transcendent  genins  of  the  party,  was  to 
get  their  own  Church  to  speak  their  mind,  and  they  were  even  less 
successful  with  the  Fathers  than  with  their  Church.  There  is  no  more 
splendid  example  anywhere  of  how  completely  a  professedly  historical 
movement  can  be  independent  of  historical  truth.  The  Tractarians  in 
this  respect  present  a  remarkable  contrast  to  the  Reformers.  Calvin 
in  his  treatment  of  doctrine  was  nothing  if  not  historical ;  the  Tracta- 
rians in  their  treatment  of  history  were  nothing  if  not  dogmatic. 
They  were  traditional  but  not  historical,  while  the  Reformers  were 
historical  but  not  traditional.  The  latter  courageously,  if  not  always 
thoroughly,  rejected  tradition  and  authority  that  they  might  reach  th© 
mind  and  realize  the  ideal  of  the  Christ  of  history ;  but  the  former, 
with  no  less  courage,  tried  to  adapt  the  liistorical  mind  and  bend  the 
historical  ideal  to  authority  and  tradition.  Truth  is  patient,  and  suffers 
much  at  the  bands  of  sincere  men  ;  but  she  always  comes  by  her  own 
at  last. 

2.  What  has  been  the  result  of  tlie  Anglo-Catholic  revival  ?  If  the 
saccess  of  a  religious  movement  is  to  be  measured  by  its  power  to 
penetrate  with  its  own  spirit,  to  persuade  and  reconcile  to  religion  the 
best  intellects  of  a  country,  then  even  its  most  devoted  advocates  can 
hardly  say  that  Anglo-Catholicism  has  succeeded.  While  at  first  cham- 
pioned by  the  greatest  literary  genius  and  master  of  dialectic  who  has  in 
this  century  concerned  himself  with  theology,  it  is  marv^ellous  how  little 
it  has  touched  our  chaiacteristic  and  creative  minds ;  with  these  neither 

man  nor  Anglican  Catholicism  has  accomplished  anj'thing.     Take 


li^] 


ANGLO-CATHOLICISM— OLD    AND   NEW. 


403 


tbe  poets,  who  alike  as  regards  period  and  place  ought  to  have  ben 

Bost  Boceesible  and  susceptible  to  the  Catholic  spirit  and  inflaenoe. 

Aithor  Hugh  Clongh  was  educated  in  Balliol,  and  elected  to  a  Fellovr- 

diip  at  Oriel  in  the  days  when  Newman  reigned  in  8t.  Mary's,  and  is 

judged  by  the  moat  competent  of  our  critics  to  be  "  the  truest  expression 

in  verse  of  the  moral  and  intellectual  tendencies  of  the  period  in  which 

be  lived."    He  is  fascinated  by  Newman  and  held  by  him  for  a  while, 

but  only  that  he  may  learn  how  little  there  is  behind  the  subtle  and 

pMsnaaive  eloquence  that    can  satisfy  a  mind   possessed    with   the 

pMBoa  fcr  veracity,  and  he  is  driven  by  the  recoil  into  the  anxious 

■ncertatnties  where  "  the  music  of  his  rustic  lute  "  lost  "its  happy 

ooontry  tone," 

"  And  learnt  a  stormy  note 
Of  men  contention-tost,  of  men  who  ^oao." 

31&tthew  Arnold,  son  of  a  father  who  made  England  love  breadth 

of  view  and  truth  in  histoiy,  studied,  learned,  and  suffered  with  the 

Thyrsas  he  so  deeply  yet  so  sweetly  mourned,  like  him  became  a  poet, 

j«alotiB  of  truth  in  thought  and  word,  and   like  him,  too,  faced  the 

prt/blem  and  the  men  of  the  liour,  but  did  not  dare  to  trust  as  guides 

for  the  present   men   too   credulous  of  the  post  to  read  its  truths 

■light.     Too  well  he  learned  the  bitter  moral   of  all  their  arguing, 

and  concluded:  "  If  authority  be  necessary  to  faith,  then   an  impos- 

nUe  authority  makes  faith  impossible,"  aud  he  turned  from  Oxford  to 

Uam  of  Weimar — 

"Tlio  need  is  everywhere, 
Art  still  has  truth,  take  refnge  there," 


William  Morris,  formed  in  the  Oxford  of  a  later  day,  when  in  the 
Cklm  that  follows  conflict  Anglo-Catholicism  reigned,  could  find  in  it 
ao  aatisfyLng  veracious  ideal  of  truth,  of  aii  or  of  life,  and  went 
mntrad  to  the  wild  Scandinavian  and  distant  Greek  mythologies  for  the 
ioBBS  in  which  to  impersonate  his  faith  and  hope.  Swinburne,  who 
bi^  the  hot  imagination  that  easily  kindled  to  noble  dreams  of 
Ubcvty  and  human  good,  could  find  no  prondse  in  the  crimson  sunset 
glories  Anglo-Catholicism  loved,  and  turned  passionately  towards  what 
■eemed  to  him  the  east  and  tiie  sunrise.  But  it  was  not  only  those 
jOBDger  sons  of  Oxford  who  hiid  in  a  measure  "  the  vision  and  the 
fKolty  divine,"'  that  the  new  Catholic  failed  to  touch  ;  he  touched 
M  little  the  maturer  and  richer  imaginations  of  the  two  men  who  will 
ewer  remain  the  representative  poets  of  the  Victorian  era.  Tennyson 
ka  been  eseentially  a  reUgious  genius ;  the  doubts,  the  fears,  the 
tboeght  perplexed  by  evil,  by  suffering,  by  a  nature  cruel  in  her 
wry  haxmoaies,  by  the  presence  of  wicked  men  and  tlie  distance 
d  a  helpful  God,  the  faith  victorious  in  the  very  face  of  sin  and 
dMtii,   certain  that  somehow  "  good   will  be  the  final  goal  of  ill," 


404 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mas. 


have  all  received  from  him  rich  and  musical  expression.  Bnt  his 
ideals  are  not  those  of  medieval  or  modem  CathoUciam  ;  they  may 
be  clothed  in  forms  borrowed  from  a  far-off  world  of  mythical  chivalry ; 
but  it  is  not  a  priest's  world,  it  is  one  of  men  all  the  more  saintly 
that  they  are  kings,  warriors,  statesmen,  a  world  of  fair  women  and 
goodly  men.  Browning,  who  was  as  essentially  a  religious  poet  as  Tenny- 
son, and  indeed,  though  iio  writer  of  hymns,  as  a  poet  more  pro- 
foundly, penetratively,  and  comprehensively  religious  than  Keble,  bears 
throughout  in  his  sympathies,  in  his  love  of  liberty,  iu  his  hopeful  tmst 
ill  man,  in  his  belief  in  God  as  the  All-loviug  as  well  as  the  All-great, 
who  through  the  thunder  speaks  with  human  voice,  the  marks  and 
fruits  of  his  Puritan  birth  and  breeding.  But  the  sensuous  seemliness 
of  Anglo-Catholicism  had  no  charms  for  him ;  it  had  too  little  spiri- 
tual sublimity,  stood  too  remote  from  the  heart  of  things,  had  too 
little  fellowship  with  the  whole  truth  of  God,  and  all  the  infinite 
needs  and  aspirations  of  mau.  He  had  seen,  too,  the  outworking  of 
its  ideas  ;  had  studied  then*  action  and  character  in  history,  and  his 
curious  lore  and  large  experience  helped  him  to  many  a  fit  yet  quaint 
form  in  which  to  embody  what  he  had  discovei-ed  or  observed.  Brown- 
ing more  than  any  man  has  deepened  the  faith  of  our  age  in  the 
Eternal,  but  he  has  also  more  than  any  man  made  us  conscious  of 
the  evil  of  fancying  that  we  can  transmute  our  ephemeral  polities  and 
shallow  symbols  into  the  infallible  and  unchangeable  speech  of  God. 

3.  This  failure  of  Anglo-Catholicism  to  touch  our  higher  literature 
is  both  remarkable  and  instructive.  It  has  had  and  has  its  minor 
poets,  a  goodly  multitude,  but  even  their  poetiy  has  been  mainly  remi- 
niscent and  sentimental,  not  spontaneoiis  and  imaginative.  Indeed, 
this  has  been  its  characteristic  in  all  periods  of  its  being ;  writers  of 
hymns,  quaint,  devout,  beautiful,  raelotlious,  it  has  always  had,  but  never 
poets  of  the  imagination ;  if  it  has  ever  taken  possession  of  such,  it 
has  paralysed  the  poet  in  them,  as  witness  Wordsworth  and  his 
ecclesiastical  sonnets.  In  this  stands  expressed  some  of  its  essential 
characteristics.  Within  the  rich  and  complicated  and  splendidly  dight 
folds  of  the  Spenserian  allegories,  there  lives  much  of  the  brawny 
Puritan  mind  and  purpose.  The  same  mlud  and  the  faith  it  lived 
by  made  the  noblest  epic  and  the  most  perfect  classical  drama  in  the 
speech  of  our  English  people.  No  man  will  claim  John  Dryden  as  a 
religious  poet,  though  he  forced  poetry  into  the  ignoble  strife  of 
ecclesiastical  politics,  and  made  it  the  mean  apologist  of  royal  and  pa|)al 
designs.  Deism  Lisped  iu  numbers  through  the  lips  of  Catholic  Pope, 
and  the  Evangelical  Revival  inspired  the  gentle  soul  of  Cowper  to  verse, 
always  genial  and  graceful,  and  often  gay.  But  Anglo-Catholic  poetry 
measured  by  the  Puritan  is  remarkable  for  nothing  so  much  as  its 
imaginative  poverty,  its  inability  to  create  a  literature  that  shall 
adequately  embody  the  true  and  the   sublime.      And   this    has   its 


tf9oj         JSGLO^ATHOUT'S^Jl — JL3     ../.•;     K'.-f  aV 

puBlld  in  the titeolog^  of  "ms  lusr  roit-~.-?v.ifa:-«  ^.  .»au>>i,  %  .\ «..«.« 
itaiids  akne — Cafcfaolic  aill  jur  » lylc^iu  -i\'  uw*.  v^'u.t  (v...  i.:>.. 
vlut  TMiiWB  TCpraBot  the  aii:sc  ^crfar  rur.^ni'  u  !uvi(.>i^<k  ..ul  ..i.^ 
|%iwr  rdigiolu  thoogiit  ?  Qt  iLL  ^naciiLTs  yr^k>i-K-iv  w^VvtixM  i.w. 
■oet  mored  the  mhid  ami  L'cns(.'i>?ci.*ff  :£  t[L»  ^^uortiMioJit :  ^:l  >  >-'io  j^-'^ 
aOzfoid  man  of  the  time  whea  ~»  Trac&»  v>vr('  »;  \b\K\  mi-j<>S>  <v>.<>  \  > 
■eyid  from  their  toils  with  a  rar;>  love  o:  rv'ciUu.  »i\  -tt'^vMi^vuvv  \>i 
an  fdae  sanctities,  a  dread  of  all  vioU'iuv  ott«ti\\(  iu  ^h^^  *\Jk\<w  \'\ 
Mlhopty  to  reason.  Frederick  MauriiV  was  a  ivitKuirtUt  v  \>l'  («»(«>  \A\m  m 
widi  m  sonl  erertomed  towards  the  Hj^ht,  \\\\\\  a  ltir^<^  ritii><,«t  i>l  \  M\>\\, 
adm  lore  of  love  and  light  that  maki>s  him  tho  iiKmi.  niyilloMl  ltii«il.«« 
<foar  centniy;  yet  his  whole  life  wus  oiu*  HUNliiiiin<l  innhml.  ni^iiiifl' 
Ae  attempt  to  incorporate  the  religion  of  ('lirinl.  in  u  nMiilitiiiiiil<il  •n«l 
■asmental  symbolism.  There  hoN  ]x'rn  in  our  f/nii(Mitli«iii  w  rr«lii  •  Im 
rrii^^ioixs  history  so  pictureflquc,  no  r;fiun;firriuii  mo  Ii«iM  in  n|irt.t.|i  noil 
ia  actioD,  so  possessed  of  a  broad  tunl  inrJriNiy  i/l/nl  of  flf-  tmlintmi 
Chnrch  as  Arthur  Stanky;  but  h<;  1:'/<^I  An/I  'li/-/|  n>i  >.|ir.  r'^-olift'- 
■tagonist  of  those  Catholic  rcL^tCi^r^  tK%^  v,  \»Lt^,,nu\  u.  f.t\-,t,„»\,t.. 
tte  Chnrch  he  loved.  Of  aa-.*..-.**  r'u.  .y\  .f.v-.-  '.i-\.  .•  «.»«  '  ;.-,,;. 
Kmgiley;  but  he  was  Iz.  il-  '^iir.'j>r*  >".<■/:  r.    '/  /  ...  -/^,.     .,.y.  -..  . 

philainthropiesY  socialfaaa,  -.■.>.r  i.-.f:    !•'•*.  c  tf  v,    yy./..,^  ., 

MiKva  dreams  in  atrrac:!'' r    v'.r.n      •..':,:     .■   »..,  //t^,..,,/.    ,. «..    /,,..• 

OB  only  be  descr5>»c  u  i  jrair  .- — -^  .-if      ...     \,.  .,    .,«.     /    ., ,.  . 

jntilfnTn  *1i*»tTrf  iir^^v:!  v^;^    >rv^    :-..->f   ■'.  r^,    .,/    ...«,.,-.. . 

fifb  of   the  Fwg*'f^    vsr.n.-.-  '.-•''..-.'      -*      ,y      ■  r. .         .    .    ,'     • -• 

a  tiriinlar  whi5     rniji    W"    u--..^         •   .-•  w    •  ...     /  .,    .  . 

nn.     Bcc  tiuiiuB.  >-   i^.    :•..>-    ■  -    •-^-  .... 

far  Mm  tie  «^.:  -rTa    >^--     .->-  -        -     -  ... 


m  J3    r--r^-  :•-    iti. 
Ir  sscr    .•.«      ,»- 

uppfioihi  &  crrr    »    ■-.-.- 


■pir 


406 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW, 


tMAU. 


IV. 

But  this  has  brought  us  face  to  face  \villi  another  and  no  less 
interesting  problem,  or  rather  series  of  problems.  How  does  ife 
happen  that  the  party  that  has  been  bo  active  and  so  enunent  ia 
litei-ature  has  accouipHahed  so  little  in  religion,  while  the  party 
that  has  accjompliahed  most  in  religion  has  been  less  eminent  ixk 
literature  ?  For  two  things  aeem  manifest  and  beyond  diiq}ute 
— -the  decay,  pointing  to  approaching  extinction,  of  the  Broad 
Church,  und  the  revival  and  growing  douiinancy  of  the  High.  It  may 
aeem  moi'e  dubious  to  say,  a  main  coudition  of  the  success  achieved 
by  the  High  Church  has  been  the  hterary  activity  and  efficiency  of  the 
Broad ;  but,  paradoxical  though  it  may  sound,  this  represents  the 
sober  historical  truth.  Why  it  has  so  happened  is  a  question  we 
nmst  discuss  in  order  to  get  a  fuller  view  of  the  situation. 

1 .  The  same  events  that  had  occaeioned  the  rise  of  Anglo-Catholicism 
determined  the  being  of  the  modern  Broad  Church.  The  latter  was  due 
to  an  attempt  to  adapt  the  Church  to  the  new  conditions  by  broadening 
it  as  the  State  had  been  broadened.  Its  fundamental  notion  was  not 
their  ideal  difference,  but  their  material  identity.  The  Broad  Church 
has  throughout  its  history  been  dominated,  though  not  always  cleorly 
or  consciously,  by  Arnold's  idea,  which  was  also  Hooker's,  of  the 
coincidence  and  oo-extension  of  Church  and  State.  The  idea  is 
at  once  English  and  historical ;  it  implies  a  far  deeper  sense 
than  tlie  other  party  possesses  of  the  continuity  of  history  and  the 
unity  of  the  institutions  created  and  maintained  by  the  English 
people  both  before  and  since  the  Eeformation.  The  idea  imderlj-ing 
the  old  legislation  was  right,  but  the  legislation  was  in  spirit  and 
method  wrong,  calculated  to  defeat  rather  than  fulfil  its  idea.  "What 
was  necessary  was  to  realize  the  idea  by  changing  the  legislation. 
Parliament  had  made  civil  rights  independent  of  ecclesiastical  tests  ; 
tests  ought  now  to  be  so  constmed  as  to  guard  rather  than 
invade  religious  freedom  and  ecclesiastical  privilege.  The  Act  of 
Unitbrmity  had  but  created  division  and  established  variety ;  it  was 
time  to  attempt,  by  an  Act  of  comprehension,  to  legalize  variety  and 
create  unity.  The  idea  was  thus  through  the  State  to  reconstitute  and 
reunite  the  Chxirch,  as  by  the  State  the  Church  had  been  broken  and 
divided.  Comprehension  and  relaxed  subscription  were  to  undo 
what  nntformity  and  enforced  subscription  had  done.  The  Broad 
Church  was  thus  the  very  opposite  of  the  Anglo-Catholic,  while  the 
one  emphasized  difference  till  it  became  independency,  the  other 
accentuated  coincidence  and  relation  till  they  became  identity. 
The  primary  element  in  the  one  idea  was,  the  English  people  con- 
Btitute  the  English  Church  ;  the  primary  element  in  the  other  idea 
was,   the    Anglican    Church     constitutes   the   religion    the    Englii 


tf9o]  ANGLO-CATHOLICISM— OLD   AXD   TiEW.  4Xff 

Tifople  ara  bound  to  coni'esfi  and  obey.  The  one  coxMBived  the 
lorch  as  national,  able  to  be  only  as  it  included  and  was  realized  by 
Ute  utaon  ;  tiie  other  conceived  tbe  Church  as  of  divine  authority^ 
Vm^^h^  of  divine  institution,  able  to  fulfil  its  mission  only  by  enforcing 
ilB  daixna.  In  the  one  case,  not  establishment,  bat  incorporatiou 
vith  tfce  Stat«  or  Civil  constitution  was  of  the  rery  essence  of  th© 
dnndi  aa  English  and  national ;  in  the  other  case,  control  of  the 
Charch  by  the  State  was  held  to  be  alien  to  its  very  idea  as  a  society 
(farinely  founded  and  ruled.  The  parties  differed  in  their  conception 
of  tbc  Church,  but  still  more  in  their  notion  of  religion.  To  the 
-Vag&auL,  in  a  very  real  sense,  Church  was  religion,  that  without  which 
r>*ligion  ooold  not  be  acceptable  to  Grod,  or  sufficient  for  man  ;  to  hia 
Ttnl  tlie  two  were  separable,  religion  inward,  spirit uhI,  a  matter 
of  beort  or  oonacience;  Church,  a  meanB  for  ita  cultivation,  good 
ID  proportion  to  its  suitability  and  efficiency.  In  jwlity  and 
ioratA,  ritual  and  symbol,  the  Anglican  could  hardly  di8tingui«h 
brtwven  accidental  and  essential,  all  waa  of  God,  and  all  was 
;  bnt  in  all  these  things  his  opponent  saw  the  creations  of 
or  law,  to  be  upheld  or  dismissed  aa  expediency  or  advantage 
!it  determine.  In  a  word,  to  the  one  the  Church  wan  a  creation 
ting  rt'ligion,    but  to  the   other    l.ho   Church   woh  an 

..... man,  though  religion  an  inspiration  of  God. 

2.  Now,  these  differences  were  radical,  aud  determined  in  each  case 
the  mental  attitude  and  action  on  all  religious  ({uestions.      The  Brond 
(Bw*  attitude  tended  to  become  critical,  acutely  conscious  of  the  incou- 
■iiBiiiii  I  of  a  too  positive  mind,  and  in.stitationa  too  authoritative  to 
to  e^)abld  of  adaptation  to  the  new  conditions  of  thought  and  policy. 
Cml  legislation  was  conceived  a.s  able  to  accompli^b  what  was  impoft- 
idie  tQ  it,   while  the  differences    that   divided,  the  agiesauiepte  or 
ilftntties    that  united  men  were  conceived  more  from  without  than 
fran  within,  from  the  standpoint  of  the  Stat/^  rather   than    of  the 
Qmrd).    Hence,  there  was  anperabnndant  criticism  of  things  positive, 
tfa  dogmas  authority   formulated  and  enforced,   the   institutions  it 
«Mted  and  upheld.     The  criticism  struck  the  Evangelical  most  h»^avily, 
fiarliiB  faith  was  of  the  fixed  and   frigid  type  that  most  invites  criti- 
ama.     The  Pauline  Epistles  were  transiaf^d  into  a  speech  and  resolv*!d 
■to  ideas  that  were  not  hia;  hia  theories  of  justification  and  atone- 
ant   w«re   assailed  at  once    from    the    hiatoricai,    eat^|etical,    and 
^•nlattve  points  of  view;  his  doctrine  of  inspiration  was  discredited 
nai  made  untenable,  and  hi-  ,,n  of  the  Church  dismissed  as 

•iUtmy  and  insiifhciont.  ;  r  the  Evangelical  so  hard  was 

to^thft  tttmort  possible  service  to  the  Anglican.     It  disshied,  pre- 
'  '  paralysed  his  mo«»t         '   •-  adversary,  thinned  hia  ranks, 
hia  weapons,  daprivod  the  convictions  that  give oonra§pe. 

the  Bcoad  Church  criticism,  while  mainng  no  impreasion  oo 


408 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mas. 


the  ADglican,  appealed  to  the  sort  of  niiuds  the  Evangelicals  had 
been  most  able  to  influence,  surrounded  them  with  an  atmosphere, 
begot  in  them  a  tendency  within  and  before  whifh  the  old  Evangelical 
formulto  could  not  vigorously  live,  and  yet  it  did  nothing  to  pro- 
vide new  homes  or  agencies  for  the  generation  and  direction  of  religious 
life,  The  Broad  Church  is  only  the  name  of  a  tendency,  but  the 
Anglo- Catholic  denotes  a  party,  well  officered,  well  led,  disciplined, 
organized,  and  inspired  by  a  great  idea.  Tlie  representative  men  within 
the  former  have  all  been  marked  by  a  certain  severe  individualism, 
they  have  attracted  disciples,  but  have  not  formed  schools.  Arnold 
was  a  man  of  intense  ethical  passion,  and  to  it  he  owed  what  we  may 
call  the  most  transcendent  personal  influence  of  our  century  ;  Maurice 
was  a  thinker  seeking  to  tmnslate  Christian  ideas  into  the  terms  of 
a  Neo-Platonic  idealism ;  Arthur  Stanley  was  a  charming  irenical 
personality,  fertile  of  schemfs  for  reconciling  our  divided  religious 
society  ;  but  neither  they  nor  any  of  their  allies  had  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  sect.  They  loved  a  Church  as  broad  and  as  varied  as  the 
English  people,  but  would  neither  do  nor  attempt  anything  that 
threatened  to  narrow  its  breadth  or  harass  it  into  a  prosaic  uniformity. 
And  their  positive  qualities  helped  the  Anglican  even  more  than  their 
negative.  They  loved  liberty,  used  the  liberty  they  loved,  but 
preached  toleration  even  of  the  intolerant.  They  were  impatient  of 
formulic,  but  patient  of  aggressive  difference ;  they  resisted  every 
attempt  to  restrict  freedom,  but  encouraged  attempts  at  its  extension 
and  exercise.  Hence  they  helped  at  once  to  create  room  for  Anglo- 
Catholic  developments,  and  to  lessen  the  forces  of  resistance.  Their 
intellectual  activity  made  the  English  mind  tolerant  to  the  most  varied 
forms  of  belief  and  worship,  which  means  that  they  prepared  the  way 
and  the  opportunity  for  the  men  who  believed  that  theirs  was  the 
only  form  of  divine  sufficiency  and  authority. 


1.  But  while  the  Broad  Church  was  thus  securing  for  it  an  easier  path 
and  a  freer  field,  the  Anglican  was  gathering  momentum  and  growing 
more  missionary  and  theological.  The  Tracts  had  been  mainly  histo- 
rical and  ecclesiastical ;  only  in  a  very  minor  degree  doctrinal  and 
religious.  They  had  ijeen  more  concerned  with  the  archajology  than 
the  theologj--  of  the  Church,  but  the  work  of  Archdeacon  Wilberforce 
on  the  Incarnation  forced  theologj-  to  the  front,  with  most  significant 
results.  This  work  is  an  expansion  of  a  section  in  Mtihler's  "  Symbolik," 
which  in  its  turn  is  an  application  of  the  Hegelian  idea  to  the  Catholic 
Church.  The  idea,  indeed,  ia  much  older  than  Hegel,  but  its  modem 
form  is  due  to  him.  Schelling  formulated  the  notion :  the  incarna- 
tion of  God  is  an  incarnation  from  eternity.  Hegel  expressed  the  notion 
in  the  terms  of  the  philosophy  of  history  ;   Mtihler  translated  it  into  a 


410 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[IfAB. 


2.  Now  the  significance  of  this  work  lies  here,  it  supplied  the  raove- 
ment  with  a  dogmatic  basis  j  placed  it,  as  it  were,  under  the  control 
of  a  defining  and  determining  idea.     Most  of  the  positions  had  }>een 
maintained  before  ;   what  Wilberforce  gave   was  a  co-ordinating  and 
unifying  principle.      Thi.s  changed  the  whole  outlook ;  the  questioa 
did  not  need  to  be  debated  as  one  of  Patristic  or  Anglican  archaeology; 
it  had  a  philosophy ;  its  reason  was  one  with  the  reason  of  the  incar- 
nation.    The  Church  was,  as  it  were,  the  »Son  of  God  articulated  in 
sacraments,  explicated  in  symbols,  organized  into  a  visible  body  ]3olitic 
for   the   exercise   of  His   mediation   on   earth.       This  dogmatic  idea 
created  the  new  Eitualism  as  distinguished  from  the  old  Tractarianism; 
and  changed  the  centre  of  gravity  from  a  dubious  question  in  ecclesi- 
astical history,  discussed  with  learning,  but  without  science,  to  s  fact 
of  faith  or  living  religious  belief.      Ritualism  may  be  described  as 
the  evangelical  idea  done  into  the  institutions  and  rites  of  a  sacerdotal 
Church.      The    idea   remains,    and   is   the   same,   but   its   vehicle  is 
changed.     To  speak  with  Hegel,  the  Begriff  is  translated  back  into 
the  VorstcUunffy  the  spiritual  truth  is  rendered  into  a  sensuous  picture. 
Ritual  is  dogma  in  Bymbol ;  dogma  is  articulated  Ritual.  Jusi  Ificatiou 
is  as  necessary  as  ever,  but  it  is  conditioned  on  the  sacraments  rather 
than  faith.      Regeneration  is  still  held,  but  it  is  worked   by  an   out- 
ward act  rather  thnn  an  inward  process.     Where  the  pure  preaching 
of  the  word  once  stood,  the  due  administration  of  the  sacraments  now 
stands.     To  it  an  authorized  priesthood  is  necessarj- ;  without  it  there 
can  be  no  Eucharist,  in  other  hands   the   iSupper  is  no   sacrament   ov 
efficacious  means  of  grace.     In  order  to  a  valid  priesthood  there  must 
be  a  constitutive  authority — the  bishops  who   stand   in  the  apostolical 
succession,  and   a  constitutive   act — ordination  at  their  hands.      Tlie 
chain  is  complete  :   without  the  apostolical  authority  no  bishop,   with- 
out the  bishop  no  priest,  without  the  priest  no  sacrament,  without  the 
sacraments  no   Church,  without  the   Church    no  means  of  grace,   no 
mediation    or    reconciliation     through    Christ    of    man     with    God. 
Two    things     are    essential     to     the     Church,    the    clergy    and    the 
sacraments;    and  of  these   the    clergy    are  the    greater,  for    without 
them  the   full   sacraments  cannot   be,   while  the  sacraments  cannot 
but  be  where  they  are.      They  are  therefore   in   a  most   real    sense 
of  the  essence  of  the  Church,  while  the  people  are    but    an    acci- 
dent ;    they    represent    its    formal     or    normative    authority — i.e.. 
they  are  the  regulativf^  principle  of  its  being  ;  it  is  not  the  condition 
and    warrant   of    theirs.      But,   so  construed,   the   theory   is   less   a 
doctrine  of  the  Church  than  of  its  officers  ;  it  is  not  the  Christian 
Society  or  people  or  commonwealth   constituting  its  officers  or  priest- 
hood, but  the   priesthood  constituting  the  people.     In  its  Anglican 
form  the  Apostolical  Succession  of  the  clergy,  or  the  bishops  who 
•rdain  tbe   clergy,   is  a  denial   of   the   Apostolical   descent  of  th^ 


TGLO-CATHOLICISM—OLD  AND   NEW. 


411 


ChoTch.       And    so    it    is    not  too    much    to    say,  the    larger    and 
more  emphasized  the  idea  of  the  clergy,  the  meaner  the  idea  of  the 
torch  ;  and  we  may  add,  that  here  the  Broad  Church  has  a  nobler 
than  the  Anglo-Catholic.     To  resolve  the  English  Church  into 
Christian  people   of  England  is  to  show  a  right  conception   of 
place  of  the   people   within    it ;  but   to  resolve   it  into  a  hie- 
rarchy or  hierocracy,  with  its  iustrnments  and  dependences,  is  utterly 
lo  misconceive  the  relation  of  the  society  and  its  organs.      Yet  even 
»der  these  conditions   the  evangelical   idea   has  proved  its  energy ; 
be  men  who  have  construed  their  Church  and  their  order  through  their 
jlogy  have  been  of  another  spirit   than  the  men  who  constrnetl 
through  Patristic  and  Anglican  tradition  as  interpreted  by  an 
iposaible  canon.     The   old   men   feared   the  people ;  "  Liberalism  " 
the  spirit  of  evil,  '•  Wliiggery  "  its  tool,  and  popular  movementsi 
!ie  very  thing  the  Church  most  needed  defence  against ;  but  the  new 
len  bom  with  missionary  zeal,  the  peculiar  evangelical  passion  that 
seeks  to  save  men  by  reconciling  them   to  God.     In  their  hands  are 
tbe  inBtruments  of  life,  and   they  multiply  symbols   and  administer 
ncraments  as  men  who  possess  and  distribute  the  grace  that  saves. 
Now,  it  is   a   question  of  the  very  gravest  order,  Is  this  Anglo-^j 
lolicism  a  sufficient  and  a  veracious  interpretation  of  the  religion 
Christ  ?     Is  it  a  system  to  which  we  can  trust  with  a  convinced 
IMson  and  a  clear  conscience  the  future  at  once  of  our  English  people 
and  car  Christian  faith  ?     Does  it  present  that  faith  in  the  form  most 
cmlcalat«d  to  satisfy  the  intellect  and  heart  of  our  critical  age,  to  deal 
rith  its  social  and  economical  problems,  to  unite  its  divided  classes,  to 
and  conquer  its  sin,  to  foster  its  virtues,  and  be  the   mother 
its  beneficences  ?     These  are  too  large  and  vital  questions  to  bo-i 
3itcn5?sed  in  a  concluding  paragraph  ;  so  we  shall  reserve  the  discussion 
for  another  paper,  in  which  we  shall  seek  light  and  help  from  the  pro- 
tesed  *'  servants  of  the  Catholic  creed  and  Church."' 

A.  M.  Fairbairn, 


.[Mas 


THE  TAXATION     OF     GROUND-RENTS 


(A    REPLY.) 


SINCE  writing  my  pamphlet  on  "  The  Taxation  of  Ground  Rente,* 
I  have  had  the  great  privilege  and  ph^asure  of  receiving  criti* 
cisms  from  persona  of  very  varied  views,  some  favourable,  and  som< 
hostile.  Many  of  these  criticisms  have  been  to  me  of  great  valne,  ai 
testing  more  thoroughly  than  a  writer  can  do  for  himself  the  valne  0 
the  theories  he  has  propounded  and  the  accuracy  and  cogency  of  thi 
statements  and  argnmenta  he  has  advanced  in  their  support.  Bn 
such  criticisms  to  be  of  value  must  come  from  those  who  have  givei 
sufficient  time  and  thought  to  the  subject  of  nites,  to  enable  them  t( 
form  clear  ideas  of  their  own  as  to  the  nature  and  conserjuences  o 
the  present  incidence  of  rates  so  as  to  be  able  to  judge  of  the  effect! 
of  the  proposed  changes.  Without  some  such  prejiaration,  criticism 
are  likely  to  be  superficial,  and  of  small  worth. 

I  should  be  glad  to  class  the  article  by  Mr.  .Sargant  in  the  Fobruar 
number  of  this  Re\  lEW  among  those  which — whetlier  favourable  o 
hostile — have  iwssessed  the.se  qualities.  But  unfortnnately,  tlie  criticism 
of  which  it  consists  appear  to  be  based  on  no  study  of  the  subject.  I 
is  impossible  to  ascertain  from  it  even  whether  Mr.  Sargant  consider 
that  the  rates  at  present  fall  fo  any  extent  on  the  ground-owner,  o 
what  change  in  that  respect  would  be  wrought  by  the  new  plan 
Some  passages  would  seem  to  point  to  his  being  of  opinion  that  ih 
rates  come  out  of  the  rent,  but  before  he  concludes  he  accuses  in> 
of  a  false  and  malicious  libel  on  a  certain  theorj-  by  calling  it  "  a  pre 
valent  notion."  I  can  put  no  interpretation  ui>on  this  indignation  tha 
this  partieidftr  theory  should  be  called  a  "notion,"'  other  than  tha 
Mr.  Sargant  believes  it  to  be  true.  If  so,  he  thinks  that  the  rates  are  * 
personal  tax,  borne  entirely  by  the  occupier.  But  whichever  of  thes 
views  he  may  actually  hold  (if,  indeed,  he  himself  knows),  it  does  no 


^^4 


THE    TAXATION   OF  GROUND-RENTS. 


413 


appear  to  aftect  his  notion  of  what  should  be  done.  WTiatever  exists  at  the 
?nt  time  is  fair  and  right,  is  his  text  j  and  although  he  apparently 
not  decided  either  what  it  is  that  is  fair  and  right,  or  vvlmt  it  is 
kt  takes  place  under  the  present  system,  he  is  emphatic  that  any 
diange  must  he  bad.  This  may  be  an  excellent  programme  for  a 
political  party  to  work  on,  but  it  prevents  Mr.  Sargant  giving  much 
-lasistance  in  solving  the  social  and  economical  problem  of  rating, 
jiu  the  following  pages  I  propose  to  examine  the  chief  points  raised 
Mr.  Sargant  in  answer  to  my  pamphlet ;  but  before  doing  so,  I 
to  at  once  dismiss  one  matter,  because  it  is  too  trifling  to  merit 
ission.  He  raises  the  question,  whether  upon  my  principles  the 
Bund-tax  in  a  town  should  be  levied  on  the  whole  ground- vahie,  or 
iyon  its  excess  above  what  it  would  be  if  no  town  were  in  existence, 
annual  value  in  the  latter  case  would  be  from  £2  to  £3  per  acre, 
I  even  that  would  bear  rates  as  land  in  a  rural  district.  The  value 
[an  acre  of  town  land  is  so  much  greater  than  this  that  it  is  a  useless 
nement  to  discus-s  whether  or  not  £2  to  £!J  per  acre  of  rental 
Ine  should  be  taxed  at  the  higher  or  lower  rate. 
After  a  short  n&vin^  of  the  argument  of  my  panijjhlet,  Mr. 
int  commences  his  attack  by  calling  attention  to  the  fact  that  T 
ute  the  increa.se  of  land-values  in  a  town  to  two  causes  :  (1)  The 
ence  of  the  town,  and  the  growth  of  the  community  ;  and  (2)  the 
fnditnre  of  tlie  rate's  ;  and  then  proceeds  to  find  fault  with  me  for 
distinguishing  between  the  amounts  due  respectively  to  each  of 
»  causes.  This  is  a  strange  complaint  from  a  man  who  is  defend- 
%  system  of  rating  in  which  not  only  are  these  two  not  distin- 
bed,  but  they  are  indiatlngnishably  mixed  up  with  a  thirtl 
iponent — the  value  of  the  building — which  is  utterly  unlike  either. 
Bt  passing  over  tliis  peculiarity,  and  allowing  him  to  claim  the  name 
t^Dneamed  increment "  for  the  value  due  to  the  first  of  these 
liit  QB  see  how  he  proceeds  : 

"TWs  mistake  would  be  suffieiently  important  in  any  rase,  but  in  the 
Que  of  this  pamphlet  it  appears  to  vitiate  tlie  whole  .argument,  which 
IS,  as  I  understand  it,  that  increased  land-vakiea  sliould  bear  tlieii* 
proportion  of  tlje  rates,  Iteaiuse  they  are  cnuaed  by  tlie  rates  ;  " 

be  then  proceed.^  to  argue  that  the  "  unearned  increment  *'  is  not 
'«»Med  by  the  rates." 
Now  why  does  Mr.    Sargant  at  the  critical  jxtint  of  his  argument 
Elbe  language  which  I  consi.stently  use  when  stating  the  grounds 
which    I  maintain  that    land-values  ought  to  be  taxed  ?     He 
wimt  that  language  is,  for  he  uses  it  both  on  the  preceding  and 
»nl««>qaent   page.      It  is   that    they    should    be  taxed    because 
i*t«s  are  expended  in  *'  >  reatin;/  ami  maintuiniHf/"  these  ground- 
When    this    correction    is    made    in    the    language   of  the 
TOL  LVli.  2  E 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[MabT 


paragraph,  what  becomes  of  the  plea  that  unearned  increment 
is  not  due  to  local  expenditure  ?  Its  contimuincc  is  directly  dne 
to  it.  Let  the  community  permit  the  streets  and  bridges  and 
sewers  to  fall  into  disre|jair,  let  them  neglect  the  various  branchee 
of  expenditnrf  which  keep  a  town  habitable,  ami  what  remains 
of  the  "  unearned  incrt?ment "  ?  It  may  suit  the  advocates  of 
the  present  system  to  call  a  portion  of  the  swollen  ground-values 
in  towns  by  the  familiar  name  of  ''  unearned  increment,"  though  I 
should  scarcely  choose  that  as  the  most  suitable  name  if  I  were  about 
to  plead  for  its  being  exempted  from  taxation.  But  it  is  only 
unearned  in  the  sense  that  it  goes  into  the  pockets  of  those  that  have 
not  earned  it.  Its  continuance,  and  the  continuance  of  the  revenue 
it  yields,  is  only  secured  by  the  active  expenditure  of  the  commnnity 
for  local  purposes,  and  whether  or  not  it  was  originally  created  by 
the  same  means  (which  it  is  unnecessary  to  argue  here),  this  depen- 
dence on  local  expenditure  for  its  continuance  is  abundantly  sufficient 
to  warrant  its  being  taxed  directly  and  substantially  in  order  to 
support  that  expenditure. 

But  the  phrase  "  created  and  maintained  "  occurs  too  frequently 
and  too  prominently  in  my  pamphlet  for  it  to  be  entirely  passed  over  by 
my  critic.  In  the  next  paragraph  he  refers  to  it.  Instead,  however,  of 
applying  it  to  correct  his  previous  argument,  be  proceeds  to  deduce 
from  it  conclusions  which  involve  such  a  confusion  of  thought  that  if  I 
had  not  read  the  passage  over  and  ov<'r  again  T  should  not  believe  that  be 
could  be  guilty  of  it.  He  actually  thinks  that  if  ground-values  are 
created  by  rates,  and  are  subsequently  rated  because  they  are  maintained, 
they  are  rated  twice  over  !  Does  the  owner  of  a  house  or  of  a  boiler 
think  that  he  is  paying  twice  over  because  he  has  to  lay  out  money  in 
order  to  maintain  the  house  or  the  boiler  in  a  state  of  efficiency  ?  If 
ground-value,  however  created,  need  local  expenditure  to  keep  them 
up,  do  they  do  so  the  less  because  they  were  originally  created  or  have 
been  increased  by  it ;  and  does  this  fact  lessen  the  justice  of  requiring 
them,  equally  with  all  other  ground-value  (if  there  are  any  not  so  caused), 
to  bear  their  share  of  the  necessary  expenditure  ? 

I  now  come  to  the  point  on  which  Mr.  Sargant  apparently  prides 
himself  most,  the  ' '  central  fallacy  "  of  my  argument  8U5  he  styles  it. 
He  embodies  it  in  an  example  which  is  illustrated  by  a  diagram,  but 
which  seems  to  me,  I  must  confess,  simple  enough  to  be  understood 
without  such  aid.  It  is  a  case  in  which  a  ground  landlord  A  lets 
land  for  its  full  value  £100,  to  B  a  builder,  who  erects  a  house  worth 
£600  a  year  {i.e.,  £500  in  addition  to  the  ground-rent),  and  parts  with 
it  to  Bb  for  a  premium  and  a  rent  of  £500  a  year. 

Mr.  Sargant  then  supposes  the  land  to  go  up  in  value  to  £500  a  year. 
He  rightly  says  that  under  my  scheme  B  would  now  be  taxed  on  the 


tf^l  THE    TAXATION   OF  GROlXD-RKXru.  41.N 

£400  which  he  annnally  receiyies  be«mst»  it  xrnMiUi  W  jvmI  <^f  <h«»  ^>nnti- 
TBlve.  Plreviously — ix.,  when  the  land  was  only  worth  tl  0»^  n  x^imm* — ^1x«» 
ma  not  texed  on  his  £100.     Thorcfoiv 

"  B  would  have  seen  his  fixtvl  ivnt  of  .CIOO)>im-  iinninu  ^ntihmllx 
becxming  subject  to  tnxation  in  r(«<|MV(  of  »n  inoi<o.imt  in  ffninni)  xithio 
in  the  benefit  of  which  ho  m'as  not  tiUo>r<<4l  (o  Khniiv" 

What!  Does  Mr.  Saigant  say  that  in  IhiR  onsp  /i  if.tfH  ]>.</  sfhtr. 
im  the  rise  of  ffivund-raluc  f  It  is  diflioult  to  holiovo  Omt  hn  ootiM 
hare  oommitted  such  an  egn^gions  blundor,  Imt<  (lu'ro  nm  lio  mi  ilouhl 
that  this  is  what  he  says,  and  what  ho  moans. 

To  ascertain  whether  his  view  is  corroct,  \r\<  uho<)iii|)imv  M'n  fxifaiHnn 
faefoire  and  after  the  rise  in  valuo  of  t.ho  land,  lldot'o  I  In*  riso  t^iok  plwf^ 
he  was  in  possession  of  a  rental  of  £500,  sfcumd  im  n  i-nok-rpntnl  nl 
onlf  £600,  and  ont  of  it  he  must  pay  ilio  ^roniid  luiidlord  £|f>0  pr>r 
MinnTn.  He  was  therefore  in  a  position  not.  iniirh  ImMnr  ilintt  \]w 
owner  of  a  rack-rent  of  £400  per  anniiiri,  and  Win  irilorf*«f.  war 
probably  worth,  say,  eighteen  years*  purchawr  -  *.r..  £7iiOO. 

After  the  rise  of  value  in  the  land  hf.  is  tlif.  ownr^r  of  nu  ''f|iinf 
net  lental  of  £400  ;  bat  this  in  now  part,  of  thf^  ^roiind-vnliio  fif  fff 
had,  and  his  gross  rental  of  (1500  in  »f^.tjr^.d  (tn  a  rnrk-r«mh  of 
£1000.  Such  an  interest  would  be  wort.h,  ;)''Thfif»s,  twrity-sAv^ri 
•paxAaae — ».«.,  £10,800.  Thft  valne  of  Ima  \nf/:rf<t  has.  th^T**- 
gone  up  some  50  per  cent,  by  thi.-i  riwi  in  jrroTind-valnp,  -'  in 
4e  iMBcfit  of  which  "  (according  fo  Mr.  .'^arjranf,  •■  hr-.  w.k  nfA-  ftllowwl 

So  nnxch  for  the  cnxshinsr  <*xaTnpirt  tvhir.h  Mr.  Sflr'/ar.f  <'r,n<nd*»r-; 
to  demonstrate  the  "  nentral  fallacy  "'  (r.y  ■■  i>iQ;,tntio  MUcy.' 
elsewhere  calls  it)  of  my  ars*um<»nf;.  S^*  «ijf»rrfiiM«i  ar-"*  Mr 
t'a  views  on  th^-se  matters  that  the  aimpli-  :aot  ^h«f•  tho  n»'< 
tdut  B  derives  is  not  increaspd  in  animint  lm<<  b^An  aooi^pt.-^rl 
hr  &nn  as  equivalent  to  tlip  r.-vlup  of  liis  i!it*»r"''t  .•.'main! 07  'hf.  ^ainp 
Ki  Unnder  is  neither  aTRatt»r  nor  ioR«  than  rhat  ■.?"  a  man  '-'lo  »Jionlo' 
■r  t±a6  tiiR  holders  nt'  RgrpHnn  -took  -.roiild  >l*»riv'^  no  -f^-nfi'i-  frr.»»^ 
Bitiiiifff't  :znarantepin<?  'hp  'iivirl»»nd<  npoai]<»p  'lip  a"»"'i"*'  •'•^  '^^"• 
Jwiwiii  would  nor  !je  rhpr»»by  increased. 

TJSmoA  -int  he  snppo.apd  "haf  *liis  .••■•anlt  of'  'Iv  ■>v:»TOT»ii-  y]v.r-\\  M'* 
:nlectB  for  thp  I'nii'posp  .it  >li»nir.'nstfatin'.'  it-  •■nvirt!  ;«  .n  K^cj. 
•ne.  It  is  rrup  "Iiat  iif  iia-  -lio^p-n  :\rr\}r.-a  «r!iirli  /iv  rt  vBiTlt 
aKldl  ^UWfl  tht*  failacv  -^i  i)is  'ir'/uin.-Tit  n  •  ■»"r'  t'"ikint»  na'T^'*^ 
IhC  wfaakRTPr  liad  lieen  :hi'  'icrnrf?  r  ^'I'lild  i.i^'"  •iP'>ri  •onani-  intnK- 
dba;  3  wrmld  not  '^harp  .u  '\u*  .■i«!p  n  -Mhip.  ;*'-ir  iV;  ■.•■'-'••■nii*«  '^nnii? 
vdf  he  hrangfat  imder  rh**  jrr-nmi-rnu-  iv  1  -haTitrp  if"!  -'d'lp  ■">+*  'bp 
]m£  wfaieh  cansed  it  "-o  ■•onit'  ritliin  lip  imir-  -f  *1i»»  lori'nl  /I'z-.nnH- 
bnmne  an  inrnvvpd   .T<'iTn<l-"«''Tit.    n    apt— '^n  ■^st    bp   irm' 


'M6 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[Mas. 


itself  was  sufficient  to  secure  it  apart  from  any  queation  of  the  value 
of  the  building-  Before  the  riso  took  place  it  was  not  a  ground-rent 
at  all,  but  was  merely  a  part  of  tlie  rack-rent  of  the  building,  having 
as  its  security  the  vahie  of  the  building  alone.  Such  a  change  in  the 
security  must  neces-sarily  increase  the  value  of  the  interest. 

If  my  sole  object  in  writing  the  present  article  were  to  reply  to 
llr.  Sargant's  criticisms,  I  might  leave  the  point  here.  But  the 
example  raises  a  questiou  which  may  have  puzzled  some  people  in  con- 
neclion  with  such  cases  of  intermediate  landlords.  It  is  not  the 
question  why  the  ground  landlords  are  to  be  taxed  in  proportion  to 
the  value  of  their  land,  which  is  raised  by  instances  such  as  these, 
but  it  is  the  question  why  the  owners  of  the  buildings  are  not  also  to 
be  taxed  in  proportion  to  the  value  of  the  buildings. 

The  answer  is  a  very  simple  one.  Speaking  generally,  any  rate 
levied  upon  the  building  in  proportion  to  its  annual  value  (exclusive  of 
the  land  on  which  it  rests)  is  in  reality  borne  by  the  occupier,  and  no 
legislation  can  pi-event  this  being  the  case.  Tins  can  easily  bo  seen 
from  considering  the  case  of  a  house  newly  built.  The  builder  mnst 
get  from  it  the  fair  and  ordinarj'  trade  return  upon  capital  employed 
in  such  a  manner.  Thi.-j  he  must  receive  net  after  all  outgoings,  or 
otherwise  capital  will  cease  to  be  employed  in  buildiiig.  If,  then,  we 
increase  his  outgoings  by  imposing  a  rate  upon  liim  in  respect  of  the 
valuf  of  the  house,  he  mu.st  increase  the  rent  of  it  by  an  equal  amount, 
or  he  will  no  longer  get  the  required  net  return.  The  tax  will,  there- 
fore, fall  upon  and  l)e  borne  by  the  occupier,  and  might  as  well  be 
directly  levied  upon  bim.  And  if  this  ia  true  of  new  houses  it  must 
also  be  true  of  houses  already  built,  with  which  they  compete,  and 
therefore  it  is  generally  true  of  all  houses. 

This  being  so  it  is  useless  to  try  to  tax  the  owners  of  buildings  in 
a  similar  way  to  the  owners  of  the  land  on  which  they  stand.  Nor  is 
this  immunity  unfair.  The  property  from  which  their  revenue  comes 
ia  the  product  of  private  capital,  and  is  liable  to  very  serious  risks. 
For  instance,  if  land  goes  up  greatly  in  value  it  by  no  means  follows 
that  the  building  upon  it  will  continue  to  be  equally  valuable.  The 
change  in  the  circumstance  of  the  locality  which  is  indicated  by 
the  rise  in  ground-value  may  render  the  building  an  unsuitable  one, 
so  that  its  value,  separately  from  the  land,  may  decrease  or  even 
disappear — f.c,  it  may  be  advisable  to  pull  it  down  and  rebuild.  In 
such  a  case  the  whole  buildiug-value  disappears,  and  it  is  only  the 
ground-value  that  remains.  All  these  matters  show  how  fundamental 
is  the  distinction  in  nature  and  incidents  between  the  ground-value 
the  value  of  the  building.  The  former  is  a  class  of  local  property 
»  can  and  ought  to  be  made  to  bear  a  tax.  The  latter  may 
proper    exceptions)    be    made    the  means   of  assessing  a    tax 


t«90] 


THE    TAXATION    OF   GROUND-RENTS. 


417 


upon  the  occupiers  who  inhabit  the  town ;  but  it  cannot  be  taxed 
in  any  way  which  will  make  the  tax  fall  upon  and  be  paid  by  its 
Guraers. 

In  these  remarks  I  have  considered  only  the  simple  case  of  one 
ground-landlord  and  one  owner  of  the  building.  It  might  be  said 
thAt  there  may  be  more  complex  cases  in  which  the-se  interests  are 
sobdivided  or  combined  together.  But  such  distribution  of  interests 
does  not,  after  all,  affect  the  matter,  for  it  is  ahvaya  possible  to  trace 
in  whose  hands  is  each  of  these  components  of  the  total  value  of  the 
property.  Nor  is  tlie  questiou  how  or  ut  what  date  the  present 
oimer  acquired  it  material,  in  my  opinion,  to  the  determination  of 
tie  proper  incidence  of  rates.  At  the  risk  of  beinf?  misunderstood 
by  writers  like  my  present  critic,  I  will  enunciate  what  I  believe 
GBgfat  to  be,  and  some  day  will  be,  accepted  as  the  broad  piinciple 
npon  which  local  rates  on  land  should  be  levied — viz.,  that  the 
flonuaanity  ought  to  tax  for  the  expenditure  of  each  year  the  returns 
fram  the  land  in  that  year  in  the  hands  of  those  that  receive  them  in 
that  year,  and  that  no  regard  should  be  paid  to  the  nature  of  their 
intwests  in  the  past  or  in  the  future,  or  to  the  mode  in  which 
they  became  possessed  of  the  right  to  receive  such  returns.  If  the 
owners  have  taken  the  ordinary  course  of  reserving  for  themselves, 
other  as  a  ground-rent  or  an  improved  ground-rent,  a  portion  of  those 
umoal  returns,  they  should  be  t^vxed  on  them,  for  I  see  no  reason  why 
Ikey  should  be  permitted  to  draw  off  the  most  valuable  portion  of  the 
retams  of  the  land  in  the  locality  without  contributing  to  its  expendi- 
tare,  and  thus  leave  the  whole  burden  of  that  exijenditure  to  fall  on 
the  occupiers  or  on  the  small  margin  of  the  retams  from  the  land 
which  may  be  left  after  their  fixed  charges  have  been  paid. 

And  this  is  my  answer  to  those  who  say  ''  why  not  tax  reversions"? 
I  do  propose  to  tax  reversionsj  but  I  do  it  by  taxing  in  each  year  the 
rerenae  for  the  year.     The  owner  of  the  reversion  will  not,  therefore, 
he  taxed  to-day  for  the  prospective  value  of  his  i-eversion,  but  when 
the  reversion  comes  in  it  will  be  a  tttcetl  reversion.      If  this  is  com- 
bined with  a  proper  system  of   dividing  the  expense  of  permanent 
improvements  over  a  sufficiently  long  period,  iti  will,  I  Itelieve,  act 
tairly  between  all  parties.     I  quite  agree  with  ilr.  Sargant  as  to  the 
difi^lties  of  taxing    reversions,   but  if  you   do   not  tax  them   you 
taast  take  care  that  year  by  year  you  tax  the  income  of  the  year  in 
the  hands  of  those  that  receive  it.     It  is  tliis  that  I  propose  to  do  by 
the  plan  set  out  in  my  pamphlet, 

I  have  not  space  here  to  examine  all  the  various  evil  consequences 
■•liich  Mr.  Sargant  declares  would  follow  upon  the  adoption  of  the  plan 
of  rtting  which  I  seek  to  introduce.  I  am  glad  to  see  in  him  a  tender 
nlicitade  lest  tlie   we-althy  dwellers  in  fashionable  localities  should 


41  a 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mab. 


unduly  profit  by  it,  and  I  think  that  he  may  let  his  mind  be  eaay  on 
that  point.  But  the  objection  that  the  middleman  who  farms  out 
rooms  will  specially  profit  by  it  ia  too  absurd.  If  the  total  of  the 
rent  and  rates  that  he  pays  should  be  reduced  by  it,  his  profits  would 
be  no  more  and  no  less  affected  than  if  his  ratio  remained  the  same 
while  his  rent  was  lowered  an  equal  amount  from  any  other  cause  ;  and 
to  say  that  he  would  pocket  the  whole  diiference,  is  simply  to  say  that 
no  fall  of  rents  could  benefit  persons  in  the  position  of  his  lodgers. 
To  wind  up  the  list  of  awful  consequences,  Mr.  Sargant  treats  us  to 
the  usual  fallacy  as  to  the  price  of  ground-rents.  He  says  that  the 
capital  which,  in  future,  will  be  invested  in  ground-rents  will  require 
higher  interest  because  of  their  possible  iluctuations,  and  this  will  send 
up  rents.  If  such  capital  were  to  require  higher  interest  (which  I 
doubt)  it  would  have  no  effect  on  rent.  If  the  annual  value  of  a  pieco 
of  ground  be  £100,  it  will  fetch  that  simi  and  no  more,  whether  ground- 
rents  are  a  4  per  cent,  investment  (i.e.,  worth  twenty-five  years'  pur- 
chase), or  a  5  per  cent,  investment  (i.e.,  worth  twenty  years'  purchase). 
It  is  the  capital  value  and  not  the  rent  that  will  be  affect-ed. 

Mr.  Sargant  obviously  belongs  to  the  school  that  holds  an  attack 
upon  an  opponent  to  be  incomplete  unless  it  includes  some  accusa- 
tion of  bad  faith.  We  all  know  the  style  adopted  for  the  pur- 
pose— the  indignant  appeal  to  the  adversary's  sense  of  right  and 
wrong,  the  dilemma  between  the  horns  of  which  he  is  graciously 
allowed  to  choose,  the  suggestion  that  more  could  be  said,  but  he  shall 
be  spared — "  I  could  an'  I  would."  Accordingly  Mr,  Sargant  con- 
cludes his  article  with  an  example  of  this  invaluable  addition  to  the 
armoury  of  political  controversy,  and  it  is  so  typical  of  the  ease  with 
which  a  writer  can  on  such  occasions  dispense  with  substance  if  he 
has  but  the  correct  style,  that  it  ia  worthy  of  being  preserved  as  a 
specimen  for  imitation  by  writers  of  like  views. 

The  matter  arises  thus.  In  my  pamphlet  I  have  been  remarking 
upon  the  absurdity  of  taxing  alike  by  one  common  rate  the  portion  of 
the  rent  due  to  the  value  of  the  ground  and  that  due  to  the  value  of 
the  building,  and  I  continue  as  follows : 

"  It  is  probal^le  that  the  anomaly  of  treating  alike  these  two  kinds  of 
property  which  difler  80  widely  in  tbt-ir  oriffin,  nature,  and  incidents 
would  long  ago  have  attracted  the  atteution  of  statesmen  and  compelled 
rufoi-m  Liid  it  not  been  for  the  prevalence  of  a  notion  that  rates — 
though  iL'vied  upon  landed  property — are  in  reality  a  personal  tax  paid 
by  the  (XTujiier,  and  that  they  are  levied  on  (i.<?.,  made  proportional  to) 
the  annual  value  of  premises  solely  because  the  rent  of  the  premises  h© 
occupies  i*i  taken  as  a  rough  measure  of  his  abiUty  to  contribute." 

Upon  this  Mr.  Sargant  remarks : 

"  Mr.  Moulton  speaks  airily,  at  pago  C  of  his  pamphli't,  of  the  former 
'  prevalence  of  a  notion,'  that  rates  are  a  tax  on  the  occupier,  and  are 


THE   TAXATION   OF   GROUND   RENTS. 


410 


levied  on  the  rent  because  it  is  a  rough  measure  of  his  ability  to  con- 
tribute. Was  he  aware  when  writing^  in  thi^  fashion  that  this  '  notion ' 
is  the  (leUbenitely  reasoned  conclusion  of  {amongst  others)  the  greatest 
modern  English  master  of  PoUtiwJ  Economy." 

«tid  gives  a  reference  to  Mill  in  support  of  this  statement. 

It  seems  almost  incredible,  but  nevertheless  it  is  true,  that  the  pas- 
9g&  cited  is  to  the  very  opposite  effect.  Mill's  "deliberately  reasoned 
conclusion "  is  certainly  given  there,  but  it  is  to  the  effect  that  the 
portion  of  the  rates  which  is  in  respect  of  the  value  of  the  ground  is 
not  a  tar  on  tlic  occupUr  at  all. 

This  is  a  bad  beginning,  but,  after  all,  one  must  put  up  with  such 
things.  I  have  no  more  right  to  exact  that  my  critics  shall  be  capabh? 
of  citing  ilill'a  opinions  accurately  than  that  they  should  comprehend 
the  simpler  and  more  fundamental  principles  of  land-valuation.  But 
Mr.  Sargant  is  going  a  little  too  far  in  following  up  this  baseless 
statement  as  to  the  contents  of  Miirs  "  Political  Economy,"  thus : 

"  If  he  loaa  aware  of  it,  does  ho  consider  it  right  in  a  work,  priced  at 
one  penny,  and  therefore  intended  for  the  masses,  to  use  language  so 
obvioasly  hkely  to  mislead  tliose  who  have  no  means  of  checking  his 
statements  !  If  he  was  not — htit  here  it  is  unnecessary  to  do  more 
than  suggest  an  inference  ! " 

There  ia  no  doubt  what  this  means,  for  the  language  is  blunter  and 
nore  deliberately  offensive  than  is  usual  even  iu  attacking  an  adversary's 
good  faith.  It  is  intended  to  suggest  that  I  had  given  the  "  go  by  " 
lo  a  theory  which  I  found  to  be  inconvenient  tu  my  argument,  by 
treating  it  as  of  no  authority,  trusting  that  my  readers  among  the 
poorer  classes  would  not  have  the  means  of  checking  my  statements. 

It  was  not  prudent  to  make  such  an  insinuation  where  there  was  any 
'probability  of  my  replying  to  the  article.  Let  me  give  the  concluding 
perticn  of  the  paragraph  in  my  pamphlet,  from  which  Mr.  Sargant  is 
qootiBg: 

*'  But  this  theory  that  rates  are  and  nre  intended  to  be  a  personal  tax 
on  the  occupier  only  renders  the  present  system  more  indefensible.  On 
the  one  hand  the  owners  of  the  pi'operty  benefited  by  the  rates  escape 
contribution,  and  on  the  other  hand  the  apportionment  of  the  tnx  among 
the  different  classes  of  the  community  is  grossly  inecjiiitable.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  devise  a  tax  that  would  press  more  heavily  on  the  poorer 
a*  compared  with  the  richer  clas.>^es  thtin  one  in  which  the  payment  is 
proportionate  to  the  rent,  for  it  is  notorious  that  the  poorer  a  man  is 
the  larger  is  the  portion  of  his  e.\penditure  that  goes  in  rent. " 

So  that  instead  of  avoiding  the  consideration  of  this  "  notion "  as 
b>ing  awkward  for  my  argument,  I  show  (what  every  one  who  considers 
the  matter  must  see)  that  our  case  against  the  present  system  of  rating 
would  be  rendered  doubly  strong  If  its  defenders  should  be  so  unwise 
m  to  put  this  theory  forward.  But  none  of  them — not  even  Mr. 
Stfgant — will,  I  think,  venture  to  do  so. 


420  THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW.  [Maic 

It  mnst  not  be  imagined  that  I,  in  my  turn,  am  insinnating  that 
Mr.  Sargant  is  intentionally  incorrect  or  nn&ir,  either  in  his  TeS.ec- 
ences  to  Mill,  or  his  fa«atment  of  my  pamphlet.  On  the  contrary,  I 
think  that  these  and  other  matters  to  which  J  hare  called  attention 
are  due  to  an  inaccuracy  of  mind  too  habitual  to  be  conscious.  < 
Whether  it  is  due  to  his  not  taking  the  trouble  to  look  beneath  the 
surface,  or  to  his  neglecting  to  settle  his  own  views  before  criticizing 
those  of  others,  I  do  not  know ;  but  in  any  case  he  will  do  well  to 
moderate  his  tone  until  he  has  attained  to  that  very  mediocre  standard 
of  accuracy  which  will  enable  tiirn  to  quote  from  well-known  books 
with  reasonable  correctness. 

J.  Fletchbr  Moulton. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  CHURCH-RATE 
STRUGGLE. 


IT   was  a  long  time  ago,  at  least  it  was  in  tlu-  forties,  and  that 
seems  quite  a  distant  period  when  one  looks  Ijack  to  it  now. 
l*he  day  was  dull  and  grey ;  perhaps  it  even  rained,  for  though  the 
early  dinner  was  over,  the  chiklren    liad   not   gone  ont  to  play,  and, 
as  tlvey  looked  out  of  the  window  for  amusement,  their  curiosity  was 
«xcited  and  their  hopes  were  raised  by  the  arrival  of  a  man  on  horseback. 
Tb«*y  knew  the  man  quite  well,  for  he  was  their  grandfather's  groom, 
tnd  messages  from  that  quarter  generally  meant  something  pleasant 
or  nice,  bo  there  was  a  nish  to  leam  why  he  had  come.     And  after 
dl,  it  was  nothing  but  a  note  for  the  elder  sen^ant,  a  confidential  sort 
of  person,  from  their  mother,  who,  with  their  father,  was  spending  the 
d»y  with  her  parents  at  their  home  in  the  country,  about  two  miles 
•w»y. 

Sarah  read  the  not«^,  and  then  proceeded  to  act  in  an  extraordinary 

mMintT.     First,  she  locked  the  front  door,  which  was  usually  only 

ioae  at  night ;  then   she  drew  down  all  thi-  blinds,  though  no  one 

^longing  to  the  family  was  dead ;  then  she  put  out  all  the   fires, 

•liicli  was  very  uncomfortable ;  and,  finally,  she  marshalled  the  whole 

llocltof  foDr  children,  besides  the  ntirse-gir!  with   the  baby  in  arms, 

'tpstairs  to  the  spare  bedroom^  and  placed  them  upon  the  great  four- 

pwtei'  with  orders  not  to  speak  above  a  whisper.     The  mistress,  they 

■"  told,  desired  that  the  house  should  appi-ai-  shut  up,  as  if  no  one 

"'4  home,  so  if  any  one  came  to  the  door  no  movement  was  to 

"f  hcttd  within ;  and  no  attention  was  to  be  paid  to  any  amount  of 

•wAiag  and  ringing.     For   a   time  it  was  delightfully  exciting  to 

"•en  U)  the  passers-by,  and  hope  that  footsteps   might    be    heard 

Ruling  the  six  steps  which  led  to  the  front  door,  and  the  persons 

w  attack  upon  the  defences.     It  was  such  a  little  town,  with 


422 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mah. 


such  small  traffic,  that  each,  separate  foot-passenger  afforded  a  fresh 
sensation,  and  the  little  party  were  prepared  to  feel  quite  heroic  in. 
their  state  of  siege,  if  only  the  besiegers  would  arrive. 

But  when,  as  it  seemed  to  them,  hours  went  by,  and  no  one  took 
any  notice  of  them  ;  when  all  the  feet  and  elbows  and  heads  on  the 
bed  seemed  to  be  just  where  they  were  not  wanted  ;  when  there  was 
nothing  to  do,  and  no  one  to  while  away  the  time  by  telling  tales ; 
when  it  grew  dusk,  and  Sarah  held  out  no  hope  of  lights  or  tea — then 
they  began  to  find  that  heroism  is  not  quite  such  an  easy  matter  after 
all,  and,  as  was  natural  in  such  circumstances,  every  one  became  very 
cross,  as  well  as  most  anxious  to  Ije  set  free  from  that  odions  spare 
bed.  At  last  there  was  a  familiar  and  welcome  sound — they  were 
sure  of  it,  the  pony-chaise  was  coming ;  the  pouy-chaise  to  them 
being  the  one  belonging  to  their  grandmother,  and  drawn  by  their 
particular  friend,  her  grey  pony. 

Sarah,  after  peeping  cautiously  from  behind  the  blind,  went  to 
unlock  the  front  door,  but  even  then  no  one  else  was  allowed  to  move 
till  the  mother  herself  put  an  end  to  their  imprisonment,  and  ex- 
plained its  cause.  After  leaving  in  the  morning,  she  and  the  father 
suddenly  recollected  that  their  home  might  be  visited  by  the  poUce, 
and  not  wishing  this  to  take  place  in  their  absence,  had  sent  orders 
for  the  house  to  be  shut  up ;  but  the  peculiar  encampment  in  the 
spare  room  had  been  altogether  Sarah's  own  device,  and  was  not 
commended,  which  was  a  comfort  to  think  of.  Those  who  were  old 
enough  to  understand,  learned  that,  though  the  police  had  not 
appeared,  they  would  certainly  come  before  long  to  take  away  some 
furniture,  because  the  father  had  refused  to  pay  a  church-rate. 

Members  of  the  Church  ''  as  by  law  established  "  were  provided 
with  buildings,  and  the  salaries  of  their  ministers  were  paid  for 
them,  so  that  for  these  matters  they  were  not  called  to  contribute 
a  single  farthing.  For  part  of  the  expenses  of  their  form  of  worship, 
they  were  further  empowered  to  levy  a  rate,  provided  it  were  passed 
by  a  majority  of  the  ratepayers  present  at  the  meeting  held  for  this 
purpose.  It  might  be  thought  that  those  who  objected  to  the  rate 
had  the  remedy  in  a  measure  in  their  own  hands,  if  they  could 
procure  a  majority  ;  but  then  it  was  if,  and  as  the  wealth  and  the 
power  were  almost  entirely  with  the  Episcopalians,  and  as  they  did 
not  hesitate  to  apply  the  screw  by  withdramng  custom  from  the  shop- 
keeper, or  turning  off  the  labourer  who  dared  to  offend  by  exercising 
the  right  of  private  judgment,  it  was  not  wonderful  that  faith  was 
often  wanting  to  incur  what  looked  like  the  risk  of  ruin. 

When  the  young  Baptist  minister  first  settled  at  Kettering,  he  paid 
the  rate  without  thinking,  and  as  a  matter  of  course.  But  after  a 
time  he  became  aware  that  his  Quaker  neighbours,  who  thought  it  a 
dnfcjr  to  refuse  such  paym  ent,  unresistingly  allowed  their  goods  to  be 


»i»>l 


A   CHURCH-RATE  STRUGGLE. 


year  after  yeaor,  and,  dr&wn  at  once  to  those  who  saff(^r»d  for 
a^e,  he  presently  came  to  take  their  vicfur,  and  cast  in  hia 
lot  with  them,  bat  with  a  difference,  as  vrill  be  seen, 
*  After  the  thing  had  been  explained  to  them,  the  childre<lt  wwp  not 
muaaanged  to  talk  much  about  it,  but  the  elder  ones  had  many 
SaoaauaoB  among  themsolves — what  would  the  policemen  do  and  say, 
voold  Ihey  speak  to  them,  and  if  so,  how  should  they  be  answered  ? 
Many  Taii&nt  speeches  were  oonoocted  which  would  be  just  the  ri^t 
Aiag,  if  only  courage  did  not  all  fly  away  when  the  time  came. 


It  was  a  Saturday  morning  soon  after  breakfast,  the  cheerfiil  room 
aas  far^ht  with  sunshine,  and  the  occnpations  of  the  day  had  hardly 
began,  when  a  knock  at  the  front  door  announced  an  early  visitor, 
al0|,  when  ushered  in.  scarcely  waited  for  the  usual  greeting  before 
ItBag  his  errand. 

**TT>e  polioe  are  coming,  I  have  just  seen  them  at  Mr.  Smith's,  and 
I  tkongfat  you  would  like  to  know  ;  this  will  be  their  next  place." 

The  master  of  the  house  was  away  from  home,  having  an  engage 
WBBt  to  preach  at  some  distance  on  tbe  following  day,  and  a  journey, 
A  tkat  daba,  was  a  thing  not  accomplished  in  a  hurry.  The  mistress, 
Ipwevw,  had  evidently  laid  her  plans,  and  imraeiliately  proceeded  to 
mrrj  tbam  out,  showing  no  sign  of  discomfiture  at  tlie  prospeot 
Mbreber. 

*H»  Baptiet  chapel,  or   "  meeting,"  as  it  was  always  then   called, 

tf  which  this  lady  s  husband  waa  tho  minister,  had  been  built  at  a 

tine  when  Nonconfonnists  were  in    constant  danger  of    rude   and 

'violeot  interruptions  to  their  religious  services,  so  that  they  were   far 

from  desiring  to  attract  public  attention   to  their  placoa  of  worHhip. 

Aft  a  matter  of  precaution,  therefore,  the  building  had  been  plficed 

badk  liwn  the  street,  hidden  away   behind  the  minist-^^r's  houfw,  and 

the  approach   was  by  a  narrow    covered   paasage  called   an    entry, 

with  gitee  toward  tho  street,     f  )n  that  Saturday  morning  th<>  niiniRt^r  » 

wile  ardered  the  gates  to  be  opened,  as  well  as  tho  door  leatiing  from 

kitchen    into  the  entry,  and  then,  having  given   some  further 

took  her  little  daughter  by  tho  hand,  and  went  out.  on  the 

cAar  ode  ot  the  house  into  the  Ijackyard,  t-o  a  do^ir  which  op^-ned  int^'j  a 

aHitnirotmded  by  small  houses  and  communicating  with  tbe  stniot  by 

m  wthaay.  There  the  little  girf  was  told  to  run  quickly  t/>  a  honw*  f»n 

^  other  side  of  the  road,  nod  to  say  that  the  police  were  coming,  and 

<k«,  porhaps  catching  a  look  on  the  chihfs  facet,  the  mother   abided 

^ifc  a  saile  that  she  should  wait  for  her  there.     It  wa«  a  kind  of 

■■iap  oo  the  fiery  cross,  oaYy  in  this  case  the  people  were  iwtb- 

■■■i  In  endurance,  not  to 


424 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[M\B. 


On  that  sti"ange  moming,  when  everything  seemed  out  of  course,  the 
mere  crossing  the  quiet  street  presented,  itself  as  an  action  requir- 
ing some  courage.  But  it  had  to  be  done  :  the  high  knocker  was 
out  of  reach,  and  little  fists  thiunped  on  the  door  till  a  tall  sedate 
woman  opened  it,  looked  gravely  down,  and  very  deliberately  put  the 
question  : 

"  Well,  cliUd,  what  does  thee  want?  " 

*'  If  you  please,"  was  the  panting  answer,  "  mamma  sent  me  to 
tell  you  that  the  police  ai'e  coming." 

The  grave  woman  softened  at  once,  and  smiling  as  if  she  had  heard 
good  news,  replied  warmly  : 

"  Thank  thee,  child,  for  coming  to  t«U  us,  and  thank  thy  mother 
for  sending  us  word  ;  be  sure  remember  to  thank  thy  mother  j  we  are 
very  much  obliged  to  her  and  thee,  too." 

So  the  hard  task  was  done,  and  the  doorstep,  ascended  with  so 
much  fear,  had  become  a  delightfxd  haven  of  refuge  in  which  to  listen 
to  pleasant  words  of  thanks.  The  child  scampered  back  to  the  mother, 
who  put  out  her  hand,  and  then  lx)th  went  together  to  the  kitchen, 
which  by  this  time  was  nearly  cleared  of  overj-thing  it  was  pai'ticularly 
undesirable  to  lose.  The  law  gave  its  officers  power  to  ejiter  a  house, 
and  take  from  it  so  much  as,  in  their  opinion,  would,  when  sold,  pro- 
duce enough  to  defray  the  unpaid  rate  and  expenses.  If  the  first 
room  they  entered  contained  sufficient  to  satisfy  their  claim,  they 
were  obliged  to  take  what  was  there,  and  were  nut  allowed  to  go 
further.  This  was  the  reason  why  the  victims  were  grat*-ful  for 
information  as  to  when  the  seizure  was  to  be  made.  For  want  of 
this  precaution,  one  house  had  jiTSt  lost  family  treasures  and  presents, 
which  could  never  be  replaced.  It  seemed  like  play  to  help  to  clear 
the  kitchen  by  running  off  with  a  dish-cover  to  a  place  of  safety.  In 
H  few  minutes,  the  mistress,  casting  a  careful  eye  around,  declared 
that  there  was  no  more  to  be  done  ;  and  then,  surrounded  by  the 
whole  family,  quietly  took  up  her  position  in  the  denuded  room  to 
await  what  was  to  come. 

Soon  a  step  was  heard  echoing  loudly  from  the  brick  pavement  of 
the  entry,  and  all  eyes  were  eagerly  fixed  upon  the  open  door.  It 
proved  to  be  a  friend,  ono  of  the  deacons  of  the  Baptist  church  who 
had  com©  to  stand  by  his  minister's  wife  during  the  expected  visita- 
tion. The  police,  he  said,  need  not  be  looked  for  just  yet.  He  had 
passed  the  house  where  they  were  at  work,  mid  as  they  had  only  one 
small  cart,  they  would  be  obliged  to  return  to  the  station-house  and 
unload  before  proceeding  to  another  seizure.  Meanwhile,  was  there 
no  broken  furniture  which  might  be  mended,  and  made,  as  he  expressed 
it,  fit  for  the  police  ?  He  was  fond  of  carpentering  in  his  leisure 
time,  and  had  put  a  few  tools  in  his  pocket  before  coming  out. 
Children  and  servants,  who  were  suifering  under  a  temporary  law  of 


tt)f^ 


A  CHURCH-KATE  STRUGGLE. 


435 


mIkamaBy  «?agerly  pointed  out  a  cliair  which  had  lost  a  leg.  The  amateur 
jaiaer  aoon  made  that  all  right,  ending  with  a  vigoroas  thump  of  the 
ftsfeoced  member  upon  the  stone  floor,  to  prove  the  soundness  of  his 
varic,  aad  then  demanded  something  more  on  which  to  exercise  his 
ikilL  Finding  that  the  best  efforts  of  all  present  could  produce  no 
otker  article,  he  looked  about  for  himself,  and  so  caught  sight 
of  mn  old  Dutch  clock  which  had  never  ticked  within  the  memory  of 
BUL,  or  at  least  of  child.  The  very  thing — he  would  just  reach  down 
tiie  ancient  timepiece  and  restore  its  voice  in  readiness  for  the  raid. 

Herd,  however,  the  lady  of  the  house  inter|x>8ed  ;  the  clock,  she 
wad,  was  utterly  worthless,  and  it  bad  been  found  useless  to  tiy  tx> 
m»ad  it. 

•'  Bat,^  pieced  her  zealous  ally,  ''  I  can  make  it  go  for  a  tittle 
while,  and  it  will  be  quite  good  enough  for  the  police." 

"Then  some  one  would  buy  it,  and  find  himself  deceived." 

"Serve  them  right,  too,"  was  the  energetic  reply,  "if  they  are 
■ran  enongh  to  buy  such  things.  Do  let  me  have  it,  I  can  get  it 
done  yet,  if  we  lose  no  more  time." 

The  request  had  the  cordial  sympathy  of  the  majority,  but  the 
minister's  wife  stood  firm. 

*■  Thank  you  very  much,"  she  said,  "  but  indeed  it  inusb  not  be.  It 
would  make  Mr.  Robinson  very  angry ;  I  should  not  lib*  to  tell  him 
neb  a  thing  had  been  done." 

•♦  If  that  is  so,"  agreed  the  disappointed  deacon,  '■  there  is  nothing 
more  to  be  said,  but  it  does  seem  a  pity." 

The  children  thought  so  too. 

A  little  more  of  the  trial  of  waiting,  and  then  thr  sound  of  wheels 
stopping  before  the  house  was  succeeded  by  a  sharp  rap  at  the  front 
door,  and  all  knew  what  it  signified.  A  servant  was  sent  to  look 
thiongh  the  chain,  but  by  no  means  to  open  the  door,  and  ask  the 
vsn  to  come  to  the  back  by  the  way  prepared  for  them.  Then  came 
their  approaching  tramp,  and  the  children,  quivering  with  excitement 
which  might  not  be  expressed,  watched  the  appearance  of  the  superin- 
tendent of  police,  a  short,  very  stout,  red-faced  man,  whom  the  vvits  of 
the  place  had  surnamed  Pontius  Pilate,  followed  by  two  uncomfortable- 
looking  subordinates,  with  drooping  heads — and  one  had  almost  said 
taile,  they  looked,  poor  men,  so  exactly  like  a  couple  of  whipped  dogs, 
•r  dcigs  fearing  to  be  whipped. 

The  superintendent  had  evidently  composed  a  speech  for  the  occasion, 
■ad  of  this  he  now  proceeded  to  deliver  himself: 

*  Good-morning,  madam.  Most  unpleasant  business  this.  Most 
'■iplBannt  duty  for  me.  If  I  had  my  own  way,  I'd  rather  be  a 
indred  miles  away;  but  duty  is  duty,  and  must  be  done.  Moil 
a|)leMant,  I'm  sure.     Still  duty.*' 

With  a  little  encouragement  it  seemed  as  if  the  oration  might  last 


426 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[Mab. 


Bome  time,  but.  no  notice  being  vouchsafed  except  a  slight  bow,  the 
speaker  Bloppeil  and  proceeded  to  business  ;  he  would  take  tliis  table 
and  that,  and  those  chairs.  The  repairs  bo  lately  and  deftly  executed 
seemed  somehow  to  awaken  suspicion,  but  another  testing  thump  pro- 
duced no  sign  of  weakness,  and  there  really  was  a  sort  of  satisfacticm 
in  seeing  that  chair  taken  by  the  invaders. 

All  present  had  been  in  one  way  or  another  so  closely  occupied, 
that  they  were  quite  startled  on  perceiving  an  addition  to  th^r 
number — a  tall  man,  an  auctioneer,  who  stood  in  the  doorway,  so  that 
egress  was  imjKjssible  till  he  chose  to  move. 

"  Put  that  chiiir  down  for  a  minute,  my  man,"  he  said.  "  Now 
how  much  are  you  taking  the  set  for  ? "  Having  asked  the  same 
question  about  everything  which  was  being  seized,  and  entered 
the  list  in  his  book,  he  stood  aside.  Then,  the  work  of  spolia- 
tlon  finished,  and  the  door  shut  and  fastened  behind  its  agents, 
the  whole  party  adjourned  to  the  front  of  the  house  to  watch 
the  departure  of  the  invaders.  The  police  cart  was  a  light  con- 
veyance kept  for  use  when  duty  called  the  guardians  of  the  peaco 
into  the  country,  and  not  at  all  suit-ed  for  a  furniture  van,  and 
the  work  of  packing  was  not  made  more  pleasant  by  the  jeers 
small  crowd. 

The  next  tiling  was  for  the  minister's  wife  to  reftimish  her  kii 
and  she  soon  sallied  forth  to  the  old-fashioned  little  furniture  shop, 
where  an  old-fashioned  man  regarded  his  customers  with  a  meditative 
air  of  interest,  as  if  he  would  Uke  to  enter  into  conversation  on  the 
unusual  event  which  had  sent  them  to  him.  The  business  with  him 
was  soon  finished ;  the  next  place  was  a  grocer's  shop,  which  was 
found  in  a  state  of  confusion,  omng  to  a  visit  from  the  police,  who  had 
just  departed,  and  who  seemed  to  have  been  somewhat  hesitating  in 
their  choice,  judging  by  the  parcels  of  tea,  sugar,  &c„  which  lay 
scattered  about  in  disorder. 

The  shopkeeper,  a  prisoner  from  a  sprained  ankle,  sat  upon  a 
counter,  and  discoursed  to  all  sympathizers  on  the  rudeness  of  the 
minions  of  the  law,  and  tlie  needless  trouble  they  had  given  to  his 
assistants  on  a  Saturday  moming.  Indeed,  that  the  thing  had  bean 
done  on  a  Saturday  was  considered  to  add  vileness  to  a  vile  deed. 
How,  it  was  asked,  oould  the  Rector  .itand  up  and  preach  the  doctrines 
of  Christianity  on  the  very  day  after  his  neighbours'  goods  had  been 
taken  in  such  a  manner  for  such  a  purpose,  contrary  to  all  Christian 
principles  ?  But  it  is  always  a  mystery  how  men  and  women  professing' 
tbe  faith  of  Christ  can  bear  to  make  that  profession  an  excuse  for 
grasping  worldly  privileges  at  the  expense  of  those  who  are 
and  weaker  tlian  themselves. 

When  the  minister  returned  to  his  home,  and  heard  all  about  what 
had  happened  in  his  absence,  and  saw  the  impression  made  upon  his 


1   pcjuut'    ir 

1,    and  P 
PS  of  a  f 

itckj^l 
I  shop. 


;*«u 


A  CHURCH-RATE  STRUGGLE. 


427 


,  be  c&lkd  them  to  him,  and  then,  for  the  first 
I  of  a  lesson,  of tf^n  afterwards  repesfeed  wad 
ift  when  they  were  older,  and  able  to  imdentss 
[fhinlv: 

**  If  you  will  be  consistent  Nooconfomiiats,  you 
•  en  parse  and  position,  and  to  be  wronged  in  every 
Soch  teaching  given  at  a  father's  knee,  illustrated 
ksaous  as  fell  to  the  lot  of  this  little  family,  ia  not  e 
yet  it  was  witliout  bitterness,  for  he  taught  also  that 
sr  for  the  truth  is  the  highest  honour  that  can  be 
Lb  awrtal — a  thing,  therefore,  over  which  it.  is  right  to 


tine,  gave  them 

enlarged  upon. 

d,  he  told  them 

must  expect  to 
relation  of  life." 
by  such  object 
asily  forgotten  ; 
to  be  called  to 
conferred  upon 
rejoice  and  give 


m. 

So  many  persons  had  refused  to  pay  the  church-rate  as  to   add 

LiMaideiably  to  the  oi^dinary  labours  of  the  police,  who  had  to  find 

for  all  the  distraining  as  best  they  could  j  sometimes  they  would 

off  several  cases  in  one  day,  and  then  have  to  wait  for  an  uncer- 

period  of  leisure  to  continue  a  task  which,   to  the  subordinates 

-as  highly  distasteful.      This  delay  in  the  proceedings  pro- 

l^ged  and  enforced  the  lesson  which  the  little  community  was  learning. 

[Ift»  lesson  of  liberty  and  of  the  right  of  private  judgment.      Every 

IflKJde&t  connected  with   the  various  seizures  was  eagerly  caught  up 

dtflcusBed,  and  there  was  great  exultation  wlien  it  becamo  known 

I  tbe  two  policemen  had  positively  declared  that  tijey  would  dt>  nc 

of  such  hateful  business.      If  the  churchwanlens  Avantnd  ti  done, 

Bi^ht  do  it  themselves,  and  there  was  proportionati>  dinappoint- 

at  when  the  men  yielded  to  the  threat  of  dismiseal. 

Ajdod^  the  houses  to  be  visited  was  one  occupied  by  the  manager 

'•small  silk  factory,  an  estabUshment  altogether  different  from  tlir< 

noisy,  many-storied  edifice  which,  at  the  present  time,  natu rally 

itself  to  the  mind  in  connection   with  the  word   factory.      A 

long^,  low,  two-storied  building,  at  the   hack  vf  thu  inannger'ii 

.;»•,  bounded  by  his  garden  on  one  mde,  so  tJmt  ftom  the  wide 

ss  of  the  workrooms  there  was  always  a  cboerful,  arul  unvw- 

.  \  bright  outlook,  when  the  flower*  were  in  bloom     Home  of  thu 

ek  was  done  on  the  premises.     Materials  were  also  givt^n  out  to  br 

't  home,  and  woven — by  hand,  of  coorsa — on  1«joiiih  which  w«»ri' 

_  .    .»perty  of  the  workmen,  wlw^j,  surroimdad  by  iheii'  fuiiiilia«,  and 

<?j  oft^i  with  a  book  propped  op*<n  in  a  aonv»n)ttnt  (KMitiiiii,  would 

waiaee   fabrics   so   beautiful   and  ri<.'lj   tt»  t/t  saem  slran|/Hly  incon- 

racns  with  the  humble  sunvyundiugb  in  which  ihsy  lirHi  appeared. 

ht  reaposisible  head  of  this  liitlr  industry  way  lie  best  dfscriljed  aa 

bfaii  fearing  man,  who  would  rath)'r  ituf(*:r  wrong  than  do  It,  a  man 

ipiy  to  the  Dtmo«t  of  his  iKfWvr  iu  give  h«lp  where  mt»d*-*i  ■   i»nil  htx 


428 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[: 


character  was  apprecialed  by  those  umlor  him,  who  regarded  hira  \ 
affection  as  well  as  with  respect,  and  were  intensely  angry  at 
wrong  aboat  to  be  done  to  him.  In  their  opinion,  it  ought  not  % 
<:[uiptly  permitted.  This  idea,  once  started,  grew  in  favoar  with  g 
rapidity,  and  hints  began  to  be  dropped  that  the  visit  of  the  p< 
was  not  likely  to  pass  off  without  exciting  incidents — that  the  mei< 
made  up  their  minda  what  to  do,  and  meant  to  stick  to  it. 

A  crowd  bejfan  to  assemble,  as  to  the  direction  of  who.'^e  sympal 
there  could  bo  no  doubt ;  the  police,  oi*  course,  could  not  give  way  j 
men  would  not.  Matters  were  growing  serious,  when  the  master  01 
house  appeared,  and  begged  his  self-appointed  defenders  to  retun 
their  work,  and  not  raise  a  disturbance.  They  listened  relacta) 
but  at  last  they  could  resist  na  longer  ;  but  disappeared  into 
factory  with  an  aching  sensi'  of  the  emptiness  of  things  in  gen 
only  partially  relieved  by  the  thanks  for  their  compliance  tenders 
them  by  the  manager,  when,  having  seen  his  property  carried  at 
he  was  at  liberty  to  come  among  them  and  talk  tlie  matter  over. 

IV. 

When  William  Kobinson,  Baptist  minister  at  Kettering,  bega 
consider  the  question  of  church-rates,  it  seemed  to  him  that 
exaction  according  to  Jaw  ought  at  least  to  1k^  legally  carried  out, 
he  soon  saw  rea-^jon  to  doubt  whether  this  were  the  case.  On 
study-shelves  was  a  copy  of  Burns'  Ecclesiastical  Law,  hitherto 
of  the  least  valued  among  a  lot  of  books  bought  at  an  auction 
This  he  now  began  to  study  carefully — "  that  revelation  of  i 
Christ,"  he  used  to  call  it.  He  also  had  access  to,  and  pre« 
became  possessed  of,  Blackstoue's  Commentaries,  and  found 
these  two  works  would  furnish  him  with  weapons  sufficient  f< 
least  the  outset  of  the  contest  on  which  he  was  about  to  enter. 

Then  seeing  the  next  thing  -  he  did  it. 

Every  year  the  Rector  and  churchwardens  made  a  calculation  o 
amount  needed  for  current  expenses,  and  called  a  vestry,  at  wb« 
was  proposed  to  ifiise  the  money  by  laying  a  rate  of  so  much  in 
pound  on  all  the  pi"operty  in  the  parish.  If  this  were  objected  tc 
opponents  could,  if  they  pleased,  demand  a  poll,  and  then  a  daj 
fixed  on  which  every  ratepayer  might  give  his  vote  for  or  against 
proposed  impost.  The  Nonconformists,  not  having  hitherto  atten 
to  resist  what  they  felt  to  be  an  injustice,  and  knowing  that  they 
not  likely  to  have  a  majority  at  a  poll,  had  not,  so  far,  thoug 
necessary  to  assist  at  the  sacrific*'  of  themselves  by  being  prese^ 
the  vestry ;  but  now  there  was  to  be  a  change. 

The  Rector,  chairman  c.r  pffirio,  and  the  usual  attendants  at 
meeting,  were  accordingly  surprised  and  puzzled  by  the  appearaB 


A  CHTRCU-RATE  STRUGGLE. 


TUKBIMg    A    was    aiBtlui    to    MMI|^IB^       UNy    OMmI 

to  pRvvBf   the  nie.     Tke   Ra^or  kmnag   «Mtod 

reqmrad,  tW  nte  «v»  pwywi  afti  tinemJr^.     Bm  IImm 

St  miiMiii  iini  ijiim  il  md  pOMfepd  o«t  t^st  the  kur  »gqdwJ 

oe-  oT  tW  soBBOniB^  of  Klie   r^stir   shoold    bfr  pust«d   in 

plaoes ;  tliat.  in  the  prespnt  iTwtM>wi>  •  aotioe  ktd 

•fixed  to  the  ckaidt-door.  b«it  aa«lwsfg  «i» ;  «iad  dMi 

tbeirfixr  ooald  ooi  br  fegsHT  Uid.     Tke   Rector  and  hU 

WTK   at    first    iocSned  to  make  ligkt   o£  the  objeotaon ; 

were  fortJbrT  inforaied  thai  any  atlestpl   to  erdotc^  parHMOt 

illegally  laid  would  be  an  oftvoe  tor  whiob  the  law  prorided 

r,  and  that  if  they  peiaiated  they  most  be  prepttred  for  the 

*"»«*^  and  diacomfited  at  finding  the   tabka  thofr 

[vpOQ  then,  th^  yielded  rehictantly  to  the  ineWtable. 

I  that  the  rate  was  afaaadaDed;  and  by  what  mwiiB  this  bad 
aboat,  flew  throogh  the  little  town,  creating  excitemeut 
[iband  exprenion  in  varioas  ways.  Not  only  the  church 
bat  some  of  the  minister's  warmest  and  moc^  valued  friends 
of  what  had  been  done :  and  the  Impossibilists  who,  lika 
nril  fairy  in  thv  fairy  storie*.  are  always  ready  at  the  birth  of  any 
peioas  ent4*rprist>^  did  not  fikil  to  present  the  inevitable  gift  of 
bpagement.  It  was  tnie,  they  said,  that  the  rate  had  been 
^folly  opposed  for  once,  bat  it  was  for  once  only  ;  next  time  care 
Id  be  taken  that  there  shoaid  be  no  repetition  of  the  mistake. 
Awhile.  much  ill-feeling  had  been  created,  and  this  was  an 
which  more  than  count«-rhalanced  the  trifling  and  temporary 
antage  just  gained.  Church-rates.  8up]K)rted  as  they  were  by 
{Tpat  hierarchy,  backed  by  a  powerful  and  wi-althy  aristocracy, 
h  the  rntire  landed  inten-st,  could  not  possibly  bo  overthrown : 
bftm  of  such  a  thing  was  mere  madness.  Though,  in  a  few  other 
Pbd  casi's,  opposition  was  b«'ing  attempted,  it  was  carried  on  by 
P»  whft,  like  thi^  minister,  had  neither  money  nor  political  influence 
"ra  wMch  to  attack  a  vf.«ted  int<Test  walk-d  about  with  impregnable 
■fcocw.  Both  be  and  thry  had  far  better  listen  to  the  advice  of 
*ell-TirisherB,  and  refrain  from  lut-ddling  with  things  too  high 
litrong  tor  their  attack.  Siin-ly,  said  these  cautious  counsellors, 
|«oaiiane8s  of  their  opininn  must  bf  i-vident  to  any  one  who  would 
'^e  trouble  to  study  the  history  of  the  question, 

''^•''•l,  Ijord  John    Russell,  who  wislied  that  the   Jjiberal  Govern- 

tt  suoiiid  have  an  opportunity  of  settUog  the  fjm-stion,  had  dis- 

the  NonconforrnJstH   by   proposing   aa    a   compromise  that 

••fi  should  be  laid  ujioti  the   land-ta.\.      In  1837,  a  resolution 

•^te  ehould  cease,  intrnduced   by  tlie  Liberal  Ministry,  was 

**fn<d ;  hat  tho   majority  on  tlip   second  occasion   being  verv 

•lohn     Hussell    announced    that    the    Government    had 


Uii. 


2    ir 


430 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[Mas. 


abandoned  its  intention  of  taking  tho  riui-stion  to  the  Upper  House ; 
and  einoe  that  tlmf  the  Whigs  had  not  only  dropped  the  matter,  bnfe 
hftd  opposed  all  attt-mpts  at  settlement  l>y  private  members.  Was  it 
reasonable  then  to  imatrine  that  anytliiii^'  could  be  done  in  the  teeth 
of  both  the  oreat  political  parties,  WhifjfS  as  well  as  Tories  ?  Moreover, 
some  hot-headed  persons,  who  had  ivfused  to  pay  the  rate,  had  found 
themselves  in  pnaon  in  consecjuence  ;  and  what  was  the  use  of  that  ? 

The  next  year,  as  was  to  be  expected,  the  notices  duly  appeared  in. 
every  place  by  law  dinctcn],  and  no  further  difficulty  was  expected. 
But  the  mini.ster  pointed  out  that  althuuirln  the  legal  provisions  had 
been  carefully  complied  with  in  one  resiject,  they  had  been  neglected. 
in  another.  The  prescribed  number  of  days  had  not  elapsed  since  the 
appearance  of  the  notices,  therefore  the  rate  could  no  more  be  laid  this 
year  than  last,  llie  law  was  plain,  and  there  was  no  getting  round  it ; 
so  again  there  was  no  church-rate  laid  at  Ketteriiig, 

Another  year  came,  and,  as  one  of  the  Church  people  said  v.fter~ 
wards,  they  thought  they  "  had  got  it  all  right  this  time."  But  again 
tJieir  irropressible  oppont^nt,  finding  some  small  oversight,  was  onoe 
more  victorious,  and  taught  thera  that  to  lay  the  rate  legally  was  not 
quite  such  a  matter  of  courst?  as  they  had  always  supposed. 

So  the.  struggle  went  on  fur  seven  or  eight  years.  Once,  the  minister 
being  unable  to  find  any  more  h^lp  in  his  law-lxioks,  the  Nonconformists 
demanded  a  poll,  and,  being  beaten,  had  their  houses  despoiled,  as  has 
been  already  dcBcribed.  But,  notwithstanding  the  ojiinions  of  the  Im- 
]X)8sibilifita,  much  more  had  been  gained  than  a  few  temporary  successes. 
Inteivst  had  been  awakened,  courage  strengthened,  and  sympathy 
aroused  by  the  spoiling  of  the  goods,  insomuch  that  this,  the  only  time 
of  defeat  during  all  the  long  contest,  proved  to  be  also  the  last  time 
that  a  church-rate  was  ever  laid  at  Kettering. 

Mr.  Robinson  Imving  come  to  the  end  of  his  legal  resources,  help 
was  sought  from  a  lawj-er  at  a  distance,  who  had  given  much  attention 
to  the  subject ;  this  gentleman  was  the  minister's  guest  during  one  of 
the  battle  times,  and  with  his  aid  the  obnoxious  impost  was  once  again 
warded  oft.  And  still  the  ranks  of  the  opponents  were  swelling,  young 
men  were  growing  up  with  fresh  enthusiasm,  chivalrous  feeling  for  the 
oppressed,  and  a  loathing  for  injustice  ;  and  these  naturally  came  to  join 
in  a  brave  fight  bravely  fought  against  what  seemed,  at  first,  over- 
whelming odds.  Thus  though  resistance  still  meant  hard  work,  and 
the  endurance  of  much  obloquy,  it  no  longer  meant  to  stand  almost 
alone,  for  to  vote  against  a  church-rate  had  become  quite  a  usual  thing 
at  Kettering. 


Among  the  little  band  who  first  took  op  the  question  in  that  country- 
town,  was  a  good  man  who  found  it  hard  to  believe  that  the  Rector 


A  CHURCH-RATE  STRUGGLE. 

imluted  the  great  injustice  for  which  he  was  in  largo  measure  respon- 
•Ue^  Mid  who  therefore,  at  a  vestry,  appealed   to  tliat  functionary  on 
dw  j^roand  of  their  common  Christianity,  askinj^how  he,  n  pi-nf^-ssedly 
Ohrattao  minister,  could  bear  to  act  so  hardly  and  unkindly  to  disci- 
plflB  of  the  same  Mastftr — disciples,  too,  who  for  the  most   part  wer? 
Uie   poor   of  this  world.     The   appeal,   however,    was  curtly 
in  the  words,  •*  It's  the  law  ; "'  and  nothing  that  could  be  said 
mi^ed    tlj©   clergy  man   from  that   refrain ;  they   might  talk  as  tiiey 
£k«i  of  Christian  fellowship  and  the   law  of  love,  their  hearer  pre- 
«nted  an  unmoved   front,  and  always  defended   himself  with — "  It'« 
di«  Iaw,  it's  xbe  law." 
Mr.  Bobiasoo,  becoming  rather  tired  of  this  policeman-like  reitera- 
_  tion,  determined  to  break  down  the  ignoble  defence,  and  appeared  at 
^B^  next  veatry  meeting  with  a  big  folio  Prayer-book   containing  the 
Vbtie  nnder  his  arm,  having  arranged  with  one  of  his  friends  to  draw 
flit  Uie  stock  phrast-  by  the  usual  method.      "  It's  the   law."  said   the 
BivCor.  and   then  the   minister,  o]>ening  his  big  book,  took  up  hi^ 
pmble: 

'*  Yea,  it's  the  law,  and  now  I  will  tell  you  what  else  is  tlie  law. 
It's  the  law  that  as  Rector  of  this  parish  you  should  liold  mnrning  and 
^Mnifig  service  in  the  cburch  every  day.  This  you  have  never  ditne 
MM  ytm  have  held  the  living.  It's  the  luw  that  such  neglect  on 
joai  part  is  punishable  for  a  first  offence  by  deprivation  of  the  revenue* 
fl£  joor  office  for  a  certain  time  ;  for  a  second  offence  by  a  longer 
4»fmTatioa,  with  other  penalties  ;  for  a  third  oftVnce,  by  the  loss  of  the 

iisvii^  thos  begrm.  he  went  on  to  point  out  other  failures  of  duty 
«•  tke  part  of  the  clergyman,  and  to  state  the  punishment  a])pointed 
lor  flidi,  and  then  added : — -•'  If  the  law  gives  you  the  power  to  exact 
faan  ni  contributions  towards  the  maintenance  of  your  church,  it  also 
^nm  to  every  ratepayer  of  the  parish  the  power  to  procet-d  agiiinst 
vw  fat  leaving  undone  that  which  yon  are  paid  to  do.  As  you  xay 
iti  the  law,  yon  can  hardly  complain  if  we  say  it  alsi:».  and  ])ul  the  law 
in  motuia  against  you  in  self-defence." 

The  unhappy  listener,  knowing  that  these  words  were  uttered  by 
»r  who  had  made  himself  an  authority  on  ecclesiastical  law.  and  one 
from  whom,  moreover,  it  was  hardly  reasonable  to  expect  any  mercy, 
twaed  white  with  fear.  As  he  had  dealt  was  it  now  to  be  dealt  to 
toa?  All  pre3»'nt,  except  the  one  friend  in  the  minister's  confidence, 
•■tied  bj-  the  extraordinary  turn  he  had  given  to  the  affair,  watted 
itier  breathlessly  for  the  next  words  of  the  master  of  the  situation. 

**  Yai,"  be  proceeded,  deliberately ;  "  your  offence  against  the  law 

iiWHiy  proved,  and  cannot  be  denied.      I  can,  if  I  choose,  have  you 

>ly  pani.shed ;  msny  people  would  think  it  my  duty  to  take  this 

In  fact,  noiiiing  prevents  me  from  so  doing  except  that  I 


432 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mar. 


believe  in  the  Bible,  which  teaches  lue  to  do  good  to  those  who  despite- 
fully  usp  nie  and  perst'cut^"  me.  For  tliis  n^ason,  and  for  this  reason 
only,  as  far  as  1  am  concerned,  you  :ire  safe." 

A  good  many  yeans  lalor,  among  the  guests  at  a  little  dinner-party 
at  Cambridge  fhe  rainister  and  his  daughter  met  two  gentlemen,  a 
barrister  much  intea-stwl  in  the  Liberation  Society,  and  a  clergyman. 
The  latter  having  shown  some  little  tendency  to  magnify  his  order, 
Mr.  Robinson  was  moved  tu  expound  to  him  the  law  in  relation  to 
it,  and  the  heavy  pennlties  which  might  at  any  time  be  enforcetl 
against  numbers,  perhaps  tlx-  luajority,  of  his  beneficed  brethren. 
He  was  heard  with  incredulouH  amazement,  and  at  last,  able  to  bear 
it  no  longer,  the  olergymari  turned  to  the  barrister  with  the  impatient 
question,    "It  isn't  so,  F..  is  it?" 

"■I  think,"  was  the  quiet  reply,  "  that  you  will  find  that  Mr. 
Robinson  is  right ;"  and  leaving  the  ecclesiastic  to  digest  the  unwel- 
come information,  he  added,  ''  our  society  has  a  little  pamphlet  with 
that  title — 'It's  the  Law,' — 1  don't,  know  if  you  ever  saw  it?  " 

''  Well,  yes,  I  did,"  said  the  minister,  "  for  I  wrote  it." 


VI. 

One  day,  when  a  few  of  the  iiiost  valiant  Nonconformi.^ts  were  dis- 
cussing measures  of  defence,  som«  one  suggested  that,  as  ratepayers, 
they  had  a  right  to  a  voice  in  the  appointment  of  the  parish  church- 
warden, a  functionarj'  chosen  e\<iYy  year,  and  that  if  they  could  manago 
to  put  in  one  of  their  own  friends,  they  would  at  least  always  have 
timely  learning  of  the  intentions  nf  the  enemy.  The  idea  was  hailed 
with  delight :  it  seemed  the  very  thing  to  do.  There  was,  however,  a  very 
serious  dithculty  in  the  way  of  carrying  it  out.  The  election  was  not 
one  which  excited  much  interest  ;  the  vestry  called  for  the  purpose 
was  generally  thinly  attended  ;  it  might  be  easy  to  carry  their  man  if 
(hey  could  first  find  him  ;  but  that  was  just  the  thing — where  could  lie 
be  found  ? 

No  conscientious  Nonconformist  could  accept  the  position,  because 
it  involved  sajing  and  doing  that  which  would  be  against  his 
principles.  Neither  could  these  innocent  conspirators  fi^l  it  right  to 
elect.  \jO  &uc1i  a  pnst  a  man  of  doubtful  character,  showing  themselves 
in  this  particular  much  more  careful  than  was  the  Rector,,  who  had 
the  appointment  of  the  other  warden.  After  much  di.scussion,  it 
looked  as  if  this  promising  plan  would  have  to  be  abandoned,  ivhen 
one  of  those  present  exclaimed  : 

'' Why,  there's  Abraham  Teblmtt.  he'll  do;  he's  a  Churchman  and  a 
thoroughly  good  man,  and  is  Ijesidea  a  little  bit  of  a  soft.  If  we  can 
put  him  in.  I'll  engage  to  get  anything  we  want  to  know  out  of 
him  at  anv  time  in  half  an  hour's  tnlk." 


CHURCH- RATE  STRUGGLE. 

Nothing  could  be  better.  In  strict  secrecy  the  word  was  passetl 
TDond  to  the  faithful  to  attend  the  vestr}'  in  sufficient  numbers  to 
oury  the  election.  Once  again  their  presence  excited  surprise,  not 
vunixed  with  consternation,  for  they  had  certainly  some  object  in 
Tiew,  though  its  nature  was  not  guessed. 

The  Kf'ctor  having  announced  his  choice,  oneof  tht-  Nonconformists 
poposed  that  Abraham  Tebbutt  shniild  be  parish  churchwarden  for 
tte  ensning  year,  and  another  seeomled  tlie  motion.  The  Kector, 
•rwng  himself  in  a  hopeless  niiuority,  left  the  meeting  in  anger, 
followed  by  all  his  party.  Those  who  remained  had  then  a  clear 
course,  and  at  once  voted  ilr.  Itottinson  into  the  chair  ;  be  put  the 
motion  to  the  meeting,  it  wa.s  carried  uiiatiimously  with  all  formality", 
ttd  entered  on  the  minutes,  the  liaptiet  minister  signing  the  book  as 
daimmn.  ITien  the  meeting  complacently  btxike  up,  and  the  new  a 
«£  hifl  most  unexpected  promotion  was  at  once  carried  to  Abraham 
tuDself. 

As  soon  as  the  coast  was  clear,  the  opi>oslt6  party  returned  to  the 
dmrcb,  anxious  to  see  what  luul  been  done,  and  found  the  election  of 
Abmh&m  Tebbutt  duly  recorded  in  the  parish  book.  Distasteful  as 
tkis  was.  no  way  out  of  it  could  be  seen  excejit  the  bare  chance  that 
Ike  good  man  Idmself  might  refuse  to  occupy  the  ptisition  to  which  he 
W]  been  legally  appointed.  It  was  worth  trying  at  any  rate  ;  so  the 
ekurchwarden-elt'ct  had  hardly  parted  with  the  visittir  who  brought 
ttw  tidings  of  his  new  honours,  before  another  caller  arrived  at  his 
kanble  dwelling. 

"  W'l-ll,  Abraham,"  said  the  new-comer.  "  I  suppose  you  have  heai-d 
the  news ;  yon  know  what  has  been  done  at  the  vr^stry  meeting  this 
moniing—ha,  ha,  ha  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes, "  he  said,  "  I  do." 

''  It's  a  gix>d  joke,  a  very  gootl  jnke  indeed  j  for  of  course  you 
TOo't  tliink  of  ."erving." 

A»this  observation  did  not  meet  with  the  expected,  or  at  least  the 
Vipnl-for,  response,  it  seeuutl  desirable  to  put  the  question  more 
<iiwily,  with  a  hint  as  to  the  proper  answer. 

'■  We  all   know  that  you   would   iVel    very  much  out  of  place  aa 

irchwarden  ;   no  one    exp«>ct8  you    to  serve,  and    you   won't,   will 


"  I'm  not  80  sure  of  that,''  answered  Abraham  slowly. 

To  all  the  arguments,  expostulations,  coaxing,  ridicule,  and  throats 

-h  wen*  addressed  to  him,  he  listened  patiently  and  silently,  but  of 

'■:-"  tried  none  succeeded  in  getting  from  lam  any  further  answer. 

1  m  not  so  sure  of  that,'''  he  said,  when  pressed  to  speak,  and  from 

"  strictly    non-committal  ptjsition    wa.s  neither  to  be  pushed  nor 

■  i.ifd, 

The     day     came    when,  in   sicconlimce    with   the   usual  order,  the 


»3t 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEIW 


[Mah 


ArcUdeacon  visited  the  parish,  and  the  charchwardenK  were  to  be 
iuetulletl  in  ihoir  office,  and  Abraham  was  in  attendance.  At  last  it 
would  bf  soen  what  ha  was  sure  of. 

''I  am  told."  .said  the  Archdeacon  bhuuUv.  '' that  it  ja  not  yoor 
intention  to  serve  this  office,  Mr.  Tebbutt  ?  " 

Now  Abraham,  it  must  be  remombered,  hml  riot  had  the  ad\aiitage 
ol'  a  nnirersity  education,  neither  had  he  been  much  accastomed  to 
polite  society  ;  thas  it  would  hardly  be  fair  to  blarui.'  him  though  hU 
nnssviT,  while  pi-rfectly  clear,  may  not  havi^*  had  the  sweetness  which 
marked  tho  spit^jch  of  the  ecclesiastical  functiuimry.  Besides,  his 
patience  had  probably  been  tried  by  the  uhusuhI  number  and  the  per- 
sistence of  his  visitors,  from  whom  he  was  unable  to  protect  himself 
by  the  lie  of  "  Not  at  home." 

This  is  what  he  said  : 

•'  And  I  should  just  like  to  know  who  told  you  that,  for  wboerer 
said  it,  it's  a  lie." 

•'  Well,"  n^plied  the  dignitaty,  "  that  is  a  tjuestion  you  have  a  perfect 
right  to  ask ;   it  was  Mr.  (-!.;"  naming  the  curate. 

"Then,"'  said  Abraham  again.  "  it's  a  lie,  fur  I  mean  to  serve." 

So  Abrahoin  Tebbutt  was  churchwarden  fur  tht"  year,  and  though  • 
very  poor  man.  was,  as  all  the  txDwnapfoplf  knew,  far  more  fitted  for 
the  office,  Jis  far  ns  character  went,  t!mu  others  who  had  borne  it. 
Perha|>s  he  might  have  yielded  to  the  pressure  bi-oiight  ujion  him,  but 
he  had  a  very  strong  motive  for  remaining  steadfast,  a  motive  which, 
though  personal,  cannot  be  said  to  have  bcf-n  unjustifiable.  Being 
unfit  for  hard  work,  he  had  long  been  unable  fully  to  earn  his  living, 
and  theivfori"  was  in  regular  receipt  of  o  small  jsum  from  the  parish, 
by  means  of  which  ho  managed  to  get  along.  Unfortunately  for  him, 
the  parisli  to  which  he  belonged  was  Shureditch,  and  tlie  guardians, 
lia\'ing  frugal  minds  with  regard  to  the  public  money,  not  infrequently 
concluded  that  if  this  man  were  not  dead,  he  ought  to  be,  and  then 
deciding  that  he  was  so,  they  naturalh-  considered  that  he  could  have 
no  further  claim  iqion  them.  There  was  no  railway,  aaid  if  there  had 
been,  he  could  not  iiave  nftbrded  the  fare,  and  the  mail-coach  was.  still 
more  beyond  hi.s  reach.  The  poor  man  was  obliged  therefore,  on  these 
cccBsioDs.  to  walk  all  the  seventy  miles  between  Kettering  and  London, 
sleeping  a.s  he  could  on  the  way,  in  order  to  produce  himself  before 
the  Shored  itch  guardians  that  they  might  see  that  he  was  yet  in  the 
Besh,  and  consequently  needed  .sustenance. 

Then,  after  spending  a  da}*  or  two  with  a  sister,  he  would  trudge 
back  to  his  little  home  in  Northamptonshire,  a  weary  distance  even  if 
the  weather  yr^te  favounible.  and  much  more  .^o  if  the  enforced 
journey  happened  to  take  place  in  the  time  of  snow.  From  this  ivcnrring 
necessity  he  had  never  hoped  to  be  free,  and  the  prospect  l>efore  him, 
when  strength  slionld  fail  for  the  expedition,  was  a  dreary  one.     To  be 


CHURCH-RATE  STRUGGLE. 

sure,  if  be  could  once  sorve  a  pariBh  ottice  at  Kettering,  that  would 
then  becotne  his  parish,  legally  bound  to  afford  him  relief,  but  such 
■dvaDcement  8«*emcd  as  utterly  aud  hopelessly  out  ot'  his  reach  as — let 
us  say  as  the  most  unattainable  thing  any  one  of  us  can  think  of. 
Aod  now  that  this  unexpected  deliverance  had  come,  was  he  not  to 

■  l-'  if  ?      "When  the  sky  falls  we  shall  catch  larks;"  Abraham  had 

■  aiLTUt  his  bird,  and  was  too  wise  to  let  it  go. 

The  Rector  and  the  Rector's  churchwarden  could  do  nothing  in  parish 
ailiuTS  without  the  concurrence  of  thu  parish  churchwarden,  who  saw 
no  reason  for  secrecy  in  such  matters,  so  for  that  year  the  Non- 
oonfomiists  were  able  to  relax  somewhat  the  strain  of  that  vigilance 
which  is  the  price  of  the  choice  treasure  of  liberty.  Later  on,  th» 
church  people  took  a  comical  revenge,  one  of  those  things  which  may 
i*-  described  as  cutting  off  the  nose  to  spite  the  face. 


vu. 

After  twenty-three  years  spent  among  the   Baptists  at  Kettering, 

Mr.   Robinson  removed  to  Cambridge,  to   become  the   minister  of  the 

Baptist  Church  meeting  in  St.  Andrew's  Street.    When  his  children, 

lAo  were   still    young,   heard   of  the    expected    change,    they   asked 

vbetber  there  would  be  church-rates  at  Cambridge,  and  being  told  that 

the  battle  there  was  practically  over,  hardly  knew  whether  to  be  glad 

or  sorry.    They  had  lived  almost  as  long  as  they  could  remember  in 

(ke  midat  of  this   conJlict,  and  it  was   difficult  to  imagine  existence 

without  it.     As  to  the   Kettering  people,  both  parties  were  a  good 

deal  exercised  with  regard  to  the  future  ;   would  there    or  would  there 

noi  bo  found  any  one  to  lead  the  opponents  of  church-rates  ?     Mr. 

Robinson  himself  was  not  without  nniiety  on  the  subject.      What  hii 

■Koeaaor  might  do,   no    one    of    course  could   tell,    while  his  very 

iaUmate  friend,  Mr.  Toller,   the   Independent  minister,   had  always 

misted  everj'   entreaty  to  take  part   in  the  fray,   declaring,  "You 

•re  perfectly  able  to  do  all  that  is  wanted,   and  do  not   need  my 

belp." 

The  new  minister,  however,  coming  to  his  first  charge,  threw*  him- 
klf  at  once  into  the  mutter  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  youth.  One 
wvexpected  and  most  welcome  result  was  that  Mr.  Toiler  came  out  of 
ltt>  shell ;  he  could  not,  he  said,  leave  the  young  man  to  stand  alone  ; 
•od  his  help  was  so  heartily  given  as  to  draw  from  one  of  the  church 
pwty  the  elegant  remark  that  "  they  had  lost  one  devil,  and  got  two 
i»  lii»  place," 

Then,  after  a  time,  there  came  a  day  when  Mr.  Robinson  received 
fcwa  his  yonng  friend  at  Kettering  a  letter  beginning  with  the 
•xulting  exclamation,  "  WeVe  beaten  "them  hollow  ;  "  and  going  on  to 
gire  some  details  of  the  steps  which  had  led  to  this  victory. 


436 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEfV. 


[Mas. 


They  had  demanded  a  poll,  which  had  been  so  decisive  that  it  was 
never  again  thouglit  worth  while  to  attempt  to  lay  a  church-rate 
Kettering. 

vni. 

When  one  ha«  saffered  a  decisive  defeat,  it  is  extivmely  natural, 
though  perhaps  not  always  very  wise,  to  wish,  iu  some  way  or  other,  to 
take  vengeance  upon  the  victor.  Church-rates  l>eing  dead  at  Kettering, 
the  party  interested  in  their  existence  felt  the  need  of  some  outlet  for 
their  disgust ;  some  means  of  relieving  their  wounded  feelings.  What 
could  they  do  ?  Their  opponents  had  no  exclusive  privih'ges  which 
might  be  the  object  of  attack,  and  whose  loss  might  make  them  know 
by  experience  the  pangs  of  the  beaten,  the  <loIour  of  deprivation  ;  for 
from  those  who  have  nothing,  nothing  can  be  taken.  The  Noncon- 
formists paid  their  own  ministers,  and  put  their  hands  In  their  own 
pockets,  not  in  those  of  other  people,  for  all  expenses  connected  with 
their  places  of  worship;  they  were  thus  free  to  choos»'  their  own  church 
officers,  and  (juite  beyond  the  reach  of  interference  in  stjch  matters. 

Still  the  true  story  of  Abraham  Tebbutt  was  fresh  iu  tht^  minds  of 
all  concerned,  and  might  somehow  be  made  to  serve  as  a  hint,  though 
anything  done  in  that  way  woidd  want  the  merit  of  originality,  and 
possibly  some  other  merits  as  well. 

Every  year  the  money  to  be  spent  for  public  pui-poaea — lighting  the 
town,  and  things  of  that  sort — was  voted  by  such  ratepayers  as  chose 
to  attend  the  vestry  meeting  called  for  the  ]nir|>use.  It  was  generally 
a  mere  matter  of  form,  carried  out  for  needful  purposes  as  the  law 
directed,  and,  like  the  flection  of  a  chnrchwardfii  before  the  time  of 
Abraham  Tebbutt,  seldom  attracted  many  voters.  Thus  the  Church 
people,  on  retaliation  intent,  found  no  difficulty  iu  currying  out  their 
idea,  such  as  it  was — they  went  and  voted  that  for  a  whole  year  no 
:  loney  shoald  be  spent  on  lighting  the  town-,  the  gas  lamps  were  to 
i  c-majn  imused  ;  the  laniplighters' occupation  for  that  time  would  be 
gone. 

The  minister's  children,  on  a  Christmas  visit  to  their  grandparents, 
found  the  state  of  things  exceedingly  interesting ;  wlienever  they  were 
in  the  town  after  dark,  they  seemt-d  to  be  almost  in  a  different  world, 
uT  at  least  in  a  different  age,  from  that  in  which  they  had  been  living 
at  Cambridge.  A  narrow  escape  from  an  overturn  while  driving  into 
Kettering  one  dark  night,  as  it  ipas  an  escape,  did  but  ad<l  /est  to  the 
absurdity  of  the  situation. 

Fortunately  for  the  Kettering  people,  the  habil  of  dis>ipation  which 
makes  evening  engagements  of  some  kind  a  perpetual  necessity,  had 
not  yet  reached  them.  When  they  did  go  out  at  night,  precautions 
had  to  be  taken,  and  lanterns  served. 

The  Nonconformists  were  more   inclined  to   Imv^h  than  to  jrrumble 


layO  A  CHURCH-RATE  yjRUGGLE.  4,37 

at  the  iJbBaTdity  of  the  thing,  and  as  for  the  Church  p(H>p)(^.  if  tho\' 
ically  feh  that  they  had  the  comfort  of  revenge,  th«>y  ]>rolial>1y  also 
felt  that  the  game  was  hardly  worth  the  candle. 

The  c^iMiah  prank  was  not  r(>peated,  and  the  following  winr^r  tlie 
inhabitaiitB  of  Kettering  may  Itc  presumed  to  have  had  a  very  lively 
of  the  importance  of  srrcet-lam])S. 


IX. 

The  voice  of  the  Inipossibilists  had  gradually  b<>conir  silent  with 
ngard  to  the  supposed  necessity  for  continual  submission  to  chnrch- 
bot  these  dismal  prophets  were  cert-ainly  not  witluMit  »  show  ol 
if  they  continued  to  foretell  failure  to  those  who  wen*  patiently 
woikiiigfar  the  legal  abolition  of  the  unjust  impost. 

In  1834,  Nonconformists  had  felt  themselves  deserte<I  by  the 
WlngB,  whom  they  had  been  the  means  of  placing  in  power — a 
frequent  Nonconformist  experience.  In  18-J9,  the  Wliigy  op])osed 
the  iii:bt>duction  of  a  Hill  for  the  HoHef  of  Dissenters;  in  ISIH,  LonI 
John  BuBBell's  Ministry  led  the  opposition  to,  and  procntvd  ihc  d(>fent 
d,  a  similar  motion  introduced  by  !Mr.  Trelawny.  Twelve  years  later, 
in  1861,  we  find  the  same  gentleman  in  charge  of  n  (.'luireli-rnte  Mill, 
which  waa  lost  on  the  third  reading  by  the  casting  vote  of  1  1m*  Speuki-r  ; 
and  the  same  measure  was  lost,  and  again  lost,  th(>  n<>xt  Session,  and 
the  Sesuon  after  that. 

When  an  unjust  privilege  draws  near  to  death,  those  who  have  jirotited 
fay  it,  fintiing  that  they  cannot  much  longer  retain  tin-  enintort  of  its 
presence,  generally  endeavour  to  console  theniHclves  by  proposing  a 
oompromise.  They  will  give  up  what,  they  nniKt.  but  xirive  hard  to 
keep  all  they  can,  and  this  they  think  Ixitli  right  anil  uis-e.  'I'hi';  wan 
attempted  in  the  present  case.  Jl  was  thought  that  by  -shifting  the 
boden  the  profit  might  be  retained,  and  that  thus  the  Nriiironronrii-^ts. 
who  were  not  such  bad  people  after  all  when  pioj)-ily  rrtanaged, 
vught  be  cajoled  into  acquiescence.  But  few  persons  seernwl  to  like 
Aelook  of  the  scheme,  and  the  Bill  in  which  it  was  eiril,'.Hied  sutf<r^d 
cndiiug  defeats  in  18(j1,  I^'C,,  and  l-^^i7. 

In  1866,  Mr.  Gladstone,  speaking  in  the  ffou^e,  said  ti.nt  ix'  flid 
Mt  think  the  simple  abolition  of  the  nite  wo:ild  Ik-  i,  -iati.««fn<^topy 
"ttlement,  and  oddly  enoufrh  declared  his  MU-f  rhat  when  ;i  ehnnl.- 
aXt  was  levied  against  t'ttp-  A-i^h-^  r,f  a  r'--iri<-.tarit  lein^rity,  they. 
**b  nine  cases  out  of  ten.  f-HePj..- ov  ri.-f:!ine  jiaymenr.  '  Tiie  .«<M/,i.re 
of  the  property  of  the-  in-^niiiers  ..;'  i  rtnv  -nr-h  n,\u',:-\:\"-.  tli-  irr- 
pncmment  endnred  by  criwr-.  -. -m'-d  rr,  hnvf  nsn-le  no  i rn pre-Bior 
OB  the  honourable  gentleman.  Th,^  pr,inn;ciity  ,« if!i  vhi.  h  thw  who 
00  not  suffer  an  injustice,  a  n«;  p.fhn?iM  .»v"n  profit  f.v  ii.  '":>ri  di-T.ii-.- 
)iithow  mnch  it  hurts,  i-  r.otr  [-.vKjUnhU^  and  i-r'-.-.k-in-j-   '■  \h-  viefin  . 


13S 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[Mar. 


Mr.  Ciliulatone  having  exprussed  a  desire  to  introduce  a  Bill  on  lines 
uhifli  he  thought  likfly  to  be  successful,  the  member  who  had  charge 
of  I  lif  Abolition  Bill  refrained  from  pushinjii'  it ;  but  the  Goveniment 
huviiig  been  defeated  on  the  lleform  Bill,  Lord  Derby  and  Mr.  Disraeli 
uame  into  office,  and  a  few  weeks  later  the  Compulsory'  Church-rate 
Aljiilition  Bill  was  read  a  second  tinii'  without  a  division.  But  it  went 
no  further. 

Tlu-  following  year,  the  Bill,  introduced  iu  March,  passed  through 
all  its  stai^fes  in  the  House  of  ('oiiinions.  and  was  read  a  third  time  in 
July,  and  then,  for  the  first,  timr,  was  actually  sent  up  to  the  Lords, 
will),  however,  promptly  threw  it  out  on  the  second  reading.  It  seemed 
fis  if  fhe  Tmpossibilists  were  right  after  alt  ;  the  Lords,  among  whom 
were  the  Viishnpa,  blocked  the  way,  and  wei-e  likely  to  continue  to  do 
w).  Iu  the  winter  seeaion  of  that  year,  another  attempt  was  made, 
resulting,  as  usual,  in  another  fnilure. 

Early  in  18G8,  Mr.  Gladstone  Mj:«in  introduced  a  Bill  containing  the 
aiTangemeuts  for  tlie  retention  of  the  parochial  system  which  he 
thought  practicable  and  desirable*  declaring  at  the  same  time  that, 
sliLnild  his  proposal  not  meet  with  arceptauce,  he  should  no  longer  raise 
any  obstacle  in  the  way  of  the  more  thorough-guing  measure  which 
had  been  so  long  before  the  Mouse.  In  little  more  than  a  month  the 
Bill  WHS  read  a  third  time,  ilr.  Newdegate  mournfully  declaring  that 
it  would  destroy  the  parochial  system  of  the  Church  of  England. 
i\iter  some  cobbling  by  the  Ijords,  the  Royal  assent  was  given  to  the 
Compiilsor)'  Church-rate  Abolition  Bill,  thus  bringing  t«.i  an  end  the 
parliamentary  struggle  which  had  been  carried  on  ever  since  the  deser- 
tion of  the  Konconfornjists  thirtv-fuur  years  previously.  Thirty-four 
years  of  patient  perse%'erance,  of  many  defeats,  of  tantalizing  disap- 
pointments when  the  end  seemed  almost  gained  ;  but  years  also  of 
steady  advance  in  religious  liberty,  educating  years  to  both  parties, 
bringing  great  principles  into  prominence,  and  in  the  end  proving  the 
ImpossibiliatH  to  have  been  mistaken. 

And  yet,  after  all,  church-rates  had  not  been  abolished.  A  rate 
might  fitill  be  laid  ;  the  diflerence,  a  very  great  one,  was  that  no  one 
would  be  obliged  to  pay  it.  Mr.  Gladstone  had  retained  the  parochial 
system  on  which  he  had  set  his  heart,  but  the  patuf*  and  penalties  had 
been  done  away  with.  Nonconformists  had  gained  a  large  measure  of 
justice,  but  not  quite  the  full  measure  they  had  a  right  to  expect. 

In  the  following  year,  to  the  minister's  daughter,  in  her  own  house 
at  Cambridge,  there  appeared  one  day  the  housemaid,  bearing  on  a 
waiter  two  slips  of  paper;  the  man,  she  said,  had  called  for  the  rate* 
— a  town-rate,  and  the  chnrch-rate. 

''  The  church-rate  ! "  said  her  mistress  in  .surprise,  then,  finding 
on  examination  that  it  really  was  so,  that  the  demand  was  printed 
precisely  like  that  for  an  ordinary  rate,  with  no  hint  that  payment 


;  -1  cHVRiU'LiAj:-:  <T:{L(HiLi':.  t^'j 

oprionaL  •shr  :xavf  "hi'  :riri    nr    uv'^.-v  bv  'lie  iiowii-.iuf,   >uu    ni^i 
■r  tp  ^y  n:i  die  ooilecrr-r  "tiat    ■  vi-  o   v..',   >a,v  ;aun;.a-;i«ts. 
The  iiaiiten  \v*='jir  ber  vav.   jur   v.,.-    tju.-.--   iin-cMjr. 
"The    maa  sar.^^.   maikin.  'Ituc  .1^    -:Lu:iot:   ~:uki<   auuu    tu  .»ii>vv-f    uv 

hi'  rxva^t  ift-  :hf  master. " 
fftf  'iiii  ^ee  riie  '.nastc-r.  mci  t-.'mv.-'i  v:ta  tijium  iuauiouc:-.  it»clui-!iii; 
timr  riif  aoii&.*  heioiu|«i  "o  t.  rniiii-,  ■.'nlf^.  :md  "br  i."  »ilt<>{B  A^t^aiii 
-ixpecc  rbeir  renaut  ro  ;Tav  :huiT;n-i"ares.  ^)i  '^jiirrse  'i«!  was  ^iiiL-Ii'v 
^aat  iiiiont  tiia  bnisiiit-aa.  :u  riim  Huisi'-  -uuii  ■)i'vcuufei«>iis  'Viji-v  iiui  ik^.-Iv 
TD  be  socceasdnil.  Bur  nmnnir  "ne  iijcr-r  ininibihuiirs  A  ••"ii«.'  tiiu-iMi, 
nuurr  proiiabJy  woiilii  be  jiiaicu  ty  iic  riiiiuiuM"  in  •'vihcii  ■Iii.-  >lt>iii.i.-fj 
•xas  madf — wanlii.  in  rhi-T.   )»?  :}i»-!irivi    ur    i'  "ibiiir  niuui.'y. 

Thi*  iiit:itli*nt  .hJiuwh  riit-*  ii'monlialnir  ;rf>:';G  -.'t  Ii.'H;^  tvteutioi."  v/ 
ininBr  piivili*a»*s.  for  Lc  la  ^•■-Jl»^'  31  r  a  -j^x'ii  riiiTjif  r^*  a(».*C  mouev  liw 
■ay  piirpo*»  by  •*  tvlivs  'uiaS  ar*  lia/ii.  a::ii  cricks  v.haii  aw  vsuu,''  stud 
specially  aot  for  rsliirious  pnrpi:-!**^*.  In  -jliow-j  aJsL*  cb;is  wh.;'i.i  ouo  s»/' 
die  •*  fbrr^  <>f  ifoilj"  ia  aboa-  r,>  i"al!.  naos*;  who  arr^  jjUuUWuf.Hl  b\  chv> 
pn^Pcr  lin  well  if  tkej  caa  piit^tiess  cbeir  jouU  lu  ^vkti^iuv,  ;*iul 
•andont  a  little  Lonsrer  the  Ioi<s«:^  :•.>  which  they  ha\«*  a»  Uu'x  l>s'ou 
■a^uMunifd.  rarh'ir  than  be  cotirc^ir  \%i:ti  atiythini;  loa^t  cbau  u 
•xnnpjeT"  vicTory,  rh«*  thorough  owrthrv»w  v^t"  \\v\x.  {>*:tiv-uU-»i"  sti\»iii»h'.'Ul 
of  iiqnaif" . 

ThiB  tmir  atoty  s.-.-fms  to  hiiYc  i\i\  \n\>'Mihu'  ti'U«lriu-\  (\>  k^iul  liL« 
^ oidr&ahion'ed  sermon  with  vknmilhf — und  to  cf/trt'idA.  )''iit4UI,\  liwit 
bnn  abmuiy  spoken.  And  to  i>oiiehuI«-  if  itny  rt<itili>r  nl'  tli\«r.o  |>)i>;rit 
H»enang*Hi  in.  a  struggle  with  one  of  tho  iiiiinv  ruriiii  ul  (ii,|Mn|tti\  Irl- 
bnn  taki*  to  heart  this  Ioshoii  of  i>\|>i<riiM>i-it  Ni-\im  In  iniiul  ilm 
&Bpo«biIi9t£.  for  it  is  n  glorious  fiiri  tluil,  "'im  'I'liilli  ulniit.  !•> 
TBthtv'*  an«l  that  it  is  pi>  niiglity  n^  to  Im  nllnf^i-lln  1  iin-iiiniilili- 


FREE    SCHOOLS    AND    PUBLIC 

MANAGEMENT. 


FREE  Bchools  Jiftve  always  bien  a  popular  tniiic  among  LiberiilB 
and  tile  working  class.  The  programmi'  of  tho  National  Educa- 
tion League,  in  lS(J!i'-7<>,  was  compulsory  educat ion  in  free  unsecta- 
rian  schools  under  puliHc  local  management. 

But  when  the  Act  of  1W70  was  passed,  the  sympathies  of  the  then 
iTovemmenf  worketl  in  tlu*  same  direction  as  the  organized  power  of 
ihe  CouKervtitive  .\nglican  and  denominational  party,  and,  as  is  usuu!  in 
Knglisli  politics,  legislation  resulted  in  a  compi-oniisc  which  called  into 
Hxistfuc*' the  new  force  of  popular  local  seIf-goremnien< ,  smd  at  the 
saiue  time  fortified  and  e.xpanded the  antagonistic  princi]ile  of  private 
lienoniiDationrtl  nianagenient.  The  consi'quence  was  what  sliould  have 
been  foreseeTi,  that  during  the  last  twenty  years  national  education, 
which  demands  for  its  successful  development  the  united  elYorts  of  all 
who  wish  for  the  elevation  and  civilization  of  the  nation,  has  b<^en.  more 
than  almost  any  question,  the  cause  and  object  of  hifti-r  party  strife, 
\hv  more  bittrrhrcanseocclisiastical  animosities  havelarg-ly  inilnenced 
Iho  combatants. 

As  a  rule,  tin*  friends  of  denominational  education  under  private 
management  have  been  strong  opponents  of  free  schools.  Obviously, 
where  the  State  (irant  supplements  private  local  resonrces,  the 
managers  of  denominational  schools  could  not  attbrd  to  give  up  their 
income  from  fees  unless  an  equivalent  was  supplie+1  them  from  public 
funds,  and  the  most  eh'ar-aighted  supporters  of  tiie  denominational 
system  have  always  seen  that  any  such  additional  public  aid  must  lead 
to  the  abolition  of  private  management. 

Mr.  Chamberlain,  who  seems  generally  to  care  far  mure  for  the 
article  of  fre^-dom  from  fees  than  for  the  article  of  public  kK?al 
management  of  the  old   Birmingham   progrnmme,  raised  this  qnesiion 


tS9o]       FREE  SCHOOLS  AND  PUBLIC  MANAGEMENT.      141 


of  the  abolition  of  fe»'s  in  what  was  known  aa  the  unauthorized  pro- 
gr»mme  of  1885.  He  loadi-  overturt-s  to  the  leaders  of  the  deaomi- 
national  party,  and  suggt-ated  that  Parliament  should  free  all  schools 
by  means  of  a  .subsidy,  heaving  the  quest  ion  of  rnanwgement  intact. 
Bat  two  difficnltiea  presented  themselves  at  that  time  :  the  one  the 
immediate  opposition  of  the  active  spction  of  this  Ijiberal  party,  who, 
at  the  meeting  of  tlie  National  Jjiberal  Federation  at  Bradford  in  the 
autumn  of  188.'i.  refused  to  accept  a  rcsolntion  simply  in  favour  of  the 
abolition  of  fee.'^,  and  amended  it  by  adding,  as  an  inseparable  condi- 
tion, that  the  schtiols  so  froed  should  be  under  public  management. 
The  other  difficulty  was  the  unwillingness  at  that  time  of  tlie 
lominational  i*arty  to  accept  llr.  Chi»mbfrlain's  offer,  even  if  they 
jre  to  retain  their  private  managt-nient. 

In  those  days  the   advocat.es  of  denomiuattonal  schools  were  very 

iguine  that  the  fmturr  had  great  things  in  st<:>re  for  their  advantage. 

irdinal  Manning  had.  i\s  hv  thought,  organizt'd  an  allianeo  between 

the  Romjin  Catholics  and  the  National  Society,  whereby  the  settlement 

of  1870   wan  to   Iw   reopenetT   and    the  denominational  sehoola   were 

to  be  placetl   in   a   much  raort*  adviintagfoiia  position  in   reference  to 

Board  Schools.      Lord   Cross  (then  Sir  Richard  Cross)  announced  at 

Widnps,  in    November,    1885,  the  intention   of   the    (Tovernment  to 

appoint  a  Royal  Commission  on  Education,  with  a  view  tfl  redressing 

the  grievances    and    improving   the    position    of  the     "  voluntary " 

Bchools,  and   it  was  felt   that   the   freeing  of  all  schools  would    be  a 

dangerous  step  to  take,  a?  no  matter  what  might  be  said  or  promised 

»t  the  time,  it  must  lead  to  a  diminution  of  independence  for  managers 

of  "  voluntarj'  '   schools.       Moreover,   Mr.   Chambfrlain   had   not  at 

tliat  time  thought  out  the  details  of  his  scheme,  and  there  was  clearly 

»  great  difference  between  a  grant  based  on  the  average  fee  throughout 

the  country,  and  a  grant  based  on   the  average  fee  of  the  particular 

school  which  was  henceforward  to  give  gratuitous  education. 

In  the  event  of  a  nnifoim  subsidy  in  lieu  of  fees,  the  Church  of 
England  schools  in  rural  districts,  the  mass  of  the  Board  schools, 
»nd  the  mass  of  the  Itonuni  Catholic  schools  would  gain.  But  the 
Church  of  England  .schools  in  towns,  the  British  schoola,  and  especially 
lh«  \i\esleyan  sciiools,  would  be  lii*iivy  Insprs  ;  and  as  the.'ii*  classes  of 
»chooL?  are  at  prest-Jit  maintained  with  little  or  no  subscription,  it  was 
felt  that  a  loss  of  fee  income  of  thi'ee  or  four  shillings  on  an  average^ 
Mil  in  some  cases  of  a  pound  or  more  a  head,  wonld  be  fatal  to  their 
continued  ^-xistence.  On  the  otht-r  hand,  a  subsidy  which  gave  large 
help  to  schools  used  by  the  lower  middle-cla.«!S,  and  where  the  managers 
whwrribe  little  or  nothing,  and  a  paltry  subsidy  to  those  schools  which 
WDcite  the  poor,  and  where  the  voluntary  managers  or  the  ratepayers 
^  making  a  considerable  local  effort,  would  be  too  outrageOBs  s 
PffjpQttl  fur  any  one  to  li.-tfen  to. 


442 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REV  JEW 


ItfAS. 


Questions  therefore,  both  of  high  policy  aud  of  practical  expediency, 
with  the  certainty  of  strenuous  Liberal  opposition,  made  Mr.  Chatnber- 
iaia's  proposal  inopportune  and  unacceptuble. 

The  appointment  of  the  Royal  Commission  shelved  the  Educntion 
tjaestion  for  two  or  three  years,  with  the  certainty  that  as  suun  as 
that  CWimission  liad  reported  many  imixji-tant  <|uestioiis  would  be 
raised,  and  Parliiinient  would  be  called  upon  to  consider  vital  prinei- 
plprt,  and  to  crmpple  with  serious  diffieultiei?. 

The  report  of  that  Commission  is  not  always  cou6isf«nt  with  itself, 
and  such  as  it  was  it  was  repudiated  by  the  minority,  who  presented  a 
counter  report  directly  opposed  to  the  nmjority,  as  far  as  the  political 
questiouB  related  to  education  are  concerned. 

Perhaps  the  moat  definite  and  easily  apprehended  proposal  of  the 
majority  was  that  of  aid  to  denominational  sch«x)ls  from  the  rates  with- 
out ratepayers'  management.  But  here,  too,  the  V">luntary  managers 
of  the  Estiibliahrd  Church,  more  clear-sighted  than  their  friends  on 
the  Commission,  saw  that  public  support  involved  public  management, 
and  repudiated  the  ntler  of  the  Commission. 

The  Gov  rnmeut  then  proposed  to  embody  in  the  Oo<le  an 
»ttenuat«'d  residuum  of  those  recommendations  ujx)n  which  the  majority 
and  the  minority  were  agreed.  But  the  organized  power  of  the 
denominational  party,  acting  through  the  National  Society,  prevailed. 
and  after  a  period  of  liaga'lint;  aud  of  offers  to  reduce  still  further  the 
demands  for  educational  efficiency  included  iu  tlie  Code,  the  Govern- 
ment finally  succiuuIk^,  not  vcn,' honouriilily,  to  the  clearly  formulated 
demand  of  the  National  Society,  that  there  should  be  no  improvement 
in  education  unless  by  im-ans  of  leg'islation  the  financial  position  of 
the  managers  of  denominational  wchools  should  be  strengthened. 

But  while  the  struggle  was  thus  maintained  in  England — not  openly 
in  the  House  of  Commons,  but  in  secret  conclave  aud  in  the  private 
rooms  of  the  Education  Department — the  action  of  the  Scotch  members 
of  Pajliaraent  entirely  modified  the  political  situation. 

It  has  been  a  tradition  hantled  down  from  the  days  when  large 
landowners  controlled  the  county  representation  and  county  govern- 
ment, that  whenever  the  counties  should  obtain  from  Parliament  the 
right  to  manage  their  ov^^l  aflairs  by  elective  councils,  a  compensation 
would  have  to  be  given  from  Parliamentary  funds  to  the  landowners 
by  way  of  relief  of  rural  rates. 

This  compensation  went  in  England,  as  might  be  expected,  mainly 
in  relief  of  property. 

But  wlien  the  turn  of  Scotland  came  to  receive  some  £2iO,00O  a 

year  a.s  a  compensation  for  being  ]iermitted  to  manage  its  own  busi- 

nes-s,  the  Scotch  members  said  they  would  rather  apply  the  money  to 

the  relief  of  the  poor  than  of  the  rich,  and   urged  that  this  subsidy 

hould  be  used  in  freeing  the   schools.     The  (rovernment,  in  spite  of 


•S90]       FREE  SCHOOLS  AND  PUBLIC  MANAGEMENT.     4-13 

Um  tears  and  opposition  of  some  of  its  more  consistent  supporters, 
mare  than  fifty  of  whom  voted  a^inst  the  proposal,  granted  the  wish 
of  the  Scotch  representatives,  and  a  scheme  was  framed — faulty  itnd 
JnanfRrJeat.  but  one  which,  nevertlieless,  has  already  established  a 
mfastantially  free-school  system  for  Scotland — and  no  one  can  doubt 
that  a  short  time  will  sweep  away  the  remnant  of  fees  which  are  still 
oollected  in  the  elementary  schools  of  that  country. 

The  points  to  be  noted  in  the  Scotch  plan  are  : — 1.  That  foes  wens 
only  partially  abolished,  and,  as  far  as  th<''  Ciovernment  were  con- 
cerned, were  to  lie  retained  beyond  the  Fifth  Standard. 

2.  That  provided  there  were  a  suflictent  amount  of  free  placi'K  (o 
tht  satisfaction  of  the  dt-partmetit.  sonif  public  Bchouls  niigh'  lie 
flMicfeioned  as  continuing  to  charij^f:*  fiies. 

S.  That  the  subsidy  in  lieu  of  fees  was  offered  to  tht«  denominational 
•••■    n  as  to  the  public  schools. 

I'  first  point  is.  ]}erhaps,  the  most  objectionable  of  n,lL  The  vicious 
habit  prerailfl  in  many  parts  of  England  of  raisiug  the  fee  witli  the 
standard,  thus  an  extra  impulse  is  niven  to  the  selKslmess  of  the 
{Mrent,  who  may  be  tempted  to  look  rather  to  the  eariTiogs  of  his  child 
tlMD  to  the  child's  educational  progress.  It  is  admitted  that  in  some 
iti<li(  tn  the  fee  is  raised  for  the  pui-pose  of  driving  the  oliild  out  of 
«kool  to  work,  or  in  order  in  a  rural  school  to  get  rid  of  the  trouble 
of  teaching  with  an  insufficient  staff  two  or  three  children  In  tht*  upper 
^Mkdards. 

de^riy,  if  tiiere  is  to  be  only  partial  remission,  it  is  mori^  jm- 
poctaot  that  that  remission  should  tjike.  plucc:  in  the  liiglipr  nither 
ikui  in  the  lower  standards. 

Ajlto  No.  2,  the  main  objections  to  permitting  a  free  school  to  charge 
fat  is  the  great  danger  of  emphasizing  class  distinctions  in  our 
•teMOtary  system.  There  is  too  much  nf  these  already  under  a  paving 
•jfii^nil,  with  ft*e8  varying  in  individual  schools.  One  of  theadvanti^gi's 
of  a  fre«-Bchool  system  would  be  that  no  school  would  be  stamped  a.s 
wctallj  inferior,  nor  would  there  be  n  danger  that  a  liberal  stafl'  and 
iateUigent  teaching  should  be  resened  for  the  schools  where  a  liiglif  r 
fee  is  charged. 

Ab  to  No.  3,  it  must  be  n'luai'Ki-d  that  in  Scotland  only  about 
ODfr-fifth  of  the  children  are  fducated  in  privately  managed  sch<X)ls. 
bar-fifths  are  found  in  the  Board  schools,  or,  as  they  are  better 
BMBed,  the  public  schools  of  Scotlnnd.  No  school  other  than  a  Board 
iebool  can  be  placed  on  the  list  for  annual  grants  in  Scotland, 
oolcfli  the  department  is  satisfied  that  for  s{>ecial  reasons,  such  as  the 
nUipoaa  convictions  of  the  parents,  the  school  is  needed,  and  the 
difMrCtBfnt  reports  all  these  cases,  with  the  mason,  for  sanction  to 
Hwliament. 

Where  the  education  of  the  mass  of  the  jieople  is  in  the  hands  of  the 


if4 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEIV. 


[Mak. 


repreaentativps  of  tho  people,  there  seema  no  serious  objection  to  allow- 
ing what  may  l>e  di^scribed  as  a  safofy-Falve  for  religious  difference. 
Tho  minorities,  mainly  Roman  Catliolic,  with  a  small  sprinkling  of 
Epif>co]mlianH  who  have  taken  advant4i^e  of  the  libiTty  of  the  Scotch 
Education  Act  to  apply  for  annual  grants,  have  not  built  their  schools 
for  the  coTiiinimity  but  for  their  own  special  supporters.  The  general 
education  of  tin-  district  in  supjilied  by  the  public  authority — the 
School  Board  of  the  district.  If  the  Scotch  system  of  educational 
organizatioii  were  extended  t^j  Eugland  there  would  be  very  little 
difficulty  iu  cariying,  with  the  consent  of  nearly  all  parties,  proposals 
for  the  libi^ral  treatment  of  dissentient  niinorities.  But  where,  as  in 
England  to  a  very  large  extent,  education  is  not  supplied  by  the 
people  and  managed  by  the  people,  but  is  furnished  for  the  people 
and  managed  for  the  people  by  volunteers  often  not  in  sympathy  with 
the  prevailing  feeling  of  the  district,  it  is  necessary  to  bear  in  mind 
the  fact  thut  wf  are  slowly  and  painfully  fighting  our  way  to  that 
municipal  antl  puhHcly  managed  system  of  which  the  Scotch  are  in 
the  full  onjnyiiK'nt. 

The  moment  the  (rovernment  granted  free  education  to  Scotland  it 
was  obvious  tliat  so  attractive  a  boon  could  not  be  long  withlield  from 
England.  Formerly  the  Government,  the  Education  Department,  the 
philosophic  counsellors  who  are  so  ready  to  furnish  instruction  to  the 
nation,  had  told  us  that  free  education  was  SociaUat,  that  it  under- 
mined pureiitiil  resjionsibility,  that  it  was  injurious  to  education,  led 
to  irregidur  attendauci^ — that  what  was  not  paid  for  was  not  valued, 
Ac.  &c.  We  have  all  been  familiar  with  the  well-worn  warning, 
*'  Ex-spectes  padem  a  aummo  miniuioque  poeta."  But  when  once  a 
ConstTvative  C^overament  had  freely  conceded  this  gift  of  free  educa- 
tion to  Scotland,  few  supporters  of  the  Government  could  be  found  to 
repeat  those  old  arguments  which  fonnerly  they  had  relished  so  much. 
It  is  therefor-'  no  matter  of  suqirist-  when  we  learn  that  the  National 
Society  iasuetl  certain  leaflets  against  the  abolition  of  fees  in  1885, 
but  that  they  are  at  present  withdrawn  from  circulation  j  and  it  is  n 
mattei"  of  thr  very  mildest  surpris*^  when  we  find  a  series  of  letters  iu 
a  Hampshin^  iiewspapt^r  in  favour  of  free  education  signed  A.  S.  E.  C, 
which  initi.a]s  sei^m  to  stand  for  Assistant-Secretary  Education  Com- 
mission. In  fact,  tlie  Tory  party  is  now  well  trained  in  that  process 
of  education  which  Mr.  Disraeli  began,  and  which  so  roused  the  wrath 
of  Lord  Salisbury  twenty-two  years  ago.  If  the  huniorou8  satirist  of 
the  party  which  lie  once  led  could  now  revisit  the  Political  party  of 
which  he  was  so  great  an  ornament,  he  would  enjoy  the  sight  of  the 
oncf  reluctant  liobert  Cecil,  now  coining  a  phrase  not  so  happy  iu  form 
as  those  of  the  great  master  of  phrases,  but  still  worthy  of  being  labelled 
ithe  performance  of  a  pupil — "School  of  Disraeli — Assisted  Education."* 
When  the  Government  passed  the  grant  to  free  schools  in  Scotland. 


i89t>3        FREE  SCHOOLS  AND  PUBLIC  MANAGEMENT.     415 

they  virtaally  enacted  what  is  hinted  in  the  phraao  assisted  ediicatioo, 
what  will  be  realized  in  the  short  war-cry  of  the  old  l^eague — 
free  schools. 

Those  who  are  corapelled  to  st-and  aside  from  the  viHee  of  party 
conflict  may  be  indulged  the  satisfaction  of  an.  amused  sense  of  humour 
at  the  changes  enforced  by  our  political  situation  on  the  most 
relactant  to  depart  from  the  traditions  of  the  past,  and  yet  amusement 
does  not  imply  censure.  Pew  politicians  nowadays  are  not  forced  to 
imitate  the  Sicambrian  and  burn  what  they  once  worshipped — worship 
what  they  once  burnt.  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold  was  no  friend  to  free 
schools.  He  was  sent  abroad  to  report  on  foreign  schools  specially 
with  reference  to  this  question  of  the  abolition  of  the  fee,  and  he,  who 
had  no  constituency  to  please,  who  was  free  to  allow  the  li^ht  of  pure 
reason  to  illuminate  the  whole  question  which  he  was  discussing, 
recommended  that  we  should  take  the  question  in  hand.  Hla  remarks 
show  the  necessity  which  will  certainly  force  even  the  reluctant  in  tho 
direction  of  free  schools.     He  writes  ; — 

"In  the  first  place,  tho  retention  of  Bchool  fees  is  not  a  very  iinpoi*taiit 
matter.  Simply  from  tlie  point  of  view  of  a  friend  of  education  there  are 
MirmntAges  in  their  retention,  and  advantages  in  their  abolition,  and  the 
bahuice  of  advantage  is  decidedly,  in  my  opinion,  on  the  side  of  retention. 
Bat  we  roust  remember,  on  the  other  hand,  that  there  are  ^ome  questicmri 
which  it  in  peculiarly  undesii-able  tu  uinke  matters  of  continued  [mblic 
diBcaasioD  ;  questioms  particidarly  lending  themselves  to  tite  mischievou.s 
declamation  and  art^;  of  deniagogites,  and  that  this  question  of  grutiiitoiia 
schooling  i.s  one  of  them.  How  often,  if  the  question  liecomes  a 
one,  ^"ill  declaimers  be  repeating  that  the  popular  school  ought  to 

I  made  free  because  the  wealthier  clfis.seu  have  robbed  the  poor  of  endow - 
kt0  intended  to  fducate  them  !     The  assertion  is  not  true,  indeed  ;  whut 

call  *  popular  education  '  is  a  quite  modern  conception  ;  what  the  pious 
foander  in  general  designed  formerly  was  to  catch  all  promising  subjects  and 
to  »««»Vo  priests  of  theni.  But  how  surely  will  popular  audiences  believe  that 
\V%m  popular  school  has  been  lobbed,  and  liow  bad  for  them  to  believe  it,  how 
will  the  confu.sion  of  our  time  be  yet  further  thickened  by  their  believing 
itt  1  am  inclined  to  think  therefore  that  Hooner  tlian  let  free  popular 
■ehooltDg^  become  u  hurrdng  politi«il  question  in  a  country  like  oure,  a  wise 
gtatasman  would  do  well  to  adopt  and  organize  it.  Only  it  will  be  impossible 
to  onanixe  it  with  the  State  limiting  its  concern,  ati  it  does  now,  to  tho 
popvhur  Bchool  only;  and  this  can  be  so  palpably  shown  to  be  a  matter  of 
oatOJDiaa  justice  that  one  need  not  despair  of  bringing  even  the  populur 
j^dgBMBt  to  recognize  it. 

gecDCtdly,  there  ia  a  danger,  perhaps,  lest  when  we  have  got  very  elaborate 
and  complete  i-eturns,  and  these  returns  show  a  very  satisfactory  proportion 
between  scholars  in  daily  attendance  Jiud  scholars  ou  the  booki^,  n  very  .'tatiri- 
faobocy  limit  to  the  number  of  ncholarK  allowed  to  each  teacher,  and  a  very 
■litfMft'nry  percentage  of  piisses  in  the  eRtabli^hed  matters  of  instruction, 
W  shonld  think  that  therefore  we  must  be  doing  well  with  our  popular 
Mboolli  and  that  we  have  no  cause  to  envy  the  popular  schools  abroad,  and 
B«f4t;tiig  to  learn  from  them.  On  the  contrary,  the  things  on  which  we  pride 
oaaelTee  are  mere  machinery ;  and  what  we  should  do  well  to  lay  to  heart  i.i 
ikU  forai^  schools  with  larger  classes,  longer  holidays,  and  a  schoot-dajr 


446 


TUB    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Uab. 


often  cut  in  two  as  we  have  seen,  nevertheless,  on  the  whole,  give,  from  the 
'setter  training  of  their  teachers,  and  the  better  plan&ing  of  their  school 
course,  a  superior  popular  instruction  to  ours." 

These  words  of  Mr.  Arnold  are  important  farther,  as  reminding  as 
that  the  question  of  the  fee  is  not  the  only  question  affecting  the 
welfare  of  our  schools,  and  the  existence  of  dual  and  rival  systems  is 
the  main  hindrance  at  present  to  that  public  responsible  organization 
of  onr  national  education  which  is  the  greatest  security  for  its 
progress. 

It  may  be  assumed,  after  what  has  taken  place,  that  it  is  only  a  ques- 
tion of  a  short  time  before  we  have  a  system  of  free  schools  in  England. 
The  only  question  is,  shall  we  get  free  schools  directly,  or  by  ono 
or  two  steps  ?  Shall  we  at  once  have  representative  management,  or 
will  that  be  delayed  for  a  short  time  ? 

Undoubtedly  the  simplest  and  best  way  to  establish  free  schools  is 
to  make  them  universal  But  apparently  some  attempts  will  be  made 
to  enact  an  optional  system. 

The  first  proposition  to  be  established  is,  that  whatever  Parliamen- 
tary grant  is  offered  shall  be  based  on  the  average  fee  of  the  country, 
and  in  fairness  this  grant  should  be  calculated  a  little  below  th© 
average  fee  ;  first,  because  a  great  deal  of  trouble  will  be  saved  by 
the  receipt  of  a  fixed  sum  from  the  Treasury  instead  of  weekly  collec- 
tion of  fees  ;  secondly,  because  fees  are  a  local  burden,  and  localitie>s 
should  be  willing  to  take  something  on  themselves  in  consideration  of 
a  very  liberal  Parliamentary  grant.  The  average  fee  throughout  the 
country  by  the  last  returns  was  IO5.  2^d.  A  grant,  therefore,  of  lOs, 
a  head  would  be  very  liberal.  But  all  schools  where  the  average  fee 
is  Sd.  and  upwards  a  week  would  lose  by  accepting  this  grant  in  lieu 
of  fees,  and  by  the  annual  report  of  last  year  about  11  per  cent,  of  the 
scholars  paid  3d.  a  week  and  more.  It  does  not  follow  that  schools 
with  41  per  cent,  of  the  scholars  would  lose  by  accepting  a  fee 
grant  of  10s.,  as  there  are  many  scholars  paying  3rf.  and  more 
in  schools  the  average  fee  income  of  which  is  below  lO.y.  a  he-ad.  A 
large  infant  school  enables  a  high  fee  to  be  charged  in  the  senior 
department,  and  yet  the  average  fee  may  be  moderate.  But  it  may  pro- 
bably be  assumed  that  im  schools  attended  by  more  than  a  quart^er  of 
the  scholars  of  the  country,  the  fee  income  exceeds  the  grant  which 
Parliament  is  likely  to  give  in  order  to  abolish  the  fee. 

Some  may  suggest,  let  schools  be  free  to  choose  whether  they  will 
accept  or  refuse  the  boon  of  aided  gratuity. 

One  remark  may  here  be  made,  that  a  school  cannot  be  allowed  to 
be  partially  free.  Clearly  it  would  be  most  unsatisfactory  to  allow  a 
school  to  free  a  certain  number  of  standards  and  not  the  whole.  It 
has  been  already  pointed  out  that  if  we  are  to  have  partial  freedom, 
Buch  fx'eedom  should  rather  be  granted  to  the  higher  than  the  lower 


XBOaUi  AND  PUBLIC  MANAUtiMH-M        imi' 

anJOTa  si«gnsaon  iuh»  ':m«u  uhnmi  titei  «   «;ikv> 

be*  atlowed  a  Parttmut'UUkry  t{riutl  :ii  JiiutUu- 

n  rba  5Be.     Thus  tiio   liov.  ij.  I'mmuu,  ^  :c«f    >; 

**^^""^    I}«T«s:  "vzinng  in  chu    AVum  'ji'  tiiu  ISrU  </i    iniiit»u»ey 

E  in.  iiL.  ir  Ja.  acbooiB  riie  :Vm  -^luuid  b«  1o«i«m<:-j  'ju  iu.  y. 

■  s  "iie  'aorrsmmenc  jubsiuv. 

4<jiuLi   3eraxiESe«z.  a  achrx'i   3i;w   cau.->c;ii|«(  -kt.  wvu.iJ  .■«l.-9>: 


i 


ji  SOB'  s«  ttKi.  <««Te  tt  .iMk^s  YOiI;iul«rji  «t>k<k:«  n-iva  <•> 
IE-  JHTiae  ifie  kk-o.  In  aii»wtr.  )T  :u*v  br  i»v>tw«l^  !•««.  |L*t 
"v^  npirijj"^  7  not  m^ke  •  trnwi  r<|iMl  f»  lhi>  «vim^ii  rfv. 
"K  £«t  laose  schools  whos«  f<-«  i»iv>i]|n  ]«  )«),>«  Uio  !»Yor«,<--. 
TEfaB-wnmc  xiaaslT  making  an  extra  |m'*<ii!  U'  lUr  m-iu>kAa  ntiU  ]••« 
ai^  afsna^j.  if  free  schools  are  di:r<  to  t)iii«<-  wli,>  ii«n  i>ur  nKnttriM 
'^mj'  »wiwi"i»  ix  cannot  be  Mt  to  tho  liiA-r'-ii.ni  of  Mtn  in^iiv-i-i 
"ais-  psrentB  enjoy  that  ri^ht  nr  not 

a  sown  as  Pre8t4)n,  Flirkmhoul,  or  Mt4H:k|i<trl,  ti«  it,.)!!-  i.f 
K^  ihen  anj  Boarrl  Nchrjoln.      fn    iVm^m   Mm  frir.  iiK^.f^^   Mi 
rlv  l->3.  ahearl.     fn  (iirltrrtluatl  mnrr.  Mimh  lis  t  |....t«| 
ix.  SRKkporc  more  than  I  %.  a  lu-iul 

£j  iLe  people  of  th«i:'.»?  i^invrm  will  imi.  fj.i.um.i.   Ij.  !,..,•..   ,<    »., 
IT  scaaagera  to  aetdi^  whiTUiiTf  r.iir:  u.Uu.ij  *\,4tH  fx.  r.-^..  .,,  „.,« 

i ife  naaagera  who  Ii%77  tb:^  :..{/!.  fi-^u  •.■.<!  •".••ir  u m\ u  o.ti. 

voluntary 'Vjnr.nio'.r.i/.r.::    .i:uu  <.i..ir.    :•<    ■»  :....«#|    » ^    ,, 

ixmtarily  to  «u;rut//r  ."'.■•Mrt  '..    /,  ».    ,  ,...h/:  ./  ,,.../„,.,   ,,,..  . 

t  act  likely  to  ra*;*  "J^r  •:..Sr»' r.^j    v  ....    i..:i w*-..-  ,. 

result  of  friwMasr  «ft^:/.'..:    ..    /.*-.•     ,.■*■..    ./    *,^      ,.     „ /< 

Boac  be  taani'-jJ^-""**:    v.     *•._».•.      :»...^.'..        

ant  of  riw:  r,t.-r- 

3ter '?nai  in  lowTiii  •■;..    '-._-.■.     '^-^«. ..      '.  ti-,  .    . 

3clirE>nocL  ahour  :ii:«-»-i...':_    .«■    :^     ^.,    .. 

vBMoiaEj  achoniiL  ^c/c    :_»=.->     ^.^...  .^.      .,.. 

AJHBC  "aie  voiiuuiA-'   .-....:...:....     ^     ^    ^...    .       ■      ■  .    ^ 

w>  coiux  separab'  :_-    r.  ..^-      i:  ..^     j .        ,,. 

iIhk.  "ve  sfanrU/t   ^r:-.ir;  .    ..  ^,      .  ,-■  . 

SM:  of  ■ifascnnKu.':.      L-. .  ^    . ,  . .  -c  /  •  . .  > 

Ab  "is*  'TQlmuMr'  .i^ik^ttt. ..       _  ,  -'-y-  ■■  ■^ 

^■■sqority  if  :al;^. 
to 


448 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mab 


Even  in  towns  where  tlie  School  Board  f umishea  tho  balk  of  tha 
accommodation  the  same  grievance  would  exist  locally.  In  London 
the  great  mass  of  the  school  accommodation  in  Westminster  and  in 
Pftddington  is  in  denominational  schools. 

People  living  in  these  districts  would  not  submit  willingly  to  pay 
fees  ;  and  where,  as  in  Bethnal  Green  or  Walworth,  nearly  all  the  schools 
are  Board  schoois,  still,  when  these  school b  are  fall,  some  must  pat  up 
with  the  teaching  supplied  in  the  voluntary  schools  and  might  be 
met  by  the  demand  of  a  fee.  In  short,  it  is  obviona  that  whatever 
attempt  may  be  made  to  avoid  the  conclusion  of  a  universal  free 
system,  we  must,  if  we  entertain  the  matter  at  all,  arrive  sooner  or 
later  at  this  solution. 

The  next  consideration  is,  supposing  that  we  have  a  universal  free 
school  system,  is  it  possible  bo  leave  the  greater  part  of  the  schools 
under  private  managemrnt  ?  On  this  point  there  is  a  large  body  of 
evidence  from  friends  to  denominational  schools  and  opponents  of  the 
abolition  of  the  fep,  that  the  two  changes  must  go  together. 

Thus  the  Rev.  J.  R.  Diggle,  at  the  Church  Congress  at  CardifiF,  on 
the  3rd  October,  1889,  said  in  reference  to  the  abolition  of  fees  : 

"  Take,  for  instance,  the  schools  in  connection  with  the  Church  of  England. 
Atprosont,  the  State  contributes  4fi  per  cent,  of  the  total  cost  of  those  schoolj*, 
and  exercises  accordingly  an  excerviive  amnnnt  of  control  within  the  school, 
through  its  inspectors.  The  parents  contribute  30  per  cont.,  iind  exercise  only 
nn  indirect,  but  none  the  }es8  a  powerful  inJluence  upon  the  welfare  of  the 
Bchool ;  the  R«bscriber.s  contributB  24  per  cent.,  nnd  practicidly  nominate 
the  ollioiiil  body  of  managers.  It  is  obvious  that  if  the  contribution  from 
tho  8tiito  is  increased  from  4(5  per  t'«.nt.  to  7(!  per  cent.,  that  increase  of  con- 
tribution mu.it  be  accompftnied  by  such  an  increa.se  of  control  as  to  render 
them  practicftlly  State  .schools.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  ratepayer  is 
substituted  for  the  parent,  I  think  that  it  Ls  equally  obviou.s  that  the  rate- 
payer would  obtain  a  more  direct  repi'esentation  upon  the  management  of 
the  schools  than  the  parent  now  enjoys.  In  either  case  the  schools  would 
cease  to  retain  the  independent  character  which  now  marks  their  manage- 
ment, and  which  has  hitherto  influenced  their  progress ;  and  little  except 
the  existence  of  voluntary  contributiona  would  exist  to  distinguish  them  from 
schools  under  School  Boards.  That  little  would  soon  disap^iear  under  the 
circumstance-s  which  I  have  detailed,  and  practically  the  era  of  universal 
School  Boanls  would  be  ushered  in." 

Archdeacon  Smith  is  reported  in  the  Gwirdian  of  July  17,  1889, 
as  having  said  at  the  Canterbuiy  Diocesan  Conference,  that  he  believed 
the  abolition  of  school  fees  would  be  tlie  death-knell  of  voluntary 
Bchoola,  and  it  would  be  a  suicidal  thing  for  them  to  promote. 

Many  other  ata.tements  might  be  quoted,  both  from  letters  signed 
bv  prominent  friends  of  denominational  schools  and  in  leading  articles 
of  newspapers  which  take  that  side,  all  agreeing  that  free  education 
must  involve,  if  not  at  once,  at  any  rate  in  a  very  short  time,  public 
representative  management — that  is,  universal  Board  Schools. 


i89o]     FREE  SCHOOLS  AND  PUBUC  MANAGEMENT.       449 

It  is  enongh  to  quote  one  such  utterance  which  appeared  in  the 
Times  of  Feb.  7,  1690,  in  a  letter  signed  C.  H,  A.,  initials  which 
correspond  with  those  of  Mr.  C.  H.  Alderson,  one  of  the  oiajority  of 
the  Royal  Commission,  and  for  many  years  an  able  iaspoctor  of 
schools. 

In  reply  to  Archdeacon  Smith,  another  Royal  Commissioner  who 
has  been  quoted  already  as  regarding  the  abolition  of  the  fee  of  the 
death-knell  of  voluntary  schools,  and  who  wrote  to  the  Times,  of  Feb.  3, 
that  there  was  no  logical  connection  between  additional  aid  from  the 
State  and  local  representative  management.  C.  H.  A.  states  that 
though  the  Archdeacon's  contention  may  be  logical,  the  world  is  not 
ruled  by  logic.     The  writer  goes  on  to  say : 

"  And  would  the  Archdeacon  consider  it  a  more  valuable  guarantee  for 
the  maintenauoo  of  those  strictly  Church  of  England  trusts  in  which  he  is 
interested  to  open  them  to  Her  Majesty's  iii.spector  tx  officio  who  might  be 
a  Roman  Catholic,  or  a  Nonconformist,  or  un  Agnostic,  or  to  other 
nominee.s  of  the  ilepartment,  irrespective  of  creed,  than  to  give  a  voice  in 
tlieir  management  to  the  suspected  but  possibly  orthodox  nitepayerl" 

C.  H.  A.  goes  on  to  ask  what  is  the  probable  future  of  the  present 
Tolnntary  schools. 

•'  Can  any  one  suppose,"  he  aays,  "that  schoola  which  are  preponderantly  sub- 
sidized by  the  State  will  Ije  permitted  for  any  length  of  time  to  continue  undi^r 
the  same  slightly  patriarchtil  management  as  that  which  exists  for  volunturj 
schools  at  pre,seut  ?  To  any  one  who  cherifihes  this  illusion,  the  resolution  lately 
passed  by  the  London  School  Board,  coupling  free  schools  with  reprcBcntative 
management,  the  utterances  of  Canon  Fremantle  and  Dr.  Percival  ought  to 
convey  a  warning  note. 

'•  It  would  be  sufficiently  absurd  to  speak  of  schools  maintained  to  the 
extent  of  three-fourths  of  tlieir  annual  cost  by  the  State  as  voluntary.  But 
they  are  not  likely  for  any  long  future  to  retain  even  the  last  shred  of  titJe 
to  be  so  designated.  Voluntary  subscribers  will  probably  not  care  to  con- 
tinue their  unequal  and  insignificant  partnerehip  with  the  State,  when  their 
religious  preferences  in  such  matterw  as  the  choice  of  teacher  count  for  little 
or  nothing.  SubRcriptions  will  dwindle,  and  then  cease,  and  either  the  State 
wiU  step  in  to  make  good  the  deficiency,  or  recourse  will  be  hod  to  the  rates, 
upon  the  condition.s,  no  doubt,  of  the  Cowper  Temple  clau.se  in  the  Eklucation 
of  1870.  In  either  wtse,  the  voluntary  element  iu  the  supjiort  of  public 
lementary  schools   will  linally  ce;ise.     This  may  Ite  a  good  thing,  or  a  bad 

ing,  according  to  the  <li(rerent  stiindpoiiitsfrom  which  it  is  regarded.  But 
Bue  thing  is  clear — that  the  abolition  of  hxzjilly  raised  school  fees  will  draw 
its  train  consequences  which  will  profoundly  modify  the  relation  of  deno- 
lational  bodies  to  elementary  education." 

It  is  from  the  conviction  that  the  statement  of  C.  H.  A.  is  absolutely 
ect,  and  that  the  proposal  to  free  the  schools  even  partially  must 
ead  to  a  national  representative  system  of  local  school  administration, 
"■that  we  hold  it  would  be  childisli  to  try  and   evade  the  intimate  and 
necessary  connection  between  the  two  proposals. 

Bat  here  a  distinction  may  be  drawn.     If  the  State  recognizes  that 


460 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


rifu. 


the  schcK)U  which  are  intended  for  all  should  be  twder  public  manage- 
ment, and  so  conducted  as  to  show  full  consideration  to  the  theologioai 
differences  which  divide  those  who  use  the  schools,  and  which  after 
all  are,  in  the  great  majority  of  cases,  of  a  minor  character ;  it  may 
also  be  fairly  urged  that,  once  given  a  national  system,  we  ought  to 
be  very  considerate  to  those  minorities,  who  only  plead  for  themselves, 
and  who  make  corresponding  financial  efforts  which  may  justify  their 
petition  for  private  management,  coupled  with  a  liberal  measure  of 
public  support. 

The  broad  distinction  between  the  Chnrch  of  England  and  the 
Roman  Catholics* — the  two  great  champions  of  denominational  and 
privately  managed  schools — is  this  :  the  Established  Church  claims  to 
be  the  Church  of  the  nation,  aud  as  such  to  have  a  right  to  edocat/e 
the  whole  nation.  The  Roman  Catholics,  as  a  rale,  plead  for  religions 
liberty  to  eduoate  their  co-religionists,  and  ask  for  public  help  to 
supplement  their  private  resources. 

The  Roman  Catholic  school  ia  never  the  only  school  of  the  locality. 

But  throughout  the  rural  districts  the  Church  of  England  school 
is,  as  a  rule,  the  only  school.  Even  were  there  are  no  Nonconformists, 
it  would  be  right  that  the  school  of  the  village  community  should  be 
under  impartial  management.  The  existence  of  large  bodies  of  Non- 
conformista  makes  this  more  imperative.  In  a  village  where  the 
school  population  is  under  a  hundred  there  should  obviously  be  but 
one  school,  and  even  where  the  school  children  number  three  or  four 
hundred,  it  is  far  better  educationally  to  have  but  one  school. 

But  in  Wales  and  Cornwall,  for  instance,  where  the  great  bulk  of 
the  population  is  Nonconformist,  it  is  intolerable  that  the  school 
should  be  under  the  clergyman,  and  the  schoolmaster  chosen  for  hia 
churchmanship ;  advertisements  for  village  schoolmasters  and  mis- 
tresses habitually  stipulate  not  only  that  the  applicant  shall  be  a  Church- 
man, but  often  what  is  called  a  "  good  '*  or  "  sound"  Churchman,  and 
a  communicant.  He  is  generally  required  to  add  the  functions  of 
organist  and  trainer  of  the  choir  ;  and,  especially  in  the  case  of  mis- 
tres.ses,  to  teach  the  Sunday-school.  In  towns  the  dual  system  may  be 
tolerable,  in  the  country  there  should,  as  a  rule,  be  but  one  system, 
and  tiiat  one  managed  by  the  comnumity.  Of  course  the  area  of  the 
present  village  boards  needs  considerable  enlargement. 

Some  persons  propose  as  a  compromise  the  severance  of  the  religions 
and  secular  teaching,  and  the  handing  over  the  latter  to  public  manage- j 
ment,  while  retaining  the  fom^er  in  denominational  schools  in  the  hands 
of  the  existing  managers.  This,  which  is  theoretically  the  Iri^ 
system,  and  which  was  advocated  long  ago  by  Dr.  Hook,  when  Vicar 
of  Leeds,  may  seem  just  and  reasonable;  but  it  would  not  work  in 
practice,  nor  would  it  be  a  wise  policy  for  the  friends  of  religions 
(©aching  to  advocate  it. 


t89o]     FREE  SCHOOLS  AND  PUBLIC  MANAGEMENT.       451 


The  large  body  of  the  Wesleyans  and  many  otlier  Nonconformiata 
do  not  desire  secular  schools,  but  schools  where  simple  Scriptural 
tracking  is  given  without  introducing  the  children  to  theological 
controversy.  The  great  bulk  of  the  laity  of  the  Church  of  England 
desire  the  same  thing;  and,  according  totheRey.  Brskine  Clarke,  this 
is  the  kind  of  t<^aching  which  prevails  in  many  Church  of  England 
schools.  But  if  we  sever  the  secular  school  from  the  religious 
teaching,  we  give  what  apparently  the  hulk  of  the  people  do  not  want ; 
we  satisfy  the  zealots  of  the  High  Church  and  sacerdotal  party,  and 
we  also  satisfy  the  theoretic  secularists,  who  insist,  at  any  cost,  on  the 
enforcement  in  all  spheres  of  social  life,  of  the  complete  sccularity  of 
State  action.  But  many  of  us,  though  favourable  in  principle  to 
aecolar  schools,  are  not  prepared  to  hamper  the  progess  of  education 
by  dividing  Englishmen  into  two  camps  on  this  point  of  Bible  teaching 
in  the  public  school,  or  to  interfere  with  that  local  liberty  which  is 
nearly  always  used  in  favour  of  Biblical  teaching.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  experience  of  the  National  Society  is  not  favourable  to  this 
divided  responsibility.  The  Rev.  J,  Duncan,  Secretary  to  the 
National  Society,  stated  in  his  evidence  before  the  Royal  Commission, 
QQ.  11528-11533:  That  in  1875  tie  National  Society  issued  a  cir- 
cular recommending  the  clergy,  if  they  were  forced  to  transfer  their 
schools  to  a  board,  to  reserve  the  building  for  the  first  hour  for 
the  purpose  of  giving  religious  instruction.  He  stated  that  such  an. 
arrangement  was  apt  to  end  in  failure,  and  he  said  that  ho  would 
rather  the  School  Botird  were  responsible  for  the  whole  teaching, 
nJigionfi  as  well  as  secular,  since,  though  such  roligious  teaching  was 
not  as  full  as  he  would  desire,  yet  it  was  better  than  none,  which 
would  be  the  practical  result  of  the  reservation  of  the  building  for 
the  hour  of  religious  instruction. 

It  seems,  therefore,  that  the  scheme  which  extreme  eacerdotalists 
extreme  secularists  would  unite  upon,  would  not  be  acceptable  to 
bulk  of  the  parents,  or  to  tho  bulk  of  those  who  desire  religious 
beaching  in  the  schools. 

Another  compromise  is  Boraetimes  suggested  that  in  the  existing 
Clmrch  schools  there  should  hereafter  be  a  dual  government  by 
means  of  representatives  of  the  ratepayers  associated  with  some  of  the 
existing  managers. 

Such  a  solution  would  be  delusive  and  certainly  unacceptable  to 
the  friends  of  public  management.  It  might  seem  a  moderate  pro- 
posal that  there  should  be  five  elected  managers  and  two  representa- 
taves  of  the  old  management  ;  but  this  would  mean  in  practice  the 
oonttnaed  predominance  of  the  denominational  system,  coupled  with 
public  support ;  for  it  would  be  strange  if  in  rural  districts  two  out  of 
fire  elected  menil)er8  were  not  supporters  of  the  clergyman,  and  these 
two,  with  the  two  representatives  of  the   old  managers,  could  always 


432 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mas. 


outvote  the  representatives  of  the  majority  of  the  parishioners,  and 
thug  the  teacher,  as  before,  might  be  required  to  be  the  ecclesiastical 
8er7ant  of  the  clergyman.  The  following  advertisement  shows  how, 
by  means  of  onr  national  elementary  system  and  the  liberal  Parlia- 
mentary g^-anta  denominational  purposes  are  sobsidised  : 

*'  Wanted  immediately,  first  or  second  class  certificated  infants' 
mistress  for  country  national  school  (average  sixty-seven).  .  .  . 
Thorough  churchwoman  (high)  and  communicant,  willing  to  help  in 
parish  and  Sunday-school." 

Another  advertisement  mentions  weekly  eucharist  and  organ, 
rtpparent!y  snggeating  that  both  are  among  the  duties  of  the  school- 
master. These  advertisements  appear  in  the  School  Guardian  of 
Feb.  8,  1890.  The  National  Union  of  Teachers  could  give  ample 
evidence  of  the  way  in  which  ecclesiastical  services  are  frequently 
demanded  without  extra  pay  from  the  teacher  of  the  village  school. 
The  salary  which  is  entered  in  the  accounts  of  the  school  submitted  to 
the  inspector,  frequently  covers  by  an  understanding  or  express  agree- 
ment the  duty  of  playing  the  organ  in  church.  The  way  teachers  are 
often  treated  by  clerical  managers  wa.s  painfully  revealed  in  a  paper 
read  by  Mr.  Girling,  formerly  President  of  the  National  Union  of 
Teachers,  at  a  recent  annual  conference.  Even  with  a  purely  elective 
body  of  managers,  unless  the  area  of  administration  is  largely 
extended,  such  oppression  and  fraud  may  still  be  practised.  Nothing^ 
short  of  representative  management  over  considerable  areas  will 
secure  that  in  our  elementary  schools  the  teacher  shall  be  selected 
for  his  professional  merit  and  efficiency,  and  for  that  alone ;  that  he 
shall  be  fairly  paid,  and  that  no  unprofessional  services  shall  be 
exacted  from  him. 

This  change  from  parochial  autocracy  to  independence  will  be 
resented  by  many  of  the  clergy,  and  by  nearly  all  the  clerical 
organizations  from  Convocation  to  the  smallest  ruridecanal  conference, 
but  when  political  parties  move  in  earnest  this  kind  of  opposition 
must  give  way.  The  Government  yielded  last  year  to  clerical  pressure 
as  to  the  CoJe^  but  rvrn  a  Conservative  Government  cannot  afford  tctj 
go  twice  to  Canoesa. 

We  may  therefore  conclude  that  free  schools  will  shortly  be  estab-" 
lished,  accompanied  or  soon  followed  by  public  management,  at  any 
rate  for  the  bulk  of  the  schools,  and  those  professing  to  be  available 
for  the  nation  as  a  whole.  It  is  impossible  in  these  days  of  growing 
democracy  that  the  direct  superintendence  of  the  education  of  their 
children  can  be  long  withheld  from  the  community  as  a  whole,  and 
left  in  the  hands  of  voluni^eera. 

Moreover,  there  are  certain  popular  questions  to  which,  when  they 
are  propounded,  only  one  answer  is  possible. 

The  clergy  undoubtedly  are  alarmed,   and  they  may  blame  Lord 


i89o]     FREE  SCHOOLS  AND  PUBLIC  MANAGEMENT.  453 

Salisbury  for  having  spoken  on  this  question.  But  they,  too,  feel  that 
they  cannot  easily  make  him  draw  back.  Should  free  schools  be 
now  abandoned,  the  Liborationiat  lecturer  in  the  villages  will  be  able 
to  say  with  justice,  When  even  a  Tory  Government  was  ready  to 
enable  you  to  send  your  children  to  school  free  from  fees,  it  was  the 
clergy  of  the  Established  Church  who  prevented  him  for  fear  that  you 
should  manage  the  school  to  which  you  send  your  children ;  and  he 
will  add.  Vote  for  the  Liberationiat  candidate,  and  you  shall  have  a 
free  school — a  school  managed  by  the  people,  and  a  school  that  shall 
cost  you  little,  for  the  funds  which  endow  one  of  the  many  religious 
bodies  which  make  up  collectively  the  Church  of  England — that  is,  the 
Christianity  of  England — whpn  once  applied  on  behalf  of  all  to  a  truly 
national  purpose,  will  maintain  a  far  more  (iberal  and  complete 
education  than  any  you  have  yet  enjoyed. 

E.  Lyulph  Stanley. 


P.S. — ^The  recent  declaration  of  Mr,  W.  H.  Smith  in  the  House  of 
Commons  has  been  generally  taken  to  mean  that  any  proposals  in 
relief  of  fees  are  abandoned,  at  any  rate  for  this  year. 

This  receding  from  Lord  Salisbury's  position  of  last  autumn  may 
do  gn&t  injury  to  the  Conservatives  as  a  political  party  ;  but  it  will 
not  throw  back  free  education  into  the  limbo  of  questions  outside  the 
horizon  of  practical  politics.  The  only  effect  will  be  to  make  a 
present  to  the  Liberal  party  led  by  Mr.  Gladstone  of  a  popular  cry, 
and  to  cause  the  concession,  if  made  by  the  Conservatives,  to  have  th» 
character  of  a  capitulation,  and  not  of  a  free  gift. 

Perhaps  Lord  Salisbury  need  not  have  put  his  hand  to  the  plough. 
Having  done  so,  it  is  fatal  to  look  back. 


[Kaa. 


THE  FOUR  OXFORD  HISTORY  LECTURERS. 


To  the  Editor  of"  The  Contempouart  Revikw." 


Only  a  sbort  time  before  he  fiimUy  quitted  public  life,  my  late  friend, 
Mr.  Bright,  made  a  speech.     One  of  those  smart  people  who  write  short 

notices  for  the  daily  London  press,  whom  we  may  ctill  S ,  ctjngratulated 

him  on  the  fact  that  he  had  called  no  one  knave  or  fool  in  it.  The 
paragraph  was  put  before  Mr.  Bright  by  a  candid  friend,  and  when  the  old  man 
had  read  it^  he  said :  "  Well,  I  was  not  thinldug  of  S— - —  wlien  I  made  the 
speech."  So,  in  my  December  article,  I  called  no  one  knave  or  fool,  and  I 
was  not  thinking  of  the  four  lecturers  who  have  sent  you  what  they  call 
a  reply. 

i  wished  to  point  out  what  were  the  motives  which  led  me  to  get  a  return 
of  the  work  done  by  the  Oxford  and  0am bridge  Professors  and  Headers, 
what  were  the  errors,  in  my  judgment,  of  the  Commission,  what  wer©  the 
inevittkble  consequences  of  the  policy  adopted,  and  what  might  possibly  or 
proliably  ensue  from  it,  in  the  higher  teaching  of  the  two  UniverBitie*, 
particularly  Oxford.  I  have  lived  here  for  nearly  fifty  years,  am  possessed 
of  certain  faculties  of  observation,  stud  have  the  experiences  which  come 
from  the  fact  of  my  having  filled  probably  more  unpaid  offices  in  the 
Uuiversity  than  any  person  who  has  resided  there.  I  can  also  claim  that 
no  member  of  the  University  has  more  persastently  striven  t.o  do  service  to 
the  University  than  I  have,  and  I  can  allege  that  I  see  no  cause  to  regret 
any  line  of  action  which  I  have  taken  hei'e  since  1853,  when  I  first  held 
academical  office,  to  the  present  day  and  liour. 

The  statements  which  I  made  are,  I  submit,  accurate.  I  objected,  and  I 
do  object,  to  the  practice  under  which  college  lecturers,  who  may  be 
presumed  to  havs  an  interest  in  the  success  of  their  pupilB,  are  habitually 
examiners.  I  pointed  out  what  was  likely  to  follow  fiom  the  pracitiee,  and 
what  were  the  schools  in  which  the  mischief  was  most  likely  to  be  dominant. 
I  made  no  allusion  to  indiviihial.^.  The  proces.s  which  I  adopted  is  entirely 
fair  in  controversy.  If  1  was  under  tbe  impression  that  the  English 
bankruptcy  laws  assisted  debtors  in  cheating  their  creditora,  no  tradesman  is 
justified  in  alleging  that  I  meant  that  he  was  going  to  cheat  his  creditors, 
if  I  :irgiied  that  the  law  which  regulates  private  banks  of  is-sue  takes  no 
guarantees  that  the  issuing  house  is  solvent,  no  banker,  who  had  such  an 
issue,  would  have  a  right  to  charge  me  with  saying  that  he  was  insolvent  or 
fraudulent.  Systems,  and  the  possible  or  probable  consequences  of  systems, 
are,  and  always  vnll  be,  fair  subjects  of  criticisms,  and  it  would  be  a  very 
serious  thing  for  the  prospects  of  integrity  and  justice  if  they  were  not. 

The  four  lecturers,  however,  are  very  indignant.  They  have  fitted  the 
cap  on  themselves.     I  had  never  thought  of  them  personally ;  I  gave  no  hint 


iSgo]       THE  FOUR  OXFORD  HISTORY  LECTURERS.        455 


that  I  thought  of  them,  though  they  are  under  tho  impression  that  I  meant 
to  describe  thtsm.  I  was  doing  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  wcu*  thinking  of  a 
geneml  system,  not  of  particular  inskinces.  I  shoutd  not  dream  of  applying 
general  rules  to  individual  cases.  Tho  game  is  not  worth  tlie  candle.  Of 
coarse  I  know  very  well  that  the  most  cautious  generalities  offend  some 
people.  And  I  should  not  on  this  occasion  care  to  notice  the  "ropl}',"  were 
it  not  for  certain  p>i.ssages  which  I  wintiot  leave  without  rejoinder.  Apologies 
for  practices  generally  answer  themrfelveif.  So  do  charges  of  "  inaccurate 
statemenLs,  of  sweeping,  ill-founded,  and  oft.en  ill-natured  criticism."  I  am 
perfectly  content  to  leave  my  reputation  aa  it  is,  and  I  lun  convinced  that 
not  four,  and  not  forty,  college  lecturers  can  damage  it — at  least  with  those 
whose  good-will  is  worth  having.  But  there  are  some  statements  which 
have  to  be  answered. 

la  tlie  tirst  place,  the  summaiy  printed  in  italics,  and  purporting  to  be 
an  account  of  what  "  ai-e  almost  my  own  words,"  is  a  ti-avesty  of  what  I 
wrote.  I  said,  it  is  true,  that  the  college  tutors  (or  lecturers)  boycotted  the 
professors.  I  never  found  fault  with  them  for  doing  so,  but  with  the 
Commissioners  who  allowed  this  to  he  possible,  and  then  I  commented  on 
ihe  tendencies  of  the  system  under  which  college  lecturers  secure  a 
vBonopoly  of  the  stmlent's  time,  and  ticket  him  in  e.i£aminations  where  they 

I  dorniuant.  There  is  all  the  difference  in  the  world  between  describing 
»  tendency  and  alleging  a  fact.  I  know  absohitely  nothing  of  the 
hUtorical  knowledge  possessed  by  the  four  lecturei-s.  They  may  be 
entirely  well-infoimed  and  competent  or  the  reverse.  I  know  nothing 
about  this,  and  I  am  not  likely  to  know  any  tiling  about  it.  I  will  put  my 
a  parallel  which  will,  1  think,  be  clear.  Let  us  suppose  that  two 
ftrailesmen  were  6f[ua!ly  and  identically  licensed  by  the  ."^me  authority 
toc-irrv  on  the  same  business  in  the  same  t-own,  but  that  the  authority  gave 
<nieof  the  sets  the  sole  riglit  to  compel  customers  to  u.se  the  sliops  of  this 
one  wet  only.  Would  it  not  be  fair  to  predict  what  would  be  the  conse- 
<]ue&ce  to  the  other  set,  to  the  customers,  to  the  trade,  and  to  the  goods  ? 
Is  it  Dot  clear  that  the  other  set  would  be  boycotted,  that  the  customers 
would  be  appropriated,  that  the  trade  wfudd  be  partial,  and  that  the  goods 
*o<ild  be  liable  to  deterioration  and  adulttr.ition '/     The   favoured  traclers 

jht  Ije  sensitive,  but  the  system  would  not  be  above  criticism.  Now,  it  is 
Ifvstem  analogous  to  this,  and,  in  my  opinion,  rather  worse  than  this,  which 
Til IV,. examined,  and,  if  you  will, condemned. 

Till  TO  are  two  details  in  tho  reply  which  need  a  more  porticulai*  i-ejoinder. 
It  id  nu  doabt  the  case  that  the  process  of  naming  or  commending  the 
examiners  is  as  the  lectui-ers  allege.  I  have,  indeed,  taken  little  intere.st  in 
the  proceedings  of  the  Faculty,  for  I  speedily  discovered  that  there  was  a 
bofcrd  within  the  Bojird,  a  lecturers'  association  which  prepared  business, 
wiiich  brought  it  forward,  cut  and  dried,  and  secured  its  acceptance.  In  the 
nature  of  tilings  such  a  combination  is  an  organization,  the  rest  of  the 
Board  is  a  mob.  The  Vice-Chancellor  and  Pro<;tors  may  or  may  not  be 
*Ofjuainto<l  with  the  merits  of  these  examiners  who  are  proposed.  They 
UBwl  to  appoint  them,  and  are  now  superseded.  A  superseded,  and  therefore 
e>d,  element  in  an  elector.d  body  is  probably  deferential.  But  the 
fchy  which  a  theoretically  elected  and  otficial  bodj'  may  be  turned  into 
IS  would  interest  no  one.     The  result  is  the  subject  of  interest. 

I  did  not  write  on  the  subject  without  examining  the  facts.  I  took  the 
Itott/m  years  of  the  Oxford  Caleniiar,  which  is  an  official  document  (or  at 
Iwdt  th>?  only  official  document  on  which  I  could  rely)  for  the  name.s  of  the 
wswninerfl,  and  their  status  in  the  several  collegcii.  Var  the  tirst  three yeai*s, 
^iwo  were  three  examiners  and  two  examinations  yearly  ;  for  the  last  seven, 

I  txaminatioD  and  four  examiners.     During  this  period  there  have  been 


456 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


Cmar. 


thirteen  examinations  and  forty-gix  votings.  Of  these  votings  thirty  were 
by  college  tutors  or  lecturers,  sixteen  by  outsiders.  Of  the  persons  appointed. 
eleven  have  been  college  lecturers,  8i.\  outside  examiners.  The  statement, 
then,  "  that  the  proportion  of  persons  representing  the  interests  of  the  college 
teachers  has  been  only  as  tive  to  nine  "  is  erroneous  for  the  whole  period.  In 
1880  all  three  were  college  lecturers.  In  1881,  in  the  first  examination,  one 
was  an  outsider,  in  the  second,  two  were.  In  1882  in  the  first  examination, 
two  were  outsiders,  in  the  second  all  three.  Now  begins  the  new  system. 
In  1883,  there  were  two  outsiders  out  of  four.  In  1884,  1885,  1880,"  1887, 
1888  on©  only  was  an  outsider.  In  18S;)  two  were  outsiders.  Now,  let  us 
see  how  these  four  lecturei-s  deal  with  the  list.  One,  they  say,  is  the  head 
of  a  college,  who  "  i*  neither  tutor  nor  lectui-er  in  Ids  college."  This  can  only 
mean  Dr.  Bright,  who  was,  wlien  ho  was  appointed,  lecturer  in  historj'  in 
his  college.  These  ferociotw  critics  pass  by  that  fact,  by  pointing  to  the 
present  and  taking  no  notice  of  the  past,  a  somewhat  iiTegular  proceeding 
on  tbe  part  of  history  lectiu-er.-*.  "  Oue  is  the  deputy  of  the  Regius  Pro- 
fessor." But  the  Calendar  informs  me  that  ho  is  a  tutor  of  Christ  Church. 
Another  is  "  a  reader  of  the  Univei-sity."  But  he  is  jilso  described  in  the 
Calendar  as  a  lecturer  at  Christ  Church.  Evasions  of  this  kind  are 
unworthy.  A  college  tutor  or  lecturer  may  bo  a  Professor  or  Reader.  It 
used  to  be  said  that  when  Christ  Church  was  throat^^ned  with  an  Academical 
reform,  it  declared  itself  an  Ecclesiastical  corpfiratioii  ;  when  with  an 
Eoclesiustjcal  reform  it  took  shelter  under  the  plea  that  it  was  an  Academical 
institution.  The  iecturer.s  have  borrowed  the  metliod.  It  is  the  de\'ice 
which  Bunyan  intends  to  be  the  character  of  Mr.  Anything  or  Mr.  Facing- 
both-way.s.  If  I  am  rely  on  the  Univereity  Calendar  during  the  seven  yeai-s, 
1883-1889  iiiclu.sive,  the  college  lecturers  and  tutoi-s  have  l>een  in  a  majority 
on  the  Board  of  History  e.xnminers  for  tive  years  out  of  seven. 

As  regards  the  outsiders  on  the  several  boards,  they  are  precisely  the 
persons  whom  I  wish  to  see  engaged.  Four  of  the  six  are  widely  known, 
have  contribxited  important  work  to  the  subject  of  history,  and  have  a  just 
and  high  rejiutation.  They  have  thought  proper  to  take  part  in  the  exami- 
nations, and  while  they  give  a  testimonial  to  the  actual  working  of  the 
system,  and  supply  the  time-honoured  defence  for  the  appointment  of 
resident  teiichei-s,  they  have  abstained  from  commenting  on  the  tendencies  of 
the  system,  and  in  jjai-ticidar  on  that  objection  on  which  I  laid  stress,  that  it 
signified  verj'  little  who  e.xamined  and  voted  for  a  candidate,  if  the  person 
who  litis  taught  and  drilled  him  is  allowed  to  draw  up  the  papers  of  questions 
which  he  is  expected  to  answer. 

Of  the  two  schools  which  I  specially  criticized,  and  of  which  1  attempte<l 
to  describe  the  i/endencies.  that  of  Tli.story  has  impei-fei-tly  earned  out  what 
I  wish  to  see  general.  But  in  a  controversy  of  this  kind,  nothing  is  achieved 
by  such  statements  as  the  four  lectui'era  have  made ;  and  though  I  know 
nothing  of  their  abilities.  I  trust  that  I  may  express  a  liope  that  they  do 
not  extentl  their  method  to  the  subjects  which  they  teach,  and  the  pupils 
whom  they  drill. 

I  am,  youTB  faithfully, 

JaMSS    E.    TuOROLb    ROOKKS. 


KING   AND   MINISTER: 


A    MIDNIGHT    CONVERSATION. 


A  FEBRUARY  evening  of  the  present  year.  In  the  capital  of  a 
C5ertain  kingdom,  in  two  great  houses  in  that  capital,  in  two 
rooms  of  those  houses,  two  pillows  may  be  seen  inviting  to  repose. 
Well  may  they  invite,  for  the  heads  that  will  presently  be  laid  upon 
them  are  all  a-buzz  with  a  conflict  of  speculations,  dubieties,  impulses^ 
rtich,  in  the  outcome,  may  have  all  the  import«nce  of  a  battle  in 
rhich  the  fortunes  of  a  nation  are  engaged.  It  is  near  midnight, 
but  the  conflict  is  not  over  yet  in  either  brain  j  this  which  ia  the  King's, 
or  that  which  is  the  Lord  Keeper's.  Repose  ia  not  for  either  great 
man  yet,  even  for  the  night  ;  and  when  some  thought  of  rest  does 
interrupt  the  hurly-burly  that  goes  on  in  the  mind  of  both,  imagina- 
tion presents  to  the  view  of  both  (in  one  case  mistilyj  in  the  other  with 
a  more  welcome  distinctnes?)  a  different  sort  of  pillow  from  that  which 
•waita  them  at  the  moment.  For  it  is  not  the  worst  of  their  disturb- 
ances that  the  King  and  the  ilinister  are  in  conflict  with  each  other, 
thongh  it  is  that  which  keeps  each  of  them  brooding  and  fuming,  re- 
solving, dissolving,  and  resolving  anew,  so  late  on  the  evening  when 
they  are  to  **  have  it  out ; "  part,  or  go  on  together  in  more  or  less 
of  oancord. 

The  picture  presented  by  the  younger  man — and  though  he  is  King 
and  Master  to  an  immense  extent,  there  is  much  about  him  that  justifies 
that  synonym  of  clay — is  well  worth  marking.  As  infant  in  arms, 
child  at  mother's  knee,  breeched  boy,  grown  man,  king  in  eipectation, 
king  in  very  fact,  he  has  lived  only  thirty  years  altogether.  A  young 
man,  then  ;  and  one  of  the  gravest  questions  of  the  time  is  whether 
he  will  ever  grow  older.  Hatl  his  Majesty  been  born  eighty  or  a 
hundred  years  ago,  no  anxiety  would  have  arisen  on  this  point.  Up 
to  that  period,  or,  so  there  is  reason  to  believe,  it  was  a  rare  thing  for 

TOL.  Lvn.  2  H 


458 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[APBIt. 


yonng  men  to  remain  young  till  they  became  too  old  to  profit  by  the 
riponing  of  age.  Nowadays,  nothing  is  more  common  amongst  the 
governing  classes  ;  possibly  for  the  same  reason  that  in  etTete  Bengal 
the  educated  young  gentleman  is  often  a  mine  of  promise  at  twenty- 
onej  and  exhaustion  without  results  at  thirty-three.  But  whatever  the 
explanation,  many  a  promising  young  man  of  our  time  and  race  baa 
been  ruined,  and  his  whole  career  turned  to  mischief,  by  the  gift  of  per- 
petual 5'outb  ;  and  not  only  his  own  land  but  all  the  nations  round 
about  will  know  tbe  dilference  if  this  impulsive  and  self-confident  young 
Sovereign  should  turn  out  to  be  of  those  who  never  grow  older.  There 
is  great  anxiety  on  that  point  already  in  many  quarters  ;  but  it 
torments  noIx>dy  more  than  the  keenest  observer  in  his  Court,  who  ia 
also  one  of  the  nearest  to  hiro  and  his  Majesty's  Prime  Minister. 

Something  in  the  King's  whole  appearance  favours  tbe  direful  appre- 
hension that  he  does  belong  to  the  ever  youthful,  never  mature;  though 
not  HO  much,  perhaps,  at  this  moment,  when  we  behold  him  pondering 
what  course  he  should  take  at  an  eventful  turning-point.  But  even 
under  circumstances  that  would  put  the  mark  of  years  of  sobriety  on 
moat  figures,  there  ia  no  sett.led  weight  in  the  look  of  the  King, 
though  there  is  an  abundance  of  activity  in  his  appearance.  Whether 
he  moves  restlessly  in  his  great  chair,  or  paces  his  severely  ordered 
room  with  military  heel,  the  idea  he  would  convey  to  a  British  reader 
of  romance  is  that  the  fundamentals  of  his  character  resemble  those 
of  Sergeant  Troy ;  though  the  sergeant's  superficial  gallantries  are 
replaced  in  the  young  monarch  by  an  equi|Hnent  of  the  stemejst  officer- 
on-dnty  manners.  If  his  features  must  be  described,  as  the  reader 
of  this  veracious  sketch  no  doubt  expects,  we  may  again  go  to  romance 
with  advantage.  The  King  bears  a  strong  general  resemblance  to 
^Ir.  Rider  Haggard  as  represented  by  the  engravers,  and  again  to 
Mr.  Kendal  as  represented  by  himself.  It  is  not  from  perversity 
that  gi'eater  persons  are  not  chosen  for  the  comparison.  None  suf- 
ficiently like  are  to  be  found ;  and  while  these  two  present  the  advan- 
tage of  being  generally  known,  the  ideas  associated  with  them  serve 
to  caiTy  tlie  resemblance  beyond  form  and  feature. 

Whether  moving  restlessly  in  his  chair  or  pacing  the  room  to 
measures  somewhat  less  military  than  are  usual  to  him,  the  young 
King  is  evidently  in  a  state  of  nervous  expectancy.  The  doors  being 
^losed  upon  any  potentate,  he  becomes  aware  at  once  that  he  is  but 
human.  No  matter  how  great  he  may  be — a  Napoleon,  a  Nicholas,  a 
AVilliam  the  Second  of  Germany — as  soon  as  he  site  down  in  the  solitude 
of  his  own  room  something  happens  to  him  which  corresponds  to  the 
transformation  of  the  Grand  Monarch  in  Mr.  Thackeray's  famous 
sketches.  The  wig  comes  off,  the  buckram  gives  out,  the  lofty  heels 
sink  into  slippers ;  the  king  is  but  a  man,  and  he  is  conscious  of  it. 
How  innch  of  a  change  there  is  depends,  of  course,  upon  how  much  of 


«89o] 


KING   AND    MINISTER. 


459 


«  man  the  prince  may  he  an  fond,  and  what  his  sense  of  his  natural 
infirmitiea.  Now  in  this  young  prince  the  conscioas  ego  is  a 
different  thing  at  differtrnt  times.  His  estimate  of  self  fluctuates 
much  more  >videly  than  he  would  have  anybody  else  to  know  for 
worlds.  The  self-confident  exaltation  which  never  declines  when  he 
is  in  the  presence  of  others,  and  which  he  maintains  in  every  word 
and  deed  with  a  determination  more  feminine  than  he  is  aware  of, 
runs  down  a  good  deal  when  his  Majesty  is  off  parade  and  alone. 
Thus  it  is  that  a  close  observer  who,  by  imijossibility,  happened  to 
view  him  from  some  dark  corner  to-night,  would  hardly  fail  to  detect 
a  subtle  bracing-up  in  his  whole  demeauoar  whenever  ho  suspected 
the  approach  of  a  foutfall  from  without.  The  lassitude  of  limb,  the 
relaxation  of  tlie  facial  muscles  which  accompany  dubiety  of  mind,  are 
startled  away  at  once ;  not  aa  by  an  effort  of  conscious  will,  but  rather 
,with  a  habitude  of  precaution  almost  as  instinctive  aa  that  of  the 
flower  that  closes  its  petals  at  the  most  distant  approach  of  rain. 
No  doubt  there  is  a  special  reason  to  account  for  this  exhibition  of 
,  sensitiveness  to-night ;  for  orders  have  been  given  that  as  soon  as  a 
certain  great  person  arrives  he  shall  be  brought  to  the  King's  snug- 
gery without  announcement.  But  even  though  no  one  dare  approach 
the  door  unsnmmoned,  the  effect  would  be  much  the  same.  His 
M&j«ety  13  in  his  downcast  mood.  The  spirit  of  him  unbooted  and 
nnhelmed,  he  neither  looks  nor  is  what  he  was  a  few  hours  ago  in  the 
midst  of  a  little  knot  of  generals  and  Ministers,  nor  as  he  will  look  and 
be  a  few  minutes  henco,  when  the  womanish  pride,  energy,  and 
obstinacy  in  him  are  roused  to  reassert  themselves  as  the  very 
j-character  of  the  King. 

At  this  moment  he  is  con.sciou8  of  a  weakness — what  he  feels  as 

[ireftkness,  though  it  is  something  quite  different — which  impels  him 

l"to  do  two  really  weak  things.      He  has  certain  miniatures  in  a  locked 

case,  and  a  little  manuscript  book  stored  away  where  no  hand  but  his 

own  can  tonch  it.     These  he  takes  from  a  cabinet  with  that  feeling  of 

•tealth  which  we  all  experience  on  like  occasions,  and  places  them 

before  him.     His  Majesty's  tastes  are  simple  by  the  tradition  of  his 

house,  and  that  tradition  he  is  careful  to  follow  in  many  domestic  pai-- 

ticnlars ;  but  of  all  the  various  potentates   styled  The  Magnificent, 

none  ever  loved  splendour  more  than  lie  does  in  hia  heart.     The  minia- 

^tore-caae  is  plain  enough ;  but  as  for  the  little  volume,  nothing  in  I 

moroooo  and  heraldic  gilding  was  ever  more  costly  or  more  beautiful. 

And  why  ?     It  is  a  book  of  royal  thoughts,  aspirations,   resolutions, 

TOWS :  and  all  his  own. 

Quite  early  in  youth  the  King  iixed  his  ej'ca  upon  the  throne  that 

might  be  his — Heaven  only  knew  how  soon  ;  and,  with  a  forethought 

'tare  in  so  young  a  man,  he  spent  many  an  hour  in  pondering  what  ho 

would  do  if  he  were  king.     His  grandfather  was  still  in  that  exalted 


400 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[Afbil 


station,  but  wherever  the  young  prince  went,  whensoever  he  looked 
into  the  public  journals  of  his  own  or  other  lands,  he  rarely  heai'd  or 
read  anything  about  the  king ;  so  rarely,  indeed,  that  it  hardly 
seemed  as  if  he  was  the  inaster  of  his  country's  destinies  at  all.  A  _ 
magnificent,  an  august  figure,  no  doubt ;  but  very  little  more  than  Ik^^l 
figure.  Ail  the  world  saw  and  acknowledged  that  the  mind,  will,^^^ 
power  of  the  State  resided  in  a  subordinate  person,  not  long  since  a 
country  gentleman.  Under  the  name  of  Minister,  lie  was  the  great 
man ;  uncontrolled  and  uncontrollable.  In  the  palace  itself  he  was 
master,  as  well  as  in  the  bureau  whence  he  directed  the  affairs  of  the 
kingdom  according  to  his  wisdom  and  his  will.  Now  the  young  prince, 
looking  along  his  line  of  ancestors  while  be  listened  to  the  everlasting 
reverberations  of  the  great  maii'a  nnme,  percfived  that  this  was  a 
state  of  things  which  no  reigning  member  of  such  a  house  as  his 
should  endure.  Studying  to  put  an  oud  to  it  when  his  turn  came,  he 
providi'd  himself  with  this  little  book  ;  and  there,  he  entered  not  only 
his  Thoughts  on  Government,  and  his  Reflections  On  the  Dignity  and 
Doty  of  a  King,  but  a  series  of  Vows,  each  beginning  with  "  I  swear," 
with  intent  to  hold  himself  to  the  linn  resolve  to  reign  absolute  if 
ever  at  all.  This  was  done  not  without  a  full  sense  of  the  tremendous 
solemnity  of  the  princely  oath  ;  and  when  the  baud  of  a  mysterious 
fate,  suddenly  put  forth,  swept  clear  bis  path  to  the  thrune,  it  was  as 
if  the  Power  that  confers  divine  right  luvd  taken  cognisance  of  pages 
117  to  132  of  "  The  Book  of  the  XXVth  Blitzenberg."  Such  is  the. 
title  of  the  small  but  priceless  tome  which  is  destined  to  become  oxi»\ 
of  the  most  treasured  heirlooms  of  an  ancient  djTiasty. 

It  was  to  brace  himself  up  that  the  King  flung  open  the  miniature 
case,  and  spread  before  his  eyes  those  proudly  recorded  vows.  The 
portraits  had  not  been  chosen  at  itmdom,  or  for  their  beauty.  They 
represented  an  unimpeachable  selection  of  the  most  masterful  of  all 
the  Blitzeubergs ;  and  they  had  been  brought  together  as  in  a  i>hrine 
and  for  the  puipose  of  inspiration.  To  gaze  upon  their  shrewd  and 
truculent  faces  was  to  gain  strength  and  assurance  that  he  too  was  of 
the  denii-gods  of  his  family,  and  perliapa  the  greatest  of  all.  There- 
fore the  King  resorted  to  them  now  ;  while,  in  opening  his  book  i 
of  vows  at  the  same  time,  he  recalled  to  himself  the  lofty  and  con- 
fident resolutions  by  which  he  was  pledged  to  renew  tlie  splendid 
autocracies  of  his  race.  With  his  hand  upon  the  open  pages,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  u])on  the  portraits  of  the  indomitable  three — all  seeming  to 
speak  to  him  at  once^ — -dilation  spread  from  the  heart  of  the  King  to 
his  whole  frame. 

At  tliis  moment  the  masculine  figui-e  of  the  great  Minister  was 
nearing  tlie  palace,  heaving  his  mighty  limbs  before  him  at  a  mechanical 
slo\v  pace,  and  full  of  care  to  the  overflow,  which  is  carelessness.  The 
Lord  Keeper  had  passed  a  bad  evening  too,  silently  consuming  many 


KING   AND   MINISTER. 


461 


huge  pipes  of  tobacco,  and  filling  the  smoke  with  a  long  succession  of 
jMist  scenes  whicli  liad  become  ahadavvy  before  their  time.  He  was 
not  a  soft  man  ;  and  of  all  the  hnmnin  iMiings  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 
the  last  for  whom  he  could  have  supposed  himself  capable  of  tender- 
iness  was  the  owner  of  his  own  brain  and  brawn.  In  the  course  of 
his  career,  he  h<id  imagined  many  wonderful  things  that  might  come 
to  pass  ;  but  none  so  strange  as  that  he  should  commiserate  himself. 
Yet  that  he  had  been  brought  to  do.  Not,  however,  with  a  melting 
heart — not  at  all ;  but  with  one  that  glowed  like  a  peat  fire,  tlameless, 
intense,  but  prescient  of  falling  into  uhite  ash  before  long.  His 
cogitatioDS  over,  a  glance  at  the  clock,  and  wrapping  himself  in  a 
st  coat  with  a  collar  that  stood  level  with  his  ayes,  the  Minister 
le  out  to  keep  his  appointment  with  the  King. 

Expected  and  awaited  at  this  precise  moment,  he  was  shown  with- 
out a  word  or  a  moment's  delay  to  the  place  where  his  youthful 
Sovereign  was  still  engaged  with  his  admonitory  miniatures,  and  his 
■till  more  admonitory  little  book.  As  soon  as  the  unmistakable  foot- 
fall was  heard  approaching,  these  treasures  were  shuffled  away  with  a 
haste  which   hardly  befitted   their  dignity,  and  up  stood  the  King  to 

jive  his  much  upstanding  visitor.  Great  the  contrast  between  the 
two  men ;  and  since  the  Minister  sonifhow  conveyed  to  the  King  at 
his  first  st-ep  into  the  room  that  they  met  as  men,  both  were  aware  of 
the  contrast ;  which,  however,  the  one  did  not  presume  upon  nor  the 
other  yield  to. 

*'  Good  evening.  Prince,"  said  the  King,  holding  out  his  hand  from 
the  place  where  he  stood.      "  A  cold  night  ?  " 

'*  A  cold  night,  sir,  but  waruv  enough,"  the  other  replied,  Ijending 
over  the  extended  hand  with  impressive  formaUty,  which  the  woman 
in  the  King  hardened  at  instantly:   '*  Let  us  be  seated,"  he  said. 

"When  his  Majesty  bad  taken  one  chair,  the  Prince  (a  country- 
gentleman-promoted  prince  he  was)  took  another ;  and  was  no  sooner 
well-settled  in  it  than  he  bent  upon  the  King  a  look  of  listening 
readiness,  which  yet  seemed  to  signify  that  he  saw  his  Majesty  at  a 
distance. 

"  Well,  you  have  thought  of  these  things,"  said  the  ICing. 

'•  I  have  thonght  of  a  thousand  things,  your  Majesty." 

"  But  most  of •"     A  pause. 

•'  I  Imrably  confess  not.  If  it  may  be  said  without  offence,  I  should 
not  know  how  tx>  employ  a  second  hour  upon  them." 

•'  Then  you  come  as  you  went  this  moniing,  I  am  to  understand  ?  " 

*•  Not  (juite  so.  To  be  brief — and  your  Majesty  wUl  at  once 
nndi^rstand  what  I  mean — I  come  with  a  feeling  of  being  more  my 
own  man." 

'*  Being  more  your  own  man  seems  to  require  explanation,"  said 
Ihe  King,  drily. 


4G9 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[^U>BIL 


"At  your  Majesty's  command,"  was  the  response.  "  I  propose  to 
relieve  myself  from  competition  with  the  Herr  Professor  Struwelpeter, 
and  the  King  from  a  sr-rvant  who  is — what  shall  we  say  ?  " 

"Too  prond,"'  said  the  King'. 

"  Too  tall ! "  said  the  Minister  ;  and  at  the  impulse  of  the  word  he 
rose  to  the  full  height  of  his  six  feet  and  a  bit. 

Both  felt  that  the  conversation,  even  for  such  hot-heads  as  they 
knew  each  other  to  be,  was  going  too  fast;  though  a  moment 
afterwards  neither  regretted  an  exclamation  which  cleared  up  a 
good  deal  at  a  stroke.  Uttered  by  the  one  and  accepted  by  the 
other,  that  "  too  tall "  established  an  understanding  of  the  main  point 
of  difference  between  them  that  eased  both  when  the  first  shock  was 
over. 

"  Sit  down,  Prince,"  said  the  King,  after  an  interchange  of  looks 
which  gradually  softened  in  either  countenance  from  something  like 
fierceness.  '^  Your  abruptness  is  terrifying ;  and  I  suppose  all  my 
nerve  is  needed  for  what  you  have  got  to  say." 

The  Prince  resu^ued  his  seat  heavily. 

"■  Whether  too  tall  or  not,  I  understand  that  my  Minister-in-chief 
proposes  to  leave  me  unless  I  give  up  a  certain  course  which  I  have 
determined  on." 

"  Unfortunately,  there  is  no  question  of  unless.  By  which  I 
mean,"  he  hastened  to  add,  for  he  saw  himself  misunderstood,  *'  that 
your  Majesty  has  closed  the  door  of  '  unless.'  Since  you  have 
sounded  this  determination  in  the  ears  of  half  the  Court  you  will  not 
give  it  up  though  you  bum  for  it." 

Now  it  was  the  King's  turn  to  rise  to  his  feet,  and  it  happened 
that  in  doing  so  he  clapped  his  hand  into  his  jacket-pocket  and  closed 
it  on  the  little  book. 

"  Prince,"  he  said,  "  your  freedoms  of  speech  are  really  amazing. 
And  I  may  as  well  tell  you  plainly  that — (this,  however,  is  not  what 
he  was  going  to  add) — that  in  one  respect  you  are  right.  You  are 
not  far  wrong,  certainly.  I  have  been  thinking  of  a  thousand  things, 
too  ;  and  I  do  not  intend  to  give  up  my  plans,  I  am  the  King;  L 
know  my  own  mind ;  I  am  resolved  to  be  no  dummy  lord,  but  king, 
father,  brother,  master  !"     (See  little  book,  ]).  12  k) 

"  I  find  no  fault  with  the  resolution.  It  is  every  way  excellent.  But 
on  the  strength  of  my  age,  my  labours,  my  services,  my  loyalty  to  your 
house — which  was  best  seen,  perhaps,  in  years  before  you  were  boni — 
and  lastly  on  the  strength  of  this  country  being  as  much  mine  as 
your  Majesty's " 

"  Indeed ! " 

'*  Yes,  sir ! "  returned  the  other,  with  a  (in©  blend  of  pride  and 
ferocity  on  his  face.  "  And  would  bo  if  I  had  been  nothing  but  a 
trooper  at  Weissenstadt,  and   had  done  my  bloody  day's  work  with 


i«9o] 


KING   AND   MINISTER. 


468 


tea  thousand  men  equally  nameless  on  some  other  fields  that  you  have 
heard  of.    What ! "  (The  King  looked  down  at  this).     '*  Is  it  unknown 
that  I  am  a  bit  of  a  democrat  too — so  much,  at  any  rate,  as  to  maintain 
what  I  have  just  said  ?  " 
"Well,  and  the  rest?" 

"  I  repeat,  then,  that  your  Majesty's  resolution  to  be  king,  counsel- 
lor, father,  brother,  master  is  admirable.  But  if  on  the  grounds  of 
presumption  which  I  have  named  I  might  add  a  word  to  my  heart- 
bom  commendation,  it  would  be  this  :   the  wherewithal  ?  " 

''Prince,  this  is  mere  insult,'  said  the  King;  and  he  said  it  very 
proudly. 

"  Sir,  I  am  your  friend  to  the  smallest  bone  in  this  finger.  And 
now  let  me  speak  in  a  stmghtforward  way.  To-night  we  ai-e  here 
together — I'll  take  no  more  liberties  than  duty  enjoins — on  a  footing 
thait  is  not  likely  to  be  repeated.  For  the  moment  you  are  not  the 
King  and  I  am  not  your  Minister.  We  are  citizens  of  one  country, 
■with  an  equal  solicitude  for  its  welfare.  There  will  be  so  much  more 
distance  and  ceremony  between  us  after  to-night — that  of  course  is 
already  understood — that  we  will  do  without  it  altogether  till  I  pass 
through  that  door  again." 

The  King  said  nothing,  but  looked  troubled  and  gloomy.  It  was 
one  thing  to  make  up  his  mind  at  more  heroic  momenta  (which,  to 
be  sure,  reckoned  about  fifty-five  to  the  minute  taking  every  day 
through),  that  his  great  Jlinister  might  go  if  he  pleased,  but  quite 
another  to  hear  him  talking  as  if  he  had  already  gone. 

"  His  Majesty,  sir,"  the  Prince  continued,  after  settling  himself  in 
his  chair,  "  has  made  some  irreparable  mistakes — mistakes  loaded 
with  mischief  and  absolutely  irretrievable.  God  help  us !  And  he  has 
made  one  grave  miscalculation.'' 

"  He  has  heard  of  the  mistakes  already,  I  think ;  but  what  of  the 
miacalculation  ?  " 

"  Well,  possibly  I  may  be  in  error  hei-e.  But  I  fancy  he  assumed 
that  nothing  would  induce  the  Lord  Keeper  to  give  up  hia  lofty  and 
powerful  position  in  the  State.  The  arrogant  man  might  talk  of  it, 
hut  after  playing  bo  great  a  part,  after  standing  so  high,  controlling, 
determining,  dictating,  the  greatest  figure  in  Europe  people  said — he 
oould  never  boar  to  look  as  if  he  had  been  cashiered,  and  sent  to  kennel 
like  an  old  dog  who  loses  a  scent  oftener  than  he  finds  one.  And,  sir,"  the 
Prince  went  on,  turning  a  softer  face  to  the  King,  "  there  is  a  good  deal 
in  that.  The  humiliation  of  it  is  not  easy  to  face  ;  and  I  believe  I  can 
tell  you  that  the  Lord  Keeper  is  capable  of  feeling  it,  though  not  so 
uiQch  by  any  means  as  the  King  supposes.  The  calculation  was,  tlien, 
that  when  it  came  to  the  point  the  Minister  would  cling  to  the  sem- 
blance of  authority  for  the  few  years  that  were  left  to  him,  giving 
Uand  aasesit  to  projects  and  policies  with  which  he  had  nothing  to  do, 


464 


THE    CONTEMPORARY    RE  VIE  IT. 


[Apeil 


rather  than  endure  to  be  pointed  at  as  practically  turned  oflF  and  dis- , 
pensed  with.     That  was  the  miscalculation." 

"  In  effect,  after  a  certain  conversation  to-day,  he  has  resoWed  to ' 
resign  his  offices." 

"Definitely;  after  consideration  of  all  that  has  happened  since 
his  Majesty's  reign  began." 

"  Because  in  one  department  of  government  his  master,  who  sees 
with  younger  and  clearer  eyes,  means  to  have  his  own  way." 

'"  One  department  ?  Because  in  every  department  his  master  means 
to  have  his  own  way,  cannot  be  prevented  by  any  power  in  the 
Stat«^ " 

"  And  never  .shall  wliile  I  live." 

" and  neither   can   be  dissuaded,  I  do   not  say   by  men  who 

know  the  business  better,  but  by  the  repeated  perpetration  of  palpable 
error  .^* 

'•  Such  as  in  your  judgment  he  is  about  to  commit  now." 

"  Such  as  was  committed  when  those  tourings  about  Europe  were 
nndei'taken — good  God,  when  I  think  of  them  ! — and  what  not  since, 
dowu  to  this  ])roceeding ;  which  is  at  the  same  time  dangerous  and 
ridiculous.  Your  pardon,  sir — ridiculous  !  Publish  those  decrees,  and 
there  will  be  a  smile  on  the  face  of  every  statesman  in  Europe. ' 

*'  Except  that  of  the  great  man  here  who  has  had  nothing  to  do 
with  them." 

"  It  would  be  well  if  that  were  the  only  exception.  Add  also, 
that  of  every  statesman  in  the  Alliance.  His  Majesty  takes  short 
views.  He  does  not  think  of  these  things,  apparently.  There  is  a 
lack  of  imagination  in  his  abundance  of  ixjuiance ;  and  what  there  is 
dwells  about  his  own  person.  If  he  could  extend  it  beyond  theseprecincts, 
send  it  ont  to  Russia  in  one  direction,  to  France  in  another,  to  Italy, 
to  Austria,  he  would  see  in  a  moment  how  our  foes  and  friends  will  look 
when  they  read  these  wild  rescripts^  which  the  Lord  Keeper  refuses  to 
sign." 

"  But  which  I  presume  he  will  uot  denounce.^' 

Taking  no  notice  of  the  interruption,  the  Minister  proceeded. 
*'  Perhaps  I  may  offer  the  aid  of  my  vision.  The  first  look,  in  every 
case,  will  be  one  of  blank  ania/.enient  that  the  Sovereign  of  this 
country  should  suddenly  prnclaiui  himaelf  the  friend  and  patron  of 
Social  Revolution.  No,  no;  not  in  reality,  of  course j  only  in 
policy  :  the  policy  of  the  innkeeper  in  one  of  the  '  Contes  Drolatiqnes:' 
the  innkeeper,  the  innkeeper's  pretty  wile,  and  the  predaceous  mousque- 
taire ;  and  how  the  innkeeper,  though  armed  with  the  sword  of  his 
ancestors  and  equipped  with  the  family  cuirass,  did  not  come  out  of 
the  cupboard  at  the  critical  moment ;  and  what  the  innki-f^per's  wife 
afterwards  remarked  to  the  innkeeper." 

The  King  glowered  fiercely,  as  well  he  might  ;  but  his  .Minister  did 
not  seem  to  care. 


i89o]  KiyC  AXn  MIXtarKK.  46»S 

"In  effect,  however,  the  kind's  moiiv<»s  «.n>  of  ^uiaU  ttM)^Minnc<>  in 
his  neighbours;  whose  stacks  art«  likely  lo  lutrn  jiiM  aq  fif>i>ly.  Iton 
ever  deep  the  calculation  with  which  ho  linni  hJ8  hiMnoQf(>M)l.  IVtaqiMv 
they  may  reflect  that  his  Majesty  oithor  kiiowit  or  iIopp  iii<<  l<nii\r  Ihnf 
nothingbat  a  straw-yard  connect  fariu  niid  rnrm  ;  nml  <lin(  ir  In-  iImi-u 
know,  as  most  be  presumed  fn>iu  his  rnnflitiiiiiH  ntul  piiiiiinn,  il  i"  n 
little  too  much  that  he  shoald  staii.  IiIh  iNiliticfi-iiltilnnpiilijfnl  l)iiiiliii>q 
without  previous  consultation  with  Uhmii.  !(■  in  nnjd  fJml  Iiim 
3Iajeety  stands  well  with  none  of  hJM  iini^lilKiiii-M;  llml  hiw*  lir>  |inii| 
a  round  of  visits  some  time  a^  th<^y  linv<^  lif«>ii  holilin^  niY  frnrri  Itirrr 
in  alarmed  curiosity;  and  he  niay  di-pmid  ii[Kin  it.  tliol.  oun  r>r  ih^w  nl 
leasts  up  in  the  north  and  down  by  t.li<;  (toAt.,  wilt  br^in  f'*  Uiiik  n\.f<v 
him  as  a  public  incendiary  at  thi.H  rati''.'— ^^v^.n  Um  >|nii(/'>rri7iq  hi  Im 
let  alone,  perhaps.  An  it  iii,  Alfsxand^'T  nnvr  y/ii  ^  »lfr'in/l  .viMi'iMf. 
fcf<7lring  up  sparka  from  thf:  combaxtiMr-H  that  nKr-w  lii^;  ri'>Trinin  .  nrcf 
if  he  fean  a  further  commnnication  of  fir«,  h«  will  rtot.  ^l*»  rrcK-h 
appeased  by  the  arjjnmt^ntM  of  t'eoffnnvtv  .St.r»iff«'lf»"*''r.  Ffi««  Wwi/-;**/ 
thinir*  that  a  mattcfr  of  indiifer^nc^ ;   hf.  may  !'/■  »'4<<iir'>'l  f hnt.  it  ix   r^r 

"Boc  have  I  not  hi*ard   rhar  in  rh«   f/iH  K^'^pz-r'^  (-.jviniz-.n  .lotViinjf 
will  aec  Alexander  in  luov.-mt-nt  for  /'-ar-t  ro  'v»mi'  '  " 

"Thiiee  an^wif^ra  Co  char.  Tin-  l>-iri'i  i<,'««p*>T  'li*'!  ii'.*^  }or'^««»"  'h»» 
imiwuitfTTifthit.  -  [if  .'/inid  :ior  iiav*-  mf»nt.  '.'nftt  A."-.'»*n>i««»"  .ro'r*^!  ;io*- 
mavis  with  .i  di-p  miier  :ii«  !>»d  :  mrl  ■>t'  "^-kiir-!**  iiA  li<l  vi*-  ptmti  i\t~ 
•fCfOcian  fmm.  •iioiomatic  :Tiovt'mftnt.  vlnrJ)  t  ,«  (/•i«eii,i.j  i,  .fiTTmiMf*' 
90  "Veil  as  vt  ■lai'aiyrte.  Hiu  ;.-r  i*<  ";*!<»■  i.  nv.stfU---  •!.■■<•  >'  n'.af  n«. 
Sjkc  ia  :U)onr  "•)  in.  uiri  :'rrim  vliirli  :i«(ri>iii'_'  in  iii-!  'nv'n  y-'..  (!«_ 
foade  iiim.  3t*  laa  said  hi*  vorfi.  wfl  o  vfliiirrin-  t  '-,i:!.|  i\i,.-.v 
aim.  ^jo -ihanit*^  w  li'i'ain  tf  us  \rim.-8t-Hr.  .•'•■ipiwu  .mi  i—u  .ilL-..  .-■'ii 
Iodic  iunazni  ind  kiarmprt  vln-n  'Ijos**  i^m-cftt  »r.'  ,ii},ilili.>.!  .nf 
w'liii**  iravirv  viil  -r-main  >n  li»*  :'fi/»f<5  .r"  'd^'  n.-  •\tf  ''■!-".. im 
TSean :  'lu*  Ulii*s — •'♦■•ii  -hall  .pf*  i,  .»«?;r»  .invt'pfllni/  in  !>.•  ■••»>.■-•  >' 
TJie  >rht-rs ;    vhat  'lie  .iiiv*«|-'vi':;K.ri    vi  niil    all      ■    (Hr'nli-n-  ,nii:.i 

^    VJW    .mr     I    -Tniie    'Unt       »;«>J>=t»f1      ■\'^^^      iit»     .'■iin'r*-      •iii'nt...-i.'tT<i'-.     .a 

vm  ~hts.    Hit    k     ii>l\  .if     •■rTj-rthl"    ..n</r,)>li       -■m!.--u-.->i,f     .»•    .nr-i'iwv     ■■■•♦■ 

wn»  iiiefTtVmcir.v.     .r    s -iijr.iriiTini-    U>'t    i-*-    ,'...■/    ;,..:.■  .ri    !,;>•.,.<.. '.i-.-vi 
•a  -^notion  vir.h   iipnsnr**. 

•  L'ltr  .it  .'Oiirsp,  Uc  .'i:i«'.-  -.-.Titim-K-d 
^iumm  iLmdnlnhian  ic?n.n.»<!  •'  '^^  '-'fr', 
lit'  iSnotish     miuiiw.    .nH     -m    .,»p..      iiL-.ti 

MZU'TOli'S    Vlll      nil      n       'imc.»        -ilv      .'•.tni'liil>i|>i- 

glMMintf   kK  vpil    |4     melt      >      i:\.-f      1 

iir      klM      lot     :'flii«iW       .u  .:*rf..~        f       ^<^■^e^f^ 

^iutc  at^   if^n?  ■.ar<■h•»«^     -••"  ••"- 

'iknia^e  *}iAm  '.-rv     ,i.ui<i,'f.-.i.i<-  ■     •-■ii 


111.        .r•<>T'l^''^ 

■'■"     ^^.^ 

11 

•)'>•      .f.iifiiti' 

..  ..     «.„J... 

■t 

f        ■I'jf         |-i'fi'» 

.H»»i   •                1 

•  •• 

11          xfpf'.^o         • 

,1^1.      '.'.t 

tf 

Tli.'',UT'                        |.<^' 

....       ;.»! 

1 

«..•       :..ir       L- 

Isfi.l    'iw/*. 

.... 

w 1..-       •■■ 

.,!.         ..        : 

•1 

■>r. ,(.,»<•„  1      -,.. 

.|..-;"7P  •' 

'■ 

466 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


[APBlIi 


Beeing  this  bully  kingdom  (an  excellent  American  word)  thrown  into 
distraction  by  its  own  nalors  before  it  is  well  settled  on  its  foundations. 
I  see  iUesander's  head-clerk  grin  in  anticipation  of  the  fun.  And  is 
that  all  ?  " 

"  Are  you  waiting  for  me  to  give  you  an  answer  to  the  question  ?  " 

"  I  wisli  to  Heaven  that  you  would  give  the  answer  :  I  should  then 
have  a  better  belief  that  the  King  has  a  gliuimering  perception  of 
what  he  is  about,  and  I  should  be  relieved  of  the  delicatt;  duty  of 
answering  the  question  myself." 

"  Your  delicacy  is  always  understood,  I'riuce,  and  this  evening  it  is 
particularly  impressive." 

''  Impressive  I  mean  to  be,  if  I  can.  Well  then,  it  is  not  all. 
Give  me  a  glass  from  the  cask,  and  I  will  tell  you  w  hat  is  in  it  to  the 
bottom.  *  There  is  more  where  this  comes  from,'  says  Alexander's 
head  clerk  to  Alexander.  '  I  had  some  conversation  with  the  brewer 
a  little  while  since,'  says  Alexander  to  bis  head  clerk " 

The  King  flushed  with  mortification  and  wrath.     "  If  I  may 
80  bold,"  said  he,  "  I  will  ask  you  to  halt  there." 

"  You  shall  hear  me,  sir;  aud  if  you  do  not  pardon  my  bitterness 
now,  you  will  when  you  share  it.  In  plain  words,  the  conclosion 
that  must  be  dra^vn  from  these  proceedings  is  tliat  this  country  is  no 
longer  in  wise  hands,  no  longer  in  steady  hands,  or  safe.  It  is  iu  the 
hands  of  heady,  romantic  and  confident  impulsiveness,  capable  of 
incalctdable  turns  aud  surprises,  and  of  committing  itself  in  a  moment 
to  enormous  error.  So  much  is  suspected  already  ;  from  to-morrow  it 
will  be  impossible  to  doubt  it.  The  King  knows  well,  or  aliould  know, 
that  his  aliie.s  are  less  happy  and  leas  confident  in  their  bargain  t^an 
they  were  only  two  years  ago.  How  will  they  look  when  they  see  a 
firm  prospect  of  stability  fading  into  the  confusion  of  uncertainties 
that  will  rise  to  view  when  these  wonderful  socialist  plans  come  out  ? 
And  by  just  as  much  as  our  allies  decline  into  their  boots,  our 
enemies  will  lift  their  heads  and  laugh.  And  is  that  all  ?  We  have 
been  looking  abroad  so  far,  what  if  wo  look  at  home  ?  " 

"  Precisely  ;   let  us  look  at  home." 

"  We  are  in  partnership  here  too." 

*'  I  think  not." 

"  It  is  natural  for  some  of  us  to  forget  it,  but  others  will  be 
reminded  of  the  fact  when  the  curtain  goes  up  on  these  theatricals. 
First,  our  friends  abroad ;  secondly,  our  foes  abroad,  Trui-,  these 
last  have  hitherto  given  the  partnership  a  ridiculously  important  place 
in  their  calculations,  seeing  possibilities  of  a  break-up  of  the  federal 
kingdom  where  or  when  they  were  invisible.  But  now  there  is  a  thirdly  ; 
or  there  soon  will  be.  The  pai'tnership  will  be  brought  home  i-ather 
sharply  to  the  chiefs  of  every  once-independent  State  in  the  Con- 
federation ;  and  their  people  are  their  people,  with  no  particular  love 


1890]  KING  AXD  MIXISTKR,  U\r 

for  Blitzenbei^ers.  That,  however,  will  Ih^  of  no  iiii])«irtanoo  iC.  ilnrin^ 
the  progress  of  events  about  to  be  started,  uiuMiHineNs  linnH  iml.  hnvniin 
lesentment,  and  resentment  rek>lIion." 

"  Bagbear !"  the  King  exclaimed,  reacliin^  rin'Mi  Iiin  Imnd  Uy  tlm 
sword  that  was  always  to  be  found  on  him  or  mmr  tiiin,  nnd  li»|i]iiii(r 
it  prondly.  "  That  bogey  is  unworthy  of  itH  piinnln^o,  I'rinpi'.  Tliivi 
is  what  I  complain  of:  you  would  treat  mn  liko  u  \nty." 

"Boy  yoa  are,"  beamed  from  the  Minister's  nyi-H  ;  "  ftr»<  nnd  nv»i' 
will  be!  "  But  with  an  extraordinary  offort  of  jftAhrumn  lin  rf<rrniiind 
from  putting  his  reflection  into  words, 

"  Yet  it  is  something  to  loosen  the  bond.s  of  unify,"  ho  wiid.  "  A 
good  deal  of  blood  was  spilt  to  make  the  gluR." 

^  And  his  shall  be  spilt  who  moves  a  step  or  who  nti^n  n  wrtri]  f» 
disBolTe  thoee  bonds.'' 

llieae  words  were  spoken  with  an  immensity  of  pridft  anrl  rf<v>\ntif>\t ; 
but  ic  was  an  mitoward  speech,  and  the  moment  it  wan  i}t,f*iri>f\  thn 
King  harot  with  confusion  and  chajyrin.  fSrat  thf.  f'rinc*-.  wjm 
geo^roos.  and  murmured  ■*  nfmf.  wmyo  "  iindi-r  \\\n  Krwi-th.  .V'^iv^rthft-- 
LjsBu  he  fell  forthwith  into  a  spealcinir  aili»nce.  nc,t  ry»mpl«tAl7  dipir>. 
bus  only  parrialiy  s<*.  F".ir.  as  a  matt^ir  rS  isu:t.,  thorn  r|i«-| 
CO  the  inward  -^yes  ot*  him  a  rracriV.  iwvni^  that  had  pn«vwl 
hsSan  tliem  more  rhan  once  wifhin  rhn  iaHt  ff.w  fln-y^ ;  axxrl  asrain  if 
CKS&called  the  attention  ot  n  mind  <^-liiRh.  Iv^inor  f-iiat  of  a  -'rily  grr'^at, 
■saEssman.  was  in  the  hiifh*»st  dfaree  imaoinativf  :  a  difr.«r.->T»t  ^hin«? 
frvs  b^mr  fiinciful.  N'ow  w.*  ail  icnow  rhe  ahsnrii-ion  'hat  iriv-'^iHtilii'/ 
ehaHeniffKi  cariosity ;  ami  rhi*  iasr  vorrla  ^nolc••n  iJ^t.w.^PTi  ■  ln-api  •  -vry 
penouaoes  .gar«»  mfanine  ro  ^.hf*  dt'ad  ^iii^n^e  it"  rh*-  'JrU'r  .nan 
b  fennbled  tJiP  jonnqer  'ini*  .•W)r«»  :han  ;io  wimid  ;iav.>  .ib-ri  o 
acfcacwirnigp ;  and  aftf*r  i  .itlle  cijiii-  iu.  ^rkI.  in  ^i)ii,.  )f  iiiui'Si'M' 
~  Aad  now.  perhap-o.  '"on  '.lav.-   'omi^f  "o  .m    -nrl.  I'thp.-.   ihl'"-!«   .-on    tr>' 

~  Sit 'tnite  ro  -ii.»  -nd  .-  )i:t  irs-t-  -«in  <liail  ,-ii.  iv  -ir  v-'iat  .  '"i" 
lainiEmg  IS 'hf  momenr. '  -pnlii-fi  he  .\rini-ff'r  •«  f  -!.-,\vi;-  •T»ipr»/it.._j' 
7:nL  a  Tiaintui  "ertrir".  '  rin*  v-Hf-ntirin  ■.4Vi!PVf-fi  'i'  up  iQcinffH  ri 
4  IjuSijnal  iilnstratirm  -nrpml  .ftl^rr-  nv  ni^nfal  >-iv,iy  lint  iiVvolm  i<.>i 
taonuii  "Uwayq  h*  -n  iiiv-i*-  ii;in;i</i-.fi  ri  ni»i».-.cf..;..  ".-i!  .^Iu-WmiI  -liii 
ttsipiinett.  i*  ant  *o  ^t.    istri     nil    o-ivl^^r    u     ,pcr     i-i,.r.iia        '"l.ov..     j 

«nriiue,   "Omnlfpr'   ■ '.v.Miff.r  •  \'i,,-     ■■i-.,,t  .,    ,,.,■!•   .M     i-.m^*       V%.',j« 

■ni  mnic    jv   Ar*n.Tr,i,-!i  '  «<..!     niKf     -,      w '       \    .!;itw<»T)».v.,.' 

Bfiiarain»*nr  in   )Uv>fi  imi    y.tim  -.twi   .nd    .i-.it, ' 

Jt:;  rliesR   -Trciamsit-ioTi.;     ii«»  .r:i;,*..-     v,  .,,■.. ^i           •:!•■■!           •;^.'.« 


468 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[April. 


died ! ''  Then  for  tlie  King's  ears  he  muttered  in  a  low  tone  of 
rumination  :  "  Mottemich  !  ilettemich  \  "  Then  aloud,  as  he  rose  to 
take  his  cap  for  departure,  "•  Yon  remind  me,  sir,  that  I  have  my 
last  word  to  say,  and  it  is  this :  T  would  have  his  Majesty  believe  that 
he  cannot  thrust  off  the  Chancellor  nf  this  realm,  publicly  belittle 
and  supersede  him,  without  conse<|ut'nce8.  The  most  perfect  and 
even  the  most  well-founded  confidence  in  a  superior  sagacity  and 
strength  would  not  justify  hie  doing  so  ;  for  though  the  superiority  may 
exist — as,  perhaps,  we  shall  presently  see — not  a  soul  in  this  country 
o:"  beyond  this  country-  behoves  in  it." 

"  No  ?  "  said  the  King,  lifting  his  head  haughtily. 

"  No  ;  and  what  is  more,  sir,  has  no  reason  to  believe  in  it !  And 
let  me  add  that  the  service  of  the  State  must  suffer  in  every  part 
when  it  is  understood  that  the  faithfuUest,  highest,  best-proved  ser- 
vants of  the  common  country  are  subject  to  the  stroke  of  the  ver- 
milion pencil — borrowed  from  China.  And  now,  with  your  Majesty's 
permission,  I  will  take  leave," 

■'  Yon  have  been  very  candid,  ass  you  ever  are,"  said  the  King, 
taking  a  tight  hold  of  the  little  book  in  his  pocket;  "and  now, 
perhaps,  you  will  listen  to  a  few  plain  words  from  me.  Prince," 
and  here  his  Majesty  drew  himself  up  and  faced  his  Minister  loftily, 
"you  are  a  gi-eat  man,  and  the  utmost  gratitude  is  due  to  one  who  has 
so  faithfully  served  my  House.  I  acknowledge  in  you  a  great  historical 
personage;   but — you  are  hifitory  !  " 

■'  Your  Majesty  is  reported  to  have  said  the  same  thing  last  w( 
in  precisely  the  same  words.     I  heard  of  it  at  the  time." 

'*  And  I  hope  it  did  not  make  you  angry.  Now  listen.  I  am 
the  kiug  J  I  am  master  ;  I  am  the  New  Time  i  You  do  not  see  with 
my  eyes,  nor  do  I  see  with  yours ;  not,  at  any  rate,  in  these  matters 
that  we  have  been  discussing  lately.  If  you  cannot  follow  me  in  them, 
do  not  expect  ine  to  turn  back  with  you.  Where  you  see  rashness  and 
folly,  and  even,  1  understand,  destruction,  I  see  nothing  but  bold 
and  audacious  wisdom,  and  the  makings  of  a  more  splendid  future 
upon  what — thanks  very  much  to  you,  no  doubt — ^ia  a  noble  past.  It 
is  a  new  age  !  My  empire  is  in  its  youth  !  I  am  in  my  youth,  and  1  will 
be  its  leader  !  From  of  old,  my  people  and  its  kings  have  been  one ; 
and  they  shall  be  one  again,  with  no  intermediaiy  vvhateoever.  Under- 
stand that  well !     As  for  my  present  plans- " 

"  May  I  ask  the  date  of  them  ?  " 

"  From  my  very  boyhood- " 

'•  Your  pardon,  sir.  The  date  of  these  plans  for  wrapping  wolves 
in  fleeces,  and  leading  them  with  pipe  and  tabor  to  crop  the  green 
herb  with  your  Majesty's  muttons  ?  How  many  days  old  are  they, 
these  plans  ?     Give  them  their  right  name  :  they  are  impulses." 

"  If  you  please.      Any  way,  there  is  a  voice  that  tells  me  that  the 


AYA'G  AXD  MINISTER. 


4M 


0BHH  ud  ecKmgo  of  my  House  is  in  them,  and  they  shall  be 
panBedi!  Why,  even  where  yoa  see  danger  I  see  safety — power! 
Tkt  Head  aad  Hope  of  the  peoples  is  the  master  of  Europe !  " 

Tk&  Frince  did  not  often  blench,  but  he  blenched  at  this.  '*  Permit 
■e  to  ■aderatamd,''  he  said,  as  the  King  turned  prondly  on  his  heel  to 
tdbi  aaotber  torn  across  the  room,  *'  The  head  and  hope  of  the 
paapks  is  the  master  of  Euroi>e  !     The  peoples !  " 

Tl»e  King  laughed  aloud,  but  rather  nervously.    '^  Why  yea,  my  wise 
old  eoansellor.    Read  the  signs  of  the  times,  and  understand  that  such 
>,  if  he  stands  in  shoos  like  mine,  will  have  a  garrison  in  every 
round  about  him,  whether  friendly  or  hostile.     What  now  ?  " 
Stfuwelpeter  again!     A  friendly  garriaon  in  every  foreign  slum! 
mn  inspiration !     If  I  am  not  deceived,  then,  I  dimly  see  befoi-e 

a  Napoleon  of  Anarchy !    1  fancied  the  role  undesigned  ;  but 

Sir,  permit  me  to  say  good-night." 

The  Minister  moved  toward  the  door  impetuously  ;  but  the  King, 
who  was  nearer  to  it,  intervened,  standing  silent,  and  at  once  wrath- 
ful and  embarrassed.     At  length  he  said,  "  And  you  ?  " 

"  My  business   is  to   prepare   the  way  for  my  successor  in  your 
Majesty's  service.     Possibly  some  delay  may  be  unavoidable,  or  even 
ndicious.      But  I  hope  I  may  rely  upon  your  goodness  to  release  me, 
MK>mpletely,  as  soon  as  may  be." 

"•That  we  must  think  about,"  said  the  King,  with  majesty.  "  Mean- 
while, silence.  Prince,  of  course." 

"  Certainly.  Yet  no  one  must  be  allowed  to  imagine  that  1  share 
year  Majesty's  confidence  in  these  idees  NapolionitnncH" 

The  King  bowed,  the  Minister  bowed,  and  this  midnight  conversa- 
tion came  to  an  end. 

Afl  the  Prince  descended  the  stair  with  heavy  tread,  as  heavily 
went  the  King  to  gaze  again  n\yc>n  the  portraits  of  the  indomitable 
three.  But,  9omeho^^•,  the  sympathy  of  kindred  soul  that  beamed 
from  thera  at  most  times  seemed  checked  ;  and  the  King  was  not 
quite  himself  again  till  next  morning,  when  there  was  a  review. 


[ArEiL 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  COAL  NEAR  DOVER. 


THE  discovery  of  coal  near  Dover  is  one  of  those  events  which  mark 
a  new  era  in  our  industrial  development,  and  which  promises,  in 
the  not  very  remote  f  nture,  to  effect  the  same  changes  in  south-eastern 
England  as  those  which  have  been  caused  by  similar  discoveries  in 
France  and  Belgium  in  the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth  centuries. 
The  story  of  the  discovery  is  fall  of  interest,  not  merely  from 
the  commercial  point  of  view.  It  is  the  story  of  a  scientific  idea 
originated  many  years  ago,  taking  root  in  the  minds  of  geologists, 
developed  into  theory,  and  nltinmtely  verified  by  facts.  It  offers  a 
striking  example  of  the  relation  of  faith  to  works  in  the  scientific 
world.  The  faith  has  been  proved  by  experiment  to  be  tme,  and  the 
works  necessary  for  the  proof  would  not  have  been  carried  out  without 
the  faith.  The  idea,  which  when  first  started  was  in  advance  of  the 
evidence,  has  been  the  centre  round  which  the  facts  have  clustered, 
until,  from  the  standpoint  of  to-day,  it  appears  almost  as  the  result  of 
a  strict  and  rigid  induction,  without  any  trace  of  "  scientific  imagina- 
tion," or  a  jmori  argument. 


The  physical  identity  of  the  coal-bearing  districts  of  Somerset  on 
the  west,  with  those  of  Northern  France  and  Belgium  on  the  east,  was 
fully  recognised  by  Buckland  and  Conybeare,  as  far  back  as  1826,  as 
well  as  the  fact  that  the  coal-measures  lie  buried  partially  under  the 
newer  rocks.  It  was,  however,  not  until  twenty-nine  years  later  that 
the  idea  of  the  buried  coal-fields  was  advanced  by  Godwin-Austen, 
in  a  memorable  paper,  read  before  the  Geological  Society  of  London, 
**  On  the  Possible  Extension  of  the  Coal-measures  beneath  the  South- 
eastern Part  of  England."  *     He  pointed  out  that  the  coal-seama  are 

•  Quarterlif  Journal  Oeological  Soeieti/,  London,  1856,  xiL  p.  36. 


i89o]       THE  DISCOVERY  OF  COAL  NEAR  DOVER.         471 


vegetable  accamnlations,  on  flat  alluvial  marshes,  close  to  the  water- 
line,  and  extending  over  a  vast  area,  and  that  at  the  close  of  the 
carboniferous  age  these  coal-bearing  alluvia  wera  thrown  into  a  series 
of  folds,  the  upper  portion  of  which  have,  for  the  most  part.,  been 
removed  by  the  destructive  action  of  snl>-aerial  agents,  and  by  the  dash 
of  the  waves  on  the  shore  line,  and  lastly  that  most  of  the  present 
coal-fields  are  the  lower  portions  (synclines)  of  the  original  curves, 
which  have  been  preserved  by  their  position  from  the  operation  of  the 
above-named  destructive  forces.  Great  lines  of  smashing  also  and 
dislocation  were  developed  at  the  end  of  the  carboniferous  period, 
and  the  destruction  of  the  upper  curves  of  the  folded  rocks  was 
effected  before  the  deposit  of  the  newer  strata.  He  then  proceeded 
to  shew  that  the  general  direction  of  the  exposed  coal-fields  in  South 
Wales,  and  in  Somersetshire  on  the  west,  and  of  the  Belgian  and 
North  French  coal-fields  on  the  east,  was  ruled  by  a  series  of  folds 
running  east  and  west,  parallel  to  a  great  line  of  disturbance, 
centred  in  the  ridge,  or  "  axis  of  Artois,"  from  the  south  of 
Ireland,  through  South  Wales  and  North  Somerset  into  West- 
j>halia.  Throughout  this  area  the  exposed  coal-fields  lie  in  long, 
narrow,  east  and  west  troughs.  Then  the  series  of  faulted  and 
folded  carboniferous  and  older  rocks,  constituting  the  "axis  of  Artois," 
formed  a  barrier,  which  gradually  sank  beneath  the  sea  of  the  Triassic, 
Liassic,  Oolitic,  and  Cretaceous  ages.  Against  this  tlie  strata  of  the 
thre«  first-named  ages  gradually  thin  off,  while  in  France  and  Belgium 
the  coal-measures  and  the  older  rocks  of  the  ridge  have  been 
repeatedly  struck,  and  are  now  being  worked  immediately  beneath 
the  Cretaceous  strata,  over  very  wide  areas.  The  folded  coal-fields, 
moreover,  along  this  line,  are  of  the  same  mineral  character,  and  the 
pre- carboniferous  rocks  are  the  same  in  Somersetshire  and  on  the 
Continent.  This  ridge  or  barrier  also,  where  it  is  concealed  by  the 
newer  rocks,  is  marked  by  the  arch-like  fold  (anticlinal)  of  the  chalk 
of  Wiltshire,  and  by  the  line  of  the  North  Downs  in  Surrey  and 
Kent.  Godwin-Austen  finally  concluded,  from  all  these  observations, 
that  there  are  coal-fields  beneath  the  Oolitic  and  Cretaceous  rocks  in 
the  south  of  England,  and  that  they  are  near  enough  to  the  surface 
along  the  line  of  the  ridge  to  be  capable  of  being  worked.  He 
mentioned  the  Thames  Valley  and  the  Weald  of  Kent  and  Sussex  as 
possible  places  where  they  might  be  discovered. 

These  strikingly  original  views  gradually  made  their  way,  and  in 
the  next  eleven  years  became  part  of  the  general  body  of  geological 
theory.  They  were,  however,  not  accepted  by  Sir  Roderick  Murchison, 
the  then  head  of  the  Geological  Survey,  who  maintained  to  the  last 
that  there  were  no  valuable  coal-fields  in  South-eastern  England. 

The  next  stage  in  the  development  of  the  question  is  that  which  is 
marked  by  the  Coal  Commission  of  186G-71,  before  whom  Godwin- 


472 


TE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[ApRrt. 


Ansten  gave  evidence.  Prestwich  was  one  of  the  commissioners,  and 
to  him  we  are  indebted  for  an  elaborate  report,  in  which  he  gives  al] 
the  evidence  for  and  against  the  existence  of  the  buried  coal-fields. 
He  fortified  the  views  of  Godwin-Aneten  by  a  large  series  of  observa- 
tions, and  finally  concluded  that  coal-fields  of  the  same  kind  and  value  ag^ 
those  of  Somerset,  and  of  North  France  and  Belgium^  do  exist  under- 
neath the  newer  rocks  of  the  south  of  England,  and  that  the  very  same 
coal-measures  which  disappear  in  the  west  under  the  newer  rocks 
of  Somerset,  reappt-ar  in  the  east  from  underneath  the  newer  rocks 
of  the  Continent  along  the  line  of  the  ridge,  or  "  axis  of  Artois." 
These,  however,  do  not  consist  of  a  continuous  band  of  coal-producing 
rocks,  but  are  a  chain  of  long,  narrow,  and  isolated  coal-troughs, 
ranging  eastward  from  Somerset,  and  with  their  position  so  conceAled 
beneatli  the  newer  rocks,  that  it  can  only  be  ascertained  by  actual 
experiment.  The  publication  of  this  report  contributed  largely  to  the 
solution  of  the  question,  which,  up  to  this  time,  had  been  merely 
treated  as  a  matter  of  opinion,  by  helping  it  onward  towards  the 
experimental  stage. 

This  report,  was  published  in  1871,  and  in  the  following  year  the 
Sub-Wealden  Exploration  Committee  was   organised,  by  IVL'.   Henry i 
Willett,*  to  test  the  question  of  the  existence  of  the  carboniferous,  andl 
pre-carboniferous  rocks  in  the  Wealden  area,  by  an  experimental  boring»J 
The  site  chosen  was  Nethnrfield,  about  three  miles  south  of  Battle   in 
Sussex,  where  the  lowest  rocks  of  the  Wealden  formation  constitute 
the  bottom  of  the  valley.     It  was  resolved  to  go  down  as  far  as  the 
rocka  in  question,  which  were   thought  to  be  about  1000  feet  below, 
or  to  carry  the  boring  down  to  at  least  2000    feet,  if  they   were  not 
Btruck  before.  The  work  was  carried  on  under  considerable  diflSculties, 
until,  in  1 875,  it  had  to  be  abandoned,  on  account  of  the  breakage  of 
many  hundred    feet    of  cast-iron    lining-pipes,  and   the   loss  of  thft^ 
boring  tool  at  the  bottom  of  the  hole.     The  rocks  penetrated  were 
follows : — 

Section  at  NETrrERriELD. 


Purbeck  Stmta    . 

2(tn  feet 

Portland  Stmta    . 

57    „ 

Kimmerjdpe  Clay. 

1073    „ 

Corallian  Strata   . 

515    „ 

Oxfoi-dClay          .         .         .        '. 

60    „ 

1905  „ 

This  boring  showed  tJiat  the  eroded  surface  of  the  coal-measures  and 
older  rocks  were,  in  that  region,  more  than  nineteen  hundred  feet 
from  the  surface  of  the  ground.     We  may  also  infer,  from  the  fact  of 

•  The  CotQinittec  consisted  of  Profs.  Ramsey.  Warrington  Smyth,  antl  rhillijM,  Sir 
John  Lubbock,  Sir  Philij)  Egfrton,  and  Messrs.  i'ljoinai.  Hawksley',  Prestwich,  Bri^tow, 
itheridge,  Boyd  Dawkina,  Topley,  and  "Willett, 


i89oI       THE  DISCOVERY  OF  COAL  NEAR  DOVER.         473 


the  bottom  of  the  bore-hole  being  in  the  Oxford  clay,  and  from 
the  known  thickness  of  the  Bath  oolitic  strata  in  the  nearest  places, 
that  it  lies  buried  baneath  considerably  more  than  two  thousand  feet 
of  newer  rocks.  With  this  valuable,  though  negative,  result,  obtained 
at  a  cost  of  £0275,  the  Sub-Wcalden  Exploration  came  to  an  end.  It 
was  a  purely  scientific  inquiry  paid  for  by  subscription,  and  largely 
sapported  by  those  who  had  no  pecuniary  interest  in  the  result.  Had 
it  been  a  success,  the  large  landowners  in  the  neighbourhood,  who,  for 
the  most  part,  left  the  risk  of  the  experiment  to  outsiders,  would  have 
stepped  into  the  full  enjoyment  of  the  results.  The  chestnuts  woald 
have  been  out  of  the  fire,  without  their  paws  having  been  so  much  as 
warmed,  at  the  expense  of  those  of  the  cat. 

The  experience  of  the  boring  at  Netherfield  showed  that  the  search 
for  the  coal-measures  and  older  rocks,  of  Godwin-Austen's  ridge, 
would  have  to  be  carried  out  at  soTne  spot  further  to  the  north,  in  the 
direction  of  the  North  Downs.  In  the  di.strict  of  Battle  the  Oolitic 
rocks  were  proved  to  be  more  than  1700  feet  thick,  and  the  great 
and  increasing  thickness  of  the  successive  rocks  of  the  Wealden  forma- 
tion above  them,  which  form  the  surface  of  the  ground  between  Nether- 
field and  the  North  Downs,  rendered  it  undesirable  to  repeat  the  ex- 
periment within  the  Wealden  area  proper,  where  the  Wealden  rocks 
presented  a  total  thickness  of  more  tlian  1000  feet,  in  addition  to  that 
of  the  Oolites.  My  attention,  therefore,  was  directed  to  the  line  along 
the  North  Downs,  where  Godwin-Austen  believed  that  the  Wealden 
beds  abruptly  terminated  against  the  ridge  of  coal-measures  and  older 
rocks,  and  where,  therefore,  there  would  be  a  greater  chance  of 
«access. 

For  the  next  eleven  years  the  problem  remained  as  it  had  been 
left  by  the  boring  at  Netherfield.  In  the  area  of  London,  however, 
evidence  was  being  collected  in  various  sinkings  for  water,  through 
the  Iy>ndon  clay  and  chalk  rocks,  that  proved  the  existence  of  the 
ridge  in  question,  which  there  happened  to  consist  of  Silurian  strata  and 
old  Red  Sandstone,  at  depths  varying  from  about  800  feet  at  Ware,  to 
1239  feet  at  Richmond.  Here,  too,  there  were  no  Wealden  Strata,  and 
the  Oolites  at  their  thickest  were  not  more  than  87  feet.  The  rocks, 
moreover,  which  composed  the  ridge,  were  inclined  at  a  high  angle,  as 
in  the  case  of  similar  rocks  underlying  the  coal-fiflds  of  Somerset, 
aad  of  Northern  Franco  and  Belgium,  and  this  implied  the  existence 
of  troughs  of  coal-measures  in  the  synclinal  folds  in  neighbouring 
areas.  It  was  therefore  obvious  that  the  line  of  the  North  Downs  was 
a  desirable  region  for  a  second  experiment. 

I  come  now  to  the  last  e.xperiment  which  has  been  so  fortunately 
orowned  with  success.    In  1880*  I  presented  a  report  to  Sir  Edward  W. 

♦  Since  this  was  written  my  aftcrition  Las  been  dr&wn  to  the  fact  that  in  the  same 
TtAT  Wbitakcr  indicated  Dover  as  a  likclj  fiite  for  a  trial,  in  a  paper  road  before  the 
<i«ologlc&l  Socioty  of  London. 

VOL.  LVIL  2  1 


CONTEMP  ORAR  Y  RE  VIE  W. 


[Apwl 


Watkin,  Chairman  of  the  South-Eastern  Railway,  and  the  Channel 
Tunnel  Company,  on  the  general  question,  and  recommended  on  both 
scientific  and  commercial  grounds  that  a  boring  should  be  made  iu 
south-east  Kent,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Dover,  and  that  the  Channel 
Tunnel  works,  now  so  unfortunately  suspended,  oftered  the  best  site 
for  the  trial.  It  was  almost  within  sight  of  Calais,  where  the  coal- 
measures  had  been  proved  at  a  depth  of  1104  feet.  It  was  also  not 
more  than  six  miles  to  the  south  of  a  spot  where  about  four  hundred- 
weight of  bituminous  material  was  found  imbedded  in  the  chalk,  in 
making  a  tunnel,  which,  according  to  Godwin-Austen,  had  been 
derived  from  the  coal-measures  l>elow.  Prestwicb  also  had  pointed 
out,  in  187S,  in  dealing  with  Ihe  question  of  a  tunnel  between  England 
and  France,  that  the  older  rocks  were  within  such  easy  reach  at  Dover 
that  they  could  be  utilised  for  the  making  of  a  submarine  tunnel.  Sir 
Edward  Watkin  acted  with  his  usual  energy  on  my  report,  and  the 
work  was  begun  in  1 886,  and  has  been  carried  on  down  to  the  present 
time,  under  my  advice,  and  at  the  expense  of  the  Channel  Tunnel 
Company.  The  boring  operations  have  been  under  the  direction  of 
Mr.  r.  Brady,  the  chief  engineer  of  the  South-Eastern  Railway,  to 
whose  ability  we  owe  the  completion  of  the  work  to  its  present  point, 
under  very  difficult  circumstances. 


±  Chalk. 


Coal  Mttururft. 


A BoriJiji. 

B.Channf  I  Tunnel  Shaft. 


Kin.  1. — Section  of  the  Strata  in  Boring  at  Sluikebpeare  ClifT,  Dover. 


A  shaft  has  been  sunk  (A  of  Fig,  1)  on  the  west  side  of  Shake- 
speare Clirt',  close  to  the  shaft  of  the  Channel  Tunnel  (B)  to  a  depth 
of  44  feet,  and  from  the  bottom  of  this  a  bore-hole  has  been  made  to 
a  depth  of  1180  feet.     The  rocks  penetrated  are  as  follows  : — 


»89o]        THE  DISCOVERY  OF  COAL  NEAR  DOVER. 


475 


Section  at  Shakespeare  Cuff,  Bover. 


Lower  grey  chalk  and  chalk  marl    . 

(ilawoonitio  marl     ..... 

Gault 

Neocomian  or  lower  gi-eensand 

Portland  stratii        ..... 

Kiinmei'idge  clay     ..... 

C'oi-allian  rocks        ..... 

Oxford  clay    ...... 

Kelloway  rock        ..... 

Bathoniaa  or  lower  Oolites 

Coal-measurea  consisting  of  sandstones,  I 
clajstones,  shales,  and  underclays,  with  ^ 
coal I 


5(11)  ft. 


GCO 


i'O 


"Xhe  coal-measures  were  struck  at  a  depth  of    1204  feet  from    the 

Surface,  and  a  Beam  of  good  blazing  coal  was  met  with  20  feet  lower. 

Tliis  discovery  establishes  the  fact  that,  at  a  depth  of  about  1204 

dfeet  from  the  surface,  there  is  a  coal-field  lying   buried  under   the 

xiewer  deposits  of  south-eastern  England,  and  proves  up  to  the  hilt 

"the  truth  of  Godwin-Auisten's  hypothesis  after  a  lapse  of  thirty-five 

^ears.     The  question  is  finally  settled  so  far  as  the  purely  geological 

and  scientific  side  of  it  goes.    It  is,  howeverj  too  soon,  while  the  works 

are  still  in  progress,  to  estimate  the  commercial  value  of  the  discover}', 

the  number  of  the  seams,  or  the  total  thickness  of  the  coal  underneath 

the  Shakespeare  Cliff.     Nor  can  the  extent  of  the  buried  coal-fields 

be  ascertained  without  many  other  similar  trials  in  other  places.    There 

are,  however,  ample  grounds  for  the  belief  that  it  is  of  vast  importance 

from  the  value  of  the  Belgian  and  North  French  coal-fields  on  the 

eastern,  and  those  of  Somerset  and  South  Wales  to  the  western  end  of 

the  buried  ridge  of  carboniferous  and  older  rocks. 

A  series  of  great  coal-fields  extends,  as  may  be  seen  in  Godwin- 
AoBten's  map  in  the  CoaJ  Commission  Report,  from  Westphalia  in  a 
ireakerly  direction.     They  are,  as  Prestwich  writes  : 

"  Deep,  long,  and  narrow,  and  their  long  axes  succeed  one  another  in  the 
same  line  of  strike.  Omitting  a  few  smftll  iinimportint  coal-ba^iins,  the  most 
euHterly  of  the  groat  coal-fields  is  known  as  that  of  the  Ruhr,  the  .second  as 
that  of  Aix-la-Chapelle,  the  third  hh  that  of  Liege,  and  the  fourth  .as  that  of 
Charleroi,  Mons,  and  Valenciennes.  In  all  these  districts  the  coal-measures 
are  tilteil-up  or  faulted  on  the  south  against  the  mountain  limestone  anil 
older  rocks,  and  pass  northward  under  the  newer  strata,  beneath  which  they 
are  prolonged  until  thrown  out  by  other  undulations  of  the  older  rock.s.  The 
width,  north  and  south,  of  these  coal-tields  is  always  small  compared  to  their 
length.  ThuH  the  coal-fields  of  Liege  is  only  tln-ee  to  eight  miles  wide, 
whert««  it  haa  a  length  of  forty-five  miles.  So  the  exposed  coal-fields  from 
Namur  u>  f'liarlcroi  is  thiHy-threo  miles  long;  it  then  pas.>*es  under  the 
dr*''  '  strata,  and  is  prolonged,  with  a  few  small  e.\posureve, 

uii"  md  thence  to  Valenciennes.   The  length  of  this  other 

porliuu  uf  Uie  cuiil-iitild  is  thirty- two  miles,  making  a  total  of  sixty-live  miles, 


CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


lAvnih 


with  a  width  near  Namiir  of  two  miles,  increasing  to  seven  or  eigbt  milfis 
near  Chavleroi,  and  continued  in  Franco  witJi  a  widtb  of  from  six  to  seven 
miles." 

The  enormous  value  of  the  Valenciennes  coal-field  during  the  last 
one  hundred  years  pave  rise  to  numerous  borings  being  made  through 
the  chalk  and  Tertiary  sti'ata,  by  which  it  has  been  proved  to  range 
past  Douai  and  Btthune  as  far  to  the  west  as  Aire,  and  within  thirty 
miles  of  Calais,  Between  Bethune  and  Aire  it  is  less  than  one  mile 
in  width.  The  discovery  of  coal -measures  in  sinking  a  well  at  Calais, 
at  a  depth  of  1104  feet  (see  Fig.  2),  revealed  the  presence  of  a  fifth 


.OaiA 


BTHAITS  of  DOVrn 


Coal 
attastt  re 


Fig.  2. 


-Section  showing  ilie  probable  range  of  tlio  Coal-measures  from  Dover  to 


Cnal-field  setting  in  along  the  same  line  of  strike,  and  making  straight 
for  Dover  under  the  Channel.  It  is,  in  my  opinion,  part  of  the  Dover 
coal-field. 

It  remains  to  extend  the  Belgian  and  French  coal  measures  still 
further  to  the  west  under  soutliern  England,  by  trial  Ixirings,  by  which 
they  have  been  tracked  through  more  than  two  departments  in  Franco. 
They  will,  in  my  belief,  ultimately  be  proved  to  form  a  chain  of  isolated 
£eld8,  extending  from  Dover  to  Somerset. 

Nor  can  there  be  any  doubt  as  to  the  value  of .  these  coal-fields, 
when  the  value  of  Westphalian,  Belgian,  and  French  coal-fields  is 
taken  into  account.  The  Westphalian  field  is  7218  feet  thick,  with 
117  seams,  yitldiner  21)1  feet  of  workable  coal.  That  of  Li6ge  is 
7G00  feet,  with  85  seams,  and  about  212  feet  of  workable  coal.  That 
of  Mons  9-100,  with  110  seams  and  250  feet  of  valuable  coal.  In 
Somerset.=^hire  the  coal-measures  are  8100  feet  thick,  with  55  seams, 
yielding  98  feet  of  workable  coal,  and  in  South  Wales  1100  feet,  with 
75  seams  and  120  feet  of  available  coal.  These  coalfields  may  reason- 
ably be  taken  to  indicate  the  value  of  those  which  await  the  explorer 
in  southern  Enghind. 

Are  they,  however,  it  may  be  asked,  within  the  depths  at  which 
mining  can  be  carried  on  at  profit  ?    They  occur  at  Dover  at  1204  feet 


iS9o]        THE  DISCOVERY  OF  COAL  NEAR  DOVER. 


477 


rfrom  tho  surface,  and  at  Calais  at  llO'l,  and  further  to  the  west, 
Btween  Dover  and  London,  maj  be  expected  to  be  at  the  same  depth 
as  the  Old  Red  Sandstone  under  London,  or  at  about  1100  feet. 
This  deptli  is  well  within  the  limits  of  practical  mining.  Most  of  the 
important  coal-pits  in  this  country  are  worked  at  a  much  greater 
depth  than  this,  and  range  to  over  2800  feet.  In  Belgium  one  pit 
at  Charleroi  is  worked  to  a  depth  of  3il2  feet.  Year  by  yoar,  as  the 
means  of  ventilation,  are  improved,  they  are  being  pushed  deeper. 
The  coal  commissioners  i\x  the  limit  at  i-000  feet  because  the  tem- 
perature of  the  rock  at  that  depth  is  about  98°,  or  blood-heat,  at 
■which  work  becomes  so  difficult  as  to  be  almost  impossible.  The 
temperature,  however,  of  the  air  in  the  workings  can  be  regulated  by 
the  expansion  of  compressed  air,  which,  at  tlio  point  of  escape,  lowers 
the  snrroonding  air  to  freezing  point.  With  this  system  of  ventila- 
tion the  only  limit  to  depth  is  that  of  expense. 

From  these  considerations  it  is  obvious  that  a  large  addition  to 
the  supply  of  coal  may  reasonably  be  expected  from  southern 
England. 

The  discovery  of  these  hidden  coal-fields  is  a  question  of  national 
importance,  well  worthy  of  the  attention  of  Parliament.  It  is  closely 
connected  with  tho  question  of  royalties,  which  is  now  being  con- 
sidered by  a  Royal  Commission.  As  the  law  stands  at  present,  if 
the  search  for  coal  be  successful,  the  neighbouring  landowners,  who 
nay  or  may  not  have  contributed  to  the  experiment,  are  masters  of 
'the  situation,  because  they  can  charge  what  royalties  they  like.  They 
can  also  use  the  knowledge,  obtained  by  a  successful  venture,  to  guide 
them  to  sink  pits  of  their  own,  without  any  acknowledgment  to  those 
who  have  paid  for  the  venture.  This  serious  difficulty  in  the  way  of 
developing  the  coal-fields  may,  in  my  opinion,  be  met  without  inter- 
ference with  the  law  of  private  property,  by  a  small  royalty  being  paid 
to  the  original  adventurers  on  all  coal  raised  within  a  certain  specified 
distance  of  the  successful  boring  and  for  a  specified  term  of  years. 
Or,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Government  might  itaolf  take  the 
necessary  exploration  in  hand,  and  repay  itself  by  a  charge  levied 
on  the  coal  brought  to  the  surface.  Or  lastly,  the  landowners  in  a  given 
district  might  band  together  to  have  the  experiment  carried  out  at 
their  own  expense. 

It  cannot  reasonably  be  expected  that  many  such  enterprises  as  this, 
which  has  been  so  energetically  pushed  by  Sir  Edward  Watkin,  will  be 
Cfuried  on  under  the  present  condition  of  the  law  as  to  minerals.  At 
present  all  the  atlvantagea  go  to  the  landowners,  and  all  the  risks  to  the 
ndventnrers.  Looking  at  tho  magnitude  of  the  interests  involved  in 
this  matter  it  is  undoubtedly  deserving  of  special  legislation.  In 
France  the  minerals  belong  to  the  State,  and  every  encouragement  is 
given  to  private  enterprise,  with  the  net  result  that  wealthy  centres  of 


A  LITTLE  circle  of  iniluential  writers  for  the  Press  are  doing 
their  best  to  persuade  the  public  thai.  "  the  critical  orthodoxies  " 
of  the  day  are  opposed  to  all  forms  of  idealism  in  literature,  that 
"  romanticism  "  is  a  "  backwater,"  and  that  the  "  stream  of  tendency  " 
is  towards  a  newer  and  purer  *•  realism."'  Nonr,  I  feel  rery  strongly 
that  this  is  utterly  untrue,  Eind  that  somebody  should  say  so  with  all 
the  emphasis  he  can  command,  and  thereliy  warn  the  public  against 
an  error  that  must  be  fatal  to  the  making  of  good  literature,  the 
appreciation  of  good  literature,  and  the  moral  eftects  of  good  literature 
wherever  it  gains  credence  and  support.  But  first  let  me  say  what 
I  take  these  two  words  ''realism"  and  "idealism"  to  mean  when 
applied  to  the  literature  that  we  call  imaginative.  I  take  realism  to 
mean  the  doctrine  of  the  impc>rtance  of  the  real  facts  of  life,  and 
idealism  the  doctrine  of  the  superiority  of  ideal  existence  over  the  facts 
of  life.  1  am  not  a  logician,  and  may  lack  skill  in  stating  my  deHui- 
tions,  but  I  think  plain  people  will  grasp  my  plain  meaning. 

Long  ago  M.  Zola  put  forth  a  sort  of  manifesto  in  support  of  the 

writings  of  the  brothers  De  Goncourt,  and,  as  nearly  as  I  can  remem- 

4wr   it,  ho  therein   told  the   world  that  the    school    to   which  they 

tSrloniTHl  had  st-t  out  with  one  clear  aim,  and  one  only,  that  of  repro- 

'  actual  life.     No  romance,  no  poetry,  no  uucommon  incidents, 

ii  no  situations  were  to  be  touched  by  them.     These  things 

I  he  machinery  of  an  earlier  school  of  writers,  of  Dumas  and 

.Sue.     Only  the  plain,  unvarnished,  naked,  stark  fact  was  to 

>d,  and  with  such  materials  they  were  going  to  produce 

I   nbould    be  bi-yond   comparison    more   potent  than  any 

n  'Uiiijticism  in  their  influence  on  man  and  the  world.    Well, 

what  the  end  of  it  has  been  ;  bat  I  am  not  going  to  discuss 


480 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[API 


Zolaism  in  its  effects.  Clean-mincTed  people  are  weary  of  the  talk  of  ^ 
it)  and  I  grieve  to  see  tliab  a  writer  of  pure  and  noble  instincts,  | 
Thomas  Hardy,  in  his  recent  protest  against  the  painfal  narrowness 
Englisli  fiction,  has  been  betrayed  into  prescribing  a  remedy  for  the] 
evil  that  is  a  thousand  times  worse  than  the  disease.  One  frequent 
reply  to  the  plea  of  the  French  realist  is  that  in  his  determination  to 
paint  the  world  as  it  is  he  has  only  painted  the  world's  cesspools. 
And  indeed  it  is  s  sufficient  answer  to  say  that,  though  there  may  be 
many  Madame  Bovarys  in  the  world,  the  Madame  Bovarys  are  not 
the  women  whom  right-minded  people  want  to  know  more  about,  and 
that  though  the  world  holds  many  harlots,  we  do  not  wish  to  look 
down  into  the  deep  pit  that  is  a  harlot's  heai*t.  Bat  there  is  a  better 
rejoinder  to  the  demand  of  the  realist  that  he  should  be  allowed  to 
paint  the  world  as  it  is,  and  that  is  that  he  never  can — no,  not  if  h& 
were  a  thousand  times  a  Balzac.  And  in  attempting  to  do  so  he  is 
not  only  missing  the  real  aim  of  true  literature,  but  ranning  a  fearful 
risk  of  following  a  false  literature  that  can  never  do  the  world  any 
good. 

What  I  mean  is  this  :  the  largest  view  that  any  one  man  can  tal 
of  life  "as  it  is  "  usually  shows  him  more  that  is  evil  than  good.  The 
physical  eye  sees,  must  sec,  and  always  has  seen,  an  enormous  prepon- 
derance of  evil  in  the  world.  It  h  only  the  eye  of  imagination,  the' 
eye  of  faith,  that  sees  the  balance  of  good  and  evil  struck  somewhere 
and  in  some  way.  And  if  the  physical  eye  in  its  pride  goes  abroad 
to  believe  only  what  it  can  see,  it  comes  home  either  blurred  with 
tears,  as  Carlyle's  was  when  he  asked  himself  what  God  could  be  doing 
in  the  world  he  had  made  for  man,  or  shining  with  ridicule,  as 
Voltaire's  was  when  he  protested  that  there  v/as  no  God  in  the 
rascally  world  at  all.  For  the  former  of  these  there  is  the  salvation 
of  faith  always  hovering  near,  but  the  latter  is  by  much  the 
'likely  chance,  and  for  that  there  is  no  salvation  whatever.  It  brin^ 
cynicism  with  it,  and  cynicism  is  the  deadliest  enemy  that 
literature  ever  had  or  can  have. 

Now  this  is  the  real  pitfall  of  realism — cynicism.  It  never  has, 
and  never  will,  lay  hold  of  an  imaginative  mind,  for  imagination  and 
cynicism  cannot  live  together,  and  no  man  of  imagination  ever  was 
will  be  a  cynic.  But  it  possesses,  like  a  passion,  another  type 
mind  that  none  can  dare  to  undervalue,  a  type  of  mind  that  is  oft«n 
stronger  than  the  imaginative  mind  and  always  more  trustworthy  oa 
the  le.sser  issues  of  life.  And  it  is  an  evil  thing  ia  literature,  because 
it  leads  to  nothing.  It  prompts  no  man  to  noble  deeds,  it  restrains 
no  woman  from  impurity,  it  degrades  the  vii'tues  by  taking  all  tha, 
xmaelfishness  out  of  them  that  is  their  spiritual  part.  So  when  wo 
hear  the  realist  boast  that  he  is  painting  "  life  as  it  ia,"  it  will  be  a 
sufGoient  answer  to  say  that  he  is  talking  nonsense  ;  bat  we  can  add 

/ 


i89o] 


THE   NEW   WATCHWORDS   OF  FICTION, 


481 


with  truth  that,  if  it  were  possible  for  him  to  paint  the  world  as  he 
sees  it,  the  chances  are  that  he  would  thereby  be  doing  the  world 
.IDttch  harm. 

The  true  consort  of  imagination  is  enthusiasm,  the  man  of  itnagiaa«- 
tion  has  never  lived  who  was  not  also  an  enthusiast,  and  enthusiasm 
is  the  only  force  that  has  ever  done  any  good  in  the  world  since  the 
world  began.  It  is  the  salt  of  the  earth,  the  salt  without  which  the 
earth  would  rot,  and  when  things'  rot  they  stink.  "We  see  how  surely 
it  has  been  so  with  French  fiction,  which,  for  twenty  years  past,  has 
been  the  least  imaginative  fiction  produced  in  Europe.  It  has  no  salt 
of  enthusiasm  in  it,  and  so  it  rota  and  stinks.  It  is  cynical,  and 
,Boit  does  the  world  no  good.  Bat  enthusiasm,  living  with  imagina- 
tion in  the  hearts  of  great  men,  has  again  and  again  set  the  world 
aflame,  and  purified  as  well  as  ennobled  every  nature  it  has  touched, 
save  only  the  natures  that  werf  touched  already  with  fanaticism. 

And  this  enthusiasm,  which  cannot  live  at  peace  with  realism,  lives 
and  flourishes  mth  idealism.  It  seema  to  say,  "  If  we  cannot  paint 
the  world  as  it  is,  we  can  paint  it  as  it  should  be,"  and  that  is  idealism. 
Don't  say  the  idealist,  by  my  own  showing,  starts  from  nowhere.  He 
starts  from  exactly  the  same  scene  as  the  realist,  the  scene  of  daily  life, 
and  with  the  same  touch  of  mother  earth,  only  he  realizes  that  the  little 
bit  of  life  that  has  come  under  his  physical  eye  is  only  a  dispropor- 
tionate fragment  of  the  whole,  and  the  eye  of  imagination  tells  him  of 
,tiie  rest.  If  he  sees  the  wicked  prosper  in  this  life,  he  does  not 
content  himself  with  a  mere  picture  of  the  wicked  man's  material 
prosperity,  leaving  his  reader  to  cry  "  If  this  is  true,  what  is  God 
^  doing  ?  "  No ;  but  he  shows  side  by  side  with  the  material  prosperity 
a  moral  degradation  so  abject  and  so  pitiful,  that  the  reader  must 
rather  cry,  '*  Not  that,  not  that  ab  any  price  !  "  Thus  he  shows  the 
man  who  has  failed,  as  the  world  goes,  that  to  have  succeeded  might 
have  been  a  worse  fate,  and  he  reminds  the  man  who  has  won  in  life's 
battle  that  the  man  who  has  lost  may  yet  be  his  master.  Lifting  up 
[tlie  down-trodden,  encouraging  the  heavy-laden,  "helping,  when  he 
tneeta  them,  lame  dogs  over  stiles,"  he  does  the  world  some  good  in 
his  way,  and  he  does  it,  not  by  painting  life  as  he  sees  it,  but  by 
virtue  of  the  inward  eye  that  we  cull  Idealism. 

Now  this  idealism  has  nearly  always  talcen  the  turn  of  romanticism 
when  applied  to  literature.  It  was  so  when  Schiller,  in  his  youth  and 
wild  inexperience,  struggled  to  express  himself  in  "The  Robbers," 
when  Goethe  vrvote  '"Faust,"  when  Coleridi^e  wrote  "  The  Ancient 
Mariner,"  when  Scott  wrote  "Old  Mortality"  and  "The  Bride  of 
Lammermoor."  Romance  seemed  to  these  writers  the  natural  vehicle 
for  great  conceptions.  Not  that  they  wanted  big  situations,  startling 
ofliscts,  pictnreatjno  accessories,  for  their  own  sakea  only.  These  were 
I  fell  good  in  theii'way,  and  no  writer  of  true  instijicts  could  have  under- 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


lAp&h. 


valued  them.  But  they  were  not  the  prizes  for  which  the  authors  8©t 
out.  They  had  no  life  of  their  own  opart  from  the  central  fire  that 
brought  Ihem  into  exiatence.  It  was  not  the  Slough  of  Despond  that 
produced  Christian,  but  Christian  that  called  for  the  Slough  of 
Despond.  Then,  again,  Idealism  claims  Romance  as  her  handmaid>='n, 
but  she  does  not  require  that  the  handmaiden  shall  be  of  surpassing 
beauty  ;  shi.^  may  be  a  very  plain-featured  body.  Romanticism  does 
not  live  only  in  the  loveliest  spots  in  this  world  of  God,  and  it  does  not 
belong  exclusively  to  the  past,  as  some  writers  imply.  It  exists  within 
the  four-mile  radius  at  the  present  hour,  and  could  be  found  there  if 
only  we  had  a  second  great  idealist  like  Dickens  to  go  in  search  of  it. 

To  condemn  all  forms  of  romance,  na  the  Zola  manifesto  tried  to  do, 
to  banish  from  fiction  all  incidents  that  are  out  of  the  common,  all 
effects  that  are  startling  and  "sensational,"  all  light  and  colour  that 
are  not  found  in  every-day  life,  is  t^  conPrnind  the  function  of  the 
novelist  with  that  of  the  historian.  To  the  historian  fact  is  a  thing  for 
itself,  it  is  sacred,  it  dominates  all  else.  To  the  novelist  fact  is  only 
of  value  as  a  help  towards  tlie  display  of  passion  ;  he  does  not  deliber- 
ately falsify  fact,  but  fact — mere  fact — has  no  sanctity  for  him,  and  he 
would  a  thousand  times  rather  outrage  all  the  incidents  of  history  than 
belie  one  impulse  of  the  human  heart. 

The  idea  at  the  bottom  of  the  Zola  manifesto  is  a  sophism,  and  a 
shallow  sophism.  It  seems  to  say  that  the  novelist,  like  the  historian, 
has  for  his  chief  function  that  of  painting  the  life  of  his  tiiue,  and 
leaving  Ix'hind  him  a  record  as  faithful  and  yet  more  intimate.  To 
accept  this  is  to  narrow  the  range  of  imaginative  art,  which  should 
have  no  limits  whatever,  certainly  none  of  time  or  healthy  human 
interest.  The  real  function  of  the  novelist  has  been  too  frequently 
propounded,  and  ought  to  be  too  obvious  to  stand  in  need  of  definition. 
It  is  that  of  proposing  for  solution  by  means  of  incident  and  story  a 
problem  of  human  life.  Passion  therefore,  not  fact,  lies  at  the  root  of 
the  novelist's  art.  Passion  is  the  central  fire  from  which  his  fact 
radiates,  and  fact  is  nothing  to  him  except  as  it  comes  from  that  cen- 
tral lire  of  passion.  He  looks  about  him,  not  for  startling  situations 
(though  these  he  would  be  a  fool  to  despise),  but  for  the  great  mys- 
teries of  life,  and  then  he  tries  to  find  light  through  them.  These 
mysteries  are  many,  and  do  not  belong  to  an  age,  but  to  all  time.  Two 
good  men  love  one  woman,  and  one  of  them  goes  up  to  Paradise  while 
the  other  goes  down  to  Hell.  There  is  a  problem  of  life,  a  human 
tragedy  occurring  constantly.  How  is  it  to  be  solved  ?  What  will  or 
should  the  rejected  man  do  ?  That  is  the  question  the  novelist  sets 
himself,  and  to  ansvvor  such  a  question  is  the  novelist's  liighestand  all 
but  his  only  natural  function.  But,  in  answering  it,  must  he  Limit 
kimaelf  to  life  as  he  has  seen  it  ?  If  so,  the  chances  ar«  a  thousand  to 
one  that  he  will  make  the  rejected  man  kill  his  favoui'ed  rival,  or  else 


i89o]  THE   NEW    WATCHWORDS    OF  FICTION.         483 

the  woman,  or  both.  That  ia  realism,  that  is  painting  "life  as  it  is." 
And  is  the  world  likely  to  be  much  the  better  of  it  ? 

The  idealist  goes  differently  to  work.  Instead  of  asking  himself 
what  solution  to  this  problem  life  and  the  world  have  shown  him,  he  asks 
his  own  heart  of  what  solution  human  nature  at  its  highest  is  capable. 
This  leads  him  to  the  heroisms  which  it  is  so  easy  for  the  cynic  to  deride. 
And  the  heroisms,  for  their  better  effects,  often  tempt  him  to  a  more 
inspiring  scene  and  picturesque  age  than  he  lives  in.  He  wants  all 
that  the  human  heart  can  do,  and  he  gets  heroism  ;  he  wants  heroism 
to  look  natural,  and  he  gives  it  a  certain  aloofness,  and  that  is  Roman- 
ticism. 

It  18  easy  to  foresee  the  kind  of  objection  that  may  be  urged  to 
Idealism  as  an  aim  in  fiction,  and  no  writer  could  put  it  more  forcibly 
than  Mr.  Russell  Lowell  did  in  one  of  his  early  letters  to  the  author 
of  ••  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin." 

"  A  moml  aim  is  a  fine  thing ;  but,  in  making  a  story,  an  artist  is  a  traitor 
who  doos  not  sacrifice  everything  to  art.  Rememlier  the  lesson  that  Christ 
gnve  II*  twice  over.    First,  he  preferred  the  ii-seless  Mary  to  the  dishw.tshing 

k Martha ;  and  next,  when  that  exeniptaiy  uioi'alist  and  fiiend  of  humanity, 
Jadas,  objected  to  the  sinful  waste  of  the  Mag<lalen's  ointment,  the  great 
Teacher  would  rather  it  should  Ijc  wasted  in  an  act  of  simjjlo  l»euuty  than 
utilised  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor.  Cleopatra  was  an  artist  when  she  dis- 
solved her  biggest  pearl  to  captivate  her  Antony-public.  May  I,  a  critic  by 
Iprofession,  say  the  whole  truth  to  a  woman  of  genius?  Yes?  And  never 
w  forgiven  ?  I  Khali  try,  and  trj-  to  he  f<»rgiven,  too.  In  the  first  place, 
pay  no   regard  to  the  advice  of  anybody.     In  the  second  place,  pay  a  great 

Ideal  to  mine  !  A  Kilkenny-cattish  sort  of  advice?  Not  at  all.  My  iidvice 
i«  to  follow  your  own  instincts,  to  stick  to  nature,  and  to  .ivoid  what  people 
Commonly  call  the  *  Ideal ' ',  for  that,  and  beauty  and  j>athos  and  success,  all 
lie  in  the  simply  natui-al There  are  ten  thonsjind  people  who  can 
write  '  ideal '  things  for  one  who  cau  see  and  feel  and  reproduce  iiatiu-e  and 
cbamcter.  Ten  thousand,  did  I  say  ?  Nay,  ten  mihiou.  What  made  Shak- 
spere  so  great  ?  Nothing  hut  eyes  and — faith  in  them.  The  same  is  true 
of  Thackeray.  I  see  nowhere  more  often  than  in  authors  the  truth 
that  men  love  their  opposites.  Dickens  insists  on  being  ti-agic,  and  makes 
«hipwreck." 

Now,  forcible  and  eftective,  sound  and  true  as  this  seems  at  first 
sight  to  be,  it  is,  I  make  bold  to  say,  one  of  the  most  misleading  bits 
of  criticism  ever  put  forth  by  a  gi-eat  critic.      Surely  it  would  not  be 

I  bard  to  dispute  every  clause  of  it,  but  only  one  of  its  clauses  concerns 
U5  at  presemt,  and  that  is  the  broad  statement  that  "  t<:'n  million  "  can 
write  "ideal"  things  for  "one  who  can  see  and  feel  and  reproduce 
nature  and  character."  Exactly  the  reverse  of  this  is  the  manifest 
truth.  Indeed,  to  outstrip  Mr.  Lowell  in  his  flight  of  numbers,  I  will 
nr  tliat  there  is  hardly  a  living  human  being  who  cannot  in  some 
-Hwasure  "  see  and  feel  and  reproduce  nature  and  character."  Tlie 
mere«L  child  can  do  it,  and  often  does  it(such  is  the  strength  of  the  talent 
for  mimicry  in  man),  with  amazing  swiftness  and  fidelity.    The  veriest 


484 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Apsu. 


stable-boy,  the  simplest  village  natural,  will  startle  you  with  his  repro- 
ductions of  the  oddities  of  character,  and  the  novelist  who  has  rendered, 
however  faithfully,  however  humorously  or  pathetically,  the  scene  on 
which  his  bodily  eyes  have  rested,  has  achieved  no  more  than  the  cx)nie- 
dian  on  the  stxige.  But  lest  this  statement  of  mine  should  seem  to  be  too 
daring  a  negative  to  the  word  of  so  high  an  authority,  let  me  set  Mr. 
Lowell  in  contrast  with  one  who  can  do  him  no  dishonour  by  a  contradic- 
tion. "As  the  actual  world,"  says  Bacon,  "is  inferior  to  the  rational  soul, 
so  Fiction  gives  to  Mankind  what  History  denies,  and  in  some  measure 
satisfies  the  mind  with  shadows  when  it  cannot  enjoy  the  substance. 
And  as  real  History  gives  us  not  the  success  of  things  according  to  the 
deserts  of  vice  and  virtue,  Fiction  corrects  it,  and  presents  us  with  the 
fates  and  fortunes  of  persons  rewarded  and  punished  according  to 
merit."  Obviously  Bacon,  with  all  hia  strong  common-sense,  was  not 
one  of  those  "  who  avoid  what  people  commonly  call  the  '  Ideal.' "  And 
Burton,  quoting  this  passage  in  the  Terminal  Essay  to  his  monumental 
'*  Thousand  Nights  and  a  Night,"  adds,  in  his  virile  way :  "  But  I  would 
say  still  more.  History  paints,  or  attempts  to  paint,  life  as  it  is,  a 
mighty  maze,  with  or  without  a  plan  ;  Fiction  shows  or  would 
show  us  life  as  it  should  be,  wisely  ordered  and  laid  down  on  fixed 
lines.  Tlius  Fiction  is  not  the  mere  handmeiid  of  History  ;  she  has  a 
household  of  her  own  and  she  claims  to  be  the  triumph  of  Art,  which, 
as  Goethe  remarked,  is  *  Art  because  it  is  not  Nature.' "  Goethe 
hits  the  nail  on  the  head.  Merely  to  "  reproduce  nature  and  charac- 
ter "  is  not  Art  at  all ;  it  is  Photography.  And  for  one  man  capable  of 
that  moulding  and  smelting  of  nature  and  character  which  is  rightly 
called  Art,  there  are  whole  worlds  of  men  capable  of  using  the  "  eyes." 
of  which  ilr.  Lowell  makes  too  much,  as  a  sort  of  human  camera.  Of 
course  one  cannot  be  blind  to  the  real  force  that  lies  somewhere  at 
the  back  of  this  demand  for  the  real  to  the  neglect  of  the  ideal.  A  bad 
ideal,  an  imperfect  ideal,  a  wild  and  mad  ideal,  is  a  trivial  and  common- 
place thing,  and  rather  than  have  such  vague  imaginative  varnishes 
one  asks  for  the  solid  facts  of  life.  We  know  the  fascination  of  fact — 
any  sort  of  fact,  no  matter  what,  any  life,  however  remote  or  mean — 
and  if  it  is  only  real  enough  we  feel  it,  "  Tell  us  what  you  know," 
is  our  cry  again  and  again  when  writers  seem  to  be  busied  with  telling 
us  only  what  they  fancy.  This  craving  for  the  real  is  good  and 
healthy,  but  it  ought  by  no  means  to  be  set  (as  Mr.  Lowell  sets  it)  in 
opposition  to  the  craving  for  the  ideal.  A  novelist  should  know  his 
facts,  lie  should  know  the  life  he  depicts ;  yet  this  knowledge  should 
not  be  the  end  of  his  art,  but  only  its  beginning.  That  should  be 
his  equipment  to  start  with,  and  his  art  should  be  adjudged  by  the 
good  use  he  puts  it  to,  not  by  the  display  he  makes  of  it.  Burton 
could  not  have  expressed  more  clearly  the  difference  between  fiction 
aa  Mrs.  Beecher  Stowe  had  unconsciously  practised  it,  and  as  her  genial 


iS^o] 


THE   NEW   WATCHJVORDS   OF  FICTION. 


485 


critic  would  have  had  her  follow  it,  than  by  that  contrast,  drawn  from 
Bacon,  of  fiction  and  history  :  ''  Fiction  is  not  the  mere  handmaid  of 
History ;  &he  has  a  household  of  her  own."  And  I  would  add  for 
myself  as  the  essence  of  my  creed  as  a  novelist :  Fiction  is  not  nature, 
it  is  not  rharacter,  it  in  not  inuojined  history  ;  it  is  fallacy,  2}oeiic 
falhcy,  jmtJictic  fallaty,  a  lie  if  you.  like,  a  beaiUiful  lie,  a  lie  that  is 
<it  once  false  and  true— false  to  fact,  true  to  faith. 

Towards  such  healthy  Ilomanticisra  as  Bacon  describes  English 
fiction  has  long  been  leaning,  and  never  more  so  than  during  the  last 
five-and-twenty  years.  We  may  see  this  in  the  homeliest  fact,  namely, 
that  craving  for  what  is  called  poetic  justice  which  makes  ninety-nine 
hundredths  of  English  readers  impatient  of  any  close  to  a  story  but  a 
happy  one.  The  craving  is  right  and  natural,  though  it  may  be 
pnerile  to  expect  that  the  threads  of  all  stories  should  be  gathered  up 
to  ft  happy  ending.  I  know  that  it  is  usual  to  attribute  to  such 
arbitrary  love  of  what  is  agi-eeable  the  inferiority  in  which  the  fiction  of 
H  this  country  is  said  to  stand  towards  the  fiction  of  the  rest  of  Europe. 
We  are  asked  to  .say  liow  fiction  can  live  against  such  conditions  of 
the  circulating  libraries  as  degrade  a  serious  ait  to  the  level  of  the 
nnrserj'  tale.  Thf  answer  is  very  simple  :  English  fiction  has  lived 
ftffainst  them,  and  produced  meantime  the  finest  examples  of  its  art 
that  the  literature  of  the  world  has  yet  seen.  Unlike  the  writers 
who  pronounce  so  positively  on  the  inferiority  of  fiction  in  England,  I 
^  cannot  claim  to  kuow  from  "  back  to  end  "  the  great  literatures  of 
B  Earope ;  but  I  will  not  hesitate  to  say  that  not  only  would  the  whole 
body  of  English  fiction  bear  the  palm  in  a  comparison  with  the  whole 

^body  of  the  fiction  of  any  other  country,  but  the  fiction  of  England 
during  the  past  thirty  years  (when  its  degeneracy,  according  to  its 
critics,  has  been  most  marked)  has  been  more  than  a  match  for  the 
iption  of  the  rest  of  the  world.  Indeed,  I  will  be  so  bold  as  to  name 
px  English  novels  of  that  period,  and  ask  if  any  other  such  bulk  of 
irork,  great  in  all  the  qualities  that  make  fiction  eminent — imngina- 
Uon,  knowledge  of  life,  passion  and  power  of  thought — can  be  found 
N  among  the  literatures  of  France,  Russia,  or  America.  The  six  novels  are 
m  '•  Daniel  Deronda,"  '-The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth,"  "  Loma  Doone," 
F  "  The  Woman  in  White,"  ''  The  Ordeal  of  Richard  Feverel,"  and  "  Far 
fiom  the  Madding  Crowd."  All  these  novels  are  products  of  romanti- 
dsm,  and  the  circumstance  that  they  were  written  amid  the  hampering 
difficidtieg  that  are  said  to  beset  the  feet  of  fiction  is  proof  enough  that 
•rbere  power  i.s  not  lacking  in  the  artist  there  is  no  crying  need  for 
licence  in  the  art. 

Bat  if  liberty  is  the  one  thing  needful  for  English  fiction,  it  is  not 
the  liberty  of  the  realism  of  the  Third  Empire  in  France,  but  the 
KlMirtjr  of  the  romanticism  of  the  age  of  Elizabeth  in  England ; 
lie  liberty  of  all  great  and  healthy  passions  to  go  what  lengths  they 


486 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[APBXb 


■will.  For  many  years  jiast  the  cynicism  that  has  been  only  too  vocal 
in  English  criticism  has  been  telling  us  that  it  is  a  poor  thing  to  give 
way  to  strong  feeling,  that  strong  feeling  is  the  mark  of  an  untaught 
nature,  and  that  education  should  help  us  to  control  our  emotions  and 
conceal  them.  I  am  told  that  this  type  of  superfine  cynicism  comes 
from  Oxford,  but  on  that  point  I  can  ofter  no  opinion.  Whatever  its 
source  its  eiTects  are  baneful,  for  it  outs  at  the  root  of  the  finest 
quality  that  imaginative  writing  can  have,  the  quality  of  passion.  No 
such  plea  ever  had  a  hearing  in  the  days  when  English  literature  was 
at  its  best.  It  was  not  a  childish  weakness  to  give  way  to  powerful 
emotions  when  "  Lear  "  was  written.  Powerful  emotions  were  sought 
for  their  own  sakes,  and  no  man  was  shocked  when  Cordelia  perished 
in  a  just  caase.  Sentiment  is  different  now,  and  with  great  passions 
of  the  purest  kind  lying  everywhere  abont  us,  we  who  write  to  please 
must  never  touch  them,  or,  touching  them,  we  must  never  probe  them 
deeply.  And  this  is  one  of  the  ways  in  which  the  thing  called 
realism  is  compelled  to  play  its  own  game  backwards. 

A   doctrine    may  fairly   be  judged    by   the  example  of   its    best 
exponents,  and  of  all  the  champions  of  realism  the  healthiest,  I  think, 
is  TurgeniefF.      I  do  not  place  Fliinbert  in  that  position,  because  his 
work  seems  always  to  be  clouded  by  the  moral  shadows  that  over- 
hung his  own   life.      Neither  do  I  place   M.  Daudet  there,  for  the 
reason  that  the  ethical  character  of  his  best  work  is  disfigured  by  what 
I  cannot  but  consider  a  wilful  determination  to  find  the  balance  of 
justice  on   the   wrong  side  of    the  world's    account.      But  I  place 
Turgenieff  at  the  head  of  the  n^alists,  because  he  seems  to  mc  to  have 
been  an  entirely  healthy  man,  who  cnmeto  an  honest  conclusion,  that 
poetic  justice  is  false  to  human  Hfe,  and  that  human  life  is  \he  only 
model  for  imaginative  art.      Well,  what  of  Tourgenieff  ?     We  shall 
never  know  how  much  we  have  lost  in  him  by  that  accident  of  exile 
which  brought  him  under  the  influence  of  Flaubert.      He  does  not  of 
set  purpose  make  *'  the  wicked  prosper   and  the  virtuous   miscarry^" 
still  less  does  ho  paint  the  world's  cesspools  under  pretence  of  painting 
the  world  ;  but  he  leaves  you  without  hope,  without  expectation,  and 
in  an  atmosphere  of  despair  more  chilling  than  the  atmosphere  of  a 
vault.     His  novels  may  be  just  representations  of  actual  life,  but  they 
begin  nowhere  and  end  nowhere  ;  and,  like   the  little  bits  of  nature 
that   come  under  a  phot^ngrapliic    camera,  they  are  transcripts,  not 
pictures  of  life.     It  is  not  because  they  end  sadly  that  they  outrage 
poetic  justice.     It  is  because  they  do  not  in  any  true  sense  end  at  all. 
"  Macbeth  "  ends  sadly,  but  it  ends  absolutely,  because  it  ends  with 
justice.      *'  Cato  "  also  ends  sadly,  but    it  ends  only  as  the  broken 
column  ends,  merely  because  there  is  no  capital  to  crown  it.     And, 
rightly  followed,  justice  is  the  only  end  for  a  work  of  imaginative  art, 
whatever  may  be  the  frequent  end  of  life.     Without  it  what  is  a  work 


iS^-] 


THE   NEW   WATCmVORDS    OF  FICTION. 


487 


of  art  ?  A  fragment,  a  scrap,  a  passing  impression.  The  incidents 
of  life  are  only  valuable  to  art  in  degree  as  they  are  subaervieut  to  an 
idea,  and  an  idea  is  only  valuable  to  man  in  the  degree  to  which  it  helps 
him  to  see  that  come  what  will  the  world  is  founded  on  justice.  Tom 
by  the  wind  a  bird's  nest  falls  to  the  ground,  and  all  the  young  birds 
perish.  That  is  a  faitMul  representation  of  a  common  incident  oflife, 
bat  a  thousand  such  incidents  massed  together  would  not  make  a  work 
of  art.  Justice  is  the  one  thing  that  seems  to  give  art  a  right  to  exist, 
and  justice — poetic  justice,  as  we  call  it — is  the  essence  of  Roman- 
ticism. 

And  is  this  Romanticism  a  "backwater"?  Has  the  stream  of 
literary  orthotloxies  ceased  to  flow  with  it  ?  A  little  band  among  the 
writers  of  the  time  are  ansWering,  "Yes,"  but  we  answer  "No;" 
Romanticism  is  not  a  "  backwater,"  can  never  be  a  "  backwater,"  and 
the  stream  of  literarj'  orthodoxies  in  England  is  at  this  moment 
flowing  more  strongly  with  Romanticism  tlian  at  any  time  since  the 
death  of  Scott.  It  is  true  that  realism  has  lately  had  its  day  in 
England  as  well  as  in  France.  In  France  it  has  been  nasty,  and  in 
England  it  has  been  merely  trivial.  Bat  the  innings  of  realism  is 
over ;  it  has  scored  badly  or  not  at  all,  and  is  going  out  disgraced. 
The  reign  of  mere  fact  in  imaginative  literature  was  very  short,  it 
i»  done,  and  it  is  making  its  exit  rapidly,  with  a  sorry  retinae  of 
either  t^acnp-and-saucer  nonentities  or  of  harlots  at  its  heels.  And 
oW  Romanticism  that  was  before  it  is  coming  into  its  own  again. 

Sorely  it  is  impossible  to  mistake  the  signs  of  the  times  in  the 
aflTairs  of  literature.  What  is  going  on  in  Europe  ?  J  never  meet  a 
Frenchman  of  real  insight  but  he  tells  me  that  Zolaiam  as  a  literary 
jCorce  is  as  nearly  as  possible  dead  in  France.    Its  dirty  shroud  keeps  a 

iith  of  it  flitting  before  men's  eyes.  And  what  is  France  going  back 
The  Idealism  of  George  Sand  ?  The  Romanticism  of  Hugo  ? 
Perhaps  not,  though  Hugo  is  not  as  far  gone  in  Franco  as  some  people 
would  have  us  believe.  France  is  at  this  moment  waiting  for  a  new  man, 
depend  upon  it,  when  he  comes,  he  will  be  a  romanticist.  If  such 
the  signs  of  the  literary  horizon  in  France,  what  are  they  in  the 
refit  of  Europe  ?  What  in  Russia,  where  Tolstoi  has  taken  all  that 
is  .good  in  the  Realism  of  France  and  engrafted  it  on  to  the  brave  and 
noble  and  surpassing  idealism  of  English  poetry  at  the  beginning  of 
this  century  ?  What  in  the  Scandinavian  countries  (the  stronghold 
of  the  purer  and  higher  Rcalisiu),  where  Bjnrnsen,  as  I  can  attest  from 
tome  personal  knowlt^dge  of  Norway,  is  a  stronger  force  than  Ibsen, 
himself  more  than  half  an  idealist  ?  What  in  America,  where  the 
romance  of  tie  soil  is  pushing  from  its  stool  the  teacup  Realism 

'  thq  last  twenty  years,  and  even  the  first  champions  of  such  Realism, 
who  have  said  that  there  is  suflicient  incident  in  *'  the  lifting  up  of  a 
ehalr,"  and  that  "all  the  stories  are  told."  are   themselves  turning 


(  

483  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REXHEW,  [Apbil 

their  backs  on  their  own  manifesto,  and  coming  as  near  to  Romanticism 
as  their  genius  will  let  them  ? 

On  every  side,  in  every  art,  music,  the  drarua,  patntiog,  and  even 
sculpture,  the  tendency  is  towards  TiomaDce.  Not  the  bare  actualities 
of  life  "  as  it  is,"  but  the  glories  of  life  as  it  might  be ;  not  the 
domination  of  fact,  but  of  feeling.  I  think  one  might  show  this  yet 
more  plainly  by  illustrations  dra-mi  from  the  stage  of  the  time.  The 
cry  of  the  stage  of  tO'day  ia  Romance,  the  cry  of  fiction  is  Romance, 
the  cry  of  music  is  Romance,  and  I  do  not  think  I  belie  the  facts 
when  I  say  that  the  cry  of  the  Science  of  this  honr  is  also  for 
Romance. 

Romance  is  the  cry  of  the  time,  and  the  few  eyniM  of  the  Press 
may  deride  it  as  much  as  they  like,  but  Romance  is  going  to  be  once 
more  the  tendency  of  literature,  and  the  sum  and  substance  of  its 
critical  orthodoxy.  The  world  now  feels  exactly  the  same  want  as  it 
has  always  felt.  It  wante  t»  be  lifted  up,  to  be  inspired,  to  be  thrilled, 
to  be  shown  what  brave  things  human  nature  is  capable  of  at  its  best. 
This  must  be  the  task  of  the  new  Romanticism,  and  the  new  Romanticism 
can  only  work  through  Idealism.  It  can  never  be  the  task  of  the  old 
realism.  The  Realists  are  all  unbelievers;  unbelievers  in  God,  or 
unbelievers  in  man,  or  both.  The  Idealist  most  be  a  believer  ;  a 
believer  in  God,  a  believer  in  man,  and  a  laeliever  in  the  divine  justice 
whereon  the  world  is  founded. 

So  I  say  that  these  two  are  going  to  be  the  watchwords  of  fiction 
for  the  next  twenty  years  at  least — RosiAKTiciSM  and  Idealism. 

Hall  Gains. 


1890] 


OUGHT    THE   REFERENDUM   TO    BE 
INTRODUCED  INTO  ENGLAND? 


"  TT  is  a  question  for  us   EnglLsbmen  to  consider  whether  it  woiild  he 

J.     possible  and  advantageous  to  introduce  the  Referendum  at  home.    For 

instance,  it  might  well  be  that  such  a  vexatioua  question  as  Home  Rule  for 

Ireland  couM  once  for  jill  be  settled  one  way  or  the  other,  by  a  vote  of  the 

'Hrhole  electonil  l>ody  in  the  United  Kingdom.     We  merely  throw  this  out 

a  suggestion,  but  of  course  the  conditions  of  Great  Britain  are  very 

^different  from  those  of  Switzerland,  where    the   nation  in  so   eminently 

'■democratic,  and  where  the  Referendum  has  been  liabituaMy  employed  for  a 

variety  of  local  matters."* 

These  are  the  words  of  the  only  Englishman  who  has  treated  of 
modem  Swiss  politics  both  with  adequate  knowledge  and  with  perfect 
impartiality.  They  will  not  in  the  long  run  fall  xmheeded  on  the 
public  ear.     The  British  Constitution,  while  preserving  its  monarchical 

'fonn,  has  for  all  intents  and  purposes  become  a  Parliamentary 
democracy.     When    this  fact  with  all  its    bearings  is   once  clearly 

^perceived  by  Englishmen,  theorists  and  politicians  will  assuredly 
ask  themselves  what  may  be  the  effect,  for  good  or  bad,  of  trans- 
planting to  England  the  newest  and  the  most  popular  among  the 
institntions  of  the  single  European  State  where  the  esperiment  of 
democratic  go\ernment  has,  though  tested  by  eveiy  possible  difficulty, 
tamed  ont  a  striking,  and,  to  all  appearance,  a  permanent,  success. 

My  aim  in  this  article  is  (following  out  the  line  of  thought 
TOggested  by  Sir  Francis  Adams),  to  examine  three  qut-sttons :  first, 
what  is  the  nature  of  the  Swiss  Referendum  ?  secondly,  whether  it  he 
possible  to  introduce  the  princi])le  of  the  Reftrcnflum  into  the  world 
of  English  politics ;  and,  thirdly,  whether  such  introduction  would  bo 
beneficial  to  the  nation  ?t 

•  AdamR,  "  Swiss  Confederation,"  p.  87. 

t  The  liefcrendum  is  throughout  this  tirtielc  doscrihed  only  in  its  broadest  ontline, 
{or  Englishmen  are  much  more  conccrne<l  with  this  principle  of  the  Swiss  institatioo 

VOL.  LYU.  2  K 


490 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Apbiu 


Tho  Referendum  may  be  roughly  defined  as  the  reference  to  alJ  ydti^ 
possessing  citixons  of  the  Confederation  for  tht- ir  acceptance  or  rejection, 
of  laws  passed  by  their  representatives  in  the  Federal  Assembly.* 

Under  the  Swiss  Constitution  ns  amended  or  re-enacted  in  1874, 
all  legislation  of  the  Federal  Parliament  is  or  may  be  subject  to  the 
Referendum,!  but  an  important  distinction  is  drawn  lietween  laws 
which  do,  and  laws  which  do  not,  effect  changes  in  the  Constitution. 

In    Switzerland,    as   in   England,  the   Constitution  can  always  be 
revised  or  altered  by  the  National   Parliament.     But  in  Switzerland 
no  law  w^hich  rcvisoa  the  Constitution,  either  wholly  or  in   part,  can 
come  into  force  until  it  has  been  regularly  submitted  by  means  of  the 
Referendum  to  the  vote  of  the  people,  and  lias  been  approved  both  by 
a  majority  of  the  citizens  who  on  the  particular  occasion  ^i\e  their 
votes,  and  also  by  a  majority  of  the  Cantons.     With  the  elaborate 
provisions  which  secure  that  under  certain  circumstances  a  vote  of  tie 
people  shall  be  taken,  not  only  on  the  question  whether  a  particular 
amondment  or  revLsion  of  the  Constitution  approved  by  the  Federal 
Assembly  shall  or  shall  not  come  into  force,  but  also  on  the  preliminary 
question  whether  any  revision  or  reform  of  the  Constitution  shall  take 
place  at  all,  we  need  for  our  present  purpose  hardly  trouble  ourselves.^ 
What  Englishmen  should  note  is  that  when  any  law,  or  as  we  should 
say  Bill,  amending  thp  Constitution  has  passed  the  two  Houses  of  the 
Federal  Assombly,  it  cannot  take  effect   until  it  has  been  made  the 
Bubject  of  a  Referendum  and  has  received   the   assent  of  a  majority 
bo(h  of  the  vottTS  and  of  the  Cantons.      For  the  validity,  in  short,  of 
a  constitutional  changp  n  reference  to  the  people  is  an  absolute  neces- 
sity.    The  Referendimi  is  here,  in  the  language  of  Swiss  constita- 
tionalists,  an  "  obligatory  "  or  "  necessary  "  Referendum- 
Critics  ought  further  to  note  that  the  necessity  for  the  Referendum 
extends  to  many  laws  which  under  our  English  system  would  not  b& 
called  Reform  Bills,  or  be  considered  to  effect  any  amendment  of  the 
Constitution.     The  reason  of  this  is  that  the  Swiss  Constitution  con- 

thoQ  witb  the  particnlar  constitational  mechanism  by  xrhich  cEfcct  is  given  to  tlie 
principle  in  Switzerland.  Whoever  desires  further  information  sbould  consult,  among- 
otbcr  authorities,  Adams' "  Swiss  Confederation,"  cap,  vi. ;  Orollis  "Das  Stiiatureoht ' 
der  Schweizcrischen  Eidgenosscnr^clitift,"  pp.  79.  80,  8.1-88  ;  Coa.stUtition  Fi-dcralo,  art*. 
89,  90,  and  121 ;  and  also  a  notice  uf  Adams'  work  in  the  J&iinbttrgh  Jieview  for  Janoarr 
1890.  The  Referendum,  it  should  al.xo  be  noted,  is  in  this  article  treated  of  all  but 
exclu*ivclv  as  a  p,aTt  of  thr^  Swiss  Fedcnil  or  Natiuti.il  Constitution.  It  exists,  however, 
and  flonrinhciJ  a.<i  a  local  in.stitution  in  nil  but  one  or  two  Cantons.  A  competent 
English  observer  who  should  report  minutely  upon  the  working  of  the  Referendum  a» 
a  cjintonal  institution,  and  e.'ipecially  at  Zurich,  woidd  render  a  service  of  inestimable 
value  to  all  students  of  political  .science.  *  See  Adams,  p.  76. 

t  See  Constitution  Ft'df'rak',  arts.  89,  113-121.  Swiss  authorities  do  not  apjiarently 
apply  the  term  "  Referendum  "  to  the  popular  eanctiun  required  for  the  validity  of  any 
revision  of  the  Constitution  under  Const.  Fed,,  art,  121,  It  is,  however,  clear  that  the 
popidar  a.ssent  which  i.s  required  for  all  coui^titutioual  amtudmeats  pa: lakes  of  the 
nature  of  a  Iteferendum. 


i89o] 


THE  REFERENDUM. 


491 


tains  a  large  number  of  articlea  wliicli  have  no  reference  to  the 
distribution  or  exercise  of  Sovereign  power,  but  which  embody  general 
maxims  of  policy,  or  (It  may  be)  special  provisions  as  to  mutters  of 
detail,  to  which  the  Swiss  attach  great  importance,  and  which  there- 
fore they  do  not  wish  to  be  easily  alterable.  All  the  enactments, 
however,  contained  in  the  Constitution,  form,  whatever  be  their  essen- 
tial character,  part  thereof.  No  one  of  them  can  therefore  be  legally 
abolished  or  modified  without  the  employment  of  the  Referendum, 
Thus  ft  law  which  limited  the  liberty  of  conscience  secured  by  Article  49 
uf  the  Federal  Constitution,  or  which  interfered  with  the  liberty  of 
the  press  guaranteed  by  Article  55,  or  which  in  contravention  of 
Article  65  enacted  that  treason  or  any  political  offence  should  be  pun- 
ished by  death,  would  not,  according  to  English  ways  of  thinking, 
•Ijring  about  a  constitutional  change ;  but  it  would  undoubtedly  modify 
a  part  of  the  Federal  Constitution,  and  could  not  therefore  be  enacted 
without  the  use  of  the  Referendum. 

Laws  which  do  not  affect  the  articles  of  tJie  Constitution  como 
(or  may  come)  into  force  on  being  passed  by  the  Federal  Parliament 
without  the  necessity  for  being  submitted  to  a  popular  vote. 

Bat  in  the  case  even  of  ordinary  legislation  30,000  voters,  or  eight 
Cantons,  may,  within  a  definite  period,  fixed  by  .statute,  after  the  passing 
of  any  law,  demand  that  it  shall  be  submitted  to  the  Svnss  people 
for  approval  or  rejection.  When  once  this  demand  has  been  duly 
made  the  particular  law,  say  an  Education  Act,  to  which  it  applies, 
must  of  necessity  l>e  made  the  subject  of  a  Ileferendum.  AVhether  it 
comes  into  force  or  not  depends  on  the  result  of  the  popular  vote. 
There  is,  be  it  observed,  no  need  in  this  instance  for  obtaining  the 
assent  of  the  majority  of  the  Cantons.  This  Referendum,  which  may 
or  may  not  be  required  according  as  it  is  or  is  not  demanded,  is  called, 
in  the  language  of  Swiss  jua'ists,  a  "facultative"  or  "optional" 
Referendum.* 

The  matter  then  stands  shortly  thus  :  No  change  can  be  introduced 
into  the  Constitution  which  is  not  sanctioned  by  the  vote  of  the  Swiss 
people.  The  Federal  Assembly,  indeed,  may  of  its  own  authority 
pass  laws  which  take  effect  without  any  popular  vote,  provided  these 
laws  do  not  affect  the  Constitution  ;  but  It  is  practically  certain  that 
DO  enactment  important  enough  to  excite  elTectire  opposition  can 
ever  become  law  until  it  has  received  the  deliberately  expressed  sanc- 
Ikm  of  the  Swiss  people. 

Foreigners  often  miss  the  true  characteristics  of  the  Referendum  in 
8witKer]aiid,  because  they  confuse  it  with  essentially  different  forma 
of  appeal  to  the  people  which  are  known  to  other  conntries. 


•  It  woiilrl  apjiear  further  that,  ns  a  matter  of  priicticp  even  whore  no  demand  is 
raatto  for  on  appeal  to  the  people,  the  Feiieral  Counuil  or  Ministry  luay,  if  it  tliink8  fit, 
make  aoy  ordinary  law  the  subject  of  a  Rifereudum. 


492 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Aphil 


The  Referendum  looks  at  first  sight  like  a  French  pHhiscilc,*  but  no 
two  institutions  can  be  marked  by  more  essential  diiferences. 

A   plihiscitc    is  a   mass  vote    of  the   French  people  by  which     a 

Revolutionary  or   Imperial   Executive  obtoius   for   its   policy,  or    its 

Crimea,  the  apparent  sanction  or  condonation  of  France.     Frenchmen 

are  asked  at  the  moment,  and  in  tht'  form  most  convenient  to  the  statt'S- 

men  or  conspirators  who  rule  in  Paris,  to  say  ''  Aye  "  or  "  No  ''  whether 

they  will,  or  will  not,  accept  a  given  Constitution  or  a  given  policy.  The 

crowd  of  voters  are  expected  to  reply  in  accordance  with  the  wishes  or 

the  orders  of  the  Executive,  and  the  expectation  always  has  met.  and  an 

observer  may  confidently  predict  always  will  meet,   with   fulfilment. 

The  plt'listiitc  is  a  revolutionary,  or  at  least  abuonnal,  proceeding.       It 

is  not  preceded  by  debate.     The  form  and  nature  of  the  question  to 

be  submitted  to  the  nation  is  chosen  and  settled  by  the  men  in  power. 

Rarely    indeed,    wlien    a  plihiscitc    has  been   taken,   has  the  voting 

itself  been  either  free  or  fair.     Tain©  has  a  strange  tale  to  tell  of  the 

methods  by    which  a  Terrorist    faction,    when  all  but    crushed  by 

general  odium,  extorted  from  the  country  by  means  of  the  pld'isciti-  a 

sham  assent  to  the  prolongation  of  revolutionary  despotiam.t     The 

credulity  of  partisanship  can  nowadays  hardly  induce  even  Imperialists 

to   imatfine  that  the  jiUhiscitcs  which  sanctioned  the  establishment  of 

the  Empire,  which  declared  Louis  Napoleon  President  for  life,  which 

first  re-established    Imperialism,    and   then    approved    more    or    less 

Liberal  reform.s,  fatal  at  bottom  to  the  Imperial    system,   were    the 

free,  deliberate,  carefully  considered  votes  of  the  French  nation  given 

after  the  people  had  heard  all  that  could   be  said  for  and  against  the 

proposed  innovation.      Grant  that  in  more  than  one  of  these  cases  the 

verdict  of   the  pUhiscik  corresiKiuded  with  the  wish  of  the  nation, 

ThQ pUhisdtc  itself  still  remains  without  value,  for,  at  the  moment  when 

the  nation  was  asked  to  express  the  national  will,  France  was  placed 

in  such  a  position  that  it  would  have  been  scarcely  possible  for  any 

sane  man  to  form  any  other  wish  than  that  assent  to  the  Government's 

proposals  might  remove  all  excuse  for 'prolonging  a  period  of  lawless-. 

ness  or  despotism.     It  is  reasonable  enough  to  believe  that  Franco 

desired  the  rule  of  the  First  Napoleon.     But  tbia  belief  depends  on 

the  result  not  of  Napoleonic  plelnmhs,  but  of  a  fair  estimate  of  the 

condition  of  affairs  and  of  the  state  of   public    opinion.      We    may 

believe,  in  short,  that  the  plUAscite  which  sanctioned  the  foundation  of 

the  Empire  expressed  the  will  of  t\w  nation,  because  there  are  rational 

grounds  for  believing  that  France  might  desire  Imperial  government. 

But  no  one  bases  his  belief  in  the  desire  for  the  Empire  on  the  result 

of    the    plebisciic    which    nominally    sanctioned    its     establishment.. 

Deliberation  and  discussion  are  the  requisite  conditions  for  rations 

•  See  Maine,  "  Popular  Government,''  pp.  38-41. 

■f  Sdc  Talce,  "La  R6voluticD,"  totue  iii.j   "Le  Gouvernement  R6vohitionnairc,*' 
jij<.  561  and  following. 


>89o] 


THE  KEFEREXDUM. 


493 


decision.  Where  effective  opposition  is  an  impossibility,  nominal 
assent  is  an  unmeaning  compliment.    . 

The  essential  characteristics,  however,  the  lack  of  which  deprives 
a  French  jiJ^bmUe  of  all  moral"  significance,  are  the  undoubted 
properties  of  the  Swiss  Referendum.  When  a  law  revising  the 
Conatitution  is  placed  bcifore  the  people  of  Switzerland,  every 
citizen  throughout  the  land  has  enjoyed  the  opporfcmiity  of  learn- 
ing the  merits  and  the  demerits  of  the  proposed  alteration.  The 
subject  has  been  '"■  threshed  out."  as  the  expression  goes,  in  Parlia- 
ment ;  the  scheme,  whatever  its  worth,  has  received  the  delibe- 
rately given  approval  of  the  elected  Legislature  ;  it  conies  before  the 
people  with  as  much  authority  in  its  favour  as  a  Bill  which  in  England 
has  passed  through  both  Houses.  The  voters  have  been  given  the 
opportunity  before  pronouncing  their  decision  of  learning  all  that  can 
be  said  for,  and  (what  is  stiJl  more  im]iortant)  all  that  can  be  said 
against,  a  definite  measure,  by  every  man  who.  either  from  a  public 
platform,  or  in  the  columns  of  the  press,  or  in  private  conversation, 
advocates  or  deprecates  its  adoption.  The  position  of  the  Swiss  people 
when  summoned  to  vote  upon  a  constitutional  amendment  is  pretty 
much  what  would  have  been  the  position  of  the  British  electorate  if, 
in  1886,  the  Home  Rule  Bill  had,  after  ample  discussion  and  amend- 
ment, passed  through  both  Hoases  of  Parliament,  and  thereupon  the 
Queen,  .feeling  the  extreme  importance  of  the  occasion,  had  called 
upon  tde  voters  of  the  United  Kingdom  to  give  an  answer  by  a  mass 
vote  '•  Aye  "  or  "  No  "  to  the  question  whether  she  should  or  should 
not  give  her  assent  to  the  Government  of  Ireland  Bill,  1886.  Swiss 
citizens,  be  it  added,  vote  on  the  occasion  of  a  Referendum  at  least  as 
freely  as  do  English  electors  at  a  general  election.  Neither  the  Council 
nor  the  Federal  Assembly  can  constrain  or  influence  their  votes  ;  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  the  voters  constantly  reject  measures  referred  to 
them  for  approval.  The  gravest  charge  brought  against  the  Refer- 
endum by  its  critics,  and  brought  with  much  show  of  reason,  is  that 
it  obstructs  improvement  Whatever  be  the  force  of  this  criticism, 
the  mere  fact  that  it  can  be  made  with  plausibility  afibrds  conclusive 
proof  that  the  Referendum  is  a  real  appeal  to  the  true  judgment  of  the 
nation,  and  that  the  appeal  is  free  from  the  coercion,  tht^  unreality,  and 
the  fraud  which  taint  or  vitiate  a,  plebiscite.  The  Referendum,  in  short, 
18  a  regular,  normal,  peaceful  proceeding,  as  unconnected  with  revo- 
lutionary violence  or  desjKitic  coercion,  and  as  easily  carried  out,  as 
the  sending  up  of  a  Bill  from  the  House  of  Commons  to  the  Housf  of 
Lords.  It  causes  less  disturbance,  and  probably  less  excitement, 
throughout  the  country  than  is  occasioned  in  the  United  Kingdom  by 
a  general  election. 

To  an  Englishman  the  idea  naturally  occurs  that  a  general  election 
is  in  its  nature,  though  not  in  its  form,  a  Referendam. 


■jrxi/', 


inrr 

r,- 

.:..;u: 

■■=     i: 

Tn 

:..:!V.. 

~\:r-Ti. 


«S9o] 


THE  REFERENDUM. 


495 


iation.  But  our  English  system  of  governrneat  makes  it  a  certainty 
tJiat  statesmen,  of  all  psulit'S  will  do  their  best  to  confuse  the  issues 
which  at  an  election  are  nominally  subiiiitt^d  to  the*  verdict  of  the 
nation.  A  Ministry  will  always,  if  possible,  ilissolve  at  the  moment 
when  any  adventitious  circumstance  enhances  the  popularity  of  the 
Cabinet.  A  success  ftbroad.  any  circumstance  which  for  the  moment 
discredits  a  leading  opponcat,  auy  suddon  event  which  may  have 
raised  the  reputation  of  tlie  Government  or  brought  odium  upon  the 
Opposition,  will  be  used  as  a  means  for  inducing  the  electors  to 
favour  the  Ministerial  policy,  and  to  return  representatives  who  may 
support  the  legislation  recommended  by  the  Ministry.  The  Opposition 
of  the  day  will  follow  suit,  lOvery  accident  which  tells  against  the 
party  in  office,  every  error  or  alUgod  error  of  judgment,  whether  im- 
portant or  trifling,  which  affects  the  momentary  jxjpularity  of  the 
Cabinet — the  inconsiderate  utterances  of  a  Prt-mier,  the  inopportune 
severity,  or  the  undue  leniency,  of  a  Home  Secretary  in  the  execution 
of  the  law,  the  badness  of  the  seasons,  and  the  depression  of  trade — 
are  each  and  all  of  them  matters  which  respectable  politicians 
turn  to  accoimt  in  the  effort  to  deprive  the  Government  of  the  day 
of  public  goodwill,  and  to  divert  the  attention  of  the  electors  from 
the  serious  and  substantial  issue  w^hether  the  kind  of  legislation 
which  is  opposed  by  the  one,  and  supported  by  the  other,  of  the  great 
parties  in  the  State,  be  or  be  not  likely  to  benefit  the  country.  It 
were  useless  and  pedantic  to  blame  or  deplore  conduct  which,  how- 
♦•ver  disastrous  to  the  countiy,  results  naturally  from  the  faults  of 
human  nature  when  these  vices  are  fostered  by  a  scheme  of  public 
Ufe,  which  links  indi.ssolubl3-  together  the  personal  success  and 
influence  of  politicians  with  the  triumph  of  particular  schemes  of 
legislation.  Nor  is  partisanship  always  to  blame  for  the  confusion 
of  issues  which  the  public  interest  imperatively  requires  to  be  kept 
clear  of  each  other.     An   election   determines  which  of  two  parties 

r^hall  enjoy  the  advantages,  and  incur  the  responsibilities,  of  govern- 
ment. Now  it  may  well  happen  that  men  of  sense  and  patriotism 
viah,  on  the  whole,  to  keep  a  particular  body  of  statesmen  in  power. 
whilflt  severely   condemning  some  legislative  proposal   which  these 

[rtatesmen  advocate.  These  well-meaning  citizens  are  at  a  general 
election  placed  upon  the  horns  of  a  dilemma  from  which  there  is 
no  practical  escape.  They  must  either  banish  from  office  men  whose 
policy  they  in  many  respects  approve,  or  else  sanction  the  passing  of 
a  law  which  they  belifve  to  be  impolitic.  Contrast  this  state  of 
things  with  the  position  of  the  Swiss  people  wlirn  appealed  to  by 
means  of  the  Referendum.  The  appeal  is  exactly  what  it  purports  to 
bt',  a  reference  to  the  people's  judgment  of  a  distinct,  definite,  clearly 
stated  law.  Every  "  Bill  "  laid  before  the  Swiss  for  their  acceptance 
has,  be  it  again  noted — for  this  is  a  fact  which   can  hardly  be  too 


496 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Afto, 


(Strongly  insisted  upon — passed  through  both  Houses  of  the  Federal 
Parliamtmt,  It  has  been  drafted  by  the  Federal  Ministry  or  Council ; 
it  has  been  the  object  of  ample  discossion  ;  its  fair  consideration  has 
been,  or  certainly  may  be,  secured  by  all  the  safeguards  known  to  the 
Parliamentary  system.  The  Referendum  does  not  hurr\"  on  a  single 
law,  nor  facilitate  any  legislation  which  Parliamentary  wisdom  or 
caution  tlisapproves.  It  merely  adds  an  additional  safeguard  against 
the  hastiness  or  violence  of  party.  It  is  not  a  spur  to  democratic 
innovation  ;  it  is  a  check  placed  on  popular  impatience.* 

It  may  be  worth  adding  that  the  most  trustworthy  SwLss  authorities 
consider  an  "  obligatory  "  far  preferable  to  an  "  optional "  Referendum ; 
the  latt*T  is  the  result  of  an  agitation  which  gives  a  character  of 
partisaiifihip  to  the  resulting  Referendum. 

Tho  law  to  be  accepted  or  n-jected  is  laid  before  the  citizens  of 
Switzerland  in  its  precise  tenus ;  they  are  concerned  solely  with  its 
merits  or  demerits,  their  thoughts  are  not  distracted  by  the  necessity 
for  considering  any  other  topic.  No  one's  seat  either  at  the  Council 
Iward  or  in  th»>  Assembly  depends  upon  the  law's  passing.  The 
Councillors  will  cxsntinue  to  discharge  their  administrative  duties 
whether  the  measun^s  submitted  to  the  Swiss  people  are  or  are  not 
sanctioned  by  the  citizens.  The  rejection  of  measures  approved  bv 
the  Federal  Parliament  does  not,  it  would  appear,  injure  the  position 
of  the  majority  by  whom  the  rej^ted  schemes  have  been  proposed  or 
supported.  The  Swiss  distinguish  between  men  and  raeafiures  ;  they 
send  to  Parliament  the  members,  say  the  Radicals,  with  whose  policy 
they  on  th(^  whole  agree,  even  though  these  representatives  have  carried 
through  Parliament  Bills  to  which  the  Swiss  voters  refiise  their  assent. 
This  fact  is  well  established  ;  it  is  quite  of  a  piece  with  the  absolutely 
indisputable  fact  that  the  members  of  the  Swiss  Council,  or  Ministry, 
thongh  they  require  triennial  re-election  by  the  Federal  Assembly,  hold 
oflice  by  what  is  practically  a  permanent  tenure.  All  this  appears  odd 
enough  to  Englishmen.  To  a  stranger  from  China  or  Persia,  such  as 
philosophers  of  the  eighteent  h  century  introduced  into  their  es-says  as  the 
observer,  critic,  or  satirist  of  European  customs,  the  habits  of  English 
public  life  may  appear  more  opposed  to  the  dictates  of  right  reason 
than  the  practice  of  the  Swiss  democracy.  However  this  may  be,  the 
])eopl6  of  Switzerland  have  recognized  to  the  full  their  own  sovereignty, 
and  act  in  the  main  on  tJie  principles  which  guided  an  English 
monarch  during  the  ages  when,  though  Parliament  was  the  acknow- 

•Of  course  in  making  thw  statement,  I  <lt>  not  refer  t^the  right  given  under  Cons 
tutional  F^'dorale,  .irt.    120,  to  50,0(H)  Swiss  citizens  of  demanding  the  preparation  < 
»  scheme  for  revising  the  Constitution.     This  right  i.s  what  Swiss  aathors  call  the 
Initiative,  and  is  certainly  not  an  essential  part  of  the  Referendum. 

A  law  which  has  p-ossed  the  Houses  is  sometimes  submitted  to  the  people  in  i 
form  that  the  voters  may  accept  it  either  wholly  or  in  part,  but  in  general  I ' 
laws  for  the  amendment  of  the  Constitution  are  voted  niion  as  a  whole. 


i89o] 


THE  REFERENDUM 


497 


ledged  and  sovereign  Legislature  of  the  land,  the  king  was  the  most 
influential  member  of  the  sovereign  power.  A  Tudor  monarch 
retained  valued  servants  in  his  employment,  even  though  he  rejected 
their  advice.  He  acknowledged  the  legislative  authority  of  I'arlia- 
it,  but  he  maintained  his  claim  to  be  part  of  the  Legislature  and 
rfused  assent  to  Bills  which,  thoiigh  passed  by  the  Houses,  seemed 
to  him  impolitic.  The  Swiss  people  in  like  manner,  being  the  true 
Sovereign  of  Switzerland,  retain,  in  the  service  of  the  State,  Ministers 
whose  measures  the  roters  nevertheless  often  refuse  to  sanction.  The 
Swiss  democracy  values  the  legislative  ability  of  the  Federal  Parlia- 
ment, but,  like  an  English  king  of  the  sixteenth  century,  constantly 
withholds  assent  from  Bills  passed  by  the  two  Houses.  The  Refer- 
endum is  a  revival  of  the  miscalled  *'  veto,"  but  is  a  veto  lodged  in  the 
hands,  not  of  a  sovereign  monarch,  but  of  a  sovereign  people.  Such  a 
veto  produces  the  same  effects,  whatever  be  the  power  by  which  it  is 
exercised.  It  secures  the  Constitution  against  any  change  which  the 
Sovereign  does  not  deliberately  approve ;  it  tends  to  produce  per- 
manence in  the  tenure  of  office  ;  it  undermines  the  strength  of  that 
elaborate  party  system  which  in  England  lies  at  the  basis  not  of 
Parliamentary  government,  but  of  government  by  Parliament. 


No  vital  change  in  either  the  law  or  the  customs  of  the  Constitu- 
tion would  be  so  easy  of  introduction  into  England  as  the  establishinent 
in  principle  of  the  Referendum,  or  of  a  popular  veto  on  any  amendment 
or  alteration  in  the  Constitution  ;  such,  for  example,  as  thr  diaestab- 
lishment  of  the  Church,  or  a  considerable  diminution  in  the  numbers 
of  the  House  of  Commons. 

The  methods  by  which  this  popular  veto  might  be  established  are 
various  and  of  different  merit. 

First.  The  House  of  Lords  might  adopt  a  new  policy  with  regard 
to  all  Bills  which,  in  the  judgment  of  the  Peers,  modified  the  Consti- 
tution. They  might  announce  their  re.solution,  on  the  one  hand,  to 
reject  every  Bill,  from  whatever  party  it  might  proceed,  which  contained 
coDStitutional  amendments,  until  the  Bill,  after  having  passed  the 
House  of  Commons,  had  been  in  eilect  submitted  to  the  electors  at  a 
general  election,  and  had  received  their  sanction  by  the  return  of  a 
decisive  majority  in  its  favour ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  when  once 
such  a  majority  had  been  obtained,  to  pass  as  a  matter  of  consti- 
tutional duty  any  Bill  which,  being  again  approved  by  the  House  of 
Commons,  substantially  corresponded  with  the  measure  the  Peers 
bad  before  rejected,  with  a  view  to  ensuring  its  submission  to  the 
judgment  of  the  nation. 

Such  a  policy,  if  carried  out  with  vigour  and  impartiality,  would 


198 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[APHIt 


constitute  the  House  of  Lords  the  guardian  of  the  Const itation. 
It  would  involve  a  great  noiuiiial  sacrifice  of  authority,  but  the  real 
loss  would  be  little  or  nothing,  for  the  Peers  would  exchange  an 
unrestricted  veto,  which  they  cannot  exercise,  for  a  suspensive  veto 
which  would  be  real,  because  its  exercise  would  be  supported  by 
popular  approval. 

This  is  the  easiest  mode  of  establishing  the  Referendum.  It  is, 
however,  the  le«,st  satisfactory.  The  Act  finally  passed  aflber  a  general 
election,  would  not  be  the  Bill  on  which  the  nation  had  pronounced 
a  verdict.  What  is  of  far  more  itnportance,  a  general  election  is,  for 
reasons  already  stated,  but  an  indifferent  imitation  of  a  true  Referendum. 

Secondly.  Either  Ilouse  of  Parliament  might  petition  the  Crown 
not  to  assent  to  the  passing  of  a  particular  Bill,  say  for  the  disestablish- 
ment of  the  Church,  or  for  granting  the  Parliamentary  sufTrnge  to 
women,  unless  and  until  a  vote  of  the  electors  throughout  the  United 
Kingdom  had  been  taken,  and  the  majority  of  the  electorate  had  voted 
in  favour  of  the  Crown  giving  its  assent. 

The  Queen  might  further  conceivably  vwiu  proprio — i.e.,  in  truth, 
■on  the  advice  of  the  Cabinet  for  the  time  being — announce  that  her 
Majesty  would  give  or  refuse  her  assent  to  a  given  Bill  which  had  passed 
the  two  Houses,  according  to  the  results  of  the  votes  given  on  the 
matter  by  the  electors  of  the  United  Kingdom. 

This  use  of  the  royal  prerogative  has  been  suggested  by  ^Mr.  Frank 
llill,  in  a  recent  number  of  the  Contemporahy.  It  would,  of  course,  be 
new  and  anomalous;  it  would  therefore  be  called  "unconstitutional" 
by  every  man  who  feared  the  result  of  an  appeal  to  the  people.  But 
this  employment  of  the  veto  would  be  in  strict  conformity  with  the 
principles  which  have  governed  the  growth  of  the  Constitution.  English 
history,  from  a  constitutional  point  of  view,  is  little  else  than  a  record 
of  the  transactions  by  which  the  prerogatives  of  the  Crown  have  been 
transformed  into  the  privileges  of  the  people.  The  exercise  of  the 
prerogative  has  no  doubt  hitherto  been  in  effect  transfen'ed  from  the 
Crown  to  the  House  of  Commons.  But  now  that  the  true  political 
Sovereign  of  the  State  is  the  electorate,  the  Crown  may  rightly  exercise 
the  royal  veto,  so  as  to  ensure  that  changes  in  the  Constitution  shall 
not  be  in  reality  opposed  to  the  will  of  the  electors.  It  were  impos- 
sible for  the  Queen  to  make  a  more  legitimate  exertion  of  her 
prerogative  than  to  use  it  as  the  means  for  checking  tie  arrogance  of 
party  by  ensuring  the  supremacy  of  the  nation. 

Thirdly.  Parliament  might  insert  in  any  important  Act  (such,  for 
example,  as  any  statute  for  the  repeal  or  niodification  of  the  Act  of 
Union  with  Ireland)  the  pronaion  that  the  Act  should  not  come  into 
force  unless  and  until,  within  six  months  of  its  pas.sing,  a  vote  of  the 
electors  throughout  the  United  KJingdom  had  been  taken,  and  a 
majority  of  the  voters  had  voted  in  favour  of  the  Act. 


i89o] 


THE  REFEREXDUM. 


499 


Fourthly.  A  general  Act  niiglit  be  passed  containing  two  main 
provisions ;  first,  that  the  Act  itself  should  not  come  into  force  until 
sanctioned  by  such  a  vote  of  the  electors  of  the  United  Kingdom  as 
already  mentioned ;  and  secondly,  that  no  future  enactment  afiectiug 
certain  subjects — eg,,  the  position  of  the  Crown,  the  constitution  of 
either  House  of  Parliament,  or  any  part  of  either  of  the  Acts  of  Union 
— should  come  into  force,  or  have  any  effect,  nntil  sanctioned  by  such 
v<.>te  as  aforesaid  of  the  electors  of  the  United  Kingdom. 

It  is  not  ray  object  to  draft  even  in  outline  an  enactment  for  the 
introduction  of  an  appeal  to  the  electors  with  reference  to  legislation 
of  grave  importance.  Any  Act  establishing  a  Referendum  would 
neceasarily  lay  down  the  conditions  on  which  the  vote  of  the  electors 
shonld  be  taken  and  the  mode  of  taking  it.  Such  a  statute  might,  it 
is  clear,  make  the  validity  of  the  law  which  was  to  be  submitted  to 
popular  approval  depend  either  upon  its  obtaining  in  its  favour  the 
vote  of  the  majority  of  the  electorate,  or  upon  its  obtaining,  as  in 
Switzerland,  the  approval  of  the  majority  of  the  electors  who  actually 
vote.  With  these  and  other  details  no  man  of  sense  will  at  present 
trouble  his  mind  j  what  needs  to  be  insisted  nixjn  is  that,  either  by  the 
use  of  the  prerogative,  or  by  direct  Parliamentary  enactment,  the 
Referendum  may  easily  be  introduced  among  the  political  institutions 
of  the  United  Kingdom ;  it  may  be  introduced  eitJier  in  a  general 
form,  or  experimentally  in  regard  to  a  particular  enactment.  There 
is  no  lack  of  mechanism  for  achieving  this  object;  the  resources 
of  the  .Constitution  are  infinite. 

Some  theorist  will  object  that  any  Act  introducing  the  Referendum 
will  have  little  validity,  since  Parliament  might  by  a  subsequent 
statute  undo  its  own  handiwork.  This  objection,  whatever  bo  its 
speculative  force,  is  in  the  particular  case  of  no  practical  moment. 
Any  careful  student  of  the  Swiss  Constitution  will  perceive  that  the 
Federal  Assembly  might,  under  the  ailicles  of  the  Constitution  itself, 
(jccasionally  dispense  with  or  override  the  Referendum.*  This  possi- 
bility of  rapid  legislation  may  conceivably  be  of  great  advantage  at  a 
crisis,  which  places  the  existence  of  the  nation  in  peril.  But  in 
Switzerland  the  rights  of  the  people  are  never  in  fact  overridden.  As 
it  is  rn  Switzerland,  so  would  it  be  in  Knglanrl.  Let  a  popular  veto 
be  established,  and  the  popular  veto  will  command  respect. 

A  critic  may  again  suggest  that  the  introduction  of  the  Referendum, 
is  practically  impossible,  because  the  change  it  involves  is  opposed  at 
once  to  the  interests  and  to  the  instincts  of  members  of  Parliament. 
iTiftt  the  Honse  of  Commons  would  cordially  dislike  an  innovation 
which  tends  to  diminish  the  importance  of  the  House  admits  not  of 
dijipate.  In  this  one  instance,  however,  the  feeling  of  members  of 
Parliament   is  of  small    importance;    the   authority    of    the    House 

•  Constitntioa  F^df  rnlc,  art.  80. 


500 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Apbtl 


depends  ou  the  support  of  the  electors.  An  appeal  to  the  electorate, 
by  whatever  party  and  by  whatever  means  it  is  Lntrodnced,  will  never 
offend  the  electors.  The  rejection  of  a  Bill  by  the  Lords  excites 
indignation  because  it  may  be  represented  as  a  defiance  offered  by 
the  ariatocracy  to  the  will  of  the  people.  But  were  the  Crown,  or  the 
Lords,  to  prevent  a  Bill  coming  immediately  into  force  solely  for  the 
sake  of  submitting  it  to  the  people  for  popular  approval  or  rejection, 
a  course  of  proceeding  which  would  elicit  Parliamentary  rhetoric  and 
reprobation,  could  provoke  no  popular  censure.  The  nation  would 
condone  or  applaud  a  direct  appeal  to  the  nation's  own  sovereignty. 

The  possibility  of  introducing  the  principle  of  the  Referendum  into 
English  legislation  admits  not  of  doubt.  The  far  more  important 
question  is  whether  a  change  of  immense  moment,  which  is  certainly 
feasible,  is  also  expedient. 

m. 

Would  the  introduction  of  the  Referendum  into  England  be  of 
benefit  to  the  nation  ? 

This  is  an  inquiry  which  no  competent  student  of  comparative 
politics  will  answer  oflThand,  or  with  dogmatic  assurance. 

The  assumption  were  rash  that  even  in  Switzerland,  where  the 
recognition  of  the  popular  veto  on  legislation  is  firmly  established,  the 
Referendum  is  entirely  successful,  and  does  not  produce  evils  which 
must  be  carefully  weighed  against  its  alleged  beneficial  results  ;  and 
though  Conservative  Swiss  opinion  now,  on  the  whole,  favours  an 
institution  originally  invented  and  introduced  by  Radicals,  there  is  no 
doubt  that  the  Referendum  is,  in  the  opinion  of  fair-minded  and  com- 
petent judges  among  the  Swiss,  open  to  criticism  and  to  censure. 

It  were,  again,  the  rasheat  of  assumptions  that  arrangements  which 
work  well  in  Switzerland  are  certain  to  produce  good  effects  in  England. 
The  Swiss  Republic  is  no  ideal  commonwealth.  And  the  experience 
of  more  than  a  century  makes  it  impossible  for  honest  thinkers  to 
fancy  that  in  the  world,  either  of  fact  or  of  imagination,  they  can 
discover  some  perfect  constitution  which  may  serve  as  a  model  for  the 
correction  of  the  vices  to  be  found  in  existing  polities.  No  man 
endowed  with  a  tithe  of  Montesquieu's  learning  and  sagacity  could  at 
the  present  day  treat  the  institutions  of  any  country  after  the  manner 
in  which  the  Constitution  of  England  was  treated  by  the  author  of 
the  "  Esprit  dea  Lois."  It  were  imddious  to  dwell  on  the  short- 
comings of  that  immortal  work,  for  modem  critics  are  far  more 
likely  to  neglect  the  vital  truths  contained,  and  to  a  certain 
extent  concealed,  under  the  dogmas  of  the  French  jurist  than  to  ex- 
aggerate the  importance  of  teaching  expressed  in  formulas  which 
have  ceased  to  be  the  commonplaces  of  the  day.  Yet  the  mistakes 
of    Montesquieu   contain   a    lasting   warning.       He  studied   English 


i«9o] 


THE  REFERENDUM. 


501 


institutions  with  infinite  care,  yet  in  some  points  he  profoundly 
misanderstood  the  Constitution  which  was  the  object  of  his  intellectxial 
adoration  and  his  misunderstandingfl,  just  because  their  ingenuity 
have  misled  generation  after  generation.  The  errors  of  M'Jiitesquieu 
are  not  more  instructive  than  the  mistakes  made  by  the  gi-eatest 
among  his  disciples.  The  more  minutely  the  details  of  the  French 
Resolution  are  studied  the  stronger  becomes  the  conviction  of  capable 
jodges  that  the  genius  of  Burke  was,  even  when  swayed  by  passion, 
endowed  with  something  of  prophetic  insight  into  the  nature  and  the 
perils  of  the  most  astounding  movement  or  catastrophe  which,  since 
the  days  of  the  Reformation,  has  convulsed  Europe.  But  every 
increase  in  historical  knowledge,  just  as  it  enhances  our  veneration 
for  Burke's  insight  into  the  folUes  and  the  vices  of  the  Revolution, 
also  increases  our  sense  of  the  gravity  of  those  misconceptions  as  to 
French  history  and  character  which,  for  the  purposes  of  practical 
g^uidance,  made  his  prophetic  power  all  but  useless, 

"We  have  all  now  learnt  that  ca-lum  non  animuru  mufanty  if  true  of 
individuals,  is  profoundly  untrue  of  institutions.  English  constitu- 
tionalism has  been  transplanted  from  its  native  soil  to  every  civilized 
land,  but  in  no  single  instance  has  the  exported  plant  reproduced 
the  characteristics  of  the  original  stock.  Even  if  the  condition  of 
Switzerland  strikingly  resembled  the  state  of  England,  the  lieferendum 
might  probably  change  its  character  and  working  when  transplanted 
from  the  Alpine  Republic  to  the  insular  monarchy.  But  the  two 
countries  differ  as  widely  from  each  other  as  can  any  tsvo  lands,  each 
of  which  is  the  home  of  rational  freedom.  Switzerland  is  the  smallest 
of  independent  States  ;  her  population  is  less  than  that  of  London ; 
federalism  and  localism  of  an  extreme  type  are  as  natural  to  the 
SiriBS  as  they  are  foreign  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  United  Kingdom. 
Fortune  has  not  given  to  us,  and  no  human  art  can  create  in  any 
part  of  the  United  Kingdom,  the  cantons  and  the  communes  which 
are  the  backbone  of  the  Swiss  political  organization.  In  Switzerland, 
again,  popular  education  has  reached  a  level  as  high  as  perhnps  is 
attainable  in  any  modem  Europenn  country ;  the  S\riss  ao-e,  in  more 
points  than  one,  the  Scotch  of  continental  Europe.  The  system  of 
party,  moreover,  which  flourishes  with  exuberant,  or  ominous,  vigour  in 
all  countries  inhabited  by  the  English  people,  is,  it  would  seem,  but 
incompletely  developed  in  the  Swiss  Republic.  This  is  a  point  on 
which  a  foreigner  must  s]5eak  with  the  greatest  caution.  Swiss 
institutions,  there  is  reason  to  believe,  check  the  growth  of  the  party 
lyatem  ;  but  the  imperfect  development,  not  indeed  of  party  feeling 
bat  of  party  organizatiouj  may  well  facilitate  the  working  of  Swiss 
institutions.  Any  thinker  who  gives  fair  weight  to  these  obvious 
reflections  will  conclude  that  the  success  of  the  Referendum  in 
Switzerland  falls  far  short  of  proof  that  a  similar  institution  would 


902 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


U 


work  beaeficially  in  England.  Swiss  experience  is  evidt'nce  that  the 
popular  veto  may,  auder  certain  circumstances,  produce  good  effects. 
Thia  it  does  prove  ;  but  it  proves  nothing  more.  Any  one  who  wishes 
to  weigh  the  expediency  of  introducing  such  a  veto  into  the  institutioos 
of  England  under  forms  and  limitations  suitable  to  the  genius  of  the 
country,  will  give  less  importance  to  the  specific  experience  of 
Switzerland  than  to  the  general  arguments  which,  fis  things  now 
stand  in  the  United  Kingdom,  are  producible  against  and  in  favour  of 
direct  intervention  by  the  electors  in  acts  of  legislation.  He  will  also 
find  it  convenient  to  consider  the  operation  of  the  lieferendnm  in 
England,  not  as  a  check  on  legislation  generally,  but  as  a  veto  solely 
on  changes  in  the  Constitution,  or,  at  any  rate,  on  laws  affecting  the 
fundiiiiTeiital  institutions  of  the  State,  such  as  the  poor-law. 

Two  obvious  objections  lie  against  the  introduction  of  the  Refe- 
rendum into  England. 

The  Referendum  diminishes  the  importance  of  Parliamentary  debate, 
and  thereby  detracts  from  the  influence  of  Parliament. 

Tliat  this  must  be  so  admits  of  no  denial ;  a  veto,  whether  it  be 
exercised  by  a  king  ur  by  an  electorate,  lessens  the  j>ower  of  the 
Legislafure  whereof  the  Bills  are  liable  to  be  vetoed.  When  Eliza- 
beth refused  hi-r  assent  to  hall'  the  Bills  of  a  session,  the  two  Houses 
possessed  nothing  like  the  legislative  authority  which  they  exercise 
under  Queen  Victoria,  who,  during  her  reign  of  more  than  fifty  years, 
baa  nrver  refused  assent  to  a  Bill  passed  by  Lords  and  Commons. 
If  ever  the  electors  obtain  authority  to  reject  Bills  passed  by  the 
Houses,  the  Houses  will  lose  their  legislative  supremacy.  Debates 
which  ai"e  indecisive  can  never  possess  the  full  importance,  or  interest, 
attached  to  discussions  which  result  in  final  docisiuns. 

Though  the  truth  of  the  allegation  that  the  Referendum  would 
dimijush  the  authority  of  the  Legislature  is  undeniable,  its  practical 
importance  may  well  be  exaggerated ;  under  any  system  similar  to 
that  wliich  exists  in  Switzerland,  no  law  could  be  passed  without 
the  full  assent  of  Parliament.  The  Referendum,  as  already  pointed 
out,  does  not  enable  the  electora  to  pass  laws  at  their  own  will.  It 
is  a  mere  veto  on  such  legislation  as  does  not  approve  itself  to  the  elec- 
torate. Debates  in  Parliament  would  in  any  case  poBsess  immense 
importance.  The  certainty  of  an  appeal  to  the  people  might  add  to 
the  reality,  and  increase  the  force,  of  Parliamentary  argument.  No  one 
out  of  Bedlam  supposes  that  the  results  of  a  division  are  greatly,  if  at 
all,  affected  by  the  speeches  which  are  supposed  to  convince  the 
House.  Sudden  efforts  of  rhetoric,  dexterity  in  the  management  of 
debate,  astuteness  in  the  framing  of  an  amendment,  may  on  rare 
occasions  (generally  to  the  damage  of  the  country)  affect  the  division 
list.  But  even  the  outside  public  can  conjecture,  before  a  debate  has 
begun,  what  members  will  vote  for  or  against  the  Government ;  and  a 


l89o] 


THE  REFERENDUM. 


503 


*•  Whip  "  can  venture  upon  predictions,  having  far  more  of  certainty 
than  is  generally  ascribed  to  conjecture.  If  it  were  certain  that  the 
ultimate  fate  of  a  measure,  say  for  the  disestablishment  of  the  Church, 
■would  finally  turn  not  upon  the  votes  of  members  of  Parliament,  but 
aponthe  votesof  outsiders  who  never  took  part  in  the  hollow  and  artificial 
svstem  of  warfare  waged  at  Westminster,  it  is  conceivable  that  speakers 
in  Parliament  might  address  themselves  to  the  task  of  convincing 
an  unseen,  but  more  orjess  dispassionate,  audience ;  it  is  conceivable 
(wild  though  the  idea  appears)  that  power  of  reasoning  might  become 
a  force  of  some  slight  moment  even  in  practical  politics.  Swiss 
experience  does  here  a  little  help  us.  There  is  nothing  to  show  that 
the  Federal  Assembly  lacks  weight  or  respectability;  it  compares 
favourably  enough  with  the  Sovereign  Xatioaal  Assembly  which 
makes  and  unmakes  the  Ministries  and  controls  the  destiny  of  Fmnce. 
That  '•  sovereignty  of  Parliament,"  moreover,  which  Parliamentarians 
defend  against  |)opular  control  is,  though  a  legal  fact,  something  of 
a  political  fiction.  Worshippers  of  power  instinctively  discover 
where  it  is  that  their  idol  has  its  shrine.  Oratory,  rhetoric,  reason- 
ing, and  adulation  are  nowadays  addressed  by  politicians  to  th& 
electoi's.  The  electorate  is  king ;  the  Referendum  might  turn  out 
little  more  than  the  formal  recognition  of  a  fact  which  exists,  even 
white  men  shot  their  eyes  to  its  existence. 

An  appeal  in  matters  of  legislation  from  Parliament  to  the  people 
ia  (it  may  be  urged),  on  the  face  of  it,  an  appeal  from  knowledge  to- 
ignorance. 

This  objection  to  the  Referendum  has  weighed  heavily  with  Maine 
and  thinkers  of  the  same  school.  Its  weight  cannot  be  denied,  but 
may  be  lessenod  by  more  than  one  rfflection. 

This  line  of  attack  on  the  principle  of  an  appeal  to  the  people  is 
an  assault  upon  the  foundations  of  popular  government.  It  establishes, 
indeed,  what  no  one  denies,  that  nations,  which  have  not  reached  a 
crrtwn  stage  of  development,  are  unfit  for  democratic  institutions,  and 
It  democracy  is  a  form  of  government  which,  at  best,  is  marred  by 
ive  deficiencies.  But  if,  for  the  sake  of  argument,  we  concede  that 
every  charge  which  reasonable  men  have  brought  against  popular 
n. .  I V  can  be  substantiated — and  this  is  to  grant  a  good  deal 

ui'  I  truth  retjuires — the  concession  does  not  support  the  infer- 

ence that  the  Referendum  is  of  necessity  an  evil.  For  the  matter  to 
he  determined  is  not  whether  democracy  be  or  be  not  an  admirable 
form  of  government,  but,  the  quite  dift'erent  question,  whether  in 
democratic  countries,  like  France,  England,  or  Switzerland,  a  veto  by 
tlie  electors  on  the  legislation  of  a  democratic  Parliament,  especially 
when  «ach  legislation  changes  the  Constitution,  may  not,  on  the 
whofoi,  have  salutary  effects.  The  Referendum  is  but  a  veto,  and,  for 
the  parpose  of  the  present  article,  a  veto  only  on  the  alteration  of 


504 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[APKIU 


fundamental  laws.      But  were  this  appeal  to  the  people  imported  from 
Switzerland  to-morrow,  and  made,  what  no  careful  thinker  would  am 
present  advise,  applicable  to  every  kind  of  law,  it  would  not  compel^ 
the  passing  by  Parliament  of  a   single   Act  which   Parliament  might 
deem  impolitic.     Parliament  could  still  maintain  an  institution  such 
as,   say,    the    poor-law,    of    dubious    popularity,  but    of    undoubted 
wisdom.      What  Parliament  could  not  do  (supposing  the  Referendum 
were  applicable  to  the  poor-laws)  would  be  to  develop  still  further 
sound,  though  unpopular,  principles  in  the  administration  of  relief  for 
the  poor-      This  incapacity  would  be  an  evil.      Unfortunately  it  is  an 
evil  which  already  exists.     A  modern  Parliament  may  possibly  main- 
tain wise  legislation   enacted  by  the  bold  statesmanship   of  a  lesa, 
democratic  age,  but  hardly  in  harmony  with  prevalent  sentimentalism,  \ 
But  no  modern  Parliament  will  pass  laws  known  to  offend  the  general 
sentiment  of  the  electors.      This  state  of  things  may,  or  may  not, 
be  lamentable ;    it   will   not  be  rendered  worse    by   recognising  its ' 
exiBfeenco.     It  is  an  error  to  imagine  that  there  is  great  danger  in 
taking  from    Parliament    theoretical    authority  certain    never  to  be 
exercised   in  practice.       Against  this  delusion   it  behoves   us  to   be 
specially  on  our  guard.     The  weakness  of  English  statesmanship  is  to  J 
retain  names  whilst  sacrificing  realities  ;  the  Crown  lias  bee»  stripped 
of  real  authority,  whereof  the  maintenance  might  have  been  beneficial 
to  the  nation,  by  Ministers  who  would  have  resigned  rather  than  deprive 
the  Crown  of  a  single  nominal  prerogative.    Nor  is  it  certain  that  the 
independence  of  members   of   Parliament,  if  such  independence  has 
still  any  real  existence,  would  decline  in  proportion  to  the  increase  in 
the  legislative  authority  of  the   people.      A  member  might  defy  the 
whims  of  local  busybodies,  or  the  fanaticism  of  benevolent  associations, 
if  he  knew   that   his  conduct   might   ultimately   be   ratified   by  the 
visible  and  unmistakable  approval  of  the  nation. 

No  doubt  the  Parliamentary  opponents  of  the  Heferendum  have 
in  their  minds  an  idea  which  does  not  often  in  modem  times  find 
distinct  expreaaion  in  their   speeches.     They  think,  and  not  without 
reason,  that  electors  well  capable  of  determining  who  are  the  kind  of 
men  fit  to  be  members  of  Parliament,  are  not  capable  of  determining  ■ 
what  are  the  laws  which  members  of  Parliament  should  pass  or  reject. 
This  idea,  as  we  all  know,  has  been   expressed  in  various  forms  by     j 
Burke,  and  by  WTiters  whom  Burke  influenced.     Its  substantial  truth  fl 
is,  subject  to  certain  reservationSj  past  dispute,  but  its  applicability  to 
the  circumstances  of  to-day  is  open  to  the   gravest  question.     The 
House  of  Commons  has  ceased  to  be  a  body  of  men  to  whom  the  electors  ■ 
confide  full  authority  to  legislate  in  accordance  with  the  wisdom  or   " 
the  interests  of  members  of  Parliament.     It  is  really  a  body  of  persons    _ 
elected  for  the  purpose  of  carrying  out  the  policy  of  the  predominant 
party.     It  is  not  the  fact  that  voters  choose  a  respectable  squire  or 


i89o] 


THE    REFERENDUM. 


505 


snccessful  merchant  because  they  know  him  to  be  a  worthy  man,  and 
trust  that  he  will  legialate  more  wisely  for  them  than  they  could  for 
themselves  ;  they  elect  a  member — a  worthy  man,  if  they  can  get 
him — because  he  pledges  himself,  more  or  less  diatindtly,  to  vot^e  for 
certain  measures  and  to  support  certain  political  leaders.  Elections 
are  now  decided  for  or  against  the  Slinistry  according  as  tJi©  majority 
of  the  electors  are  Unionists  or  Gladstonians.  It  is  idle  to  fancy  that 
what  the  voters  consider  is  simply,  or  mainly,  the  pradence,  capacity, 
or  character  of  their  representative. 

Fall  weight  must  be  given  to  the  arguments  against  the  Referendum, 
Init  it  is  equally  necessary  to  examine  fairly  the  grounds  on  which 
a  fair-minded  man  may  advocate  the  Introduction  iuto  England  of  the 
popular  veto  on  constitutional  changes. 
These  g^nnds  are,  when  stated  broadly,  twofold. 
First,  the  Referendum  supplies,  under  tho  present  state  of  things, 
the  best,  if  not  the  only  possible,  check  upon  ill-considered  alterations 
in  the  fundamental  institutions  of  the  country. 

Our  Constitution  stands  in  a  peculiar  position.      It  has  always  been 
from  a  legal  point  of  view  liable  to  revolution  by  Act  of  Parliament. 
Bat  this  liabiHty  has  till  rp'cent  times  been  little  more  than  a  theo- 
retical risk.      From  IGSJ*  down  to,  roughly  speaking,  1828,  the  funda- 
n^ental  laws  of  the  land,  though  not  unchangeable,  were  never  changed. 
■The  customs  and  feeling  and  opinion  of  the  age,  no  less  than  the 
interest  of  the  classes  Avho  alone  exercised  effective  political  authority, 
^•*     told   against  innovation.       The  idea  of  constant   Parliaraentarj' 
**^ivity  in  the  field  of  legislation  was  unknown  to  Englishmen  till  near 
^^  era  of  the  Reform  Act.     Faction  wa.s  as  violent  under  George  the 
•*^*>ird  as  under  Victoria ;  it  was  far  more  vicious  and  cruel  in  the  last 
*^*»tnry  than  at  present.      But  parties  did  not  seek  power  by  proposing 
*'terat.ions  in  the  fundamental  institutions  of  the  land.  Serious  states- 
^<^ndid  not, the  moment  they  quitted  office,  discover  some  new  principle 
^uereof  the  adoption  was  to  achieve  the  main  object  of  restoring  its 
***Voc«tes    to  power,    while  it  incidentally   changed  the  composition 
^  the  electoral  body.      A   century   ago  every  one   admired  the  far- 
^atned  Constitution  of  England,  and  the  advocacy  even  of  admitted 
^niprovementa  repelled  rather  than  attracted  the  classes  whose  good- 
will conferred  success  on  politicians.     It  were  far  easier  in  1890  to 
abolish  the   House  of  Lords   than   it  would  have  been  in   1790  to 
diifranchise  Old  Sarum.     The  change  or  amendment  of  the  Constitn- 
tion  was  till  recently  a  slow  and  laborions  process.     For  nearly  half  a 
ON^ary  before  the  passing  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Relief  Act,  every 
argument  against  the  penal  laws  had  been  laid  before  the  public.      It 
took  forty  years   more  to  drive   into   tho  rainda  of  Englishmen  the 
mumswerHbte  objections  to  the  exclusive  maintenance  of  a  Protestant 
Establishment  in  Ireland.     Reform,  free  trade,  and  every  important 
VOL.  LVII.  2  L 


506 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


change  in  n&iional  laws  or  habits,  has  till  recently  been  the  imit  of 
agitation  as  long  as  it  was  laborioaa.  This  agitation  was  an  eril  in 
itself  and  the  parent  of  evils,  bat  it  was  the  viable  sign  of  theatiaugUi 
of  the  barriers  opposed  to  innoTation.  The  state  of  the  world iuBaoNr 
entirely  altered.  The  authority  of  the  Crown,  the  infinenne  of  4> 
nobib'ty^  oxa  old  party  system  grounded  on  arist-ocratic  caanectka, 
the  predominance  of  a  prudent  and  moneyed  middle-class,  are  "pttfn 
of  the  past.  The  barriers  which  used  to  limit  the  exerciie  of  n»> 
boanded  authority  by  a  Parliamentary  majority  are  all  faroikiofii  dowiL 
AVhat  is  more  serious,  change  has  become  the  order  of  the  day.  Aa 
age  devoid  of  the  genuine  revolntionaiy  enthusiasm  which  a  ueulua^ 
ago  carried  away  the  best  minds  in  Europe,  is  ako  devoid  of  the 
servative  instancts  or  passion  which  saved  England  from  sm 
to  the  fanaticism  or  violence  of  the  French  Revolution.  Ev 
is  now  deemed  changeAble,  and  there  is  nothing  from  the  TYown 
wards  which  Parliament  cannot  legally  change.  The  e: 
of  188G  has  taught  the  oountiy  one  lesson  which  will  be  remembezcd 
wken  the  agitation  for  Home  Rule  is  at  an  end.  A  Rill  which  is 
eflbct  repealed  the  Act'  of  Union  with  Ireland  might  conceivably  have 
become  law  without  the  ooontry  having  ever  ezpresBed  aseent  to  a 
change  amounting  to  a  constitutional  revolution.  The  measure,  mam- 
over,  which  might  have  been  carried  in  188G,  ie  one  which,  as  regards 
its  most  important  provision,  is  now  in  1890  neither  advocated  nor 
defended,  by  Gladstonian  Home  Rulers.  A  calm  critic,  indeed, 
doubt  whetiier  the  Rill  of  1 68(t  would  not  lose  its  one  merit  by 
omission  of  the  clauses  which  excluded  Irish  members  from 
Rritish  Parliament.  With  this  matter  we  need  not  concern  ourael 
The  noteworthy  point  is  that  in  166G  Parliament  might  have 
law  which,  if  reprodooed  in  the  same  form  in  1890,  would 
be  vetoed  on  an  appeal  to  the  people.  Here  we  come  to  the  root 
the  whole  matter.  Englishmen  have,  in  accordance  with  our  c 
system  of  bit-by-bit  reform,  at  last  established  a  democracy  wi 
estakbUshing  those  safeguards  which  in  avowedly  democratic  common-' 
wealths,  such  as  the  United  States  or  Switzerland,  protect  the  Consti- 
tution &om  sudden  changes,  and  thus  ensare  that  eveiry  amendment  in 
the  fundamental  laws  of  tiie  hind  shall  receive  the  deliberate  sanctii: 
of  the  people ;  the  object,  be  it  noted,  of  these  safeguards  is  not 
thwart,  the  wishes  of  the  democracy,  but  to  ensure  that  a  temporarv, 
ffictitiouB,  majority  shall  not  override  the  will  of  the  nation. 

The  time  may  come  when  Englishmen  may  borrow  from  Am 
the    constitutional  provisions  which,  by  delaying   alt:eratianB  in  tii 
Constitution,  protect   the  sovereigntj'  of  the  people.     Bat  to  fimne  a 
written  and  rigid  Constitution  is  not  the  work  of  a  day  or  of  a  year. 
Whether  in  England  such  a  polity  when  framed  would  answer  its  ptn^' 
1^  ii,  noireover,  a  qnestion  not  to  he  answared  withont  most  careffttl 


t 


-«S9o] 


THE    REFERENDUM. 


507 


consideration.  Meanwhile  the  RefereTiclum,  whrcli  inigHt  bo  introduced 
with  cotnparative  ease,  and,  what  ia  equally  important,  might  he  intro- 
duced as  an  experiment,  supplies  the  very  kind  of  safeguard  which  all 
true  democrats  feel  to  be  required.  It  is  an  institution  which  admirably 
fits    a  system  of  popular  government.      It  is  the  only  check  on  tho 
lominance  of  party  which  is  at  the  same  time  democratic  and  con- 
tive.      It     is     democratic,  for    it     appeals  to  and    protects   the 
fiovereignty  of  the  people  ;  it  is  conservative,  for  it  balances  tho  weight 
of   the  nation's  common   sense  or  inertia  against  the  violence  of  par- 
tiaauship  and  the  fanaticism  of  reformers.    This  check  has  one  pre- 
emiuent  recommendation,  not   possessed   by  any   of    the    artful,   or 
ingenious,  devices  for  etrengthr^uing  the  power  of  a  Second  Chamber, 
or  placing  a  veto  in  tlie  hands  of  a  minority.      Its  application  does 
not  cause  irritation.    If  the  Lords  reject   a  Bill  people  demand  the 
reform  of    the  Peerage ;    if   the   French  Senate  (a  popularly  elected 
body)  hesitates  to  approve  a  revision  of  the  Constitution,  the  next 
scheme   of    revision    contains    a   clause    for    the    abolition    of    the 
Senate.     Popular  pride  is  roused,  voters  are  asked  to  make  it  a  jx)int 
<A  honour  that  a  measure,  which  an  aristocratic  or  select  C'hamber  has 
rejected,  shall  be  carried.     A  Bill's  rejection  turns  into  a  reason  for  its 
passing  into  law.     Should  a  regular  appeal  to  the  eh^ctors  result  in 
tie  rejection  of  a  Bill  passed  by  Parliament,  this  childish  irritation 
txcomea  an  impossibility.     The  people  cannot  be  angered  at  the  act 
of  the  people. 

^secondly,  the  Referendum  tends  to  sever  legislation  from  politics. 
That  this  separation  is  in  itself  desirable  is  a  matter  almost  past 
dispute.  It  were  hai'd  to  find,  I  will  not  say  valid  arguments,  but 
WPn  plausible  fallacies,  in  favour  of  the  position  that  thi'  pas.sing  of 
w  important  law  should  depend  upon  circumstances,  which  have  no 
"^ceasBry  connection  with  the  nature  or  the  terms  of  the  enactment. 
"  canixot,  to  take  an  example  frtjm  recent  Swiss  legislation,  bo  reavson- 
Mle  that  a  law,  restoring  the  penalty  of  capital  punishment  for  murder, 
^ODJdbe  passed,  or  rejected,  because  of  the  popularity  or  the  nnpopularitj- 
"f  tie  politicians  by  whom  the  measure  is  proposed.  The  Referendum 
'•'•  »  distinct  recognition  of  the  elementary  but  important  principle 
"Wt  In  matters  of  legislation  patriotic  citizms  ougiit  to  distinguish 
hwiveen  measures  and  men.  This  distinction  the  Swiss  voters  have 
•hown  themselves  fally  capable  of  drawing.  They  have,  as  already 
pointed  out.  rejected  legislative  propositions  made  to  them  by  leaders 
*  whose  jKiIicy  on  the  whole  they  approved.  Whoever  studies  with 
Adjvms'  account  of  the  Referendum  will  think  it  doubtful 
',  on  th<i  whole,  the  Swiss  people  have  not  shown  a  good  deal 
od  sense  in  the  use  of  their  legislative  veto.  Let  it  be  granted, 
■Otftrer,  what  is  more  than  possible,  that  the  electors  have  in  some 
**» «xhibit«Ml  les^  enlightenment  thnn  their  repreaent-ativea.     Still 


508 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


[Apsn. 


it  is  difBcult  to  eiaggerate  the  immense  benefit  which  in  the  long 
run  accrues  to  a  people  from  the  habit  of  treating  legislation  as  a 
matter  to  be  determined  not  by  the  instincts  of  political  partisanship, 
but  by  the  weight  of  argument.  The  Referendum  is,  or  may  be,  aa 
education  in  the  application  of  men's  understandings  to  the  weightieal 
of  political  concerns — namely,  the  passing  of  laws — such  as  is  ab- 
solutely unobtainable  by  voters,  who  have  been  trained  to  think,  that 
their  whole  duty  as  citizens  consists  in  supporting  the  Conservative 
or  the  Radical  party,  and  in  their  blind  acceptance  of  every  proposed 
enactment  which  happens  to  form  part  of  the  party  platform. 

The  Referendum,  however,  it  is  sometimes  suggested,  will,  if  intro- 
duced into  England,  be  at  best  but  a  useless  innovation.  English 
politics,  it  ia  argued,  are  already  subject  to  the  predominant  influence 
of  party.  Voters  will  always  adhere  to  their  party  programme,  and 
the  men  who,  at  a  general  election,  will  give  a  Tory,  or  a  Liberal, 
vote,  would,  on  a  Referendum,  unhesitatingly  support  any  law  carried 
tbrongh  Parliament  by  Lord  Salisbury  or  by  Mr.  Gladstone. 

This  reasoning  undoubtedly  contains  an  element  of  truth.  The  party 
system  would  for  a  long  time,  at  any  rate,  often  vitiate  the  working  of 
the  Referendum.  But  there  is  not  the  least  reason  to  suppose  that  the 
result  of  an  appeal  to  the  electors  of  the  United  Kingdom  on  the 
question  whether  they  would  pass,  or  reject,  a  particular  law,  would 
always  have  the  same  result  as  an  appeal  to  the  constituencies,  at  a 
general  election,  on  the  question  whether  they  would  send  up  to 
I'iirliament  a  Conservative  or  a  Liberal  majority. 

The  differences  between  the  two  appeals  are  most  important.      The 
electors  voting  for   members  in  diflerent  constituencies  are  a  very- 
different  body  from  the  electors  voting  en  masse  throughout  the  United 
Kingdom.     The  persons,  in  the  second  place,  who  vote  at  an  election. 
and  who  would  vote  on  a  Referendum,  need  not  necessarily,  and  indeed 
would  not  probably,  be  exactly  the  same.    There  exist,  it  may  well  be 
supposed,  large  bodies  of  electors  who,  while  taking  little  part  in 
current   politics,  especially  in  places  where  they  happen  to  be  in  a 
minority,  would  record  their  votes  with  regard  to  a  given  law  of  which 
they  knew  the  importance,  and  which  was  the  subject  of  their  strong 
and  deliberate  .approval  or  condemnation.     The  question  lastly  sub- 
tnitted  for  decision  at  an  election  is  of  a  totally  different  kind  from  the 
question  submitted  for  decision  on  a  Referendum.      It  is  one  thing  to 
be  asked  which  of  two  men,  for  neither  of  whom  have  you  any  liking, 
shall  represent  you,  or  misrepresent  you,  in  Parliament,  and  another 
to  be  askud  whether  you  approve  of  a  law,  say  for  disestablishing  the 
Church  of  England,  or  for  repealing  the  Act  of  Union  with  Ireland. 
There  is  at  least  nothing  absurd  or  irrational  in  the  anticipation  that 
citizens  who  did  not  care  to  answer  the  first   inquiry  at  all   might 
answer  the  second  with  a  poremptoriness  and  unanimity  surprising  to 


tKS9o] 


THE   REFERENDUM. 


5C9 


politicians.  No  phenomenon  is  more  curious  than  the  divergence  which, 
in  all  countries  enjoying  representative  institutions,  is  apt  to  exist 
betireeii  Parliamentary   opinion  and   popular  convictions.     Even  as 
things   now  are,   careful   observers  conjecture   that  measures,   which 
it  were  hardly  possible  even  to  propose  in  Parliament,  might  not 
displease    the    electors,    whilst    proposals   which    command    strong 
Parliamentary  support  might  not  stand  the  ordeal  of  a  popular  vote. 
Small    would     be    the    support    which    Parliament    would  give    to 
one  of  the  most  salutary  reforms  conceivable — the  reduction  of  the 
number  of  seats  to  be  filled  both  in  the  llouse  of  Commons   and  in 
the  House  of  Lords.      Yet  there  is  no  reason  for  asserting  that  the 
people  of  the  United  Kingdom  would  object  to  a  change  which  reduced 
the  Houses  of  Parliament  to  something  like  the  size  of  the  Houses  of 
Congress.     Every  year  the  likelihood  increases  that  Parliament  will 
grant  the  electoral  franchise  to  women.  Yet  even  those  who,  in  common 
with  the  present  writer,  look  with  no  disfavour  on  this  reform,  may 
gravely  doubt  whether  it  would,  on  a   Referendum,   command  the 
spproval  of  the  electorate.     There  always  have  been,  and  there  are, 
qnestions  which  interest  politicians,  but  hardly  interest  the  people. 
No  historian  would  pledge  himself  to  the  assertion  that,  between  1832 
and  1865,  the  electors  cared  deeply  for  the  reform  of  Parliament.    Yet 
daring  that  period  statesmen  promised,  or  produced,  more  than  one 
Keform  Bill.      We  all  know  that  the  so-called  religious  question  has 
in  the   hands  of  politicians  impeded  efforts  to  establish  or  extend 
popular  education.     Yet  well-informed  persons  will  sometimes  assert 
tliat  ordinary  parents  look   with  great  indift'L'rence  on  a  controversy 
which  excites  bitter  contention  among  the  members,  of  all  parties, 
by  whom  these  parents  are  represented.     From  whichever  side  the 
matter  be  looked  at,  the  conclusion  becomes  more  than  probable  that 
the  results  of  a  Referendum  would,   occasionally  at  least,  be  utterly 
different  from  the  results  of  a  general  election,  and  that  the  electors, 
when  consulted  on  the   advisability  of  piissing  a  definite  law,  might 
break  through  the  bonds  of  party  allegiance  to  follow  the  dictates  of 
their  own  prejudices  or  common  sense. 

The  popular  veto  on  constitutional  changes  which  freed  electors 
from  bondage  to  the  party  system  might  also  promote  the  straightfor- 
wardness of  English  statesmanship.  As  things  at  present  stand,  the 
position  of  a  statesman,  forced  to  surrender  a  policy  which  he  feels 
does  not  approve  itself  to  the  nation,  is  full  of  awkwardness.  We  all 
admit  that  a  political  leader  must,  sooner  or  later,  shape  his  course  of 
action  in  conformity  with  the  will  of  the  country.  No  one  blames 
Peel  for  his  loyal  acceptance  of  the  Reform  Act ;  no  one  now  thinks 
the  worse  of  Lord  Derby  for  having  in  1852  acquiesced  in  tho 
national  resolve  to  maintain  free  trade.  Unfortunately,  legitimate 
dianges  of  conduct  are  apt  under  our  present  system  to  bear  ike 


ilO 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


[Apbil 


appearance  of  dubious  cliangea  in  opinion.  It  may  often  be  a  doubt- 
ful  matter  whether  on  a,  particular  subject  the  country  Las,  or  has  not, 
pronounced  a  final  verdict.  Aa  the  tenure  of  office  is.  or  may  be, 
immediately  connected  with  a  Minister's  success  in  carrying  a  given 
Bill  through  Parliament,  there  is  great  difficulty  in  his  renouncing 
legislation  proposed  by  himself,  when  he  finds  the  country  •^vill  not 
Bupport  his  Bill,  without  his  at  least  incurring  the  charge  of  undne 
tenacity  in  clinging  to  office.  The  reference  of  a  particular  law,  say 
a  Parliamentary  Reform  Bill,  to  the  people  for  approval  or  rejection, 
would  greatly  increase  the  freedom,  and  improve  the  moral  position,  of 
the  Minister  who  advocated  the  measure.  If  the  Bill  were  accepted, 
things  would  stand  exactly  as  they  do  now  when  a  Bill  finally  passes 
into  an  Act.  If  it  were  rejected,  the  Minister  could,  like  a  member  of 
the  Swiss  Council,  accept  the  rejection  as  a  final  expression  of  the 
nation's  will.  It  would  soon  be  felt  that  he  might  with  perfect 
honesty  pursue  the  course  which  would  now  be  taken  by  a  member  of 
the  Swiss  Council.  He  need  not  pretend  that  his  opinion  Is  altered; 
he  might  say  openly  that  he  still,  as  a  matter  of  opinion,  thought  his 
Reform  Bill  wise  and  politic.  But  he  might  also  say  that  it  was  a 
matter  on  which  the  nation  was  the  final  judge,  and  that  be  accepted 
the  nation's  decision.  In  all  this  there  would  be  no  pretence  at 
conversion  ;  there  would  simply  be  a  pledge  aa  to  conduct.  The 
Minister  might,  if  still  supported  by  Parliament,  continue  to  administer 
the  affairs  of  the  country  as  honourably  as  Peel  held  office  after  the 
passing  of  the  Reform  Act,  or  as  a  servant  of  the  Crown  in  the  day* 
of  Elizabeth  remained  in  the  service  of  the  Queen  even  though  her 
Majesty  had,  on  some  high  matter  of  state,  rejected  his  advice. 

The  modification  in  the  doctrine  of  Ministerial  responsibility  which 
would,  certainly,  sooner  or  later,  be  caused  by  the  introduction  of  the 
Referendum,  must,  to  all  devotees  of  the  system  of  government  by 
party,  seem  a  fatal  objection  to  the  suggested  innovation.  Of  specula- 
tions which  have  some  family  similarity  to  the  ideas  propounded  in 
this  article,  my  friend  Mr.  Morley  (whose  zeal  for  party  takes  me  by 
surprise)  warns  us  that  they  "  must  be  viewed  with  lively  suspicion  by 
everybody  who  believes  that  party  is  an  essential  element  in  the 
wholesome  working  of  Parliamentary  government."  To  this  suspicion 
all,  who  call  attention  to  the  merits  of  the  Referendum,  are,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  obnoxious.  Tho  plain  truth  must  be  stated.  The  party 
system,  whatever  its  advantages,  and  they  are  not  insignificant,  is  op- 
posed to  the  sovereignty  of  the  people,  which  is  the  fundamental 
dogma  of  modern  democracy.  That  system  throws  the  control  of 
legislation  first  into  the  hands  of  a  party,  and  then  into  the  hands  of 
the  most  active  or  the  ma  t  jumerous  section  of  that  parry.  But  the 
part  of  a  party  may  be,  and  probably  is,  a  mere  fraction  of  tlie  nation. 
The  principle  of  the  Referendnm,  on  the  other  hand,  is  to  place,  at 


1890}  THE   REFERENDUM.  511 

any  rate  as  regards  important  legislation,  parties,  factions,  and  sections 
Tutder  the  control  of  the  national  majority.  The  creation  of  a  popular 
veto  is  open,  it  most  be  frankly  admitted,  to  grave  objections.  The 
oonaideration,  however,  which,  more  than  any  other,  may  commend  it  to 
the  favourable  attention  of  thoughtful  men,  is  its  tendency  to  revive, 
in  democratic  societies,  the  idea  which  the  influence  of  partisanship 
threatens  with  death,  that  allegiance  to  party  must  in  the  minds  of 
good  citizsens  yield  to  the  claims  of  loyalty  to  the  nation. 

Let  none  of  my  readers  suppose  that  my  object  in  writing  this 
article  is  directly,  or  decisively,  to  recommend  the  adoption  in  England 
of  the  Swiss  Beferendum.  My  object  is  simply  to  show  that  there  is 
much  more  to  be  said  for,  no  less  than  against,  the  popular  veto  than 
English  thinkers  are  generally  ready  to  admit.  The  time  approaches 
when  we  may  import  from  the  United  States  the  "  Constitutional 
Gonyention,"  which  in  the  domain  of  politics  is  by  far  the  most 
valuable  result  of  American  inventiveness.  The  time  has  come  when 
we  ought  all  to  consider  the  possible  expediency  of  introducing  into 
■England  that  appeal  to  the  people  which  is  by  far  the  most  original 
creation  of  Swiss  democrat^. 

A.  V.  Dicey. 


[Ami. 


SUNLIGHT   OR  SMOKE? 


"OSES  GATE,"  cried  tlio  porter,  and  wo  aUghted.  The 
heavens  were  black  with  soioke,  and  the  smother  of  the  mills, 
to  one  whose  lungs  were  unaccusfcomed  to  breathing  sulphurized  air, 
made  itself  felt. 

Down  Hall  Lane  we  went.  Colliers  in  their  clogs  clattered  by, 
grim  and  {?rimy,  and  the  baker's  cart  jarred  and  rattled  angrily  over 
the  cobbly  pavement.  I  saapect  he  dealt  in  black  bread, — to  judge  from 
the  surroundings  and  the  dingineas  of  his  cart.  Soon  the  street  was 
seen  to  fall  towards  Famworth  Bridge,  and  yellow  mounds  of  d6bns 
stood  np  against  the  sky,  that  reminded  one  in  colour  of  the  great 
mud  mounds  of  that  city  Moaea  knew,  Heliopolifl,  the  city  of  the  Sun. 
It  was  a  coincidence  that  bore,  in  the  desolate  sunlesancss  of  a  smoke- 
smitten  people,  thr  very  railway  station's  name  and  mounds  of  dfibris 
should  conjure  up  :iii  Eastern  dream  of  Sun-worship;  yet  it  was  aa 
votary  of  the  great  god,  Ra,  himself,  that  I  was  bound  on  my  errand 
of  inquii-y. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  rift  in  the  dirty,  drabbled  house  fronts,  and 
standing  on  a  kind  of  spoil-heap,  on  the  top  of  which  the  inhabitants 
were  busy  pouring  their  house-refuse  and  emptying  their  slop-psdls, 
we  saw  such  a  scene  aa,  except  in  Dante'a  "  Inferno,"  or  in  Fam- 
ivorth,  could  not  be  realized. 

Below  us  lay  a  Stygian  lake  :• — "  Crompton's  "Water-Lodge  "  it  waa 
called.  Remains  of  paper-mills  stood  on  a  bit  of  land  at  one  end  of 
it.  "Wliat  once  was  a  grand  house  peered  red  through  the  smoke- 
blighted  trees,  that,  like  souls  in  pain,  turned  withered  arms  upward, 
and  led  the  eye  to  a  ring  of  umrky  factory  chimneys  on  the  surrounding 
hills ;  Vr'hile  here  and  there,  beneath  their  sulphur  canopy,  a  desolate, 
hopeless-looking  House  of  Prayer  stood  up,  aa  if  to  prove  that  dirt  and 
godliness  could  go  together. 


iS9o] 


SUNLIGHT   OR   SMOKE? 


518 


Towards  the  water-lodge,  and  tinder  tJae  brow  of  a  dark,  sooty  liill, 
crept  beneath  its  old-fasLioned  stone-arched  bridge  a  thing  that  only 
in  Lancashire  could  be  called  a  river.  Poisonous  with  the  discharge 
into  its  frothy  volume  from  the  setding  tanks  of  the  Farnworth  and 
the  Bolton  sewage  works ;  black  with  the  refuse  waters  of  mines  and 
chemical  works  for  miles,  it  almost  seemed  to  taint  the  air  at  our 
distance. 

>  Upon  the  brow  of  the  surly-looking  cliff  bank,  below  which  the 
Croal — for  that  was  the  name  of  the  river — crawled  along,  chimneys, 
BoUd  and  square,  were  belching  forth  clouds  of  Erebean  darkness 
and  dirt,  as  if  they  had  a  dispensation  from  the  Devil.  "Chemical 
and  vitriol  works,"  said  my  friend  ;  "  owned  by  one  of  the  last  made 
'batch  of  magistrates."  Small  comfort  then,  if  we  are  to  depend  upon 
an  unpaid  magistracy  to  enforce  the  Smoke  Pollution  Act,  thought  I. 
More  chemical  works  down  in  the  valley  spat  their  fumes  in  answer 
to  the  vitriol  mill  up  bank,  and  made  the  live  air  sick. 

But  in  this  dismal  landscape  there  was  seen  a  Hashing  of  white 
water.  The  Croal  at  the  Weir  could  not  forget  her  native  grace, 
and  for  a  moment  shone  like  silver. 

There  was  a  patch  of  red  colour  amid  the  universal  monotone  of 
soot,  that  took  the  eye.  It  looked  at  first  sight  like  a  church  tower 
and  roof,  but  there  were  strange  gangways  leading  from  a  colliery 
shaft  on  the  bank  above  to  the  top  of  the  church  tower,  and  the 
windows  in  the  chancel  side  were  evidently  of  no  Gothic  shape,  and 
were  nnglazed. 

Close  beside  the  warm-looking  edifice  of  brick  rose  a  chimney,  a 
smallish  chimney  in  a  land  of  giants.  But  as  I  soon  learned, 
that  little  David  of  a  chimney  was  the  champion  of  Heaven's  cause 
against  the  Goliaths  of  darkness.  That  was  the  chimney,  that  with 
its  smokeless  breath,  for  these  past  twelve  years,  had  been  pleading  for 
light  and  wholesome  sunny  air  for  the  labouring  classes  of  Lancashire, 
and  for  the  vegetation  of  tree  and  flower  by  the  bank  of  Croal. 

As  I  gazed  upon  that  apparently  lifel(''S3  chimney-stack,  and  heard 
from  my  friend  that  that  was  the  Famworth  CoUit-ry  cLimncy  which 
was  helping  to  solve  the  smoke  problem  for  England,  I  felt  indeed 
that  Moses  Gate  might  come  to  be  truly  called  Heliopolis,  and  that 
thimncy-stack  might  stand  one  day,  fitly  enough,  an  English  obeUsk 
in  the  Famworth  fields,  as  an  ofiering  to  the  Sun. 

Leaving  the  red  brick  roay-loojf£i^  ^tiX\  of  Progress  and  standing 
close  by  its  smokeless  ch\mne\{^  ^^^'^^tfi^eA  that  the  lifelessnesa  of 
the  latter  was  a  pure  delusioy-*^,  J.  °^eJge  iron  cyKnder  kept  coming 
np  from  below  as  if  by  raa^'^'c  'then  automatically  it  opened  its 
mouth  and  discharged  its  conten.o  into  a  sluice.  Every  Iialf  minute 
the.  vast  bucket  dived,  and  brought  up  from  a  depth  of  100  yards 
600  gallons  of  water  from  the  mine. 


814 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


The  motive-power  behind  this  work  was  the  steam  of 
Galloway  boilers  of  the  insidp-firing  Lancashire  type — two  fumi 
each.  Each  of  these  boilers,  7  feet  C  inches  across  and  30  feet 
was  hard  at  work  evaporating  the  necessary  water  to  supply  the 
needed  for  this  task,  and  for  the  puraps  200  yards  below  the  bu 
at  the  rate  of  600  gallons  per  hour.  Each  pair  of  furnaces  to  i 
the  heat  to  do  this  work  was  burning  in  the  twelve  hours  thre 
of  fuel.  They  were  in  full  blast,  and  the  chimney  which  had 
no  Bign  of  life  was  constantly  drawing  up,  through  the  burning* 
of  ignited  coal  within  these  furnaces,  the  requisite  air  to 
oxygen  for  the  burning,  and  all  the  resultant  products  of  com 
combustion,  and  yet  it  was  to  all  appearance  a  dead,  idle  chimne 

We  entered  the  boiler-house,  and  found  a  single  man  in  charfl 
the  three  boilers,  for  the  firing  was  being  done  constantly  bat 
matically,  by  means  of  a  Cass  mechanical  stoker,  with  certain  imj 
ments  that  the  owner  of  the  colliery  had  suggested.  All  the  foi 
had  to  do  was  to  fill  twice  an  hour  the  hop[ver  from  which  tht 
was  fed  in  a  continuous  stream  to  the  furnaces,  and  occasion! 
take  a  rake,  open  a  cinder  or  ashpit  door,  by  means  of  a  pull( 
chain,  under  and  quite  at  the  back  of  the  furnace-bed,  removi 
6Coria3,  or  clinkers  and  dirt,  to  which  the  fuel,  after  slow  p^ 
through  the  furnace,  bad  been  reduced. 

'ITie  transit  of  the  fuel  along  the  bars  is  caused  by  their  vaovi 
They  first  advance  all  together,  carrying  forward  the  fuel  resting 
them,  Euid  thenjretire  one  after  another  to  their  former  position  tw 
bringing  the  fuel  back. 

It  was  notable  that  even  here  the  health  and  convenience 
stoker  had  been  thought  of.     An  iron  guard,  or  apron,  had  been, 
at  the   front  nnder  the  furnace  door,   and    the   stoker,  rakinfl 
clinkers  from  the  far  end  to  the  front,  allowed  the  whole  hot  mjB 
fall  into  an  iron  ash-pan,  in  which  it  was  quenched  by  water,  he  b 
entirely    guarded  the  while,,  by  the  apron,   from  sulphurous 
steam,  and  heat  from  the  scoriEC. 

"  You  would  like  to  see  that  the  farnaces,  each  of  them  capva 
driving  £40,000  worth  of  modem  cotton-mill  machinery,  are 
in  full  blaze  ?  "  said  my  friend. 

I  assented,  and  involuntarily  stepped  to  the  doorway  of  the 
house  to  make  quite  sure  that  the  chimney  was  smokeless. 

"  Put  down  the  mica  screen  qi3''t,open  the  furnace  door,"  ss 
master  ;  and  the  raan,  who  had  B~;osqst^6d  to  the  job — for  visitoit 
during  the  past  few  months  poui''  •^■v\^**>f  re  to  see  the  Smoke  Pi 
solved — with  something  of  a  look  g  ^ide  on  his  face,  did  as  li 
ordered. 

"  There's  a  fire  for  you ! "  and  truly  it  was  a  fire  that  Nebnchadl 
in  his  fiercest  mood   would  have  been  content  with.     The  fn 


»89o] 


SUNLIGHT   OR   SMOKE? 


an 


slowly  like  fine  rain  from  the  Cass  hopper,  a  red-liot  fire  brick  arch  by 
its  radiation  at  once  ignited  it,  and  then  very  slowly,  but  quite  surely, 
the  glowing  mass  moved  on  and  on  to  its  destination  about  8  feet 
from  the  furnace  door,  where  its  bed  of  molten  lava,  as  it  would 
seem,  gradually  thinning  down  in  depth  from  3*  to  1  inch,  rose  a 
little  and  fell  behind  the  ashpit  door  ftrim  off  the  far  end  of  tho  bars. 

The  journey  was  slow  ;  it  took  about  20  minutes  for  the  fuel  to  pass 
right  along ;  but  in  that  20  minutes  it  had  parted  with  nil  its  life  and 
came  back  mere  dirt,  for  tho  most  part,  only  useful  to  be  carted  back 
to  the  earth  from  whence  it  came,  to  serve  for  filling  up  the  drifts  from 
which  tbe  coal  had  been  worked. 

This  fuel  was  indeed  30  p.  c.  pure  dirt  when  it  started  on  its  fiery 
journey,  for  it  was  nothing  more  than  coal  refuse — ^slack  dust  that  had 
fallen  through  quarter-inch  screens,  such  fuel  as  you  may  purchase  for 
'It.  a  ton  anywhere,  mere  waste,  through  the  absence  of  machines  to 
burn  it.  Yet  here  was  this  waste  being  put  to  its  greatest  use ;  and 
though  doubtless  with  such  fine  dust  fuel  the  problem  of  supplying 
sufficient  air  to  the  mass  to  insure  sufficient  and  full  combustion,  and 
to  prevent  the  formation  of  smoke,  was  a  more  than  ordinarily  difficult 
one,  here  was  a  Coking  Stoker  dealing  with  coal  dust  and  coal  dirt  in 
a  cleanly,  effective  way,  and  adding  not  a  single  puff  of  smoke,  or 
visible  impurity,  to  Lancashire  air. 

"We  had  Fletcher,  the  chief  inspector  under  the  Alkali  Works 
Act,  here  a  few  days  since,  tei^ting  the  flue  gases,"  said  my  friend  ; 
"  he  found  none  of  the  deadly  carbon  monoxide,  and  he  told  me  that 
at  present  he  had  failed  to  discover  it  in  any  furnace  ga.ses,  when  free 
from  smoke,  and  that  it  would  be  contrary  to  first  principles  in 
chemistry  that  he  should  find  tt." 

This  was  news,  and  good  news,  for  much  had  been  said  in  papers 
and  elsewhere  of  the  pc)ssibility  that  the  snioki'  preventers,  who  were 
doing  what  they  could  to  get  rid  of  black  smoke  from  their  chimneys, 
«rero,  in  reality,  likely  to  flee  from  evils  that  they  knew,  to  ills  they 
could  not  foresee,  and  by  their  more  certain  and  complete  combustion 
were  only  going  to  give  the  deadly  invisible  carbon  monoxide  *'  CO  " 
for  carbon  pure  and  simple  and  the  carbonic  acid  "  CO^,"  which 
asphyxiates,  but  does  not  poison.  How  often  had  we  seen  this  bogey 
raised  in  the  daily-paper  discussions  of  late.  The  Smoke-making  folk 
had  never  been  weary  of  reiterating  their  dolorous  forebodings: — 
"  You  anti-smoke  people  are  going  to  do  away  with  good,  black, 
honest  clouds  of  visibly  unbumt  carbons,  and  you  are  going  to  deluge 
the  countiy  with  deadly  volumes  of  invisible  and  lethal  gases.  Wo 
shall  have  more  sunlight,  but  less  time  in  which  to  behold  the  sun ; 
our  men  will  die  like  dogs  in  the  *  Grotto  del  cane,'  as  they  toil  beneath 
our  chimneys." 

But  here  at  the   Famworth  Bridge  Colliery  chimney  was  a  con- 


fil6 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Apbil 


elusive  answer.  Instead  of  the  "  carbon  clouds,"  with  their  highly 
absorbent  powers,  drinking  in  the  sulphurous  acid  gas  and  other  nn- 
burnt  hydrocarbons  at  the  chimney-top,  and  slowly  falling  to  earth 
with  their  poisonous  prisoners  to  kill  the  grass  and  stiflo  the  leaves  and 
bark  of  all  tree  growth,  went  forth  an  invisible  volume  of  harmleaa 
gases — 80  per  cent,  being  nitrogen,  14  carbonic  acid,  4  free  oxygen, 
and  2  steam  and  gasified  sulphur,  which  were  at  once  diffused  as 
they  went  upward  in  a  heated  stream,  and  that  diffusion  so  rapid, 
that,  ere  by  reason  of  its  weight  when  cooled  the  carbonic  acid  fell 
towards  earth,  it  was  as  though  it  had  not  been.  The  cry  of  poison 
from  the  complete  combustion  of  a  smokeless  furnace  is  a  cry  that 
science  will  silence.  The  poison  is  known  as  monoxide  or  carbonic 
oxide,  and  is  caus^  by  the  same  deficiency  of  air  that  causes  smoke. 

Meanwhile  it  is  just  as  well  to  note  that  where  smoke  is  not,  there 
are  no  yellow  fogs,  and  no  death  from  clogged  and  irritated  bronchiae ; 
that  as  far  as  the  carbonic-acid  gas  goes,  it  is  the  natural  food  of 
plants  and  trees  and  grass,  to  their  greater  luxuriance  and  man's 
gain,  provided  their  little  mouths  have  not  been  first  stopped  with  a 
coating  of  soot,  and  that  there  ia  an  abundance  of  sunlight.  People 
talk  about  ozone  and  free  oxj-gen.  I  wonder  if  they  have  remembered 
that  God  has  given  "  green  herb  for  the  service  of  men  "  as  one  of  the 
great  oxygenating  agents ;  but  that  to  render  it  possible  for  plants 
to  take  in  carbonic  acid  gas,  and  give  back  the  gift  of  oxygen,  it  is 
really  a  sine  qud  non  that  the  sun  should  no  longer  be  hidden  by  a 
cloud  of  smoke,  and  that,  as  much  for  the  health  of  man  as  for  the 
health  of  the  herb  of  the  field,  the  joy  of  the  clear  noontide  should  be 
scattered  free. 

W<'  left  the  Famworth  Colliery,  but  not  before  we  had  learned 
how  its  owner  had  for  the  past  two  summers  done  all  he  could  to 
encourage  working  engineers  and  firemen  to  visit  his  furnace,  and  see 
the  result  of  his  twelve  years'  practice.  "  The  better  the  day  the 
better  the  deed,"  appears  to  have  been  his  motto,  and  knowing  that 
Sunday  was  the  only  day  in  which  moat  of  the  practical  men  he 
wished  to  interest  in  the  {irevention  of  smoke  could  visit  Famworth, 
he  asked  them  to  come  on  that  day,  and  see  for  themselves  how 
easily  and  at  how  small  a  cost  and  how  effectively  the  smoke  demon 
could  be  combated.  I  suppose  he  felt  that  many  asses  had  fallen  into 
this  pit  of  unholy  destruction,  and  that  as  much  on  the  Lord's  Day  as 
on  the  old  Sabbath  Day  it  was  the  Lord's  work  to  do  what  he  could  to 
lift  them  out  of  it ;  notwithstanding  much  criticism  of  a  certain  kind 
to  the  contrary. 

I  left  Famworth  devoutly  thankful.  Black  Bolton  was  my 
journey's  aim,  and  thither  along  the  canal,  above  the  frowsy  Croal, 
above  the  Sewage  Works  in  the  Valley  of  Death  below,  we  went.  A 
gentleman's  house,  tenantless  and  dismal  enough  now,  peeped  through 


l89o] 


SUNLIGHT  OR   SMOKE? 


517 


Btnoke-bitten  trees.  Had  there  been  no  smoke  the  owner  might  have 
been  resident  still.  Away  across  the  valley,  in  the  direction  of 
Moses  Gate,  several  chimneya  were  seen  smoking  continually.  They 
were,  I  am  told,  fitted  with  mechanical  stokers  of  the  "  Sprinkler  " 
type,  which,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  do  little  towards  preventing  their 
smokd. 

I  saw  enough  ere  the  sun  set  that  day  (I  could  not  tell  exactly  the 
hoar  of  sun-down)  to  make  me  sure  that  the  battle  of  the  future 
would  lie  between  the  Fast-feeding  Mechanical  Stoker  of  the  Sprinkler 
type,  and  the  Slow-feeding  or  Pushing  Stoker  of  the  Cokiug  type  ; 
and  roughly  speaking,  the  difference  between  the  Sprinkler  and  the 
Coker  lies  in  this  :  that  the  Sprinkler,  constantly  discharges  a  fine 
rain  of  coal  on  to  various  parts  of  the  glowing  famace  bed  in  turn, 
and  trusts  to  the  immediate  conversion  of  the  coal  thus  distribated  in 
fine  division  into  gag  ;  while  the  Coker  slowly  introduces  a  mass  of 
fuel  into  the  furnace  front,  and  trusts  to  its  being  converted  into  gas 
as  it  moves  slowly  along  from  the  front  to  the  back  of  the  furnace. 
Air  in  both  cases  is  supplied  through  the  bars.  In  both  cases  the 
furnace  bars  are  movable,  and  by  their  motion  give  forward  motion  to 
the  burning  fuel,  and  both  get  rid  of  clinkers  and  clear  the  fu mace- 
bed  by  precipitating  the  fuel  or  its  remains  into  the  ashpit  after  it 
has  gone  through  the  furnace ;  but  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  with 
the  "  Sprinklers"  a  fireman  is  needed  to  stir  or  break  np  the  fumace- 
bed  from  time  to  time  with  a  poker,  and  in  the  "Cokers"  no  such 
raking  or  poking  is  needed,  whilst,  whenever  a  poker  or  rake  is  used, 
Mjjoke  is  a  certain  consequence. 

But  we  were  now  opposite  Messrs.  Wardle  and  Brown's  weaving 
mills  at  Hacken  Lane,  Darcy  Lever,  and  we  turned  asido  to  see  Roscoe's 
apparatus  for  smoke  prevention.     It  certainly  was  simplicity  itself. 

The  boiler  was  of  the  ordinary  Lancashire  type,  driving  machinery 
at  about  130  horse-powor,  and  was  consuming  about  eighteen  tons 
of  fuel  per  week  of  sixty  hours.  The  Crlng-up  waa  done  by 
hand,  and  no  coal  was  used  but  best  free-burning  steam-coal, 
technically  known  as  Biirgy.  The  fireman  opened  the  furnace- 
door,  stirred  the  fire,  and  threw  on  his  coal.  We  coald  see  the 
dense  vapour  rise  and  rush  along  with  the  draught  to  the  furnace- 
end,  and  we  expected  to  find  that  volumes  of  dense  smoke  were 
coming  from  the  chimney-top ;  but,  at  the  same  moment,  the  fireman 
poshed  open  a  valve  beneath  the  far  end  of  the  furnace,  and,  as  the 
flame  leaped  up  and  over  a  split  firebrick  bridge  at  the  far  end,  a 
rush  of  air,  entering  through  the  valve  and  passing  up  the  split  in  the 
red-hot  firebrick  bridgt-,  met  the  incandescent  carbon  particles  and 
gave  up  its  o.xygea,  and  instead  of  dense  clouds  of  soot  careering  np 
the  chimney,  an  invisible  volume  of  carbonic  acid  and  the  other  pro- 
ducts of  completed  combustion  passed  up  to  the  outer  air.     Of  course 


fHE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[APfilL 


it  is  fair  to  say  that  the  firing  was  distinctly  observable  at  the 
chitnney-top  for  a  minute,  bnt  certainly  ere  two  minntes  elapsed  no 
smoke  was  visible,  and  we  felt  that  Roacoe'a  split-bridge,  if  it  were 
in  the  hands  of  a  competent  and  intelligent  fireman,  offered  one  solution 
of  the  great  smoke  puzzle. 

We  left  Wardle  and  Brown's,  and  passed  away  by  Darcy  Lever 
Church,  with  its  grasslesa  graves  and  its  smoke-grimed  spire  of  open 
terra  cotta, — that  under  ordinary  country-side  conditions  would  still 
have  been  radiant  after  its  forty  years  of  weathering, — and  let  blue 
sky  and  green  of  hill  and  dale  gleam  through  its  tracery, — up  to  the 
quaintest  of  old  Lancashire  Halls — a  house  of  good  Queen  Bess's 
date,  half  timber  and  half  masonrj*.  ''  Here,"  said  my  friend,  ''  I 
have  det-ermined  to  live,  not  so  much  because  it  was  the  home  of 
my  fathers,  as  because  I  didn't  see  how  there  could  be  a  better  '  spur 
to  prick  the  sides  of  my  intent '  to  fight  the  smoke  fiend  than  this 
prospect  of  the  enemy's  camp.  One  is  able  to  realize  here  how 
diflicult  it  is  to  keep  a  house  clean,  and  how  impossible  at  any  cost  it 
is  to  keep  the  *  leaf  upon  the  tree.'  It  is  easy  enough  to  shift  from 
one's  conscience  the  harden  of  blackening  the  very  sun  in  Heaven,  if 
one  does  not  feel  the  foulness  of  the  cloud,  and  the  unkindness  to  all 
who  are  doomed  to  labour  in  the  dusk.  If  our  City  magnates  and 
mauufacturers  lived  but  for  a  year  in  the  tJiick  of  their  own  smoke, 
the  smoke  abatement  movement  would  go  forward  with  strides." 
"  The  paraons,"  he  added,  "  do  live  in  it,  and  we  here  in  Bolton  have 
already  heard  some  straight  words  from  the  pulpit,"  and  as  he  spoke 
he  shewed  me  a  sermon  preached  before  the  Mayor  and  Aldermen 
the  Sunday  after  the  late  municipal  election,  which  was  certainly  cal- 
culated to  make  civic  authorities  "  sit  up  "  and  listen. 

We  sallied  forth  to  Black  Bolton,  or  Bolton-in-the-Smoke,  as  it 
has  been  called.  A  drizzling  rain  had  set  in,  and  we  almost 
tasted  the  chimney-tops  in  solution  as  it  fell  npon  our  faces.  We 
visited,  in  order,  all  the  chief  factories  where  the  smokeless  Coking 
Stokers,  or  Cokers,  of  the  Vicars,  Cass,  Sinclair,  and  Hodgkinson 
types  were  at  work. 

At  Messrs.  Crosses  and  Winkworth,  in  one  mill  we  found  that  a 
Sprinkling  stoker  had  been  talcen  out  to  make  way  for  a  "  Coker." 
Three  boilers  were  at  work  though  two  were  sufficient  for  driving 
purposes  j  the  horse-power  of  the  engines  was  estimated  at  500  ; 
45  tons  of  fuel  were  l>eing  converted  in  a  week  of  GO  hours  into 
force  without  the  smoke.  We  fonnd  tl»e  same  "Coker"  in  use 
at  the  Atlas  Mills,  of  Messrs,  Musgrave  &  Co.,  Ltd.,  a  firm  who 
have  rendered  five  out  of  their  several  mills  almost  smokeless,  and 
at  the  mill  we  visited  we  found  four  boilers  at  work  converting  54 
tons  of  fuel  into  horse  power  without  eraoke.  At  the  Persian  Mills 
of  ^lessrs.  Bay  ley  &  Sons  we  saw  five  boilers  at  work  consuming  100 


i89o] 


iUNLIGHT   OR    SMOKE? 


H9 


tons  of    fuel   per  week,  and  three  of  these  again,  by   means    of  a 
*'  Coker,"  were  doing  their  work  without  the  smoke. 

We  next  visited  the  mills  of  P.  Crook  &  Co.,  Ltd.  Here  we  found 
a  firm  of  spinners  needing  1075  horse-power  to  do  their  work,  and 
doing  it  with  three  boilers,  8  feet  by  30  feet,  whose  furnaces  consumed 
93  tons  of  fuel  a  week.  And  again,  thanks  to  their  public  spirit, 
there  was  no  smoke. 

I  asked  the  cost  of  fitting  the  Coker  to  boilers,  and  was  answered  that 
it  conld  be  done  with  all  the  necessary  driying  machinery  for  about  £90 
for  a  two-flued  boiler.  Not  a  great  outlay  that,  when  one  considers  how 
much  cheaper  a  kind  of  fuel  the  Coker  adniita  for  use.  Sinclair's 
machine,  fitted  to  the  sixteen  boilers  of  the  Penicuick  Paper  Works, 
near  Edinburgh,  had,  as  I  was  informed,  saved  that  firm  nearly  £100 
per  annum  per  boiler  for  the  last  ten  years.  One  came  away  right 
glad  to  have  seen  the  mill  of  Peter  Crook  and  Co.,  Limited,  with  its 
busy  furnaces,  and  its  stately  chimney-stack  in  blessed  cloudlessness. 

We  had  seen  the  Cass  Coker  at  work  at  the  Farnworth  Colliery,  so 
did  not  visit  the  Bleaching  Mill  of  Messrs.  Blair  and  Sumner,  but 
we  could  not  leave  Black  Bolton  without  a  peep  at  Canon  Brothers, 
the  fathers  of  the  smokeless  furnaces  in  Bolton — or  rather  one  of 
the  father-firms,  for  there  were  three  who  nobly  began  to  do  their 
work  without  smoke  some  seventeen  years  ago.  And  very  willingly, 
as  a  stranger  who  believes  that  Eolton-le-Sun  would  be  a  healthier 
place  for  a  working  man  than  Bolton-le-Smoke,  do  I  bear  a  grateful 
testimony  to  those  three  firms,  "  forerunners  of  a  golden  time  to  be.'' 

We  visited  one  of  the  mills,  and  fonnd  the  old  Jiickes  furnaoea 
working  away  under  externally  fired  boilers.  The  fire  in  one  of  the 
fomaces  had  been  withdrawn,  and  we  could  then  see  to  great  advan- 
tage the  system  of  drum  and  revolving  coga,  by  which  the  furnace 
bars  In  so  many  linked  segments  of  an  endless  cliain  were  moved 
■tlowly  round,  carrying  the  fire  from  front  to  back. 

As  we  came  back  through  the  town,  we  wondered  how  it  was 
<  possible  for  Bolton  not  to  rise,  to  a  man,  and  insist  that  all  its  chim- 
'fteys  should  be  as  smokeless  and  harmless  as  the  chimneys  of  the 
factories  visited.  We  had  asked  (he  price  of  introducing  these  anti- 
smoke  appliances,  and  in  no  instance  could  we  find  that  the  cost  stood 
at  more  than  £100  outlay  per  boiler,  while  the  saving  of  fuel  would 
save  the  original  outlay  in  a  year  or  two.  We  had  asked  how  the 
men  liked  it,  and  the  firemen  had  answered,  that  it  saved  dirt,  and 
that  though  it  prevented  tliem  "  pusliing"  the  fires  as  much  as  they 
could  have  wished  for  an  emergency,  as  far  as  health  went,  they  were 
better  off,  with  less  of  sulphurous  fumes,  and  less  exposure  to  heat. 

That  pushing  of  the  fires  is  a  crux.      I  had,  on  a  previous  day, 
lited  one  of  the   largest  flannel  factories   in   Lancashire,  to  find 

my  disappointment  that  Coking  furnaces  bad  been  replaced   by 


520 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[April 


Sprinklers.  The  reason  is  simple  enough.  The  Sprinkling  machine 
enables  more  fuel  to  be  fired  than  is  possible  by  most  of  the  '"  Cokers  " 
in  use.  Hence,  where  furnace  fires  require  to  be  "  pushed,"  and  there 
is  no  room  to  add  another  boiler,  and  so  get  the  same  amount  of 
evaporatioa  per  hour  by  a  rather  slower  fire,  and  smoke  is  not  con- 
sidered, the  Sprinkler,  with  its  light  cloud  of  continnous  smoke  at 
the  chimney-top,  seems  to  be  resorted  to.  Of  course,  it  is  manifest 
that  boiler-room  is  an  expensive  item  in  town  factories.  It  pays 
■  some  firms  better  to  work  with  quick  firing  and  a  better  quality  of  coal 
in  a  cramped-up  space,  together  with  the  smoke-producing  use  of  the 
rake  to  break  up  and  push  the  fires,  than  to  go  in  for  slower  furnaces 
and  more  land  or  larger  boilers  and  chimney.  Until  the  smoke 
penalties  are  enforced  it  is  probable  that  in  confined  areas  the  furnace 
proprietors  will  go  in  for  the  Sprinkler. 

Meanwhile  public  opinion  will  ripen  slowly  into  demanding  the  total 
abolition  of  smoke  at  the  chimney-top,  and  thou,  at  all  costs,  boiler- 
houses  will  be  enlarged,  and  the  Coker  will  be  King. 

An  influential  committee  formed  in  the  Mayor's  parlour  at  the 
Manchester  Town-liall  ou  Friday,  Noveraber  8,  1889,  has  undertaken 
"  to  gather,  test,  and  supply  information  of  the  present  practice,  pex- 
forraance,  and  uttermost  capabilities  of  all  the  smokeless  furnace 
apparatus  in  the  market."  We  may  be  sure  that  that  information  will 
be  reliable  and  exhanative.  Meanwhile,  let  us  seriously  ask  ourselves 
if  it  is  not  a  little  uneconomical  to  be  burning  fuel  at  first  hand  in  our 
boiler  furnaces  at  all  ?  "Would  it  not  be  possible  to  convert  our  coal 
into  gas  in  closed  retorts  before  using  the  heat-giving  properties  as 
fuel  ?  The  chief  inspector  of  the  Alkali  Works  tells  us  that  this  is 
actually  being  done  at  the  great  chemical  factory  of  Messrs.  Brunner, 
Mond  &  Co.,  at  North  wich.  The  coal  is  there  subjected  to  destructive 
distillation,  and  tlie  amitioniacal  and  other  by-producta  are  retained  and 
found  of  great  value — sometimes  equal  to  that  of  the  cheap  fuel 
itself — while  the  residue  of  the  gas  is  used  for  furnace  heating. 

But,  it  has  been  asked,  pending  the  time  when  all  furnaces  shall  be 
worked  by  gas,  wliat  can  be  done  to  render  smokeless  the  great  iron 
puddling  and  steel-making  works  ?  They  are  tlie  worst  offenders,  pot- 
teries only  excepted.  The  answer  is,  use  smokeless  coal,  coke,  or  an- 
thracite ;  use  Welsh  steam  coal,  as  is  done  largely  in  Ixjndon  ;  use  the 
best  screened  bitaminous  coal,  as  has  been  done  succesfuUy  at  Wigan, 
and  begin  to  believe  that  iron-works,  as  has  been  proved  by  John 
Cockerill  &,  Co.,  at  Liege,  and  by  the  Barrow-in-Furness  Steel  Works 
Company,  can  be  carried  on  smokelessly  if  only  some  such  furnaces  as 
the  "Bicheroui"  at  Li6gc,  and  the  "Vicars  Boiler"  stokers  at  Barrow, 
are  introduced. 

Meanwhile,  the  difficulties  met  with  in  the  working  of  the  Public 
Health  Act  are  enormous.     In  Black  Bolton  chimneys  are  not  under 


SUNLIGHT   OR   SMOKE? 


521 


police  control,  as  in  the  metropolis.  In  Lancashire  local  authorities 
hav«  not  yet  agreed  as  to  what  amount  of  emoke  constitutes  a 
nuisance.  Thus,  for  example,  while  in  Iirancheater  one  minute  of 
dense  smoke  in  tha  hour  is  the  standard  for  prosecution,  here  in 
Bolton  the  Smoke  Inspector  is  told  he  is  not  to  interfere  uuleaa  the 
emission  of  dense  smoke  is  of  two  and  a  half  minutes'  duration,  or 
that  of  moderate  smoke  ten  minutes  duriog  the  half-hour. 

Another  complication  arises  in  the  various  interpretations  that  are 
]>nton  the  meaning  of  the  words  "  black  smoke"  in  Section  91  of  the 
I'nblic  Health  Act,  All  smoke  is  black,  and  contributes  to  the 
geueral  nuisance,  and  all  smoke,  ergo,  is,  by  the  Act,  illegal ;  and, 
until  this  is  recognised,  any  standard  based  on  estimated  degrees  of 
density  will  vary  according  to  the  eyesight  and  taste  of  various 
inspectors,  and  the  judgment  of  various  benches  of  magistrates,  and 
lli9  private  interests  of  the  local  authorities.  The  magistrates  are  not 
Infallible  ;  sometimes  they  are  not  entirely  disinterested  ;  and  the 
liaving  to  prove  to  a  bench  of  manufacturing  magistrates  in  a  manu- 
facturing town  that  smoke  has  been  seen  issuing  from  the  chimneys 
<'f  their  friends,  "  in  such  quantity  ns  to  be  a  nuisance,"  is  often  a 
l*8k  beyond  the  power  of  the  local  Inspector  of  Nuisances,  or  the 
Vigilance  Committee,  or  the  Sanitary  Board, 

But  Bolton-lo-8moke  has  proved  conclusively  that  all  black  smoke 
u  a  nuisance,  and  that  all  black  smoke  is  needless,  and  that  all  black 
^oioVe  can  be  prevented  without  in  any  way  impairing  the  efficiency 
w  nUimate  success  of  the  various  manufactures  that  are  carried  on 
"J  means  of  steam-boiler  fnrnaces.  The  words  of  the  Act,  "  in 
«Uch  quantity  as  to  bo  a  nuisance,"  after  what  we  saw  in  Bolton, 
"oiiikJ  ridiculous.  All  that  seems  really  needed  is  that  public  opinion 
"liall  ripen  as  to  which  is  the  real  nuisance — the  smoke-maker,  or  the 
"'an  who  puts  the  law  in  motion  against  the  smoke — and  the  wished- 
^or  t^nd  wilTbo  attained. 

The  Bolton  authorities,  on  May  9,  1888,  gave  notice  to  all  the 
*t*'ani  users  of  the  borough  *'  that  the  smoko  in.spectora  had  been  cau- 
tioat'd  not  to  give  the  impression  that  abatement  of  tho  nuisance  to 
sny  degree  short  of  cessation  would  be  permanently  satisfactory,  as 
.Wo  Council  had  it  in  evidence  that  the  nuisanco  could  he  entirely 
Woppcd,  with  but  slight  exceptions,  by  day  and  night."  Why,  then, 
ili'i  we,  as  we  stood  and  gazed  on  the  Bolton  mills,  from  one  of 
the  8mokele.ss  factory  doors,  see  there  the  dense  clouds  of  unbnmt 
"ind  wasted  carbon  belch  and  blacken  the  day  ? 

The  answer  seems  to  bo  that,  until  penalties  for  the  nuisance  can 

p,4»  at  once  made  more  immediate  and  more  exacting,  until  conviction 

bo  more. summary  and   more  certain,  these  mill-oniiers,  who  are 

devoid  of  a  public  conscience  in  the   matter,  will   quietly  risk  the 

clumce  of  conviction  with  payment  of  the  fine,  rather  than  spend  tho 


TOL.  LVIL 


•Z  M 


522 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[AfBlI. 


necessary  .£100  in  rendering  each  factory  fnmace  for  ever  eniokeless. 
Ab  matters  are  now,  the  Smoke  Inspector  watches  a  factory  chimney 
for  half  au  hour,  notes  whether  the  smoke  is  dense  or  moderate,  and 
the  duration  of  the  nuisance ;  leaves  the  result  of  his  observations  at 
the  works,  and  enters  a  copy  of  his  observations  at  the  Local  Board 
Office  for  the  Health  Committee  to  deal  with.  The  Health  Committee 
serves  a  notice  on  the  offending  firm  to  abate  the  nuisance  within  a 
reasonable  time — say,  a  fortnight.  It  is  probable  that  the  firm  do 
little  beyond  cautioning  their  foreman,  and  it  will  not  be  till  after 
several  months  that  the  Smoke  Inspector  will  again  make  observa- 
tions on  the  particular  mill  chimney  in  question. 

The  process  is  then  perhaps  repeated,  and  if  no  sufficient  abate- 
ment is  noticeable,  the  Inspector  applies  for  a  summons.  At  the  end 
of  six  months'  actionable  smoke-making  the  case  cornea  before  the 
Bench.  The  firm  instrncts  a  solicitor,  who  argues  that  all  that  can 
be  done,  or  can  reasonably  be  demanded  of  his  clients,  has  been  done 
to  abate  the  nuisance,  and  that  if  the  bench  hareiss  his  clients  with 
such  vexatious  litigation  and  restrictions,  the  firm  must  shut  up  shop, 
and  the  town  will  be  beggared. 

The  Smoke  Inspector  or  the  Town  Clerk  then  has  his  say.  He  shows 
that  by  the  express  terms  of  the  Public  Health  Act,  a  magisterial  order 
requiring  the  firm  to  abate  the  nuisaEce  must  be  made,  provided  that 
the  Magistrates  are  convinced  in  their  minds  that  black  smoke  has  been 
issuing  from  the  factory  '*  in  such  quantity  ns  to  be  a  nuisance."  The 
magisterial  mind  until  lately  has  been  the  diflicnlty  here.  The 
offending  firm  declares  that  all  that  can  be  done,  has  been  done. 
The  Inspector  answers  by  appealing  to  the  notorious  fact  that  live  or 
six  firms  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  have  rendered  their  mill 
chimneys  absolutely  smokeless ;  and  after  a  long  wrangle,  a  fine  is 
proposed,  and  of  what  amount  ?  A  maximum  of  £5,  with  a  possibility 
of  an  additional  fine  of  10s.  a  day  until  the  nuisance  is  aMted. 

Now  what  does  a  wealthy  firm  care  for  such  a  trifling  penalty  ?  It 
has  taken  the  Inspector  six  months  to  bring  them  to  book,  and  if  con- 
victed— which  is  doubtful — a  eujn  of  £5  is  the  utmost  fine  iraposable. 
They  will  purchase  immunity  for  their  purses  and  impurity  for  their 
chimneys  for  another  six  months  at  least  for  a  .£5  note,  or  leas, 
and  they  leave  the  Court  whistling.  Can  wo  wonder  that  a  Health 
Act  so  difficult  in  operation  is  considered  by  many  who  wish  to  see 
sunlight  in  Lancashire  impractical  and  discouraging? 

But,  as  wo  walked  to  the  Bolton  Station,  we  were  cheered  mightily 
with  the  thought  that  the  mind  of  Lancashire  and  the  moral  conscience 
of  Lancashire  had  already  felt  the  sun.  Already,  without  any  appeal 
from  the  Public  Health  Act,  mill-ownera  who  cared  for  the  people  had 
determined  to  set  an  example,  and  had  recognised  their  duties  to  tho 
flunlesa  lives  of  those  who  were  building  their  fortunes  for  them. 


i89o] 


SUNLIGHT   OR    SMOKE? 


523 


I  say  "  sunless  Uvea  "  with  a  good  reason. 

' '  When  did  you  see  the  sun  last  ?  "  I  asked  the  little  child  opposite 
me,  as  I  journeyed  back  through  the  Stygian  darkness  of  a  November 
day  from  Black  Bolton  to  Manchester. 

"  Last  Friday,  I  think,  sir,"  waa  the  answer. 

For  nearly  a  week  the  little  child  had  gone  backward  and  forward 
to  her  school -t-ask  aunlesslj. 

Nine  years  she  had  grown,  and  a  gradeiy  little  Lancashire  flower 
the  lass  was,  but  she  had  had  to  grow  with  little  sun^  and  the  showers 
liad  been  soot  and  sulphurous  acid,  and  I  gave  a  good  sigh  to  think  of 
the  poor  lass's  lot,  and  to  contrast  her  with  the  children  who  grow  in 
Bun  and  shower  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  our  English  Lake 
district. 

"  Sun  doesn't  pay  hereabout,"  said  a  man  at  her  side ;  "  more 
smoke  more  work  hereabout,  at  least,  that's  wot  my  master  says." 

"  Yes,"  joined  in  a  head  clerk,  "  that's  about  tbe  ticket,  and  if 
them  anti-smoke  gents  are  going  to  come  fussing  round  our  works 
with  their  notions,  it's  my  opinion  that  the  masters  will  just  jack  up ; 
they're  keeping  mills  moving  now  at  a  loss." 

I  explained  that  I  was  one  of  the  wicked  anti-smoke  gents,  and 
believed  sincerely  that  it  could  be  demonstrated  that  the  actual  cost  of 
patting  in  anti-smoke  apparatus  to  the  furnace  could  be  recouped  in 
three  years,  and  that  by  the  more  complete  combustion  of  fuel  a 
saving  of  force  would  be  made,  while  cheaper  fuel,  now  ofr«n  left 
to  disfigure  the  counti'y  as  refuse,  could  be  burnt  into  the  bargain. 

"  You  just  shew  that  to  the  Lancashire  mill-owners^  and  there'll 
jolly  soon  be  no  more  smoke  in  this  land,"  said  the  clerk  cheerily, 
"  and,  I  know  well  enough,  men  would  be  glad  to  have  a  chance  of 
dean  air  and  sunshine,  if  not  for  themselves,  at  any  rate  for  their 
flowers." 

What  a  chance,  thought  I,  waa  here  ;  get  twenty  Deans  of  Rochester 
to  do  sedulously  for  Lancashire  what  Canon  Hole  once  did  for  the 
Nottingham  people,  and  the  Jlower-loving  masses  of  miners  and  mill- 
baads  will  go  for  the  no-smoke  agitation  in  a  body,  not  for  themselves, 
Iheir  wives  or  bairns,  but  for  their  flowers ;  but  the  conversation  was 
not  played  out. 

"  Dirt  ain't  cheap,  though  we  do  say  dirt  cheap,"  piped  in  a  wizened 
Kttle  old  body  with  a  market-basket  on  her  knee.  "  I  tell  yow  the 
gentleman's  right.  It  costs  us  poor  folk  a  sight  in  soup  and  clean 
curtains,  let  alone  clean  brata  and  gowns.  When  we  used  to  get 
in  our  hay  there  out  Darcy  Lever  way  onr  gown  pieces  were  solidly 
Boiled  black  as  soot  in  just,  going  between  the  bay-mowa.  Talk 
rsboat  hay-gettin',  it  was  dirt-gettin',  and  that's  all  about  it  now,"  she 

)ke  defiantly. 

Her  challenge  waa  not  taken  np^  for  the  train  slid  into  the  station. 


524 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Apsu. 


Bnfc  tliat  frowsy,  filthy,  sulphur-smitten,  soot-begrimed  meadow  of 
hay-grass  haunted  me  all  the  way  home  ;  and  I  felt  for  the  English- 
men and  maidens  of  the  mill  robbed  of  their  sunlight  at  the  noon, 
cheated  of  the  poor  man's  heritage,  the  way-side  llower,  sickened  by 
the  filth  of  their  black  and  torpid  streams,  with  never  so  much  as  a 
meadow  of  hay-grass  sweet  for  the  smell  or  clean  for  the  getting.  I 
thought  of  the  pale  faces  and  the  dreary  dawn,  the  dark  noon  hours, 
and  the  lengthened  gas-lit  eventide,  and  wondered  how  long  commc 
sense  and  science  would  delay  to  make  it  possible  for  poor  men's  eyes 
to  behold  the  sun,  and  poor  men's  souls  to  find  more  heavenly  cheer 
than  the  gin-palace-lights  at  the  comer.  Yes ;  aud  bow  long  Lan- 
cashire lads  would  ''sit  in  the  dark  and  hear  each  other  groan,"  as  onj 
after  another  through  sunless  days  they  wt-nt  through  joyless  work  to3 
the  sunless  tomb. 

Tho  train  drew  up  at  a  ticket-collecting  platform.  "  Sunlight 
Soap  "  stared  at  me  from  the  advertisement  hoardings. 

"  That's  the  only  sunlight  we  chaps  gets  in  Lancashire,"  said  the 
clerk. 

"  And  it  costs  a  deal  more  than  the  real  article,"  piped  up  the 
little  wizened  farm-woman.  Tlie  occupants  of  the  carriage  tittered  ; 
but  there  was  a  pathos  about  the  thought  of  their  make-believe  sun 
at  so  much  a  pound,  doing  duty  for  tho  Daystar's  purging,  and  I  did 
not  wonder  that  momentarily  an  angiy  sun  looked  blood-red  above  a 
guilty  city,  as  leaving  the  Victoria  Station  we  stumbled  out  into 
the  murky  streets  of  smoke-stricken  Manchester,  and  thought  with 
sorrow  of  Bolton-le-Smoke. 

Let  the  furnace-owners  realize  that  smoke-prevention  is  their  duty. 

Let  the  workmen  uuderstand  that  smoke  does  not  mean  work,  and 
how  easy  it  is  to  prevent  the  smoke. 

Let  electors  feel  that  they  have  it  in  their  power  to  insist  on 
aeeing  the  sweet  sun,  by  enforcing  the  Public  Ilealth  Act. 

Let  the  people  be  taught  that  sunshine  means  health,  joy,  the  sight 
of  their  eyes,  aud  abundance  of  days  ;  that  it  is  their  wealth — as  much 
their  wealth  as  their  wnges  ;  then,  tho  love  of  flowers,  and  clean  gown- 
pieces  and  window-curtains  will  do  the  rest,  and  the  answer  to  the 
question,  Sunlight  or  Smoke  ?  will  be  certain. 

U.  D.  Rawnslet. 


1890] 


ARISTOCRACY  OR   DEMOCRACY. 


A  REPLY  TO  rROFESSOM  HUXLEY. 


WHEN  a  man  like  Professor  Huxley,  who  has  long  been  looked 
up  to  as  the  most  brilliant  champion  of  adranced  thought, 
propounds  principles  which  are  not  easily  distinguishable  from  thoso 
of  the  most  fossilised  old  Toryism,  it  behoves  those  who  believe 
in  modem  progress  to  review  their  position  and  make  sure  that 
they  are  standing  on  solid  ground.  The  Proft'ssor  has  been  moved' 
to  descend  from  the  serene  regions  of  science,  and  enter  on  the 
burning  region  of  practical  politics  by  two  considerations. 

1.  He  is  alarmed  at  the  progress  of  democratic  ideas  and  institutions^ 
by  which,  as  he  forcibly  expresses  it,  the  navigation  of  the  vessel  of 
State  is  to  be  entrusted  to  the  votes  of  the  "  cooks  and  loblolly-boys 

instead  of  the   officers,"  and  when  '*  the  '  great  heart '  of  the  crew 
is  c&lled  upon  to  settle  the  ship's  course." 

2.  He  specially  distrusts  such  a  democratic  extension  of  the  franchise, 
because  he  thinks  that  it  leads  straight  to  what  he  calls  ^'  Rousseauism," 
that  is,  to  a  disposition  to  throw  all  the  fundamental  institutions  of 
society,  and  especially  that  of  land  and  other  forms  of  private  property, 
into  a  crucible,  and  cast  them  into  new  and  impracticable  forms  in 

tACcordance  with  visionary  abstract  theories  of  the  natural   eqnality 
men. 

It  is  clear  that  this  argument  is  in  sabstance  that  which  has  been 
"-■•d  sioco  the  days  of  Thucydides,  in  the  long  controversy  as  to  the 
!•  lutive  advantages  of  Aristocracy  and  Democracy;  and  that  the 
"  lobloUy-boy  "  simile  is  in  effect  a  pregnant  and  pithy  way  of  putting 
le  objections  to  the  Reform  Bill  of  1832,  urged  by  Sir  Charles 
Teiherali  and  Colonel  Sibthorp,  and  since  repeated  by  every  opponent 
tlie  great  democratic  reforms,  which,  in  the  course  of  the  last  fifty 
Bj  have  so  completely  transformed  the  conrae  of  legislation.     It 


526 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Apstl 


is  a  plausible  argument ;  but  it  has  certainly  thus  far  shown  no 
sign  of  satisfying  that,  which,  after  all,  is  the  surest  test  of  troth, 
whether  in  scientific,  or  in  political  and  social  evolution,  "  the  snrrival 
of  the  fittest  in  the  struggle  for  existence." 

And  here  let  me  begin  by  saying  that  it  is  a  source  of  great  satis- 
faction to  me  to  find  that  in  contesting  Professor  Huxley "s  conclusions 
it  is  a  question  of  appreciation  of  facts,  and  not  of  confiict  of  principle. 
I  entirely  agree  with  him  that  social  and  political  problems  are  so 
infinitely  complicated  that  it  is  impossible  to  solve  them  absolutely  by 
any  recurrrence  to  axioms  or  first  principles. 

If  even  the  simple  problem  of  three  bodies  revolving  round  a  com- 
mon centre  of  gravity  by  the  law  of  gravitation,  can  only  be  solved 
by  successive  approximations,  how  hopeless  must  be  the  task  of 
arriving  at  any  hard-and-fast  mathematical  solution  of  the  problem  of 
thirty-five  millions  of  people  revolving  each  in  its  own  individual 
orbit,  di'termined  by  an  infinite  number  of  impulses  of  self-interest, 
sentiment,  hereditary  influences,  race,  country,  ixlucation,  and  all  the 
vastly  varied  action  of  a  complex  environment.  In  fact  lam  disposed 
to  go  even  farther  in  this  direction  than  the  Professor  himself,  and  to 
object  that  in  his  "loblolly-boy"  simile,  which  contains  the  essence 
of  his  argument  against  democracy,  he  has  stated  the  problem  too 
generally,  and  not  coupled  it  with  the  necessary  limitations  as  to  time, 
place,  and  other  conditions  ■svhich  are  indispensable  to  arrive  at  any 
practical  conclusion.  At  the  same  time  I  so  far  agree  with  Herbert 
Spencer,  as  to  think  that  it  is  not  only  interesting,  but  may  be  useful 
in  arriving  at  practical  conclusions,  to  trace  back  the  results  which 
have  survived  in  the  course  of  evolution  of  civilized  societies,  as  far 
as  possible  to  their  origin  or  first  principles,  so  as  to  see  what  factors 
have  become  permanent  and  inevitable,  and  what  are  temporary  and 
evanescent.  Thus  it  seems  to  me  that  while  Huxley  is  perfectly 
right  in  rejecting  the  axiom  that  all  men  are  bom  equal,  he  might 
study  Herbert  S]>encer  with  advantage  in  tracing  the  conditions  under 
which  this  axiom,  absurd  as  au  absolute  conclusion,  has  yet  in  some 
cases  a  real  element  of  truth.  Thus  he  would  scarcely  deny  that  all 
classes  and  conditions  of  men,  be  they  rich  or  poor,  strong  or  weak, 
ought  to  be  equal  in  the  eye  of  the  law.  Nor  would  Spencer  deny  that 
questions  of  property  and  contract,  of  finance  and  franchise,  are  in 
their  nafcura  questions  of  more  or  less,  of  time  and  circumstance, 
rather  than  of  absolute'  conclusions.  In  short,  I  hold  that  a  right 
appreciation  of  first  principles  and  of  the  history  of  evolution  are 
useful  in  enabling  us  to  state  the  conditions  of  social  and  political 
problems,  though  powerless  to  solve  them.  In  order  to  define  more 
closely  the  conditions  of  the  problem  of  Aristocracy  v.  Democracy, 
we  must  greatly  narrow  the  assumptions  on  which  Professor  Huxley's 
argument  depends.      In  neither  case  is  it  a  question  of  ''  cook  and 


t«9o] 


ARISTOCRACY   OR   DEMOCRACY. 


527 


lohloUy-boys  "  actually  navigating  the  ship.  There  muat  always  be 
a  captain  and  superior  officers,  and  the  sole  question  is  under  which 
system  we  get  the  best  ones.  Monarchy,  or  as  Carlyle  calls  it,  hero- 
worship,  implies  that  the  rulfl  of  a  single  individual  is  best ;  but  here 
w?  are  met  by  the  primary  condition  which  the  sagacious  Mrs.  Glaase 
put  forward  as  the  first  requisite  for  making  hare-soup.  First  catch 
your  hare,  first  find  your  hero.  Hereditary  descent  clearly  fails  us, 
yon  are  just  qj3  likely  to  get  a  Nero  or  a  Commodus,  as  a  Titus  or 
a  Mnrcus  Aurelius.  A  plebiscite  may  give  you  a  Napoleon  III.  or  a 
Boalanger,  as  probably  as  a  Washington  or  a  Cromwell. 

Aristocracy  means  that  you  are  likely  to  do  best  whon  the  CJovem- 

tnont  is  Belected  by   n   small,  hereditary,   privileged   class   who  from 

superior  wealth  and  education  may  be  supposed  to  understand  political 

Questions  better  than  the  mass  of  their  countrymen.      The  theory  of 

<^eniocracy  is  that  you  will  get  a  better  result  from  the  outcome  of 

the  varied  opinions  and  contlicting  views  of  a  very  large  number  of 

voters,  comprising  the  whole  or  nearly  the  whole  of  the  adult  com- 

km  Unity. 
wl  priori  there  is  nothing  absurd  in  this  latt  er  theory.     Professor 
Hti3cley  will  admit  that  it  is  quite  a  tenable  proposition  that  you  may 
^^ti   a  more  accurate  representation  of  the  annual  parallax  of  a  star,  or 
<*^  'tlae  precise  moment  of  the  commencement  and  end  of  a  transit  of 
■  ^^ixus,  from   the  average  of  a  large  number    of  moderately  skilled 
**^>servers,  than  from  those  of  two  or  three  first-rate  astronomers  who 
*^*^y  l)e  biased   by   personal    equations.      Or  again,  to   take   another 
B  scientific  simile,  who  coald  have  predicted  that  the  erratic  movements 
I       ■^*    imuimerable  atoms  of  a  gas,    rushing   about  and   colliding  in  all 
^''iiigiuable  ways,  would  have  resulted  in  an  uniform  temperature  and 
P»^S8uro  ?     And  yet  such  is  the  case,  and  the  kinetic  theory  of  gases 
!■     ^  an  establisheJ  fact. 

H  1  invoke  his  own  principle  that  "  the  proof  of  the  pudding  is  in  the 

bating  " ;  or,  in  more  magniloquent  language,  that  the  survival  of  the 
^  Kltest  is  the  best  test  of  fitness,  and  1  apply  it  to  the  facts  of  past  and 
H      of  contemporary  history. 

H  Aristocracy,  has  undoubtedly,  had  great  advantages  in  the  past,  and 
^  has  so  still  in  countries  where  militarism,  or  the  condition  of  frequent 
T&rs  and  constant  preparation  for  wars,  is  the  first  necessity  of 
national  existence.  1  confine  myself  to  English  speaking  States  ;  the 
Caited  Kingdom,  the  United  States,  Canada,  and  Australasia.  Can 
it  be  said  that  the  patent  fact  of  the  age,  the  decay  of  the  principle  of 
Aristocracy  and  the  progress  of  Democracy,  has  been  a  failure  as  regards 
those  countries  ? 

If  Professor  Huxley  thinks  so,  I  venture  to  difier  from  him.  I 
Ailmit,  to  the  fullest  extent,  his  superiority  in  scientific  attainments  and 
in  lit«rary  ability,  but  in  this  particular  class  of  questions  I  have  the 


528 


CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


TAwx, 


advantage  over  him  of  being  a  Specialist.  •{  have  had  a  very  long  and 
very  close  training,  in  the  House  of  Goinmona,  at  the  Treasury  and  Board 
of  Trade,  as  Finance  Minister  of  India,  and  as  tlie  head  of  great  railway 
and  commercial  companies,  in  the  great  questions  of  the  day  which 
come  within  the  definition  of  practical  politics.  And  it  is  a  study  oi 
contemporary  facts,  aided  hy  this  training,  which  has  led  me  to- 
reverse  the  course  commonly  attributed  to  age  and  riper  experience,, 
and  with  advancing  years  to  become  more  Democratic. 

I  will   refer  first  to  the   United  States,   for  here  the   problem   of 
democracy  has  been  tried  on  the  largest  scale  and  to  the  fullest  extent. 
Prior  to  the  great  war  and  the  presidency  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  the 
selections  of  the  captjiins  and  oSicers  to  navigate  the  American  State 
had  been  made,  for  many  years,  practically  by  a  select  aristocracy,  the 
Southern  planters.      Since  then  the  "  loblolly-boys,"  as  I  suppose  the 
Professor  would  call  them — that  is,  the  great  democratic  mass  of  the 
community  on  the  one  man  one  vote  principle — have  had  it  all  their 
ovm  way.      What  has  been  the  result?     Nothing  has   impressed    me 
more  than  the  exceeding  wisdom  and  sobriety  with  which  all  really 
important  matters  have  been  dealt  with  by  tbis  democratic  community. 
Take  the  most  important  act  of  their  political  life,  the  triennial  elec- 
tion of  Presidents.     They  have  elected  an  uninterrupted  succession  of 
highly  fit  men  ;  in  some  cases,  like  that  of  Lincoln,  their  greatest  man  ;i 
in  all,  men  of  high   character  and  sound  judgment,  iintainted  by  any 
suspicion  of  loose  morality,  or  of  extravagant  demagogism — men  who 
were  fair,  or  rather  excellent  representatives  of  the  best  traits  of  the 
national  character.    These  I'residents  have  selected  Jlinisters  of  whom 
it  may  be  said,  without  exaggeratiou,  that  they  are  quite  up   to  the 
average  standard    of   Cabinet  Ministers   of    any    European    country. 
Take  the  mnungement  of  foreign  affairs,  which  is  perhaps  the  best  test? 
of  wise  statesmanship,  and  that  in  which  the  opponents  of  democracy 
have  predicted  the  worst  consequences  from  the  transfer  of  political, 
power  from  the  classes  to  the  masses.      That  of  the  United  States  ha» 
been  uniformly  wise  and  successful.     Filibustering  has  become  extinct  ;, 
temptations  to  annex  territory  in  Cuba  and  Mexico  have  been  resisted  p 
the  Monro  doctrine   has  been  upheld,  and  France  compelled  to  retire 
from  Mexico  without  Gririg  a  shot ;  differences  with  European  StateSp. 
as  with  England  abotit  the  Alabama  claims,  and  with  Germany  aboufri 
Samoa,  have  been  settled  temperately  and  honourably.      In  no  singlf 
case  can  it  be  said  that  the  foreign  policy  and  diplomacy  of  the  United 
States  have  been  unwise  or  have  met  with  a  rebuff. 

And  in  great  domestic  questions,  where  demagogic  incitements  were 
not  wanting,  the  same  wise  and  provident  policy  has  been  equally 
conspicuous. 

At  the  conclii.sion  of  the  war,  the  nation  found  itself  loaded  with 
an  enormous  debt   and  an  inflated  currencv.      Most  of  this  debt  huA 


,890] 


ARISTOCRACY   OR   DEMOCRACY. 


529 


I 
I 


I  "been  incurred  in  paper,  depreciated  far  below  its  gold  value.     Surely 
liere  was  a  case,  if  ever,  where  the  "  loblolty-boys  "  and  common  sailora 
might  have  been  expected  to  listen  to  the  seductions  of  demagogues, 
iw'ho  were  not  wanting,  t^41[ng  them  that  they  ought  not  to  submit  to 
oxcessive  taxation,  in.  order  to  pay  in  full  in  gold,  the  cormorant 
>  ^capitalists  who  had  advanced  their  loans  in  paper.    But  nu  !  the  ma-xim 
-that  "  honesty  is  the  beet  policy  "  was  so  engrained  in  the  nature  of  the 
American  masses,  that  they  submitted  cheerfully  to  a  load  of  taxation, 
%vJiich  converted  tlip  United  States  from  one  of  the  cheapest  into  one 
of   the  dearest  countries  in  the  world,  and  the  demagogues,  instead  of 
ridi  ng  into  power  on  popular  prejudice,  found  themselves  simply  ostra- 
cize^ from  pnblic  life. 

Those  who  wish  to  pursne  the  subject  farther,  and  to  understand  the 
re^l  efiect  of  democratic  institutions  on  social  life,  will  do  well  to  study 
on  €9  of  the  most  admirable  Jjooks  of  recent  times,  Professor  Bryce's 
wroi~lj  on  the  "  American  Commonwealth."  Space  forbids  my  pursuing* 
t>li^  subject  farther,  and  it  is  sufficient  to  say,  that  I  challenge  any  dis- 
l>^'^iaionate  observer  to  say  that  democracy  has  beon  a  failure  in  America  ; 
a.i^<i  what  is  true  of  America  is  equally  true,  on  a  smaller  scale,  in  all 
Es^^glish-speaking  colonies,  mth  self-government,  representative  insti- 
^**^*«tonfl,  and  a  wide  franchise. 

Turning  to  our  own  country,  the  sitnation  is  more  complex.     The 

P*^litieal  education  of  the  ma.sses  can  only  be  said  to  have  begun  in 

•*™®    present  generation,  with    Board  schools,  a   cheap  Press,  and  the 

^st^lision   of  the    franchise.      On    the  other   hand,    the   principle   of 

*i^stocracy  is  not  merely  hereditary,  but  is  reinforced  by  the  numerous 

*^*®'Se    who  have  risen   to   wealth  ;  by  the  social  inihipnces  radiating 

»rotn  the  Queen  on  the  throne  down  to  the  wife  of  a  retired  tradesman 

wing  in  an  Acacia  or  Beaconsfield  Villa ;  by  powerful  professional 

ftr»a    monopolist  interests,  such  as    the   Law,  the    Church,   and    the 

publicans,  which  are  either  manned  by  members  of  the  upper  class  or 

niVo  grown  up   under  its  shelter  ;  and  by  the  conservative  instincts 

""^^icli  have  made  Englishmen   as  a  rule  slow  to  move  and  suspicious 

^^  novelties.      Still  there  remains  a  large  number  of  facts  from  which 

*^  ^.pproximate  induction  can  be  drawn.     Take,  first,  the  rjuestion  of 

****^ign  policy.     Hem,  certainly,    if  the  "  loblolly-boy  "  theory  has 

*^y  force,  the  superior  wisdom  of  the  Classes  over  that  of  the  Masses 

^^'^Ht  to  be  most  apparent.     If  an  aristocracy  has  any  rainon  d'itre 

**^  times  of  peace,  it  surely  ought  to  be  in   keeping  alive  sound  tra- 

'*'ons,  and  takintj  sensible  views  of  our  relations  with  foreign  powers, 

***d  of  the  true  and  permanent  interests  of  the  empire  as  distinguished 

^^*tl  temporary  ebullitions  of  sentiment  and  prejudice.      Has  it  been 

^'      In  my  own  experience,  ranging  over  the  best  part  of  50  years, 

^8  chief  features  of  the  policy  and  feelings  of  the  "  Classes  "  have 


530 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Afbh, 


% 


1.  Sympathy  with  Louis  Napoleon,  and  the  entente  cortUalt 
the  French  Empire  landing  ub  in  the  Crimean  war. 

2.  Sympathy  with  the  Southern  States  in  the  war  of  the  Union 
'6.  Sympathy  with  Turkey  and  an  exaggerated  Kusso-phobia,  lead- 
ing to  a  policy  alike  cynical  and   stupid,  of  trying  to  bolster  up  the 
decay  of   the  decrepit  empire  of  the   Sultan  at  the   expense  of   the 
Christian  populations  struggling  for  their  inevitable  enfran^isement. 

4.  Sympathy  with  Austria  in  her  wars  to  prevent  the  creation  of 
an  united  Italy  and  of  a  great  Germany. 

5.  Violent  indignation  at  the  settlement  of  the  Alabama  claims  by 
arbitration. 

6.  Successive  Afghan  wars  undertaken  in  defiance  of  common  se: 
and  of  the  remonstrances  of  the  leading  authorities,  like  Li 
Lawrence,  who  were  practically  acquainted  with  Indian  aSairs. 

7.  A  Colonial  policy  of  treating  Canada,  Australia,  New  Zcalan 
and  South  Africa,  as  dependencies  of  Downing  Street,  by  which  our 
Colonial  Empire  would  have  Ijeen  infallibly  lost  to  us  but  for  the 
tardy  application  of  democratic  principles. 

Many  more  instances  might  be  mentioned,  but  these  are  sufficient 
to  show  that,  in  point  of  fact,  the  "  classes "  have  signally  failed  to 
make  good  their  claim  to  be  a  real  "  Aristocracy,"  that  is  a  Govern- 
ment of  the  best  and  wisest,  and  that  in  the  very  field  where,  if 
anywhere,  their  superiority  ought  to  have  been  most  clearly  manifested. 

If  we  turn  to  domestic  affairs  it  is  stil!  more  clear  that  the  "  classes  " 
have  not  shown  that  supi'riority  in  political  wisdom  which  is  claimed 
for  them  over  the  "  masses."  It  would  be  difficult  to  name  one  of  the 
great  and  beneficial  reforms  of  the  last  CO  years  which  could  have  been 
carried  if  the  upper  classes  of  society,  represented  by  the  hereditary 
aristocratic  House  of  Lords,  had  been  able  to  give  effect  to  their 
opinions  and  wishes. 

The  Keform  Bills,  the  Extensions  of  the  Franchise  and  of  Education, 
Fre«  Trade,  the  Repeal  of  the  Corn  Laws,  the  Disestablishment  of  the 
Irish  Church,  tlie  Irish  Land  Acts,  would  all  have  been  rejected,  and 
it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that,  if  the  navigation  of  the  ship  of  State 
had  been  entrusted  to  the  select  few,  it  would  long  ago  have  been 
among  breakers,  and  instead  of  Reform  we  shoald  have  had  Revolution. 

If  we  inquire  the  reason,  it  will  be  found  in  the  fact  that  the  so- 
called  aristocracy  hia  ceased  to  be  what  its  name  purports — a  selection 
of  the  beat  of  the  nation.  Militarism,  or  a  state  of  frequent  great 
wars,  or  apprehension  of  wars,  requiring  a  system  of  miUtar}'  organ- 
ization, is  the  condition  under  which  alone  an  hereditary  aristocracy 
can  maintain  their  position  as  natural  leaders.  "When  I  read  of  the 
noblemen  who  come  to  gi'ief  in  the  betting-ring  and  in  divorce-courts, 
I  often  think  how  different  would  have  been  their  career  if  they  had 


ARISTOCRACY  OR   DEMOCRACY. 


531 


been  bom  in  Germany  instead  of  England,     The  stuff  is  there — the 
physical  courage,  the  high  spirit,  the  feeling  Uiat  noblesse  oblige — but 
how  different  has  been  the  training.    In  the  one  case,  duty,  discipline, 
and  the  stem  realities  of  the  battle-field ;  in  the  other,  the  enervating 
influences  of  luxury  and  idleness.     Compare  tlie  House  of  Commons, 
the  crew  selected  by  the  nation,  including,  if  you  like,  the  cooks  and 
loLloUy-boys,  with  the  House  of  Lords,  the  crew  selected  by  hereditary 
succession,  and  recruited  only  from  the  upper  classes.     Any  one  who 
has    stood  a  contested  election  must  be  aware,  that  in  a  great  and  in- 
creasing majority  of  cases,  no  one  has  a  chance  of  being  returned  to  the 
popular  Assembly,  who  has  not  a  good  deal  of  the  experience  and 
qualities  which  make  for  statesmanship.      He  must  be  a  fairly  good 
sptraier,  well   up  in  all  the  political  and  social  questions  of  tlu'  day, 
W'itH  command  of  temper  tu   stand  heckling,  of  independent  means, 
ajad   cf  fair  position  and  moral   character.      He  must  have  done  some- 
thixLg  to  make  his  name  known  as  a  man  who  has  succeeded  in  life  or 
^rlio  has  shown  marked  ability.     The  House  of  CommoHS  is  recruited 
nxor^e  and  more  every  day  by  men  who,  if  some  accident  called  thera 
to    "Lie  Cabinet  Ministers  and  heads  of  great  departments,  would  dis- 
cH^rge  the  duties  of  their  office  very  creditably.      Men  like  Mr.  W. 
U.    Smith  from  trade,  Mr.  Goschen  fi-om  the  City,  Mr.   John  Morley 
from  literature,  Mr.  H.  Fowler  from  a  solicitor's  office,  and  scores  of 
otilieTa  who  would  do  fairly  well  if  they  had  the  opportunity-    Can  the 
Mk^n©  be  said  of  the  House  of  Lords  ?    Assuredly  not !    With  a  very  few 
eftnirsent  exceptions,  they  do   not   even  take  a  sufficient   interest  in 
politdcB  to  attend  its  sittings.     And  they  are  terribly  biassed  by  what 
*-   Have  called   the  ''personal   equation;"  they   view  things  through 
the   medium  of  West-end  society,  and  the  result  is  that  nine-teutiis  of 
ineBa  are  utterly  out  of  sympathy  with  the  public  opinion  and  political 
vie'Ws  of  a  majority  of  their  countrymen. 

^Hien  an  organ  becomes  useless  in  the  course  of  evolution  it  is  very 
>pt  to  become  injurious,  and  this,  I  think,  may  be  said  of  the  principle 
<^l  hereditary  aristocracy  under  existing  conditions.  The  great  mis- 
cnief  it  does  is  in  fostering  the  national  defect  of  snobbishness.  What  is 
■Jiohbishness  ?  It  is  the  tendency  to  bow  down  before  a  golden  image, 
aad  Worship  rank  and  wealth  rather  than  real  merit.  We  hear  loud 
<^*«plaints  of  this,  the  besetting  sin  of  the  age  ;  but  how  can  it 
'*'  otherwise,  when  the  fountain  of  honour  flows  in  a  channel  the  first 
^ti<lit.ion  of  which  is  the  j"»ossession  of  wealth  sufficient  to  found  a 
»fnijy,  and  keep  up  an  hereditary  title. 

l^thore  are  to  be  honorary  distinctions  at  all,  surely  those  names 
*''8ut  to  be  enrolled  in  the  list  of  British  worthies  who  have  been, 
•9  Universal  consent,  foremost  in  doing  honour  to  their  age  and 
**nitry — names  like  those  of  Darwin,  Herbert  Spencer,  and  Huxley 


MS 


THE    CONTEMPORARY    REVIEW, 


[Al 


in  Bcience ;  Dickens,  Thackeray,  and  George  Eliot  in  literatu: 
Wordsworth,  Shelley,  and  Browning  in  poetry ;  rather  than  n 
whose  claim  is  opportune  ratting,  party  sen'icea  in  contesting  el 
tions,  excuses  for  excluding  from  Cabinets,  in  all  cases  with 
condition  of  wealth ,  and,  in  many  instances,,  with  this  obviously  i 
obtnisively  the  sole  qualification.  Tennyson  is  the  solitary  excepti 
and  his  case  shows  more  forcibly  the  degradation  of  hereditary  honoi 
for  a  painful  thrill  of  surprise  ran  through  most  of  his  admirers 
heai'ing  that  the  greatest  poet  of  the  age  had  condescended  to  aco 
a  peerage. 

There  remains  the  bugbear  of  "  llousseauism,"  I  call  it  a  bugbf 
for  any  ono,  who  is  practically  acquainted  with  the  House  of  Commi 
and  the  drilTb  of  public  opinion,  must  be  aware  that  it  is  as  far 
possible  from  being  within  tlie  sphere  of  practical  politics.  Ti 
the  case  of  the  Irish  Land  Act  and  the  Scottish  Crofters  Act,  wh 
jire,  I  suppose,  the  high-water  mark  of  what  the  members  of 
Liberty  and  Property  Defence  League  would  call  Socialist  legi8lati( 

I  doubt  whether  ten  members  of  the  House  of  Commons  have  e 
road  the  "  Contrat- Social,"'  or  whether  a  single  one  of  those  "who  vo 
for  these  Acts  was  influenced  by  a  belief  in  the  axiom  that  all  n 
are  bom  equal,  and  that  all  property  is  a  robbery.  On  the  contrs 
the  argumt-nts  which  were  used,  and  which  prevailed,  were  identi 
with  those  which  Professor  Huxley  himself  puts  forward  with  so  mi 
force  in  his  article  on  "  Natural  Rights  and  Political  Hights." 
says  that  '•  labour  is  tlie  foundation  of  the  claim  to  sound  ownershi 
and  instances  the  rude  flint  chipped  into  an  axe  by  a  palieolit 
savage,  and  tho  green  crop  on  the  otherwise  stony  desert  of  Up 
Egypt,  which  had  been  fertilized  by  the  labour  of  the  irrigator  brh 
ing  to  it  the  muddy  water  of  the  Nile.  "  Property,"  he  ss 
*'  consists  in  fact  of  two  elements ;  the  soil  or  other  raw  matei 
and  the  laboar  applied  to  it." 

Now  the  Irish  question  was  this :  that  in  a  vast  majority  of  su 
holdings,  under  £10  a  year,  comprising  half  the  population  of  Irela 
and  to  a  considerable  extent  in  larger  holdings,  the  landlord  had  c 
tributed  nothing  but  poor,  rocky,  and  boggy  soil,  worth  certainly 
the  average  not  half-a-crown  an  acre,  and  often  not  worth  sixpeno< 
annual  rent,  while  the  tenant  had  built  the  houses,  drained,  fenc 
and  reclaimed  the  land,  and  made  all  the  improvements,  which  1 
created  a  property  worth  say,  155.  or  205.  an  acre.  "Was  the  lawj 
which  entitlrd  the  landlord  to  take  the  whole  or  the  greater  pari 
this  15s.  or  20«.,  and  to  leave  the  other  partners  who  had  created  fi 
three-fourths  of  the  value,  notliing  but  a  bare  subsistence  in  a  c 
dition  of  poverty  unmatched  in  any  other  civilised  counti-y,  and  of 
not  even  that,  for  the  rent  was  paid  not  from  the  land,  but  £t 


1890] 


ARISTOCRACY   OR   DEMOCRACY. 


533 


extraneous  sources  sucb  as  harvest  labour  in  Eagland,  and  remittances 
from  sons  and  daughters  in  America  ?  That,  in  a  nutshell,  is  the 
Irish  Land  Question. 

And  was  it  right  or  wise  for  the  English  nation  to  throw  tho  whole 

weight  -of  the  Government,  the  law,  the  army,  the  police,  and  the 

whole  system  of  evictions  and  Coercion,  into  the  scale  of  tho  landlords 

to  perpetuate  this  state  of  things,  with  tho  certainty  of  ao  exasperating 

the  feeling  of  an  intelligent  nationality  whom  you  have  educated,  and 

to   ^vhom  yon  have  given  eqnal  political  rights,  as  to  make  Ireland  a 

80CLr-ce  of  weakness  rather  than  of  strength  to  the  Empire,  and  compel 

yoxiy    in  case  of  war,  to  lock  up  a  fourth  of  yonr  available  military 

strength  in  order  to  keep  it  in  subjection  ? 

That,  in  a  nutshell,  is  the  question  of  Home  Rule, 
These  views  may  be  right  or  wrong,  but  assuredly  they  are  based  on 
soTEi.ething  quite  different  from  the  abstract  axioms  of  Ilousseau. 

So  far  from  denouncing  all  property  as  a  robbery,  we  aim  at  recog- 
n-LsLng  it  by  restoring  to  those  who,  on  Professor  Iluxiey's  own  principles, 
&x*c»  "the  chief  owners,  some  moderate  share  at  any  rat«  of  that  of  which 
tixi&y  have  been  robbed  by  unjust  legislation, 

'But  then  it  is  said  that  you  are  violating  the  principle  of  the 
Ba2x.ctity  of  contract  which  is  the  main  object  of  the  State  to  enforce, 
iknd  which  is  the  foundation  of  all  civilized  society.     Here  again  we 
reply : — No,  we  are  seeking  to  strengthen  the  principle  of  contract  by 
nukkiDg  it  a  reality,  and  not  a  legal  fiction.     Even  the  English  Law, 
K«Li«li  as  it  is  in  siding  with   the  rich   against  the  poor,   the  strong 
•gainst  the  weak,  admits  that  contract  is  only  valid  where  tho  con- 
^'acting  parties  are  free  and  meet  on  equal  terms,  and  not  under  irre- 
■iatible  compulsion.      It  does  not  hold  in  the  caso  of  minors,  married 
▼omen,  or  where  undue  and  Irresistible  influence  can  be  established. 
Now  in  the  case  of  Irish  and  Scotch  Crofters,  Commission  after  Commis- 
sion has  established  the  fact  that  there  was  no  real  freedom  of  contract 
between  landlord  and  tenant.      Eviction  is  in  efifoct  what  it  has  been 
•o  often  called — a  sentence  of  death. 

Th^rp  is  BO  little  independent  employment  for  labour,  that  the 
^****er,  if  he  is  aged,  infirm,  or  burdened  with  a  family,  has  no 
•"•nurtire  bat  to  pay,  or  promise  to  pay,  an  impossible  rent,  or  to  turn 
^^  tad  die  in  a  ditch.  Even  now,  after  the  passing  of  the  Land  x\ct, 
*^  k  his  fate  in  the  poorer  half  of  Ireland,  unless  he  can  pay  the 
^^^'Wb  of  what  are  admitted  to  be  unjust  rents.  In  Scotland  it  is 
•"oerent.  There  arrears  of  unjust  rents  are  held  to  be  nnjost,  and 
we  Land  Commission  reduces  them  accordingly. 

Wliat  first  opened  my  eyes,  more  than  20  years  ago,  to  the  realities 
w  ftft  Irish  question,  was  a  conversation  I  had  with  an  Irish  labourer, 
*Dom  I  found  trenching  a  piece  of  mountain  land  on  the  banks  of  the 


5a4 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Afsil 


Lake  of  Killamey.  He  told  me  that  he  was  working  for  a  farmer, 
that  his  wages  were  eighteenpence  a  day,  but  that  he  only  got  work 
on  the  average  for  90  days  in  the  year.  I  have  since  visited  most  of 
the  poorer  parts  of  Ireland  and  cross-examined  innumerable  labourers 
and  cottars,  and  have  found  this  statement  confirmed,  or  rather 
aggravated,  in  the  remoter  districts.  Take  the  case  of  Gweedore,  where 
I  once  spent  a  month.  I  am  certain  that  in  an  area  of  20  miles  round 
the  scene  of  the  recent  lamentable  events,  with  a  population  of  3,000 
or  4,000,  there  is  not  employment  at  day's  wages  for  50  or  GO 
independent  labourers.  In  the  notorious  Falcarragh  estate,  it  has  been 
stated  in  open  court,  and  the  figures  have  never  been  contradicted, 
that  the  ancestors  of  the  present  proprietor  bought  it  originally  for 
something  like  £500 ;  that  the  landlords  have  never  expended  a 
shilling  on  improvements,  and  that  the  rental  before  the  passing  of  the 
Land  Act  was  £2,500  a  year,  and  is  still  nominally  from  £1,500  to 
£2,000.  Am  1  Rousseauist,  if  I  say  that  this  is  indeed  robbery,  but 
robbery  not  by  the  tenant  on  the  landlord,  but  by  the  landlord  on  the 
tenant  ? 

To  turn,  however,  from  Ireland,  whose  burning  questions  of  party 
and  political  interests  obscure  the  view,  what  are  the  general  questions 
respecting  the  rights  and  duties  of  property,  and  especially  of  landed 
property,  which  are  within  the  sphere  of  pi-actical  ]iolitics  ?  They  are 
all  questions  of  finance  and  of  figures.  Even  Ilenry  George,  when  he 
comes  to  the  practical  application  of  his  able  and  ingenious,  but  often 
extreme  and  impracticable  theories,  confines  them  to  the  special  case 
of  land,  and  limits  his  practical  demand  to  a  transfer  to  it  of  the  larger 
share  of  national  taxation.  This  is  a  question,  more  or  less,  of  com- 
promise and  practical  adjustment,  rather  than  of  abstract  theory.  The 
principle  is  already  admitted,  by  the  income  tax  and  succession  duties, 
that  property  ought  to  pay  something  towai'ds  the  support  of  the 
State?,  that  is,  for  the  common  good  ;  the  question  is  whether  it  pays 
enough,  and  whether  it  is  levied  on  the  right  sorts  of  property. 

Hero  in  England,  apart  from  all  questions  of  Ireland,  there  is  a 
general  and  growing  opinion  that  past  legislation  has  not  sufficiently 
kept  in  view  the  great  and  fundamental  distinction  between  earned 
and  unearned  property. 

The  former,  whether  in  land  or  personalty,  is  a  natural,  the  latter 
an  artificial,  right.  That  it  is  artificial  is  clearly  proved  by  the  fact 
that  it  ia  different  in  diflFerent  ages  and  countries.  England  is  the 
solitary  exception  in  which  the  right  of  property  has  been  strained  bo 
high  as  to  carry  with  it  the  absolute  right  of  the  owner  not  only  to  do 
what  he  likes  with  his  own,  with  what  he  has  made  by  his  own  exer- 
tions and  during  his  own  life,  but  to  do  what  he  likes  with  it  after 
his  death.     A  millionaire  may,  if  he  likes,  disinherit  his  family,  and 


ARISTOCRACY   OR   DEMOCRACY. 


685 


Ijeave  his  widow  and  clilldren  to  be  supported  by  the  ratepayers.  To 
a  certain,  extent  this  ia  mitigated  by  settlements,  bat  even  these  leave 
the  first  owner  the  power  of  tying  up  his  estate  as  he  likes  for  a 
long  period,  and  the  theory  of  the  English  law  is  that  the  absolute 
right  of  ownership  persists  after  death.  Bat  this  ia  an  exceptional 
law  ;  in  the  Roman  law,  and  in.  the  laws  of  France.  Germany,  Austria, 
Italy,  Spain,  and  other  civilized  nations,  and  even  in  such  an  integral 
part  of  our  own  empire  as  Scotland  no  such  theory  prevails.  On  the 
contrary,  the  unlimited  power  ceases  with  life,  and  the  disposal  of 
property  after  the  owner's  death,  ia  not  left  to  him,  but  to  the  opera- 
tion of  law,  by  which  tho  bulk  of  it  goes  to  provide  for  the  family. 

Clearly  the  devolution  of  all  property  to  those  who  have  done  nothing 
to  earn  it  beyond,  as  the  witty  Frenchman  says,  "  taking  the  trouble 
to  be  bom,"  ia  an  affair  of  laws,  and  the  fortunate  heirs  may  be 
expected  to  pay  handsomely  for  tho  support  of  the  law  and  order  to 
which  they  are  indebted  for  their  windfall.  This  is  a  question  not 
of  abstract  theory,  but  of  the  proper  amount  of  succession  duties,  and 
of  the  incidence  of  the  income-tax  on  the  two  descriptions  of  income, 
earned  and  unearned. 

Then  there  is  the  case  of  tlie  unearned  increment.  To  take  a 
practical  illustration,  there  is  a  mountain  valley  in  Wales  which 
might  have  been  worth,  at  the  outside,  £800  a  year  as  a  sheep  farm. 
Bat  coal  and  iron   were  found,  works  created,  and  a  town   of  10,000 

C inhabitants  sprung  up,  and  the  landlord  now  gets  a  secure  income  of 
£8,000  a  year.  This  extra  value  has  been  created  by  the  outlay  of 
capitalists,  moat  of  whom  lost  their  money,  and  by  the  labour  of  the 
community  who  live  on  the  soil. 
Now  1  do  not  care  how  the  landlord's  ancestors  got  the  land  in  the 
times  of  the  Tudors  or  Plantaganets,  nor  would  I  propose  to  confiscate 
liis  income  on  the  plea  of  equal  rights  or  ancestral  robbery.  But 
without  being  a  Uousseauist,  I  may  be  permitted  to  say  that  I  think 
the  original  legislation  was  bad  which  did  not  reserve  the  mining 
rights  for  the  State  or  Commune,  and  that  the  modem  legislation  was 
bad  which  did  not  impose  some  large  share  of  the  local  rates  on  the 
fortunate  landlord,  to  provide  the  requisites  of  civilized  life  for  the 
community,  which  had  thus  grown  up,  and  to  which  he  was  indebted 
for  his  enhanced  income. 

Again  in  the  case  of  betterments  in  towns.  Am  I  a  Rousseauist 
if  I  hold  that  where  a  street  is  widened  at  the  expense  of  tho  rate- 
payers by  taking  one  side  of  it,  and  by  so  doing  the  value  of  the 
other  side  is  greatly  increased,  the  owner  of  the  soil  ought  to  contribute 
some  fair  proportion  of  the  rates  ? 

These  are  tho  sort  of  questions  which  are  fast  coming  within  the 
range  of  practical  politics,  and  they  are  obviously  in  a  totally  different 


536  THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW.  [Araa. 

sphere  of  ideas  firom  speculations  as  to  the  original  equality  of 
mankind,  and  the  abstract  rights  or  wrongs  of  the  principle  of  private 
property. 

They  will  be  solved  not  by  any  appeal  to  such  abstract  theories,  but 
by  what  Professor  Hnzley  admits  to  be  the  only  method  of  solving 
such  complicated  social  problems,  by  trial  and  error,  by  practical 
experience,  and  by  the  sxurival  of  the  fittest  in  the  struggle  for 
existence.  Such  solutions  are  not  far  off,  and  it  is  pretty  clear  in 
what  direction  they  will  be.  In  the  meantime,  I  can  only  say  that 
advancing  years  and  closer  observation  make  me  every  day  less 
alarmed  at  the  inevitable  progress  of  democracy,  better  satisfied  with 
the  present,  and  more  hopeful  of  the  future. 

Samuel  Laino. 


i89o] 


THE  OLD  TESTAMENTT  AND  THE  CRETICS. 


TvVO  uotable  articles  have  receatlj  appeared  iu  tliia  Review 
OQ  what  13  called  *■  the  Higher  Criticisra,"  a  name  coined  by 
Eichliora  for  th(i  criticLsiiiol"  the  style  and  contents  of  Holy  Scripture, 
a*  diatingiiished  from  the  criticism  of  the  Biblical  text,  which  13 
called  "Textual"  or  -'Lower  Criticism."  One  of  these  articles,  by 
Canon  Chfvae,  was  hraded,  "  Hsforra  in  the  Teaching:  of  the  Old 
Testament;"  the  otlu-r,  by  Canon  Driver,  bore  the  titU'  of  "The 
Critical  Study  of  thi-  Old  Testament." 

In  his  artich^  of  last  August,  Canon  Cheyn©  pleaded  for  a  reform  in 
the  teaching  of  the  Old  Testament  from  the  pulj>it,  from  the  chair, 
and  e7en  from  the  desk.  He  asked  for  "  a  progressive  movement " 
towards  teaching  the  Old  Testament  ''on  tlie  basis  of  the  facta  gene- 
rally admitted  by  experts."  ''Why  should  not,"  he  inquii-es,  "a 
ppovifiional  compromise  be  entered  into,  in  all  suitable  cases,  between 
(^"hurch  teachers  and  Old  Testament  criticism  on  the  basis  of  the  facts 
generally  admitted  by  the  experts?"  Surely  an  innocent  refjjuest,  a 
proper  recjuest,  nay,  a  commonplace  and  needless  request.  For  how 
*'^  can  the  Old  Testament  be  taught,  or  how  else  has  it  been  taught  ? 
Where  ihe  experts  are  agreed,  the  popularizers  must  follow. 

i'htjaim  of  Canon  Driver's  paper  of  February  was,  he  told  us,  "to 
^,  in  natecbnical  language,  the  grounds  upon  which  the  criticism 
the  (31d  Testament  rests,  to  explain  wherein  their  cogency  conai.sts, 
•Od  to  illustrate  some  of  the  principal  conclusions  that  have  been 
f<aclifd  by  critics."     Surely,  too,  a  purpose  as  useful  as  laudable. 

Whih?  Lhe.se  two  jwpers  are  fresh   in  the  public  mind,  1  have  a 

**<*'r»*to  add  a  few  words  to  the  discussion.      For  I.  too,  am  anxious  to 

*'n|>ha>jiEe  the  indispensableness  of  a  critical   study  of  the  Old  Testa- 

*»'nt.     And  I  wii-h,  in  the  present  state  of  Old  Testam-'nt  studies,  to 

vou,  Lvii.  2  n 


ueaerucu  ur  iuui-u«xK}ri«u  uy  iu»  iittburtu  aiiit»,  ijucy  xem  uuuxiu 
the  risk  of  misconception,  and  not  even  refuse  personal  contro 
Besides,  with  Canon  Cheyne  I  also  believe  firmly,  and  she 
ashamed  not  to  believe,  that  "  it  ought  to  be  possible  to  remo: 
or  to  protest  without  violating  truth  and  charity,  and  with  tl 
stant  recognition  that  the  points  on  which  the  antagonists  agi 
more  important  than  those  in  which,  perhaps  only  for  a  tim< 
differ."  Further,  if  I  hesitate  in  accepting  some  of  the  opinions 
of  Canon  Cheyne  or  of  Canon  Driver,  I  do  so  to  my  great  sorro 
under  a  sense  of  unwelcome  compulsion,  for  I  cannot  forge 
much  I  owe  to  the  careful  scholarship  and  patient  research  o 
these  leaders  in  Old  Testament  interpretation. 

Canon  Cheyne  referred  in  his  article  to  "  the  unwise  po 
branding  critical  inquiry  as  unchristian."  The  epithet  "  unwi 
mildness  itself.  Such  a  policy  is  dangerous,  is  destructive.  A 
tianity  which  cannot  stand  criticism  will  soon  cease  to  stand.  ( 
inquiry  into  the  Old  Testament  is  absolutely  necessary  to  any  ad 
understanding  of  the  Old  Testament.  For  what  is.  criticism  ? 
inquiry  by  the  critical  method.  And  what  is  the  critical  mi 
It  is  the  examination  of  the  Books  of  the  Bible  by  the  sam< 
ciples  by  which  all  literature  is  studied  ;  it  is  logic ;  it  is  the 
cation  to  the  Law  and  the  Prophets  of  that  inductive  met 
which  discoveries  innumerable  have  been  made  in  all  walks  of  re 
The  critical  method  is  the  questioning  of  facts — the  prosecution  of 
ledge  by,  first,  classifying  facts,  and,  next,  reasoning  from  facti 
classified.  The  Christian  man  who  refuses  to  acknowledge  the 
macy  of  such  a  method  in  the  study  of  the  Old  Testament  is  nc 


,S9oJ      THE  OLD  TESTAMENT  AND  THE  CRITICS. 


539 


seminaries  and  pulpits  and  schools  !     For.  I  venture  to  assert,  scholarly 
and  thorough  and  balanced  study  of  the  CMd  Testament  is  one  of  the 
pressing   needs  of  our  times.      Quite  a  dangerous  neglect  of  the  Old 
Testament,  that   unique    literary  monument  of  the  past  world,   has 
characterized  Christian  tliinking  all  too  long.      I  have  even  heard  of  a 
prominent  Nonconformist  minister  so  preferring  the  New  Testament  to 
the   Old  in  reading  lessons  as  to  use  in  public  no  part  of  the  Old  Tes- 
tament except  the  Psalms.      And  even  where  the  Old  Testament  has 
nofc  teen  ignored,  too  frequently  its  poetry  has  been  spii-ituali^ed  beyond 
recognition,  and  its  prose  has  been  wholly  removed  from  its  historical 
setting;  whilst,  as  for  its  magnificent  prophecy,  it  has  been  rendered 
uniritelligible  by  crude  extravagance.      Is  it  not  high  time  that  so  ex- 
qnisite  a  literaiy  relic — to  use  very  insufficient  language — should  be 
"^ticiied  at   least  as  carefully  and  rationally  and  lovingly  as  the  epica 
"Del.   histories  and  philosophies  of  Greece  and  Rome  ?    For,  monumental 
**  "tliese,  too,  are,  do  they  not  fall  short  of  the  Hebrew  literature  in 
^n^  **gy  and  in  insight,  in  speculation  and  in  elevation,  in  simplicity  and 
^^     «3»eauty,  in  humanity*,  in  reflection  of  all  things  divine  ?      And  how 
*°^1 1  this  splendid  literature  be  mastered  but  by  criticism  ?      "  Brand 
^*-^  ical  inquiry  as  unchristian?"     Nay,    let  us  welcome  even  one- 
°**-^^d  and   erroneous  criticism  if  it   recall   attention  to  this  priceless 
"*-' -*-*"loom  of  religion.     Let  us  rejoice  in  the  proclamation  on  the  house- 
'*'t*s^  even  of  false  conclusions,  if  mankind  is  but  made  to  listen.     For 
*'"*'^«jr  often  proves  usefnl  in   arousing  the  lethargic  ?  nay,  error  facUi- 
^^^?8  its  own  burial.      For  my  part,  I  believe  that  the  present  move- 
"'*^»t  in  critical  circles  is  not  withnut  its  providential  side,  quickening 
'^"^^■^rest  and  concentrating    labour.      Criticism    unchristian  ?     Why, 
*^*  *-'t3ci8m  is  simply  carrying  out  the  very  Chri.stian  advice  of  Paul  to 
throve  all   things,  and  hold  fa.st  that  which  is  gootl."     I  cannot  but 
"*^J»  that  as  tliis  momentous  century  has  seen  the  birth  of  an  inter- 
TH^^nal    and   scientific  exegesis,  so  it  may  also   see   the  birth  of  an 
*'^t:»'niational  and  scientific  ''  Higher  Criticism." 

But  this  is  taking  a  wide  view  of  criticism.      After  all,  be  it  said, 
'"■**!  critics  themselves  are  largely  responsible  for  the  disrej)ute  into 
•jicli  ciitic^il  pursuits  have  fallen  in  many  quarters.     They  have  too 
*fl'ow   a  view  of  criticism.      Canon   Cheyne   afibrds  an    instance  of 
^ois  tnigleading  Limitation  of  view,  as  his  ai-ticle  testifies.     For  observe 
*M<-*  practical  principle  by  which  he  proposes  to  carry  out  the  reform  he 
*<3vocates  in  teaching  the  Old  Testament.     He  asks   *•  the  religious 
^ides  of  the  nation  "  to  act  upon  the  well-known  rule  crcdc  txpcHls. 
*'Why  should  not  a  provisional  compromise  be  entered  into  between 
Church  teachers  and  Old  Testament  criticism  on  the  basis  of  the  facts 
8*nerally  admitted  by  the  experts  ?  "     Why  not  indeed  !•     To  follow 
til"  experts  in  all  facts  generally  admitted  by  them  all,  cannot   but 
1^  eoond  and   good  and  wholesome.     But  who  are  Canon  Cheyne  s 


540 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Apul 


experts  ?  Germans  all.  The  critics  of  varying  schools  in  Protestant 
Germany  are  the  experts  he  would  have  our  religious  guides  follow. 
Now,  ill  as  it  would  become  mo,  who  owe  so  much  to  German  scholar- 
ship, to  say  that  German  scholarship  is  worthless,  I  do  venture  to  enter 
a  caveat  against  Canon  Cheyne's  canon,  for  four  reasons. 

"  Do  not,  ray  friends,  give  occasion,"  writes  Canon  Cheyne,  "  to 
the  Matthew  Arnolds  of  the  future  to  mock  at  your  indifference  alike 
to  the  truth  of  history,  the  charm  of  poetry,  and  the  exquisite 
simplicity  of  early  religion."  Nor,  I  would  add,  to  mock  at  your 
indifference  to  cultured  judgment,  to  balanced  criticism,  to  tact,  the 
primary  lesson  Matthew  Arnold  strove  to  teach  his  age.  For  I  cannot 
but  agree  with  Matthew  Arnold  in  his  opinion  on  the  value  of  German 
criticism.  *'  In  the  German  mind,  as  in  the  German  language," 
wrote  Matthew  Arnold  in  his  *'  Literature  and  Dogma,"  **  there  does 
seem  to  me  something  •>*///«'/,  something  blunt-edged,  unhandy  Emd 
infelicitous — some  want  of  quick,  fine,  sure  perception,  which  tends  to 
balance  the  great  superiority  of  the  Germans  in  knowledge,  and  in  the 
disposition  to  deal  impartially  with  knowledge."  "  Of  course,  in 
a  man  of  genius,"  Mr.  Ai'nold  continued,  "  this  delicacy  and  dexterity 
of  perception  is  much  less  lacking  ;  but  even  in  Germans  of  genius 
there  seems  some  lack  of  it.  Goethe,  for  instance,  has  less  of  it,  all 
must  surely  own,  tluui  the  great  men  of  other  nations  whom  alone  one 
can  cite  as  his  literary  compeers :  Shakespeare,  Voltaire,  Macchiavel, 
Cicero,  Plato.  Or,  to  go  a  little  lower  down,  compare  Bentley  as  a 
critic  with  Hermann ;  Bentley  ti^ating  Menander  with  Hermann 
treating  .t'Eschylus.  Both  are  on  ground  favourable  to  them  ;  both 
know  thoroughly,  one  may  say,  the  facts  of  their  case ;  yet  such  is  the 
difference  between  them,  somehow,  in  dexterousness  and  sureness  of 
perception,  that  the  gifted  English  scholar  is  wrong  hardly  ever, 
whereas  the  gifted  German  scholar  is  wrong  very  often."  "  And 
then,"  as  Matthew  Arnold  goes  on  to  say,  with  his  own  characteristic 
directness,  "  every  learned  German  is  not  .gifted,  is  not  a  man  of 
genius."  "'  Whether  it  be  from  race,"  he  suggests,  "  or  whether  this 
quickness  and  sureness  of  perception  comes,  rather,  from  a  long 
practical  conversance  with  great  affairs,  and  only  those  nations  which 
have  at  any  time  had  a  practical  le^id  of  the  civilized  world,  the 
Greeks,  the  Romans,  the  Italians,  the  French,  the  English,  can  have 
it ;  and  the  Germans  have  till  now  had  no  such  practical  lead,  though 
now  they  have  got  it,  and  may  now,  therefore,  acfpiire  the  practical 
dexterity  of  perception  ; — ^however  this  may  be,  the  thing  is  so,  and 
a  learned  German  has  by  no  means,  in  general,  a  fine  and  practically 
sure  perception  in  proportion  to  his  learning.  Give  a  Frenchman,  an 
Italian,  an  Englishman  the  same  knowledge  of  the  facts  ....  and 
you  could,  in  general,  trust  his  perception  more  than  you  can  the 
German's."     And,    with   great   pertinence    to   the    point   before  us, 


i89o]       THE  OLD  TESTAMENT  AND  THE  CRITICS.        511 


Matthew  Arnold  adds,  "  This,  T  say,  shows  how  large  a  thing  criticism 
IB  ;  since,  even  of  those  froo:  whom  we  take  what  we  now  in  theology 
most  want,  knowledge  of  the  facts  of  our  study,  and  to  whom  there- 
fore we  are,  and  ought  to  be,  under  deep  obligations,  even  of  them 
we  must  not  take  too  much,  or  take  anything  like  all  that  they  offer ; 
but  we  must  take  much  and  leavp  ranch,  and  must  have  experience 
enough  to  know  what  to  take  and  what  to  leave."  The  quotation  is 
8o  singularly  d  propits^  that  its  length  may  be  forgiven.  It  expresses 
clearly  and  reasonably  why  the  German  experts  are,  in  one  respect, 
undesirable  guides.  It  presents,  with  all  the  grace  and  insight  of 
the  writer,  one  reason  why  I  dissent  from  Canon  Chej-ne's  canon. 
Whilst  I  cannot  but  express  the  warmest  gratitude  to  the  great 
German  experts  in  the  Old  Testament,  I  feel  myself  compelled, 
reluctantly,  to  avow  that  experience  has  led  me  to  distrust  the 
conclusions  these  experts  have  drajvn  from  the  facts  they  have  so 
perseveringly  marshalled. 

•'Then  criticism  is  international,"  Canon  ('heyne  has  said,  oddly 
enough,  in  criticising  me  for  not  following  the  German,  trend  of  criti- 
cism in  the  matter  of  the  Pentateuch.  Just  so ;  criticism  that  may 
I  be  safely  followed  by  our  religions  guides,  who  are  not  themselves 
[experts,  should  be  international.  This  is  my  second  reason  for  not 
accepting  Professor  Cheynes  canon.  In  Old  Testameut  matters 
there  are  happily,  and  in  daily  increasing  proportion,  critical  col- 
clusions  which  are  acce]ited  by  the  experts  of  different  schools  and 
various  nations.  These  conclusions  onr  rehgious  guides,  who  are  not 
themselves  experts,  may  wisely  accept.  Critical  researches  are  being 
carrie<l  on,  with  equal  loyalty  to  truth  and  along  similar  lines  of 
inquiry,  in  England  and  Scotland  and  America,  ns  well  as 
Germany,  and  a  genuine  international  criticism  is  rapidly  growing. 
Indeed,  in  critical  studies  as  in  doctrinal,  the  great  need  of  nur  times, 
I  think,  is  an  international  development.  Criticism  is,  or  ought  to  be, 
one  and  not  many.  National,  nay  sectional,  development  has  run  a  course 
sufiBcifntly  long,  and  we  now  de'sidcrate  a  catholic,  an  international, 
criticisnj  instead  of  a  German  criticisin,  or  an  American  criticism,  or  an 
English  criticism.  I  am  glad  tn  find  Canon  Cheyne  also  aspires  after 
an  international  criticism.  But  in  framing  this  catholic  criticism, 
peace  cannot  l>e  yet  whilst  opposite  opinions  are  so  strongly  held. 
Keenly  controverted  criticism  can  only  reach  its  unassailable  stage  by 
long-continued  conflict  of  opinion.  A  trumped-up  peace  is  more  dis- 
Bstroos  in  the  long  run  than  war.  And  it  certainly  would  be  a 
trumped-up  peace  which  bids  us  accept  German  results,  and  ignore  all 
results  which  are  Knglish  or  Scotch  or  American.  Let  Canon 
Cheyne  have  a  little  patience.  If  the  German  views  he  advocates  so 
ably  ore  truth,  they  cannot  but  spread.  Tin-  "  religious  guides  of 
the  nation"  will  rapidly  adopt  them  as  the  conviction  grows  of  their 


542 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Afbil 


truth.  Probably,  too,  these  views  would  have  the  more  favourable 
reception  for  being  pcxjh-poohcd  for  a  while.  Moreover,  let  Canon 
ChejTie  consider  how  lamentable  it  would  be  if  the  views  he  advocates 
proved  to  be  erroneous  after  all.  For  ray  part,  I  cannot  forget  that 
he  who  Bides  with  the  conclusions  of  this  generation  of  German 
scholars  takes  sides  asrainst  the  Tnanv  Biblical  scholars  of  Great  Britain 
and  America  who  either  controvert  these  German  \'iews  or  declare 
them  improven.  Nor  am  I  prepared  to  say  that  these  English-speak- 
ing critics  are  less  scientific,  or  are  less  lovers  of  truth,  or  are  less 
balanced  in  judgment,  or  are  less  competent  to  form  an  opinion,  or 
are  less  characterized  by  that  peculiarly  scientific  attribute  of  caution 
which  refuses  to  announce  an  hypothesis  as  proven  theory  withont 
many-sided  verification.  It  is  because  I  believe  in  the  possibility  of 
an  international  criticism,  and  because  I  believe  that  this  international 
criticism — one,  impregnable,  universal,  true — is  on  the  way  that  I 
urge  our  '*  religious  guides,"  who  are  not  themselves  experts,  to  wait 
a  while.  It  is  wiser  to  suspend  judgment  than  to  say  hastily  what  it 
may  speedily  he  necessary  to  unsay.  Great  men  may  have  poor 
opinions,  nor,  I  believe,  does  the  greatness  of  a  critic  make  his  poor 
opinions  more  precious. 

And  there  is  a  third  reason  why  I  cannot  but  object  to  constituting 
the  German  schools  of  critics,  liowevev  opposite  to  each  other  in  their 
conclusions,  reliable  giiidea  for  those  who  are  not  experts.  The  critics 
of  the  two  opposed  German  schools,  the  followers  let  us  say  (for  clear- 
ness, if  not  in  perfect  accuracy)  of  Wellhaiisen  and  DiUmann,  both 
agree  in  conceding  certain  fundamental  postulates  which  it  seems  to 
me  should  not  be  gninted  without  further  inquiry,  and  both  coincide 
in  teaching  certain  results  which  will  show  themselves,  I  suspect,  quite 
othern-ise  than  legitimate  when  narrowly  scrutinized.  The  whole 
history  of  the  Higher  Criticism  of  the  Pentateuch  would  have  to  be 
cited  in  support  of  this  objection.  Still,  I  will  endeavour  to  outline 
very  briefly  the  evidence  on  which  it  is  ba.^ed.  Let  us  suppose  that  a 
modem  Romanist  is  asked  why  he  believes  in  the  Immaculate  Con- 
ception :  he  would  probably  reply  because  he  believes  in  the  infallibility 
of  the  Pope  ;  if  asked  Avhy  lie  believed  in  the  infallibility  of  the  Pope. 
he  would  probably  cite  the  infallibility  of  the  Vatican  Council ;  if 
urged  to  Ktnte  why  he  believed  in  tliD  infallibility  of  Councils,  he 
would  probably  allege  the  common  traditions  of  the  Church  ;  and  if 
pressed  as  to  wliy  lie  believed  in  the  infallibility  of  ecclesiastical 
tradition,  he  would  doubtless  call  attention  to  the  apostolical  tradition. 
A  similar  recession  occurs  whenever  a  full  statement  is  asked  for  of 
the  grounds  of  Pentateuch  criticism  in  its  common  form  to-day.  The 
full  grounds  of  the  dominant  theory  of  Welihausen  are  not  to  be 
found  in  Wellhau.sen ;  he  assumes  the  results  of  the  school  of 
Billmann  :  but  the  full  grounds  of  the  theory  held  in  common  by 


1890]       THE  OLD  TESTAMENT  AND  THE  CRITICS. 


543 


Dillmaim  and  EwaJd  and  Knobel  and  Schrader  (to  cite  prominent 
names  only),  are  not  to  be  found  in  Dillmana  or  in  any  of  his 
associates,  they  assume  the  results  of  the  school  of  De  Wette  and 
Tuch  and  Bleek ;  but  again,  the  full  gromids  of  the  theory  of  the 
school  of  13 leek  are  not  to  be  found  therein,  they  assume  the  results 
of  the  Bchool  of  Bichhom.  Now  Canon  Cheyne  asks  the  religious 
guides  of  the  nation  to  accept  as  proven  all  results  in  which  the 
schools  of  Dillniann  and  Wellhausen  are  agi-eed  ;  he  might  as  logically 
ask  us  to  accept  the  dogma  of  the  Immaculate  Conception  because  the 
Pope  and  the  Vatican  Council  are  agreed.  Indeed,  I  ventxire  to 
ivssert  that  when  our  Englisli  Old  Testament  scholars  undertake  the 
laborious  but  indispensable  task  of  checking  the  conclusions  of  the 
Gterman  critics,  ab  initio  ipso,  they  will  express  their  warmest 
lanks  for  the  facts  which  the  Gfennan  critics  have  laboriously  un- 
earthed, but  will  draw  for  themselves  the  very  different  conclusions 
which  to  them  the  facts  appear  to  warrant.  Submission  to  authority 
is  good,  if  the  authority  is  reliable;  but  it  is  just  the  reliableness  of 
the  judgment  of  the  authorities,  to  whom  Canon  Cheyne  would  have 

bow,  that  I  venture  to  impugn.  I  do  so  after  having  some  years 
cordially,  nay  enthusiastically,  believed  in  their  value.  But 
maturer  and  more  protracted  examination  has  led  me  to  utterly  distrust 
the  mcTe  serious  results  announced  by  these  authoritie-s. 

And  there  is  a  fourth  reason  why  "  the  religious  guides  of  the 
nation,"  who  are  not  themselves  experts  in  criticism,  should  pause,  I 
think,  before  popularizing  the  results  of  the  German  experts,  especially 
upon  the  origin  of  the  Books  of  the  Law.  That  reason  lies — let  the 
truth  be  said^in  loyalty  to  the  religion  in  which  they  are  guides.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  the  prominent  Gei-man  critics  who  have  made  the 
present  phase  of  Pentateuch  criticism  have  not  been  in  warm  sym- 
pathy with  supernatural  Christianity.  It  is  true  that,  if  I  under- 
stand Dr.  Cheyne's  contention,  he  denies  this  of  Wellhaiisen  and 
Kuenen.  Thus  he  says,  speaking  of  a  leading  American  scholar, 
"  Dr.  Chambers  knows  more  than  I  do  of  Kuenen  aud  Wellhausen,  if 
he  can  assert  that  either  of  them  is  a  pure  naturalist."  I  do  not 
know  what  Canon  Cheyne  means  by  "  a  pure  naturalist,"  especially 
when  he  adds  hie  confusing  remarks  about  "  pure  supernaturalists  ; '' 
but  I  do  venture  to  say  that  there  is  little  ground  for  assorting  that 
either  of  these  great  scholars  is  a  believer  in  supernatural  Christianity 
(I  use  the  seemingly  tautologous  qualification  because  it  is  difRcult  to 
BadeTBtand  what  some  folks  mean  by  Christianity  when  they  banish 
therefrom  predictive  prophecy,  and  e.xpress  revelation,  and  miraclf), 
aud  I  vrnture  so  to  say,  as  regards  Wellhausen  on  his  own  authority. 
For,  in  SchafTs  "  Encyclopaedia  of  Living  Divines,"  under  the  hea<Hng 
of  Julius  Wellhausen,  this  great  critic's  own  statement  is  transcribed — 
"that  he  left  the  theological  faculty  at  Greifswald  of  his  own  accord. 


544 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


TArBiL 


in,  the  couEciousness  of  no  longer  stnnding  quite  on  the  basis  of 
the  Evangelical  Cliurch  and  of  Protestantism ''  {in  dmi  Ikwussfsein, 
durchaus  niihi  'nu-hr  avf  dnii  Ikxlcn  der  fvanfjclmhen  Kirchc  oder 
dcs  FrolMtantismns  zu  stehen).  Again,  what  says  Kuenen  in  his 
"  Beligion  of  Israel "  ?  Does  he  not  frankly  state  that  his  desire  is  to 
show  "  a  natural  development  both  of  the  Israel itish  religion  it-self  and 
of  the  belief  in  its  heavenly  origin  ?  "  Then,  after  Kuenen  and  Well- 
hausen,  what  greater  name  in  tlie  initiation  of  the  theory  is  there  than 
Graf,  or  shall  I  add  Vatke  (from  whom  ^Vellhausen  actnowledges 
himself  das  MeUtc  vnd  Bcsfc  ffdo'nt  zu  hahcn — to  have  learnt  best 
and  moat)  ?  Did  these  men,  eminent  as  they  were  in  scholarship, 
hold  those  Christian  tenets,  that  catholic  faith,  which  tlie  Eastern 
Churches  and  the  Western,  the  Anglican  and  the  Lutheran,  and  the 
Kefonned  Churches,  agree  in  teaching  V  Or  what  nmst  be  said  con- 
cerning the  more  prominent  English  critics,  Kalisch  and  Colenso  ? 
True,  some  of  the  upholders  of  this  latest  phase  of  the  Pentateuch 
question  are  coaspicuous  adherents  of  the  catholic  Christian  faith  (the 
issue  of  opiuions  is  not  always  seen  at  once),  but  the  fact  remains 
that  the  leaders  in  this  momentous  change  of  view  upon  the  Law  and 
the  Prophets  are,  for  the  most  part,  advocates  of  a  naturalistic  evolu- 
tion of  tlie  Christian  and  Hebrew  Scriptures.  Is  there  not  in  such  a 
fact  cause  for  caution  'i  Supernatural  Christianity  has  so  many  reasons 
in  it^  favour,  "  the  religious  guides  of  the  nation "'  are  wont  to  con- 
sider, that  any  theory  which  seems  to  be  alien  to  supernatural 
Christianity  is  ipm  farto  rendered  suspect — not  withoot  justice.  It  is 
not  wholly  unreasonable  to  judge  a  theory  by  its  consequences  or  by 
its  postulates. 

However,  uever  mind  the  bias,  Canon  Chejne  says  in  effect ;  it 
has  not  influenced  the  judgment  of  the  German  critics  in  any  undue 
manner  ;  the  duty  of  the  expert  who  disagrees  with  them,  is  to  show 
where  their  facts  are  partial  or  their  iuferences  incorrect.  '•  The 
other  leaders  of  criticism  are,  and  always  have  been,  what  Baur  was 
not,"  the  Canon  says,  "pure  historical  critics;  ,  ...  if  it  can  be 
shown  that  a  bias  of  a  definitely  philosophical  nature  ever  does  lead 
them  astray  from  the  right  historical  course,  accuse  them  of  it^"  Very 
good.  I  do  not  think  it  would  be  difficult  to  show  in  very  many 
instances  how  "  a  bias  of  a  definitely  philosophical  nature  "  has 
influenced  the  critical  interpretation  of  facts.  How  could  it  be  other- 
wise ?  If  a  critic — to  begin  with,  and  for  what  appear  to  him  con- 
clusive reasons — disbelieves,  for  example,  in  supeniatui"al  revelation 
(as  from  the  mercy-seat  in  the  tabernacle),  believing  only  in  the 
naturalistic  evolution  of  all  religion,  surely  he  must  re-shape  the  Old 
Testament  to  his  taste,  and  is  very  liable,  I  should  say,  to  emphasize 
some  facts  unduly  and  unduly  ignore  other  facts.  But  I  do  not 
delay  to  instance.      I  am  anxiou.s  now  to  leave  general  principles,  and 


i89o]        THE  OLD  TESTAMENT  AND  THE  CRITICS.       545 


to  dt^I,  in  what  space  remains,  witli  the  facts  alleged,  and  with  the 
facts  alone.  I  will  occupy  myself  with  "  the  leaders  of  criticism,"  on 
the  asmiraption  that  they  are  pure  historical  critics.  lu  short,  I 
would  turn  from  Canon  Cheyne's  paper  to  Canon  Driver's,  and  show 
why  the  facts  of  the  case  do  not,  in  my  opinion,  warrant  the  conclu- 
sions drawn  therefrom.  In  doing  so,  let  mo  again  say  that  I  have 
too  high  a  respect  for  Canon  Driver's  conspicuous  ability  in  Old 
Testament  studies  to  be  in  any  danger,  I  trast,  of  transgressing  the 
bounds  of  Christian  courtesy.  We  are,  alas!  in  opposite  camps  at  a 
time  when  conflict  i.s  inevitable,  aud  wh<"n  plain  speech  is  inseparablo 
from  the  discharge  of  our  duty  to  man  and  to  God.  Would  it 
were  otherwise  ! 

A  few  brief  explanations  before  proceeding.  And,  first,  let  me 
again  repeat  that  I  have  no  quarrel  with  the  method  of  the  Higher 
Criticism  as  such.  lu  my  riew,  the  Higher  Criticism  is,  as  I  have 
said,  legitimate,  inasmuch  as  it  is  but  tho  study  of  the  Bible  by  the 
common  method  of  all  science,  the  inductive  method ;  or,  as  Canon 
Driver  expresses  the  same  thing,  "  all  theories  framed  by  critics 
reap*:cting  the  structure  of  the  different  books  are  endeavours  to  co- 
ordinate and  account  for  the  pheeaomena,  of  the  nature  indicated, 
which  the  books  present."  Again,  T  call  attention,  and  content  myself 
with  simply  calling  attention,  to  the  limited  use  by  Canon  Driver  of 
the  term  *'  critics  *'  for  those  who  hold  what  are  called  "  advanced  " 
views.  Further,  let  me  state  distinctly  that  I  quite  agree  ivith  what 
Canon  Driver  has  said  concerning  the  pluralist  authorship  of  those 
historical  books  of  the  Old  Testament  which  form  in  the  Hebrew 
canon  the  Earlier  Prophets ;  indeed,  in  my  Cougregatiorial  Union 
Ijecture.  1  have  given  my  reasons  for  saying— what  my  own  researches 
have  led  me  to  say,  and  what  I  believe  has  not  been  ])ointed  out 
before,  at  any  rate  so  fuUy — that  these  so-called  Earlier  Prophets — 
the  books  from  Judges  to  Kings,  were  produced  by  the  labours  of 
several  generations  of  prophets — by  Samuel  and  Nathan  and  Gad,  by 
Abijah  and  Iddo  and  Shemaiah,  and  by  Jehu  and  Isaiah,  and  probably 
by  other  prophets  ;  and  I  also  agree  with  Canon  Driver  that  the  Books 
of  Chronicles  are  compilations  of  a  relatively  late  date.  Yet,  again,  I 
believe  with  Canon  Driver  in  the  comiio&ite  authorship  of  Genesi?, 
>Iding  a  view  upon  that  authorship  which  I  have  also  stated  at  length 
in  my  Congregational  Union  Lecture. 

I  make  these  explanations  that  irrelevant  matters  may  be^  excluded 
from  a  controversy  already  sufficiently  complicated.  Whrre  I  join 
isBue  is  with  Canon  Driver's  assumption  that  the  method  of  the 
Chnmiclt'S,  or  the  metho«l  of  the  prophet  writ^^ra  of  the  so-called 
hlarlicr  Prophets,  all  of  which  bonks  seem  to  nic  thomseh'es  to  suggest 
their  composite  authorship,  is  the  method  of  the  writer  or  writers  of 
the  Bookis  of  Exodus,  Leviticus,  Numbers  and  Deuteronomy,  which  bear 


546 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIETT. 


[April 


on  their  face  their  authorship  by  Moses.  Let  the  issue  be  clearly  kept 
before  all  critics.  That  issue  is  whether  the  Books  from  Exodus  trj 
Deuteronomy  are,  so  to  speak,  substantially  the  jouraal  of  Moses,  orj 
whether  these  books  arose  during  the  lapse  of  centuries.  The  issue 
is,  whether  these  four  Books  of  the  Law  are  substantially  contemixirary 
with  Moses,  or  whether  these  four  Books  of  the  Law  arose  "gradually^ 
out  of  pre-existing  sources/'  as  Canon  Driver  believes,  ''  which  txx»l 
shape  at  different  periods  of  history,  and  represent  phases,  by  no 
means  contemporaneous,  of  Hebrew  legislation."  This  is  the  problem 
which  the  Higher  Criticism  has  to  solve  (Canon  Cheyne  and  Canon 
Driver  would  say  which  the  Higher  Criticism  has  solved),  without  bias 
and  by  the  aid  of  its  own  peculiar  methods.  And  for  the  solation,  \y 
it  added,  important  doctrinal  problems  wait. 

Two  rival  theories,  then,  on  the  authorship  of  tie  Books  of  the  Law 
(excluding  Genesis)  occupy  the  field  in  Higher  Criticism,  which  may 
be  called  for  handiness  the  Journal  Theor}'  and  the  Evolutionary 
Theory.  According  to  the  former,  the  homogeneity  of  the  Books  of 
the  Law  is  due  to  their  contemporaneousness  with  the  events  df- 
scribed.  Moses  preserved  for  after  times  a  record  of  his  age  (which 
probably  underwent  in  after  times  some  conservative  revision). 
According  to  the  latter  (I  utilize  Canon  Driver's  description)  *'  the  parts 
of  the  J'entateuch  do  not  all  date  fmm  the  age  of  Moses.  When  we 
ask  positively  to  what  age  the  several  sources  belong,  decisive  criteria 
fail  us,  and  in  some  cases  divergent  opinions  are  capable  of  being 
held.  J  and  E  '"  (the  earliest  stratum  of  the  three  strata  .said  to  be 
discernible  in  the  Law)  "  are  usually  assigned  b^'  critics  to  the  ninth  or 
eighth  century  ii.c,"  (more  than  six  centuries  afti^r  ifoses).  ..."  Deu- 
teronomy is  placedj  almost  unanimou.sIy,  in  the  reign  of  either  Manasseh 
or  Josiah,  though  Delitzsch  and  Riehm  think  that  there  are  grounds 
which  favour  a  slightly  earlier  date — viz.,  the  reign  of  Hezekiah  "  (say 
eight  ceuturifs  after  Moses):  *' the  Priests'  Code"  ^he  third  stratum 
said  to  be  discernible  in  the  Law)  "  is  held  by  critics  of  the  school  of 
Graf  and  Wellhausen  to  be  p)s/-Deutf'ronomic,  and  to  have  been  com- 
'  mitted  to  writing  during  the  period  extending  from  the  beginning  of  the 
exile  to  the  time  of  Nehemiai  "  (completed,  that  is,  nearly  a  tliousand 
years  after  Moses)  :  "  Dillmann,  the  chief  German  opponent  of  Well- 
hausen, assigns  the  main  body  of  the  Priests'  Code  to  about  800  B.C., 
but  allows  that  additions,  though  chiefly  foitnal  and  unimportant  ones, 
were  introduced  afterwards,  even  as  late  as  Elzra's  time.'' 

In  evidence  of  the  truth  of  this  analysis  of  the  Pentateuch,  Dr. 
Driver,  like  Dr.  Cheyne,  insists  strongly  upon  the  unanimity  of  the 
German  critics ;  "  the  analysis,"  he  says,  "in  its  main  features  cannot 
be  controverted  ;  if  it  liad  rested  solely  upon  illusion,  there  would  not 
have  been  a  succession  of  acute  Continental  critics,  who  are  ready 
enough  to  dispute  and  overthrow  one  another's  conclusions,  if  able  to 


•89o]       THE  OLD   TESTAMENT  AND  THE  CRITICS.        547 


do  80 — ^virtaally  following  in  the  same  lines,  and  merely  correcting,  or 
modifying  in  details,  the  conclusions  of  their  predecessors."  This 
appeal  to  authority  may  he  passed  over  without  additional  remark 
af^er  what  has  been  previously  said.  In  fui'ther  supjwrt  of  thi.s 
evolutionary  theory,  Dr.  Driver  does  not  profess  to  give  more  than  a 
ie?r  illustrations.  Not  even  upon  the.se  skilfully  chosen  illustrative 
instances  do  I  delay.  For,  as  Canou  Driver  says  so  pertinently,  when 
**  a  doubtful  detail  is  represented  as  if  it  invalidated  the  entire  theory 
with  which  it  is  couuected,  this  argument  overlooks  the  fact  that  the 
detail  may  be  unessential  or  capable  of  modification."  Of  course  the 
general  view,  based  upon  a  careful  survey  of  the  entire  evidence,  natu- 
rally guides  the  interpretation  of  isolated  facts  and  difficnlties. 
Besides,  as  Canon  Driver  also  says  so  admirably,  "  where  there  are 
rival  theories,  the  proper  course  is  to  examine  the  grounds  on  which 
they  rest ;  this  will  generally  show  ^ithor  tliat  one  has  a  more  sub- 
stantial basis  than  the  other,  or  that  the  case  is  one  in  which  the  data 
are  insuflficient  for  deciding  between  them,  and  we  can  only  say  that 
'vre  do  not  know  which  is  correct."  M on  over,  as  the  Canon  empha- 
siaee,  "'the  strength  of  the  critical  position  lies  in  the  nnmrL/firr. 
aiyiimnit  by  which  it  is  supported." 

Aesnredly.  The  argnmpnt  for  the  Evolutionary  ITieorj*  is  cumula- 
tive. The  argument  is  to  be  judged,  not  by  this  detail  or  tliat,  but 
by  the  frank  recognition  of  all  the  evidence  in  its  favonr.  To  dream 
that  this  momentous  Pentateuchal  controversy  will  be  solved  either  by 
Mr.  Skim-the-surfacp  or  by  Mr.  Facing-one-way  is  to  show  total 
incapacitj'  for  understanding  the  question  at  issue.  As  Dr.  Driver 
insists,  there  is  a  great  cumulative  argument  for  the  Evolutionary 
Theory  to  be  considered  before  any  solid  conclusion  can  be  reached. 
Let  the  indubitable  fact  be  carefully  weighed.  Bi/t,  while  the 
advocates  of  the  Evolutionai"y  Theory  of  the  origin  of  the  Books  of 
the  Law  emphasize  the  cumulative  argument  on  their  side,  and  resent 
'the  attempt  to  judge  their  views  by  a  criticism  of  a  few  details,  let 
them,  at  the. same  time,  never  forget,  what  they  have  shown  them- 
selves very  liable  to  forget,  that  "  tltcstrnifjth  "  of  the  JOURNAL  TiiEORY 
4]/ao  " /iw in  the  Cl*MULATr\'E  argicmfni  by  which  it  is  supported" 

Two  rival  theories,  then,  of  the  authorship  of  the  Books  of  the  Law 
hold  the  field.  Let  the  evidence  relied  on  by  the  advocates  of  each 
theory  be  briefly  outlined. 

On  the  one  hand,  the  argument  for  the  Evolotionary  Theory  of 
origin  mns  as  follows  : — 

\.  According  to  the  tvcofold  evidence  of  style  and  contents,  com- 
ptflison  of  stj-le  and  comparison  of  contents,  there  are  three  strata  of 
laws  in  the  Pentateuch — viz.,  the  so-called  Prophetic  Code  (Exod. 
xx,-xxiii.,  together  with  the  repetition  of  parts  of  Exod.  xxiii.  in 
Exod.  xxxiv.  17-26),  the  so-called  fViests'  Code  (viz.,  the  elaborate 


348 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW, 


[Apbil 


and  minntely  difTereiitiated  legal  system  contained  in  the  rest  of 
Exodus,  in  Leviticus,  and  in  Numbers),  and  the  Deuteronomist  Code 
(containfd  in  Deuteronomy).  These  three  strata  of  laws  are  declared 
80  to  difl'er  both  in  style  and  contents,  as  manifestly  to  belong  to 
different  authors  and  ages.  Thus  Dr.  Knenen  has  written  : — "  The 
position  that  all  the  laws  of  the  Torah  are  froin  a  single  Jia7ul  really 
does  not  merit  refutation.  The  very  form  of  these  laws,  apart  from 
their  contents,  reduces  the  supposition  to  an  absurdity."  Further, 
when  the  contents  of  these  laws  are  considered,  "  comparison  reveals," 
he  says,  "  important,  nay  irreconcilable,  contradictions." 

2.  Bat,  it  is  further  maintained,  these  three  strata  of  laws  are 
imbedded  iu  narrative,  which,  also  judged  bj"^  the  double  test  of  style 
and  contents,  discloses  three  authors — viz.,  the  .Tehovistic  or  Prophe- 
tical writer,  who  shows  a  preference  for  the  name  of  Jehovah  for  God, 
the  Elohistic  or  Priestly  writer,  who  shows  a  preference  for  Elohim 
for  the  Divine  name,  and  the  Denteronomist. 

3.  Further,  a.s  the  Evolutionary  Theorists  asseit,  not  only  do  these 
three  sections  of  the  Law  show  different  hands,  but  different  ages. 
For,  when  these  three  sources  are  minut«ly  examined,  sundry 
anachronisms  suggest  that  they  belong  to  very  different  centuries  of 
the  Israelitish  history,  and,  moreover,  mutnal  comparison  turns  this 
suggestion  into  actual  proof.  For  instance,  a  comparison  of  the 
Denteronomist  with  the  Elohist  shows,  it  is  said  by  the  Wellhausen 
school,  that  the  Deuterouomist  preceded ;  although,  according  to  the 
Dillmann  school^  comparison  shows  that  the  Elohist  preceded.  In 
short,  the  age  and  succession  of  these  strata  are  statetl  by  Dillmann 
to  be  Elohist  (some  century  before  700  B.r.),  Denteronomist  (circ. 
700  B.C.),  Jehovist  (some  centuries  after  700  B.C.) ;  whereas  the  age 
and  succession  of  the  three  strata  are  said  by  Wellhausen  to  be 
Jehovist  (before  700  B.C.),  Denteronomist  (circ.  700  B.C.),  Elohist  (some 
centuries  after  700  B.C.). 

4.  Further,  the  Evolutionaiy  Theorists  add,  the  unhistorical  charac- 
ter of  the  contents  of  all  these  three  sources  shows  them  to  be  verj" 
far  from  contemporary  with  the  events  they  record.  To  quote  Kuenen 
again :  "  The  exodus,  the  wandering,  the  passage  of  the  Jordan  and 
the  settlement  in  Canaan,  as  tJuij  are  descriheJ  in  tlo-  Ifci'attinh  (Pen- 
tateuch and  Joshua),  simply  couM  not  hare  happeneri."  And  Canon 
Driver  endeavours  to  show  reason  why  the  narrative  in  Genesis  of  the 
death  of  Isaac  cannot  be  historical. 

Such  is  a  brief  outline  of  the  cumulative  argument  of  the  Evolu- 
tionary Theorists,  which  they  support  with  abundant  acuteness  and 
infinite  detail.  The  argument  cannot  be  further  criticized  here.  Bat  I 
would  adii  that  whatever  I  have  written  here  or  elsewhere  upon  this 
theoty  has  been  written  after  as  full  knowledge  as  I  have  been  able  to 
acquire  of  the  whole  history  and  characteristics  of  the  theory,  and  no 


iSgo]        THE  OLD  TESTAMENT  AND  THE  CRITICS.        549 


German  or  English  expert  has  hinted  at  any  unfairness  in  my  presenta- 
tion of  their  views  or  my  own. 

Oa  the  other  hand,  let  the  Evolutionary  Tlieorists  ever  remember 
that  the  argument  of  the  Journal  Theorists  is  also  cumulative.  Briefly 
put,  that  argument  runs  somewhat  as  follows : — 

1.  The  Journal  Theorists  allow  that  there  are  in  the  Pentateuch 
three  strata  of  laws,  although  thf^y  regard  these  three  strata  as  sub- 
stantially belonging  to  the  same  early  age  in  Israelitish  history.     The 
first  stratum  was,  in  their  view,  given,  as  it  assumes  to  have  been 
given,  three  mouths  after  the   Bxodus,  as  the   general  conditions  of 
ttational  obedience,  in  the  new  covenant  relations  between  Jehovah  and 
the  ransomed  people.     If  thi^  phrase  may  be  allowed,  this  first  stratum 
of  laws,  Exod.  xx.-xxiii.,  is  the  niiujh  sl.rfrk  of  the  coming  theocratic 
^Feroment.      The   second   stratum    of    laws,    the    remaining    legal 
^janctions  of  Exodus.  Leviticus  and  Numbers,  were  given  by  Jehovah 
fo  the  Hebrews,  as  the  permanent  code  of  the  theocratic  rule  in  the 
wilderness.      The  third  stratum,  Deuteronomy,  was  a  popular  presen- 
^ion  of  this  theocratic  law  made  forty  ynara  after,  and  immediately 
prior  to  the  entrance  into  Canaan  ;   thi.s  Deutero-noiny  or  second  law 
sho-wring,  in  many  points,  specific  adaptations  in  view  of  the  passage 
frc>»xi  nomad  to  agricultural  life. 

:2.  The  Journal  Theoi'ists  deny  that  three  strata  are  visible  in  the 
lU^T-rative  portions  of  the  Pentateuch  as  a  whole. 

3.  In  Genesis,  however,  some  of  them  see,  botli  in  style  and 
oOTi.tents,  traces  of  a  composite  structure,  which  they  explain  by  saying 
tk&t  its  author  used  earlier  materials  of  various  kinds. 

•1.  But  in  the  narrative  from  almost  the  beginning  of  Exotlus  to 

the  close   of   Deuteronomy    they   see,   on   comparing   the   style    and 

oornt«Dts  throughout,  only  one  haudj  as  testified  to  by  the  singular 

ivnity  of  style,  by  the  unstudied  but  palpable  maintenance  throughout 

of  the  diary  form,  and  by  the   uiatter-of-factuess,  the  pragmatism,  of 

the  contents  reflecting  ev^ery where  the  desert  life. 

•).  As  for  the  anachronisms  cited  by  the  Evolutionary  Theorists  qs 
'w^'-ssitating  a  later  date  of  composition,  the  Journal  Theorists  regard 
toeia  verj'  largely  as  exaggerated  and  partly  as  witnesses  to  a  subse- 
(juent  revision  of  those  books  with  a  view  to  making  them  intelligible 
^  tlie  Jews  of  a  later  and  post-exilic  age,  such  a  revision  having  been 
certainly  conducted  by  Ezra,  if  not  by  the  successive  prophetic  schools. 
•'-  Further,  the  Journal  Theorists  point  out  how  strikingly  the 
chronological  order  of  events  is  maintained  from  the  coumienceiiient 
of  Kxodus  to  the  close  of  Deuteronomy. 

<".  And  further,  they  call  attention  to  the  historicity  of  the  whole 
oontenta  of  these  Books  of  the  Law,  a  character  wliich  receives 
•^CMsjons  of  evidence  daily,  so  to  speak,  from  scientific,  archtcological, 
philological,  and  other  branches  of  research. 


550 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Aphtu 


8.  Yet  again,  the  Journal  Theorists  remark  on  tJie  simplicity  of 
their  theory.  Taking  these  books  at  their  word,  they  do  not  find 
that  they  are  doing  an  iiTational  thinj,'.  Difficulties  many  they 
meet  with,  as  might  be  expected  in  a  document  of  so  ancient  a  date, 
but  they  find  it  quite  as  easy,  to  say  the  least,  to  explain  these 
difficulties  on  the  theory  of  the  Mosaic  authorship  as  on  the  elaborate 
Evolutionary  Theory. 

9.  Still  they  cjuite  see  how,  if  the  possibility  of  miracle  is  denied, 
and  especially  the  possibility  of  that  form  of  miracle  which  is  seen 
in  supernatural  revelation,  it  is  impracticable  to  regard  these  books 
as  veracious,  and  how  it  is  necessary,  in  order  to  give  them  any 
practical  value,  to  entirely  reconstruct  these  books  according  to  an 
evolutionary  theoiy. 

10.  And  y<?t  again,  they  Cannot  but  add  that,  in  their  view,  these 
books  (excluding  Genesis)  claim  to  have  been  contemporary  with  the 
events  they  describe,  and  suggest  by  express  passages  that  they  were 
written  by  Moses. 

11.  Further,  the  entire  series  of  later  books  of  the  Old  Testament 
soema  to  them  to  have  as  a  background  the  vary  political,  social  and 
religious  life  which  these  books  describe.  whDe  references  innumerable 
are  made  therein  to  both  facts  in  history  and  details  in.  legislation 
which  are  recorded  in  the«e  books. 

12.  Nor  do  the  Journal  Theorists  see  how  they  can  do  otherwise 
than  emphasize  the  numberless  adjustments  which  the  Evolutionary 
Theory  has  necessitated.  The  Levitical  legislation,  which  at  the 
earliest  date  given  by  the  German  critics  was  written  seven  centimes 
after  Moses,  and  at  the  date  now  more  commonly  held  by  the 
Cierman^  was  written  a  thousand  yeai*s  after  Moses,  forms  manifestly 
the  background  of  the  Book  of  Joshua.  Therefore  these  critics 
relegate  the  Book  of  Joshua  to  a  post-exilic  date.  Again,  the  Psalms, 
ascribed  by  their  Hebrew  headings  in.  many  cases  to  David,  assume 
the  same  Levitical  legislation  as  a  background,  as  is  also  manifest ; 
therefore  these  ciitics  now  deny  the  Davidic  authorship  of  any  of 
these  Psalms.  And  these  two  conspicuous  adjustments  are  typical  of 
very  wide-reaching  changes  that  the  Evolutionary  Theory  has  been 
and  is  still  necessitating.  In  fact,  Canon  Driver's  article  shows  signs 
of  another  adjustment.  The  Levitical  legislation  is  said,  by  the^ 
evolutionary  critics,  to  be  of  a  date  subsequent  to  the  exile ;  but 
unmistakable  references  occur  in  the  earlier  and  later  prophets  to 
characteristic  sections  of  the  Levitical  legislation ;  and  this  is  not  to 
be  denied,  Canon  Driver  says — although  it  is  a  recent  position — but 
it  is  the  law  as  a  whole  which  is  post-exilic. 

13.  Yft  again,   as  the   Journal  Theorists  cannot  but  point  out, 
Jesus  and  His  disciples  manifestly  regard  these  Books  of  the  Law  as 

J^osaic. 


i89o]        THE  OLD  TESTAMENT  AND  THE  CRITICS.        551 


14.  And  yet  Bgain,  the  Jewish  tradition  has  been  almost  ananimous 
as  to  the  Mosiac  authorship,  and  surely  the  Jews  ought  to  have  some 
knowledge  of  the  matter. 

lo.  And  lastly,  and  possibly  moat  important  of  all,  the  inter-rela- 
tions between  the  Law  and  the  New  Testament — inter-relations  beyond 
the  power  of  man  to  devise — show  that  the  revelations  recorded  iu  the 
Law  have  about  them  the  signs  of  a  Divine  authorship ;  for  being 
beyond  the  comprehension  of  any  pre-Christian  man,  whether  priest 
or  prophet,  they  are  also  beyond  the  productive  power  of  any  pre- 
Christian  man.  The  evidence  is  large  ;  and  this  fact  of  specific  reve- 
lation once  patent,  the  Evolutionary  Theory  will  have  to  adjust  itself 
;  again,  or — vanish. 

Upon  each  one  of  these  points  many  pages  would  have  to  be  filled 
if  any  satisfactory  survey  of  the  evidence  was  to  be  presented.  But 
the  aim  of  tliis  article  has  simply  been,  to  adopt  Canon  Driver's  words, 
"  to  state  iu  untochuical  langnage  the  grounds  upon  which  the  criti- 
cism of  the  Old  Testament  rests ;  to  explain  wherein  their  cogency 
consists,  and  to  illustrate  some  of  the  principal  conclusions  that  have 
been  reached  by  critics,"  using  the  name  ''  critics  "  for  another  school 
of  criticism  than  that  advixiated  by  Canon  Driver. 

At  least  the  crucial  points  in  the  controversy  have  been  snggested 
in  this  article,  ami  thi;  two  eminent  exegetes  who  have  been  so 
frequently  referred,  to  here  would  confer  an  incalculable  benefit  npon 
the  cultivated  religious  public,  who  after  all  must  be  the  jury  in  this 
new  Trial  of  the  Witnesses,  if,  without  appealing  to  the  autJiority  of  the 
the  Higher  Critics  of  the  Continent,  they  would  dearly  indicate  for  the 
benefit  of  English  readers  who  are  not  themselves  experts — 

First,  the  ajuichrouisnis  upon  which  the  theory  of  the  composite 
authorship  and  late  date  of  the  Pentateuch  is  based ; 

Second,  the  con (mtUrt ions  in  the  Pentateuch  which  demand  a  com- 
posite theory  of  authorship ; 

Third,  those  parts  of  the  Pentateuch  which  have  been,  apart  alto- 
iier  from  the  evolutionary  theory-,  proven  to  be  iinhistorical ; 

Fourth,  the  intcrprftatinn  they  place  upon  the  constantly  recui'ring 
words  of  the  Law,  "  Jehovah  said"  (unto  Moses,  Aaron,  SiC.) ;  and 

Fifth,  criticizing  the  antagonistic  theoiy  as  well  as  constructing 
thwr  own.  the  (iroundii  of  their  disbelief  iu  the  Journal  Theory  of 
ftnthonhip  of  Exodus,  Leviticus  and  Numbers. 

Alfred  Cave. 


[AritTt 


INDUSTRIAL   CO-OPERATION. 


OF  all  the  qui'stiona  which  press  for  an  answer  at  the  present 
moment  none  is  fraught  with  weightier  issues  than  the  Labour 
Prob!t*ui.  The  wealth  of  the  world  grows  apace  ;  and  in  its  creation 
the  labour  of  the  industrial  classes  fulfils  functions  of  very  great 
importance  ;  but  the  share  of  this  wealth  allotted  to  the  working-men  is 
coneidered  by  them  to  be  unjustly  and  intolerably  insignificant;  and  in 
thia  view  thoughtful  persons,  no  matter  to  what  class  they  may 
themselves  belong,  must  admit  that  there  is  no  small  degree  of  truth. 
On  all  sid»^8  men  are  asking  themselves  whether  it  may  not  be  possible, 
under  some  novel  method  of  industrial  organization,  to  satisfy  the 
reasonable  claims  of  the  working-classes.  Amoog  the  most  important 
of  the  methods  which  have  been  suggested  with  this  object  is  that 
which  is  known  as  Co-operation. 

"  Co-operation  "  is  a  much-abused  word  ;  and  many  of  us  have 
begun  to  doubt  if  it  has  any  definite  meaning.  In  these  pages 
Co-operation  will  be  used  in  the  aeu.se  in  which  it  is  applied  by  the 
co-opei-ators  themselves.  The  Co-operative  Union,  the  central 
organization  of  the  British  co-operators,  thus  defines  its  objects  : — 

"  Thia  Union  is  formed  to  promote  the  pitictice  of  truthfulness,  justii*, 
anrl  economy  in  produrtinn  unit  oxchange. 

1.  ]ly  the  filxtlition  of  4<U  false  dealing,  either  (ft)  direct,  by  representing 
iiny  article  produced  or  sold  to  be  other  tlmn  what  it  is  known  to  the  pro- 
ducer or  vendor  to  be,  or  (/')  indireft,  by  concealing  from  the  punduvser  any 
fact  known  to  the  vendor,  materiul  to  be  known  by  the  purchaser,  to  enable 
him  to  jndge  of  t!ie  value  of  the  article  purchased. 

2.  Tiy  couiiliiiting  tlie  conflicting  iuterests  of  the  capitalist,  the  worker, 
and  the  purchaser,  through  an  eqiiit^iblie  division  amongst  them  of  the  fund 
commonly  known  as  jtrofit. 

3.  By  preventing  the  waste  of  labour  now  causetl  by  unregulated  com- 
petition." 


3] 


INDUSTRIAL    CO-OPERATION. 


553 


I  "The  Central  Co-oparative  Board  (the  representative  council  of  the 

<ZJo— oj>erative  Union)  has,  by  the  aulbority  of  the  Co-operative  Con- 

gTT^-SB,  publiahed  a  ''  Manual  for  Co-operators,"  *   from  the  prefswie  to 

-^vlxich  we  learn  that  the  aim  of  Co-operation  is  by  means  of  associa- 

t.ic>x3  "  to  control  and  bring  into  obedience  to  the  highest  moral  law  the 

"pt-oceases  of  production  and  distribution  of  material  thini^'s  ; ''  while  in 

th.c3  chapter  on  *'  the  relation  of  Co-K)peration  to  religious  faith,"  we  are 

tol<3  that  Co-operation  is  "  a  new  manifestation  of  the  counsels  of  God 

for-     the  redemption  of   man  out  of  the  slavery  of   the  flesh  to  the 

fr^^lom  of  the  spirit."     These  are  eloquent  generalities.      But  what, 

■w^     inquire,  is  the  method  of  organization  by  which  the  lofty  ambition 

■     of     CJo-operation  is  tu  be  attained  ?      It  is,  as  llr.  Holyoake,  the  dia- 

I   tic^^guishod  historian  of  the  co-operative  movement,  informs  us  "that, 

itt      'vhich  the  purchasers  and  servants  take  all  the  profits  of  the  store, 

w*-«3  in  which  the  workmen  and  the  customers  take  all  the  profits  of 

Ji-^^   manufactory."  t 

C!^o-operation,  therefore,  is  the  association  of  different  persons  coii- 
.  h"».l3nting  their  money,  or  labour,  or  both,  for  the  purpose  of  earaing 
lP'"«i:>:fits,  upon  the  terms  of  such  profits  being  equitably  divided  between 
•li       the  contributors. 

^Excluding  all  "  bastard  "  associations,  and  treating  as  co-operative 

or*.l.jr  those   recognised   as   such  by   the   co-operators  themselves,   we 

fi'c:^-*^  that    there    are    in    the    United    Kingdom    more    than    1,500 

1    "  ^5"enuine  "  co-operative   societies,  whose  members,  belonging  (with 

p    (ft^^r  exceptions)  to  the  working-classes,  nuoiber  upwards  of  1 ,000,000, 

ttticl  which   possess   between   them    in   share   and  loan   capital  fully 

t^  1.000,000. 

The  various  forms  of  co-operative  enterprise  divide  themselves  into 

^x-ee  principal    categories ;  first   among   which   comes   that   form  of 

Co-operation  in    which  the  "conciliation  of  the  conflicting  interests 

ot  the  capitalist,  the  worker,  and  the  purchaser,  through  an  equitable 

division  among   them    of  the   fund   commonly  known   as   profit "  is 

effected    by    allotting  the    whole    of    the   profits   to    the   capitalist. 

Instances  of  this  type  of  Co-operation    are  the  ninety  odd  cotton- 

"iilU  at  Oldham,  '*  the  most  co-operative  town  in  the  world,"  as  it  was 

ctlled  in  the  address  of  the  Chairman  at  the  last  Co-operative  Congress. 

Th«e  mills   have  a  capital  of  between  £8,000,000  and   £9,000,000  ; 

Mnongthe  shareholders  are  included  some  thonsands  of  working-men, 

*ho^it  is  not  unworthy  of  remai-k — prefer  to  hold  shares  in  mills  in 

^hich  they  are  not    themselves  employed. ^     The  entire   profits  of 

•  K(Utc<l  by  Thomas  Hughes,  Q.C.,  and  Edward  Vansittart  Nealc,  General  Secretary 
wlht  Co -operative  Union. 

t"Hist<in'  of  Co-operation,"  by  O.J.  Holyoake,  vnl.ji.  p.  231. 

t  8«e  "Working-men  Co-o|«rators/'  by  Arthur  H.  Dyke  Acland,  MP.,  a  former, 
••xl  Bcnjuinin  Jones,  a  present,  member  of  tlje  Central  Co-operntivc  Biiiard,  p.  92.  It 
*w  itaufd  in  I'Hb  that  "  not  more  than  2  per  cent,  of  the  !<htires  of  any  one  mill  arc 
VOL.  LVn.  2  O 


556 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIElf. 


[APRU. 


All  the  same,  equity  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  this  type  of 
Co-operation,  which  is  nothing  better  (nor  worse)  than  "  a  new  device 
of  gain ;  "  this  is  the  term  applied  to  it  by  the  historian  of  the 
Co-operative  movement  in  a  very  lucid  pamphlet,  in  which  Mr. 
Holyoake  has  the  commendable  frankness  to  assert  that  "  the  consamer 
was  not  given  a  share  of  store  profits  from  any  theory  of  its  being 
right,  but  because  it  paid."* 

So  much  for  the  "  equitable "  character  of  Co-operation  of  the 
Rochdale  type,  when  applied  to  distribution.  As  to  the  claims  of 
this  form  of  Co-operation,  when  applied  to  production,  whether  in  the 
workshops  in  which  some  of  the  distributive  societies  manufacture  a 
part  of  the  goods  sold  in  their  stores,  or  in  those  belonging  to  associa- 
tions whose  sole  function  is  production,  here  the  fact  that  the  right 
to  share  in  the  profits  is  wholly  denied  to  the  employees  can  leave  us 
in  no  doubt.  The  *'  conciliation  of  the  conflicting  interests  of  the 
capitalist,  the  worker,  and  the  purchaser  through  the  equitable  division 
amongst  them  of  the  fund  commonly  known  as  profit,"  which  is  in- 
scribed upon  the  banner  of  Co-operation,  is  seen  to  be  but  a  deceptive 
device.  And — be  it  clearly  understood — the  form  of  *'  co-operative  "' 
production  in  which  the  workers  are  altogether  excluded  from  par- 
ticipation in  profits  is  that  which  prevails  over  all  others. 

"  Tiie  majority  practise  Co-operation  in  the  form  which  has  been  de- 
nounced by  some  as  '  unco-operative/  'a  sham,  and  a  delusion.'  The  amount 
of  production  can-ied  on  by  them  in  the  Retail  Societies,  the  Wholesale 
Societies,  and  the  Corn  Mills  is  fully  three  millions  of  pounds  a  year  ;  while 
the  amount  of  all  the  many  other  foi-nis  of  co-operative  production  is  only 
one-tenth  of  this,  being  less  than  three  hundred  thousand  pounds  a  yeai\" 

These  are  the  words  used  by  Mr.  Benjamin  Jones,  author  of  the 
text-book  already  cited,  and  one  of  the  first  of  living  authorities  on 
Co-operation,  in  his  official  address  at  the  Ipswich  Congress  (alluded 
to  above).  While  we  shall  hardly  feel  ourselves  called  upon  to  imitate 
the  example  of  those  who  hurl  against  the  big  battalions  of  '*  nn- 
co-operative  "  Co-operation  the  vaiu  weapon  of  vituperation,  we  must 
allow  ourselves  to  recall  the  eloquent  passage  with  which  Mr.  Holyoake 
has  concluded  the  preface  to  his  "  Historj-  of  Co-operation  "  : — "  What 
an  enduring  truce  is  to  war,  Co-operation  is  to  the  never-ceasing 
conflict  between  labour  and  c-apital.  It  is  the  peace  of  industry  " ;  with 
the  reflection  that  language  such  as  this,  however  applicable  it  may  be 
to  the  theory,  is  yet  wholly  inapplicable  to  the  prevailing  practice  of 
Co-operation.  Year  after  year  the  grea.t  Parliament  of  Co-operation 
— the  Co-operative  Congress — passes,  amid  salvoes  of  enthusiastic 
applause,  resolutions  affirming,  in  the  clearest  possible  language, 
the  inalienable  right  of  the  worker  to  share  in  the  profits  of  in- 
dustry.    But  there  the  matter  ends.     Resolutions  cost  nothing ;  and 

•  "  The  Policy  of  Commercial  Co-operation  aa  respects  including  t*' 
by  G.J.  Holyoake,  p.  14. 


i89o] 


INDUSTRIAL    CO- OPERA TION. 


557 


sound  well.  The  participation  of  the  employees  of  these  working-men 
capitalists  in  the  profits  of  co-operative  industiy  remains^  in  the  teeth 
of  these  resolutions,  a  counsel  of  perfection.* 

"  Dfterutta  st'qui"  is,  however,  not  the  rule  of  life  with  all  co- 
operators,  without  exception  ;  and  the  form  of  Co-operation  practised 
L|)y  the  small  minority  who  admit  the  worker,  as  well  as  the  capitalist, 
and  the  customer,  to  a  share  in  their  profits  (our  third  category  of  Co- 
operation) is  not  the  least  interesting  type  of  this  industrial  method. 
tare,  at  any  rate,  we  have  the  opportunity  of  watching  the  operation 
jf  a  system  entirely  novel  in  the  history  of  the  organization  of  indus- 
try, An  experiment,  in  which  the  endeavour  is  made,  with  more  or  less 
jf  earnestness,  to  reconcile  the  conflicting  claims  of  labour  and  capital 
a  just  apportionment  among  all  the  persons  engaged  in  a  com- 
lercial  enterprise  of  the  realized  profits  of  the  undertaking. 
"WTien  we  examine  the  working  of  this,  which  we  may  call  the 
'•  complete "  form  of  Co-operation,  we  shall  discover  that,  when 
applied  to  distribution,  or  to  production  in  the  workshops  of  distribu- 
tive societies,  although  no  absolute  uniformity  prevails,  its  custom,  in 
very  many  cases,  is  to  allot  to  the  emplo^'ees  a  "  dividend  on  labour  " 
at  the  same  rate  per  £1  of  wages  as  that  paid  to  purchasing  members 
each  £1  expended  at  the  store,  the  addition  thus  made  to  the 
lormftl  wages  being,  in  a  fairly  successful  society,  equivalent  to  from 
5  to  10  per  cent.  In  the  societies,  whose  sole  function  is  production, 
we  find  that,  in  the  division  of  their  profits^  the  greatest  possible 
divergence  exists  between  the  methods  adopted  by  different  associa- 
tions. As  a  rule,  the  purchaser  gets  back  a  part  of  the  price  of  the 
which  he  has  bought  in  the  shape  of  a  dividend,  a  percentage 
the  profits,  the  amount  of  which  is  different  in  different  cases ;  by 
>me,  however,  of  these  societies  the  claim  of  the  customer  to  share  in 
the  profits  is  entirely  ignored.  Capital,  in  all  cases,  takes  a  fixed  rate 
of  inttjrest,  generally  from  5  to  7^  per  cent.,  sometimes  without  any 
further  right  to  share  in  the  profits :  very  often,  however,  capital 
takes  both  a  fixed  interest,  and  also  a  proportion  of  the  profits,  the 
(unount  of  which  varies  widely  in  different  cases.  With  regard  to 
the  proportion  of  profits  allotted  to  workers,  the  most  bewildering 
riety  of  methods  of  division  obtains.  In  some  cases  a  certain  pro- 
f|jortion  of  the  surplus  profits  (remaining  after  payment  of  the  fixed 
interest  on  capital)  is  given  to  the  workers ;  this  may  be  as  much  as 
>/)  per  cent.,  as,  for  instance,  in  the  rules  of  the  North  Seaton  Dairy 
Farm  (which,  however,  pays  a  fixed  10  per  cent,  on  its  capital,  and 
aever  has  anything  left  to  divide  among  its  employees),  or  as  little  as 
1^  per  cent.,  as  in  the  case  of   the  Sheemess  Economical  Corn-mill 

*  Tbe  resolalion  of  the  1889  CoQcpreBs  to  the  above  cfiFect  having  been  officially 
twl  to  l<Vt3  co-o}>crative  aasociations  vritb  an  inquiry  whether  ibey  were  prepared 
1 II.  179  »ocicties  employing  bibour  in  prodaction  expressed  their  willingness 
'Mh  their  employccB  ;  1016  did  nut  answer. 


558 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Apoil 


and  Bakery ;  more  often  the  dividend  to  labour  is  from  oO  to  40  per 
cent,  of  the  surplus  profits.  Sometimes,  again,  these  profits  arc 
divided  between  shareholders  and  workers  in  the  proportion  which  the 
capital  bears  to  the  aggregate  sum  of  the  wages  earned  in  the  year  by 
the  em]>loyees,  or  in  that  which  the  fixed  interest  on  the  capital  bears 
to  the  total  amount  of  the  wages,  rateably  at  so  much  in  the  pound ;  or 
at  the  rate  of  2  on  each  £1  of  interest  to  1  on  each  £1  of  wages ;  in 
otiier  cases  they  are  divided  between  the  workers  and  the  customers 
according  to  the  relative  amoiuit  of  wages  and  of  purchases.  In 
short,  the  attempted  "  equitable  division  of  the  fund  commonly  known 
as  profit,"  leads  to  a  chaotic  confusion,  in  which  it  is  absolutely  im- 
possible to  discover  any  principle  whatever. 

However,  there  is  one  important  question,  at  any  rate,  which  the 
balance-sheets  of  these  co-operative  associations  enable  us  to  answer — 
the  actual  addition  made  to  tie  wages  of  the  workers  by  this,  the 
purest  of  all  the  forms  of  Co-operation.  In  the  "  llt-tm-ns  relating 
to  Productive  Societies  "  (which  show  the  division  of  profits  between 
capital,  labour,  and  custom)  contained  in  the  Report  of  the  Co-opera- 
tive Congress  of  1 889  (p.  35),  we  read  the  names  of  GO  associations 
(engaged  in  various  branches  of  manufacture)  which  are  constituted 
on  the  principle  of  sharing  profits  (when  profits  are  earned)  with  their 
employees.  Omitting  9  societies,  which  made  their  first  start  in  the 
course  of  1888,  or  had  not  at  the  end  of  that  year  yet  commenced 
operations,  we  find  that  out  of  the  whole  number  of  51  societies,  all 
professing  to  give  to  their  workmen,  in  addition  to.  their  wages,  an 
"equitable  share  "  in  their  net  gains,  17  only  are  stated  to  have 
actually  paid  to  their  employees  anything  whatever  beyond  their 
wages;  the  total  sum  distributed  as  bonus  by  these  17  societies 
amounting  to  £2,482.  When  we  inquire  what  was  the  ratio  which 
the  bonus  received  by  these  exceptionally  fortunate  co-operative 
employees  bore  to  their  ordinary  wages,  our  statistics  show  us  that, 
taking  an  average  of  16  out  of  these  17  societies — in  regard  to  one 
society  the  Eetum  is  silent  on  this  point — the  addition  made  to  the 
normal  earnings  of  the  workpeople  by  means  of  the  dividend  on 
labour  was  a  little  less  than  5  per  cent. 

Here  we  have  a  decisive  test  of  the  efl5ciency  of  the  co-operative 
method,  when  applied  to  production,  as  a  means  of  increasing  the  re- 
muneration of  labour.  Although  the  employees  of  all  tJiese  51  co- 
operative associations,  stimulated  by  the  hope  of  obtaining  under  this 
specious  system  a  just  share  in  the  profits  of  industry  into  putting 
forth  their  utmost  exertions,  undoubtedly  work  (fighting,  as  it  were, 
for  their  own  hand)  with  far  greater  assiduity  than  they  would  dis- 
play if  working  in  the  service  of  an  ordinary  middle-class  employer, 
yet,  in  the  large  majority  of  cases,  these  operatives  receive  nothing  what- 
ever beyond  their  bare  wages  ;  and,  even  in  those  comparatively  few 


««9o] 


INDUSTRIAL    CO-OPERATION. 


559 


iiistances  in  which  they  do  receive  a  dividend  on  labour,  the  addition 
thus  made  to  their  normal  earnings  is  very  often  considerably  below  the 
fair  money  value  of  that  extraordinar}-  zeal  which  they  have  exhibited. 
The    accuracy  of   this    assertion   may  be  proved  by  comparing  the 
average  dividend  on  labour  of  less  than  5  per  cent,  paid  in  these  16  co- 
'iperative  factories  with  the  bonus  earned  under  the  method  known  as 
l*ro Jit-sharing,  or  Industrial  Partnorship.    Under  the  method  of  Indus- 
trial Partnership,  of  which  a  full  description  was  given  by  Professor  J. 
Shield    Nicholson    in    the    Jimuary    numbsr    of    this    REVIEW,*   the 
".'mployer  tempts  his  workmen  to  exercise  an  extraordinary  degree  of 
industry  and  carefulness  by  giving  them  a  share  in  his  profits.     It  is 
of  the  essence  of  Industrial  Partnership  that  the  total  amount  paid 
nway  in  bonus  shall  be  recouped  to  the  employer  by  the  increase  in 
liLa  profits  which  the  extra  zeal  of  the  workers  produces.     So  that  in 
^o  case  is  the  bonus  paid  more  than  the  money  value  of  the  extra 
■srvicee  rendered  by  the  profit-sharing  employees.      But  the  pioneer 
<*     Itidastrial    Partnership,    Leclaire,    who   always  asserted  that  he 
***opted  profit-sharing  on  a  strictly  commercial  basis,  giving  his  men 
"^ber  less  than  more  than  the  money  value  of  the  extra  zeal  called 
forfch.  by  the  profit-sharing  system,  paid  during  a  period  of  seventeen 
years  a  bonus  averaging  more  than  17^  per  cent,  on  wages — wages 
"^od    according  to    the  full   standard  of    the  trade ;    and,  speaking 
8®*iierally  of  the  whole  body  of  profit-sharing  firms,  it  may  be  said 
l^at,   even  in    years  of  only  average   prosperity,  it  is  very   common 
™-^©ed  to  find  a  bonus   of   10  per  cent,   earned  and  received  by  the 
^*>».ployees  f- 

The  facts  already  stated  in  regard  to  English  Co-operation  may  be 

^^■^erj  to  bo  fairly  representative  of  the  system  throughout  the  world. 

liia    co-operative  associations  of  the  United  States,  whether  distribu- 

^iv-©   ^r  productive,  are  distinguished  by  the  simple  and  uniform  manner 

^^   "Wlxich  they  deal  with  the  claims  of  labour.     The  American  societies 

v^*^tli  the  exception  of  about  a  dozen,  mostly  societies  quite  recently 

•oTin^f^  upon  Socialist  lines  by  the  Knights  of  Labour)  have  settled  the 

I'^^atiou  of  "  the  equitable  share  of  the  worker  in  the  profits  *'  by  reso- 

'^^^ly  dechning  to  recognise  the  claims  of  labour  at  all,  and  dividing 

•■•©ir  entire  profits  among  their  shareholders   in  strict  proportion  to 

**^  aiaonnt  of  capital  held  by  each.|    Recent  statistics  in  regard  to  the 

■•^Aflratire  osscjciations  of  the  French  co-operators  give  their  number 

*•  26,  out  of  which  2  alone  allot  any  part  of  their  profits  to  their  staff. 

^^^    *?e*ji|so  on  this  "subject  the  articles  b^'  the  present  writer  in  Fortnirihily  Jt«riew, 
^^^  '*W,  and  in  Charity  (hrrianixation  Jitview,  Jan.  18!X>. 

—  ^    In  the  Pillsburv  Flour  Mill.i  the  bouiis  has  in  j^ood  yeara  been  33  per  cent,  on 
^*j8*s;  in  the  furniture  factory  of  Fourdinois  the  Ixmua  was  in  1873  equivalent  to  25 


*2AQl.  on  the  uragcH  of  t)ie  men  ;   in  the  Maison    Leclaire  it  was  in  18t»4  eqnal  to  124 
*^^t. ;  in  the  Godin  ironworks  the  bonus  declared  in  1883  was  at  the  rate  of  from 


*^»  15  per-ceat.,  according  to  the  position  of  the  employee.  • 

X  »»  "  History  of  Co-operation  in  the  United  States."  edited  by  Dr.  Ely,  Baltimere, 


»»*8 


5^ 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[Aprtl 


The  most  noteworthy  feature  of  the  productive  societies  in  France  is 
that,  in  very  many  instances,  the  associated  workmen,  by  rigidly  re- 
fusing al'  applications  for  membership,  convert  the  society  after  a  short 
lapse  of  time,  into  a  close  corporation,  which  employs,  for  the  benefit  of  a 
kw  partners,  a  large  number  of  "  auxiliaries,"  to  whom  no  share  what- 
ever in  the  profits  is  accorded-  Thus  we  have  the  celebrated  "  Socit^t*? 
dea  Lunettters"  which  consists  of  53  associates,  with  50  "  adherents  ' 
and  1 ,200  ' '  auxiliaries;  "  the  "  adherents"  take  only  a  very  small  interest 
in  the  profits,  in  which  the  auxiliary  workmen  do  not  participate  in  any 
manner  whatever.  The  Co-operative  masons,  who  some  time  ago 
wound  up  the  flourishing  business  which  they  carried  on  in  Paris, 
were  90  in  number,  owned  between  them  a  capital  of  £100,000, 
and  employed  from  1,500  to  1,600  "auxiliaries,'  who  were  not 
allowed  to  receive  any  share  in  the  profits  of  tJie  association.  The 
Paris  Co-opTativ^e  Coach-builders  were,  in  1687,  three  in  number, 
who  employed  00  workmen  ;  all  the  profits  went  to  the  three  asso- 
ciates, who  have  now  sold  their  workshops  and  retired  from  bu»ness 
with  fortunes  of  a  substantial  character.  So,  again,  a  Co-oj>erative 
Association  of  Carpenters,  founded  at  Tours  in  1808,  began  in  1873 
to  employ  *' auxiliaries,"  who  received  no  share  in  the  profits;  soon, 
two  alone  out  of  the  original  associates  remained ;  and  these  men  acquired 
considerable  wealth  by  employing  some  two  hundred  of  these  subordi- 
nates. The  Paris  sofa-makers,  who,  also,  exclude  their  employees  from  all 
participation  in  profits,  are  stated  by  Signor  llabbeno  to  say  of  themselves 
(what  is  true  of  veiy  many  among  the  French  Co-operativo  societies) : 
**  Vassociatio-n  est  deveniie  une  niaisan  de  commerce :  et  dang  le  commerce 
on  ne  pent  pas /aire  dv>  scniiment :  il  faitt  devenir,  comvu  on  dit,  des 
^pickrs."  * 

The  German  co-operators  appear  to  take  much  the  same  view  :  for 
neither  in  their  distributive,  nor  in  their  productive  associations  do  the 
employees  receive  anything  whatever  beyond  their  bare  wages ;  and 
we  ore  told  by  Herr  Schenclc  in  his  Reiwrts  for  both  1887  and  1888 
upon  the  German  Co-opei-ative  Associations  (p.  xii)  that  the  pro- 
ductive societies  ''  object  to  admitting  new  shareholders,  since  they 
desire  to  escape  the  necessity  of  dividing  their  profits  among  a  greater 
number  of  persons  than  at  present."  Thus  it  has  come  about  that,  in 
the  words  of  Dr.  Schneider,  '"  in  many  old  and  successful  productive 
societies  the  number  of  members  is  slowly  diminishing.  In  some, 
though  this  is  not  publicly  known,  the  number  of  membei-s  has  shrank 
to  such  an  extent  that  they  are  no  longer  societies,  but  have  become 
tr.jding  partnerships."  f    In  Italy  the  distributive  societies  decline  to 

**'  Le  SocieU  cooperative  rli  produ*ioDe,"  Milano,  1889,  p.  19C. 

t  *'Seventeeiitli  Keport  of  the  Massachussetts  Labour  Bureau,"  1886,  p.  134.  If  this 
spirit  of  exclu»ivi'ti«ss  is  very  rare  in  English  Co-operation,  the  reason  is  to  be  found, 
not  in  the  euperior  virtue  of  our  countrymen,  but  in  tlie  provisions  of  oar  l^islation. 
which  practically  compel  our  co-operative  societies  to  admit  new  members  without 
limit,  under  pain  of  forfeiting  tiicir  right  to  exemption  from  the  payment  of  income  t*x. 


INDUSTRIAL    CO-OPERATION. 


iGl 


giye  any  share  of  their  profits  to  their  employees  ;  while,  though  many 
(  bat  by  no  means  all )  of  the  productive  associations  allot  a  fraction  of 
their  gains  to  the  workmen  engaged,  yet,  as  Signor  Rabbeno  jxjiiits 
out,  the  statistics  given  by  him  *'  show  very  clearly  the  prepon- 
derance given  to  capital  and  the  insignificance  of  the  share  taken  by 
llAbour  in  the  division  of  the  profits."  * 

We  have  now  completed  our  survey  of  the  application  of  the  co- 
operative method  to  the  organization  of  industry,  and  are  in  a  position 
to  consider  how  far  the  pretensions  advanced  on  behalf  of  this  system 
tune  capable  of  justLficatiou.  Co-operation  has  certainly  enabled  many 
working-men  to  supply  their  daily  wants  in  an  economical  manner, 
while  it  has  incidentally  done  much  to  promote  thrift  and  something  to 
develop  intelligence  among  this  part  of  the  population.  But  that 
Go-operation  has  gone  far  in  the  direction  of  conciliating  the  conflict- 
ing interests  of  capital  and  labour,  or  even  in  increasing  the  remune- 
ration of  industry,  we  shall  acarcely  feel  able  to  assert. 

For  the  economist  the   method  of   Co-operation  possesses  a  high 
degree  of  interest.     The  systt'm  of  dividend  on  purchase,  and  that  of 
dividend  on  labour  both  rest  on  a  firm  foundatiou.     l"'or  the  bribe  of 
bonus  is,  perhaps,  the  only  means  by  which  the  unfortunate  repug- 
nance, which  is  entertained  by  so  numerous  a  section  of  mankind  to 
payicg  their  just  debts  honestly  and  promptly,  can  be  overcome,  and 
by   which   the  working-man   can   be  stimulated  into  displaying  the 
highest   possible  degree  of  industry  and  carefulne.s8.      On  the  other 
liiaad,  the  theory  of  Co-operation  involves  economic  fallacies  of  the 
.  gravest  character,  in  regard  both  to  the  nature  of  profits,  and  to  the 
I  character  of  the  functions  performed  by  the  entrepreneur. 

"In  former  times,"  says  Sfr.  Holyoake,   "capitalists  hired  labour, 
paid  its  market  price,  and  took  all  the  profits.      Co-operatire  labour 
proposes  to  reverse  this  process.     Its  plan  is  to  hire  capital,  pay  its 
1  market  price,  and  itself  take  all  profit."  f 

*'  The  workmen  hire,  or  buy,  or  build  their  premises  ;  engage  or  appoint 
,  Bumagers,  engineers,  designers,  (ii-chitects,  uccountants,  or  whatever  officers 
tbej  require,  at  the  orditisirj  salaries  such  persons  can  conimatid  in  the 
market,  ac-cording  to  their  ability.  Every  workman  employed  is  paid  wages 
in  the  same  way.  If  they  need  capital  in  excess  of  their  own,  they  borrow 
it  At  market  rates,  according  to  the  ri*ks  of  tlic  business,  the  capitiil  sub- 
■cril>e<]  by  their  own  members  being  paid  for  :it  the  same  rate.  Their  rent, 
materials,  Ridaries,  wages,  business  outlays  of  all  kinds,  and  interest  on 
_ capital,  are  the  annual  costs  of  tlieir  umlertaking.  All  gain  beyond  that  is 
profit,  which  is  divided  among  all  officers,  and  workmen,  anti  customera, 
aeeording  to  their  aidariea  or  service.*."  J 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  key-note  of  the  theory  laid  down  in  this 
well-known  passage  is  the  belief  that,  after  capital  and  labour  (includ- 
ing the  labour  of  management)  have  received  their  full  remuneration 

•  "  Lc  Societi\  roop«rafive,*'  p.  292.         -f  "  Hictory  of  Co-operation,''  vol.  ii.  p.  8". 

X  Ibid.  pp.  123-124. 


562 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


tAJBU. 


at  current  rates,  there  remains  a  balance  of  profit  capable  of  "  equit- 
able division  "  in  the  manner  prescribed  by  the  doctrines  of  Co-opera- 
tion. Dearly  cherished  as  is  this  belief  by  those  "  inside  the  move- 
ment," it  is  one  which  the  uninitiated  vulgar,  persons  who  still  feebly 
cling  to  the  idea  that  some  sort  of  law  exists  governing  normal  profits^ 
must  find  it  far  from  easy  to  accept ;  nor,  indeed,  will  it  be  possible  for 
such  persons  to  watch,  without  betraying  their  incredulous  amusement, 
the  ingenious  process  by  which  the  accounts  of  the  co-operative  societies 
are  manipulated  in  order  to  persuade  the  onlooker  that,  under  the 
new  system,  two  and  two  make,  at  the  least,  five.  If  we  watch  this 
process,  we  shall  find  that,  while  the  view  expressed  by  Mr.  Holyoake 
in  the  two  passages  just  cited,  that  the  remuneration  of  capital 
should  invariably  talce  the  form  of  a  fixed  rate  of  interest,  capital 
being  altogether  excluded  from  participation  in  "profit" — a  view 
borrowed  from  the  special  features  of  distribative  Co-operation — 
is  carried  out  in  some  cases,  the  method  adopted  in  very  many 
instances  is  as  follows: — The  capitalist,  who  oould  fairly  claim,  Bay,j 
7i  per  cent,  for  his  money,  receives,  first,  a  fixed  rate  of,  say,  5  per ' 
cent.,  which,  in  fiat  defiance  of  the  facts  of  the  case,  is  alleged  to  be 
"  the  market  rate  according  to  the  risks  of  the  business,"  and  then,  in 
addition,  a  super-dividend,  varying  with  the  gains  of  the  concern, 
which,  taking  one  year  with  another,  may,  and  often  does,  amount 
to  an  aven^  of  at  least  5  per  cent,  more,  thus  securing  a  total  yield 
upon  the  investment  of  10  per  cent,  or  upwards.  This  super-dividend 
is  called  "the  equitable  share  of  capital  in  the  profits."*  In  moefe' 
cases  the  customer,  again  in  the  sacred  name  of  equity,  takes  a  dividend 
on  purchase,  which  is  partly  discount  for  cash,  partly  a  trade  dodge 
intended  to  tickle  the  palate  of  the  purchaser,  a  sum  added  to  the 
price  of  the  goods  in  order  to  be  taken  off  again.  As  to  the  remune- 
ration of  labour,  the  secret  of  the  juggle  is  very  simple.  The  wage 
of  the  worker  is  treated  by  the  co-operative  theorists  as  the  market ' 
price  of  all  the  services  rendered  by  him.  As  a  f»ct,  of  course,  the 
wages  or  salary  received  by  the  employee  of  a  co-operative  association 
represents  the  money  value,  not  of  alt  the  services  rendered  by  him,  but 
of  that  part  of  these  services  which  may  be  tenued  ordinary.  In  addi- 
tion to  these  ordinary  services  he  has  exhibited  an  extraordinary  degree 
of  assiduity,  called  forth  by  the  promise  of  a  share  in  the  profits, 
profits  which  this  assiduity  tends  to  raise  above  the  normal  level. 
Now,  on  the  one  liaud,  the  total  amount  divided  between  any  body  of 
co-operative  emi)loyees  in  respect  of  this  share — their  dividend  on 

*  Among  Booieties  praotisiai:  the  "eqnitable''  division  of  tbeir  profits  among  workers, 
customers,  and  capitalists  will  be  fciimd  one,  in  which  the  fixed  interest  of  5  per  ceaU 
»ml  the  share  of  profits  allotted  in  addition  together  kroiight  up  the  total  remunera- 
tion of  capital  at  one  timp  to  nearlr  18  per  cent.,  and  in  which  the  average  return 
upon  capital  .since  it  foiumenccd  btisinpss  has  been  rather  more  than  12i  percent., 
and  another,  in  vhifh  the  super-dividend  added  to  the  fixed  interest  of  TJ  per  cent, 
habitually  raises  the  total  yield  upon  capital  to  orer  14  per  cent. 


»89o] 


INDUSTRIAL    CO-OPERATION. 


56a 


labour— can  never  (assuming  that  the  workmen  have  already  received 
their  full  wages  and  the  managers  their  full  salaries  at  current 
rates,  and  tliat  tho  capital  is  to  receive  not  less  than  its  market 
rate  of  remuneration)  exceed  the  money  value  of  their  abnormal 
BBsiduity ;  on  the  other  hand  (as  the  figures  quoted  above  &om  the 
balance-sheets  of  the  co-operative  associations  indicate)  this  dividend, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  in  many,  if  not  in  most  cases,  falls  considerably 
short  of  that  value.  Co-operation,  however,  not  content  with  obtain- 
ing from  its  employees  two  shillings'  worth  of  extra  work  for  one 
ahilling,  invites  thorn  to  consider  that  shilling  as  a  free  gift,  presented 
\o  them,  over  and  above  the  price  of  their  labour  at  its  current 
money  value,  from  purely  "  equitable"  considerations  by  this  wonder- 
working system. 

Such  are  the  methods  by  which  the  delusion  of  the  co-operative 
working-men,  that  by  "becoming  their  own  employers"  they  enter 
into  a  sort  of  boundless  Tom  Tiddler's  ground  of  gains,  is  sedulously 
fostered — a  pleasing  hallucination,  which  a  few  moments'  consideration 
;  of  the  obvious  fact,  that  by  no  amount  of  shuffling  is  it  possible  to 
'increase  the  size  of  the  pack,  or,  in  other  words,  that  profits  are  limited 
by  the  value  of  the  product,  would  rudely  dispel. 

That  the  ideas  of  the  co-operative  working-men  in  relation  to  the 
true  nature  of  profits  should  be  inaccurate,  is  scarcely  to  be 
TTondered  at.  But  the  false  conception  of  the  functions  of  the 
capitalist  entrepreneur,  whom  the  co-operators  regard  as  a  sort  of  fifth 
wheel  on  the  coach,  is  all  the  more  remarkable,  because  this  conception 
ia  no  mere  vagary  of  the  working-class  intellect,  but  has  received  the 
liigh  sanction  of  philosophical  approval. 

*'  Tlio  form  of  association  which,  if  mankind  continue  to  improve,  must  be 
expected  in  the  end  to  predominute,  is  not  that  wliiiih  can  exist  between  a 
eftpitalist  as  chief,  and  workpeople  without  a  voicp  in  the  management,  but 
tiiA  asBcwiation  of  the  labourei-s  them-selves  on  termfl  of  e<[uality,  collectively 
owniag  the  capital  n-ith  whicli  they  carry  on  their  operations,  and  working 
under  managers  elected  and  removable  by  themselves."  * 

This  emphatic  prophecy  was  uttered  more  than  thirty  years  ago, 
not  by  a  working-class  visionary,  but  by  the  foremost  economist  of  his 
day,  John  Stuart  Mill.  Let  us  inquire  what  signs  there  are  of  its  ful- 
filment. As  to  the  idea  that  the  working-classes  can  dispense  with  the 
cnpital  of  the  middle-class  employer,  is  it  not  difficult  to  understand 
laow  aa  economist  of  the  first  eminence  can  have  serioualy  imagined 
that,  in  an  age,  in  which  machinery  on  the  one  hand,  and  credit  on  the 
other,  play  so  important  a  part,  it  would,  except  in  comparatively  rare 
instances,  be  possible  for  the  workmen  engaged  in  a  manufactory  to 
''collectively  own  "the  capital  necessary  for  carrying  on  the  business? 

•  J.  S.  Mill :  "  Political  Economj,"  fourth  edition,  vol  li.  p.  344 


564 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[APRIb 


In  a  cotton-mill  from  £200  to  £800  is  required  for  every  worker 
employetl.  Enter  the  carding-room  of  a  woollen  yarn  factory,  and  you 
find  tkree  women  in  sole  charge  of  machinery  worth  £2,000.  The 
Co-operative  Printing  Society,  with  a  capital  of  £28,226,  employs  200 
workmen.  The  co-operative  corn  mills,  with  a  capital  of  £500,000,  are 
said  to  employ  between  them  only  300  persons.*  The  capital  needed  to 
provide  raw  materiala  and  machinery  and  to  cover  outstanding  debts 
is,  in  many  branches  of  manufacture,  much  smaller  than  this.  But  the 
industries,  in  which  the  necessary  capital  is  of  dimensions  so  modest 
as  to  be  within  the  means  of  the  working-men  employed,  are  certainly 
anything  but  numerous,  and  their  nunaber  unquestionably  tends  more 
and  more  to  diminish.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  capital  required  by 
the  co-operative  associations  now  at  work  in  this  country  is  not 
*'  collectively  owned  "  by  their  employees,  but  is  supplied  by  minute 
contributions  from  many  pockets,  only  a  small  part  of  it  being 
furnished  by  the  actual  workers. 

If  the  idea  of  the  collective  ownership  of  the  capital  by  the 
labourers  themselves  is  seen  to  be  Incongruous  with  the  actual  facta 
of  industry,  what  are  we  to  say  of  the  conception  of  their  ''  work- 
ing under  managers  elected  and  removable  by  themselves  "  ?  Oat- 
numbered  as  they  nearly  always  are  by  the  non-working  shareholders, 
the  members  employed  in  a  co-operative  factory  must  always  be  liable 
to  be  hopeleaaly  out-voted  in  the  appointment  of  managers,  as  in  all 
other  matters.  Nor,  indeed,  is  any  c^nsisteint  attempt  made  by  the 
practical  co-operatora  to  allow  to  their  employees  any  real  voice  in  the 
selection  of  managers,  or  any  effectual  control  over  the  operations  of 
the  business.  In  some  of  the  most  important  among  their  associa- 
tions (including  the  two  great  wholesale  societies — societies  possessing 
a  joint  capital  of  more  than  £1,500,000,  of  which  about  £130,000  is 
devoted  to  production)  the  employees  cannot  even  hold  shares :  in 
many  other  societies  the  rules  provide  that  no  person  employed  by  the 
concern  shall  be  eligible  to  serve  on  the  committee  of  management. 
Thus,  instead  of  enabling  men  to  work  under  managers  elected  "  by 
themaelvea  from  amongst  themselves  "  t — for  Mill,  of  course,  meant, 
and  Thornton  expressly  declared,  that  the  manager  of  the  ideal  co- 
operative association  is  to  be  chosen  by  the  workmen  actually  engaged 
in  the  workshop  from  their  own  number — all  that  Co-operation  is  ablo 
to  gain  for  the  workers  is  the  substitution  for  the  single  middle-clas3 
employer  of  the  many-headed  working-class  employer.  Whether  the 
moral  and  the  material  results  of  this  substitution  can  justly  claim  to 
possess  a  high  degree  of  value,  appears  to  be  open  to  question.  It  is 
often  said  by  working-men  that  the  most  exacting  of  all  masters  are 
those  who  have  risen  from  the  ranks,  men  whose  favourite  axiom  is 
*'  what  was  good  enough  for  me  is  good  enough  for  them ;  "  and  there 

•  ••  Workiiig-men  Co-operatorg,"  p.  102.  f  Thornton,  "  On  Labour,"  p.  396. 


iSgo] 


INDUSTRIAL   CO-OPERATION, 


565 


are  many  who  think  that  the  worst  maBter  of  all  is  a  trading  company 
of  small  working-class  capitalists.*  Certainly  the  hardships  endured 
by  workpeople  employed  by  persons  who  themselves  belong  to  the 
working-classes,  form  a  prominent  feature  in  the  revelations  made  before 
the  Lords'  Committee  on  the  Sweatioig  System.  Nor  is  it  possible  to 
ignore  the  fact  that  the  manner  in  which  many  co-operators  treat 
their  employees  is  considered  by  their  fellow  working-men  to  be  sa 
little  just  and  so  far  from  generous,  and  the  tendency  which  the 
co-operative  associations  exhibit  in  labour  disputes  to  take  the  side 
of  "  the  masters  "  to  be  so  marked,  that  Co-operation  is  regarded  by 
the  English  trades  unionists  with  dislike  and  distrust,  and  by  the 
stpidicats  ovrricrs  ii  France  with  the  strongest  detestation.  For 
onrselves,  though  desirous  to  avoid  harsh  and  hostile  criticism,  we 
shall  hardly  be  able  to  escape  the  conclusion  that  the  method  of 
Co-operation  necessarily  places  the  employee-employer  in  a  position 
in  which  it  is  difficult  for  him  to  reconcile  that  oi>en-handed  liberality, 
which  his  natural  sympathy  with  his  own  class  might  be  expected  to 
dictate,  with  his  no  less  natural  regard  for  his  own  interests. 

Passing  from  the  moi*al  fispect  of  the  co-operative  organization  of 
industry  to  consider  the  economic  efficiency  of  this  system,  we  find 
this  adequately  indicated  by  the  very  large  number  of  instances 
in  which,  notwithstanding  all  the  economic  advantages  admittedly 
possessed  by  the  co-operative  methods,  trading  societies  formed  and 
managed  by  working-men  have  met  with  financial  disaster.  As  far 
&s  it  is  possible  to  get  at  the  facts,  it  would  appear  that  not  much 
more  than  50  per  cent,  of  the  distributive,  or  than  25  per  cent,  of  the 
productive,  associations  of  this  nature  have  attained  success. 

So  fai*  as  distributive  Co-operation  is  concerned,  "  the  elimination 
of  the  middleman  "  is  of  the  essence  of  the  method ;  the  management 
of  the  store  by  the  purchasers  is  the  guarantee  against  fraud  and 
extortion  which  alone  can  secure  their  custom.  But  in  regard  to 
production  it  is  submitted  that  a  serious  error  lies  at  the  root  of  a 
system  which  attempts  to  dispense  altogether  with  the  services  of  the 
middle-class  cnirtprcnnir^  or  which,  at  any  rate,  seeks  to  impose  upon 
the  directors  of  an  industrial  enterprise  a  degree  of  dependence  upon 
the  votes  of  the  employees,  which  no  man  belonging  to  the  middle- 
class  (whether  he  have  been  born  into  that  class,  or  have  won  his  way 
into  it  by  hia  superior  abilities),  who  is  capable  of  taking  the  command 
of  a  body  of  workmen  and  of  controlling  the  financial  operations  of  a 


*  It  is  a  significant  fact,  that  at  the  liLst  Trades  Uaion  Congress,  when  the  usual 
complimentary  vote  of  welcome  to  the  representatives  of  the  co-operative  movement 
was  brought  forward,  it  was  found  necessary  to  add  a  rider  exprestiing  the  desire  of  the 
Cong^ress  that  the  co-operative  societies  should  be  urped  in  future  to  pay  to  their 
emplojcc;  the  rscog^nized  trades  union  rate  of  wages.  These  representatives  ofHcially 
reported  tliat  tliej  had  been  received  by  the  general  body  of  trades  union  delegates 
with  a  marked  absence  of  cordiality. 


366 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Apbh. 


bnsiiiess  concern,  can  reasonably  be  expected  to  regard  otherwise  Uiaa 
as  an  insuperable  obstacle  to  his  acceptance  of  the  post  of  manager.* 

But  how  inaccurate  a  conception  of  the  nature  of  the  functions  per- 
formed by  the  entrepreneur  must  have  been  entertained  by  that  school 
of  thought — a  school  at  the  head  of  which  stand  the  great  names  of 
Mill,  Caimes,  and  Fawcett — which  could  bring  itself  to   believa  a 
method  of  industry,  under  which  these  functions  are  confided  to  a 
working-man,  however  intelligent  a  workman  he  may  be,  or  to  a  com- 
mittee of  working-men,  elected  by  their  fellows,  to  be  that  "  which,  if 
mankind  continue  to  improve,  must  be  expected  in  the  end  to  pre- 
dominate"!    These  are  the  economists,  who,  when  they  speak  of  the 
remuneration  of  the  cntrcprcnfur^  make  use  of  that  singularly  inapt 
phrase,  *'  the  wages  of  superintendence ; ''  as  if  the  duties  of  the  em- 
ployer were  identical  in  nature  with,  and  but  little  superior  in  character 
to,  those  of  a  foreman  or  overlooker,  and  who,  when  they  treat  of  Co- 
operation, argue  as  if  tho  industrial  army  could  be  led  to  victory  by 
sergeants  elected  by  the  privates  from  their  own  number,  without  the 
slightest  assistance  from  the  commanding  authority  and  the  strategical 
capability  of  superior  officers.     As  Bagehot  justly  remarked  :    "  You 
might  as  well  call  whist  superintending  the  cards."  f    The  general- 
ship of  the  entrepreneur  is  of  paramount  importance  in  the  organization 
of  industry.     It  is  the  tnireprentiir  who  "  settles  what  goods  shall  be 
made,  and  what  not :  what  brought  to  market,  and  what  not.     He  is 
the  general  of  the  army,  he  fixes  on  the  plan  of  operation,  organizes 
its  means,  and  superintends  its  execution.     If  he  does  this  well,  the 
business  succeeds  and  continues  ;  if  he  does  it  ill,  the  business  fails  and 
ceases.     Everything  depends  on  the  correctness  of  tbe  unseen  decisions, 
on  the  secret  sagacity  of   the  determining  mind."*     These  are  func- 
tions which  cannot  successfully  be  exercised  except  by  a  man  possessing, 
in  most  cases,  special  and  lifelong  training  and,  in  all  cases,  natural 
abilities  which,  however  much  mankind  may  "  continue  to  improve.'^ 
will  always  be  rare. 

The  organization  of  modem  industry  is  highly  complicated  ;  and  the 
co-operative  ideal,  which  would  fain  abolish  difierentiation  and  special- 
ization in  regard  to  the  functions  of  the  entreprtnctir,  is  inconsistent 
with  success  in  the  struggle  for  existence.  The  entrepremur  is  the 
brain  of  the  industrial  organism  :  but  a  co-operative  association  is  like 
a  moUuBC,  with  brains  aU  over  the  body,  and  not  much  of  them  any- 
where. 

In  those  cases  in  which  production  can  be  carried  on  with  an  insig- 

•  In  two  cases  (those  of  Mr.  G.  ThoniBon,  woollen  manufacturer,  of  Hnddersflclfl  antl 
Mr.  F.  Curtis,  builder,  of  Brixton)  a  middle-class  employer  has  turned  his)  >  •> 

"  a  co-operative  association  "  ;  but  in  each  case  the  rules  have  been  so  fram<  f 

the  removal  of  the  head  of  the'<  concern  and  the  control  of  the  busiuesn  oui.  m  me 
hands  of  the  cnptoyecs.  Both  these  associations  are,  for  all  practical  puiposee. 
indust  ri.^  jtfirtnerships. 

t  "  Economic  Studies,"  p.  42.  X  Ibid.  p.  52. 


tSgol 


INDUSTRIAL    CO-OPERATION. 


567 


nificMnt  capital,  in  which  success  depends  almost  entirely  upon  the 

exlxibition  by  the  operatives  of  a  high  degree   of  zeal  and  carefulness 

(especially  zeal  and  carefulness,  the  presence  or  absence  of  which  cannot 

con.'V^niently  be  tested  by  supervision),  and  to  but  a  small  extent  upon 

the    business  instinct  and  training  of  the  entrepreneur,  in  which  nier- 

carxtile,  as  distinguished  from  technical,  ability  ia  almost  nselees,  in 

wliich  sudden  and  secret  decisions  are  seldom,  if  ever,  required — here 

the  Tiethod  of  Co-operation  has  a  fair  field.    By  experiments  made  under 

conditions  such  as  these  associated  industry  has  conferred  in  the  past, 

and  will — it  is  fervently  to  be  hoped — continue  to  confer  in  the  future, 

opon  energetic  aud  painstaking   workmen  advantages,  both  moral  and 

material,  of  the  first  imiwrtance.      Why  is  it  that  we  have  in  England 

no  counterparts  of  those  co-operative  groups  of  labourers,  which,  under 

the  name  of  artel,  are  to  be  found  all  over  Russia  and  Bulgaria  ?    Or  of 

the  aimilar  organizations,  which  have  been  formed  in  Italy  among  men 

m^faged  in  road-making,  earth work>  &c.  {hraccianii)  ? 

"  The  meagre  rapital  required  was  reiidily  obtained  by  savings  from  wages, 
the  par  valiio  of  the  shares  being  placed  at  a  low  figure.  Almost  the  onlj* 
otJtJay  required  was  for  pickaxes,  ban'ows,  ic,  and  in  many  caaes  these 
vcre  already  possessed  by  the  workmen.  The  plan  of  operation  was  simple, 
lATge  contracts  are  taken  by  the  society  at  tised  rates,  and  sub-let  in  sections 
*<*  members,  who  work  by  the  piece.  By  thi.s  plan  individual  remuneration 
•*  in  proportion  to  the  work  performed.  The  workers  become  directly  ih- 
'^'^stiBd  in  the  work,  and  their  efficiency  is  proportionately  increased.  The 
middleman  is  abolislied,  and  the  labourer  is  brought  into  immediate  relations 
"^th  the  proprietor  who  controls  the  undei-taking.  Under  these  advantages 
men  vho  previously  earned  from  7\d.  to  Is.  2{rf.  a  day  have  increased  their 
*Bges  to  '2»,  5d.  and  in  some  cases  to  Ss.  2^d.  or  4«.  daily."  * 

Towards  all  forms  of  Co-operatjon,  in  which  it  is  practically  pofisible 
for  Working-men  to  become,  really  and  truly,  their  own  employers,  all 
^f  QH  who  have  at  heart  the  well-being  of  our  fellow -citizens  roust  en- 
tertain the  liveliest  goodwill.  But  with  that  large,  indeed  predomi- 
iWit,  section  of  the  co-operative  movement,  in  which  the  actual  workers 
***  the  servants  of  a  number,  much  greater  than  their  own,  of  working- 
**^  shareholders,  more  especially  when,  as  is  very  frequently  the  case, 
"•o  treatment  of  these  workers  by  their  masters  is  characterized  by  no 
'ttintest  trace  of  liberality,  it  is  impossible  to  feel  more  than  a  moderate 
''^Kiree  of  sympathy. 

-Association    and   thrift — these    are  two    excellent   things,    which 

*^<*~operation  has  done  much  to  promote.     But  Co-operation  cannot 

^••iin  to  be  the  only  form  of  association  possible  for  working-men,  or 

^  possess  a  monojwly  in  the  promotion  of  thrift.     The  growth  and 

♦^tension  of  working-men's  clubs  and  institutes  morita,  in  an  eminent 

iIpj^.^^  the  fostering  care  of  the  social  reformer  ;  nor  can  any  more 

>^%^fal  ta.sk  be  undertaken  by  the  leaders  of  tho  working-classes  thim 

"ic  development)  upon  lines  making  greater  concessions  than  hereto- 

*  "  Scvcsteeuth  Annuml  Report  of  the  Masaacbussctts  L&boor^BureaD,*'  1886,  p.  143. 


568 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


km 


fore  to  the  claims  of  social  morality,  of  the  trades  unions,  combinatior 
which,  in  addition  to  their  duty  of  organizing  resistance  to  nndol 
onerous  conditions  of  employment,  make  provision,  by  means  of  thei 
sick,  out-of-work,  and  saperannuation  funds,  against  the  terribl 
hardships  to  which  the  precarious  character  of  his  income  too  ofte 
exposes  the  wage-earner.  Of  the  great  value  possessed  by  friendl 
societies  and  savings  banks  established  upon  a  sound  basis  it  i 
needless  to  speak.  Nor  have  we  by  any  means  exhausted  tb 
opportunities  for  discreet  investment  which  are,  or  could,  and  ough 
to  be  afforded  to  the  prudent  and  industrious  artisan.  Let  thi 
working-man  be  persuaded  to  buy  Government  Stock  through  the  Poa 
Office  Bank  ;  let  him  be  enabled — arrangements  can  easily  be  devise* 
to  make  this  practicable — to  invest  his  savings  in  debentures  o; 
mortgages,  such  as  might  be  selected  by  the  trustees  of  a  middle-clasi 
marriage  settlement ;  or,  better  still,  let  him  secure  to  himself  an  olc 
age  of  independence  and  comfort  by  purchasing  by  easy  payments  j 
deferred  annuity  from  the  Government,  or  from  some  thoroughly 
sound  insurance  company. 

That  the  industrial  classes  shall  possess  property,  and  shall  acquire 
those  prudential  instincts,  which  the  possession  of  property  can  alone 
engender,  is  eminently  desirable.  The  existence  of  a  '•  naked 
proletariate "  must  be  deemed  to  constitute  a  grave  social  danger. 
But  every  form  of  property  is  not  equally  well  suited  to  be  held  by 
the  industrial  classes.  And,  with  all  due  respect  to  those  unquestion- 
ably sincere  friends  of  labour  who  are  convinced  that  the  salvation  of 
the  working-classes  depends  mainly  upon  the  unlimited  multiplication 
of  joint-stock  undertakings  owned  by  working-men,  it  is  difijcult  to 
believe  that  the  best  use  that  a  working-man  can  make  of  his  money 
is  to  place  it  in  that  very  hazardous  form  of  investment,  the  shares  of 
a  co-operative  factorj',  or  to  gamble  with  it  by  "  bearing "  and 
"  bulling  "  such  shares,  as  he  does  in  the  Oldham  beer. houses  ;•  and 
that  the  only  possible  solution  of  the  Labour  Problem  is  to  be  f^iund 
in  the  universal  adoption,  in  every*  branch  of  industry,  of  that  ve 
unsystematic  system  which  goes  by  the  name  of  Co-operation. 

David  F.  Schloss." 


*  See  "  Report  of  the  Industrial  Remuneration  Conference,"  p.  307. 


IF  any  city  iti  the  world  has  a  physiognomy  of  its  own,  that  city  is 
Rotterdam.  Whichever  way  it  is  approached,  whether  by  the 
Moerdyk  railway-bridge  or  by  the  Maas,  or  through  the  new  canal 
traversing  the  Hoek  of  Holland,  its  unique  character  strikes  the 
traveller.  From  the  viaduct  which  passes  through  the  town,  con- 
necting the  railway  from  Belgium  with  that  to  South  Holland. 
Botterdam  appears  a  network  of  canals,  bristling  with  funnels  and 
"Mtfts,  and  lined  with  trees  and  houses.  Thia  singular  port  has  no 
flocks  in  the  ordinary  sense  ;  the  whole  city  btung,  so  to  speak,  a 
peat  dock,  vessels  coming  from  the  Indies  and  America  lying  moored 
witluQ  a  short  distance  of  the  warehouses  for  which  their  freights  are 
intended. 

liotterdam  has  existed  so  long  fliat  its  origin  is  prehistoric ;  pro- 
^Uyits  inhabitants  were  too  much  engaged  in  maintaining  their  own 
existence  to  find  time  to  worry  or  rob  their  neighbours.  However, 
the  universal  enemy  found  thorn  out :  the  Norse  pirates  ever  and  anon 
pkid  them  a  visit,  and  destroyed  in  a  night  the  labour  uf  years.  But  the 
^Bage  was  repaired,  and  Rottfrdam  slowly  grew,  the  genn  of  a  busy 
**rt,  to  which  the  four  winds  of  heaven  long  lirouglit  the  treasures  of 
•JotJi  hemispheres.  And  with  steam  this  old  port  toi>k  a  new  lease  of 
ita  life,  its  merchants  having  in  the  present  generation  advanced  in 
proeperity  beyond  any  other  city  in  Holland.  While  the  Ithine  trade 
'ttrough  Amsterdam  steadily  declines,  it  just  as  steadily  increases  by 
"•y  pf  Rotterdam.  And  the  respective  progress  of  the  two  cities  is 
'''flftcted  in  that  of  the  growth  of  their  populations,  the  increase  daring 
w  Ust  fifty  years  in  Kol  terdam  as  compared  with  Amsterdam  being 
•8  to  2. 

At  the  outlet  of  two  such  rivers  as  the  Rhine  aud  the  Meuse,  with 
'«..  Lvn.  2  P 


570 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[APRUi 


the  Thames  gaping  on  the  opposite  shore  to  receive  their  produce, 
Rotterdam  has  an  exceptional  position.  Germany  is  ever  increasing j 
her  downpour  of  exports,  while  a  crowd  of  vessels,  mainly  carrying 
the  British  flag,  fill  the  port. 

Although  recognised  as  a  city,  and  afliliated  to  the  Hanseatic  League 
before  the  close  of  the  thirteenth  century,  the  early  progress  of  Rot>-! 
t«rdam  was  so  slow  that,  at  the  close  of  the  War  of  Independence, 
it  was  not  regarded  as  one  of  the  great  cities  of  the  Netherlands,  but 
took  its  place  Ln  the  iStatea-General  as  first  among  the  minor  cities, 
It  had  endured  something  for  the  cause,  having  been,  by  an  act  oi 
infiamoua  treachery,  seized  by  the  Spaniards,  and  four  hundred  of  itai 
iuhabitanta  imndored. 

The  War  of  Independence,  like  the  Thirty  Years'  War,  created  hordea, 
of  brigands,  and  the  North   Sea  was  stained  with  many  devilish  ac' 
Ounkirk  was  a  pirate  den,  and  one  of  these  fiends,  a  certain  Ad 
de  Waecken,  made  war  on  the  Dutch  fishermen,  who,  being  ^MennonitesJ 
oileri'd  no  resistance.      Pillaging  a   vessel,  be  threw   the   crew    over 
board,  or  fastened  them  to  the  cabin,  and  then,  scuttling  the  ship,  hi 
left  it  to  sink.     In   1605,   a   Dutch   skipper,    Lambert   Heurickzoon,!j 
captured  the  then  Admiral  of  the   Dunkirk   pirate  fleet,  and  brought 
all  the  crew  that  remained  alive  after  the  action  to  llotterdam,  when 
sixty  of  them  were  hanged  the  next  day.      On  the  way  to  the  gallowi 
some  made  their  escape,  and  were  not  pursued,  though  surrounded  b 
a  population  who  might  have  been  expected   to  feel,  not  only  exi 
jierated,  but  vindictive.      The  explanation  can  only  be  found  in  the  fai 
just  stated  ;   if  the  mass  of  the  people  in  llotterdam  were  not  professed 
Mennonites,  they  were  so  far  affected  by  the  doctrine  of  Merino  thai 
they  would  not  even  help  to  bring  their  most  cmel  enemies  under  thfl 
sword  of  justice. 

An  authority  on  Anabaptist  history,  Dr.  Lodwig  Keller,  archivist 
of  Munster,  says,  "  The  more  I  examine  the  documents  of  the  time  afe 
my  command,  the  more  1  am  astonished  at  the  difiusion  of  AnabaptisB 
views,  an  extent  of  which  no  other  investigator  has  had  any  knbw-j 
lodge  ;  "  and  be  says  further,  ''  The  coast  cities  of  the  North  Sea  and 
Mast  Sea  from  Flanders  to  Daiitzig  were  filled  with  Anabaptists."  Li 
1530  there  v/b»  scarcely  a  village  in  the  Netherlands  where  they  werfl 
not  found.  One  hundred  and  fifty  years  later,  a  writer  on  '"  The 
Heligion  of  the  Dutch  "  divides  the  population  of  Holland  into  thrt 
parts — Reformed,  Roman  Catholics,  and  Anabaptists.  And  th 
descendants  of  the  latter  people  must,  to  a  great  extent,  have  remaini 
the  working  classes  of  Holland,  for  their  creed  cut  them  off  from 
ascending  into  the  ruling  class,  if  that  had  been  easy,  which  we  sha! 
see  it  was  not.  "  It  is  not  lawful,"  they  said,  "  for  Christians  to  swear, 
to  exercise  any  charge  of  civil  magistracy,  or  to  make  use  of  the  sword^l 


tSgo] 


ROTTERDAM  AND   DUTCH   WORKERS. 


571 


nofc  even  to  punish  the  vricked,  or  to  oppose  force  with  force,  or  to 
engage  in  a  war,  upon  any  account  or  occasion.''  * 

The  Anal>aptist3  suffered  not  only  for  their  attitude  of  reproof  to 

all     who  took  thn  sword  of  authority,   but  also   for  the  trrror  with 

which    in    the    Peasant    Revolt,    and    in  the    fanatical  outbreak    at 

IVf  unster,  their  predecessors  had  inspired  the  rulers.    Their  martyrology 

[is  fall  of  t/ouching  incidents,  some  of  which  occurred  in   Rotterdam. 

la  lo3i>  Anna  Tautzen,  returning  from  England,  whither  she  had  fled, 

was  denounced  for  having  sung  a  hymn.     On  her  way  to  prison  she 

osWed  a  baker  in  the  crowd  to  take  cliarge  of  her  infant,      The  child 

bore  the  name  of  Jessias  de  Lind,  and  lived  to  become  burgomaster. 

Its     mother    was   drowned    in    company    with  another   woman,  the 

betrayer  throwing  herself  into  the  water  immediately  after.t     About 

the  same  time  several  men  were  beheaded,  and  other  women  drowned. 

One   of  the  latter  was  a  girl  of  fourteen,  who,  among  other  things, 

said,  '*  I  will  risk  my  body  and  my  goods,  I  will  deny  my  friends  and 

give  up  all  for  Jesus'  sake."  J     The  elevation  of  soul  which  enabled 

ihese  poor  people  to  face  their  dreadful  fate  comes  out  in  another 

woman,  thus  murdered,  who  left  four  children,  to  whom  she  wrote  a 

^ng  letter,  containing  this  prayer  : — 

*'  0  holy  Father,  sanctify  the  children  of  Thy  servant  in  Thy  truth, 

«nd  preserve  them  from  all  evil  and  injustice  for  the  sake  of  Thy 

^ly  Name.     0  Almighty  Father,  I  commit  them  to  Theo  for  they 

»re  Thy  creatures,  take  care  of  them  for  they  are  the  work  of  Thy 

liwids.     Let  them  walk  in  Thy  ways.     Amen."§ 

In  1558  the  Rotterdam  peopK^  rose  in  rebellion  against  these 
^rocities.  The  executioner  doing  his  work  very  slowly,  the  crowd 
got  exasperated,  and,  proceeding  from  one  point  to  another,  drove 
^'"ly  the  judge  and  his  officers,  stormed  the  prison,  and  delivered  all 
who  were  to  have  been  bumt.|(  Thus  it  is  clear  the  Rotterdam 
People  were  much  afifected  with  Anabaptist  views,  and  that  even  when 
in  religious  profession  they  were  Roman  Catholics  or  Reformed.  A 
proof  that  this  avTnpathy  was  common  to  the  townsfolk  is  the  way  the 
"Otterdam  authorities  intervened  on  behalf  of  Anabaptists  badly 
^►^ated  in  Switzerland.  They  addressed  a  long  letter  t«  the  Council 
•t  Berne,  entreating  them  to  do  justice  to  their  Mennouite  subjects, 
■nd  Bssaring  them  that  they  had  no  cause  to  regret  the  liberty  which 
n>d  been  accorded  to  Anabaptists  in  Holland,  through  the  intlexible 
^Ptermination  of  William  of  Orange,  and  that  notwithstanding  the" 
opposition  of  the  most  powerful  of  his  followers.^  The  great  leader 
•o  the  War  of  Independence  seems  to  have  understood  what  later 

'  "  Tbf  Religion  of  tbe  Dutch."    By  an  Officer  iu  the  French  Armr.     1680, 
t  "Oosrhit'bU;  '3e  Martvren,"  Konig.sbcrg,  178U.  X  '''""• 

J  Idem.  II  Idem.  ^  Idevt. 


572  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW,  [Aran 

research  is  proving — ^that  the  Anabaptists  represented  the  heart  9H 
soul  of  the  people.  They,  on  their  part,  had  the  true  instinct  ol 
national  life,  recognising  in  Wilham  of  Orange  a  heaven-sent  protec- 
tor. When  they  bronght  him  their  contributions  towards  the  struggle 
he  asked  them  if  they  made  any  demand.  "  None,"  they  replied,  "  bnl 
the  friendship  of  your  grace,  if  God  grants  you  the  government  of  the 
Netherlands."  This  friendship,  continued  by  Prince  Maurice,  gecurec 
the  Mennonitos  toleration,  and  they  seemed  to  have  recovered  theij 
numbers,  which  had  been  thinned  by  persecution.  ^| 

At  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century  the  cities  of  the  NetwP 
lands  were  full  of  Mennonites,  who  had  their  public  assemblies,  and  ax 
absolute  liberty  of  exercising  their  religion."  ^H 

This  alliance  between  the  House  of  Orange  and  the  people  of  nl 
United  Provinces  was  a  necessity  under  a  constitution  which  permitted 
the  entire  domination  of  the  States  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  ii^H 
ential  citizens  of  the  towns.  ^^ 

As  every  city  was,  like  every  province,  a  State  in  itself,  the  United 
Provinces  formed  a  federation  of  independent  communities,  each  ruled 
by  a  few  families,  strong  in  their  common  interests,  and  their  complete 
knowledge  of  the  management  of  puLlic  affairs.  In  Overyssel,  Gron- 
ingen,  and  Jliddleburg,  the  inhabitants  hud  some  part  in  the  election 
of  their  rnhn-s,  but  in  Utrecht  and  in  UoUand  generally  the  rulers 
recruited  themselves  with  the  lielp  of  a  small  number  of  privileged 
electors  to  whom  they  gave  a  share  of  the  official  sweets.  ^| 

The  dislikf  of  the  Dutch  people  to  the  oligarchy  displayed  itsR 
effectively  during  the  minority  of  William  III.,  afterwards  King  ol 
England  under  the  same  title.  Thy  oligarchy  had  completed  its  own 
power  by  suppressing  the  Stadtholderato  altogether.  In  1G58  there 
was  great  popular  agitation  at  Rotterdam,  the  Prince's  party  being 
80  strong  that  the  Hegents  could  not  prevent  it  making  levies  on 
the  Ueet.  In  1G72  there  was  a  general  rising  in  Holland;  and  in 
Rotterdam,  by  the  complicity  of  the  city  guard,  the  Orange  party 
Hurrounded  the  great  church  of  St.  Lawrence  during  worship,  com- 
pelling the  citizens  as  they  came  out  to  declare  for  the  Prince  or  the 
States.  The  result  was  a  demand  for  the  nomination  of  a  Stadtholder 
and  the  hoisting  of  the  Orange  flag  on  St.  Lawrence's,  an  intima- 
tion being  conveyed  to  the  members  of  the  City  Council  that  their 
houses  would  bo  destroyed  if  they  did  not  sanction  the  resolution. 
With  one  or  two  exceptions  they  obeyed,  and  it  was  next  morning 
conveyed  to  the  Prince, 

Thus  urged,  the  deputies  of  Rotterdam  took  the  lead  in  proposing 
to  the  States-General  the  restoration  of  the  Stadtholderate,  and  tho 
elected  under  the  style  and  title  of  W^illiam . 


ige 


•  "KeltgioD  of  tlic  Dutch,"  1680,  p.  39. 


iS^ol 


ROTTERDAM   AND   DUTCH   ff'ORKERS. 


573 


13 «i*-    ^^  people,  Bospicious  of  the  mfluence  of  the  party  which  had 

rixled  so  long,  wished  to  purify  the  State  of  all  its  adherents,  and  the 

Ifcostility  between  the  latter  and  the  Dutch  democracy  may  be  gathered 

froixi  the  words  of  a  contemporary: — "There  are  people  who,  con- 

aicle'ring  that  foreign  domination  is  far  less  intolerable  than  an  anarchy, 

f^xxd   that  the  tyranny  uf  the  populace  is  the  most  nnsupportablo  of  all 

domination,  would  have  better  liked  to  submit  themselves  to  France 

I  t.lia-11  to  remain  esposed  to  tbe  insolence  of  an  insurrectionary  and 

CnriouB  rabble." 

The  residence  of  William  III.  in  England  had  a  seriona  effect  on 
t^llis  populsu"  attachment  to  the  House  of  Orange,  and  under  bis  suc- 
cessors that  attachment  grew  weaker  and  weaker.  In  the  later  half 
tie  eighteenth  century  the  llepublicana  became  tho  real  national 
Lrty.  An  insurrection  in  1787,  suppressed  by  the  assistance  of  the 
lixxg  of  Prussia,  gave  warning  of  the  change  that  had  taken  place  in 
the  popular  mind,  and  when,  toivards  the  close  of  1704,  tho  French 
revolutionary  army,  under  Pichegra,  menaced  Holland,  the  Stadt- 
holder  found  himself  deserted,  and  tho  proposal  to  flood  tho  country, 
fls  on  former  occasions  when  the  national  independence  was  at  stake, 
energetically  opposed  by  the  Dutch  people.  The  nearer  tho  French 
armies  drew  to  the  confines  of  the  United  Provinces,  tho  bolder  and 
more  explicit  was  the  avowal  of  the  people  at  large  of  a  detennioed 
partiality  in  their  favour.  So  much,  indeed,  was  tbis  the  case,  that 
the  iStadtholder's  own  party  was  itself  afi'ected,  and  could  not  resist 
the  general  enthusiasm.  A  severe  winter  enabled  Pichogru  to  enter 
Tlolland  over  the  ice-bound  rivers ;  the  French  aimies  entered 
Rottirdam  on  Januai-y  20,  and  Amsterdam  on  Jhe  22nd.  Scenes 
of  popular  rejoicing  occurred,  recalling  the  groat  days  of  the  French 
Revolution.  The  writer  possesses  two  large  prints  of  the  time,  repre- 
senting the  great  square  in  front  of  the  Town  Hall  at  Amsterdam 
iillfcl  with  thousands  of  people,  mostly  of  the  humbler  classes.  A 
circle  of  men,  women,  and  children  are  dancing  round  a  pole  sur- 
nionnted  by  the  cap  of  Liberty,  and  several  smaller  parties  are  engaged 
w  other  parts  of  the  square  in  the  same  festive  manner.  This  change 
of  feeling  towards  tho  House  of  Orange  shows  that  its  former  basis 
lad  been  the  belief  the  people  entertained  that  it  was  their  best 
palladium  against  tyranny,  that  with  reference  to  Merr  rights  it  would 
fulfil  its  motto,  "  Je  rnainlitndmi."  But  when  the  Stadtholderate  fell 
iDto  tte  same  vice  as  the  old  rulers,  and  supported  itself  on  an 
^'igf^rchy,  it  lost  its  hold  on  thepeople,  and  the  last  Stadtholder,  William 
of  Orange,  left  the  Hague  in  1795,  pursued  by  popular  execration. 
But  the  admission  of  the  French  into  Holland  proved  a  woful 
mistake.  Napoleon,  having  given  the  coup  dc  grdce  to  the  Revolution, 
pot  hiB  foot  on  tho  neck  of  Ucpublican  France,  and  upon  those  of  her 


574 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REV  JEW. 


lATsau 


allies.  Holland  was  chained  to  his  triumphal  car,  aod,  without  having^ 
strnck  a  blow,  the  Dutch  saw  their  whole  history  reversed.  Once 
more  they  associated  the  national  cause  with  the  House  of  Orange, 
and  William  V.,  welcomed  hack  in  1815,  was  created  King  of  the 
Netherlands  with  the  title  of  Williftm  I.  It  was  a  veritable  reaction^ 
for  with  him  came  back  the  oligarchic  rule,  and  thus,  notmthstanding 
all  its  revolutions,  HoUand  is,  as  it  has  ever  been,  ruled  by  a  small 
class  of  influential  people.  The  suffrage  ia  limited  to  '{00,000  electors, 
not  one  workman  in  twenty  possessing  it.  In  Rotterdam  not  a 
single  dock  labourer  has  a  vote  for  either  the  deputies  to  the  Second 
Chamber  or  the  City  Councillors.  The  mass  have,  as  ever,  no  part 
or  lot  in  appointing  their  rulers,  or  iu  making  the  laws  they  have  to 
obey.  No  wonder  that  the  interests  of  the  workers  have  not  only 
been  neglected,  but  powerfully  opposed. 

It  is  clear,  however,  that  among  the  Dutch  ruling  class  there 
are  some  who  struggle  for  justice,  and  one  or  two  disgraceful 
laws  have  recently  been  removfd  from  the  pi^nal  code,  and  a 
few  positive  reforms  have  passed  into  law.  Until  1872  it  was 
penal  for  workmen  to  attempt  any  combination  whatever  which 
tended  to  fetter  work  or  raise  the  price  of  lalxiur ;  any  on© 
joining  in  such  a  combination,  or  in  a  denunciation  of  par- 
ticular directors  or  managers  of  a  factory  for  such  an  end,  was 
liable  to  imprisonment  from  one  month  to  three,  and  the  leaders 
or  originators  to  two  to  five  years'  imprisonment,  with  subsequent 
police  surveillance  for  another  thi^^e  to  five  years.*  Other  ofTorts  have 
been  almost  stifled  by  governmental  dUatoriness.  In  1863  a  Com- 
mission was  appointed  to  inquire  into  the  conditions  of  child  labour 
in  tho  factories,  but  eight  years  elapsed  before  the  Report  was  pub- 
lished, and  then  another  three  years  passed  away  before  a  law  was 
enacted  prohibiting  the  labour  of  childrpn,  except  in  agriculture,  under 
twelve  years  of  age ;  and  it  was  not  until  fifteen  yeai's  later  still — that 
is,  in  1889 — that  a  second  law  was  obtained  limiting  the  labour  of 
women  and  j^oung  persons  under  sixteen  years  of  age  to  eleven 
hours  a  day,  with  a  pause  of  one  hour,  and  interdicting  them  from 
night  work  and  Sunday  labour.  Another  Commission  into  the  con- 
dition of  the  working  class  commenced  its  inquiries  in  1887,  but  it 
has  only  as  yet  covered  a  fmction  of  the  country. 

There  has  also  been  considerable  improvement  in  the  dwellings  of 
the  poor.  It  is  a  peculiar  trait  in  Dutch  family  lii'e  to  desire  to  have 
a  house  to  itself,  however  small.  Thus,  there  are  many  streets  in  the 
suburbs  of  Rotterdam  composed  of  houses  of  two  rooms  ;  if  larger 
ones  are  erected  they  are  so  built  that  the  families  no  more  interfere 
with  each  other  than  in  houses  semi-detached.      Formerly  they  lived 

By  Sidney  Locock.  Dec.  10, 


1669 


"  Reports  of  H.M.  Itoprescntatives  Abroad :  Holland.' 
AccouDls  aod  Papers,  1870,"  Lsvi. 


ROTTERDAM  AND  DUTCH   fTORKKRF. 


r::. 


vory  clovor  if 
docker,  I'ioti^r 
own    ctiHo.      If 


m  ooBzte  leading  oat  of  the  lanes  betw(>en  the*  Inr^r  sirMs.  Hen* 
MOB.  tbey  had,  as  in  the  suburbs,  miniatuiv  craixlons.  Ami  tho  int(>rion< 
were,  oonaideTing  the  circumstances,  ivcuUarly  clean.  Hut  o\t>n 
tUB  •"■*'""«1  charact€aistic  of  cleanliness  was  decaying  in  the  premNmv 
«f  poverty  induced  by  low  and  uncertain  wages,  and  ita  too  o«>rtain  con- 
taacdtant — drink. 

JBtoIIand  is,  above  all  things,  a  comnn^rcial  country,  and  its  well-to- 

4>  cJaases  are  among  the  richest  in  Europe  ;   nevertheless,  its  workem 

i»     miserably  paid.     Wages   average   throughout  th«»   countrj'  from 

ll«.    to  12s.  a  week  ;  in  a  city  liko  Rotterdam  from  16«.  to  20ir.     On^ 

of  tlie  dockers  in  Rott^^rdam  sent  an    account   to   a  newspaper  of  his 

wag«8  during  seven   years.     The  annual   average  was  illS   HJx.  1^</., 

a  lititle  more  than  16«.  a  week.     For  such  wages  the  Dutch  workmen, 

MJti    especially  the  dockers,  labour  long  htmrs.      .\  Bkillfd  warktimn  - 

M,     for  example,  a  CMpenter — works  from    six    in    Ihe   morning  until 

dis-l3.t  at  night,   inclnding  pauses    for   rest  and   Mu>jits,    luid    catmut 

ni^Jace   more   than   4s.    a  day.      A   pfiinter  iinist 

be       snakes   drf.   an   hour.      As    to    tho    hours   of 

Sa^y    the  leader   in   the   late    strike,    gave    me 

te         worked    in    unloading    a     ship    in    the    grain    trmin    the    hourK 

wo :r-o  from  six  to  eight  at  4</.  an  hour  (since   th««  ntriko,  Of/,);  if  it 

wa.^  in  the  iron-ore  trade,  he  would  have  to  work  ttixtomi  hours  a  day 

wi."fcli  eight  hours  off,  the  working  time  biding  mitnfJitin'H  ul,  flay,  Nnme- 

tizxxes  at  night.      As  his  homo   is   thrcccpiartrra  of  a  mili*  fr»im  hiN 

work,  he  loses,  with  the   time   consumed    in    wuNbing  nnd   takifig  a 

mjeal.  three  hours,  reducing  his  rest  to  five.      No  wondf-r,  willi  such 

exJaAusting  labour,  the  workers  die  oiV  prcmnturoly,  ami  t.lmi  old  nu-n 

■re  not  numerous  among  them. 

The  well-to-do  classes  in  Holland   liv*  as  g<*nen)iiHly  uh  in  ; 

o£  the  world, but  the  working-man  is  miH"^"M''  f.A       ffr.  raft  I ^  ...  ,;  ,. 

M«i*i  especiallj  if  he  has  a  family.     Vf .  iro  his  chief 

3i«*.     One  excellent  authority  describes  U»e  food  of  ibe  workepi  b» 

***"ihtnig  of   "  potatoes  and  gin."     And    it  is  a  fact  that  th'*  orm- 

^■Hition  of  alcohol  ham  connderably   inoreaaed  in  Holland  of  1nt4> 

TOOL     In   1870  the   Dutch    drank   7*46   litres  of  alc/jhol    per  in- 

^iism,  in  18S7  it  had  reached  002  litres.     This  is  nearly  half  a 

litesleM  tiiso  in  1$S4,  but  this  cannot  connt  for  moch  in  presruc^^  ot 

^  bd  tittt  tlie  excise  on  gin  in  Holland  yii^lrbi  annnally  £2./KK),0(;0 

i^&fp    At  the  same  time  we  have  I'ieier  Baa's  aatbcaity  for  stAiing 

^ia  BoCtcrdana  drunken  workmen  are  the  exception,  nd  not  at  nil 

^■•ieaaDoed  hf  Ottir  mates.    No  one,  however,  ooold  be  surprised  if 

^  PMkap  sfcowW   hanre  attractions  for  a  people  worited  in   Ifcis 

■■^Nr  waA  bd  oa  such  a  diet — a  di^t  all  the  mori  ilraagv  in  a  citj 

n  one  year  to  Eagland  24,250  csMie,  11^,d&0  emWm, 

I  238,000  abeep. 


576 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[APKIL 


It  will  be  Been  from  the  above  facta  that  the  process  of  *'  besting^ 
God's  people  to  pieces,  and  grinding  the  faces  of  the  poor,"  is  as  much. 
the  custom  in  Holland  as  in  other  commercial  countries. 

The  Dutch  worker's  misery  may  be  further  illustrated  by  the  follow- 
ing facts  extracted  from  the  "  Statistical  Year-Book  of  the  Kingdom 
of  the  Netherlands  for  1887."*  Out  of  a  total  of  1,300,115  houses 
in  Holland  in  1886-7,  258,030  had  only  one  room;  479,64-2,  two 
rtwms  ;  241,551,  three  rooms  ;  104,5)08,  four  rooms;  67,710,  five  rooms; 
and  147,674,  six  rooms  or  more.  If,  then,  wo  consider  families  liviiig 
in  houses  of  three  rooms  and  under  as  the  poorer  class  in  Holland, 
and  those  living  in  houses  of  six  rooms  or  more  as  the  richer,  it 
appears  that  tlie  jxwrer  class  is  scvcii  times  as  numerous  as  the  richer — 
tbat  nearly  one-half  of  them  live  in  houses  of  two  rooms  and  under, 
and  more  than  a  quarter  of  them  in  houses  containing  only  one  room. 

Rental  returns  show  a  similar  result,  and  that  the  general 
poverty  these  facts  indicate  is  not  confined  to  the  artisan  class 
is  shown  by  tlie  returus  of  failures  in  business.  The  figures  in  1876 
and  1 880  are  respectively  403  and  888,  considerably  more  than 
double,  and  these  failures  were  mostly  among  the  smaller  tradesmen. 
Naturally,  the  trade  uf  the  vioiita  de  piM  increases,  and  the  pauperism 
of  Holland  jh  portentous.  In  1871  an  eighteenth  part  of  the  popula- 
tion were  in  this  condition,  and  more  than  half  of  those  unable  to 
8Up|>ort  themselves  were  heads  of  families.  The  increase  in  the 
number  of  persons  supported  in  1B88  by  the  Reformed  Church  at  the 
Hague,  as  compared  with  the  number  in  1880,  shows  the  rapidity 
with  which  the  panperism  of  the  countty  is  increasing.  In  1880  the 
number  was  1 103,  in  I  888,  1950 — an  increase  of  more  than  67  per  cent, 
in  eight  years. 

Thus  we  see  that  the  bulk  of  the  Dutch  people  are  on  the  road 
to  that  terrific  gull"  which  yawns  in  every  great  city  in  Europe  and 
America,  and  that  they  have  no  means  of  making  themselves  heard, 
for  in  no  country  in  Europe  does  poverty  more  completely  imply  loss 
of  political  power. 

Hardly  anywhere,  on  the  other  hand,  is  wealth  and  political  power 
80  concentrated  in  a  few  hands.  Between  the  persons  who  live  in  booses 
of  four  rooms  and  less,  and  those  who  live  in  houses  of  six  rooms  and 
more,  there  is  a  great  gap,  filled  only  by  a  small  contingent  of  five- 
rooraed  householders.  Those  who  live  in  houses  of  six  rooms  and  more 
form  only  a  ninth  part  of  the  population,  and  this  ninth  part  engrosses 
the  enormous  wealth  of  this  rich  little  corner  of  the  earth,  the  reservoir 
of  the  treasures  of  the  Indies.  l''or,  be  it  remembered  that  the  Dutch 
Colonial  possessions  exceed  the  mother-country  fifty-four  times  in 
area,  and  seven  times  in  population,  the  European  element  being; 
comparatively    infinitesimal.       Probably    Java    alone    transmits  tc: 

*  "  Joarcifers  omtrent  bevolkiog,  landbouw,  handcl,"  caz.  's  GraTcabr.&g.    1687.    8vc= 


tSgoJ 


ROTTERDAM   AND    DUTCH    WORKERS. 


b77 


I 


Holland  a  sum  little  short  of  a  million  pounds  sterling  a  year.  It 
may  be  that  the  progress  in  national  wealth  is  stationary,  bat  the 
ret«3-XTis  of  failure  in  business  show  that  it  is  not  the  great  merchants, 
sadL     above  all  the  companies,  that  are  suffering. 

^5ach  is  the  nature  of  the  power  against  which  the  Rotterdam 
deciders  lately  set  themselves,  and  over  which,  notwithstanding  all 
odcis,  they  momentarily  have  come  off  victorious.  For  it  cannot  be 
(lo«-"».  Tated  that  their  success  was  due  to  that  of  the  London  dockers, 
an^.  that  its  maintenance  will  depend  upon  what  happens  to  labour 
in   ^England  and  Gennany. 

There  is  one  great  oppression  under  which  the  Dutch  workmen 
La've  fallen  in  common  with  their  fellows  in  Germany — Sunday  labour. 
Under  the  pious  rule  with  which  that  latter  country  is  blessed  an 
atfc^mpt  was  lately  made  in  the  German  Parliament  to  stop  Sunday 
wori.  It  was  supported  by  the  Conaervativea  and  Socitd  Democrats, 
bat  Bismarck  put  his  foot  on  it,  speaking  five  times  against  it.*  Ho 
J^joiced  that  there  was  no  English  Puritan  Sunday  in  Germany  5  bat 
It  ia  permissible  to  beliexe  he  spoke  as  the  organ  of  gi-asping  manu- 
facturers, and  some  miserable  workmen,  who  would  make,  not  seven, 
but  eight  working  days  out  of  the  week  if  they  could.  ]Iow  much 
moro  truly  tlie  humble  dockers  of  Rotterdam  expressed  the  best 
interests  of  their  class  when,  in  demanding  double  pay  for  Sunday 
laoour,  they  said  that,  if  they  could,  they  would  like  to  make  it  an 
^"'iitional  200  per  cent.,  so  as  to  render  it  impossible  altogether. 
It  seems  that  the  law  only  allows  it  when  necessary,  and  there  must 
P<^  &  special  permit  from  the  burgomaster,  but  this  is  said  to  be  quite 
*'*usory,  as  that  official  appears  to  be  anything  but  a  martinet  on 
■QcK  occasions. 

fiut  when  it  came  to  evading  the  law  in  the  interest  of  the  work- 
*^ti,  how  different  was  the  action  of  ofljcialdom.  When  it  became 
clear  that  the  dockers  were  in  earnest  and  meant  to  prevent  the 
^'^^ployment  of  "blacklegs,''  an  old  law  was  found  forbidding  more 
^"axx  Gvo  people  to  meet  in  the  street,  and  in  its  support  not  only 
^'^®*"C!  the  police  sent,  but  also  the  militia  with  drawn  swords. 

This  immediate  appeal  to  military  force  seems  the  usual   plan  in 

-*-*olland,  and  reveals  more  than    anything    else    the  imnienso  gulf 

**^tiween  the   rulers   and   the   ruled,  the   entire   want  of   sympathy 

^'•^cialdom  has  with  tho  heart  and  mind  of  the  people,     lliere  has 

^^*i  for  some  time  a  movement  going  on  in   the   llcformed  Dutch 

^titirch  against  tho  extreme  heterodoxy  of  its  ministers  and  in  favour 

*^^    a  freer  ecclesiastical  organization.      The  representatives  of  eighty- 

*^ven  Churches  in  Holland,  besides  those  of  eighty  societies  or  groups 

^*   ChriBtians,  met  at  Rotterdam  for  the  work  of  reformation.     The 

^■y  character  of  the  movement  is  shown  by  the  fact  that,  whereas 

•  "  Ev&ngclical  Chnslondom,"  1885,  p.  178, 


578 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[APMt^ 


tbirty-two  out  of  thirty-three  eWers,  and  twenty-fonr  onfc  of  thirty- 
two  deacons,  forming  the  Kirk  Session  in  Rotterdam,  joined  the 
inoveraent,  only  two  out  of  the  fifteen  ministi>rs  in  the  city  went  with 
them.  At  Leidendorp,  near  Leiden,  the  minister  and  the  lai^& 
majority  of  the  congregation  joined  the  reform  movement.  Tlio  Presi- 
dent of  the  Kirk  Session  shut  them  out  of  the  church,  and  the  minister 
he  had  invited  was  escorted  through  the  village  by  mounted  police, 
while  police,  armed,  were  stationed  in  and  around  the  church.  The 
people,  indignant  at  the  sight,  rose  in  tumult,  whereupon  the  burgo- 
master at  once  sent  to  Leiden  for  a  detachment  of  troops  to  restore 
order,  while  the  pastor  of  the  dragooned  people  was  cited  before  a 
court,  of  justice  at  the  Hague  on  the  charge  of  causing  the  disturb- 
ance.* 

In  the  great  struggle  for  independence  in  the  Netherlands,  nothing 
perhaps  did  more  to  arouse  and  sustain  the  courage  of  the  people  than 
the  earnest  letters  which  "William  of  Orange  addressed  to  them  from 
time  to  timo.  "  Resistj  combine  " — such  was  the  burden  of  his  appeals. 
"  'Tis  only  by  the  Netherlands  that  the  Netherlands  are  crushed. 
Whence  has  the  Duke  of  Alva  the  power  he  boasts  ?  Whence  hia 
ships,  supplies,  money,  weapons,  soldiers  ?  From  the  Netherland 
people.  Why  has  poor  Netherland  thus  become  degenerate  and 
bastard?"  t 

Because  its  people  and  its  cities  had  each  sought  their  own 
interests.  Disunited  they  were  all  of  a  different  opinion.  "  L'un  veut 
s'accommoder  ;  I'autre  n'en  veut  faire  rien,"  The  result  would  be  as 
in  the  fable  of  the  old  man  and  his  sons.  They  would  lose  all,  and 
wish  too  late  they  had  remained  bound  together  in  unity  as  the 
bundle  of  darts.  This  is  the  lesson  for  the  masses  in  Holland  to- 
day, this  is  the  lesson  for  the  peoples  of  every  country.  Let  them 
combine  among  themselves,  and  let  each  united  people  federate  with 
those  in  other  lands. 

"  If,"  said  William,  "  the  little  province  of  HolJand  can  thus  hold 
at  bay  the  power  of  Spain,  what  could  not  all  the  Netherlands — 
Brabant,  Flanders,  Friesland,  and  the  rest  united?"?  If  the 
Rotterdam  dockers  could,  when  united,  conquer  by  so  short-  a 
resistance,  what  could  not  all  the  workers  in  Holland  effect  by  com- 
bination ?  And  if  those  of  all  Europe  were  united  the  whole  position 
of  affairs  would  rapidly  tend  to  a  permanent  settlement  on  a  just  and 
equitable  basis, 

"  Tonto  puissance  est  faiblp,  a  inoins  que  d'etre  unie." 

"  Therefore,  good  lords,"  concluded  this  most  illustrious  of  Dutch- 
men, "  as  loving  brothers  reflect  seriously,  throw  aside  all  slippery 
timidity  and  pluck  up  your  spirits  in  manly  fashion,  make  common 

*  "Evangelical  Christendom,"  1887,  pp,  113,  114.      -f  Motley,  ii.  p,  4SS.     %  hkm^ 


»«9o]  ROTTERDAM  AND   DUTCH    WORKERS.  579 

cause  with  the  people  of  Holland,  and  with  all  the  people  of  our  country, 
yea,  as  brothers  of  the  same  flesh  and  blood,  join  hands,  that  our  poor 
^wntrodden  fatherland  be  not  assuredly  delivered  up  to  tyranny,  nor 
^iU  you,  venerable  and  gracious  lords,  recover  old  rights  and  privileges 
binder  obedience  to  the  king,  and  by  striving  to  maintain  your 
*QSB8tomed  tranquillity,  or  bring  back  to  a  State,  worn  out  by 
Prostitution,  the  bloom  of  its  early  prosperity.  Let  us  not  be  in 
^bt;  God  Almighty  shall  lead  both  you  and  us,  divinely  helping 
^  in  our  right  to  the  increase  of  His  kingdom  in  glory."* 

fieaist,  combine,  and  God  will  give  the  victory.  Such  was  the  faith 
ky  which  Holland's  civil  and  political  rights  were  won,  and  such  is 
^  lesson  of  this  short  study  of  Rotterdam  and  the  Dutch  workers. 

Richard  Heath. 

*  1  Pieter  Bor,  i5  Boek,  p.  404. 


THE   "MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S   DREAM." 


L 


t 


WE  have  heard  of  a  member  of  polite  society  who  on  being  »«1=-^ — 
his  opinion  of  some  play  of  Shakespeare's  not  often  represenfc^^ 
on  the  stage,  replied,  in  an   aggrieved  tone,  "  I  do  not  like  to  r^^s; 
things  of  that  sort."     A  play,  he  intimated,  was  something  to  wa    M^ 
with  the  help  of  scenery,  lights,  an  orchestra,  and  good  acting ; 
expect  one  to  study  it  in  a  book  was  as  unreasonable  as  to  preser:*-  "I 
sonata  of  Beethoven's  in  response  to  a  petition  for  a  little  music, 
recent  evening  at  the  ''  Globe  "  has  awakened  a  certain  sympathy  v^r 
this  non-literary  hero,  whom,  indeed,  in  spite  of  conventional  assi 
tions,  we  regard  as  singular  rather  in  his  candour  than  his  practi 
We  do  not  deprecate  the  practice  of  reading  Shakespeare.      But 
would  urge  all. readers  to  make  acquaintance  with  our  great  drama "t 
wherever  it  bo   ix)ssib]e,  thi'ough  the  medium   for  which  he  hinas 
intended  his  production;  and  we  venture   to  promise  all  who  att:>* 
the  present  performance  of  the  "  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  "    t 
however  intimate  they  may  be  already  with  Oberou  and  Titania,  Sx:*- 
Bottom  and  Co.,  they  will  know  them  better   after   the  perform*^^ 
8 Itch  at  least  was  our  experience,  and  we  would  as  far  as  possible  si* 
it  with  our  readers. 

All  admirers  of  the  too  sparing  genius  of  Mr.  Holman  Hunt  C«3 
have  noticed  the  striking  effect  produced,  in  his  latest  picture's- 
his  inversion  of  the  ordinary  rules  for  any  artistic  represeot-atioi^ 
the  Bupfrnatural.  In  his  "  Flight  into  Egypt "  it  is  the  spirit— 
the  murdered  innocents  which  are  distinct  and  brilliant ;  the  uxc^ 
travellers  show  beside  them  as  dim  and  ghostlike  forms.  We  feel  ^ 
selves  transported  to  the  new  region  which  those  babes  have  ent^ 
and  look  back  on  earth  as  the  realm  of  shadows.  A  kindred  infln^ 
is   manifest   in   the    most   charming   and   spotless  of    Shakespe^ 


Lce. 


-ur- 


tSgol 


THE   ''MIDSUMMER   NIGHTS   DREAM:* 


581 


I 


creations.     The  poet  takes  us  into  fairyland  as  the  painter  into  a 
more  Bolemn  region;  this  everyday  world  is  pallid  in  both.      Was 
there  ever   a   less   interesting   quartette  than    Helena   and  Hemiia, 
Ly  sender  and  Demetrius  ?     Whether  they  Bcold,  or  whetlier  tliey  woo, 
they  leave  ua  equally  unmoved ;  here  and  there  a  gem  is  spared  them 
from  the  poet's  treasury,  but  for  the  most  part  he  eeeras  hardly  to 
attend  to  his  pen  as  it   discourses  of  them.      Theseus   and  his  court 
Ha,ve  more  life,  and  so  have  the  clodhoppers  who  appear  in  masquer- 
ade before  him  ;  but  the  true  interest  of  the  piece  lies  in  fairyland. 
Xts  queen  is  the  central  figure,  and  it  is  interesting  to  watch  her  grow 
ttx  Shakespeare's  imagination,  from  "  that  very  Mab  "  of  Mercutio — 
the  elf  half-hidden  in  a  IiaKel  nut,  charioteered  by  a  gnat,  whose  sole 
business  it  is  to  inspire  mortals  with  fantastic  dreams — to  the  Titania 
**eIoved  by  Theseus,  and  jealous  of  LLippolyta,  who  seems  as  much 
of    a  goddess  as  of  a  fairy,  and  whose  quarrel  with  her  spouse  might 
<50me  straight  from  Homer.      She  has,  in  the  change,  grown  as  much 
*^^    outward   form  as  in  character ;  instead  of  the   midge-like  Mab, 
appears  a  stately  queen,  for  whom  a  human   child   is  a  fitting  pagt? ; 
*^*i<i  we  see  the  little  hand  within  that  jealous  clutch,   with   which,  in 
*^e  representation  at  the  "Globe,"  we  fully  sympathised.    She  is  full  of 
■**  'itnan  preference,  human  jealousy ;  bIic  cherishes  her  page  from  tho 
•"^Collection  of  bis  mother,  lu*r  faithfulness  to  whom   puts  to  scorn  tho 
**tful  friendship  of  Helena  and  Hermia.      Her   "young  squire,"  too, 
**as   a  faint  affinity,   with   classic  mythology,  but   ho  is  more  of  a 
***^<^em  on  the  whole.      With  him  the  modern  fairy  tale  is  bom;  h© 
^^'-'Tives  in  that  enchanted   land  whore  wo  have  all  wandered  in  years 
S^Ho  by  ;  where  the  happy  boy  or  girl  awakens  from  some  mysterious 
^^^inber,  and  finds  himself  or  herself  at  home  amid  a  quaint  bright 
**»r>tig  where   earth   is   forgotten.      That    Indian    princeling    is   the 
^-^lumbus  of  fairyland,  and  all  who  have  trodden  its  soil  since,  down 
-Adice  in  Wonderland,  are  followers  in  his  track. 
Shakespeare,    says  Gervinus,   is  as  much  a   creator  of  the   fairy 
^■thology  of  Teutonic  Europe  as  Homer  is  of  that  of  Greece.     We 
^^>glit  he.sitate  to  accept  a  tribute  perhaps  hardly  allowing  enough  to 
*^rtnan   popular    legends,   if   it   were  not   paid   by   a  Genuan.       A 
***ilar  hesitation  might  be  inspired  by  the  legendary  lore  of  our  own 
^^^Utry.     A  well-known  ballad  of  "Robin   Goodfellow "  would  seem 


V> 


prove  (according  to  the  usually  received  date),  that  the  knavish  imp 


iT^'^yed  hia  pranks  before  his  summons  to  the  court  of  Oberon,  where 
,^^eed,  according  to  our  text,  he  appears  as  somewhat  of  a  stranger. 
**tit;  something  like  this,  probably,  may  be  said  of  Homeric  legends, 
*^*1  rtill  it  ia  Homer  who  makes  the  gods  and  heroes  of  Greece  living 
^K^Tes  to  the  modem  world.  And  Shakesjx^are  in  like  manner  has 
■•'•de  the  denizens  of  fairyland  familiar  objects  to  the  mental  vision 
***  •U  readers,  not  only  of  his  own  country,  but  of  his  own  civiliBatioti. 


582  THE    CONTEMPORARY    RElTEfK  ikr^^m^^^ 

He  has  exchanged  the  sombre  coloaring  in  which  oar  Scandina^^^j, 
ancestors  had  clothed  the  tradition  of  elf-land  for  the  bright  hne^  jj, 
which  Oberan  and  Titania  flit  before  us,  and  finding  Pack  a  hobgot>lijj 
with  horns,  hoof,  and  a  tail  (the  representation  given  in  an  old  prixjt) 
the  traditional  Satan,  in  short,  he  has  left  him  a  dainty  sprite,  'fc^^v^jji 
brother  of  Ariel,  a  creature  hovering  between  a  butterfly  and  a  claiJiL 
that  painters  have  laboured  to  portray  as  the  ideal  of  fantastic  love  I J- 
nefis  and  sportive  gaiety. 

His  fairies  indeed  are  bright  creatures,  though  all  their  associations 
are  of  the  night.  They  trip  after  the  moon's  sphere,  they  take  flig-ht 
before  sunrise ;  but  they  are  no  spectres  banished  at  cock-crow,  t>lieT 
linger,  as  Oberon  reminds  ns : — 

"  Even  till  the  eastern  g;«te,  :»I1  fiery- reel, 
Openinjr  on  Neptune  with  lair  blessed  beams, 
Turns  into  yellow  gold  his  salt  green  streamB." 

There  is  a  moment  in  every  morning  and  evening  when  night  and 
day  seem  to  embrace ;  when  the  flower  in  the  hedge  is  as  clear  as  the 
planet  in  the  sky,  when  all  commonplace  objects  seem  half-lumiaoas. 
and  the  painter  who  merely  copies  them  accurately  presents  us  witJi  a 
poem  on  canvas.  This  moment,  we  know,  is  the  kiss  of  the  wave  of 
amber  light  that  floats  for  ever  around  this  earth,  and  in  this  dim  yet 
glowing  atmosphere  the  fairies  live  and  move.  They  come  with  the 
evening  twilight,  they  linger  till  the  morning,  but  they  know  notliMig 
of  darkness  till  they  call  it  up  for  their  own  purposes ;  they  •** 
like  those  cloudlets  in  the  northern  sky,  of  whicli  Scott  says  that 

"  Morning  weaves 

Her  twilight  with  the  hues  that  evening  leaves." 

^hile  Earth  is  dull  and  dark,  they  are  bathed  in  opalescent  radia-T**'*' 
■which  falls  on  the  dewdrop  or  the  cowslip  as  they  draw  near,  and  c**^^**^ 
not  desert  them  as  they  enter  the  house  where  all  lie  wrapt  in  slum.  *^ 
Tliey  bring  a  "  glimmering  light  "  into  the  palace  of  Theseus  vr*^ 
the  embers  are  dying  on  the  hearth   (we  refuse  to  surrender  '*^*^. 
radiance  at  the  bidding  of  the  commentators),   and   the   glimme*^ 
altogether  of  good  omen,  prognosticating  a  happy  awakening  from 
ainmbera  that  are  thus  watched.      Their  visits  can  be  no  more  unwelc^^^^^^ 
than  that  of  the  dawn  which  is  their  atmosphere  and  their  home- 

The  influence  of  the  Renaissance  is  less  visible  here  than  in  n*-  "*^ 
plays  which  would  appear  to  give  less  scope  for  it.  The  reniinisc©*-^^*"  J 
of  classic  mythology  which  we  have  noted  are  not,  on  the  whol^^  ^v3 
numerous  as  we  should  have  expected  in  a  drama  for  which  Sb^^^  3 
speare  has  chosen  the  scenery  of  legendary  Athens.  The  dewy,  l^ 
haunted  glades  with  their  cowslip  border,  the  green  com  seen  thrc^ 
the    tree   stems,  and  the   lark  singing  above — all  are   English, 

Ives   are  their  fittiog  inhabitants,  and  we  meet  no  fawn  or  di^J 


« 


i 


t89c] 


THE   ''MIDSUMMER   NIGHTS   DREAM,' 


583 


It  is  not,  as  iu  the  faiiy-land  created  by  an  imaginative  FreDcliman— 
Edgar  Quinet — where  the  gods  of  Greece  are  discovered  to  have 
shrunk  and  dwindled  into  the  elves  of  the  northern  mythology.  That 
ia  tlie  imagery  of  satire,  not  poetry.  The  geniua  of  Hella.s  expands 
the  legends  of  the  north,  but  does  not  fade  into  them.  Yet  something 
there  is  akin  in  the  two ;  the  spring-time  of  the  Renaissance,  we  feel 
as  ■we  read,  was  the  budding-time  of  a  mythology  that  fonnd  a  new 
Oljonpus  at  the  Court  of  Oberon,  and  a  new  Capid  in  Robin  Good- 
fellow.  And  when  we  turn  to  the  human  court,  so  much  less  interest- 
ing than  that  of  Oberon,  we  feel  the  influence  of  the  same  spirit  which 
lights  up  the  legends  of  heathen  mythology  and  renders  natural  on 
the  page  of  Shakespeare  much  classic  allusion  which  would  be 
intolerably  pedantic  in  any  similar  utterance  of  our  own  day.  The 
picture  of  the  Athenian  prince,  as  compared  with  the  authorities 
from  which  Shakespeare  drew  it,  manifests  very  clearly  the  charm 
possessed  by  every  classic  name  in  the  world  of  the  poet.  The  reader 
Who  will  peruse  that  laborious  piece  of  antiquarianism,  Plutarch's 
**  Life  of  Theseus,"  will  probably  allow  that  the  tiresome  half-hour  so 
«pent  has  yielded  no  single  distinct  or  vivid  conception  whatever.  Yet 
from  this  liortus  sictus  of  withered  legends,  Shakespeare  has  drawn  the 
ideal  of  a  princely  and  finished  gentleman,  which  seems  to  stand  in 
sotno  relation  to  this  legendary  lore,  because  it  has  a  certain  similarity 
*o  th.0  only  picture  of  Theseus  worthy  of  bfing  placed  by  its  side,  and 
w-hich  was  painted  2000  years  previously.  We  suppo.se  it  must  be 
**iAixily  accident  that  Theseus  in  the  "  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  " 
•"©Calls  here  and  there  Theseus  in  the  "  CEdipus  at  Colonus."  Shakespeare 
<5ati.  hardly  have  read  Sophocles,  and  Sophocles  certainly  never  read 
r*lutarch.  And  yet  there  is  something  in  the  prince  who  shelters  the 
^eary  (Edipus,  and  the  prince  who  defends  and  counsels  the  runaway 
lovers,  which  seems  tx)  point  to  a  common  type.  To  one  who  ia 
fatniliar  with  the  earlier  conception,  the  later  one  seems  to  point 
"*ckwards. 

And  then,  on  the  other  hand,  in  the  attitude  of  Theseus  towards 
the  sDpematnral,  there  is  something  essentially  modern.  It  is  very 
*nnch  in  the  manner  of  Scott,  or  rather  there  is  something  in  it  that 
•^niinds  one  of  Scott  himself.  We  see,  wherever  our  great  novelist 
«ntera  the  world  of  magic  and  legend,  that  he  regards  it  through  the 
'**®<3imn  of  a  cool,  shrewd,  eighteenth-centary  scepticism.  He  ia 
*"*'ady  to  turn  an  unbelieving  ear  to  the  best  accredited  instance 
^^  the  Bupematural  tlie  moment  it  appears  under  the  guise  of 
"J«tory;  yet,  on  the  ground  of  imagination,  he  welcomes  it  with 
^  inipulse  of  taste  and  sympathy  so  deeply  seated  that  we  can 
*iardly  speak  of  the  logical  denial  as  amounting  to  unbeUef.  He 
'^^gbt  that  any  contcmixirary  who  believed  himself  to  have  seen  a 
Khoat  mast  be  insane  ;  yet  when  he  paints  the  appearance  of  the  grey 


584 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVlEfV. 


[Apbh. 


spectre  to  Feargas  Maclvor,  or  what  seems  to  us  his  most  effective 
introduction  of  the  supernatural,  that  of  Alice  to  the  Master  of 
Ravenswood,  we  feel  that  something  within  him  believes  in  the 
possibility  of  that  which  he  paints,  and  that  this  sometliing  is  deeper 
than  his  denial,  though  that  be  expressed  with  all  the  force  of  bis 
logical  intellect.  It  seems  to  us  that  the  eighteenth-century  element 
in  this  is  exactly  what  is  given  in  the  well-known  speech  of  Theseus: — 

"'Tis  Btrange,  my  Theseus,  that  these  lovers  telJ  of," 

says  Hippolyta ;  and  he  replies : — 

"  More  Btrange  than  tme,  I  never  may  believe 
These  antique  fables,  nor  these  fairy  toys. 
Lovers  ami  madmen  have  such  seething  brains, 
Such  shaping  fantasies,  that  apprehend 
If  ore  thaii  cool  reason  ever  comprehends. 
♦  •  •  •  • 

Euch  tricks  has  strong  ima^rtation. 
That  if  it  would  but  apprehend  gome  joy, 
It  comprehends  Eome  bringer  of  that  joy. 
Or  in  the  night,  imagining  some  fear, 
How  easy  it>  a  bush  supposed  a  bear  1" 

The  genius  of  Shakespeare  takes  in  the  genius  of  Scott»  what  the 
leaser  vxis  the  greater  iviagincd.  Theseus,  explaining  away  the  magic 
of  the  night,  is  Scott  himself  when  he  drew  Dousterswivel,  or  when  he 
describes  the  Antiquary  scoffing  at  a  significant  dream.  And  the 
other  half  of  Scott — that  in  which  the  legendary  beliefs  of  bis 
ancestors  survived  in  some  dim  region  of  hia  being  and  swayed  his 
imagination  towards  all  that  enriches  our  human  world  with  a  border- 
land of  the  invisible — this  is  here  too  and  fills  the  whole  foreground 
of  the  picture.  The  dnal  impulse  gives  exactly  the  right  point  of 
view  for  an  artistic  representation  of  the  supernatural.  To  paint  it 
most  effectually,  it  should  not  be  quite  consistently  either  disbelieved 
or  believed.  Perhaps  Shakespeare  was  much  nearer  an  actual  belief 
in  the  fairy  mythology  he  has  half  created  than  seems  possible  to  a 
spectator  of  the  nineteenth  century.  And  yet  Theseus  expresses 
exactly  the  denial  of  the  modern  world.  And  we  feel  at  once 
how  the  introduction  of  such  an  element  enhances  the  power  of  the 
eai'lier  views;  the  courteous,  kindly,  man-of-the-world  scepticism 
somehow  brings  out  the  sphere  of  magic  against  which  it  sets  the 
shadow  of  its  demand.  The  belief  of  the  peasant  i^  emphasised  and 
defined,  while  it  is  also  intensified,  by  what  we  feel  the  inadequate 
confutation  of  the  prince. 

The  play  of  the  tradesmen  which  at  first  one  is  apt  to  regard 
as  a  somewhat  irrelevant  appendix  to  the  rest  of  the  drama,  is 
seen,  by  a  maturer  judgment,  to  bf^  a.s  it  were  a  piece  of  sombre  tapestry, 
exactly  adapted  to  form  a  background  to  the  light  forms  and  iridescent 
colouring  of  the  fairies  as  they  flit  before  it.  But  this  is  not  its 
gpreat^st  interest,  to  our  mind.     It  is  most  instructive  when  we  watch 


iSgo] 


THE    "  MIDSUMMER    NIGHTS   DREAM: 


585 


► 


the  proof  it  gives  of  Shakespeare's  strong  interest  in  his  own  art.     It 
ifl  one  of  three  occasions  in  which  he  introduces  a  play  within  a  play, 
and     in     all    three    the   introduction,   without    being  unnatural,    has 
just  that  touch  of  uunecessariness  by  means  of  which  the  pixjductious 
*  of  »i*t  take  a  biographic  tinge,  and  seem  as  much  a  confidence  as  a 
creation.      How  often  must  Shakespeare  have  watched  some  player  of 
a  iieix>ic  part  proclaim  his  own   prosaic  personality,  like   Snug,  the 
joiner,  letting  his  face  be  seen  through  the  lion's  head.     We  are  told, 
indeed,    that    thti    incident    is   copied    from  one   which   did    actually 
''  create  great  sport "  at  some  pageant  of  the  day,  and  which  is  repro- 
duced^ in  Scott's  *'  Kenilworth."     But  its  interest  lies  in  the  satire, 
rather  than  the  history  embodied  in  the  speech  of  Snug  the  joiner, 
and  the  satire  lies  near  the  deepest  pathos.     In  the  speech  of  Theseus 
ordering  the  play,  we  may  surely  allow  ourselves  to  believe  that  we 
hear  not  only  the  music,  but  the  voice  of  Shakespeare,  pleading  the 
cause     of  patient   effort   against   the   scorn   of    a   hard   and   narrow 
dilettantism.     "What  are  they,"  he  asks  "that  do  play  it?"  and 
Pbilostrate,  the  courtier  and  fine  gentleman,  answers  scornfully  : — 

'*  Hard-hAiided  men,  thnt  work  in  AtheD!>  livru. 

Which  never  laboured  iti  their  minds  til]  now. 

And  now  have  toiled  their  unbreathed  mt'inorics 

With  thiH  dame  i)lay,  aguinst  your  nuptiul. 
Ttie.      And  we  will  hear  it. 
PUL  No,  my  noble  lord, 

It  h  not  for  yon  ;  I  have  heard  it  over. 

And  it  in  notliing,  uothinp  in  tiie  world 

Unless  you  can  find  sport  in  tlieir  intents, 

Extremely  stretched  and  conned  with  cruel  jmuii, 

To  do  you  »er\ice. 
The.  I  will  hear  tbiat  play, 

For  never  iinytbing  can  be  amiss 

When  .Kkiiplcness  and  duty  tender  it. 
I^pp-     He  s^yn  they  can  do  nothing  in  thi>>  kind. 
ne.      Tbc  kinder  we,  to  give  them  thanks  for  nothing. 

Our  sport  hhall  be  to  take  what  they  mistake, 

And  wlmt  alone  poor  duty  cannot  do, 

Xobk  respect  takes  it  in  might,  nut  merit." 

*^  his  rebuke  to  his  bride  ia  in  the  same  strain  as  that  to  the 

^^rtier.      "  This  i.s  the  silliest  stufT  I  ever  heard,"  says  HippolytA,  and 

*^Dswer,  while  it  calls  up  deeper  echoes,  is  full  of  the  pathos  that 

*^*Hg8  to  latent  memories.      "  The  best  in  this  kind  are  but  shadows, 

^  the  worst  are  no  worse,  if  imagination  moud  them."      Here  the 

'^^t  in  speaking  to  the  audience  ;   in   Hamlet,  when  he  addresses  the 

^  *yQrs,  his  sympathy  naturally  takes  the  form  of  criticism  ;  what  the 

.  ^•Jnian  prince  would  excuse   the  Danish  prince  would  amend.     But 

^  ^th  alike  we  discern  the  same  personal  interest  in  the  actor's  part, 

J^^  feel  ourselves  listening  as  much  to  a  confidence  as  to  a  creation. 

®  learn  that  the   greatest  genius  who  ever  lived   was  the  one  who 

^^Id  ahow  most  sympathy  with  incompleteness  and  failure.    There  is 

^^ing  scornful,  nothing  merely  critical   in  his   delineation  of  the 

VOL.  LVII.  2  Q  , 


586 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[April 


rough  clowns  who  shadow  forth  the  loves  of  Pyramus  and  Thisbe. 
On  the  contrary,  almost  every  touch  has  a  ceitain  delicacy.  With  the 
exception  of  a  single  obscure  allusion,  they  utter  hardly  a  word  that 
might  not  fall  from  the  most  refined  among  the  aiidience.  .Shakes- 
peare throws  liimself  into  the  part  of  the  actor.  He  remembers  all 
the  patient  effort  needed  to  produce  a  very  mediocre  resalt,  he  pleads 
that  this  result  shall  be  regarded  through  a  medium  of  sympathy. 
He  seems  to  write  of  actors  with  the  feeling  expressed  iu  his  own 

Sonnet : — 

"  Oh  for  my  sake  do  you  with  Fortune  chide. 
The  guilty  goddcas  of  my  harmful  deeds, 
That  did  not  better  for  my  life  provide 
Thau  public  means  which  puhlic  manners  breeds." 


rh^ 


We  catch  the  accent  not  only  of  the  immortal  poet,  but  of  one  wl 
has  felt  himself  ' '  in  disgrace  with  fortune  and  men's  eyes,"  who  has 
"troubled  deaf  Heaven  with  his  bootless  cries,  desiring  tliia  man's 
art,  and  that  man's  scope."  Whatever  be  the  feeling  which  inspired 
the  lament  of  the  Sonnets,  it  is  not  wholly  out  of  relation  to  the  art 
which  delineates  the  performance  of  the  Athenian  tradesmen,  the 
criticism  of  the  unsympathetic  spectators,  and  the  pleading  in  which 
the  Prince  unites  the  canons  of  the  truest  art  with  those  of  the  widest 
courtesy,  and  the  deepest  human  kindliness. 

For  Shakespeare  s  sympathy  with  the  members  of  his  speoial  crafts 
is  as  a  window,  whence  he  looks  on  life  as  a  whole,  and  sees  in  its  hurry » 
its  transiency,  its  strange  misfit  of  capacity  to  claim,  of  knowledge  to 
impulse,  a  repetition  of  the  experience  o^  the  player.    That   truth, 
which  is  wrought  into  the  very  structure  of  language,  whereby  the  Latin 
name  for  a  mask  has  become  the  modem  ■person,  reminding  us  that 
there  is  within  each  of  ua  that  which  "  sounds  through,"  not  only  our 
outward  surroundings,  but  much  that  in  the  eyes  of  other  men  makes 
up  ourselves ;  this  could  not  but  haunt  the  mind  of  one  who  knew  the 
players'  part  both  from  within  and  without,    ''  All  the  world's  a  stage  ; " 
every  man  ia  in  some  sense  an  actor,  most  often  an  untrained  actor, 
ill  at  ease  in  his  part,  and  often  tempted  to  exclaim  :— 

"The  time  is  out  of  joint,  0  curae<i  spite 
That  I  was  over  bom  to  set  it  right." 

The  sense  of  all  that  is  difilcult  in  the  part  of  the  actor  passes  into 
a  type  of  life's  vain  efforts,  and  varied  futilities  : — 

"  We  are  such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  oL" 

That  line  haunts  na  all  through  the  "  Midsummer  Night's  Dream."  We 
feel  the  adventures  of  the  night  no  mere  play  of  fancy,  but  a  parable  of 
the  confusions,  the  mistakes,  the  shifting  vicissitudes,  the  inexplicable 
changes  of  human  attraction  and  repulsion. 

"  The  conrae  of  tree  love  nerei  did  ion  smooth," 


i89o] 


THE    "  MIDSUMMER    NIGHTS   DREAM.' 


587 


Eeems  a  bitter  theme  for  so  sweet  aud  fanciful  a  setting,  but  it  is  the 
theme  of  the  whole  play.     Theseus  and  Hippolyta  have  begun  with 
conflict,  they  may  perhaps  have  a  serene  interval  before  them,  but  we 
doubt  even  so  far  as  to  Lysander  and  Hermia,  Demetrius  and  Helena, 
Oberon  and  Titania.      Even  poor  Pyramns  and  Thisbe,  murdered  by 
thti    clowns,    how   does  their   history  in  its    caricature    repeat    the 
lesson  of   misfit,   barriers,    impediments ;  and    then   when   these  are 
removed,  mistakes  and  misunderstandings,  which  have  just  been  set 
before  us   in  the  adventures  of  the  night.      Was  the  whole  play  an 
expansion  of  that  compliment  to  Elizabeth,  which  naturally  links  itself 
with  the  lament  over  the  course  of  true  love  ?  Did  Shakespeare  mean 
to  imply  that  *'  the  imperial  votaress  who  passed  on  in  maiden  medi- 
tation, fancy  free,"  had  chosen   the  better  part  ?     Was  he  repeating 
the  lesson  which  his  hero  receives  from  the  weary  (Edipus  in  the  other 
play,  in  which  a  kindred  genius  has  given  a  representation  ao  curiously 
similar  ? 

'•  Oh  Thesens,  gods  alone  know  nought  of  death. 

r_^  All  else  Time,  the  victorious,  withereth. 

H  Faith  fades  and  perishe*,  distrust  is  bom  : 

H  What  man  or  Statu  has  loved,  each  learns  to  scorn. 

B|  The  sweet  grows  bitter,  then  ag;Un  a  joy, 

P  And  lightest  touch  can  fiimei>t  bond  dcstroj." 

■^nbtless  the  instability  of  all  human  relation  was  in  his  mind,  the 
feeling  which  led  Madame  de  Stael  to  exclaim  moumfully  in  reviewing 
h©r  life:  "'J'ai  aime  qui  je  n'aime  phis,  j'ai  estimS  qui  je  n'eatime 
plus."  But  we  hear  the  voice  of  Bottom,  wakening  from  his  meta- 
morphosis, "  Man  is  but  an  ass,  if  he  go  about  to  expound  my  dream." 
What  can  the  wisest  of  us  add  to  that  reflection  of  the  awakened 
dowD^  reviewing  the  part  ho  has  unawares  been  called  on  to  play,  so 
Btratigely  contrasted  with  the  heroic  character  he  has  chosen  ?  As 
^8  time  of  awakening  draws  near,  do  we  not  all  with  the  moat 
varied  memories  and  anticipations  echo  those  words  of  his  ?  Do  we 
Dot  feel  the  summary  of  all  the  confessions,  all  the  vain  hopes,  all 
"'^  Vitter  disapjxjintnients,  and  then  the  wonderful  revivals  of  our 
'inttian  experience  gathered  up  in  that  decision,  '*  The  dream  needs 
*'*»^e  wiser  ex|K)nent  than  he  who  has  dreamed  it,  or  than  any  son 
^  «»ian." 

Jllla  Wedgwood. 


[Apbi 


THE  CRETAN  QUESTION. 


IT  has  rarely  happened  in  our  time  that  five  successive  years  lia 
passed  without  a  disturbance  in  Crete.      No  less  than  twice 
this  century  have  the  outbreaks  of  its  ^xipulation  been  dangerous 
the  existence  of  the  Turkish  Empire,  as,  indeed,  any  recurrence  of  th 
may  be  again.     The  record  of  the  struggles  aud  sufierings  of  t 
pugnacious  and  irrepressible  race  should  be  in  the  mind  of  those  w — ~^^^ 
attempt  to  judge  of.  or,  directly  or  indirectly,  repress,  agitations  IS^  ^**' 
the  present,  which,    unintelligent ly  treated,    threatens  to   repeat  Br-^^ 
lesson   already   twice   disregarded.      Pashley  has    left  us  a  tolera"^=^^v 
complete  history  of  the  destructive  aud  horrible  conflict  of  the  peri*^ 
of  the  Greek  revolution,  a  history  unique  in  the  kuig  story  of  Mus^"*^*^* 
man  conquest   in   its  lurid  painting  of  a  contest,  religious   as  v«^^" 
as   ethnical,    but  always  merciless,  and  on  one  side  as  determine-*^  ^7 
extt-rminnting,    as  on  the  other   determinedly  defiant  of  extermLxafi- 
tion.     He  gathered  the  story  in  all  its  details  fmm  participants   «fcXJd 
survivors,    or    from    those   who   were   near  the    scene   of  its   evexx't's. 
I  myself  have  known  and  talked  vvith  some  of  them,  and  at  least    oth^ 
of  the  chiefs  of  tliat   struggle  and  many  witnesses  of  it  are  amox^gst 
those  who  are  now  in  the  rece.sses  of  the  mountains  of  Crete  wa£"tJ*R 
for  the  spring  to  loosen  the  bonds  of  a  new  ineuiTection.    The  old  s'p*"'' 
is  not  dead,  nor  have  any  of  the   circurastancea  so  clmnged  thati     "fcli^ 
history  of  that  struggle  may  not  br^come  the  story  of  another. 

In  18G0  I  was  appoint<'d  by  the  Government  of  the  United  St"-efcte» 
of  America  as   its   consul  in  Crete,  and  was   an  eye-witness  of   t^** 
tragedy  wliich  began  in  the  following  year,  and,  lasting  three  years- 
left  Crete  devastated  and  half  depopulated,  but  was  still  more    disas- 
trous to  the  Turkish  Empire,  bringing  it  to  the  verge  of  bank-mptcj; 
draining  its  finances,  demoralizing  its  army,  and  preparing  the  road /or 


i89ol 


THE    CRETAN  QUESTION. 


i89 


I 


the  successful  movement  in  tJii'  Herzegovina.     The  cost  of  the  insur- 
rection   of  1866—68    to    the    Turkish    Treasury   was   not    less  than 
200,000,000  francs,  and  the  losses  in  the  army — more  from  maladies, 
tJhe   hardships  of  mountain  warfare,  and  the  inclemency  of  the  seasons, 
botli  winter  and  summer,  than  from  death  in   battle — amounted  to 
no      less    than    5l>,00')    men.       Besides     this,    the    expenses    of   the 
iSgyptians   called    into    aid,    after    tlie    example    of    1828,    were,   as 
I      Icjaew   fix)m   the   European    representative   of   the    Viceroy  in  the 
islj^nd,  above  50,000,000  francs  ;   while    of   the   splendidly   appointed 
e^irxxij  of  22,000   men,  sent  from    Alexandria  in  the  summer  of  1866, 
only  about  12,000  remained    to   be   recalled  when  the  failure  became 
a'X>T>arent  at  the  end  of  the  second  year,  the  rest  having  been  sent 
Ixome  broken  down,  or  having  died  iu  the  mountains  or  in  battle.    The 
losses  of   life  amongst  the  Cretans,  as  we  found  when  the  accounts 
"^r^jre  made  up,  after  the  afllaii'  was  over,  were  about  5000  of  the  Mus- 
sialrnan  men   and  about  25,000  of  the  Chi"istianSt   including  women 
^^ncl  children  wlio  died  from  hardships  or  starvatiou.  or  were  killed  by 
■tlxe  troops  and  irregulars. 

That   insurrection    began,   as    this    agitation    has    begun,    in    the 
^xxtrigues  and  ambition   of    the  Governor-General,  for  the  purpose  of 
■prolonging  his  occupation  of  the  position,   stimulated  by  a  rascality 
&iicl  greed  on   the  part  of  the  representative  of  the   Sultan  such   as 
xxovr  is  impossible.     Then,  as  now,  the  correction  of  a  part  even  of 
tlie  abuses  complained   of  would  at  the   beginning  have  atopi>ed  the 
notation,  for  in  neither  case  was  there  any  preparation  or  desire  for 
an  insurrection,  whatever  may  be  the  standing  hostility  to  the  Turkish 
>Tile.    But  in  1806  the  agitation  grew,  as  there  ia  danger  of  its  grow- 
ing now,  to  a  great  disaster,  through  the  obstinate  refusal  of  the  Porte 
to  uiako  any  concession,  even  the  most  ju,st,   to  the  Christian  popula- 
tion;  and  in  large  measure,  as  now  again,  through  the  neglect  by  the 
**ower8  of  the  state  of  the  Christian   populations,  due   largely  to  the 
•^difference  of  their  consuls  in  the  island  to  the  symptoms  of  trouble 
*nd  the  habitual  cont^"'mpt  of  men  who  have  passed  their  lives  in  tlie 
influences  prevalent  in  the  Turki.sli  Empire.     The  prolongation  of  the 
P^w-allel  depends  in  all  probability  on  the  retrieval  of  this  error  within 
'"©  next  few  weeks. 

In  1866  the  political   sky  was   clear,  and  the  consequences  of  the 

*^totion  against  the  Governor-General  caused  no  apprehension  to  any- 

^^y.      The  only  demand  the  Cretans  made  was  for  the  recall  of  the 

^'OVernor,  and   later   for  the   witlidrawal  of  certain  taxes  which  Ihey 

been  exempted  from  by  special  firraan.  dating   froni  the  conquest 

^rete,  and  which  the  Porte  now  proposed  to  im|x>se.     The  Greek 


of 


overnment,  of  which  Coumoundouros  was,  if  I  remember  rightly,  the 

^^ad,  and  Tricoupts  the  Minister  of  I'oreign  Affairs,  discouraged  the 

'^etaDB  Btrongly  and  refused  any  assistance,  and  even  KuEsia  did  not 


590 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


TApbil 


at  first  show  any  disposition  to  fan  the  flames,  for  the  afiair  seemed 
utterly  hopeless ;  but  as  it  grew  in  gravity  there  came  into  the  ques- 
tion a  new  element  which,  though  it  had  no  permanent  influence  on 
the  dispute,  serves  to  show  how  ill  the  guardians  of  the  peace  of 
Europe  did  their  duty.  The  "Viceroy  of  Egypt,  then  entirely  under 
the  influence  of  France,  had  an  ambition  to  extend  his  realm,  and  an 
intrigue  was  evolved  at  Constantinople  between  the  Porte,  the  Viceroy 
and  the  French  Ambassador,  to  delegate  the  conquest  of  the  island  to 
the  Egyptians,  and,  when  it  was  effected,  to  transfer  the  island  by  way 
of  compensation  to  the  Viceroy,  who  was  to  pay  a  stated  sum  down, 
and  tribute,  beyond  that  paid  for  Egypt.  The  details  were  arranged 
between  the  French  Consul-General  at  jUexandria,  the  Consul  at  Canea 
and  tht!  agent  of  the  Viceroy,  who  was  SUahin  Pasha,  the  Minifiter  of 
War  of  Egypt. 

As  it  happened,  in  the  early  stage  of  the  agitation  the  Governor- 
General,  tuidiug  it  advisable    or   necessary   to   obtain  the  assent  of 
the   Consuls    to   the  coercive   steps   he   desired    to    employ,    called 
them    to    consult    and    approve   in   a  body,   not   apprehending  any 
opposition    on    that    side,    and    with    gi-eat    justice,    for   they   were 
almost  friendly  to  the  views  of  the  Porte.     As  the  United  States 
had  no  political  interests  in  Turkey,  and  as  I  had  been  educated  with 
certain  prejudices  in  favour  of  the  Greeks  and  was  especially  interested 
in  the  Cretans  from  my  short  acquaintance  with  the  island,  I  took  my 
position  seriously.     My  opinion   was  asked   in  the  Consular  Council : 
I   gave  it,   and   when   it  was    overruled,  I   made  a  fonnal  protest 
against  what  seemed  to  me  a  violation  of  the  legal  privileges  of  the 
Cretans,  who  had  so  far  committed  no  act  of  violence  or  rebellion,  but^ 
had  simply  met  in  syncretic  assembly,  as  their  immemorial  custom  was, 
to  petition  the  Sultan  for  the  dismissal  of  the  Pasha  and  the  with- 
drawal  of  the   new  taxes  proposed.      The  Pasha  desired  to  disperse 
the  Assembly  by  employment  of  the  troops  and  to  arrest  the  principal 
agitators,  and  I  energetically  protested  agaiust  the  use  of  violence. 
This  led  to  a  reconsideration  of  the  decision,  and  the  Italian  Consul  sup— 
porting  me,  followed  by  the  llussiaii,  a  Greek  by  birth,  we  were  thxeet 
against  the  English,  Preuch  and  Austrian  representatives,  supported  bj- 
some  honorary  consuls  of  the  minor  Powers  who  had  no  weight  in  th& 
scales  of  justice  or  policy.     The  Pasha  was  disconcerted  and  withdrew 
his  order  to  the  commander  of  the  troops,  who  had  already  begnn  to 
move.    This  incident,  so  slight  and  unforeseen  in  its  consequences,  led_ 
to  a  division  of  the  consular  corps  on  the  question  of  the  treatment  of  th» 
agitation;  and,  owing  to  my  exclusion  from  all  the  politics  of  the  Empirei^ 
I  became  the  leader  of  the  opposition  to  the  Pasha.     This  course,  wit}«^ 
my  previous  tendencies,  caused  me  to  be  cousidered  by  the  Cretans  a& 
their  champion  kud  best  friend,  and  gave  me  the  position  of  greatest 
influence,  which  with  all  the  Greeks  is  always  assigned  to  the   mai:3- 


d^ 


^Ml 


««»] 


THE    CRETAN  QUESTION. 


591 


who  advises  them  to  do  what  they  had  decided  in  advance  or  desired 
to  do. 

When  the  shrewd  Shahin  Pasha,  finding  that  he  made  no  headway  in 
the  affections  of  the  Cretans  (who  remembered  the  subjugation,  of  1830, 
and.  feared  Egypt  more  than  the  Turks),  and  that,  afttr  spending  some 
thousands  of  ponnds  in  baksheesh  to  the  chiefs,  schools  and  mosques, 
besides  promising  banks  and  roads,  he  was  no  nearer  the  desired  petition 
for  the  transfer  of  the  island  to  the  Viceroy,  thought  to  change  his 
tactics,  he  asked  some  of  the  oldest  Cretans  who  there  was  who  could 
help  him,  and  was  told  that  the   only  persons  who  had  any  influence 
with  the   agitators  were   the  American  and  Russian  consuls.     His 
dragoman  at  once  waited  on  me,  and  opened  the  matter  with  all  the 
frwikneas  of  a  man  who  proposes  a  fair  bargain,  ottering  me  any  sum 
I  should  name  if  I  could  help  his  master  to  the  desired  end.      He  gave 
me,  without  any  suggestion  on   my  part,  all  the  plan,  including  the 
establishment  of  a  great  naval  station  at  Suda,  invited  me  to  a  grand 
dioiier  on  board  the  flag-ship,  and  had  the  yards  manned  as  I  came  on 
••ow^  !  He  made  new  and  more  favourable  propositions  to  the  CretanSj 
"Ofc  at  the  same  time  did  not  neglect  to  despatch  a  strong  body  of 
^'oops  to  the  point  which  would  make  him  master,  as  he  hoped,  of  the 
JJ^itary  position,  in  case  the  bribes  did  not  suffice.     I  sent  the  pro- 
Positions  to  our  Minister  at  Constantinople,  and  he  laid  them  before  Lord 
Lyons,  which  produced  some  trouble  at  the  Porte,  and  probably  stopped 
"^®   intrigue.     But  in  the  meantime  the  Cretan.-?,  who  had  hitherto 
*«^oitIed  all  collision  with  the  troops,  finding  that  the  Pjgyptians  had 
*>cctipied  a  position  in  the   Apocorona  which  enabled  them  to  cut  all 
their   own    communications    in    case  of  hostilities,   ordered  them  to 
evacuate  it,  and  on  their  refusing  to  comply,  surrounded  them,  and 
CQtting  them   off  from    the   water  sources,    compelled  them  to  snr- 
•^ikder  unconditionally,  'lOOO  strong.     The  troops  had  leave  to  march 
•^It    with   their    arms    and     ammunition,   and    two  days    to    remove 
'heir  artillery — though  the  Creta,n8  were  at  the  time  only  armed  with 
***«    flint-locks  and  pistols,  and  the   rifles  of  the  troops   would  have 
^®n    a  priceless  aid    in    the   contingency  of    fighting — so  anxious 
^'Bre  the  Cretans  to  pat  no  needless  obstacle  in  the  way  of  a  peaceful 
***»Ution  of  the   difliculty.     There  was   no  dream   of   annexation  to 
^^^^iOe,  or  even  of  independence  or  autonomy,  but  simply  of  the  pre- 
^^•VBtion  of  rights  long  accorded.    But  the  Powers  were  still  apathetic, 
***<!  except  some  friendly  remonstrances  on  the  part  of  Lord  Lyons, 
^"hose  personal  tendencies  were  Phil-Hellenic,  nothing  was  done  by  the 
^***^er8  to  render  the  position  of  tlie  Cretans  endurable.     Greece  did 
^Q»t  interfere  in  any  way  till  the  affair  of  Vryses  and  the  surrender  of 
**^    Egyptian  army  to  the  half-armed  Cretnna   had   made  the  pacific 
^lution  improbable,  when  patriotic  committees  in  Greece  began  to 
'^JJ-  the  blockade  with  arms  and  ammunition,  and  the  Government  to 


592 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


tAPBIb 


atford  facilities  for  pi-ocuring  them.  The  Porte  threw  into  the  island 
heavy  reinforce uients.  and  sent .  to  command  them  Mehmet  Kiritly 
I'asha,  the  conqueror  of  the  island  in  1828-30.  War  began  in 
earnest.  IMehmet  besieged  the  convent  of  Arcadi,  the  depot  of  the 
insurgents,  jind  stonned  it  after  a  bombardment,  and  in  face  of  a 
bloody  and  lieivjic  resistance,  only  succeeding  in  entering  it  by  driv- 
ing the  Egyptians  into  the  breach  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet  as  a 
mask  for  the  Turkish  regulars  behind  them.  He  put  the  garrison  and 
hundreds  of  the  women  and  children  to  death,  the  Christians  com- 
pleting the  tragedy  by  the  well-known  incident  of  the  eaqilosion  of  the 
jwwder  magazine,  which  made  the  fight  famous  the  wide  world  over, 
and  for  the  first  time  etiabJed  ine  to  hope  for  the  success  of  the 
movement.  Up  to  that  time  I  had  st<*adily  discouraged  armed  resist- 
ance, but  it  seemed  to  me  then  impossible  that  the  civilized  world 
should  not  interfere.  I  was  still  an  innocent.  Lord  Lyons  had  been 
succeeded  at  Constantinople  by  an  Ambassador  of  different  sympathies, 
and  the  nftUir  went  tm.  The  American  government,  in  obedience  to 
the  popxdar  feeling,  openly  expressed  its  sympathy  with  the  Cretans, 
our  Minister  at  Constantinople  and  myself  received  orders  to 
co-operate  with  the  Russian  representatives,  and  thenceforward  I 
received  my  instructions  from  General  Ignatieff.  Moral  aid  came, 
and  contributions  from  all  the  civilized  world,  and  the  course  of  dis- 
aster was  from  that  time  almost  unbroken  for  the  Tnrkisli  arms. 
Mehmet  Kiritly,  Hussein  Avni,  the  renowned  Sirdar  Ekrem,  Omar 
Pasha,  not.  to  mention  minor  men,  were  recalled  in  disgrace,  and  a 
better  genei^al  tliaii  any  of  thosi-,  Reschid  Pasha,  died  of  a  wound 
received  in  battle  with  the  Greek  chief,  t'oroneos ;  the  attempt  to 
conquer  the  island  by  arms  had  distinctly  failed,  and  A'ali  Pasha,  the 
Grand  Vizier,  came  with  oflers  of  concessions,  which  amounted  to 
practical  independence.  The  army  was  demoralized  to  such  an  extent 
that  the  men  deserted  from  regiments  ordered  to  Crete ;  the  Greek 
Government  began  to  make  preparations  to  carry  insumction  into  tlie 
contiuental  provinces  ;  Sei-via  agreed  to  rise,  but  accepted  concessions, 
and  violated  her  agreement ;  the  ferment  began  to  spread  into  all 
the  provinces  of  the  Empire,  and  Aali  Pasha  used  in  vain  every 
appliance  in  his  power  to  induce  the  Cretans  to  come  in.  The  end 
of  the  Eastern  Question  seemed  at  hand.  At  this  jxiint  the  Russian 
Government  interfered.  The  general  movement  which  was  pending" 
would  have  gone  on  under  Hellenic  auspices,  aud  this  interfered  witJj 
the  Pan-Slavonic  movement  which  RLi88ia  was  preparing. 

The  Jlufisian  Minister  at  Athens  iuduced   the  King  to  dismiss  th^- 
Ministry  of  Coumoundouros  and,  when  the  Chamber  refused  to  accepi 
the  new  Cabinet,  to  dismiss  the  Chamber  and  bring  in  one  which  wa*- 
pliant.     The  Russian  Minister  then  proposed  to  Tricoupis,  that  if  th^ 
Coumoundouros  Ministrj-  would  accept  the  Russian  plan  of  a  genera^^ 


J«9o] 


THE    CRETAN  QUESTION. 


593 


movement,  it  should  be  reiiiBtated  in  office  and  the  movement  should 
go  on  aninterruptedly.  The  proposition  was  refused,  the  Cretans 
nrere  gradually  deprived  of  the  means  of  maintaining  a  resistance,  and 
finally,  by  an  intrigue  t(>o  disgraceful  to  be  believed  if  it  were  not  sub- 
stantiated beyond  dispute,  the  island  was  handed  helpless  over  to  the 
TiLrliish  commander,  who  had  at  the  time  not  5,000  men  to  put  in 
the  field  out  of  the  eighty  Turkish  battalions  sent  for  the  subjection 
of  Crete.  Those  who  care  to  read  the  story  more  in  detail  will  find 
it  in  the  Tr/Hcs  of  November  2G,  1871,  in  a  n'sKme  of  a  little  book, 
no'w  out  of  print,  in  which,  for  the  preservation  of  the  material  for 
history,  I  recorded  from  diary,  letters  and  despatches,  the  three  years' 
events  qtws  vidi  ti  qitorum  parii  vingna  ftii.  The  Porte  withdrew  nil 
concessions. 

In  1878,  profiting  by  the  Bulgarian  complications,  the  Cretans  rose 
again,  and  with  little  difficulty  obtained  the  concession  of  an  autonomy 
with  a  Christian   Governor  and   an    elective   Assembly   under  a  con- 
stitution, which  is  said  to  have  been  of  Midhat  Pasha's  contriving,  as 
nafit  for  the  Cretans  as  it  was  possible  to  make  it  in  a  single  trial. 
The  most  disastrous  defect  in  it  was  the  provision  for  the  renewal  of 
the  term  of  office  of  the  Governor  at  intervals  of  five  years.    The  term 
01    office  began  with  intrigues  for  its  renewal  for  another  term,  and  a 
devor  Pufiha,  applying  the  maxim  divhff  et  impem,  succeeded  in  avoid- 
'"g  revolts  against  himself  or  the  Sultan  by  an  extremely  complicated 
'jst^em  of  quarrels  which  he  provoked  between  districts  and  individuals, 
"1  consequence  of  which  the  island  became  what  it  now  has  been  shown 
***  lie,  a  complete  anarcliy.      His  feuda  have  resulted  in  not  less  than 
partisan  murders  during  and  since  his  direction  of  the  Government, 
the  condition  has  atefvdily  grown  worse  since  it  comp<.'lled  his  recall. 
"""iU'  his  successors  have  only  averaged  a  little  more  than  a  year  of  office. 
*o  this  condition  of  affairs  the  last  Governor,  probably  conceiving  that 
"*®  Control  of  the  insular  assembly  wa.''  the  key  of  the  position,  instead 
.     attempting  to  abate  or  dominate  this  factionsness.  which  was  ruin- 
"^8"  the  island,  formed  on  alliance  with  one  of  the  two  parties  into 
**iclj  the  numerous  minor  factions  had  become  grouped,  and  gave  his 
^^^  «"nergie8  to  creating  for  himself  a  majority  and  strengthening  its 
^^'^trol  of  the  Assembly.     All  the  devices  ever  employed  in  a  closely 
'^  tested  election    by  an  American    democracy  were  here  outdone. 
••^^T©  the  mayor  was  of  the  Governor's  party  the  matter  was  simple 
**'^e  returns  were  reversed  if  against  it ;   where  that  I'unctionarj'  was 
*-l»e  other  party,  the  appliances  were  more  complicated  ;   in   some 
the   leading    men  of  the  opposition  were  charged  with  some 
ce  and   thrown  into  prison   a  day  or  two  before  the  election,  the 
^•»Vilf  of  which  was  that  the  opposition  was  more  or  less  intimidated 
**^^    fthstaiut'd    from  voting ;  in  others,  the  pressure  called    by  the 
^"^t^ticnns  "  bull-dozing,"  was  applied — i.e.,  a  leading  partisan  was 


io 


I  of 


5D4 


TBE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[APBIt, 


here  and  there  assassinated ;  all  the  infiaence  to  be  gained  by  the 
promise  of  the  offices  in  the  gift  of  the  Government  was  given  to  its 
candidates,  and  the  majority  having,  by  one  or  the  other  or  all  of  these 
methods,  Ijeen  secured  in  the  Assembly,  was  made  more  triumphant  by 
the  arbitrary'  invalidation  of  the  elections  of  obnoxious  members  on  the 
sufficiently  good  ground,  as  one  of  the  "  majority  "  said  to  me  in 
Canea,  "  that  we  don't  want  him  in  the  Assembly."  This  would  have 
been  incredible,  even  to  me  who  know  the  ways  of  that  part  of  the 
world,  had  I  not  happened  to  be  in  Canea  while  the  process  of  puri- 
fication and  elimination  was  going  on.  The  '*  opposition  "  thus 
evolved,  representing,  as  is  well  known,  three-fifths  of  the  population 
of  the  island  at  the  lowest  estimate,  only  mustered  thirteen  votes  out 
of  eighty.  The  sixty-seven  was  what  the  official  despatches  from  the 
island  represented  as  the  legal  majority! 

As  I  have  before  said,  partisan  rancour  had  been  growing  more  and 
more  bitter  in  the  island  for  several  years,  and  amid  the  corruption 
and  favouritism    growing  out   of  it  justice   had  nearly  disappeared 
from  the   tribunals ;  the  judge  being  elective,  no  person  not  of  his 
party  had  a  right  to  expect  a  favourable  decision,  and  had  no  motive  for 
appearing  at  the  tribunal  ;  murders  went  unpunished  except  by  retalia- 
tory murder  ;  olive-trees  were  cut  down  where  murder  was  impractica- 
ble or  considered- too  severe  (one  of  the  soberest  Cretans  of  my  acquaint- 
ance estimated  the  number  of  olive-trees  cut  down  at  not  less  than 
40,000,  and  he  had  lost  several  hundred) ;  vineyards  were  laid  waste  ; 
cattle  and  beatjta  of  burden  were  killed  or  mutilated  all  over  the  island  ; 
and  all  without  any  attempt  on  the  part  of  the  executive  authority  to 
find  a  remedy.     Last  year  the  sufiEi-age  was  made  universal,  and  the 
prevailing  state  of  things  was  intensified  by  the  new  electoral  activity 
which  threatened  or  effected  the  dismissal  of  all  the  functionaries  yet 
remaining  who  belonged  to  the  "  opjMJsition  ;  "  so  that  the  real  majority, 
and,  by  general  confession  of  all  parties,  the  large  majority  of   the 
well-to-do  element  of  the  population  of  the  island,  were  menaced  with. 
exclusion  not  only  from  office,  but  from  the  enjoyment  of  the  funda- 
mental rights  of  constituted  society.     They  were   in  ftict  threatened 
•with  a  proscription  like  that  we  associate  with  the  names  of  Marios  and. 
Sylla.     The  protest   which   followed,   and  which    has  been   dismissed 
with  contempt,  by  most  of  the  consular  despatches  from  the  island  && 
the  movement  of  an  insignificant  and  petulant  minority,  was  simply  ^ 
rising  against  thin  condition  of  things,  a  revolt  against  anarchy,  no"t 
against  the  Sultan,  who  was  implored  to  send  a  force  which   coultJ 
re-estabUsh  security  and   tranquillity   in  the  island.      Amongst  th 
signers  nf  the  protest  were  the    most   respectable  inhabitants,    wh 
had  been  tlie  chief  sufTerers  by  the  disorder,  and  there  was  no  difteren 
of  religion  in  the  movement,  the  best  of  both  religions  being  inclnd 
in  it. 


iSgal 


THE  CRETAN  QUESTION. 


595 


» 


Daring  the  entire  period  of  this  contest  the  consuls  of  the  European 
Powers,  with  the  exception  of  the  Russian,  would  pay  no  attention  to 
tie   representations  of  the  islanders,  whose  petitions  that  the  consuls 
would  see  that  the  law  was  respected  were  not  received.     No  petitions 
were  to  be  accepted  against  the  Governor,  and  he  stopped  all   the 
tele|7rams  to  the  Porte,  while  his  statements  were  accepted  without 
hesitation,  and  the  complaints  of  the  Cretans  dismissed  as  the  conten- 
tions of  habitual  grumblers.     When  I  reached  Canea  at  the  end  of 
June,  I  was  told  by  the  entire  body  of  consuls  that  there  was  nothing 
serious  in  the  agitation,  that  the  whole  trouble  was  the  work  of  a 
fe^v  discontented  oflBce-seekera  in  an  Adullam's  cave  in  the  mountains, 
aad  that  it  would  be  put  to  rest  in  a  few  days.     *'  The  majority,"  I 
was  told,   would  arrange  matters  at   once   when   the   Assembly  was 
organized,  and  meanwhile  the  expulsion  from  office  of  the  few  remain- 
lug  officials  of  the  "  minority  "  was  going  on  as  rapidly  as  possible 
aad  the  agitation  consequently  getting  more  desperate.      I  was  at  first 
°*yaelf  deceived  by  the  earnest  assurances  of  the  Governor  and  the 
ff^tteral  consent  of  the  consular  body,  but  a  few  days'  investigation  on 
"^dependent  lines  made  the  matter  clear.     Some  of  my  old  friends  of 
1366  came  in  to  see  me,  and  amongst  them  Costa  Veloudaki,  a  hero 
of  the  "  great  revolution  "  (as  that  of  1 827-30  is  always  called),  and  the 
resident  of  the  Epitrop6,  or  general  committee,  of  1 8G6 ;  a  man  past 
'^nety-five,  tall  and  straight,  and  clear-eyed,  and  who,  as  soon  as  he 
noord  that  I  had  landed,  walked  in  from  his  village  to  Canea  to  see  me. 
When   they  told  me  you  had    come,"  said  he,    "I   rose   up,   and 
*  thanked  God,  for  I  knew  you  wo\ild  help  us,  and  I  came  straightway 
^  See  yon."    He  told  me  their  story,  of  which  the  important  part  was 
■'^^t  no  one  was  disposed  to  revolution  ;  but  they  were  tired  of  anarchy 
*tid   robbery   and   mm-der,    and  like  men  on  an  uneasy  bed    were 
**Aspofled  to  turn  on  it,  feeling  that  nothing  could  be  worse  than  what 
^*y  Bufiered.      Nobody  wanted  to  fight,  nobody  favoured  a  revolution, 
^^Oody,  except  the  five  foolish  deputies  of  the  minority,  who  had  con- 
^^*^Ved  the  idiotic  notion  that  to  proclaim  the  annexation  of  Crete  to 
''©©oe  was  a  way  out  of  their  tiYjuble,  thought  of  Greek  aid.     This 
P*®oe  of  childish  folly  gave  the  pretext  that  was  needed  to  put  the 
^•*»id  under  mailial  law,  and  had  the   Porte   at  the  same  time  sent 
^    Vieasonable  and  acceptable  Governor  with  full  powers  to  treat  and 
^^•^>«lify,  the  interregnum  of  militarj*  rigimc  would  have  permitted  the 
^***Hlilication  of  the  defective  constitution  and  the  cancelling  of  nil  the 
*^*«;gTil  nets  of  the  Assembly.     This  was  what  the  malcontents  wanted, 
**^ot;  an  insurrection,  nor  did  the  bulk  of  the  population  take  any  part 
^*-U  Very  lately  in  any  illegal  agitation.     They  were  fully  warned  by 
***«  Greek  Government  that  they  would  get  no  help  from  Greece,  and 
^**lS*d  in  the  most  pressing  manner  to  remain  quiet ;  the  Russian 
^'^aaal  did  uphold  them  in  their  opposition  to  the  Governor,  but,  as  I 


596 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEtV, 


[April 


satisfitHl  myself,  did  not  encourage  an  insurrectionarj'  movement.  He 
knew,  as  I  soon  did.  that  thi>  Governor  was  incapable — he  had  neither 
tlie  energ}'  nor  the  wisdom  to  retrieve  tli<^  position.  There  were 
nil  fortunately  in  the  island,  as  there  are  always  in  any  democratic 
coninumity,  and  especially  in  a  Greek  one,  a  nnmber  of  those  incendiary 
demagogues  who  are  the  especial  danger  of  Greek  politics.  If 
some  of  these  had  been  arrested  and  sent  tt)  Damascus  or  Beyrut  it 
would  have  done  great  good,  for  they  were  the  disseminators  of  alarm 
and  disorder.  They  were  not  disturl>ed  however ;  but  spent  their 
days  in  the  ra/A  of  Canea  declaiming,  and  each  one  trying  to  prove 
himself  a  better  patriot  than  his  neighbour.  Since  the  annexation 
had  been  proclaimed,  and  the  authors  of  the  proclamation  wore 
undisturbed  in  their  daily  propaganda  in  thi*  mfi'^,  the  others  could 
not  be  left  behind  in  their  Pao-TIellenism,  against  the  day  when  they 
might  be  candidates  for  the  Voule  at  Athens.  So  they  all  signed  an 
adhesion  to  the  proclamation  of  the  five ;  and  the  demagogues  across 
the  yEgeAn  were  assured  that  the  jiopulation  of  Crete  was  imanimong 
for  annexation  to  the  Mother-land.  The  "  majority  "  were  no  less 
vigorous  in  their  protest  than  the  five  who  were  supjiosed  to  represent 
the  "  minority  "  j  but  at  the  same  time  they  kept  up  the  extirpation 
of  the  opposition  functionaries,  the  Governor  obeying  blindly  all  their 
exactions,  and  dismissing  every  remnant  of  respectability  in  tJie 
kaimakamlika,  tribunals,  &c.  Mr.  Biliotti  finally  threw  off  hii 
official  reserve  and  earnestly  represented  to  the  Governor  the  conse 
quences  of  what  he  was  doing,  and  the  proscription  was  stupped. 
This  induced  a  lull  in  the  agitation,  and  the  appointment  of 
Imperial  Commissioner  to  investigate  the  difficulty  improved  thi 
situation  so  much  that  I  concluded  the  danger  of  a  collision  hi 
passed,  and  left  the  island  in  the  end  of  July,  shortly  after  t 
arrival  of  the  Imperial  Commissioner.  A  little  tact  and  goodwill 
that  time  would  have  ended  the  crisiH.  Thug  far  the  I'orte  had  givi 
no  justification  for  the  agitation,  which  had  been  causetl  solely  by  t 
excess  of  liberty  accorded  to  the  Cretans  and  their  misuse  of  it, 
interference  with  the  constitutional  rights  of  the  Cretans  having  be 
attempted.  Tlie  only  blame  that  could  have  been  attached  to 
action  of  the  Imperial  Government  was  that  it  did  not  dismiss 
Governor  a.s  soon  as  his  illegal  practices  had  been  brought  to  noti* 
but  since  the  Consular  body  had  up  to  this  moment  been  declaring  t^ 
the  Governor  was  blameless,  and  that  the  demonstration  had 
importance  or  ju.stification,  we  may,  up  to  this  point,  discharge 
Turkish  Government  from  any  responsibility  for  the  difS< 
The  Cretans,  again,  had  not  attempted  any  act  of  rebellion  again.'i 
Sultan.  And  even  much  latter  in  the  progress  of  the  trouble, 
Shakir  Pasha  arrived  with  tioo]is,  the  Cretans  received  him. 
no  diffidence  or  defiance  ;  he  met  with  no  opposition  inoccupyin.^ 


with 


1890] 


THE    CRETAN  QUESTION, 


597 


tig  troops  positions  which  the  Cretans  could  have  defended  with 
the  utmost  ease  if  they  had  been  disposed  to  hostility.  It  ha.s 
Deeded  a  good  deal  of  blundering  and  some  bad  faith  to  bring  the 
^tter  to  where  it  now  is. 

The  trouble,   was  inherent  in  the  constitution  of  the  Government 

and  in  the  condition  of  Cn-te.      Since  the  adoption  of  the  coiii]>act  of 

Khalepn  in  187H,  the  Cretans  had  been  doing  the  best  they  could   to 

break  down   the    authority   of  the   Governor-general,    the  terms  of 

office  of  all  the  later   Valis  had  been  shortened  by  popular  dpraonstra- 

tiona,  and  the  habit  of  driving  out  the  Governor  had  become  so  con- 

tfrnied  that  a  new  one  was  no  sooner  in  office  than  an  intrigue  was  set 

On   foot  to  drive  him  out.     The  decay  of  the  central  authority  had  gone 

*o  far  that  anarchy  was  incurable  without  radical  change.     If  the  people 

^ta<3      had   the   political    education  for  thrir  position,  they  would   have 

s«eT^  that  the  evil  was  of  their  own  creating,  and  must  be  cured    by 

tti^ir  own  action  ;  but  they  otjly  felt  that  there  was  no   law,  and  they 

o*xly  knew  by  experience  of  one  remedy,  and  that  was  the  Epitrope  or 

g"**i:aeral  assembly  of  the   Cretans,   with  protests  or  petitions  to  the 

Sdltijin,  and  an  insurrection    shadowed  forth  in  the  backgronnd    if  the 

Petitions   were   not   granted.       This   governor   had   failed   and   they 

'^i^krated  another — they  had  been  for  ten   years  trying  to  break  down 

fbe    central  authority,  and  now  they  demanded  its  reinforcement.    But 

^^&  Cretans  suffer,  as  people  in  their  state  of  civic  development  always 

svifter,  from  extravagant  ideas  of  those   who  take  the  lead  anmugst 

tViern.     The    majority   has  always  been  passive  in  the   hands  of  the 

Agitators,  who  are  mostly  young  men  who  come  back  from  school  at 

A^tHens,   educated    for  lawyers  and   school-teachers  and   doctors,   but 

"'Utterly  unfitted  for  the  life  of  a   condition  like  that  of  Crete  ;   tilled 

"W'^vfcli  the  idea  of  their  political   importance,  and,  having   no   property 

^eept  their  castles  in  the  air.  they  have  no  appreciation  of  the  conse- 

luences  of  an  insurrection  in  the  devastations  and  destructions  which 

■**ve  for  generations  impoverished  the  ialand.     The  majority  are  com- 

PO'Scd  of  simple  peasjiots,  ready  to  fight  for  what  they  consider  tlieir 

•^fir^^ta,  but  mainly  anxious  to  secure  justice,  and  always  ready  to  obey 

*    decision  which  shows  itself  just.     They  are  only  drawn  into  these 

*^Dflict8  in  their  acute  fstage,  when  the  Porte,  with  ite  usual  want  of 

•^'acriniinatiou,  begins  to  aptply  its  only  rule  of  conduct  in  caseof  iiisur- 

'^ectjon — to  strike  the  whole  jwpulation  in  order  to  be  sure  of  hitting  the 

8^»lty;  labouring  under  the  persuasion  common  with  uncivilized  govern- 

*'*^Ht8,  that  cruelty  applied  to  the  unoffending  relatives  and  compatriots 

^^•ctes  and  overawes  the  offenders  whom  it  cannot  reach  directlv.    This 

Course  drives  the  peacefully  disposed   into  the   ranks  of  discontent, 

*^    though  it  may  succeed  with   a  Mussulman  or  a  timid  Christian 

2^*T*tilation,  it  never  succeeds  in  Crete,  where  every  demonstration  is 


tu 


■^od  into  an  insnn-ection  becauso^  instead  of  the  justice  and  redress 


598 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Apbil 


of  maladministration  which  the  people  demand,  they  are  offered  re- 
pression. Knowing  the  Cretans  as  I  do,  I  am  convinced  that  a  jasi 
and  firm  governor  would  maintain  tranqoillity  in  the  island  so  long 
as  he  was  supported  by  the  Imperial  Government  against  the  int 
of  Stambotd. 

The  Porte  followed  its  usual  rule  in  this  case.  The  Imj 
Commissioner  met  and  listened  to  the  propositions  of  the  Conimitte* 
of  the  discontented  Cretans,  and  sent  their  complaints  to  Constan- 
tinople, where  they  do  not  seem  to  have  received  serious  consideration 
and  were  rejected,  and  the  Commissioner  was  recalled,  apparently 
because  he  was  disposed  to  consider  the  position  rationally.  Looking 
back  on  the  affair  in  the  light  of  more  recent  events,  I  am  convinced 
that  there  was  &  parti  jn-is  at  the  Porte,  and  that  the  Government,  con- 

lering  the  opportunity  a  good  one  to  finish  with  this  perpetual 
^Bource  of  disturbance  while  its  hands  were  free  on  every  other  side, 
had  determined  to  reduce  the  Cretans  to  unconditional  submission, 
and  this  the  more  readily  that  the  Cretans  had  provoked  an  intervene 
tion  without  any  fault  of  the  Porte.  They  had  obtained  all  their  con- 
cessions at  times  when  the  Empire  bad  its  forces  occupied  elsewhere, 
and  none  to  spare  for  Crete,  and  now  they  had  raised  a  question  when 
they  had  no  complaint  against  the  Government  at  Constantinople,  and 
were  themselves  entirely  in  the  wrong.  They  had  secured  the  indiffer* 
ence  of  all  Europe  by  disturbing  the  peace  it  wanted  to  preserve,  and 
it  could  not  be  i^xpertud  to  look  into  all  tlie  details  of  a  minate 
question  like  this,  and  t^eo  that  only  the  demagogues  of  Crete  were 
responsible  for  the  disturbance.  All  the  world  knew  that  the  Cretans 
had  enjoyed  an  almost  absolute  autonomy  for  ten  years,  with  their  own 
Diet  and  their  own  laws,  levj'ing  their  own  taxes,  and  paying  no 
tribnte,  doing  what  they  pleased  in  the  interior  of  the  island,  and  only 
having  to  submit  to  the  Turkish  rule  when  they  came  into  the  fortified 
cities,  electing  their  own  judges  and  police,  and  suffering  no  inter- 
ference in  their  insular  afl'airs  from  the  military  authorities,  no  matter 
what  happened.  The  Porte  had  even  assigned  half  the  customs' 
receipts  to  the  island,  and  only  suflered  a  large  pecuniary  loss  by  the 
retention  of  the  island,  as  the  cost  of  the  garrisons  exceeded  the 
customs'  receipts.  Everything  but  absolute  independence  had  been 
accorded  to  tht?  Cretans. 

The  appeal  for  annexation  to  Greece  as  the  remedy  against  the  excess 
of  liberty  which  has  made  government  impossible  was  absurd,  and,  while 
it  prejudiced  their  cause  with  the  Powers,  it  aroused  all  the  animosity 
of  the  Turkish  Government  and  the  native  Mussulman  papulation,  the 
former  consenting,  under  pressure,  to  the  concession  of  reforms,  but 
never  to  the  cession  of  a  province,  and  the  latter  bitterly  hostile  to 
Greek  citizenship.  This  has  been  the  weak  side  of  the  later  Greek  agi- 
tations— that  they  take  the  form  of  an  appeal  for  annexation  to  Greece 


■  89o] 


THE    CRETAN  QUESTION. 


59f^ 


r^^tVier  than  for  the  extension  of  local  reforms  and  liberty,  making  the 
ag"^^randizement  of  the  Hellenic  kingdom  the  end  of  every  movement, 
*"affcer  than  the  improvement  of  the  condition  of  the  Greek  commn- 
*^"tiie3.     In  this  case  it  was  clearly  fatal,  as  furnishing  the  Porte  Avith 
^      "plausible  and  logical  reason  for   suppressing  the  movement.     No 
I'^^'Vrer  can  be  expected  to  cede  a  province  except  to  force   viajetire, 
'*^<^      matter  by  what  title  it  is  hekl,  and  the    condition  of  Europe  at 
''■'^^is  moment   is  such  that  the  Powers  cannot  safely  or  wisely  pnt 
*^'*^^^rcion  on  the   Sultan  for  a  question  so  deeply  prejudiced  as  that  of 
^  *^«te,    hardly,  in  fact,  for  any   question  involving  Greek  nationality. 
"l:xe   attempt  to  do  so  would  at  once  throw  him  into  the  arms  of 
*^  ttssia,  and  whether  this  would  be  a  bettering  of  the  chances  of  liberty  in 
"*'*>.«  Balkan  provinces  anybody  can  judge  as  well  as  1.      Moreover,  the 
^  Xirks  see  as  well  as  we  do  that  the  successful  result  of  a  pressure  on 
^ixem  to  cede  Cret*  would  be  the  signal  for  the  beginning  of  an  agita- 
^i^n  in  Epirus  or  Macedonia.  The  Greeks  of  the  kingdom  do  not  seem  to 
**ave  the  common-sense  to  see  that  the  true  way  of  securing  the  exten- 
sion of  their  national  interests  is  to  profit  by  the  neutral  tendencies  of  the 
Ti^Tirkiflh  suzerainty  to  strengthen  the  Greek  element  by  improving  its 
^^ondition  against  the  day  of  final  dissolution  of  the  Turkish  Empire  in 
H^urope,     The  commonest  remark  of  people  who  stay  long  enough  in 
Greece  to  judge  the  character  of  the  people,  is  that  the  Greeks  are 
<5liildren,  incapable  of  mature  judgment  or  action.     They  cannot  control 
"tlieir  impatience  to  seize  what  they  desire  ;  in  their  impatience  to  gather 
"the  golden  eggs  they  have  to  be  prevented  by  force  from  cutting  the 
"t^hroat  of  the  goose  that  is  laying  them.      Like  children,  they  exagge- 
ite  their  own  importance,  and  over-estimate  their  own  powers.     They 
^laave  qualities  which  make  them  invaluable  in  the  future  reconstitution 
of  the  Balkan  and  Eastern  Mediterranean  world,  but  by  their  crude 
insistance  on  the  recognition  of   the  right  to  anticipate  their  share  in 
"the  inheritance  of  the  sick  man,  they  compromise  not  only  their  own 
"bat  the  general  good.     Tricoupia  is  the  only  Greek  statesman  who  has 
always  seen  this,  but  the  public  impatience  neutralizes  all   his  efforts 
to  maintain  a  conciliatory  policy  towards  Turkey. 

Tlie  present  crisis  in  Crete  is  peculiar,  and  pecidiarly  difficult  to  treat. 
Tlie  Sultan  being  in  no  wise  responsible  for  the  state  of  the  island,  at 
any  rate  prior  to  the  first  of  August  last,  there  would  be  no  justice  in 
depriving  liim  of  a  possession  recognised  by  treaties  and  by  inter- 
national law,  on  account  of  it,  and  no  room  to  demand  extensions  of 
a  liljerty  which  was  already  excessive,  and  led  to  abuses  fat>al  to  the 
well-ljeJng  of  the  Cretans,  and  which  was  too  great  for  their  governing 
power.  Yet  anarchy  prevails  and  order  must  be  restored  in  the 
interest  of  the  general  good.  Tlie  partisan  rancours  which  have  been 
for  years  ruining  the  island,  and  causing  a  war  of  faction  more 
desolating  than  the  rising  of  18GG,  can  only  be  brought  under  control 


600 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[i 


by  the  strong  hand  of  a  (Tovernmeiit  which  has  a  military*  force  at  iti 
disposal ;  and  what  can  this  force  be  but  Turkish  ?  Europe  has  t^ 
deal  with  tht^  Ottoman  Empire;  and  imtLl  it  can  be  dispensed  with  w« 
must  rt'spect  its  sensibilities,  for  its  prerogatives  are  protectee 
by  international  law,  and  the  maintenance  of  this  law,  so  laborious!; 
evolved,  is  of  far  more  import«,Dce  than  any  local  or  temporaiy  objec 
to  be  gained  by  its  violation.  All  (governments  recognise  the  righ 
of  rii'volution,  but  thpy  also  r«'COgnize  the  right  of  other  Govemmenb 
to  suppress  them,  and  by  their  nvvn  methods  so  far  as  they  involve  n< 
needless  severity  or  cruelty,  and  we  respect  the  rights  of  the  Czar  in  thii 
respect  in  reference  to  excesses  which  we  do  not  have  to  complain  of  ii 
Turkey.  The  Turks  have  only  ^lussulnian  soldiers  to  maintain  thei] 
authority,  and  this  condition  is  known  to  all  in  advance  of 
appeal.  The  Cretans  knew  it  too  well,  alas  !  but  have  invoke 
and  iiuist  accept  the  consequences. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  what  had  the  Cretans  done?  They  hat 
not  revolted,  for  the  foolish  act  of  the  five  deputies  had  no  real  effect 
and  the  island  welcomed  the  arrival  of  the  troops  of  Shakir  Pasha  a 
the  restorers  of  order;  imperial  intervention  was  received  as  thi 
solution  of  the  problem.  The  treatment  implies  bad  faith.  It 
excess  justifies  my  conclusion  that  the  Porte  had  decided  to  avai 
itself  of  the  opportunity  to  revoke  all  the  concessions  gained  b^ 
the  Cretans  through  the  long  and  varying  struggle  of  the  ceuturjf 
Under  the  circumstances  an  intervention  was  indispensable,  but  i 
would  be  difficult  to  show  that  because  the  Cretans  liad  risej 
against  their  local  authority  and  protested  against  to«5  much  licen^H 
that  therefore  they  should  be  deprived  of  all  liberty.  The  Porte  ni 
treated  the  revolt  against  the  (lovernor  and  A.ssembly  as  if  it  ha« 
been  again.st  the  Sultan,  and  the  prisons  are  full  of  people  who  can  a 
moat  oidy  be  accused  of  holding  subversive  opinions ;  for  no  over 
act  had  been  committed  against  the  Suzerain  prior  to  the  reig^n  o 
terror  now  obtaining,  and  all  that  has  been  done  since  is  sixnpl 
the  consequence  of  the  unprovoked  geverity  of  the  military  r^ifim 
which  is  the  only  govei-nment  accorded  tjie  island.  The  refuges  c 
the  mountains  are  full  of  men  ready  to  caiTy  on  the  war  of  indepen 
dence  as  soon  as  the  spring  shall  open,  ami  several  thousands  are  ii 
exile  iu  Greece,  instruments  of  a  substantial  and  dangerous  rebellioi 
when  it  shall  suit  the  (^reek  Government  to  launch  it.  However  th 
beginnings  of  the  present  crisis  may  hnve  difTered  from  the  events  o 
18t)6,  the  position  is  now  almost  idi-ntical  with  that  in  which  theislaiu 
was  in  the  beginning  of  the  month  of  April  of  that  year,  the  onh 
important  difference  being  that  the  Cretans  are  better  provided  fo 
hostilities,  and  the  Greeks  are  more  ready  to  begin.  This  is  to  i 
certain  extent  counterbalanced  by  the  possession  by  the  troops  o 
positions  which  would  have  to  be  fought  for;  but  there  are  no 


iS^o] 


THE    CRETAN,    QUESTION. 


islaad,  and  no  fortifications  in  tJie  interior,  and  the  positions  to 

be  held  are  pretty  mucli  in  the  air.      With  the  facilities  which  the 

island  affords  for  ninuing  the   blockade,  the  Greek   committees   w-ill 

Hi&ve  no  difficulty  in  throwing  into  the  island  suihciont  ammunition 

^antl   provisions,  and  we  shall   have  in  the  first  year  of  the   war  the 

position  which  was  only  reached  in  the  second  of  the  former.      How 

■it  will  end  it  is   useless  to  conjecture.      Under   any  circumstances, 

there    will  be  two  results  which   the   Porte  ought  not  t<*  desire,  the 

•  intimacy  of  the  relations  of  the  island  with  Greece  will  be  closer,  and 
the  eetablishment  of  a  true  autonomy  of  it  more  difficult  ;  and  the 
division  between  Mussulman  aud  Christian,  lately  almost  healed,  will 
I  become  inveterate.  It  mu.st  not  be  forgotten  that  there  are  in  Crete 
■  50,000  Mussulmans,  as  much  Cretan  as  the  Christians,  and  as 
much  entitled  to  the  protection  of  the  Powers.      They  are   even  less 

I  than  the  Christians  responsible  for  the  present  imbroglio,  having 
been  practically  out  of  the  Government,  and  in  general  ra.ost  pacifically 
iacUned.  They  are  irreconcUeably  opposed  to  the  annejoitioa  to 
Greece,  and  will  resist  to  the  last  such  a  solution  of  the  problem, 
vhile  the  sympathy  for  them  in  the  Empire  will  compel  the  Sultan  to 
refuse  any  cession  of  the  island  to  Greece  if  even  he  were  disposed  to  it. 
This  is  of  course  a  point  to  which  the  Greeks  give  no  consideration. 

I  long  ago  satisfied  myself,  however,  that  the  great  majority  of  the 

Cretans  are  indifferent  to  njinexatiou,  except  as  an  escape  from  the 

interference  of  the  Turkish  Government  with  their  afTairs,  and  that  they 

''ould  as  willingly  accept,  and  better  maintain,  a  protected  autonomy 

^liich    assured    them    against    any    such    interference.      Regarding, 

*s  they  do,  however,  the  union  with  Greece  as  the  only  solution  which 

offers  thifl  benefit,  they  do  not  dare  to  commit  themselves    to  the 

conse()uences  of  a  declaration  which  would   be  visited  on  them  iu  a 

Prob&ble  future,   aud  when  the  cry  of  aunexation   is  raised  no  one 

cares  to  risk  the  future  reprobation.     A  prominent  and  influential 

Cretan  said  to  me  this  summer:  **  We  are  not  ready  for  annexation  to 

Greece ;  we  ought  to  be  under  one  of  the  Powers  for  tifty  years,  as  the 

*otuan  Islands  were,  before  it  comes."     Again,  there  can  be  no  doubt 

••hat  the  inveterate  hostilitj-  of  the  Turks  to  reform  is  due  to  the  per- 

**Ptiou  that  it  will    be  made  the  way  to  independence,  a  final  result 

*^hich  we  see  to  be  Inevitable,  but  which  they  may  be  pardoned  for 

•^lUsliig     to     accept    till     they    must,    and    resisting    by    fire     and 

'Word.     If  the  interests  of  the  Cretans  are  to  lir  cousoUed  primarily, 

^S    mast    be    distinctly   and   nnraistakably  separated   from   Greek 

^^itlons.      The  incapacity  of  the  Greeks  to  perceive  this    is   only 

"^^tKer   evidence,    where   we   have   many,    that  they   are  devoid  of 

Poutioal  circumspection,  or  that  they   are  willing  to   sacrifice   their 

^**iical  kindred  to  the  temtorial  aggrandisement  of  Greece. 

"Ut  supposing  the  conflngration  to  be  for  the  moment  stifled  by 
'^L.  Lva.  2  R 


602 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


u 


expedients  of  force  which  can  only  last  wliile  the  force  weighs,  we  hav 
always  the  embars  ready  for  another  outbreak  when  the  opportuuit 
comes.  What  is  the  use  of  plastiiring  over  a  volcano  ?  The  SultiU 
ynil  never  b©  permitted  to  extirpate  the  Christian  Cretans,  aud  ever 
day  of  a  falsi^  poHcy  increases  the  diflBculties.  And  while  it  is  jus 
and  iiifvitabli-  that  the  Cretans  shall  one  day  decide  for  themselves  o 
tte  qiiestion  of  union  with  Greece,  it  is  not  so  clear  that  that  day  i 
near  at  hand.  It  must  be  left  to  the  logic  of  progress  when  and  ho^ 
the  union  shall  take  place.  "What  is  most  important  for  Crete  is,  tha 
it  should  not  be  driven  to  fight  for  annexation  by  the  intolerable  ral 
of  corrupt  pashas,  or  the  hardly  more  grievous  edge  of  the  scimitar.  ] 
the  conflagration  is  to  be  avoided,  not  only  to-day  but  to-morrow,  aa 
Crete  preserved  from  a  decimating  and  desolating  struggle,  which  may  b 
also  disastrous  to  the  Turkish  Eiiipire,  the  autonomy  of  the  island  mui 
be  rexirgauized  at  once,  and  without  that  satisfaction  to  Turkish  rt}/it/« 
propre  which  the  complete  subjugation  of  the  island  would  aiTord 
The  Cretans  have  suffered  already  more  tlian  they  have  offended 
Having  had  a  larger  experience  of  them  and  tlieir  peculiarities  thfti 
the  authors  of  the  present  policy,  I  venture  to  indicate  the  linei^J 
which  such  a  reorganization  nmst  be  conducted.  Ilie  gravest  d€»o 
hi  the  old  constitution  was  the  renewal  of  the  term  of  the  office  of  th( 
Governor  at  intervals  of  five  years.  English  experience  is,  I  am  told  b^ 
a  very  high  authority  on  this  question,  opposed  to  the  principle  of  life 
governorships,  mid  if  there  were  fit  men  waiting  for  such  appointment 
in  the  employ  of  the  Turkish  Government,  I  should  admit  this  experi 
ence  as  conclusive.  I  do  not  say  that  it  is  not,  but  when  we  knov 
that  there  are  very  few  men  in  the  Turkisli  employment  who  could  b 
trusted  with  a  mixed  province  and  a  difficult  one  like  Crete,  we  liai^f 
thiolv  what  must  be  said  on  the  other  side.  I  only  know  of  one  mai 
who  is  in  that  position,  and  that  is  Adossides  Pasha,  who  wa 
Governor  of  Crete  for  a  short  time  in  the  early  days  of  the  Constitn 
tion,  and  was  dismissed  by  the  Sultan  because  he  disarmed  th 
Mussulman  pulice  when  they  were  selling  their  Martini  rifles  to  th 
dealers.*  The  Porte  seoms  to  have  tried  every  available  man.  Th 
difficulty  is  iu  the  intrigues  for  and  against  a  renewal  of  the  term 
These  can  only  bo  prevented  by  making  the  office  tenable  for  lift 
or  for  a  term  of  years  without  the  possibility  of  renewal.  Th 
former  has  been  tried  in  Samos,  with  very  good  results  on  th 
whole  to  the  peace  of  the  island.  The  second  has  never  beei 
tried.  Whichever  may  be  adopted,  it  is  imperative  that  the  govemo 
shall  not  be  disturbed  by  the  intrigues  of  the  palace  or  of  th 
factions  in  the  island,  which  cannot  make  use  of  him.  To  secur 
this,  his  position  must  be  put  under  the  guarantee  of  the  Powers 


*  The  Christian  branch  of  the  force  were  armed  with  Sniders  or  Chassepots,  which 
being  inferior  weapons,  were  not  in  denmad. 


r«9oJ 


THE    CRETAN  QUESTION. 


603 


or  tlie  majority  of  them.  My  opinion  is  in  favour  of  a  life  governor- 
ship (principality),  the  approval  of  the  majority  of  the  Powers  being 
z>^ixiBite  for  an  appointment  or  for  a  removal  in  case  of  violation  of 
tin?  constitutional  obligations.  But  to  induce  the  Turkish  Government 
to  a«ccept  this  intervention  it  must  be  protected  against  the  new  con- 
oessiona  being  made  steps  to  a  secession  ;  the  same  Powers  must 
.tain,  by  the  same  guarantee,  the  autonomy  accorded  against  the 


m 


GTollenic  propaganda  as  well  as  against  the  reaction  of  the  Mussulman 
element  in  Turkey;  tbe  autonomy  of  the  island  must  be  guaranteed 
for    its  natural  political  life,  and  the  position  of  the  CJovernor  assured 
ec|ii.a.lly  against  insurrectionary  intervention  from  Greece  and  oflicial 
in-teT^ention  from  Constantinople.   The  fruit  of  agitation  being  thus  for- 
bi<3.<3.en  to  both  parties,  the  islanders  will  be  allowed  to  develop  their 
o^m.  institutions  in  the  way  their  own  interests  lead.     And  tins  I 
mikintflin,  not  from  any  opinions  I  hold  as  to  the  Greek  Government,  or 
from  distrust  of  it,  or  from  any  objection  to  the  annexation  of  the  island 
to  G-reece,  but  because  I  am  convinced  that  as  long  as  the  question  of 
amxexation  is  held  up  to  the  Cretans  as  their  only  way  of  escape  from 
their  present  position,  so  long  any   scheme  of  pacification  is  imprac- 
ticable.    The  Greeks  will  of  coarse  regard  this  pro\-ision  as  one  hostile 
to  tielr  nationality,  while  it  is,  in  fact.,  only  the  means  of  preservation 
<*i    a  branch  of  it  from  the  danger  of  destruction,  and  makes  its  pros- 
perity independent  of  the  Greek  agitators.      They   would   proljably 
prefer  to  see  it  desolate  snd  depopulated  to  knowing  it  to  be  proB- 
P^rooaly  independent. 

The  Governor  (or  Prince)  of  the  island  being  definitely  confirmed 
}^  Jiia  place,  he  must  be  enabled  to  maintain  order  by  a  police  which 
**  absolutely  indejx-ndent  of  the  local  influences,  and  therefore  mnst 
^  foreign.  The  Cretan  police  was  one  of  the  wont  elements  of 
^i^OTijer,  and  if  it  is  distinctly  understood  that  the  iiland  will  not  be 
•^lo^-ed  to  go  to  Greece,  sod  that  the  Governor  is  not  be  at  the  mercy 
tbe  intrigues  or  agitations  of  Athens,  Stambonl,  or  Canea,  and  is 
P^t  subject  to  tlie  exactkms  of  baksheesh,  there  will  be  no  difficulty 
^^  ^aint&ining  order  with  a  small  foroe  of  AltwiiAfi  police, 

The  elective  jndidsry  was  one  of  the  gravest  caosee  of  that  partisan 
^^T  which  was  the  causa  cmuatwm,  <^tn>ablft,  for  \ht  judge  wbodid  not 
^'^«rd  his  psriisMiti  in  his  jodgmenta  had  no  chaaoe  of  beintr  re-elected ; 
"^^  it  must  at  all  hazards  be  abolished. 

The  Aflsemfaty  should  be  mrpniHfnfed  a«  a  noceawry  astisfaction 
r?  the  principle  of  seif-goveRiiiieat ;  but  it  wts  modi  too  muacroos. 
*^^  recent  suggestion  of  a  secondary  etoctifla  sesiiis  to  me  a  good  ooe 
f^  a  popnlatkn  ia  the  ooodxtioa  of  that  of  Crete,  where  •  |»o|Kitt»oD 
^^ween  the  KpreseBtstions  of  the  tnro  nligiiOM  is  iiiiWspf  nssWe ;  hot 
^«  veto  in  iu  acts  should  be  exercised,  aot»  m  heratofore,  by  U>0 
^tUtan.  bat  by  the  Governor,  whose  Mikivity  Acwld  be  strengthened 


GOi 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REViEJV. 


[krva. 


in  every  possible  way,  instead  of  being  held  in  check  by  every 
other  clement  of  government.  The  Governor  had  really  no  power 
except  to  intrigae  ;  he  had  an  adminiatrative  council  which  bullied 
hiin,  and  a  legislature  over  which  he  had  no  lionest  influence*  and  which 
he  cotild  not  dissolve  when  there  was  a  dead  block ;  and,  being  a 
Christian,  he  had  a  Mussulman  suzerain  who  was  always  ready  to 
listen  to  any  intrigue  against  him  from  the  discontented  Mussulmans 
in  the  island,  or  from  any  one  who  wanted  his  place. 

If  the  conditions  I  have  indicated  are  considered  impracticable,  and 
not  Avithiu  the  limit.s  of  respoiisiljility  assiuaed  by  the  Powers,  there 
is  nothing  left  but  to  let  the  struggle  wear  itself  out,  or  break  out 
anew  at  another  time.  The  general  opinion  is  that  the  Cretans  are 
very  difficult  to  govern,  I  believe  this  is  only  the  case  when  they  are 
governed  in  absolute  disregard  of  their  character.  They  have  immense 
respect  for  a  juBt,  even  if  severe,  mau ;  but  a  just,  impartial,  and 
inflexible  government  has  not  been  tried  on  them  except  during  the 
short,  period  of  Adossides  Pasba,  who  has  left  a  reputation  in  the 
island  as  its  Haroun  al  llaschid ;  Turks  and  Christians  praise  Eoonf 
Pasha :  and  I  have  often  heard  tlie  old  Cretans  speak  in  praise  even 
of  the  government  of  the  bloody  Mehuiet  Kiritli  after  1830  as  just 
and  impartial.  The  Cretans  have,  what  is  absolute!}'  lacking  in  the 
ccmtvuental  Grwk,  the  sentiment  of  gratitude ;  they  never  forget  the 
man  who  has  shown  himself  their  friend,  and  will  always  li^iton  to  him. 
I  believe  that  if  the  late  English  Cun.sul  in  Canua  (Sandwith)  had  been 
still  there,  there  would  have  bern  no  dii^turbancf  last  summer,  for  he 
would  have  listened  to  their  complaints  and  they  to  him  ;  he  knew 
them  and  they  him,  and  there  was  the  mutual  confidence  between 
them  which  should  exist  between  governor  and  governed. 

Bygones  are  bygones,  but  the  blood  and  the  tears  of  Crete  have 
reddened  and  salted  her  soil  long  enough  to  bring  fche  wisdom  of 
Europe  to  find  some  stay  for  them.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  casejus- 
tifiesF  the  extreme  intervention  of  Europe  as  much  as  did  the  Greek 
crisis  of  four  years  ago,  when  the  right  was  assumed  in  order  to 
enforce  peace.  It  may  well  be  that  nothing  less  will  at  once  put  an 
end  to  the  violence  and  illegality  which  have  made  life  almost  in- 
tolerable in  the  island,  and  at  the  same  time  secure  the  dignity  and 
recognised  rights  of  the  Sultan,  without  which  interference  would  only 
substitute  a  greater  for  a  lesser  European  danger. 

W.  J.  Stills 


uld  only      i 


»«9o] 


SCHOOL  FEES  AND  PUBLIC 
MANAGEMENT. 


HE  subject  of  Public  Eleinenterj-  Education  gathf^rs  round  itself 
a  group  of  questions  wliich  touch  the  daily  life  and  tlie  highest 
^^*^teresta  of  the  people  moiv  intimately,  pt-rhaps,  than  any  of  the  uther 
^ts  of   subjects  with   which    the    politicians    of    to-day    alternately 
'"ftilightea  and  mystify  a  bewildered  public.     To  a  considerable  extent 
'Xie  interests  of  Public  Elementary  Education   have  escaped  from  the 
;>artisan  entanglements  of  political  warfare,  and  the  great  parties  in 
"^lie  State  each  profess,  what  I  do   not   doubt  is  a  sincere  desire,  to 
"^lace  them  upcm  secure  and  firm  foundations.     This  disentanglement 
■*~endered  the  settlement  of  the  Act  of   1870  possible.     If  the  whole 
^abject  is  f^in  to  be  reopened  in  the  light  of  the  experience  of  the 
last  twenty  years,  both  parties  in  the   State  will  have  to  bring  a  dis- 
'jxassionate  consideration  to  the  issues  which  will  be  raised.     And  at 
the  outeet  it  is  no  slight  consideration  to  reflect  that  multitudes  of  the 
electors  with  whom  the  decision  will   ultimately  rest  have  received 
their  own  education  as  a  result  of  the  non-partisan  settlement  of  1870. 
It  is  not  difficult  to  foresee  that  the  agitation  for  the  abolition  of 
achool  fees  may  lead  to  a   total   revision   of  our   present  educational 
arrangements.     And  the   agitation  lias   reached  a  point  at  which  it 
may  be  possible  to  make  a  fairly  successful  attempt  to  appreciate  its 
force,  to  understand  its  meaning,  and  to  forecast  its  results.     For  the 
demand  is  not  the  outcome  of  the  Act  of  1870.      It  existed  long  prior 
to  that  date,  and  as  Mr.  Lyulph   Stanley  reminds  us,*  it  formed  an 
essemtial  part  of  the  programme  of  the  National  Edocation  League  in 
1869.     For  twenty  years  the  ecatt^^red  remnants  of  that  organisation 
have  been  advocating  the  policy  before  an  enlarged  electorate,  and  now 
it  stands  behind  the  question  of  Home  Rule  in  the  first  rank  of  the 
*  COBTKMPOKAKy  Ssvicw,  M«/ch  1890,  p.  440 


606 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[April 


anbordiuate  planks  in  the  platform   iu  the  most  numerous  section  of 
the  Liberal  party. 

When  the  agitation  for  any  demand  htis  reached  that  point  it 
comp<.4s  the  consideration  of  all  parties  in  the  State.  But  the  first 
fissential  to  the  rational  consideration  of  any  question  is  that  the 
issnes  should  be  accurately  defined.  Unless  that  be  done,  politicians 
of  all  parties  will  be  satisfied  with  piously  repeating  their  creed,  and^ 
as  in  some  other  cases,  incontinently  postponing  its  application. 

The  main  difficulty  of  the  present  position  is  the  strange  avoidano^ 
of  any  definite  explanation  of  what  they  desire  to  do  on  the  part  of 
those  who  ore  advocating  the  demand.  The  cry  of  "  IVee  Education  " 
is  dinned  into  the  ears  of  enraptured  multitudes  who  are  vaguely  led 
to  believe  that  it  refers  to  some  boon  which  they  are  about  to  receive 
from  politicians  who  are  deemed  to  be  as  open-hearted  as  they  are 
nprn-mouthed.  Such  politicians  never  explain  that  the  policy  means 
simply  the  taxation  of  the  whole  community  for  the  benefit  of  a  single 
class  within  the  community.  Instead  of  this,  perhaps  Mr.  Stanley's 
Liberationist  lecturer  *  comes  upon  the  .scone,  and  explains  to  the 
villagers,  "  with  justice "'  or  without  it,  that  on  the  whole  it  would  be 
best  to  make  the  Church  pay  the  cost  of  the  change,  and  he  raises 
the  cry,  "  Pay  the  school-pence  by  the  disendovvment  of  the  Church  !  " 
If  shouting  loud  is  to  be  the  chief  test  of  political  wisdom  there 
would  be  no  difficulty  in  these  days  in  saying  where  wisdom  was  to 
be  found  ;  but  if  there  is  a  desire  to  ascertain  what  all  the  shouting  is 
about,  and  to  what  end  it  is  directed,  a  much  more  complex  problem 
presents  itself  for  solution. 

For,  stripped  of  its  rhetorical  trappings,  the  policy  of  *'  Free  Edu- 
cation "  is  the  policy  of  relieving  the  parents  of  children  attending 
public  elementaiy  schools  of  a  slight  proportion  of  the  cost  of  educat- 
ing their  children,  and  of  placing  the  entire  burden  upon  the  community. 
At  present  parents  pay,  in  tJieir  position  as  parents,  small  sums  which 
in  the  aggregate  amount  to  nearly  £2,000,000  per  annum.  If  the 
]iollcy  of  "  Free  Education"  is  to  prevail  in  Mr.  Stanley's  sense  of 
»hti  tfrm,t  no  parent  sending  a  child  to  a  public  elementary  school 
will  be  allowed  to  pay  a  school  fee,  nor  wiU  the  managers  of  such 
a  school  be  permitted  to  receive  it ;  and  consequently  the  taxpayera,  or 
the  ratepayers,  or  both,  will  have  to  provide  from  the  taxes  or  the 
rates  a  yearly  amount  of  £2,000,000,  now  provided  by  the  parents 
wh(j  directly  and  immediately  profit  by  the  education  received  by  their 
children. 

It  is  obvious,  therefore,  at  the  outset,  that  a  financial  question  of 
enonnous  magnitude  i.s  at  once  raised,  which  can  be  dealt  with  apart 
from  any  strictly  educational  question  whatever.  Upon  that  point 
the   leaders  of  both  political  parties    are    agreed.     Lord    Salisbury 

•  CosTEMPOlLiiiy  Rkview,  March  1890,  p.  453.  t  /tfow,  p.  448. 


tSgoJ 


SCHOOL   FEES. 


607 


^lieves  it  "to  l>e  a  question  for  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer."* 
4fi».    Gladstone  in  his  speech  on  the  Address,t  seized  upon  the  same 
point  and  expanded  it.    "  I  do  not  mean,"  he  said,  "  to  express   more 
thr^-rx  a  general  opinion  that  it  is  undoubtedly  a  large  financial  question, 
and    t>liat  it  involves  a  great  number  of  considerations  over  and  above 
r  th^    -mere  extension  of  your  liberality  to  a  point  somewhat  beyond  that 
wixicsla  it  has  heretofore  reached."     A  moment's  consideration  shows 
tb^-fc    s  perpetual  charge  of  £2,000,000  and  upwards  every  year  is  no 
lig'l^'fc    burden  for  even  a  rich  nation  to  undertake.      It  is  equivalent  to 
incrr-etaaing  the  National  Debt  by  a  sum  of  over  £70,000,000. 
I         I"f  there  is  anything  in  the  present  condition  of  our  educational 
anx*^ngem<»nt8  to  render  so  costly  an  experiment  necessarVj  the  expense 
of      it  ought  cheerfully  to  be  borne.      But  it  is  precisely  at  the  point 
■wli-^n  the  necessity  for  the  change  has  to  be  proved  that  the  difiSralties 
I  u*-    'fcloie  way  of  accepting  it   become  most  overwhelming.      It  must  bo 
■'^^Ti.ejmbered  at  the  outset  that  when  the  £2,000,000  yearly  have  been 
*^l>^i:xt,  the  standard  of  efficiency  in  our  elementary  education  will  not 
.  h^-v^;.  been  advanced  by  a  single  .step.    Tf  the  nation  can  afford  to  spend 
^  —  >  000,000  a  year  more  upon  education  than  it  spends  now,  would  it 
**<>*:.  'he  better  to  spend  it  in  a  way  which  would  not  leave  its  condition 
^^'^  *vc3tly  as  it  now  is  ?      For  yrars  pa,st  it  has  fallen  to  my  lot  to  insist, 
^^^"fcVi  varying  success,  upon  frugality  iu  the  expenditure  of  public  money 
pp>OTi  educational  uses,  not  only  because  all  wastefulness  is  injurious 
*^^^     itself,  but  because  profuseness  of  expenditure  involves  a  limitation 
*^*        efficiency  and  of  improvement.     The  more  costly  our  educational 
^^**"»ngement8  become,  the  less  opportunity  shall  we  have  of  perfecting 
'^'^'^  of  extending  them.     The  demand  for  the  expansion  of  our  cduca- 
*-*^<^Xial  arrangements  in  the  direction  of  the  systematisation  of  Secondary 
**^*^<i  Technical  Scfmols,  together  with  the  establishment  of  Continuation 
^^ilools,  is  one  which  presses  upon  public  attention  with  incnasing 
^"^•gency.     To  satisfy  this  demand  would  be  to  improve  our  educational 
^^'stem.     An  annual  grant  of  £2,000,000  would  render  these  iraprove- 
*Q«?tit8  ix)ssible  to  a  large  extent.     Why,  then,  if  we  have  the  means, 
^i\0ttld  we  not  set  before  us  as  our  first  aim,  the  completion  and    per- 
•Vvction  of  our  plan  of  education  ? 

From  this  point  of  view  it  is  essential  to  observe  that  the  advocates 
^^  the  compulsory  abolition  of  School  Fee-s  must  undertake  tlu-  task 
^f  advancing  reasons  in  support  of  their  policy.  It  is  they  who  are 
Urging  the  change  upon  thr-  nation,  and  thn  main  contention  which 
tlieyare  bound  to  make  good  i.s,  what  advantages  the  nation  may  hope 
to  gain  from  theii-  ]>roposal.  Tlie  supposed  advantages  fall  into  two 
groups,  one  of  primary  and  the  nther  of  .secondary  importance.  And 
the  remarkable  feature  of  the  whole  agitation  is  the  manner  in  which 
those  of  secondary  importance  are  msiated  upon  with  considerable 
•  8I>e«^ch  at  Nottingliam  1889.  t  February  189l>. 


608 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Apbil 


vehemence,  whilst  those  of  primary  importance  are  comparatively 
ignored.  We  are  told  that  we  shall  gain  in  increasing  regularity  of 
attendance,  in  diniinishiug  friction  in  the  enforcement  of  the  laws  relating 
to  compulsory  attendance,  and  in  setting  free  for  teaching  purposes  the 
time  now  spent  in  collecting  the  fees  by  the  teaching  staff.  Every 
one  of  these  advantages  is  of  the  nature  of  a  prediction.  For  reasons 
which  I  need  nut  again  urge  here,  I  am  of  opinion  that  the  totaj 
abolition  of  the  school  fee  will  make  no  perceptible  diiference  whatever 
in  either  regularity  of  attendance,  or  in  the  enforcement  of  compulsion  ,• 
ivhilst  the  proportion  of  the  teacher's  time  occupied  iu  the  collection 
of  the  school  fee,  aa  distinct  from  the  general  work  of  school  registra- 
tion, is  so  slight  as  not  materially  to  affect  the  consideration  of  the 
question.  And  yet  these  supix)6ed  advantages  are  those  which  are 
most  strenuously  asserted ;  but,  as  often  happens,  theii"  importance  is 
in  inverse  ratio  to  the  vigour  of  their  advocacy. 

The  main  reconmiendation  which  the  policy  professes  for  the  great 
bulk  of  its  supporters  is,  that  the  compulsory  abolition  of  school  fees 
must  necessarily  involve  what  Mr.  Lyulph  Stanley  calls  "  the  a}K.>lition 
of  private  management"*  of  the  schools.  The  abolition  of  school 
fees,  and  the  abolition  of  private  mangement  are  ''  two  changes,*' 
which  must  "  go  together."  That  is  the  burden  of  Mr.  Stanley's 
plea  in  the  article  which  he  contributed  to  the  Moi'ch  number  of  the 
CoNTEMfORARV  REVIEW.  By  "  private  management,"  Mr.  Stanley 
means  the  management  of  every  public  elementary  school  not  aided 
by  a  rate  and  managed  by  a  School  Board.  At  other  times,  tliese 
schools  are  referred  to  as  "  Denominational  "  schools,  and  then,  what 
is  meant  is  that  formulas  of  Christian  faith  or  practice  can  be  taught 
in  these  schools  without  let  or  hindrance.  Now  these  schools  com- 
bined, considerably  outnumber  the  schools  under  School  BoardsL 
The  number  of  cltiidren  in  average  attendance  in  England  and  Wales, 
in  these  so-called  "  privately  managed  "  schools  was,  at  the  date  of 
the  last  return,  1888-9,2,236,961,  against  1,378,006  in  Board  Schools. 
Compulsorily  to  alter  their  whole  character  and  position  constitutes  an 
undertaking  of  no  mean  importance.  It  is  not  the  first  attempt  of 
the  kind  which  hat!  been  made.  The  compulsory  abolition  of  school 
fees,  however,  in  Mr.  Stanley's  judgment,  will  work  tJie  revolution. 

In  what  manner  do  the  leaders  of  the  great  political  parties  uew 
this  aspect  of  the  question  ?  Lord  Salisbury,  in  liis  speech  at 
Nottingham  in  the  autumn  of  1889,  said:  *' I  venture  to  repeat  now 
that  the  gift  of  free  or  assisted  education  must  be  so  conducted  as  not 
to  diminish  in  the  slightest  degree  the  guarantee  that  we  now  possess 
for  religious  liberty  as  expressed  by  the  voluntary'  schools.  If  it  is  to 
suppress  the  denominational  schools^  free  education  would  be  not  a 
blessing,  but  a  curse."     Upon  this  observation  it  is  only  necessary  to 

*  CoxTUMPOiUBT  Review,  March  1890,  p.  440. 


r«9*=»] 


SCHOOL   FEES. 


609 


xna^l^e  one  comment.  In  tlie  opinion  of  the  lloyal  Commissioners  of 
IS 88,  Lord  Salisbury  has  set  himself  an  impossible  task.  That 
cnT^ously  constituted  body  was  fairly  unnnimous  about  a  few  things, 
Bkxx^L  one  of  those  was  that  school  fee.s  should  be  retained,  pnrtly  because 
fcla^  evidence  preponderated  in  favour  of  their  retention,  and  partly 
l>e»<2ause  they  knew  of  no  practicable  means  of  abolishing  .school  fees 

tconaisteotly  with  the  maintenance  of  voluntary  schools. 
-A  few  months,  however,  after   Lord  Salisbury's  speech  came  the 
cle»l3ate  upon   Free  Education   in   the   House  of  Commons    (Feb.    21, 
1890).      In  the  course  of  that  debate  Mr.  John  Morley  described  the 
a'tldtnde  of  the  Liberal  party  thus  : — '•  Our  position  I  think    is  this — 
that  when  a  school   is  intended  for  all   it  should  be  managed  by  the 
repreMentatives  of  the  whole  community.     Where,  on  the  other  hand, 
th.e  school  claims  to  be  for  the  use  of  a  section  of  the  community,  as, 
for  example,  the  Catholics  or   the   Jews,  it   may   continue   to   receive 

Ipablic  support  as  long  as  it  is  under  the  management  of  that  sect. 
•  •  .  .  That  appears  to  me  to  be  a  ix)sition  which  we,  and  even  the 
gentlemen  below  the  gangway,  may  consistently  take  up."  Imme- 
^*t€>ly  upon  the  conclusion  of  this  speech  "  the  gentlemen  below  the 
g'^rigway  "  pix)ceeded  to  "  take  np  "  that  position,  whether  consistently 
^  not  it  is  not  at  present  material  to  inquire.     Mr.   Sexton  accepted 

1^®  '''declaration  just  made,"  "on  the  part  of  the  Liberal  party," 
^  "fcoAt  when  a  school  ia  under  the  management  of  persons  of  a  par- 
tictilar  creed,  it  may  still  remain  under  that  management  after  the 
^yst^m  of  free  education  hod  been  adopted,"  and  straightway  be  voted 
*'^*^h   his  followers  for  Free  Education. 

^y  general  consent  this  proceeding  constituted  a  singular  episode. 

***"•     Stanley's  explanation  of  it  is  that  Mr.  John  Morloy  and   Mr. 

^■^liidella,  who  had  spoken  in  similar  terms,  were  simply  proclaiming 

'ipon  the  housetop  principles  which  "five  of  the  minority"*  of  the 

'■**»yal  Commission   had   whispered  within  the  pages  of   a   Blue  Book. 

"Ut,  this  explanation  finds  no  favour  with  ilr.  Stanley's  friends.      ).Ir. 

"'  •  -A..  I'icton,  AI.P.,  informs  us  that  '*tliese  words,  as  used  in  Parliament, 

'Will   scarcely  bear  the  interpretation  put  upon  them  by  Mr.   Lyiilph 

otanley/'f    Mr.  Philip  Stanhope,  M.P.,  asserts  that  "  it  wuuld  be  a  very 

grave  error  if  it  went  forth   to  the  country  that   the   whole  Liberal 

V^^t-y  Were  committed  to  the  expressions  used  by  two  prominent  men  of 

^"*t  party." J     Upon  Sir  Wilfrid  Lawson  it  had  an  immediate  uud 

J^^Jarkable  effect.       It  took  away  his  pluck,   rendered  him  for  the 

'"otiip.nt    speechless,    and    for  a  week  afterwards    bewildered.       His 

BnrjerJn^rg  were  apparently  a  compound  of  mental  iulluenza,   followed 

"y  ^*a  Nonna.§      "  He  very  much  regretted  that  he  had  not  the  pluck 

^  K»t  np  and  make  a  speech,  consisting  of  two  words   and  three 

•  Letter  to  the  Timai,  Feb.  24,  1890. 

t  Xonfon/ormtil.  March  6,  18W.  p.  234.  J   /dcm.  \>.  235. 

S  Ni»  Noniia  it  a  iraoce-like  state,  which  16  siud  to  fgllow  upon  influcota. 


610  THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW.  [i 

syllables,  '  I  object.'  Ho  had  spent  nearly  a  wholo  week  in  r«M 
letters  about  this  great  compromise  or  concordat,  and  the  more  he 
the  less  he  understood  it."  *  Such  utterances  .is  these  are 
echo  of  the  sentiments  of  the  political  Nonconformist  press. 
Morley  seems  to  be  giving  at  the  knees,"  says  the  British 
*' and  Nonconformists  must  awake."  The  Christian  World  desc 
Mr.  Morley 's  proposal  as  "  a  false  note."  ''  The  principle  involv 
wrong,  unsound,  and  anti-national."  X  ^^'^'  Morley  took  the  pai 
explain  himself  in  the  columna  of  the  Spt'akvr,  and  invokec 
authority  of  Mr.  L:  Stanley  and  Mr.  Mundella,  When  political 
confonnists  agree  with  these  gentlemen,  they  are  quoted  a^ 
excellent  friends,"  to  whom  they  are  under  "  the  deepest  obligati 
Now,  however,  we  are  told  that  "  Mr.  Morley  ought  to  know  thai 
useless  to  quote  to  us  Mr.  Mimdella  and  Mr.  L.  Stanley,  as  if 
names  were  sufficient  warrant  for  any  sort  of  educational  pid 
He  should  understand  that  while  boOi  have  rendered  good  wf 
neither  is  a  Nonconformist,  and  both  hold  principles  which  N03 
fonuists  unanimously  condemn."  §  J 

There  is  some  difficulty  in  understanding  precisely  in  which  'f 
tion  apostasy  from  "  principli's ''  is  really  to  be  found.  Mr.  L.  Sti 
thinks  it  is  clearly  among  his  friends.  "  1  think,"  he  says,  "  it  ii 
of  the  deplorable  results  of  our  present  political  position  that  so  11 
people  are  forced  to  run  away  from  thogp  vital  convictions  whicl 
ought  to  hold  ao  dear."  ||  On  the  other  hand,  Mr.  J.  A.  Picton,'! 
who  cannot  endure  the  thought  of  "those  vital  convictions  "  ao^ 
to  Mr.  Stanley,  as  explained  by  Mr.  Morley  and  Mr.  Mundella,  af 
that,  "  we  know  very  well  what  tins  is  intended  for.     It  is  inte 

to  get  over  a  difficulty I  think  we  have  erred  in  the  pa 

making  unsound  compromises.  We  are  reaping  the  conseqa 
now,  and  if  we  would  do  better  for  the  future,  for  heaven's  sak 
us  stick  to  our  principles !  "^  It  is  in  Wales,  however,  that  apo 
is  most  rampant.  The  Reverend  Herber  Evans  relates  how  in  \ 
there  lives  "  an  old  Welsh  wealthy  lady,"  who  is  considerab! 
advance  of  free  education.  "  She  gives  every  child  that  will  { 
the  church  a  good  dinner  every  day."  The  effect  is  appalling,  & 
children  swallow  their  dinners  and  their  nonconformity  witilj 
impartiality.  In  what  manner  the  abolition  of  school-pence^ 
alter  this  condition  of  affairs  is  not  explained.  But  *'  the  lai 
fermenting  with  dissatisfaction,"  which  is  apparently  a  mode  d 
pressing  a  desire  for  more  dinners,  and  a  cry  goes  up  for  Englisb 

''^here  is  to-day  a  great  opportunity  in  Wales  for  any  one  who 
principles  in  the  market.      He  is  bought  at  any  price.     We 

»  Kvtvonfnrnist,  March  6,  1890,  p.  235^  f  ^^^-  2fl,  1890,  p. 

{Feb.  27.  1890.  ^  Briti$h  Weeldy.  March  7.  1890,  p. 

ifoncwtjormiit,  March,  6,  1890,  p.  233.  ^  Idetn,  p.  234. 


SCHOOL   FEES. 


611 


our  dear  friends  from  England  to  come  to  our  rescue."  *  It  is  more 
tbati  doubtful,  however,  under  these  circomstances,  whether  the  article 
is  ^rorth  buying  in  ! 

These  diversiiied  appeals  to  stick  "to  our  principles"  without 
defining  more  exactly  what  they  consist  of,  makes  doubly  precious 
any  sort  of  straightforward  statement  which  one  may  hght  upon  in  the 
course  of  inquiring  precisely  what  the  agitation  for  the  abolition  of 
school  fees  is  seeking  to  accomplish,  Such  a  statement,  for  instance. 
as  this  of  Mr.  Stanley's  sheds  a  ray  of  light  npon  the  situation : — 
**  In  any  step  forward  in  the  question  of  our  national  education  the 

/h-si   thing  is  to  make  it  thoroughly  national A/fer  that  we 

may  take  op  the  question  of  making  Education  free  from  fees ;  but 
the  Yital  question  is  to  make  education  national,  and  to  put  it  under 
public  representative  management,  "t  The  abolition  of  school  fees 
is  here  revealed  in  its  true  aspect.  It  is  a  very  useful  lever  to  raise 
an  agitation  with,  but  it  is  not  the  "  vital  question."  ^  The  vital 
question  is  to  make  "  our  national  education''  "  national/"  and  to  put 
it  *•  under  public  representative  management.'' 

^^Tiat  is  meant  by  making  education  national  is  simply  this,  that 
rjTrhere  Nonconformists  should  have  supplied  fur  their  use,  at  the 
ptiblic  e.X])ense,  an  undenominational  school.  Mr.  lllingworth,  M.I'.. 
explains  that  '^onr  main  duty  for  the  present  is  to  secure  to  the  agri- 
cultural districts,  to  all  the  parishes  of  this  count r)',  a  choice  of  schools 
under  popular  control." ^  In  the  particular  case  of  Salisbury,  Mr.. 
Mundella  pointed  out  in  a  letter  published  in  the  Times,  that  after 
"*^y  had  given  up  supporting  by  subscriptions  two  undenoniinatluiial 
•choolg  in  that  city,  "  the  desire  of  the  Nonconformists  "  to  obtain  one 
**  more  Board  '  Schools  was  due  to  their  anxiety  to  "rate  them- 
swves  ;"§  but  he  omitted  to  remark  that  a  school-board  rute  is  nO' 
•^^pecter  of  persons,  and  that  the  chief  burden  of  the  rate  would  fall 
^Pon  others,  not  *•  themselves."  Th^  great  grievance  in,  as  Mr.  Stanley 
^*plaiiiB,  that  "  throughout  the  rural  districts  the  Church  of  England 
**ool  ia.  as  a  rule,  the  only  school,"  i|  In  these  districts,  there  are 
•ome  Nonconformists,  all  of  whom  are  protected  by  the  conscience 
**ti8e.  Somehow  there  does  not  appear  to  be  the  same  veneration 
°'  the  conscience  clause  as  there  once  was.  The  schoolmaster  is  a 
^QUrchman  ;  he  may  be  a  "  good  "  or  ''  sound  "  Cluirchmnn  ;  and  t-o  add 
^  hiB  qualiiications  he  may  even  bo  '-a  communicant,"  and  a '•  Sunday 
'^uool  teacher."  If,  as  we  shall  afterwards  see,  he  were  a  Jew,  no- 
whatever  would  be  taken.  But  this  series  of  Christian 
in  Mr.  Stanley's  eyes  against  the  *•  national  "  character  of  the 
j^^oola  constitutes  the  claim  for  "  a  choice  of  schools."  The  claim 
''*"©ver  does  not  end  here.     He  proceeds  to  lay  down  a  further  rule. 

I  ^«»W»ir«wi>^  iLircb  6.  1890,  p.  238.  f  Wkbi,  p.  233.  X  Jtlrm,  p.  232. 

'  ^  •»*»«,  Jan.  7,  18'J0.  ||  CoNTKMPoaAUy  liaviEW.  March  6,  18'J0.  p.  450;. 


;i2 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REMEW. 


[Apkil 


^ 


"  In  a  village  where  tlie  school  population  is  under  &  hundred  there 
should  obviously  be  bnt  one  school,  and  even  where  the  school  children 
number  three  or  four  hunilrcd,  it  is  far  better,  educationally,  to  have 
but  one  school."  *      No  ineatiing  can  be  attached  to  such  a  policy  aa 
this,  except  that  it  is  only  in  the  case  of  a  Nonconformist  that  a  choice 
of   schools   should  be  allowed   to   exist.      The  Churchman  must  sur- 
render any  right  of  that  kind.     Now,  in  England  and  Wales  there  are 
about  5000  schools  with  an  average  attendance  of  under  100  children. 
Towards  the  erection  of  only  about  DOU  of  these  has  there  been  received 
any  State  aid  whatever.      They  are  mainly  schools  built  and  supported 
by    the  adherents  of  the    Church   of   England.       Some   are    called 
National  Schools  because   they  are   in  connection  with   the   National 
Society.!      Mr.  Stanley  proposes   either  to  shut  up  all  thi-se  schools 
on  the  plea  that  obviously  there  should  '*  be  but  one  school  '*   in  the*     ^*" 
village ;   or   else   he   projwses  conipulsorily  to  expropriate  those  wb» 
conduct  them  without  any  hint  of  compensation  to  those  who  ha;% 
built   and  endowed  them,  or  without  paying  any  regard  to  the  co 
sciences  of  those  who  have  supported  them.      Spoliation  of  this  ki 
or,  as  Mr.  Illingworth  puts  it,  "  the  moulding  of  a  National  Instit 
tion,"  does  not  seem  to  be  a  promising  beginning  in  connection  w 
any  attempt  to  render  "  our  national  education  "  "  national." 

Wlien  the  schools  have  thus  been  uatioualised  they  are  to  be  plai*::::*^.^^ 
"  under  public  representative  management."     No  reasonable  per^^  ^^ 
objects  to   the  public  managing  what  they  pay  for.      It  is  an  axi«z>Bi 
of  public  affairs   that  the    expenditure  of    State  money  necessit^^'fres 
the  institution  of  State  control.      The  8])hereof  our  educational  8y&"t^Di 
neither   can,    nor  ought  to   be   removed  from  subjection  to  this  1  a.-w. 
But    whilst   they  are  clamouring  for  "public   representative  manage- 
ment," as  if    the  thing   did   not    now   exist,  Mr.    Stanley  and      liis 
friends  forget  to  explain    what    it    is  they  mean   by  the  phrase.        Tky 
they  mean  management  by  the  State,  or  management  by  the  locality  ^ 
The  two  things  are  essentially  different.     If  they  mean  manageme'iit 
by    the   State  as  the  corollary   of  State  aid,   then  the  reply  is  tUat, 
whilst  in  Church  of  England  schools  for  example,  the  State  contributes 
4-6  per  cent,  of   the  total  cost  of  those  schools,   the  Stat^  exercises  w 
amount  of  control,  through  its  inspectors,  largely  exceeding  the    per- 
centage of  its  aid.      If  they  mean   management  b}'  the  locaUty,    "uyon 
what  ground  can  this  be  asked  for,  so  long  as  the  locality  contril>i3*^ 
nothing  by  (ocal  rates  towards  the  cost  of  the  schools  ?     One  of     ^^ 
Stanley's  latest  confrt'res  is  Mr.  T.  P.  O'Connor,  M.P.      He  is  a.      t^^i 
of  many  and  varied  gifts  ;   but  nothing  he  ever  did  excelled  the*      ^''*' 

•  COSTKMIMKAUY  ItEViKW,  March  ISOO,  p.  4oO. 

t  Mr.  Illingworth,  M.P.,  t]isf)lays  a  quite  uuusiial  and  extraordinary  ainoaDt  oC  I'* 
on  this  point.  "  The  National  Schools  were  an  appendage  of  the  NatJonaJ  C^ti'"^ 
The  National  Church  was  a  National  Ia,<!titution.  They  had  the  right  to  xaraoiil'' 
National  Inictitution  as  the  nation  might  demand," — J\'oHconformut,  March     6.    'i 

235. 


iS9o] 


SCHOOL   FEES. 


613 


he   recently  achieved  of  addressing  a  body  of  Protestant  deputies,  and 

their  parliamentary  friends  upon  '•intorforence  with,  religious  liberties." 

"■  F*opular  management,"  he  said,  "  may  mean  more  than  one  thing. 

Popular  management  in   the  sense  of  the  most  severe  examination, 

and    scrutiny  of  the  education  given  in  the  school,  no  Catholic  could 

ob>j^>ct  to But  popular  management  may  mean,  and  has  meant 

in    many  places   obnoxious  vexation,  and   even  bigoted   interference  " 

I^Clieters).     Then  followed  an  ejcample  relating  to  the  administration 

o£   tVie  Poor  Law  ;  and  the  speaker  continued,  ''  In  the  face  of  inter- 

f<»»-ei-ic©  like   this  you   cannot  woiidifjr  that  Irish  Catholics  iu  England 

Wo   clread  interference  with  the   management  of  their  schools,  unless 

I'tbnt^     interference   be   safeguarded    from   such    vile    attacks  on  their 

fligious  liberties."  *      It  is  in  deference  to  such  opinions  as  these  of 

l^^r.    O'Connor,  backed  as  they  are  by  votes  which  do  not  answer  of 

■necessity  to  Liberal  whips,  that  to  use  Mr.  Picton's  phrase,  Mr.  John 

^loi-ley  got  "  over  the  difficulty,"  but  sacrificed  the  principle,  by  sug- 

g^^sfcing  that  a  Catholic  or  a  Jewish  school  might  ''  continue  to  receive 

puV>lic  support  as  long  as  it  is  under  the  management  of  that  sect." 

The   fact  is,  that  just  as  the  abolition  of  school  fees  is  used  as  a 

I  lever  for  the  agitation  in  favour  of  so  called  public  management,  so 
th©  latt*'r  cry  is  simply  the  leverage  for  the  abolition  of  religious 
teaching  in  elem<^ntary  schools  and  the  disestablishment  of  the  English 
CKnTch.  It  is  this  which  makes  Mr.  Stanley's  parting  threat  of  the 
Liborationi-st  lecturer's  appeal  so  apposite  to  his  argument.  The  Chris- 
tian. Worhl  newspaper  points  the  same  moral  by  arguing  that  the  case 
it»  England  and  Scotland  is  wholly  dissimilar.  In  Scotland  Pre.sbyte- 
I  riatvism  is  the  religious  belief  of  the  democracy.  There  the  Shorter 
I  Catechism  may  reasonably  be  taught  in  the  schools.  But  "  here 
I  t>ie  endless  divisions  of  religious  opinion  leave  us  no  option  bnt  to 
L     level  down  all  round."  f      The  sentiment   does  not  appear  to  differ 

■  m  nature  from  that  of  the  dog  in  the  manger ;   and   it   is  a  curious 

■  ootQinentary  upon  Mr.  T.  P.  O'Connor's  non-interferonce  with  religious 
n     "''Arties.      But  it  is  the  .spirit  which  generates  the  motive  power  of 

^^  whole  agitation,  and  for  that  reason,   and  not   for  any   intrinsic 
value  which  it  possesses,  it  deserves  attentive  consideration. 

*  he  student  of  the  science  of  politics  ma}'  perceive  in  the  agitation 

*^rther   singular  feature.      To  him   it  will   present  the  instructive 

^*^^tacle  of  an  attempt  of  a  minority  to  rule  a  majority.     These 

^'^Pons  of  public  management   and   public  control  are  double  edged 

^P'*  for  politicians,  such  as  have  been  named    in   this  article,  to  play 

-^'-a ,      Personally  it  seems  to  me  that  they  embody  correct  principles. 

®     more   they  are  insisted   upon,  then  the  more  will  the  majority 

'"'^^We  to  the  fact  that  they  too  have  rights.     When  this  awakening 

•  yicmaonformUt.  March  6,  185W),  p.  235. 
+  ChrUtian  World,  March  6,  18»0,  p.  198. 


fill 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEir 


i\vmu 


takes  place  the  policy  of  the  dog  in  the  manger  will  not  prove  a  very 
effective  basis  lor  public  action.  And  I  bt^lieve  that  the  time  has 
come  when  such  political  doctrines  as  that  religious  teaching  in 
connection  with  the  Church  of  England  "should  be  taught  at  the 
expense  of  those  who  desire  it ;  "  *  and  Mr.  Mundella's  doctrine  that 
Nonconformists  in  their  desiro  to  have  Board  schools  wish  "to  rate 
themselves,"  will  meet  with  an  application  not  contemplated  by  those 
who  now  teach  them.  And  when  Churchmen  begin  to  desire  the 
practical  application  of  these  doctrines  as  Xon conformists  are  said  to 
doj  the  Mr.  Morleys  and  the  Mr.  ilundellas  of  that  time  may  find 
it  convenient  to  indicate  a  policy  ."  which  gentlemen  below  the 
gangway  "  can  acquiesce  in  and  vot«  for !  For  the  typical  politician 
is  a  flabby  personage,  without,  as  Mr.  Stanley  puts  it,  ''  vital  con- 
victions," ''dear"  to  him,  and  he  is  ruled  only  by  votes.  If  the 
country  is  to  be  stirred  again  by  the  re-opening  of  the  whole  education 
question,  it  is  not,  in  my  judgment,  the  cause  of  religious  teaching,  or 

even  that  of  the  Church  of  England,  which  will  be  shattered  in  the  sirife.^ 

For  those  who  talk  so  glibly  of  public  management  as  if  it  neces 

sarily  meant  undenominational  religious  teaching  in  schools  are  simpl 
blind  to  the  most  obvious  facts  of  what  is  passing  around  them.     M 
J.  A.  Picton,  M.P,,  gave  his  Nonconformist  friends  a  very  pertine 
illustration  of  this  truth.      "  In  the  ea-st  of  London  in  Whitechapel 
he  informed  them,  "  there  is  one  of  the  oldest  Board  Schools.      Whi 
that  school  was  first  opened  it  was  found  very  difficult  indeed  to  fi 
it.      Why  ?      Because   the  neighboarhood    is   almost  exclusively  i: 
habited    by    Jews,    and    they   would   not   send   their   children   to 
school  taught  by  Christian  teacliers.      What  doeB  the    School   Boarr: 
do  ?      The    School   Board   appointed    a    .Tewiah    master  and    mistres? 
and    allowed    that    Jewish    master    and    mistress    to    teach    excl 
sively  out  of  the  Old  Testament.     But  the   Scliool  Board  remain 
supreme.     The  School   Board   elected    by  the  whole  metropolis  h 
made  a  slight  alteration  in  their  ordinary  mode  of  religious  instr 
tion,  so  a.s  to  meet  the  wants  of  this  particular  scliool  while  retaini 
the   absolute  supremacy   of   1:he    ratepayers."!     Now,   even  as  3 
Picton  paints  the  picture,  it  somehow  or  other  presents  the  outlt 
of  what  one  might  call  a  distinctly  denominational   school ;  and 
Mr.  Picton  bears  witness  to  the  fact  that  this  goes  on  '*  without 
one  taking  objection."     But  when  the   outline  is  filled  up,  and  i 
foand  that  the  Hebrew  version  of  the  Old  Testament  is  taught :  t 
a  special  school  session   is   arranged   on   exevy  Fiiday,    so  that 
school  work  may  not  entrench   upon  the    Sabbath,  and  that  spe 
holidays  are  given  so  as  to  coincide  with  the  Jewish  holy-days — 
easy  to  understand  what  view  Mr.  Picton  holds  of  undenominat 

*  Rev.  H.  P.  Hughes,  CoSTEMrORAnv  Rkvjew,  March  1889,  p.  3.15. 
+  Noncoit/onnift,  Marcb  0,  18yO,  p.  254. 


iSgoJ 


SCHOOL    FEES. 


615 


Ciirxstianifcy  when  this  is  described  as  "a  slight  alteration  in  the 
Ofdinary  mode  of  religious  iustrnction "  under  the  London  School 
&s  lie  knew  it.  But  with  examples  of  this  kind  before  them  few 
religious  bodies  would  object,  if  tliey  might  equally  share  in  its  "  slight 
alterations,"  to  "the  absolute  supremacy  of  the  ratepayers." 

Ttiere  is,  however,  in  some  quarters  a  tendency  to  allow  judgment 

I  in   -fcliis  controversy  to  go  by  default.     Those  who  so  act  think  that 
they   see  in  Lord  Salisbury's  utterances  a  disposition  to  "  dish ''  the 
Ea^licals,  as  in  not  very  remote  days  there  was  an  attempt  t/O  "  dJKh  " 
tho     "Whigs.     On  the  other   hand,  they  see  in  Mr.   Chatuberlaln  a 
m-cxioration   and   a   snavity  which  have   not  always  accompanied  his 
utter»nces   upon   this   qiiestion.      They  notice  also  that  in    Scotland 
Keclxool  fees  have  been,  with  few  exceptions,  abolished,  and  they  think 
Bth&t^  the  ab<:>Ution  of  school  fees  must  come  in  England  as  a  necessary 
■teonsequenct?   of  its  partial  extension  to  Scotland.      They  mark  also 
tlxe     tendency  in  the  ranks  of  the  Liberal  paity  to  which  Ma*.  John 
^^£orley  gave  oracular  expression.    No  doubt  these  incidents  combined 
<3o  together  constitute  a  favourable  opportunity  for  a  fair  discussion 
■of   tiie  whole  range  of  the  questions  which  must  be  dealt  with  in  the 
'    Oovernment  Bill,  the  nature  of  which  was  I'ecently  foreshadowed  by 
tJie    Secretary  of  State  for  War. 

I**  It  is  our  desire,"  he  said,  "that  we  should  he  enabled  to  moke  these 
pi'ojxjals  to  the  Hous<i  witJi  due  regard  to  piuticular  objects.  The  first  of 
"tliese  objects,  as  I  ciintliJly  avow,  is  that  in  notbing  we  propose  we  shall 
da,ixiage  or  injure  the  prospects  of  Voluntary  st-hools.  We  want  to  consider 
,  tfa©  question  of  Free  Education  in  connection  with  other  branches  of  the 
H  »*n>»j€ct,  ituJ  any  one  who  has  read  the  report  of  the  lloyal  Commission  wiil 
H  Icrvow  that  they  are  lUllicult  and  numerous.  The  subject  can  only  Ijo  rlealt 
H  ^vitli  by  a  Bill,  and  it'  we  think  it  necessary  so  to  deal  with  it,  we  desire  at 
H    t-lie  same  time  to  tieal  with  the  nuestion  as  a  whole."* 

^^  is  just  because  the  questions  involved  are  "  difficult  and  numerous  " 

H    that  the  plan  of  allowing  judgment  to  go  by  default  is  so  reprehen- 

H    sible.      The  present  condition  of  educational  affairs  in  Scotland  is  not 

H    8o  hopeful  as  to  warrant  any  rose-coloured  view  of  the  application  of 

^^  same  treatment  to  England  and  Wales.     Already  there  are  signs 

that  as  the  probate  duty  will   not  be  sufficient  to  meet  the  loss  from 

««e  non-payment  of  fees,  the  canny  Scots  are  looking  about  for  other 

^^^atis  of  meeting  the  deficit  than  by  an  increase  of  local  rates,  and 

"®^re  hmg  we  may  look  for  a  raid  upon  the  Consolidated  Fund  from 

^*^t   quarter.      If  that  raid  is  not  successful,  there  will  be  a  consider- 

*|^*^    temptation  to  revert   again  to  a  partial   re-imposition  of  fees. 

'^©I'e  are  already  rumours  that  somehow  or  other  the  regularity  of 

^'^-©udance  of  children   at  school  has  not   improved  ai&  the  promise 

T^'i^ected  with  the  policy  professed  that  it  would.     And  in  any  case 

**^  Scotch  experiment  has  scarcely  reached  the  stage  of  an  example 

•  Timet,  Feb,  22,  1890. 


616 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Ai>RiL    : 


to  be  imitated.     But  without  going  the   length   of  the  compulsory 
abolition  of  Bchool  fees  in  all  public  elementan*  schools,  it  is  possible, 
and  as  I  think  desirable,  to  take  any  favourable  opportunity  of  dealing 
with  the  cases  which  now  fall  under  the  plan  of  remission.     The  only 
valid  plea  for  the   non-payment  of  the   fee  is  inability  to  pay.      But 
there   are    bo  many  various  modes  of  estimating  the  inability  of  the 
individual  parent  that  the  variations  in  dealing  with   separate   cases 
constituted  a    series   of  grievances    of   an    irritating    and    vexatioug 
character.     It  may  be  found  to  be  feasible  to  deal  with  these  cases 
as  a  whole  throughout  the  country  by  allowing  the  managers  of  any 
public  elementary  school  to  elect  whethi-r  they  will  retain  the  fee  or 
commute  it  for  a  grant  of,  say,  10«.  per  child  in  average  attendance. 
In  strict  justice  that  grant  ought  to  be  a  charge  upon  the  local  rates^ 
and  it  would  be  equivalent  to   a  school  fee  of  threepence  per  week. 
Parents  who  can  afford  to  pay  more  than  threepence  per  week  do  not 
oonstitute  a  body  of  persons  who  have,  to  use  Mr.  Gladstone's  language, 
any  inherent  right  to   "  an  extension  of  the  liberality "  of  the  State. 
If  at  the  same  time,  by  means  of  Government  inspection,  all  schools  are 
kept  up  to  the  same  standard  of  educational  efficiency,  it  is  difficult  to 
see  what  real  grievance  the  contiinmnce  of  the  school  fee  in  other  cases 
could  possibly  be  to  any  one.     But  to  destroy  with  one  blow,  aimed  by 
sectional  interests,  an   income  of  £2,000,000  yearly,  which  might  be 
used  for  the  purposes  of  educational   improvement,  would  be  not  only 
a  lamentable  waste  of  national  resoui'ces,  but  it  would  also  inflict 
a  cruel   injury  upon   the   hope   of  extending  and   of   i>erfecting  oiir 
educational  system. 

Joseph  R.  Diggle. 


HOW   BRITISH   COLONIES 
GOT    RESPONSIBLE   GOVERNMENT. 


THE  British  Coloaies  which  live  under  responsible  government, 
resting  on  a  broad  democratic  franchise,  have  been  engaged  for  a 
K^ixeration  and  upwards  in  an  experiment  on  which  the  United  King- 
**oix».  is  jnst  entering,  the  experiment  of  disciplining  these  independent 
loroes,  and  accustoming  them  for  the  first  time  to  work  harmoniously 
**^gether.  Tlie  Colonies  have  already  solved,  or  tried  and  failed  to 
'^^^Iv'©,  flonie  of  the  problems  which  just  now  perplex  statesmen  at 
"*^'ttke.  Free  Education,  the  Eiglit  Hours'  System,  Local  Option  (with 
*^'*  "without  compeuBation),  and  the  One  Man  One  Vote  principle, 
**^"V-e  bt'en  dealt  with  ;  some  of  them  in  a  manner  to  amaze  persons 
'^*io  only  know  democracy  by  the  bookish  theoric.  Shorter  parlia- 
^^'•^latB.  payment  of  members  and  elective  exiienses,  borne  not  by  the 
*^^'^<3idate3  but  by  the  State,  which  are  already  debated  as  necessary 
'*'^n:>Tms  in  England,  have  also  been  tried  in  Australia,  with  more  or 
*<5sg  success. 

The  experience  of  men  of  the  same  race  and  education,  though 
"®y  happen  to  live  in  Ottawa  or  Melbourne,  and  not  in  Westminster, 
****>y  not  be  without  value.  It  will  sometimes  prove  a  persuasive 
^^^mple,  sometimes  a  significant  warning — for  the  experiment  of  re- 
sponsible government  based  on  a  broad  democracy,  though  singularly 
Successful  on  the  whole,  has  not  escaped  grave  mistakes,  and  even 
*^tiou8  sins  against  public  lib*:'rty. 

There  is  a  livelier  and  perhaps  a  more  intelligent  interest  taken  in 

**lonial  aflairs  of  late,  and   a  few  students  havo  mastered  them  as 

•sympathetically  as  liurke  and  Sheridan  mastered  the  obscure  Indian 

VPoblem  a  hundred  years  ago ;  but  I  do  not  believe  our  patron,  the 

■"^'Atlinfj  public,  has  got  much  beyond  the  general  conclusion  tliat  there 

f^To  prosperons  British  settlements  scattered  over  the  world  which  they 

•>ua  their  predecessors,  by  liberal  expenditure  and  wise  guidance,  as 

^^y  make   no   doubt,  were  good   enough  to  establish  and  maintain. 

VOI.   LVII.  2s 


4 


618 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mat 


If  an  inquirer  desires  to  know  a  little  more,  lie  is  met  on  the  threshold 
by  the  difficulty  that  he  has  to  grope  in  the  dark  for  the  history  of 
obscure  transactions,  and  does  not  know  where  to  begin.  But  as 
the  relation  of  colonies  to  the  mother  country  must  be  put  on  a  new 
footing  if  they  are  to  be  permanent,  it  will  not  be  amiss  to  understand 
a  little  of  their  past  relations. 

I  have  been  repeatedly  invited  by  the  editor  of  the  Contemporary 
Review  to  describe  the  experiment  in  Australia.  I  shrank  from  the 
task  because  I  must  apeak  of  transactions  to  which  I  was  a  party, 
and  I  cannot  be  free  from  prepossessions.  But  as  I  lived  nearly  a 
quarter  of  a  century  in  one  of  the  great  colonies  when  responsible 
government  was  initiated  and  developed,  and  from  the  necessity  of  mj 
position  there,  was  a  student  of  colonial  liistory  in  general,  the  subjec". 
is  at  least  not  new  to  me.  To  his  foui'th  appeal  I  have  answere« 
that  as  some  one  must  begin  I  will  do  my  best.  I  ])ropose  to  teL 
without  unnecessary'  detail,  how  these  distant  possessions  came  V 
obtain  English  liberty,  for  this  is  an  essential  preface  if  the  lat^ 
story  of  colonial  progress  would  be  understood.  Next,  at  convenie^ 
intervale,  to  tell  what  use  they  made  of  it ;  and  finally ,  how  far  th^ 
experience  may  be  serviceable  to  this  country  since  it  has  adopt^i^ 
the  same  democratic  franchise. 

There  are  British  colonies  in  Africa,  America,  and  Australia  inhabit 
by  more  than  ten  millions  of  the  same  birt,h  or  blood  as  the  populate 
of  the  United  Kingdom,  and  controlling  a  territory  many  tim 
larger  than  Europe,  who  are  now  living  under  Parliamentary  govemmer 
This  system,  as  it  exists  in  colonies,  was  like  English  liberty  itself,  HX 
result  of  cautions  experiments,  and  of  concessions  tardily  made  i 
pubUc  necessity  or  public  danger.  No  great  statesman  at  home,  poJ 
dering  over  the  interests  of  his  troubled  dependencies,  proposed  tl 
tranquillise  them  by  transferring  the  hereditary  institutions  of  Englana 
from  the  imperial  to  the  colonial  community.  No  colonist  of  supe:* 
colonial  growth  distinctly  claimed  this  concession  as  of  right  from  tl* 
beginning.  In  the  history  of  human  perversity,  indeed,  there  * 
scarcely  a  chapter  more  marvellous,  more  grotesque,  or  morehumiliat:^ 
ing  than  the  story  how  British  Colonies  obtained  the  liberty  whicTl 
they  enjoy. 

Plantations,  as  the  earlier  colonies  were  commonly  designated,  wer« 
regarded  for  a  long  time  as  personal  possessions  of  the  king,  to  b* 
dealt  with  at  his  Majesty's  gracious  pleasure.  ''  The  king  is  the  legis^ 
lator  of  the  colonies,"  was  the  peremptory  dictum  of  the  prerogativ* 
lawyers,  "  The  earlier  colonies,"  says  Mr.  Arthur  Mills,  in  his  valu- 
able work  on  "  Colonial  Constitutions,"  "  were  regarded  by  the  Sov^' 
reigns  of  England  rather  as  part  of  their  own  domains  than  aa  subjecs 
to  the  jurisdiction  of  the  State.  Territories  in  North  America  wen 
granted  to  be  held  as  part  of  our  manor  of  Greenwich,  in  Kent,  or  m 
q£  onr  Caatie  of  Windsor,  or  Hampton  Court." 


I 


1890] 


BRITISH  COLONIES  AND  PARLIAMENTS. 


619 


The   House    of  Commons,  liowever,  soon  claimed  a  share  in  this 
magnificent  spoil,  and  in  the  end  came  to  monopolise  it  as  completely 
M  the  Sovereign  had  done  in  the  first  instance.      The  doctrine  of  the 
exclasive  right  of  the  Crown  ovtr  territoriea  for  which  the  Crown  had 
done  nothing  was  succeeded  by  the  doctrine  of  the  absolute  dominion 
of    Parliament   over  communities  who  had  neither  actual  nor  virtual 
representative  in  either  House.     There   was  some  difficulty  in  this 
theory  because   from   the  first  creation  of  colonies  the  right  of  the 
settlers  to  exercise  a  certain  control  over   their  own   affairs  had   Ijeen 
recognised  in  lloyal  Charters.     Some  of  the  founders  of  colonies,  by 
freaks  of  Court  favour,  had  secured  exceptional  powers  of  great  value, 
and  capable  of  being  maintaim-d,  as  they  believed,  against  the  Crovsii 
itself ;  but  there  was  no  uniformity  iu  their  provisions,  and  these  rights 
proved  in  the  end  to  be  held  on  uncertain  tenure,  the  Grown  or  Par- 
liament menacing  them  from  time  to  time  with  contemptoons  subver- 
sion.    Down  to  the  reign  of  George   III.,  the   doctrine  prevailed  on 
all  sides  that  colonies  existed  for  the  benefit  not  of  the  colonists,  but 
of  the  mother  cotietry.      Statesmen,  who  were  good   enongh  to   insist 
that  they  ought  to  be  permitted  to  enjoy  certain   municipal  liberties, 
Were  careful  to  declare  that  they  were  not  entitled  to  employ  them 
for  the  purpose  of  competing  in  any  industry  in  which   England  was 
®ng^ed.     Spain  had  forbidden  her  subjects  in  Mexico,   and  France 
nad  forbidden  her  subjects  in  Lonisiana,  to  plant  the  vine  lest  they 
should  presume  to  make  wino  and  interfere  with  the  trade  at  home  ; 
•wid  when  some  andacious  colonists  planted  the  forbidden  fruit,  it  was 
*ttnnediately  rooted  out — and  in  the  same  maternal  spirit  England 
•nterdict-ed  manufactuiing  enterprise  in  all  her  colonies. 

But  England  was  not  only  a  manufacturing,  but  a  trading  and 
^^Airying  nation,  and  the  colonists  were  compelled  to  send  their  raw 
*Daterial  to  English  markets  alone,  to  purchase  their  supply  of  manu- 
factured goods  only  in  England,  and  to  carry  them  to  the  colonies  in 
tnglish  bottoms.  Ireland  and  Scotland  had  then  made  some  progress 
"*  manufactures,  but  they  were  included  in  the  foreign  countries, 
^■ith  which  colonies  were  forbidden  to  trade.  They  had  also  the 
'^^ntiing  of  a  mercantile  marine,  but  their  ships  were  not  "  English 
'>Uilt "  within  the  meaning  of  the  law,  and  the  colonies  could  not 
•^waploy  them.  'J'he  New  Englander  must  not  print  the  Bible  which 
***  loved,  and  what  was,  perliaps,  harder  to  endure,  could  not  carry  to 
*«^  neighbouring  settlements  the  "notions"  which  his  ingenious 
*^tistry  had  already  begun  to  fabricate.  Colonists  were  prohibited 
'tun  slitting  or  rolling  iron,  an  industry  in  which  they  had  made  some 
T*i^t>pes8,  and  from  weaving  linen,  of  which  there  was  a  beginning 
**  Boston.  The  commercial  principle  on  which  they  were  required 
y>  exist  was  to  buy  in  the  market  where  they  paid  most,  and  to  aell 
'"  til.?  market  where  they  got  least.  Colonists  are  charged  with 
'»»?iag  made  selfish  blunders  in  their  fiscal  legislation  \t\  Va.l\jet  \.\Tcvt%, 


620 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[May 


and,  perhaps,  they  have ;  but  they  will  find  it  diflScult  to  rival  tlie   j 
mother  country  in  this  line. 

Even  the  employment  of  their  own  funds  was  a  luxury  denied  to^ 
coloniets,  except  when  distinctly  acknowledged  as  a  favour.  The  Hous^ 
of  CommonB,  in  the  year  1755,  declared  that  "  the  claim  of  right  in  e^j 
colonial  Assembly  to  raise  and  apply  public  money  by  its  own  ac:^ 
alone  is  derogatoiy  to  the  Crown,  and  to  the  rights  of  the  people  c::^ 
Great  Britain.'"  This  declaration  was  intended  to  bear  fruits,  and  , 
bore  some  memorable  ones.  Nine  years  later  the  House  of  Commo:^^ 
without  a  dissentient  voice  agreed  to  impose  a  tax  on  the  colonists  , 
North  America  towards  meeting  the  public  expenditui-e  of  the  Emp^l 
— that  Empire  which  had  fostered  them  in  so  singular  a  mam^^ 
These  coloniea  habitually  paid  the  cost  of  their  civil  governm^^^^ 
and  of  their  milttaiy  defence,  and  had  quite  recently  aided  the  motXi^ 
country  in  a  prutraeted  war  with  France.  They  declared  themselv**^ 
however,  willing  to  grant  further  aid  provided  it  was  granted  thro 
their  own  legislature,  but  they  denied  the  right  of  the  Parliament 
England  to  impose  any  tax  on  them.  The  English  lawyers  (sa. 
Bancroft)  all  maintained  the  right  of  England  to  tax  her  colonies.  Uti 
is  worth  remembering  as  an  eternal  lesson  not  to  be  deterred  fro^^i' 
asserting  a  clear  right  by  the  authority  of  names — it  is  a  fact  vrhic:?!*' 
might  even  disturb  the  supreme  self-confidence  of  Sir  James  Stephen  c^* 
problems  of  imperial  policy — that  at  the  time  this  doctrine  was  insist^^ 
on  English  lawyers  had  Lord  Mansfield  at  their  head  in  one  Houi 
of  Parliament,  and  Blackstone  in  the  other.  The  statesmen,  who  we: 
more  liberal  than  the  lawyers,  held  a  doctrine  which  will  seem  i-*^ 
insensate  in  our  day.  Lord  Chatham  insisted  that  colonists  could  n*^^ 
be  taxed  without  their  consent,  bat  he  wa.s  ready  to  admit  that  tli^"  J 
had  no  right  to  fabricate  a  spade  or  a  pickaxe  without  authori*>3 
from  the  Alma  Mater.  The  philosophers  were  naturally  mo*^ 
unreasonable  and  wrong-headed  than  the  statesmen,  Samuel  Johnso*^ 
whom  Carlyle  asks  us  to  accept  (very  much  against  our  will)  as  tlr^^ 
foremost  man  then  living  in  the  island  of  Britain,  reminded  tk-^ 
appealing  colonists  that  they  were  a  race  of  convicts  who  ought  to  ^^ 
thankful  for  any  treatment  short  of  hanging.  Junius,  the  champic:^ 
of  popular  rights  in  England,  scofted  at  their  claims  to  self-gover^*^ 
ment,  and  the  newspapers  assailed  them  with  ferocious  scorn  for  pt""  l 
suming  to  assert  that  they  had  any  rights  contrary  to  the  interest  a^^ 
convenience  of  the  mother  country — an  amiable  theory  of  intematioc:^ 
rights,  which  some  of  us  have  reason  to  believe  is  not  quite  extinct  \ 
present.  Ingratitude  was  the  sin  of  colonists  it  seems,  they  had  1«*^ 
gotten  the  State  which  made  and  maintained  them.  Colonel  Barr^  3J 
distinguished  Irish  soldier,  who  after  serving  with  Wolfe  in  Canada,  i^  ^ 
occupied  a  seat  in  the  House  of  Commons,  told  that  assembly  his  n*-^»^ 

perhaps,  not  yet  quite  out  of  d**-"* 


on  this  subject,  in  terras  which  are. 
"  '  They  planted  by  yovir  ctwe  \ '  he  exclnimed 


'No,  your  oppression  plajn "t-^ 


rS9o] 


BRITISH  COLONIES  AND  PARLIAMENTS. 


621 


I 


-fe,ls.^m  in  America.  They  nourLshed  by  your  intelligence  I  Tliey  grew  by  your 
n^^lect  of  them.  They  protectetl  by  your  arms !  They  hive  nobly  taken  up 
a»jTXiLs  in  ynur  defence,  have  exerteil  a  vjilour  amiilst  tliLur  constant  and 
lck.l>oriouit  industry  for  the  defence  of  a  country  whose  frontier  was  drenched 
£-r».  blood,  while  it<t  interior  parts  yielded  nil  its  savings  to  your  emolument. 
.^5k_jr»d,  l>elieve  me,  remend>erl  thijj  day  tell  you  so,  the  same  spirit  of  freedom 
■ygv  liich  actuated  that  people  at  tiret  will  accompany  them  still.  But  prudence 
foarbidii  me  to  explain  myself  further." 

The  maimer  in  which  the  struggle  between  the  mother  country  and 

liesT  North  American   colonies  terrainated,  need  not  be  told.     It  is 

sixlRciently   kept   in    mind  by    the   fact    that    the    struggle    coat    a 

li.nndred  millions  sterling,  of  which  we  are  still  paying  the  interest  on 

title  necessaries  and  conveniences  of  life ;   but  it  belongs  to  my  present 

•purpose  to  note  that  before  the  contest  had  finally  closed  the  English 

Parliament  passed  an  Act  solemnly  renouncing  the  right  of  imposing 

on.  colonies  any  duty,  tax,  or  impost,  with  the  object  of  raising  revenue 

for  imperial  purposes.     A  right  was  reserved,  however,  in  the  same 

Act  of  imposing  taxes  to  regulate  trade  ;  but  this  reservation  was 

carefally  guarded  by  the  proviso,  that  any  such  tax  should  be  expended 

upon  the  colony  paying  it,  and  applied    by  the  same  authority  as 

applied  any  local  duties  levied  in  the  same  colony.     This  Act  (18 

George  III.,  chap.  12),  which  has  been  named  the  Magna  Charta  of 

the  Ck)lonies,  as  their  security  against  any  illegal  appropriation  of 

their  property,  is  the  first  great  landmark  in  the  history  of  colonial 

w^ts.*     Having  received  in  the  American  contest  so  memorable  a 

■©ason  in  the  management  of  colonies,  the  Imperial  Government  pro- 

ed  to  utilise  their  experience  in  a  marvelloas  manner. 

The  narrative  now  passes  to  Canada.      The  province  of  Quebec,  as 

Hras  then  named,  had  distinguished  itself  in  the  American  war,  by 

lelity  to  the  British   Crown.      Though  its  population  wm  almost 

delusively  French  by  birth  or  descent,    the  territory  having  been 

*^o^ed  by  France  to  England,  so  recently    as   17Co,    the   Canadians 

•^fased  the  solicitations  of  the  colonies  in  arms  to  unite  with  them  in 

**®claring  their  independence.     Congress  sent  the  American  Ulysses, 

**©Qjamin  Franklin,  and   a  popular  Catholic  bishop,  on  a  mission  to 

TcUebec,  but  their  seductive  counsels  proved   vain,   and  the  French 

^***Xadians  not  content  with  neutrality,  took  up  arms  for  England.  When 

*«*e    war  was  over,  a  large  body  of  English  loyalists  left  the  United 

?***tes,  and  settled  in  the  division  of  Canada,  afterwards  known  as  the 

_  Pper  Province,    rather  than  violate   their  allegiance  by  becoming 

^^iaens  of  the  new  Republic. 

Hew  these  faithful  subjects  were  cherished,  how  they  were  reoom- 

^^»\Bed  for  their  fidelity,  how  far  the  Magna  Charta  of  the  colonies 

^****T©d  their  local  rights  against  invasion,  are  themes  as  Ccuitful  as  a 

^^•'Jdent  of  colonial  interests  can  study.      For  a  dozen  years  or  so 

"  An  Act  for  removing  uU  doubts  and  apprehensions  concerning  lax:^'' 

lisnii^nt  of  Great  Britain  in  any  of  the  Colonies,   Provinces,  and  Pl.i. 

America  and  the  West  Indies,  and  for  repealing  the  ActuC  7  Q«o. 

on  tea." 


62» 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


i 

i 


nothing  was  done  for  the  rights  of  Canadians,  but  when  France 
became  a  Republic,  and  a  war  between  England  and  the  new  dein>- 
cracy  was  imminent,  the  younger  Pitt  bestowed  a  constitution  on  ty 
colony  with  great  precipitation.     The  territory  was  divided  into  t 
provinces — Lower    Canada   occupied  by  the  French  population, 

Upper  Canada   colonised  chiefly  by  the  immigrant  English  1"'ili"  ■ , i , 

The  pro\ince3  were   to  be  governed   respectively    by   a   Legislating vb- 
Council  nominated  by  the  Crown,  a  Legislative  Assembly  elected         J>  J 
the  people,  and  a  governor  to  represent  the  sovereign,  assisted  by        an 
executive  council,  chosen  at  his  discretion.     These  gallant  and  faitW_ftii 
communities  one  might  suppose  would  be  cn/ants  yaUs  of  the  mot^Sier 
countrj',  but  the  mother  country  preferred  the  discipline  of  Solon:*,  on 
and  did  not  spare  the  rod.     The  form  of  free  institutions  alone  ~«Bvas 
established.     The  representatives  of  the  people  had  no  control  o-ver 
the  public  revenue,   nor  the  slightest   influence  over  the  policy     ^krirf 
patronage  of  the  Governor  and  hia  Council.     One  considerable  sotirce 
of  revenue   arose   from  duties  on  trade.    The  Magna  Charta  of     the 
colonies,  as  we  know,  provided  that  such  duties  should  be  spent  oia.  tie 
colony,  and  by  the  authority  of  the  colony  ;  but  on  the  pettifogging   plea 
that  the  Act  imposing  these  particular  duties  was  passed  four  years 
before  the  Colonial  Magna  Charta,  the  money  was  expended  under    tJie 
direction  of  the  Lords  of  the  Treasury  in  London,  and  continued  to  be 
80  expended  in  these  loyal  colonies  for  more  than  half  a  century  aft«r 
the  right  had   been  renounced  in  favour  of  colonies  in  arms.      It  is  » 
rule  of  law  that  beneficial  statutes  extend  to  things  not  in  esse  at  the 
time  they  were  enacted,  but  the  rule  of  law  was  not  considered  op^^ra." 
tive  in  colonies.      If  the  history  of  human  error  and  perversity  ever 
comes  to  be  written,  it  will  hardly  contain  a  more  significant  inci^i^'*'' 
than  this.     Bat  it  had  its  use  ;  the  second  important  step  in  colox»i^ 
liberty  was  gained  through  the  contests  which  it  naturally  provoke^- 

The  Legislative  Assembly   in   Lower  Canada  was    quiescent     ^^J*" 
submissive    at  first,    but    it    soon    came    to    comprehend    in   sox»e 
degree  its  rights.     It  found  itself  opposed,  however,   by   an    UpP®' 
Chamber  consisting  of  officials  imported  from  England,  and  uomLo^*^ 
for  life,    and   whom  every  Governor  supported,   and   who   were      ^ 
possession  of  all  real   power  in   the  colon}'.     The  first    demand       *** 
control  over  the  public  purse  was  met  by  the  outraged  Govemo*'  *^ 
Strafford  might  have  met  it  Lu  Ireland,  by  sending  the  leaders  of 
opposition   to  gaol.     There   was   an     annual  deficit  in    the  colC>^***' 
Exchequer  however,  and  as  it  had   to  be  made  up  by  a  grant    ^^"^ 
England,  the  offer  of  the  Legislative  Assembly  to  supply  the  defio*-*' 
a  colonial  tax  was  a  bait  too  tempting   to  be  resisted,  and  they 
permitted  to  buy  a  fragment  of  their  rights,  at  the  beginning  of      _    jj— 
nineteenth  century,  as  a  trading  community  in  the  Middle  Ages  rK^^^jB 
have  bouglit  it  from  a  robber  baron,  at  a  fixed  ransom.   The  conce?^*      . 
made  was  that  they  "were  permitted  to  vote  the  supplies.     Bu  ^ 


( 


L»l 


rere 
-the 


S9o] 


BRITISH  COLONIES  AND  PARLIAMENTS. 


623 


ifficial  gentlemen  in  the  Executive  Council  thought  the  most  respect^ 
dI  and  convenient  manner  in  which  they  could  proceed,  would  be  to 
ote  them  for  a  series  of  years  together,  according  to  the  anciont  and 
pproved  practice  in  England :  that  is  to  say,  the  practice  under  the 
Stuarts  before  the  Involution.  At  length  it  was  conceded  that  they 
aight  be  voted  annually,  but  only  iu  a  lump  sum  for  the  service  of 
he  year,  leaving  the  Governor  and  the  official  gentlemen  aforesaid  to 
iistribute  the  money  at  their  discretion. 

In  the  contest  which  ensued,  the  Governor  invariably  agreed  with 
the  Upper  House,  and  the  Colonial  Office  commonly  agi-eed  with  the 
Governor.  The  Canadians,  however,  had  come  to  understand  their 
rights,  and  persisted  in  demanding  them  ;  gaining  a  little  from  time 
to  time  by  judicious  pressure.  They  limited  themselves  so  strictly 
fco  constitutional  ends  and  constitutional  means,  that  when  in  the 
middle  of  their  struggle,  the  war  of  1812  broke  out  between  Englsjid 
and  the  United  States  they  again  took  up  arms  on  the  side  of  England.* 
(^fter  the  war,  they  pressed  their  complaints  on  the  Imperial  Parliament, 
From  which  their  constitution  had  been  derived,  and  at  last,  in 
1828,  a  Select  Committee  on  Canadian  afi'airs  was  appointed  by  the 
House  of  Commons.  This  Committee  recommended  that  the  whole 
af  the  revenue  of  the  colony  should  be  placed  under  the  control  of 
the  Assembly,  and  that  a  more  impartial,  conciliatory,  and  oonstitn- 
tional  system  of  government  should  be  adopted.  Aa  the  Duke  of 
Wellington  was  Prime  Minister  at  this  time,  it  is  probabio  that 
•onxething  practical  would  have  been  done  to  give  effect  to  these 
pood  intentions,  but  a  struggle  with  his  own  supporters,  who  were 
lugged  with  him  for  promising  Catholic  emancipation,  engrossed  his 
ime,  and  the  colonies  had  to  wait.f 

A.nd  now  came  the  French  Revolution  of  1830,  followed  by  the 
*®fonn  era  in  England,  and  men  wfre  moved  with  the  passion  to 
ibate  abuses  everywhere.  Some  of  the  Radical  leaders  in  the  House 
*  Commons,  especially  Hume,  O'Connell,  and  Roebuck,  and  later 
■^ajles  BuUer  and  Sir  William  Molesworth,  took  an  interest  in  the 
*^»onial  contest,  and  it  was  no  longer  possible  to  postpone  inquiry. 

^Haen  the  condition  of  Canada  was  looked  into,  a  curious  and 
^strnctive  spectacle  presented  itself.  In  the  Upper  or  British 
yDpTince,  planted  by  men  who    had   abandoned   their   homes  rather 

^^t  Let  mc  nnte  in  passing  th.-it  thn-o  rears  ago,  wlien  the  Parliament  of  thifl  loyal 
^Hp  gallant  commanity  addressed  tlio  Queen  in  favour  of  Homo  Kule  for  Ireland, 
BJ^^nabcring,  doubtless,  what  evils  foreign  rule  had  inflicted  on  themselves,  the 
Jp^^nccUor  of  the  Exchequer,  Herr  Joachim  Gost-hen — not  a  descendant,  I  fancy,  of  the 
^**"oii8  who  framed  the  great  Charter — declared  that  they  were  merely  Frenchmen  and, 
^  Coarse,  not  worthy  of  bring  listened  to.  This  ia  the  modern  Stock  Exchange  ide« 
"f  conjolidfttlng  the  British  Empire. 

-.  f  The  sort  of  attention  colonies  received  in  thin  era  from  Ministers  charged  with 
^^>r  guverament,  is  instructive  to  note.    We  read  in  GreviUe's  "  Jotumal" — "Stephen 
1b  Sir  James)  said  that  Sir  George  Murray,  Secretary  of  State  for  the  Colonies. 
; — never  wrote  a  despatch — had  only  once  since  he  bad  been  in  office  seen 
erwardfl  Sir  Henry)  wiio  had  got  oil  the  Weat  Indies  under  h\&  cax«." 


62^1 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


[M. 


than  their  allegiance,  the  representatives  of  the  people  were  whol 
without  power,  all   authority  thei*e,  as  well   as  in  the  French  distri( 
residing  in  Legislative  Councillors  nominated  by  the  Crown.     The 
gentlemen  possessed  control  over  the  Supreme  Court  and  the  ent: 
botly  of  functionaries,   and  against  all  remonstrance  had  maintain 
higli  salaries  and  an  improvident  expenditure  of  the  public  reven 
Violent  partisans  of  their  party  were  created  judges,  while,  on  t 
other  hand,  magistrates  and  militia  officers  were  dismissed  for  attei*.«: 
ing  meetings  to  petition  for  reform.      The  management  of  the  pnbl  j 
lands  was  retained  by  the  Crown,  and  a  million  acres  had  been  m^dT 
over  to  a  London  company  at  an  inadequate  price,  and  the  procfe<y  - 
spent   without  the   authority  of  the   legislature.     A   portion   of  th 
clergy   reserves   (lands   originally  designed   for  Church  endowment" 
was  sold,  and  ^300,000  derived  from  the  Bale  remitted  to  England* 
The   religious  feeling   of  the    people,  who    were  mostly   Protestftnt 
Dissenters,  had  been  wounded  by  the  establishment  of  rectories  with 
exclusive  ecclesiastical  privileges  such    as  belong  to   the  Established 
Church  in  England,  and  Ijy  the  rejection  in  the  Legislative  Council 
of  a  measure  to  relieve  Quakers  and  other  Dissenters  from  certain 
penalties.     And    they  were    oppressed   in  common   with    the   other 
province  by  a  fiscal  system  established  by  the  Imperial  Parliament 
which,  under  the  pretence  of  regulating  trade,  laid  a  lieavy  burthen 
of   taxation    on   them,   and    prohibited   them   purchasing   articles   of 
primary  importance  in  the  cheapest  European  or  American  market. 

The  case  as  respects  Lower  Canada  was  still  worse.  The  Canadians 
of  French  descent  who  were  seven  to  one  of  the  jxipulation,  and  con- 
stituted the  bulk  of  the  elected  Chamber,  were  excluded  from  all 
authority  in  the  colony  which  they  had  founded,  and  twice  defended 
in  arras.  The  Upper  Chamber,  appointed  by  the  Crcwn,  that  is  to 
say,  the  Colonial  Office,  consisted  of  twenty-three  members,  of  whom  a 
steady  majority  were  persons  insolently  hostile  to  the  nationality  and 
interests  of  the  colonists.  The  Executive  Council  or  qita.'d  Govern- 
ment consisted  of  nine  members,  and  was  constituted  in  a  manner 
that  would  reconcile  Colonel  Sannderson  and,  perhaps,  even  Mr. 
William  Johnson  to  a  Government  in  Dublin.  Of  the  nine  Ministers 
set  over  the  Canadian  Catholic  people  only  two  were  Canadians,  and 
only  one  a  Catholic.  Eight  of  these  gentlemen  and  their  families  had 
signalised  themselves  by  obtaining  grants  amounting  to  63,936  acres. 
The  public  service  was  crowded  by  their  dependants.  Among  a 
hundred  ofScers  there  were  only  forty-seven  Canadians,  and  in 
general  they  held  inferior  offices.  The  judges  who  administered  the 
French  law  of  property  were  nearly  all  selected  in  Westminster  Hall 
by  a  potent  official  of  the  Colonial  Office  whom  Charles  Buller  nick- 
named Mr.  Mothercountry.  The  public  lands  were  .squandered  in 
jobs  and  favouritism  ;  public  offenders  were  retained  in  office  oontraiy 


r 
I 


890] 


BRITISH  COLONIES  AND  PARLIAMENTS. 


625 


I 


■*o  the  remonstrance  of  the  representatives   of  the   people,   and  the 

legislative  ami  executive  powers,  instfatl  of  being  in  harmony  were  of 

:«eces8ity   in   constant   collision.     By  the   practice   of  appropriating 

-public  money  without  the  authority  of  the  Assembly,  the  Governor 

liad  raised  himself  above   the  need    of    satisfying  it  either  in   his 

:»neasuros  or  the  persons  to  whom  their  execution  was  entrasted,   and 

"the  Colonial  Office,  as  far  as  they  understood  what  was  going  on,  had 

sjanctioned  it.     Before  lifting  your  hands  too  high  in  amazement  at 

•the  folly  of  a  former  generation,  remember,  oh  gracious  reader  !  that 

"there  still  exists  in  another  BritLsh  possession   an  institution  of  the 

same  animus,  known  a3  Dublin  Castle. 

The  reformers  then  in   power  in  Westminster  at  length  yielded  to 
tie  Canadian  Assemblies  the  control  of  a  large  portion  of  the  public 
revenue,  but  not  of  the  whole,  as  was  claimed  of  right,  and  as  had 
been  recommended  by  the  Select  Committee  of  1828.     And   they 
prepared  to  make  some  tentative  experiment  in  the  practice  of  self- 
government.     Their  task,  it  must  be  admitted,  was  not  an  easy  one. 
Tixej  were  dealing  with   interests  and  forces  they  imperfectly  under- 
atood,  and  they  were  receiving  advice  from  official  persons  who  knew 
tli£kt  their  own  power  of  monopoly  depended  on  successfully  misleading 
Kixgland.    The  Governor,  who  lived  habitually  among  this  class,  had  the 
e^kiT  of  the  Secretary  of  State  whoever  he  happened  to  be,  and  generally 
tsfciaght  him  to  regard  the  colonial  democracy  as  a  wild  beast,  which 
£ox*  safety  must  be  kept  on  a  chain    and   under  wholesome  discipline, 
^^^d  that  he  would  endanger  the  stability  of  the  empire  by  letting  it 
looce  ever  so  little.     The  Secretary  of  State  for  the  Colonies  was  com- 
monly as  indifferent  to  his  charge  as  Sir  George  Murray,  but  if  he 
"appened  to  be  industrious,  his  colleagues  were  little  disposed  to  be 
Postered  with  Colonial  aiTairs.      "  Cabinets,"  said  the  Lord  Darby  of 
*hat  day,  "  hate  Colonies,"*     The  Minister's  safety  was  to  do  nothing, 
o*"  something  as  closely  as  possible   approximating  to  nothing.     One 
*^^^    conceive   a  Minister  with   a  different  view  of  his  duties  when 
^^"^rged  with  the  interests  of  a  population  greater  than  that  of  many 
^'•tes  in  Christendom  ;  but  if  a  man  of  capacity  filled  the  office,  he 
"**  probably  engaged  too  deeply  in  Imperial  politics  to  give  more  than 
*  'iftety  and  casual  attention  to  his  distant  clients,  and  instead  of  a 
"^^t*  of  capacity  the  office  often  fell  to  some  indispensable  blockhead, 
^a.ci   vi-as  placed  by  his  loader  in   a  position  where  his  blunders  were 
^*^*^t;  likely  to  escape  detection. 

In  the  meantime  a  clearer  notion  of  what  constitutes  responsible 
^'^^'amment  began   to  prevail   in    Canada.     The  colonists  of  French 

•j^  At  a  later  peritxJ.  when  he  was  for  the  first  time  rrimc  Minister,  Lord  Derby  said, 
^^*"^e  lame  spirit :  "  There  is  the  g^reatest  ditticulty  in  refaining  for  the  affairs  of  the 
r^|***tiAii«  a  very  small  portion  of  that  very  small  amount  of  time  whii'h  Ministers  are 
j^^^led  to  Bpore  from  the  administration  of  particular  departments  for  the  collective 
^7***^a««ion  of  public  aiTairs."  The  remedy  was  found  in  jfiving  the  Coloniea  the 
^^**«ISenicnt  of  their  own  affairs  :  a  wise  principle,  which  merits  farther  exteDslon. 


"' ^- 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


I 


I 


I 


I 


\ 


descent,  to  whom  a  free  legislature  was  a  new  phenomenon,  and  one 

Bcrutinised  the  more  curiously  and  the  more  fearlessly  on  that  account, 

gradually  developed  the  idea  that  when  a  parliament  was  granted 

them  the  main  consequences  which  followed  parliamentary  liberty 

England  were  implied  in  the  concession.     Among  the  British  T—lnniTt^i     ^^~T 

in  Upper  Canada   a   large   party  eagerly  accepted  this  idea,  wliicUf.^;;— --,i 

debate  rendered  clearer  and   simpler.     Sometimes  they  strayed  firor 

the  right  road,  and  made  demands  for  which  there  was  no  precedei 

iu  the  practice  of  England,  but  they  kept  in  view   with   tolerabi 

steadiness   the   fundamental   proposition   that,   having  by   their  o\ 

choice  remaiued  under  the  British  Crown,  they  were  entitled  to  tl 

full  enjoyment  of  the  British  Constitution,  and  that  the  British  Corr 

Btitution  lodged  the  control  of  finance  and  policy  in  the  representativ 

of  the  people. 

The  attention  of  the  mother  country  was  kept  alive  by  the  attitn^^K^  dp 
of  the   Canadian  legislatures.      In    Lower  Canada  it   was   [ii  i  iiliii        —    fj 
menacing.     Having  in  1832,  on  the  first  promise  of  reforms,  cheerfim;^  !3jy 
granted  supplies  for  the  year,  they  expressed  their  displeasure  at  de  ZSH^aj 
by  attempting  in  1833  to  effect  them  by  their  own  power,  and  b      w^    a 
method  which  was  ultra  vires.     To  correct  the  accumulation  of  ofl»_  ^arres 
in  the  hands  of  the  same   person,  which  had  been  a  constant  subj  ^^^ct 
of  complaint,  they  named  on  the  estimates  the  officers  to   whom     -M^-he 
salary  was  voted,  and  in  some  cases  attached  conditions  to  the  vc^  ^~^. 
Wherever  responsible  government  exists  these  results  are  now  attains-     ™ 
without  strain  or  contest  by  the  influence  of  the  House  over  Minist.^»— ^"> 
but  there   was  no   precedent  for  the  manner  of  attaining  them    a^**- 
tempted  in  Quebec.     The  Upper  Chamber  rejected  the  Appropriabic^^^^ 
Bill  founded  on  these  votes.     Next  year,  no  reform  having  been  y^  ^^- 
effected,  the  Assembly  passed  a  series  of  ninety-two  resolutions,  specifj 
ing  their  griovances,  aud  deliberately  refused  supplies  uutU  grievs 
were  redressed.      The  demand   on  which   they   laid  most  stress   wa 
that  the  Upper   Chamber  might  become  elective.     Thia   design  wa 
odious  and  alarming  to   a  large  party  in  England,  because  there  wa 
then  current  a  proposal  to  make  the  House  of  Lords  elective.     Mr, 
Roebuck,  who  had  not  yet  developed  into  a  "  Conservative  watchdog," 
wag  demanding  in  pamplilets  and  speeches,  '*  What  is   the  use  of  a 
House  of  Lords  ?  "  and  O'Connell  had  made  a  tour  through  England 
and  Scotland  to  illustrate  the  same  text.    At  length,  it  was  made  plain 
even   in  Downing  Street  that  measures   must  be  taken  to  pacify  the 
Colonies,  and  in  183o  Lord  Gosford  was  despatched  to  Lower  Canada 
as  Governor-general,  and  chief  of  a  Commission,  authorised  to  inquire 
into  grievances. 

When  George  III.  reigned,  that  assiduous  monarch  dictated  the 
Colonial  policy  of  England,  with  the  result,  as  we  know,  of  what 
courtiers  called  "  an   unnatural   rebellion,"   and  the  loss   of  thirteen 


I 


^^^f       BRITISH  COLONIES  AND  PARLIAMENTS.  627      ^H 

Colonies.      His  second   son,  who  now  reigned,  was  of  opinion  that,  } 

though  the  king  had  ceased  to  be  the  legishitor  of  the  Culonies,  he 
might  still  be  their  administrator  with  advantage.  Before  the  new 
Governor  started  on  his  critical  mission  His  Majesty  was  good  enough 
to  admit  him  to  a  private  audience,  and  to  give  him  instructions  on 
the  manner  in  which  he  was  to  employ  the  powers  intrusted  to  him. 
Sir  J.  Cam  Hobhouse,  afterwards  Lord  Broughton,  a  Minister  of  the 
Crown,  enables  us  to  overhear  this  important  conference.  The  king 
said  to  Lord  Gosford,  "  Mind  what  you  are  about  in  Canada.  By 
G — d  I  will  never  consent  to  alienate  the  Crown  lands,  or  to  make 
the  Council  elective.  Mind  me,  my  lord,  the  Cabinet  is  not  my 
Cabinet,  they  had  better  take  care,  or  by  G — d  I  will  have  them 
impeached.  You  are  a  gentleman,  I  believe  j  I  have  no  fear  of  you, 
but  take  care  what  you  do  ?  '" 

At  the  same  time  Sir  Francis  Head  was  sent  a.s  Governor  to 
Upper  Canada,  with  instructions  to  admit  some  of  the  leaders  of  the 
popular  party  to  his  Council,  in  ortler  to  bring  the  executive  into 
better  harmony  with  the  representatives  of  the  people.  This  experi- 
ment  encountered  its  first  difficulty  in  the  character  of  the  agents 
employed  to  carry  it  into  effect.  Sir  Francis  Head,  an  Assistant  POor 
I  Ijaw  Commissioner,  without  experience  in  Colonial  affairs  or  training 
in  political  life,  or,  as  he  frankly  puts  it  himself  in  a  lively  narrative 
of  his  administration,  "  grossly  ignorant  of  everj-thing  in  any  way 
"k^lating  to  the  government  of  colonies,"  was  entrusted  with  the 
<3elicate  task.  Sir  Francis,  who  was  a  man  of  agile  and  aspiring 
intellect,  soems  to  have  regarded  himself  in  his  now  position,  not  only 
^kS  a  king,  but  as  a  king  exercising  arbitrary  power.  In  England, 
"William  IV.  was  acting  by  the  advice  of  sworn  councillors  selected 
:from  the  political  party  who  enjoyed  the  confidence  of  Parliament  for 
"the  time  being  ;  but  Sir  Francis  Head  was  of  opinion  that  to  permit 
■the  Canadian  Parliament  to  exercise  any  influence  over  the  selection  of 
his  counciOors  would,  in  his  amazing  phraseolog)%  '-  be  unconstitutional 
and  xuijust,  besides  which  it  would  at  once  connect  with  party  feeling 
the  representative  of  His  Majesty,  who  ought "  (as  it  seemed  to  the 
new  Governor),  "  to  stand  unbiased  and  aloof  from  all  such  considera- 
tions." To  entrust  the  management  of  local  affairs  to  gentlemen 
connected  by  property,  interests  and  affection  with  the  province, 
I  instead  of  leaving  them  absolutely  at  the  discretion  of  a  governor 
from  London  grossly  ignorant  of  everj-thing  relating  to  colonies, 
appeared  to  him  to  be  "disrespectful  to  His  Majesty,  and  a  violation  of 
^is  prei-ogative."  "  Can  any  tliree  professional  gentlemen  of  Toronto  " 
(he  demanded  in  a  public  document),  ' '  intently  occupied  with  their 
0\rn  naltry  interests,  presume  to  offer  to  Upper  Canada  the  powerful 

Kon  and  the  paternal  assistance  which  our  Sovereign  can  bestow 
•  Lord  Brougbton's  "Recollections  of  a  Long  Life." 


628 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Hat 


on  this  young  country?"  *' Our  Sovereign"  was,  of  course,  an 
official  euphuism  for  the  gentleman  tranaferred  by  the  Colonial  Office 
from  wrangling  with  relieving  officers  and  boards  of  guardians  to  the 
task  of  governing  a  State.  Taking' this  view  of  his  duty  and  position, 
the  new  Governor  admitted  certain  leaders  of  the  popular  party  to  the 
Executive  Coancil,  but  without  removing  those  already  in  office.  He 
informed  the  new  councillors  that  he  would  only  consult  them  when 
•  he  thought  fit.  To  borrow  his  own  graphic  language  from  a  despatch 
to  his  chief  in  Downing  Street,  ' '  he  expected  them  to  give  him  advice 
when  he  wanted  it,  and  not  to  encumber  him  with  help  when  he  did 
not  require  it."  By  this  time,  however,  the  knowledge  of  responsible 
government  was  becoming  familiar  to  public  men  on  all  sides,  and  the 
entire  Council,  including,  to  the  Governor's  amazement,  the  three 
original  members,  as  well  as  the  three  new  ones,  informed  his 
Excellency  that  they  considered  they  were,  and  ought  to  be,  not  his 
clerks,  but  Ministers  reponsible  to  the  people  of  the  Province  through 
their  Legislature.  Sir  Francis  assured  them  that  such  a  principle 
would  never  be  admitted  "while  the  British  flag  flew  over  America," 
and  thereupon  the  Council  resigned  in  a  body.  They  were  warmly 
BQStained  by  the  popular  branch  of  the  Legislature,  and  a  fierce 
contest  commenced  between  the  popular  party  and  the  Governor,  who 
appears  to  have  been  persuaded  that  he  was  doing  battle  for  the* 
salvation  of  the  empire  against  open  or  disguised  treason.  Aat 
Sir  Francis  specifies  about  this  time,  in  a  despatch  to  the  Colonial 
Office,  "  the  traitorous  objects  which  the  reformers  of  this  provinca 
have  in  view,"  we  have  the  advantage  of  knowing  precisely  what  ifc 
was  that  they  persistently  demanded,  and  which  he,  for  his  part,  was 
prepared  to  resist  with  arms. 
The  demands  were : — 

1.  An  elective  Legislative  Council. 

2.  An  Executive  Council  responsible  to  public  opinion, 

3.  The  control  of  the  provincial  revenue  to  be  lodged  in    the  pro- 

vincial Ijegislature. 

4.  The  British  Parliament  and  the   Colonial  Office  to  cease  their" 

interference  in  the  internal  affairs  of  Canada. 
Sir  Francis  entered  on  the  contest  with  great  vigour;  he  appealed 
to  the  loyalty  of  the  people,  assured  them  that  the  proposal  to  make» 
the  Executive  Council  responsible  to  them  was  (of  all  incouceivabl& 
things)  *' republican,"  and  invited  them  to  rally  round  "British- 
institutions,"  meaning  a  Governor  from  London  free  from  local  con— 
trol.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  point  out  that  the  actual  fact  is 
directly  the  reverse  of  the  fact  imagined  by  Sir  Francis  Head.  A. 
chief  of  the  Executive  Government  who  cannot  be  removed  by  th» 
vote  of  the  legislature,  and  who  acts  as  his  own  Prime  Minister,  i» 
the  republican  system   as   it  exists  in   the  United  States,  and,  with- 


i89o]         BRITISH  COLONIES  AND  PARLIAMENTS.         629 

)me  limitations,  in  France  and  Switzerland.  An  administration 
tliat  can  and  must  be  changed  the  moment  it  has  lost  the  confidence 
of  the  legislature  is  a  purely  British  institution.  Connection  with 
the  empire  or  separation  from  it  was  the  issue  which  the  Governor 
jjresented  to  the  constituencies.  He  warned  credulous  and  illiterate 
fanners  that  if  they  allowed  the  existing  system  to  be  altered  or 
*'  what  may  be  termed  improved,  they  and  their  children  became 
instantly  liable  to  find  themselves  suddenly  deprived  of  their  property 
and  of  what  is  better  than  all  property,  their  freedom  and  inde- 
pendence." These  dire  results,  which  would  spring  from  managing 
their  own  affairs,  are  almost  as  alarming  as  the  prognostications  of 
Lord  Derby  and  Mr.Goachen  on  the  consequences  of  granting  autonomy 
to  Ireland.  The  Governor's  popnlar  eloqaence,  his  perfect  reliance  on 
his  own  fantastic  theories,  supplemented  (as  it  was  afterwards  alleged 
on  the  authority  of  his  successor,  Lord  Durham)  by  undue  official 
pressure,  obtained  a  majority  in  the  ensuing  Assembly  in  favour  of 
his  policy.  How  his  labour  bore  no  fruit,  and  how  he  got  into  trouble 
with  the  Colonial  Office  and  had  to  resign,  are  topics  beside  my 
present  purpose. 

The  experiment  of  Lord  Gosford  in  the  French  province  fared  no 

better.     The  Assembly  received  him  graciously  for  a  time  ;  but  having 

accidentally  discovered  that  he  came  out  with  instructions  to  refuse  an 

elective  Upper  Chamber  (wluch  fact  he  had  concealed  from  them),  and 

their  most  important  Jjills  having  session   after  session   been  thrown 

oat  by  the  Chamber  which  he  proposed   to  retain  (a  hundred   and 

tihirty  Bills  were  thrown  out  in  nine  Bessions),  they  refused  supplies, 

^m.d  declined  tx)   meet   till  measures    were    initiated    to    bring    the 

"two  Chambers  into  more  reasonable  accord.       But  before  separating 

t-hey  agreed  to  an  Address  to  the  Crown,  where,  after  recalling  the 

■fidelity  with  which  a  people  difft-ring  in   race  and  religion  from   the 

balk  of  the  empire  had  maintained  its  allegiance,  they  specified  the 

measures  necessary  in  their  judgment  to  the  good  government  and 

tranquinity  of  the  pro%'ince.      The  list  of  these  measures  shows  that 

the  French  colonists  had,  at  length,  reached  a  clear  and  harmoniou.s 

idea   of  the   British  Constitution.     They  were  nearly  identical  with 

the  concessions  already  specified,   which  were  insisted   upon   by  tha 

Upper  Province.      It  is  no  longer  necessary  to  justify  these  demands ; 

the  principles  contended  for,  though  they  were  still  stubbornly  resisted 

in  Downing  Street,  are  now  in  full  operation  in  every  British  colony 

Capable  of  giving  them  effect,* 

•  The  most  briUiant  campni^fn  i"n  tliis  war  for  colonial  rights  was  fought  by  Monsieur 

**apincttu,  leader  of  tbe  Lugislutive  Asseuibly  in  Lower  C'nimda,  and  his  associates  of 

I -1''*  re  rich  extraction;  uiitl  I   tyinnot  dony  nxTfielf  tho  wiTisfaction  of  noting  that  the 

-utholic  Legislature  uii<ier  hirt  control  )>aiiMHl  laws  anieliorulirg  th*:  comlition  of  Jews 

>-nd  Wciilcyaa  Methodi-stf,  and  granted  a  liberal  gratuity  to  Joseph  Lancaster,  the 

^tuakei  reformer  of  educatijn. 


630 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mat 


But  the  responsible  Ministers  in  England  wlio  bad  succeeded  the  irre- 
sponsible Sovereign  discerned  the  right  road  scarcely  more  clearly  than 
he  bad  done.  Lord  John  TlusseU  invited  the  House  of  Commons  to 
declare  that  it  was  inadvisiible  to  render  the  executive  in  Canada  re- 
sponsible to  the  local  legislators,  or  to  make  the  Upper  House  elective, 
and  the  House  of  Commons,  which  has  never  failed  to  second  any  attempt 
to  suppress  colonial  Uberty,  cheerfully  assented.  As  supplies  had  been 
refused,  the  House  of  Commons  was  further  moved,  and  promptly 
agi'eed  to  perniit  the  Colonial  Office  to  take  out  of  the  treasury  of 
the  Canadian  people  the  local  revenue  which  their  own  legislatures  had 
declined  to  grant.  I  pray  you  to  note  that  I  am  not  describing  the 
policy  of  Lord  North,  and  the  dark  ages  of  the  first  three  Georges, 
but  the  reign  of  William  the  Reformer  and  Queen  Victoria,  and  the 
policy  of  a  Whig  Minister,  whom  benevolent  critics  have  quite  recently 
pronounced  to  bo  a  statesman  and,  in  some  exceptionally  happy 
moments,  almost  an  orator. 

The  design  of  seizing  on  their  money  by  the  authority  of  the  Hoase 
of  Commons,  which  bad  no  more  right  to  expend  it  than  to  tax  the 
other  North  American  coloniea  more  than  half  a  century  earlier,  created 
a  ferment.*  Meetings  were  held  in  almost  every  county,  and  resolu- 
tions adopted  to  consume  no  article  which  contributed  to  the  revenue 
about  to  be  illegally  seized.  And  as  magistrates  and  militia  officers 
who  attended  these  meetings  were  dismissed,  the  people  elected  pacifi- 
cators to  act  in  lieu  of  the  magistrates,  and  enrolled  Volunteers,  who 
elected  their  own  officers  to  replace  the  militia.  The  Assembly  met, 
and  again  refused  supplies  ;  they  were  immediately  dissolved  by  pro- 
clamation. Great  confusion  ensued;  the  loyal  party,  as  those  who 
supported  a  coiTupt  local  executive  denominated  themselves,  broke 
into  and  demolished  the  office  of  a  newspaper  favouring  the  Assembly, 
and  some  of  the  popular  leaders  were  immediately  arrested.  Though 
it  was  the  era  of  reform  in  England^  it  was  still  the  era  of  the  Stuarts 
in  the  colonies,  and  there  seemed  no  remedy  but  force.  The  an-ests 
were  resisted,  and  a  partial  insurrection  broke  out,  in  which  the  insur- 
gents who  had  made  no  preparations  for  war  were  promptly  defeated. 
But  their  blood  was  no  more  shed  in  vain  than  the  blood  of  John 
Brown ;  from  that  hour  speedy  and  sweeping  reform  became  in- 
evitable. 

In  the  upper  province  the  sons  of  the  men  who  had  clung  to  their 
allegiance,  to  the  ruin  of  their  fortunes,  were  also  exasperated  into  a 

*  There  was  of  course  resistanco  by  the  friends  of  1  lie  Colonies,  but  it  was  ineffectual. 
In  the  riouse  of  Lords,  Lord  Brougham  protested  against  thf  resolations,  as  sabvcr- 
siveof  "tbo  fundamcntaJ  principle  of  theBrilish  constitntion,  that  no  part  of  the  taxes 
levied  on  the  people  fihould  beapplied  to  any  purpose  whatever  without  the  conseatof 
their  representatives  in  Parliument,  and  he  predicted  that  an  impression  wonld  inevit- 
ably be  propagated  in  Colonies  that  the  people  can  never  .•rifely  entmst  the  powers  of 
govemnjent  to  any  supreme anthority  not  residing  aTnong  themselves  "—a  truth  wl "  " 
they  have  sicce  come  very  thoroughly  to  understand. 


iS^oJ 


BRITISH  COLONIES  AND  PARLIAMENTS. 


631 


risixxg  in  arms.     They  rose  under  a   democratic    Scotch   journalist, 

narn^rti    Mackenzie,  and  though   they   were  suppressed    in    the   first 

in^-fccfcTice,  the  fire   broke  out   in  new  places  for  nearly  a  year.     The 

aix3.£kl  ler  colonies  neighbouring  Canada  were  also  agitated  by  political 

id^ivs.    Newfoundland  refused  supplies  until  grievances  were  redressed, 

and    2^ova  Scotia  and  Priuce  Edward's  Island  demanded  an  elective 

coxxncil.      It  was  at  length  plain  to  most  reasonable  pei-sons  that  the 

3r*itLsh  American  colonists  could  no  longer  be  ruled  despotically,  and 

ttxE^t,  if  they  could,  the  pleasure  was  scarcely  worth  the  price,  as  the 

t'wro    Canadian  outbreaks  had  cost  the  Imperial  treasury  between  four 

and    five  millions  sterling.    There  were  some,  however,  to  whom  it  was 

aot^     even  yet  plain,   among  them  Lord    John  Russell.      The  noble 

Ljord     proceeded    to    vindicate     authority,    by   inducing    Parliament 

to      suspend   the   constitution  of  Lower  Canada,   and  confer  upon  a 

Grovemor-General  and  nominee  Council  absolute  power  over  the  colony. 

The  Governor-General,  however,  was  Lord  Durham,  the  leader  of  the 

party  in   England  most  in  harmony  with   the  colonists,  a  powerful 

tiolale  who   had  recently  been  a  Cabinet  Minister,  and  he  went  out 

accompanied  by  several  notable  friends  of  colonial  rights.     In  addition 

to  iiis  oflSce  of  Governor-General,  he  was  apixjinted  High  Commissioner, 

ant^liorised  to  inquire  into  and,  as  far  as  possible,  adjust  all  questions 

resjDecting  the  form  and  administration  of  the   civil   government,  and 

•^F^ort  the  result  to  the  Queen .     Causes  beyond  the  range  of  my 

pre-sent  inquiry  brought  his  mission  to  a  premature  close,  bat  not  before 

''&     liad  reported  upon  the  actual  condition  of  Canada.      His  report  is 

oj*-^  of  the  most  remarkaT>le  papers  connected  with  colonial  history.    It 

'^'^-s  said  at  the  time,  in  the  epigrammatic  way  that  aims  at  wit  rather 

th-^^n  truth,  that  Gibbon  Wakefield  thought  this  Stat^  Paper,  Charles 

_  '^^er  wrote  it,  and  Lord  Durham  signed  it.    Whoever  was  its  author, 

**^     i-6  only  just  to  remember  that  Louis  Papineau  had  anticipated  it. 

^*^      said,  in  official   language,  indeed,  and  therefore  with  more  weight 

**-*■  ^  authority,  what  Le  had  repeatedly  said  as  leader  of  the  Opposition. 

*^      recognised  the  fundamental  principle  to  which  officials  had  long  shut 

^-•-^ir  eyes,  that  those  who  are  fit  to  make  laws  must  be  entrusted  to 

**^  minister  them,  and  this  principle  is  the  basis  of  colonial  liberty.     It 

^■^^ vised  the  union  of  the  two   provinces  under  one  legislature,   and 

''^^^wgnised  the  justice  of  nearly  all  the  claims  the  Canadians  had  put 

^<^Tward.* 

And  now  the  battle  of  colonial  rights  it  may  be  supposed  was  won  ; 
*-^Xit  not  so.      The  Colonial  Secretary  of  that  era,  who  is  best  remem- 
*^*«red  for  having  left  1500  unopened  letters  in  his  closet  in  Downing 
^^treet,  was  one  of  the  last  men  in  Europe  to  recognise  the  inevitable 

•  tht  report  described  the  policy  of  England  towards  her  colonies  in  tenia  which  it 
■  nay  be  nscfu)  to  recall.  "  It  was  a  policy  founded  on  imperfect  information  ;  and  con- 
*  1  acted  by  continually  changing  hukds;  and  has  exhibited  to  the  colony  a  itysteni  of 
vacillation  which  was,  in  fact,  no  ejBlemat  all." 


THE  coynatPo/tAMT 


^Vm 


of  laid  Dtok 


mUmA 
to  effect  aa  nmoB  of  the 
iiiwuilwlity  in  tite  «'iwli>e  eaanefl. 
y»c»iwd  fxtm  Lord  Jcim  P— >11  May  In 
report  vhicfa  b«  wofc  hoine  to  lus  dief  o£ 


w*  ft  bit  afaud  [ha  wnitel  of  dM  Bm 
adr  dona  ancfc  to  poi  it  .oowa  m  ibi 


1    11^ 


-1 
Imvc  atraadjr  dona  anck  to  pot 

ilioilnaand  tlM>  thifrrirmtT-iiJ^niiirilihnllif  rwiiawiMti  fiT^ 
aad  tiMt  tha  Oovtnor  ihill  take  tkor  adriea  aad  be  bond  by  k. 
tjiis  damand  hnjrrrn  aiade  maA  man  for  tlw  peapla  tkan  by 
I  baire  aoi  mat  witb  aaj  oaa  vbo  b«a  not  at  onoe  tdiiHwl  tbe 
of  cfauaung  to  pot  tba  Goanol  over  tlie  bead  of  tba  GofrBnor."  * 

Governor  Tborapaoo  proceeded  in  tliia  spuit  to  appoint  a 
'*  which  would  affijrd  no  triumph  to  either  party  **  (that  is  to  say^^ 
Coancit  which  waa  iwl  reqMMunble,  for  respoosibilitT  depends  on  tA 
^amph  of  party).  He  interfered  actiTely  in  electaoos,  and,  in  sho^ 
began  to  plaj  the  part,  not  of  a  Goremor,  bat  of  a  Prime  "Mtwlii^ii^ 
Bred  np  in  the  House  of  Conmions  hiinself^  it  never  scans  to  ha.^ 
oocnrred  to  him  that  it  was  precisely  the  system  which  was  ia  oper^ 
tiou  there  that  he  was  now  called  apon  to  organise  in  another  regiova 
But  it  is  only  just  to  yir.  Thompson  and  succeeding  Governors 
bear  in  mind  that  they  r^arded  themselves  simply  as  agents  of  ^ 
Colonial  Office,  and  considered  precise  fidelity  to  their  instmctioDS  sa 
the  highest  fulfilment  of  their  duty.  The  misgovemment 
imported  article  manufactured  in  Downing  Street. 

The  premature  death  of  Lord  Sydenham,  and  a  change  of  Gf<wi 
ment  in  England,  transferred  the  control  of  Colonial  policy  to  S3 
Robert  Peel.  To  his  practical  intellect  it  was  plain  that  where 
legislature  exists  you  must  have  the  responsibility  of  the  Executive  a* 
the  necessary  complement  of  it,  or,  failing  this,  perpetual  war  between 
the  legislature  and  the  administration.  The  new  Governor,  Sir  Charle<< 
Baj,'ot,  was  authorised  to  call  to  his  councils  a  Cabinet,  selected  oui 
of  the  Ket'orm  party  in  Upper  Canada  and  the  French  Canadians  ir: 
Lower  Canada,  who  agreed  in  policy,  and  commanded  together  £ 
complete  majority  in  the  Assembly  of  the  United  Provinces.  The 
Baldwin-Lafontaine  Administration,  as  it  was  named,  led  by  an  Iri^hi 
Protefitant  of  remarkable  ability  and  a  French  Catholic  of  great 
personal  influence,  consisted  of  men  who  understood  their  task  andl 

•  Despatch  to  Lord  John  RusseU,  December  1839. 


i89ol  BRITISH  COLONIES  AND  PARLIAMENTS,  633 

their  position.  The  leaders  of  it  had  repeatedly  refused  office  in 
mongrel  councils  with  imperfect  responsibility,  and  one  of  them  had 
been  denounced  in  a  proclamation  as  a  fugitive  rebel ;  and  now,  for 
tixG  first  time  in  any  colony,  there  existed  a  Government  in  harmony 
Tvit^lx  itself  and  with  the  Assembly.  Those  who  had  been  driven  to 
the  brink  of  insurrection  a  few  years  before  came  themselves  to 
govexn  and  governed  wisely  aud  justly. 

The  experiment  of  Parliameat^iry  responsibility  had  for  a  time  fair 
play  ;  the  more  so  that  the  failing  health  of  the  Governor,  who  soon 
l>eoa.7ue  incapable  of  active  attention  to  busiuesSj  permitted  the  con- 
stitntional  practice  of  government  by  MInisti?r3  to  come  into  operation 
'vs'itliout  further  contest.  But  he  died  while  his  work  was  bat  half  done. 
Sir  Charles  Metcalfe,  who  had  won  reputation  by  ability  and  devotion 
*^  the  Civil  Service  of  India,  but  who  was  wholly  unacquainted  with 
-»***-rl  lament ary  government,  was  sent  out  to  succeed  him.  He  found  the 
-"^Idwin-Lafontaine  Cabinet  in  office  and  in  the  effectual  control 
^f  X'^hlic  affairs.  To  the  Indian  satrap  a  scheme  of  government  in 
^*^**ich  the  wishes  of  the  people  dictated  the  policy  to  be  pursued  was 

*  Oomplete  puzzle  ;   and,  as  he  possessed  a  strong  will  aud  a  profound 
^^if-respect,  he  tisked  himself  in  some  consternation  what,  under  such 

*  System,  would  become  of  the  Governor.  His  ideal  of  a  Colonial 
^^ministration  was  the  old  imjwsaible  one,  of  a  Council  selected  from 
^*l  parties,  acting  under  the  direction  of  a  Viceroy.  The  first  critical 
'^"Ueetion  that  arose  was  whetlier  his  Ministers  were  to  dispoi^  of  tho 
T^oblic  patronage,  as  the  Queen's  Ministers  disposed  of  it  in  England. 

■tiord  Metcalfe  was  of  opinion  that  he  would  degrade  his  office  and 
Violato   his  duty  if  he  permitted   this   to  be  done ;   and   that,  on  the 
^^ntrary,  .he  would   maintain    his    character    and    perform   his    duty 
effectually  by  disposing  of  it  himselfj  to  persons  recommended  from 
X>owning  Street,  or  who  had  won  his  personal  confidence  during  his 
brief    residence    in    the   colony.     He    was   jealous  of    his  constitu- 
tional advisers  calling  themselves  the  "  Ministry,"  the  '•  Cabinet,"  or 
tile  "  Government,"  lest  their  pretensions  should   be  in  accordance 
with   this  nomenclature,   for   he  was  determined  to   be  himself  the 
Oovemment.     As  may  be  anticipated,  he  speedily  came  to  a  quarrel 
■With  his  advisers,  and  they  resigned.     The  last  serious  contest  for  the 
despotic  management  of  colonies  now  commenced.     It  is  not  within 
^Vie  scope  of  this  brief  sketch  to  follow  it  into  detail.      But,  happily, 
it  was  not  found  an  easy  task  to  rule  a  community  which  had  tasted 
■     ■*"«>spon8ible  government,  contrary  to  the  will  of  its  legislature.      Sir 
^L    CJharles  Metcalfe  applied  to  all  political  sections  in  vain.     The  great 
^■^^fices  of  State  were  hawked  from  one  petty  faction  to  another,  but  no 
^F  ^fc^ministration  could  be  formed  on  the  principle  of  subservience  to  the 
I     ■^^l  of  the  Governor.      Six  gentlemen  in  succession  refused  the  office 
I     ^*f  Attorney-General  for  the  Lower  Province,  and  the  colony  was  kept 

I  VOL.  LTU.  2  T 


684 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVTKW. 


mppoL^^ 


half  a  year  without  an   Execntire.      Ill© 

suffered  from  the  want  of  retpoosible  ofBoera  Id 

the  oommercial  credit  of  the  cocmtiy  was  endaztgcRdL 

lieved  that  the  rerenae  woulil  dednie  daDgi»Qndj  ;  koC 

persuaded  that  all  things  onght  to  be  riaioed 

the  anthority  of  the  Crofwa.    The  4)Tiestiaii  trmDr  i* 

the  colony  should  be  gorenied  hy  the  wat/t 

Canadian  BtataBmen,  or  bjr  an  honest  stid 

India,  who  oosld  not  help  regarding  tbe  ooloBists 

dnsky  bat  m-^rre  troablesotne  Hindoos,  end  th^ 

goremment  as  chiiii>^cal  and  fatal 

He  dissolred  the  ABsembly ,  and  with  coorag^oos  i 
to  the  constituencies  to  sastoin  him  agSLinst  a  sptt^e*  «f 
inconsistent  iritb  the  Britiah  connection.     A  fierce 
which  party  pagnons  and  mob  riolence  ran  riot.     Wh«3i  the . 
met  there  appteazed  to  b<;  tvn   insignificant  and  imeBrt 
favonr  of  the  Goreroor  ^  but  the  contest  had  broken  ^otm.  ioM 
he  resigned,  in  Sovember,  1S45,  and  went  to  Kngtand   where  he 
prematurely ;  a  dtsastrons  fate,  which  bdfefl  so  isaiiy  Goreraoa 
gaged  in  the  hopeless  experiment,  of  tmrning  bai^  the  Sammg 
Before  his  death,   Lord   Stanley  and  Sir  Robert  Peel 
him  to  the  Qneen  for  a  peerage,  not  for  his  Indian  serrinai, 
recognition  of  "the  zeal,  ability,  and  prudence  "  he  had 
Canada ! — a  melandioly  evidence  of  how  imperfeetly  the  troe 
ciple  of  governing  colonies  waa  aa  yet  nndentood  in  Viestada^ttr- 

It  is  impossible  to  deny  to  Metcalfe  or  Lord  Sydenham 
even  noble,  qaaUties.     They  had  no  affinity  with   tie  greedy 
servile    parasites    of   power,    who    have    sometimes    been    m^fOKO^-' 
Colonial  Governors.     They  did  their  wort  nnder  the  depi 
fluence  of  damaged  health  and  an  nnfriendly  climate^  with  nnflinciD^s^^^^ 
courage ;  sustained  by  a  sense  of  duty,  and  the  sympathy  of  a 
circle    of  imperfectly   informed    friends    in    England.      It   was 
after  a  contest,  which   before  it  concluded   had  lasted  more  thao 
generation,  that    success    was    at   last   won.     In  1847,  Lord  Eip 
was  sent  out  by  the  present  Earl  Grey  with  instructions  founded  uj 
his  memorable  but  somewhat  tardy  declaration  that  "  it  is  neither  ] 
ble  nor  desirable  to  carry  on  the  government  of  any  of  the  Britfeh  pr 
vinces  in  North  America  in  opposition  to  the  opinion  of  the  cokmists. 
And  now,  at  length,  notwithstanding  the  repeated  declarations  o* 
Parliament,  notwithstanding  the  secret  instructions  of  William  IV. 
notwithstanding  the  express  refusal  of  a  long  line  of  Secretaries  of-* 
State — all  that  Canada  ever  asked  was  conceded.    Responsible  govem-- 
ent  was  formally  adopted.    The  despotic  Viceroyalty,  for  which 
etcalfe  and  Sir  Francis  Head  contended  so  resolutely,  disappeared  i 
impleti'ly  as  the  divine  right  of  the  Stuarts.     The  Executive 
3  responsible  to  the  Assembly.     The  Governor  takes  the  advice  of) 


iS^o] 


BRITISH  COLONIES  AND  PARLIAMENTS. 


635 


I 


Ooimcil  and  is  bound  by  it.  He  is  habitually  represented  at  meetings 
of  "tlie  Council  by  a  Presidentj  on©  of  the  Ministers,  to  secure  freedom 
axi-cl  privacy  in  their  deliberntioiis.  The  entire  patronage  of  the  State, 
•^j^ritiliout  limitation,  is  in  the  hands  of  Ministers,  And  instead  of  being 
^  "t>ody  which  the  Governor  may  consult  with  liberty  to  take  or 
re  j  e-ct  their  advice,  he  can  perform  no  act  of  State  without  the  express 
s£LXLction  and  concurrence  of  a  Minister  representing  the  people.  And 
ti-V*^**  system  was  as  completely  in  operation  before  the  federal  union  of 
tiilie  neighbouring  colonies  with  Canada  as  it  has  been  since  that  event. 
Tlaas  the  birth  and  parentage  of  colonial  rights  are  traceable  to  the 
aoil  of  Canada. 

The  apprehension  of  timid  rulers  that  these  concessions  would 
lead  to  the  loss  of  the  colony,  was  ko  far  from  being  fulfilled  that 
Caxiada  was  never  so  contented  and  never  more  determined  to  maintain 
the  connection.      In  18 18,  friends  of  the  new  French  Republic  invited 

I     the   Lower  Canadians    to   associate    themselves  with    their    kinsmen 
at   home,  and  they  would  probably  have  don©  so  had  they  remained 
discontented;    but   they    declined    on    the    ground  of   their   strong 
oonJIdence    in    the    Government    under    which    they    lived.      That 
Government   had   secared  their   confidence,   by  holding  the   balance 
fairly  between  the  parties  of  which  the  community  is  formed.     On© 
**^^tance  becatne  memorable.     Acts  of  Parliament  were  passed  com- 
pensating the  "  Loyalists "  (as  they  designated  themselves),  who  had 
suffered  losses  by  the  insurrection  of  1837.     It  was  then  proposed  to 
•compensate  the  French  Canadians  whose  property  had  been  destroyed 

■  "y   violent  mobs  of  the  loyal  party,  and  finally  to  compensate  those 
^■"O  had  suffered  by  taking  part  in  actual   resistance  to  the  Queen's 

*^*^ps.   This  la-st  measure  met  with  violent  opposition  in  Canada,  chiefly 

■  *^**iong  those  who  shared  the  first  compensation,  and  was  not  looked 

pOrx  with  much  favour  in  England.  But  the  Government  stood  on 
^**'*4  ground.  The  rights  for  which  the  insurgents  contended  had 
^^^®*\  since  conceded  and  ought  never  to  have  been  denied.      These 

».^^^'**t.ling  and  unprecedented  proposals  became  law,  and  a  dozen  years 
^'^l",  Mr.  Gladstone,  in  a  lectins  upon  Colonisation,  admitted  that 
«^^^  were  just  and  reasonable.  They  were  as  politic  as  they  were 
~^*t.^  for  it  is  certain  that  fhey  produced  among  the  population  of  French 
^Oent  the  conviction  of  fair  play,  which  is  the  basis  of  successful 
^-*v-emment. 

'X'o  the  other  North    American   Colonies    responsible  government 
^^  also  granted,  and  has  worked  with  more  or  less  success,  according 
the  capacity  of  the  men  who  administer  it,  but  in  all  cases  it  has 
*'^^^>«lttccd  friendly  relations  with  the  Home  Government. 

The  narrative   now  passes  to  Australia.     New   South   Wales,  the 

t  colony  of  that  continent,  was  originally  established  as  a  penal 

^"tlement,  before  the  commencement  of  the  present  century-      For 

than  an  entire  generation  it  was  managed  solely  with 


^^1 


636 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Ma- 


the  personal  profit  and  pleasure  of  the  gaolers  and  military  officials 
charge  of  it.    They  enjoyed  a  sort  of  antipodean  ^;a^s  t/i  Cctatyne,  whi( 
Bupplied  them  with  estateti  by  freo  grant,  to  be  cultivated  by  convi^ 
labourers  who  received  no  wages,  and  they  were  empowered  to  can 
on   trade   which  was  liable  to  no  competition.      They  had  compl 
control  of  the  convicts,  and  were   eaid  to  have    established   as   cl 
a  monopoly  for  their  vices  as  for  their  interests.     But  by  degrees 

immigration  of  free  settlers  took  place;  large  sums  were  invested    

flocks  and  herds,  and  a  portion  of  the  land  revenue  was  expended^^^ 
paying  the  passages  of  industrious  settlers  from  the  United  Kingdc::^:^:;:^ 
The  descendants  of  the  original  convicts  wrre  in  many  cases  en^fcii^ 
prising  and  respectable  men,  and  among  recent  convicts  there  was  alw-  .^^| 
a  small  class  whose  sentences  did  not  necessarily  imply  any  moral  "t  -ra  fjj 
The   new   men    were    doterroined   to   obtain    self-government.  4 

Patriotic  Association  waa  founded  to  arouse  and  direct  public  opiai<33n. 
The  convict  system  was  denounced  as  the  curse  of  new  counti-i  ^s, 
sowing  their   virgin  soil  with   rotten  seed.     The  right  of  the  Cro«?*Ti 
to  the  !and  revenue  was  denied,  and  a  representative  Assembly  ts^-** 
claimed,  which  would  give  the  colonists  some  control  over  their  ov  ^r^n 
affairs.     The   Imperial    Parliament    was   vehemently  and   repeate<f    -^T 
appealed  to  for  these  concessions,    and   the    London  press  partialJ^^^^ 
awakened  to   the  interests  at  stake.     iSome  results   were  obtain 
In  1641,  the  system  of  assigning  convict  servants  was  abolished, 
shortly  afterwards  the  practice  of  sending  convicts  to  the  colony  w 
abandoned.     And  in   1843   Lord   Stanley,  then  Secretary  of   Stal 
conceded  to  their  prayers  a  representative  Assembly,  to  be  denominate 
the  Legislative  Council  of  New   South  Wales.     The   experiment,  i 
must  be  confessed,  was  not  rashly  made  ;  the  franchise  was  restrict 
the    seats  were    skilfully    distributed    t<)    evade    i>opular    influenc 
and  the  nomination  of   one-third  of  Ihe  body  was   retained  by  th 
Crown ;  that  is  to  say,  by  the  Governor.     But  the  new  Legislatu 
provided  at  any  rate  a  platform  from  which  the  completion  of  its  owcr 
powers  could  be  demanded  with  unwonted  authority — for  this  is  th 
first  work  to  which  a  maimed  and  imperfect  Legislature  is  sure  to  be  pu^' 

Tht'    career  of  the  new  body  proved  the  ripeness   of  the    colon*' 
for  self-government.      Among  the  members  were   several   who  sin& 
became  Ministers  of  State  under  the  responsible  syBt^ero,  some  wh- 
led  the  free  Parliament  of  New   Soath   Wales  as   Premiers,   seven*^^^^ 
who  have  been   considered  worthy    of  havijig   hereditary  rank  coi 
ferred  upon  them,  and  one  who  has   won  also  the  higher  distinctior 
of  a  reputation  familiar  to  both    hemispheres.      Robert  Lowe  was 
^mber,  and   with  him  one  whom  the  people  of  New  South  Wall 
{»rd   as   his  equal   in    masculine   eloquence,    and    his  sujierior   i-^^^-—] 
.riotism  and  political  resources,  William   Charles  Wentworth,  tlc^^^^ 
.reateat  native  that  the  continent  has  yet  produced. 
Such   an  Assembly  naturally  made   an   inspection  of    the  a£fa 


I 


B>]         JEUrXSS  COLOXIES  AXD  PARUAMESTS.  637 

tSie  viiaaj,  sad  fcond  ercfTviMre  tiie  rBBolbi  oC  ai^gownuiMnt 

•JuuujAiaiu     Hie  cliwcifBii  kadt  bad  been  gtaaled  mwmj  ia  h«g« 

infiffidnJa  by  tiie  Goknad   Offioa.     Then   uv 

peen  wiiose  vaifeed  esbttes  ^Mnild  not  ooutitiite  % 

wm  Imgo  or  »■  valsilile  ■■  luid  been  aqondered  ia  tliis 

The  Tcvauw  wbs  disused  of  by  Impeml  autboritv  ocmtmy 

iaos  of  tiie  oolmial  lUgna  Ckarta.     The  jodgos 

t^  ykamuv  of  the  Secretaiy  of  State,  asd  the  cokniflto 

[  iB  wjyurt  tlie  remnant  of  a  convict  estaUi&bmcnt  consist - 

1  of  whom  the  British  tajqiayers  wen  rdieved.    Tkoght 

in  Ouiada,  Wentirarth  and  his  ooU«agnes  demanded 

gawaaattat,  and  plenarr  powers  of  legislation.     By  this 

dw  ahmj  had  eeased  for  ten  years  to  be  a  rec«'ptacle  for  British 

A  eciiiwdiiable  dass  of  native  gentlemen,  many  of  them 

«d*icated  in  dte  Bi^iish  tmirersities,  rejoiced  in  the  name  of  Anstra- 

;  WentaKidii  &cd  them  with  the  large  political  ambiii<m  which, 

while  »  fltodep^  wanned  his  own  breast^  and  bade  then  noi 

of  emjiiie,  becanse  of  their  origin. 

'  Did  BM  of  otd  Uie  iaiperui]  aiglBni«, 
Halehed  ia  aa  aerie  ioater  Carltea  this  !"  • 

*Alte  cuhaiiiitB  had  justified  their  political  ambition  by  great  per- 
^kej  owned  property  in  land  and  honses  worth  thirty 
'■■■Tlioas  sterling.     They  had  established  breweries,  distilleries,  and 
other  simple  manofactcries  as  first  arise  in  a  new  comraintity. 
i^sy  exported  wool  and  hides  to  the  value  of  a  million  and  a  half 
■liog^  and  the  public   revenue  from  all  sonrces  approached  half  a 
■"-"^^lioa.       The    popnlation    had    increased    to    nearly    two    hundred 
■^-taonaand,  of  whom  less  than  three  thousand  were  convicts,  and  more 
*^**^ui  eight  hundred  belonged  to  the  learned  professions.      Such  a  com- 
**^aity  had  quite  outgrown  the  swaddling-clothes  of  the  Colonial  OflSce. 
In  1850  the  claims  of  the  colonists  for  plenary  powers  of  legislation 
at  length  recognised  by  a  somewhat  timid  but  essentially  just 
^■id  reasonable  concession.     The  Assembly  was  authorised  to  frame  a 
*^*^iX8Utution  for  New  South  Wales  within  certain  specified  limits,  which 
^**^«nre  should  be  afterwards  submitted  for  approval  or  rejection  to  the 
'**perial  parliament.  Mr.  Wentworth  induced  the  Council  to  employ  the 
**^^er  conferred  upon  them  in  a  very  effectual  manner,  and  one  for  which 
Z^^**  was  no  precedent  in  the  Canadian  struggle  or  elsewhere.   A  Select 
^-^lUmittee  was  appointed  to  frame  a  Constitution,  but  instead  of  confin- 
es themselves  within  the  narrow  limits  prescribed,  he  led  them  to  pre- 
*^*o  a  measure  which,  if  it  became  law,  would  recognise  and  legalise 
*     their  claims  as   completely  as  the    Bill  of  Rights   emboilied  the 
*^*"^-iiciplcs  demanded  in  the  Petition  of  Rights. f     As  such  a  measure 

Caiuhridpi?  priio  poem  on  Anxtralin  Viy  W.  C,  Wentworth. 
•^  T  ■■  ■  i!t*e  consisted  of  Mr.  Wentworth  (Chairman)  ;  5fr.   DnnaldKon  (after- 

1^^  -vait  DonaW.'ion,  first  Prime  Minii>U<r  of  New  Sontli  Walc.^)  ;  Mr,  Cowper 

^**~.....i.jc    bir   Chark-a   Cowper.   for   several    years   Prime   Minister);    Mr.    JamcA 


688 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mat 


■as 
se 


was  clearly  vltra  vires,  a  Bill  was  at  the   same   time  prepared  fo 
the  Imperial  Parliament  which  would  cure  this  defect-     This  Consti 
tutiou  marks  the  third  great  step  in  the  struggle  for  Colonial  liberty 
It  distinctly  provided  or  implied  that  the  Executive  Council  must  fo^ 
the  future  consist  of  certain  heads  of  departments  having  seats  in 
Legialatore,  and  that  all  appointments  t^j  offices  in  the  Colony  shonl 
be  mode  by  the   Governor  with   their  advice — this  was  responsilx 
government.     And  that  the  Legislature,  consisting  of  two  Hon& 
should  be  empowered   to   make  laws  regulating  the  disposal  of  t 
public  lands,  and  for  the   peace,  welfare,  and  good  government  of 
Colony  in  all   cases  whatever.     This  was  a  Parliament  with  pleni 
powers. 

But  the  measure  was  substantially  a  conservative  one,  and  exu 
perated  the  partisans  of  extreme  democracy.  The  Upper  House  ^« 
not  to  be  elective,  but  a  power  was  retained  to  create  an  elective  Hox 
within  five  years  if  the  new  Legislature  desired  it.  And  it  was  pc-"^o. 
vided  that  no  fundamental  part  of  the  Constitution  coold  be  alter^ed 
without  an  absolute  majority  of  both  Houses  on  the  second  and  thi  j^"l 
reading  (a  provision  copied  from  the  Constitution  of  Canada)  and  Ih  -^^ 
Bills  affecting  Imperial  interests  might  be  reserved  for  the  Queen^»^ 
pleasure,  and  be  disallowed  at  any  time  within  two  years. 

The  contest  in  Canada,  which  was  long  at   an  end,  might  ha 
taught  the  Imperial  Government  the  policy  suitable  to  Australia ; 
experience  seems  to  have  existed  for  them  in  vain.      When  a  diffical 
arose  in  one  hemisphere,  which  had  already  perplexed  and  in  the  en 
overwhelmed   them   in   another,  they  encountered  it  like  aboriginals* 
as  if  stich  a  phenomenon  was  unheard  of.      New  South  Wales  had  th 
question  of  responsible  government  to  fight  over  again,  as  if  Canad 
had  never  existed.     It  would  be  to  their  detriment,  they  were  assnre^--^ 
to  grant  them  the  local  patronage  of  the  Colony. 

"  Her  Majesty's  Government  could  not  i-ecognise  in  the  inhabitants 
New  South  Wales  any  monopoly  of  the  right  to  such  offices,  and  so  preclut 
their  being  bestowed  on  otlier  of  Her  Majesty's  subjet^ts.     The  inhabitants  ( 
New   South  Wales  were   not  considered  disqualified  for  receiving  simiht 
appointments  in  other  colonies  or  at  home  ;  nor  could  anything  be  mor 
injurious  to  the  interests  of  the  British  Empire  than  to  lay  down  a  rule  b;* 
which  the  Empii-e  would  bo  broken  up  into  a  number  of  small  communities 
the  m©mbei"R  of  each  of  which  should  bo  considered  as  only  admissible 
employment  in  that  to  which  they  more  immediately  belonged." 

It  was  a  rash  experiment  to  send  a  vapoury  placebo  like  this 
men  so  able  and  well-informed  as  the  popular  leaders  in  New  Sout 
Wales.     Their  answer  was  direct  and  fatal  as  a  volley  from  a  mitral 
leuse.     They  had  never   proposed  (they   said)  to   restrict    the  k 

MacAjthnr,  Mr.  Murray  (afterwarfls  Sir  Aubrey  Murray,  President  of  the  Legislati* 
Council) ;  Mr.  Laiub,  Mr.  Marlin  (afterward.s  Sir  Jiimes  Martin,  Allomev-g'ciieral  ai 
Prime  Minister)  ;  Mr.  Plunkctt  (then  Altornej-peneral  and  afterwards  Prc^deat  of  ti 
Legislative  Council) ;  the  Colonial  Secretary,  Mr.  De.a.s  Thompson  and  Mr.  Douglass. 


B9o: 


BRITISH  COLONIES  AND  PARLIAMENTS. 


639 


>atronago  to  the  inhabitants  of  New  South;  Wales.  ^Vhat  they  pro- 
josetl  and  insisted  on  was  that  all  appointments  in  the  Colony  should 
»e  distributed  among  persons  who  were  thought  fit  for  them  by  a 
ocal  Ministry  enjoying'  the  confidence  of  a  local  parliament,  not  by 
fentlemen  in  Downing  Street  irresponsible  to  the  Colony.  As  for 
ihe  quaUficatiou  of  the  inhabitants  of  New  South  Wales  to  receive 
iippointments  in  England  or  the  coloniea,  they  did  not  think  it  neces- 
lary  to  speculate  on  such  a  purely  theoretic  question.  It  was  certain 
they  had  never  yet  received  any  such  appointments,  and  considering 
tlie  manner  in  which  the  patronage  of  the  Crown  was  distributed  by 
Her  Majesty's  Ministers  in  London,  the  most  sanguine  among  them 
did  not  anticipate  that  they  shonld.  As  respects  the  risk  of  breaking 
the  Empire  up  into  small  communities,  the  practice  they  contended  for 
^fas  in  full  operation  in  the  North-American  colonies,  and  they  could 
mot  understand  why  New  South  Wales  should  not  be  put  on  the 
eame  footing.  They  respectfully  but  determinedly  demanded  that  "  all 
tihat  was  necessary  to  place  them  on  a  pprffct  equality  with  their 
lellow-subjects  at  homo  should  bo  conceded  to  them,  and  to  their 
t>osterity  at  once  and  for  ever." 

The  Colonial  Office  was  slow  to  more.  Colonists,  like  atep- 
nildren  at  school,  were  sometimes  neglected,  not  of  a  set  purpose, 
O-t  because  their  petty  and  distant  claims,  in  which  no  one  at  home 
's»s  interested,  got  postponed  in  the  hurry  of  more  pretentious  and 
t».mediate  engagements.  But  the  colonists  would  at  length  wait  no 
►"Xjger,  and  when  the  estimates  for  1853  were  voted  in  the  Legislative 
"^Dnncil,  ifr.  Wentworth  moved  a  resolution,  and  carried  it  against  the 
■%:moBt  resistance  of  the  Executive  that  the  House  would  not  vote 
^timates  for  another  year  till  a  satisfactory  answer  were  made  to  their 
remand  for  responsible  government. 

While  they  were  waiting  for  the  constitution  at  the  Antipodes, 
t^ere  was  a  change  of  Government  in  England,  from  Whig  to  Tory, 
without  any  detriment  to  the  colony.  Sir  John  Pakington,  the  new 
Secretary  of  State,  sjwbe  of  the  policy  of  the  administration  La  tenns 
treditable  to  his  good  sense, 

•'  Hia  colleagues  [lie  said]  considered  them.selves  bound  tn  meet  the  coloniats 

KA  confiding  ami  liberal  j;pirit.  They  thought  that  the  Government,  living 
til  distance,  could  not  judgo  of  their  a(Tair.s  and  tlic-ir  expenditure  so  well  as 
e  coloni-sts  themselvfs  ;  and  that  they  ought  to  place  that  confidence  in 
khem  which,  as  Enghshmen  accustomed  to  the  institutions  of  this  countrj-, 
Uiey  were  so  well  entitled  to  posses.H." 

Both  the  Bills  sent  home  became  law  in  the  end,  the  Colony  obtain- 
ing all  her  most  prudent  statesmen  had  demanded,  and  during  the 
generation  which  has  since  elapsed  it  has  enjoyed  unbroken  tranquillity 
■ad  a  constantly  growing  prosperity. 

The  history  of  colonial  liberty  would  be  incomplete  without  some 
it  of  transactions  in  a  province  of  New  South  Wales,  then  known 


640 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


as  Port  Phillip,  but  which  has  since  become  famons  as  the  coK) 
Victoria.  Sixty  years  ago,  while  England  was  struggling  for  he 
Reform  Bill,  and  France  was  in  the  crisis  of  her  second  Revo^ 
the  foot  of  a  civilised  man  had  never  been  set  on  the  soil  <)| 
territory.  But  half  a  dozen  years  later  it  became  widely  knowiM 
exploration  made  by  the  Surveyor-general  of  New  South  Waleai 
published  a  glowing  description  of  its  soil,  climate,  and  resource! 
speedily  got  occupied,  and  gradually  became  organised  as  an  ot) 
province  of  New  South  Wales.  From  the  beginning  it  was  ef 
self-made ;  th«  Colonial  Office  having  only  interfered  to  declare 
no  settlement  ought  to  be  planted  in  that  district,  and  the  Gove« 
Sydney  followed  up  this  dexiree  by  warning  the  enterprising  al| 
that  they  would  be  prosecuted  as  intruders  on  the  public  lands  i 
Crown. 

Colonists  who  denounced  the  injustice  of  the  mother  countrj 
not  always  just  to  their  own  dependencies.  Port  Phillip  was' 
discontented  with  the  Executive  and  Legislature  at  Sydney.  Its 
dozen  representatives  in  the  latter  body  proved  quite  powerh 
protect  the  interests  of  their  constituents.  After  a  short  exper 
it  was  found  impossible  to  get  fit  men  to  reside  a  thousand 
away  from  their  daily  pursuits  for  results  so  insignificant  as  coi 
obtained.  The  handful  of  inhabitants  petitioned  the  Imperial  ij 
ment  over  and  over  again  that  Port  I*hillip  should  be  creJ 
separate  colony,  but  were  not  listened  to.  To  mark  their  disoc 
with  the  existing  system  in  a  manner  which  could  not  be  misu 
stood,  they  at  length  elected  the  Secretary  of  State  in  Londott 
their  representative  in  Sydney.  ITiis  stroke  told  home  in  ' 
minster,  and  in  1850  it  was  at  length  detemiined  to  yield  ia 
wishes  and  to  create  Port  Phillip  a  separate  colony.  ' 

One  of  the  duties  entrusted  to  the  expiring  conncil  in  Sydni 
to  frame  an  electoral  Act  for  the  Legislative  Council  of  the  newi 
and  it  cannot  be  denied  that  they  did  this  work  in  an  tinfrienc 
grudging  gpitit.  I  must  not  bo  supposed  to  paint  tlie  lea3( 
colonial  enterprise  aa  heroes  of  romance.  They  were  contendu 
just  rights  and  so  far  entitled  to  our  sympathy,  but  they  were^ 
times  greedy  and  unreasonable  in  pursuing  their  private  int< 
Port  Phillip  had  constantly  complained  that  the  money  raised  b 
of  land  in  their  district  was  spent  in  local  improvements  in  Sj 
and  the  new  electoral  Act  threw  political  power  in  the  new  c 
mainly  into  the  hands  of  Crown  tenants  or  squatters  as  they 
called,  of  whom  Mr.  Wentworth  was  one  of  the  leaders.  Thflj 
population  got  one  member  to  every  5000  inhabitants ;  the  farmi 
member  to  every  700O,  while  the  squatter  got  one  memlx 
"Very  2000.  This  was  the  parting  gift  of  the  legislature  at  Syi 
rhen  it  could  hold  them  no  longer,  it  sent  them  to  sea 
oat  built  to    capsize.     And    it  may    be    feared    that    Mr.    ^ 


r8go2 


BRITISH  COLONIES  AND  PARLIAMENTS. 


641 


i 


I 


worth  was  scarcely  more  generous  to  his  unhappy  fellow-countrymen, 
tiie    aboriginal  inhabitants  of  Australasia.* 

-After  the  first  Legislativo  Council  of  Port  Phillip  was  elected,  but 
bo  fore  it  began  to  sit,  a  transaction  occurred  which  changed  for  ever 
thx^  fortunes  of  the  settlement.  The  nxaddeuing  vision  which  inspired 
Col  nimbus  to  explore  unknown  seas,  and  which  drew  Cortez,  Pizarro, 
Ckxx<3.  Raleigh  in  his  adventurous  track,  was  realised  among  them  in  a 
l^xx<3  seamed  and  sown  with  virgin  gold.  I  have  elsewhere  told  the 
stox-y : 

* ••  Gold  vms  found  on  the  suiface,  and  a  few  inches  or  a  fow  feet  under  the 

»*ui-face;  sometimes  in  solid  lunnps  of  immense  value  (wliich  the  miners,  after 

"t.!:!^   Califomian  example,  called  *  nuggets ') ;  sometimes  in  '  pockets,'  where  a 

xiYiTXiber  of  smaller  nuggets  lay  close  together;  Boraetiuies  in  scattered  par- 

"t-ic^les  mixed  with  the  soil,  but  (^nsily  separated  by  sluicing  the  earth  in  water. 

TTlae  new  legislatui^,  created  to  re^julato  the  simple  interests  of  graziers  and 

-t.<-a.4iers.  would  soon  (it  was  plain)  lind  itself  called  upon  to  rule  the  turbulent 

X>opulation  of  a  gold  country,  and  to  fi«:e  largo  and  imexpected  problems  of 

■j>olicy  and  government.'' 

The  coloniata  encountered  those  unexpected  difQcuIties  with  rea.son- 

&l>le  vigour  and  promptitLide.      After  a  few  sessions  had  given  them 

ptkrliamentary  experience,  they  pronounced  the  system  of  an  Executive 

conapletely  independent  of  a  Legislature  an  abortion,  and  demanded 

a   constitutiou  like  that  of  New  South  Wales.     They  were  authorised 

to    frame  such  a  measure,  and    soon   sent  one  to  Downing    Street, 

differing  from   their   exemplar  chiefly  in    having  au  elective  Upper 

Chamber,  with  a  high  property  qualification,   instead  of  a  nominated 

one.       This    Bill   was    promised    speedy    consideration,    but    month 

followed  month,  and  session  followed  session,  before  the  promise  was 

''"I  filled. 

It    was    delayed,    indeed,    till    the    colonists    were    fevered    with 
™'^^tli    and   indignation.     A  deputation  was  sent  home  to  flap  the 

"  With  the  next  Governor,  Sir  Georire  GSpp.x,  Mr.  Wentworth  came  into  cnllixion 

p?*^be  subject  of  his  land  purchases  iu  New  Zealand.     He  had  bought  of  tlip  native 

■^f  H,  for  goods  of  the  value  of  £400,  and  a  promise  of  n  small  annuity  to  each  of  the 

g*"'*<Jors,  the  whole  of  the  Middle  Island,  that  irt  the  territory  now  conipri.'icd  in  Otago, 

|. ''^tlil.'ind,  Canterbury,  Nelson,  and  Marlborouph — together  with  some  200,00(1  arres  of 

,^  -^ortbem  Island.     Sir  Georgia  Gipps  regarded  the  attempt  of  Mr.  Wentworth  and 

tners  to  obtain  this  va.st  domain  as  a  moiiMrroua  perversion  of  the  forms  of 

and   ."iale  in  taking  advantage  of  the  ignorance  of  :a  barbarous  people;  and 

~_^  ••he  efrort,s  of  Mr.  Wentworth,  by  legal  arf^iment  and  fx)litieal  inlhiencc,  to  make 

y?5**^    the  purchase  proved  unavailing." — Heaton's  "  Australian  Dictionary  of  Dates." 

—     *^    refusal  of  the   Governor,  Sir  George  Gipjw.  indeed,  was  couched  in  language  o£ 


•«i 


^'"^o  antl  crushing  scorn ;  he  wa#  proUibly  glad  to  have  the  popular  leader  at  a  dis- 
,^  ^SMitage,  who  had  not  been  a  too  .scrupulous  critic  of  his  oflicial  career,  and  he  spoke 
Ij^^*  like  a  judge  than  a  triumphant  opponent  : — "A  great  deal  was  said  by  thi.s  gentle- 
*^|?^  [Mr.  Wentwurth],  in  the  course  of  his  address  to  the  Council,  of  corruption  ^d 
i^y^ory.  as  well  as  of  the  love  which  men  in  office  liave  for  patronage.  But,  gentlemen, 
•>?^*t:  of  corruption  I  talk  of  Jobbery  I  why  if  all  the  corruption  which  had  defiled 
^-"^fclaind  since  the  expuUion  of  the  Stuarts  were  gathered  into  one  heap  it  would  not 
»?*  Wf  such  a  itum  as  this — if  ul)  the  jobs  which  have  been  done  since  the  days  of  Sir 
^*^*>«-rt  Wnlnole,  were  collected  into  one  job,  they  would  not  make  so  big  a  job  as  the 
**  *hicb  Mr.  Wentworth  nsks  rue  to  lend  a  hand  in  perpetrating— the  job,  that  is  to  say, 


?4, 


ttukine 
■kfarti 


him  a  grant  of  twenty  milliaos  of  acres,  at  thu  rate  of  one  hundred  acres 


Dg- 


MS 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


tic^ 


Colonial  Minister  in  vain.  But  thongt  he  had  not  leisure  to  s 
them  a  constitution,  he  had  another  boon  in  store  for  them.  Tfe^^;^ 
had  repeatedly  refused  to  pollute  their  coioamuuity  by  the  admis^^  ^ 
of  conrlcta,  but  the  Colonial  Office  thought  their  objectious  futile 
unreasonable. 


^m 


"  And    now,   -when    the    desire   of    self  government   was   about    tCk 
gi-atilied,  the   renewal  of   the  attempt   wounded   their  pride  as  muc-l^     ^ 
it    alarmed    their    fetirs.      A   meeting   was    immediately    held,  at   yv\x£ch 
the    chief    men    of    the    settlement — English,    Irish,    and    Scotch — w-^re 
spokesmen  of  the   popular   determinntion   thut   the   convicts   should     x^ot 
be  received.     And    not   in   the  masquerade  of  savages,  like  the   patriot.* 
of   Boston,  but  vtithout  disguise  or  fear,  they  delivered  theii-  will.    ri»« 
magistrates   of  the    city   and  district  met   soon    afterwards,   and  indoi-&*** 
the  popular  decision.     The  Governor  at  Sydney  at  tliis  time,  a  ci-d'cc*'** 
dandy,  aiming  only  to  keep  things  quiet,  promised   for  peace'  sake  tluit    •**! 
convicts  should    be  pei-mitted  to  land   in  Port  Phillip  until  '  the  feelings       ** 
the  community  weie   made  known  in   ]>owning   Sti-eet.'     The  colonists    *^" 
their  side  determined  th:it  no  felons  should  be  intruded  upon  their  wives  »-■*** 
children,  whatever  might  ho  the  rcspon.sc  of  the  distant  oracle.     A  secc^  *^ 
meeting  agreed  ncmine  coniradicente  t\vAi  the  prisoners  should  not  he  permit  ■^^^ 
to  land.     This    intrepid  resolution  like  all   daring  action,  was  originally  t> 
work   of  a  few,  but   it  suited   the  temper  of  the  people,  and  wivs  adopts 
■with  as  near  an  approach  to  unanimity  as  can  over    be  attained    in  cc^ 
muuitics  where  individual  opinion  is  free.     '  The  con\-icta  must  not  lai^ 
became   the     popular    watchword.      The   Governor   at    Sydney,   having 
httle  the  temper  as  the  resouixes  necessary  to  play  the  part  of  a  tyra 
adhered  to  his  promise,  and  the  captain,  under  his  peremptory  orders, 
sail  for  Sydney." 

Here  the  story  of  how  colonies  obtained  their  political  rigl 
might  stop,  but  that  its  most  incredible  chapter  remains  to  be  writt 
At  this  period  (ISul)  responsible  Government  was  in  full  operation 
Canada  and  in  all  the  neighbouring  colonies.  It  had  been  obtaic 
at  the  cost  of  two  insurrections  indeed,  and  the  lives  of  th- 
governors,  who  were  sacrilicpd  in  the  conilict  as  surely  as  if  they  L^^^^^3 
fallen  in  battle ;  but  the  victory  of  the  people  in  the  Atlantic  colo™»-  ^^ 
was  complete  and  confeased,  and  the  future  course  of  the  Colorrr^  ^■*' 
OflBce  was  plain.  The  constitution  of  Victoria  was  promised  as  8crrr>-*^° 
as  the  House  of  Commons  could  find  leisure  to  scrutinise  the  IV  ^*-  ^ 
sent  home.  The  interval  need  not  have  exceeded  a  few  months,  ^^^^ 
might  have  passed  in  perfect  tranquillity,  interrupted  only  by  put— ^   jS 


rejoicings — a  species  of  revelry  for  which  colonists  have  always  she 

an  uncommon  aptitude.      But  the  Imperial  Government  so  emplo; 

it  that  the  worst  blunders  which  disgraced  the  contest  in  the  ^^'^^^j 
were  now  renewed  in  the  South.  A  fierce  insurrection  was  provok:^  ^^  ' 
and  another  infatuated  Governor,  chosen  to  perform  a  task  for  wl»-  •*"  ^ 
he  had  no  faculties  or  training,  died,  as  Metcalfe  and  Sydenham  '^*'^*- 
died  on  another  continent.  It  will  probably  be  inferred  that 
permanent  officers  of  the  Colonial  Department,  in  whose  hands 
threads  of  policy  must  always  rest,  were  weak  and  incapable. 


he 

a 


tSgol        BRITISH  COLONIES  AND  PARLIAMENTS.  643 

fJuB  assumption  would  be  a  grave  mistake.    The  Under-Secretary  was  a 
msuo.  whose  liistorical  essays  in  the  Ediniburgh  Review  rivalled  Macanlay's, 
and  were  often  mistaken  for  them.    One  of  his  coUeagaes  has  influenced 
political  thought  in  England  by  his  writings  more  than  Cobden  or 
Srlg^ht  influenced  it  by  their  oratory,  and  another  is  author  of  a  drama, 
tihe  greatest,  perhaps,  produced  in  England  since  the  Elizabethan  era. 
Nor  were  they  overborne  by  the  strong  personality  of  their  political 
oHief.     The  Secretary  of  State  for  the  Colonies  was  a  country  gentle- 
TT***^^  in  office  for  the  first  time,  and  whose  highest  achievement  had 
l>eeii  to  preside  benignly  at  the  Quarter  Sessions  of  his  district.     All 
tihe  trouble  came  from  another  source,  from  the  practice  of  sacrificing 
tihe  largest  colonial  interests  to  the  smallest  convenience  in  Palace 
Yard.     There  was  a  steady  supporter  of  the  Government  at  this  time 
rarely  heard  in  debate,  but  never  absent  from  a  division,  who  had  a 
ooxtsin  to  provide  for,  and  as  the  salary  of  Governor  in  the  gold  colony 
'w^as  fixed  on  an  Oriental  scale,  and  was,  in  fact,  as  great  as  the  salaries 
of  the  President  of  the  United  States,  the  Prime  Minister  of  England, 
aotid  the  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons  united — ^he  claimed  this 
prize  as  the  reward  of  his  party  fidelity.     His  protigi  was  a  post- 
captain,  trained  on  the  quarter-deck,  and  as  ignorant  as  a  Pasha  of 
All  that  concerned  parliamentary  government.     His  achievements  in 
Victoria  will  complete  the  history  of  the  long  straggle  for  colonial 
ng^lits. 

0.  Gavaw  Duffy. 

•^pes  Maritimes. 


646 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


general   acqaiescen.ce  in  probably  every  State  in  the  Union.     Wt^^^^ J 
Stimson  wrote  his  book  on  American  Law  the  principle  of  the  ^**t-^^»- 

ment  tax  had  been  incoqx)rated  in  the  constitntions  of  five  State '^^ 

Illinois,   Minnesota,  Arkansas,  California,  and   Nebraska — and  tVx  .^,> 
example  has  been  followed  by  other  States  since,  which  have  been    -^^^ 
vising  their  constitutions — Ohio  and  Rhode  Island,  for  instance ;     1_^^ut 
although  in  the  remaining  States  it  may  not  have  been  rrprr-  i  Jji 
formulated  in  the  constitution,  it  has  been  practically  made  part  of  «zJifl 
constitution  all  the  same  by  judicial   construction.      In   Kentucky       it 
was  adopted  as  far  back  at  least  as  1810,  in  Maryland  in  1847,  N^^w 
Jersey  1852,  South  Carolina  1852,  Mississippi  1854,  Virginia  18^^^, 
Missouri  185G,  and  about  the  same  time  or  later  in  Kansas,  Pennsyl- 
vania, Connecticut,  Massachusetts,   Indiana,  Ohio,   Wisconsin,  lov^c^ 
Oregon,  and  very  likely  all  the  others.     It  has  been  sanctioned  not  or^^J 
by  the  State  legislatures,  but  also  by  Congress,  which  in  its  capaci-ty 
as  legislature  for  the  District  of  Columbia  gave  authority  to  the  city     of 
Washington  to  impose  a  special  betterment  rate  for  the  improveme*:^*^ 
it  had  in  contemplation  twenty  years  ago.*      Mr.  Dillon,  the  author      o* 
the  standard  book  on  American  Municipal  Law,  quotes  the  stateme""^*" 
of  a  judge  in  the  Supreme  Court  of  Missouri  to  the  effect  that  t  ^* 
principle  of  the  betterment  tax  had  been  subjected  to  severe  analy  ^s^ 
in  almost  every  State  in  the  Union,  and  adds  that  "  it  is  now 
firmly  established  as  any  other  doctrine  of  American  law  " ;  while, 
for  the  tax  itself,  it  has  become  the  usual  form  of  assessment  for  n< 
municipal  works   of  eveiy  description.      For  the  last  ten  years  tht 
seems  almost  an  entire  absence  of  litigation  against  this  form  of  i' 
post,  and  from  that  we  may  conclude  that  the  public  mind  has 
length  everywhere  acquiesced  in  its  reasonableness  and  equity, 
it  has  not  done  so  without  much  controversy. 

The  equity  of  the  tax  has  been  again  and  again  discussed  by 
judges  of  the  Supreme  Courts  of  the  several  States,  and  inrarini 
with  the  same  result  of  an  affirmative  finding.  The  question 
been  raised  before  them  in  various  way?,  but  usually  either  by  an  or 
nary  abutting  owner  who  contends  that  the  tax  is  discriminating  a 
violates  the  principle  contained  in  moat  of  the  State  constitotic^ 
that  all  taxation  must  bo  eqital  and  unifonn,  or  by  a  church  or  uc"' 
versity  claiming  immunity  from  the  tax  on  the  ground  of  a  spec  ^ 
privilege  granted  them  by  statute  (as  has  been  generously  done 
most  of  the  States)  of  exemption  from  all  taxation.  The  answer  K 
been  very  much  to  the  same  purpart  in  all  the  diiFerent  States,  ^t^^ — 
"ndges  have  taken  their  stand  on  the  broad  principle,  that  they  wt*  ^ 
ip  the  benefit  of  a  public  work  ought  to  bear  the  burden  of  it,  aC»^^^ 
tere  the  benefit  is  discriminating,  the  burden,  to  be  equal,  must  tJ^^ 
scriminating  likewise.  The  plaintiff  has  always  been  dismissed,  ar**^^ 
*  See  Dillon's  "  Law  of  Muolcipal  Corporatiom,"  ii.  675. 


THE   BETTERMENT   TAX  IN  AMERICA. 


647 


1  very  flatly  he  had  no  jast'canae  for  complaint,  inasmuch  as  he  had 
»ady  pocketed  from  the  transaction  more  than  he  was  asked  to  con- 
>ute,  and  that  his  contribution  was  not  so  much  in  tho  nature  of  a  tax 
t»f  a  mere  consideration  for  value  received.  It  was  a  definite  quid 
•  quo,  and  the  appropriator  of  the  benefit  of  the  improvement  ought 

common  fairness  to  render  some  equivalent  for  the  benefit  he 
sropriated.  The  churches  and  mniversities  that  liave  sued  for  relief 
m  it,  on  the.  ground  of  their  constitutional  exemption  from  all  taxa- 
Q,  have  been  informed  that  this  was  not  taxation — it  was  only  a  case 
one  proprietor  improving  his  estate  by  works  which  necessarily  im- 
>ved  the  contiguous  estate  of  another  proprietor  at  the  same  time, 
d  asking  the  latter  to  bear  his  share  of  the  expense.  Harvard 
liege  indeed  was  able,  in  1871,  to  maintain  its  ext-mption  succesi5- 
ly  before  the  Supreme  Court  of  Massachusetts,  because  by  the 
Buliar  phraseology  of  its  charter  it  was  freed  not  from  taxt-s  and  rates 
ly,  but  from  "  all  rivil  impositions,  taxes  and  rates,''  and  although  the 
nrt  was  quite  clear  that  a  betterment  assessment  was  neither  a  tax 
p  a  rate,  it  could  not  see  its  way  to  pronounce  that  it  was  not  a 
il  imposition.  But  in  the  same  year,  Brown  University,  in  Rhode 
and,  had  its  plea  for  exemption  repelled,  because,  less  fortunate 
IB  the  sister  college,  its  charter  merely  "  freed  and  exempted  it  from 

taxes,''  and  the  Court  had  no  difficulty  in  saying  that  an  imposi- 
t»  for  betterment  was  not  a  tax.*  The  efiV-ct  of  decisions  like  this 
bliat  a  church  or  university  which  is  exempt  from  ordLnnry  road 
i^Bsment  for  the  repair  of  the  streets,  is  yet  always  subject,  like 
t-ev  adjacent  proprietors,  to  the  special  improvement  rate  for  their 
attraction.  When  Nassau  Street,  in  New  York,  was  improved, 
reral  churches  lay  within  the  area  of  charge,  and  resisted  the 
jKJst  in  the  court  of  law  on  the  plea  that  an  Act  of  the  year  1813 
pressly  declared  that  "  no  real  estate  belonging  to  any  church  shall 
^^ftd  by  any  law  of  this  State ;"  but  the  Court  held  that  a  special 
^■irement  rate  assessed  according  to  benefit  received,  and  in  pay- 
^m  therefor  was  not  taxation  at  all  in  any  proper  sense  of  the 
»nl.     It  was  no   burden,  and   therefore   it   was   no  tax.     "  There 

no  inconvenience  or  hardship  in  it,"  said  the  judge  in  giving 
e  decision  of  tho  Court.  "  and  the  maxim  of  the  law  that  he 
t»o  feels  the  benefit  ought  to  fi'ol  the  burden  also,  is  perfectly 
*xia8tent  with  th©  interests  and  dictates  of  science  and  religion."  f 
f<?  ridiculed  tho  idea  of  caUing  this  kind  of  assessment  robbery,  as 
Ij^been  done.  The  proprietor  was  not  robbed  of  anything  ;  nothing 
^h  world  was  taken  away  from  him.  His  neighbour — the  municipal 
wporation — had  given  him  something,  and  imposed  an  assessment  to 
"  An  assessment  is  not  a  burden,  it  is  an  equivalent 

**  Ameriean  Law  Revlev,  ir.  628. 

•f  AngcU  and  Durfee's  "  Law  of  HighwftTi,"  p.  152. 


648  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW.  [ikr^T 

for  a  benefit."  *     It  is  held  of  course  to  be  a  tax  in  this  sense,  thmjak 
being  a  compulsory  imposition  it  can  only  be  levied  by  a  public  bocl^, 
and  is  a  particular  and  legitimate  exercise  of  the  taxing  power  alloH^^^ 
to  the  legislature  by  the  constitution  and  delegated  by  the  legislatc^^'^® 
to  municipal  corporationa  in  conformity  with  conetitutional  conditioK^^^*-* 
In  Illinois  the  Drainage  Commissioners  obtained   the  insertion  of  * 

betterment  clause  in  one  of  their  Acta,  but  the  Supreme  Court  heB^^' 
in  1871,  that  it  would  be  unconstitutional   for  a  private  corporati* 
like  the  Drainage  Commissioners  to  assess  for  betterment,  becaus 
compulsory  imposition  for  betterment  was  a  tax,  and  the  taxing  pov 
could  not  be  constitutionally  exercised  by  a  private  corporation. f 
though  considered  a  tax  in  respect  of  the  authority  imposing  it,  it 
been  expressly  ruled,  not  only  in  New  York,  but  in  Missouri,  Louiaiar 

and  other  States,  not  to  be  a  tax  in  respect  to  the  purposes  for  whi «^i 

it  is  imposed,  or  the  nature  of  its  bearing  on  the  people  who  pay  it    — 

Sometimes  tho  judges,  while  ruling  practically  to  the  same  eff^*  -^^f. 
base  tlieir  reasons  on  more  limited  and  specific  ground.     In  1874  fi:i=^^lN|fl 
Boston  Seamen *3  Friends  Society  claimed  relief  from   a  betterm*^^  3al 
impost  under    the    provision    in    the    constitution   of    the   State 
Massachusetts,  by  which   the  property,  personal   or   real^  of  litera 
benevolent,  charitable,  and  scientiGc  institutions  incorporated  wit 
the  commonwealth  ia    exempted   from   taxation ;    but  the   Supre:^ 
Court  decided  that  the  taxation  meant  in  the  statute  was  taxation        r^or 
the  public    charges   of   government,   and    could    not  be    reasona^Tt — >lj 
interpreted  to  include  assessments  for  expenditure  of  a  purely  \cz»"^^^ 
character,  the  benefits  of  which  were  more  immediately  aud  specially^' 
perhaps    in   some  cases  exclusively— experienced    in   the    particu".  ^^r 
localities  where  the  property  clainiing  exemption  was  situated. J     '3-~^® 
principle  of  this  decision  is  allied  to  the  doctrine  wliich  has  also  l>^^»'*ilj 
laid  down  by  the  American  Courts  in  dealing  with  betterment  ca,^^^^ 
that  a  local  improvement  possesses  always  more  or  less  of  a  priv^^^e 
character,   notwithstanding  that  it  may  be  undertaken  under  pal:^^^'*^ 
authority ;  but,  whatever  doctrine  or  reason  ia  laid  down,  the  deciss-i-*"  ^ 
always   Bubstantially   rests   on  the    equitable    consideration    that      "^'-"^  ■ 
sphere  of  benefit  ought  to  be  the  sphere  of  burden,  and  that  just  aftJ^*"  '^ 
would  be  wrong  to  tax  individuals  alone  for  improvements  from  wfci-^»-  *'' 
all   alike  benefit,  so  it  would  be  equally  wrong  to  tax  all  alike         ^*^ 
improvements  from  which  particular  indiv^iduals  receive  the  lion's  sfc".  ^^^ 
of  advantage.     Judge  Slidell  of  Louisiana  accordingly  declared  t.^-^"' 
the  system  of  paying  for  special  local  improvements  ivhollff  out  of      -^^^ 
general  treasury  was  inequitable,  and  would  result,  he  believed, 
great  extravagance,  abuse  and  injustice."     He  held  the  principL 
the  betterment  tax  to  be  safer  as  well  as  juster  than  the  other.§ 

•  Angell  and  Durtee's  "  Law  of  Highways,"  p,  163. 

t  Atnerican  Law  Jieview,  vi.  504.  J  Ihid,  viii.  363. 

§  Dillou's  ''  Law  of  Municipal  Corporations,"  ii.  697. 


r 

I 


jS^o] 


THE   BETTERMENT   TAX  IN  AMERICA. 


G49 


^        The  municipal  code  of  Ohio  declares  certain  improvements,  usually 
considered  in  this  country  to  be  of  a  public  character,  to  be  purely 

fe^i"VBte — so  far  at  any  rate  as  paying  for  them  goes.   "An  assessment  for 
a.^   construction  of  sewers  is  in  its  nature  a  charge  for  a  permanent 
xa>d<3ition  to  the  freehold,  and  is  to  be  paid  by  tlie  ovmer  of  the  fee  or  the 

t older  of  a  perpetual  lease,  but  is  not  chargeable  against  an  ordinary 
5X1  ant  for  years."  *     In  Tennessee  Judge  Green  went  farther,  and 
r^p»resented  a  foot-pavement  not  as  an  addition  given  to  a  property, 
loiatii  as  the  removal  of  a  nuisance  from  it.     The  mayor  and   aldermen 
of    [Franklin  in  that  State  got  authority  by  statute  to  have  side-walks 
^rxd  foot-pavements  constructed  on  the  streets  of  their  town  by  the 
o-WTiers  of  property  abutting  on  the  streets,  or,  in  the  event  of  the 
o-wvTiers*  negligence,  to  construct  the  streets  at  the  owners'  expense. 
*I*he    latter    reclaimed    against   the    impost  as    being    unequal  and 
fctilierefore  uuconstitntional,  but  the  judge,  in  delivering  the  opinion 
K-of*    the    Court,  said :    "  We  do    not    think   that  this    law  levies   a 
Hrt'n  .V.     A  tax  is  a  sum  which  is  required  to  be  paid  by  the  citizens 
'    "ustially  for  revenue  purposes  ;  but  this  ordinance  levies  no  sum  of 
money  to  be  paid  by  the  citizens.     It  requires  a  duty  to  be  performed 
for  the  well-being  and  comfort  of  the  citizens  of  the  town.      It  is  in 
t.\xG  nature  of  a  nuisance  to  be  removed  ;  and  if  an  ordinance  were  to 
re<^uire  that  each  owner  of  a  lot  in  town  should  remove  nuisances 
from  his  lot,  and  on  failure  to  do  so  the  town  constable  should  remove 
tlie  nuisance  and  the  party  should  pay  the  erpense  of  the  work,  it 
■wroiild  hardly  be  suggested  that  the  expense  so  incurred  was  a  tax,"t 
Assessments  for  improvements  of  this  kind  have   been    accordingly 
represented    as  falling  more    properly  under    the    police    power   of 
government  than  under  its  taxing  power,  and  some  Courts  have  chosen 
tliat  as    the    ground    for  vindicating    their  constitutionality.     This 
<|uestion  of    police  power  or  taxing  power  is  a  very  practical  and 
apparently  troublesome  consideration  in  America,  but  our  own  Public 
■Health    Act  of  1875  confers  on  local  authorities,    for    purposes    of 
**nitary  p«vlice,  the  same  power  to  assess  the  cost  of  street  improve- 
inentfl — levelling,    paving,   sewering,  channelling,  and    lighting — on 
*oatting  owners  according  to  their  frontage  ;  and  not  only  so,  it  also 
®^ressly  recognises   the   distinction   between    public   improvements 
*^d  private  improvements  enforced  for  public  reasons,  and  provides 
***  a  special  private  improvement  rate.    A  private  improvement  is  one 
""nich,  though  instituted  as  a  public  necessity,  yet  confers  its  benefits 
^*ixily  on    private  individuals,    and   that  class  of  improvement  tJie 
Piv-ate  individuals,  who  benefit  most  by  it^  are  required  to  undeifake 
''in  any  event  to  pay  for.     The  beneflciaries,  however,  are  supposed 
be  the  occupiers,  and  the  owners,  with  the  consideration  always 


I 


Vol.  Lvn. 


•  Peck's  "  Manicipnl  Laws  of  Ohio,"  p.  219. 

t  AngelJ  and  Durfeii's  "  Law  of  Highways,"  p.  164. 

2  u 


650 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW 


L 


Bhown  them  by  English  law,  are  charged  only  when  the  preiaises 
unoccupied. 

In   America  the  distinction  between  private    benefit   and  pa"^^-~,^i. 
benefit,  between  local  benefit  and  general  benefit,  is  always  recogn^^^^g^ 
as  a  ruling  one  in  affairs  of  this  kind,  and  as  in  actual  events  t  V»_  .^ 
several   benefits  are  nsually  mingled,  it  becomes  an  object  of    ^y^^^ 
to  distribute  their  respective  incidence  aright.     While  the  impost t  ^on 
of  a  general  assessment  for  a  local  benefit  has  been  held  to  be  wrc^  ^o 
the  American  Courts  have  at  the  same  time  declared  it  equally  WTK==>ng 
to  impose  a  local  assessment  for  a  general  benefit.   Acta  throwing     -*iie 
whole  burden  of  improvements  on   abutting  owners  have  been       if^ 
peatedly  rejected.     In  the  case  of  making  a  street,  indeed,  thi^    '^ 
often  allowed.     In  New  York  the  custom  is  for  the  abutting  owners*  ^ 
pay  the  whole  cost  of  the  construction.     But  then  the  cost  her^     '* 
not  relatively  high,  and  the  advantage  reaped  by  those  partica^*^ 
beneficiaries  is  beyond  all  comparison  greater  than  that  reaped  by  ^^^^ 
other  inhabitants  of  the  place.      But  in  the  case  of  a  country  roa^-    \ 
was  decided  otherwise,  at  least  in  the  Pennsylvanian  Court.    A  mu : 
cipal  corporation  in  that  State  was  authorised  by  an  Act  of  Le^^lata 
to  make  a  road  seven  miles  long,  running  mainly  through  agricultu 
lands,  and  to  assess  the  cost  on  all  land  within  a  certain  distance  of  f 
road,  whether  abutting   directly  upon    it  or  not.     It   was   shown 
evidence  that  although  every  one  of  the  persons  taxed  for  the 
would  benefit  by  the  road,  each  in  his  degree,  there  was  a  great  mt 
besides  who  would  benefit  by  the  road  but  were  not  taxed  a  farthii 
and  that  the  road  would  bo,  in  short,  a  great  public  benefit  to 
people  of  the  municipality  ;  and  the  Court  held  that  in  those  circu 

stances  the  imposition  was  unconstitutional,  inasmuch  as  it  impoj '  '"' 

a  merely  local  assessment  for  a  general  benefit.     The  same  Court  — ^^"^""^^ 
another  decision  to  the  same  effect.     The  city   of  Philadelphia 
a  street,  already  in  good  condition,  and  improved  it  for  a  public  dur  J 
or  carriage-way,  and  then  thought  to  assess  the  expense  on  the  a<JL_ 
cent  owners ;  but  the  Court  refused  to  sanction  the  imposition  on  "* 
ground  that  the  improvement  had  been  made  not  for  local,  but     ^ 
general  purposes.*    That  is  very  much  the  contention  of  the  oppon^^ 
of  the  betterment  clauses  of  the  Strand  Improvement  Bill.     The  »-• 
provement,  they  allege,  is  devised  for  the  behoof  of  the  general  pul 
alone,  and  the  general  public  alone  should  pay  the  cost.     But  this  v 
of  the  situation  is  not  encouraged  apparently  in  any  other  State  qxc^^^P  , 
Pennsylvania,  and  in  that  State  generally  the  betterment  tax  p*" 
ciple  seems  to  be  applied  with  more  restraint  and  caution  than  elsewh^ 
In  1877  the  Supreme  Court  of  Pennsylvania  declared  a  road  assessm*-' 
on   abutting  owners  in  proportion  to  frontage  to  be  unequal,    ^^ 
therefore  unconstitutional,  not  merely   in  the  case   of  rural,  but> 
♦  Cooley's  "  Constitutional  Limitation*/'  p.  680. 


THR  BK7TEiat£ST  TAX  IS  AMERICA, 

Hke  oodljdiffaraiioe  ««  oaawe  betir«eat^o(MO 
I  of  rvnJ  and  snbofban  propo^,  u  iImA  tlM  profMi^ 
wy  modi  urare  Talnable  as  oompanMi  with  Um  ooat  incttrred 
the  iapravtment  in  Uie  one  case  than  in  tJM  odier,  «ih1  oan  on  th«l 
bear  tiie  burden  easier.    The  jadgnnnt  smom  to  raat  tjbwtftwo 
view  of  what  the  neighbourhood  will  bcttr.     Tbe 
pabtic  deriro  as  mnch  benefit  &om  tho  urban  streel  aa  (Vom 
mral  or  snbarban  road — possibly  eron  more ;  bot  ib»j  am  dia- 
bom  contribating  their  quota  in  the  former  case>  beoause  tlH> 
property  is  at  once  so  much  abler  to  stand  the  oott,  and  ao 
XDocb  more  greatly  benefited  by  the  improvement 

In  1873  the  Supreme  Court  of  Missouri  threw  out  what  will  probably 

strike  most  people  as  a  singularly  objectionable  attempt  Ui  lay  t  he  whole 

liarden  of  a  public  improvement  on  the  handful  of  ailjaceut  ]iroprieton. 

The  city  of  St.  Louis  had  obtained  from  the  State  Le^fialature  an  Act-  for 

"the  creation  of  a  public  park — to  be  called  tl\e  Fon'st   Park  -on  land 

oataide  the  city  territory.    The  Act  constituted  a  special  Ixxly,  called  th«» 

IPaik  Commissioners,  for  the  purposo  of  earryinj^  out  the  »ohome,  and 

gAYe  them  powers  to  purchase  the  land  conipulworily,  oiul  to  throw  tho 

price  on  the  owners  of  the  adjacent  property  by  a  special  lax  which 

would  pay  np  the  whole  in  twenty  years,      liut  the  Court  held  thi^ 

scheme  to   be   unconstitutional,    partly    because    it   eiitnisioil   taxiiif^ 

powers  to  a  private  corporation,  but  chielly  because  it  lev itul  iJic  timmomk- 

ment  exclusively  on  certain  designated  lands  outside:  (ho  city,  thuugli 

the  object  was  one  of  general  btjneKt  whioli  this  Act  il.scif  ih-elared   |«i 

be  of  great  importance  to  the  city  of  St.  Louis,  conducive  t<i  itw  dignity 

and  character,  and  to  the  health  and  recn^atictn  of  its  itdiabiUints.     To 

provide  a  public  park  for  tbe  amusement  of  tho  people  of  St.  Jjouin  at 

the  exclusive  expense  of  a  few   private  owntirs  of  rMtate  nutxidn  Iho 

town  is  clearly  contrary  to  the  equitable   principlo   that  he   who  reajiH 

the  benefit  ought  to  bear  the  burden  ;   anel  the  judj^o  who  delivere<J 

the  opinion  of  the  Court  concluded   by  saying  that  **  tho  connlitution 

had  wisely  erected  a  barrier  agoinst  this  exorbitont  pow**r.  ond  thero 

is  a  time  in  the  tide  of  any  special   taxation   when   it  munt   be  nuiiJ, 

*  Thus  far  shalt  thou  go  and  no  farther."'t      It    ought  to  U)  ndd«<<l 

that  the  Supremo  Court  of  Missouri  had  already,  an  far  back  um  1 B50, 

•lecided  in  the  case  of  the  city  of  Weston  that  the  LcgiHluture  crmld 

Bot  constitutiooally  authorise  a  municipal  cr>rporation   to  tux  for  It* 

own  local  purposes  the  knds  lying  beyond  the  limita  of  ita  ]uri«dictioii. 

The  land  lying  immediately   roond  a  town  deriveii,  no  doubt,  an 

enhancement  in  value  fjrom  ita  ntnation  near  tbe  totrn,  but  it  inarii- 

Ijr  only  does  bo  becaose,  and  in  the  meaanre  in  whiclj,  the  town,  on 

pirt,  reoeivea  accommodation  and  advantage  from  that  land.     The 

*  Amerieaik  I^mr  JUvitm,  iL  SML 


652 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


tMAT 


local  authority  under  whose  jurisdiction  the  land  in  question  liea 
could  therefore  as  justly  seek  to  tax  the  houses  in  the  town  for  its 
purposes  as  the  town  to  tax  its  fields.  The  mere  overlapping  of  juris- 
dictions would  not  constitute  a  difficulty  to  the  American  mind,  for 
most  of  the  .States  are  in  the  habit  of  constituting  gpecial  taxing 
districts,  different  from  any  of  the  ordinary  civil  or  jxjlitical  divisions 
of  their  territory,  when  they  conceive  that  to  be  necessary  for  the  more 
equitable  distribution  of  the  ex]iense  of  any  specific  local  improvement. 
For  building  a  bridge,  for  example,  a  State  Legislature  may  mark  out 
the  special  area  of  benefit,  and  create  it  into  a  separate  taxing  district 
for  the  purpose.*  What  guided  the  Court  of  Missouri  in  frustrating 
the  attempts  of  the  cities  of  Weston  and  St.  Louis  to  tax  outsiders 
for  the  local  objects  of  these  cities  themselves  was  not  therefore  any 
consideration  of  municipal  jurisdiction,  but  merely  the  simple  prin- 
ciple of  equity  j  those  who  enjoy  the  benefit  ought  to  bear  the 
burden.  So  that  this  rule  seems  in  practice  to  be  applied  both  ways 
pretty  evenly — to  prevent,  on  the  one  hand,  the  general  public  from 
throwing  their  proper  burden  on  the  shoulders  of  the  special  private 
beneficiaries,  as  well  as  to  prevent,  on  the  other,  the  private  bene- 
ficiaries from  running  ofl'  with  great  pecuniary  advantages  from  an 
improvement  without  paying  an  adequate  share  of  its  cost. 

The  same  consideration  ia  often  shown  in  adjusting  the  delicato 
point  of  the  precise  share  of  the  cost  of  the  improvement  that  ought 
equitably  to  fall  upon  the  adjacent  proprietors.  Very  diffei-ent  rules 
are  followed  in  this  matter  in  the  different  States.  In  New  York, 
where  the  betterment  tax  has  been  longest  in  operation,  the  rule 
seems  to  be,  in  the  case  of  ordinary  street  improvements,  to  lay  the 
whole  cost  on  the  proprietors  abutting  on  the  street.  It  seems  to 
be  so  also  in  Maryland,  and  doubtless  elsewhere.  But  the  Supreme 
Court  of  Illinois,  in  1870,  declared  it  to  be  unconstitutional  to  throw 
the  whole  expense  on  the  abutting  proprietors  without  regard  to  the 
actual  benefit  they  might  resi>ectively  have  received,  because  it  was 
contrary  to  the  requirement  of  the  constitution  that  all  taxation 
should  be  equal.  It  was  considered  uneqaal  evidently  because  no 
attempt  was  made  to  apportion  the  burden  to  the  benefit.  In  New 
Jersey  a  drainage  scheme  was  stopped  by  the  Supreme  Court,  be- 
cause it  threw  the  whole  cost  on  the  land  benefited  without  providing 
for  the  indemnification  of  the  owners  in  the  event  of  the  expense 
exceeding  the  benefit  conferred.  In  Louisiana  only  one-third  of  the 
cost  ia  imposed  on  adjacent  owners,  the  other  two-thirds  being  paid 
by  the  public.  In  other  cases  the  division  is  half  and  half.  In 
Illinois,  where  the  decision  I  have  quoted  was  given,  a  town  got  an 
Act  authorising  the  construction  of  side-walks  on  one  side  of  the  streets, 
and  half  of  the  expense  was  to  be  thrown  on  the  ownera  of  abutting 

*  Dillon's  "  Law  of  Monicipal  Corporations,"  ii.  685. 


It90] 


THE  BETTERMENT  TAX  IN  AMERICA. 


663 


I 


I 


property,  two-sixths  on  owners  on  the  side  in  which  the  walk  was 
laid  down,  and  one-sixth  on  the  owners  on  the  opposite  side.     Occa- 
sionally, the  attempt  to  distribute  the  burden  according  to  the  benefit 
leads  to  proposals  of  other  sorts  of  differential  rating.      One  set  of  rate- 
payers may  be  asked  to  pay  a  high  rate,  another  a  lower,  while  a  third 
may  be  exempted  altogether.     For  example,  the  city  of  Jane\nlle,  in 
"Wisconsin,   extended  its  territorial  limits  so  as  to  include  not  only 
fcowTi  and  suburbs,  bat  also  a  considerable  extent  of  the  surrounding 
agricultural  land,  and   the   Legislature   provided   that  whatever   the 
amount  of  the  local  taxation  on  the  rest  of  the  town  might  be,  the 
taxation  on  this  agricultural  land  must  never  exceed  one-half  per  cent. 
for  general  municipal  purposes,  must  never  for  roads  and  the  support 
of  the  poor  exceed  one-half  the  rate  paid  by  the  rest  of  the  town,  and 
must  not  be  taxed  at  all  for  any  other  purpose.     This  principle  has 
"been  recognised  in  our  own  countr}'.     The  Metropolitan  Improvements 
^ct   of  1889  authorised  the  London  County  Council  to  purchase  a 
disQsed  burial-ground  in  Tottenham  Court  Road  for  a  public  garden, 
»nd  to  impose  one-half  of  the  cost  on  the  ratepayers  of  the  whole  of 
Xondon,  and  the  other  half  specially  on  the  ratepayers  of  the  pariah 
of  St.  Pancras  in  which  the  improvement   lay.      But  the   Supreme 
Court  of  Wisconsin  did  not  sanction  the  analogous  arrangement  at 
Janeville,  though  that  kind  of  difFerential  taxation,  as  Cooley  tells  ua, 
is  quite  familiar  in  American  legislation.*     Other  principles  of  varia- 
tion may  sometimes  rule,     A  residential  street  is   obviously   much 
more  an  affair  of  private  utility  and  much  leas  of  public  than  a  great 
thoroughfare  ;  and  the  Legislature  of  Kentucky  gave  a  charter  to  the 
city  of  Covington,  in  1872,  authorising  it  to  pave  the  streets  with 
Nicholson  pavement   whenever   "  the  owners    of  the  larger  part  of 
^©    front  feet  of  ground  "   abutting  on  the  proposed  improvement 
'"Onld    petition    therefor,    and    not    otherwise ;     but   in    respect   to 
*     certain  portion  of  Madison    Street,    the    principal    thoroughfare 
^^    the    city,   to  pave  that  on  a   mere   vote  of  the  council   without 
^    initiative  of  the  owners,  but  still  at  the  ownei-s'  expense.     The 
J   ^^"Ort,  however,  held   this  discrimination  to  be  unconstitutional,  as 


^-Hg  •«  contrary  to  the  uniformity  and  apprtjxiniafe  equality  which 

hold   by    law  to  be    essential   to  the  validity   of  such   taxation 

-^*i     assessments."  \      It  will  be  observed,  both  of  tliis  case  and  the 

*7  ^Sconsiu  one,  that  though  the  acts  were  declared  unconstitutional,  the 

^^^t-imination  in  both   cases  was  in   favour   of  private   owners  and 

^*^    of  the  public.      Some  States  expressly  protect  the  privat**  owners 

^^^**i  excessive  exactions  by  imposing  a  maximum  limit  on  betterment 

jT^^^esments.      In  the  municipal  code  of  Ohio,  for  exam])h',  it  is  laid 

™5*^*Ti  that  in  no   case  shall  the  tax  or  assessment  specially   levied 

•  Cooley's  "Constitutional  LimitaHons,"  p.  824, 
f  DUloo'a  "  Law  of  Municipal  CorporatioDe,"  ii.  696. 


G54 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[1 


and  assessed  on  any  lot  or  land  for  an  improvement  amount  to  more 
than  25  per  cent,  of  the  value  of  such  lot  or  land  as  assessed  foi 
taxation.  If  the  improvement  costs  more  than  that  rate  will  meet, 
then  the  excess  must  be  paid  by  the  municipal  corporation  out  oi 
its  ordinary  revenues,  except  in  cases  where  "  three-fourtha  in  interest 
represented  by  the  feet  front  of  the  owners  of  property  abutting  "  oi 
the  improvement  have  petitioned  for  it  to  be  undertaken.  In  that  cas< 
they  are  made  welcome  to  pay  the  whole.*  In  the  same  State  i 
special  betterment  tax  for  sewerage  is  forbidden  to  exceed  two  dollars 
per  foot  front;  anything  above  that  must  be  paid  out  of  the  seng 
fund  of  the  corporation.f  ■ 

With  regard  to  ordinary  street  improvements  and  some  others,  then 
is  a  standing  controversy  whether  the  assessment  ought  to  be  impoMj 

(1)  on  the  old  rude  system  of  every  man  paying  for  the  expens^H 
making  the  actual  portion  of  the  street  opposite  his  own  property  j  cm 

(2)  according  to  frontage,  without  that  specialisation  ;  or  (3)  accord' 
ing  to  the  superficial  area  of  the  several  lots ;  or  (4)  according  to  th< 
value  of  the  lots  and  buildings  on  them  together;  or  (5)  according  t< 
estimated  benefits  received.  The  constitution  of  some  States  contaim 
a  provision  that  all  property  is  to  be  taxed  according  to  its  value,  ba 
in  California  the  Court  in  1865  evaded  the  difficulty  raised  by  thi 
provision  by  the  convenient  construction  that  a  betterment  impositioi 
is  not  a  tax,  and  need  not  therefore  be  assessed  on  the  ad  valorm 
principle  alone. t  In  Ohio  it  ia  expre.gsly  laid  down  that  the  better 
ment  tax  may  be  assessed  according  to  any  of  various  rules,  eithe 
according  to  frontage,  or  according  to  assessed  valuation,  or  acoordinj 
to  benefits  received,  as  the  municipal  council  may  determine. §  Unde 
front/age  a  deduction  is  allowed  in  the  case  of  comer  lots,  because  the 
have  a  double  front.  The  question  of  the  legitimacy  of  frontage  a 
the  rule  of  assessment  has  come  up  in  the  Courts  of  Missouri,  Kansof 
Pennsylvania,  Indiana,  Illinois,  and  others,  and  frontage  has  bee: 
held  ■competent  by  them  all.  In  the  case  of  reclaiming  land  from  a: 
inundation,  the  Courts  of  Missouri  and  Louif?iana  decided  that  tb 
betterment  tax  should  be  levied  on  area,  not  on  valuation.  On  tta 
other  hand,  in  Michigan  a  statute  authorising  a  betterment  sewfl 
asHesament  to  be  levied  according  to  superficial  area  was  pronounce 
unconstitutional,  and  the  city  of  Chicago  was  forbidden  to  impose 
special  street  improvement  tax  according  to  frontage,  on  the  grourr 
that  an  imposition  according  to  frontage  was  neither  equal  nor  unLforcr 
and  that  the  true  principle  was  assessment  according  to  the  specL. 
benefits  the  lots  received.  Let  each  lot  pay  for  what  it  specially  gc 
and  let  the  rest  of  the  cost  be  paid  by  the  public.  In  New  Jer 
an  Act  authorising  the  expense  of  paving  the   road-bed   of  a 

*  Peck'-s  "  Municipal  Code  of  Ohio."  p.  137.;  f  I^^^-  V'  218. 

I  Dillon's  "  Municipal  Corporations,"  p.  702. 
^  Pect's  '*  Municipal  Code  of  Obio,"  "  "''' 


t89o2 


THE  BETTERMENT  TAX  TN  AMERICA. 


655 


street,  to  be  assessed  in  the  proportion  of  two-tMrda  on  the  abut- 
ting- property  and  one-tbird  on  the  public  at  large,  was  pronounced 
an  constitutional,  on  the  ground  that  it  distributed  the  expense 
arbitrarily  and  not  according  to  benefits.*  Payment  according 
to  l>enefit  seems  to  be  the  growing  rule,  Benefits  vary  very  much, 
of  course,  according  to  the  nature  of  the  property  and  the  use 
it  xs  put  to,  but  the  friends  of  tliis  principle  contend  that  they  are 
no't>  difficult  to  calculate,  and  that  no  other  principle  is  at  bottom  so 
arxiform  and  undiscriminating.  On  any  other  principle,  the  man  who 
g^ot;  most  good  from  an  improvement  might  pay  least  for  it.  In 
actual  practice  tbere  seems  no  disposition  to  deal  harshly  with  the 
owner  in  appropriating  the  value  of  the  improvement  his  estate 
r^<5eives.  In  Boston  the  betterment  tax  was  only  one-half  the  esti- 
ina.t>ed  benefit,  so  that  an  ample  margin  was  allowed  for  possible 
o"ver -valuation,  and  care  taken  against  possible  injustice. 

The  benefits  taken  into  account  must  be  direct  and  not  remote.    In 

<5on.sidering  benefits  with  a  view  to  a   set-off  in  compensation  cases, 

A^merican   law  excludes   contingent,    consequential,    prospective  and 

g'en.eral  benefits,  such  as  the  property  shares  with  all  other  property  in 

tlie   town.     The  area  of  benefit  is  most  commonly  confined  to  imme- 

d.i^tely  abutting  estates,  but  in  Ohio  it  may  bo  extended  further.     "  If 

ixi    tte  opinion  of  the  Council  or  Board  of  Improvements  the  same 

^OTxld  be  equitable,  a  proportion  of  the  cost  of  making  the  iraprove- 

oa^Xit  may  be  assessed  upon  such  other  lots  or  land  within  the  cor- 

E>oratioa  not  bounding  or  abutting  upon  the  improvement  as  will  in 

ti».o   opinion  of  the  Council   or   Board  be  specially  accommodated  or 

t»^ncfited    thereby."!       The    same    rule   doubtless  prevails  in  other 

3^^'^^*^te8.     In  Mississippi  an  Act  was  passed  and  sanctioned  for  embank- 

*~*-*^K  the  river  Mississippi  in  a  particular  county,  and  the  expense  was 

*^*-*    t>e  met  by  "  a  uniform  tax  not  exceeding  teii  cents  per  acre  on  all 

^^**<3s  La  the  county  lying  on  or  within  ten  roUes  of  the  river,  and  five 

^^tits  per  acre  on  all  lands  in  the  county  lying  more  than  ten  miles 

«:«^ta  the  river."t 

The  valuation  of  property,  or  of  benefit  to  property,  nece^ary  for 

*»«  betterment  tax  is  made  sometimes  by  special  assessors,  but  usually 

-^   tlie  ordinary  assessors  for  the  other  local  taxes ;   and  American 

^^^8  have  always  three  assessors,  who   are  burgesses  in  the  town, 

^  elected  for  a  three  years'  term,  and  do  the  work  jointly. 

^»^  Tte  way  has  been  smoothed  for  the  general  introduction  of  special 

-»7^*'t-ennent  legislation  in  America  by  certain  collateral  principles  having 

^^^O  already  adopted  iu  American  law.  American  law,  for  example,  has 

t**irted  from  the  common  law  of  England  by  refusing  to  allow  an  owner 


*o 


'"ecover  his  property  from  a  ho7id  fide  adverse  possessor  untU  he  has 

*  Thompson's  "  American  Heports,"  p.  562. 
t  Peck's  "  Municipal  Cwle  of  Ohio,"  p.  204. 
X  Angell  and  Dvrlee's  "  Law  of  Highwajre,"  p.  106. 


CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW.  [May 

paid  the  latter  adequate  compensation  for  the  improvements  he  made 
on  the  property  while  it  was  in  his  possession.  And  an  even  more 
important  divergence  is  the  recognition,  in  cases  of  compulsory  pur- 
chase for  railway  or  similar  purposeSj  of  the  improvement  to  the  rest 
of  the  seller's  estate  as  a  set-off,  according  to  its  value,  against 
claim  for  compensation  for  the  piece  of  land  taken  from  him.  Thisii 
allowed  in  most  of  the  American  States,  x>ossibly  in  all.  In  Massa-. 
chusetts  the  Court  laid  down  the  doctrine  in  a  highway  case,  th 
"  the  benefit  the  owner  of  the  land  derives  from  the  laying  down  of 
way  over  it  may  often  exceed  the  value  of  the  land  covered  by  t 
way  ;  "  and  a  railway  company  is  allowed  in  that  State  to  show  by  w; 
of  a  set-off  against  a  claim  for  the  land  it  took  any  direct  and  pecul 
benefit  or  increase  of  value  which  the  owner  of  the  same  land  obtai 
from  the  making  of  the  line,  though  not  any  general  benefit  or  increase 
value  received  by  such  land  in  common  "vvith  other  lands  in  the  nei|f^  'Mi- 
bourhood,  nor  any  benefit  accraing  from  the  same  source  to  other  la—  »■  n^ 
of  the  same  owner,  or  in  the  same  town.*  The  constitution  of  Vermcz^  ^mt 
provides  that  the  owner  of  land  compulsorily  taken  should  receive  ^Emn 
equivalent  in  money,  but  the  Court  decided  that  it  was  quite  consist^s^-  lit 
with  that  provision  to  pay  him  the  equivalent  in  the  increased  vaM_  "«ie 
of  the  rest  of  his  estate.  In  calculating  benefit  care  is  usually  tnl-f —  -^n 
to  exclude  indirect,  contingent,  and  general  benefit.  Thus,  in  Virgi 
in  a  case  of  laud  taken  for  a  river  improvement  by  a  river  compi 
the  appraisers  were  instructed  to  take  into  account,  by  way  of  set 
only  such  advantages  as  specifically  and  exclusively  affected  the  ^^ 
ticular  parcel  of  land  out  of  which  the  portion  had  been  taken, 
not  to  look  at  advantages  of  a  more  general  character  whicb  mi 
accrue  to  the  owner  in  common  with  the  country  at  large ;  an 
Massachuesetts  they  were  in  the  same  way  instructed  that  the  gen 
benefit  accruing  to  the  property  of  a  town  through  a  railway — 
benefit  coming  indirectly  through  increase  of  population  and  busin 
and  greater  convenience  for  residence  and  trade — was  too  remot 
be  considered. t 

But  the   peculiar  benefit  to  which  the  valuation  is  limited 
often  be  so  much  that  the  set-off  exceeds  the  claim,  and  the  land 
has  to  part  with  his  land  and  pay  a  balance  besides.     In  New  Y( 
John  R.   Livingston  owned  land  taken   for  a  street,  and  when 
looked  for  payment  got  instead  a  bill  for  betterment  of  his  remain, 
estate.     He  flew  to  law,  but  was  told  he  could  claim  no  damages 
sustaining    a    benefit.       *'  The  owner  of  property  taken,"  said 
Chancellor,   "  ia  entitled  to  a  full  compensation   for  the  damage 
Buataina  thereby,  but  if  tJie  taking  of  his  property  for  a  public  imprt^ 
ment  is  a  benefit  rather  than  an  injury  to  him,  he  certainly  has 
equitable  claim  of  damages."  And  the  Chancellor's  view  was  confir; 
•  Angell  and  Dnrfee'a  "  Law  of  Highwaya,"  p.  93.  f  ^*^-  P-  9^ 


-XJlO 


i«9oJ 


THE  BETTERMENT  TAX  IN  AMERICA. 


657 


on    appeal  by  a  unanimous  judgment  in  the  Court  for  Correction  of 
Errors.*     This  principle  of  tlie  set-ofl*  has  sometimes  been  the  thin  end 

•    of"    the  wedge  that  brought  in  the  regular  betterment  tax  after  it. 
X^ennsylrama   first    borrowed   the   set-oft'  from   New    York   before   it 
borrowed  the  betterment  tax,  but  eveu  then  the  judge  who  delivered 
tJie  opinion  of  the  Court  in  Philadelphia  eaid  that,  though  the  set-off 
^«rafi  a  new  feature  in  the  statutes  of  Pennsylvania,  he  did  not  conceive 
■tJie  principle  of  it  to  be  altogether  new.     The  American  mind  had  been 
in  various  ways  familiar  with  the  ideas  of  equity  on  which  it  proceeded. 
IBotb  the  granting  of  compensation  for  improvements  to  the  h»iA  fide 
owner  of  another's  estate,  and  the  ranking  of  benefit  conferred  on  an 
estate  as  a  set-off  against  a  claim  for  compensation,  are  advances  upon 
our   English  law,  but   they   are  distinctly  advances  towards  greater 
equity  ;  and  one  of  them,  the  set-off,  would  have  been  of  immense 
public  benefit  here  in  reducing  the  cost  of  our  railway  construction. 
Nothing  has  contributed  more  to  make  railway  transportation  so  dear  in 
Sn^land  than  the  exorbitant  prices  given  to  proprietors  as  compen- 
sation for  an  interference  with  their  land,  which  was  not  a  hurt,  but 
■  Teally  a  great  benefit  to  them. 
Now  it  will  be  asked,  but  how  has  the  betterment  tax  been  found  to 
■'V'ork?     Has  the  public  been  materially  helped  by  it  ?     Has  it  led  to 
lio  oppressive  exactions,  and  provoked  no  discontent  among  the  private 
proprietors  specially  assessed  ?  So  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  ascertain, 
tHere  has  never  been  anywhere  any  serious  or  continued  outcry  against 
*t.       At  first  it  always  caused  opposition,  and  many  persons  dreaded  it, 
^>ecanse  they   felt  that  it  was  liable  to  abuse,   and  might  in  hands 
ong-uided  by  ideas  of  fairness  be  converted  into  an  instrument  of  gross 
Oppression.     But  in   actual  experience  they   have  found  it  generally 
applied  with  great  consideration  for  private  rights,   and  under  those 
circumstances  the  advantage  of  the  tax  is  obvious.     It  undoubtedly 
'^cilitates   improvements,  because   it  is  one  of  the  least  burdensome 
'*i©thodfl  of  meeting  their  cost,  always  the  chief  difliculty  in  their  way. 
-*-  **®  mere  fact  of  its  general  adoption  among  a  people  so  shrewd  and 
*"'^*<5tical,  and   containing   so  largo  a  proportion  of  proprietors  as  the 
~^^*iericans  is  a  sufficient  proof  that  it  has  given  satisfaction.      It  has 
^^^Q    adopted   after   ample    discussion   and   analysis   by   nearly  forty 
^-^^/^Cfent    legislatures,    as   independent    of  one   another    as    those  of 
JL^^ctoria  and  New  Zealand,  or  for  that  matter,  as  those  of  England  and 
-^  .^^**ice.      It  has  been  adopted  with  equal  decision  in  States  the  most 
-»^,^®i*se   in  their  history,   material   condition    and   political    bias,    in 
-^,^~**glnia  as  well  as  in  Massachussetts,  in  the  newest  communities  of  the 
'^t;  as  in  the  now  almost  venerable  commonwealths  of  New  England; 
-  y^  '^  if  it  be  said  they  only  cojued  it  from  one  another,  tlie  force  of 
^ir  testimony  is   really  strengthened  greatly  by  the  circumstance, 
■^  *  Angell  and  Durfee's  "  Lav  of  Uighwajf,"  p.  156. 


658 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


tMAT 


because  it  ia  the  testimony  of  men  who  only  introduced  it  among 
themselves  after  witnessing  the  effect  of  the  experiment  among  their 
neighbours. 

One  of  the  beat  examples  of  its  operation  is  in   the  case  of  the 
Boston  Improvement  Act  of  1866,  into  which,  after  a   long  fight,  a 
betterment  clause  was  inserted  permitting  the  assessment  on  property 
specially  benefited  by  the  improvements,  of  a  special  tax  not  exceeding 
one-half  of  the   estimated  benefit  the   property  received.     Unless  th^ 
estimate   of  the  benefit   was   outrageously   excessive,   nobody   conic 
reasonably  complain  of  such   an  imposition.     A  proprietor  who  gc 
£100  a  year  from  the  improvement  works  was  not  likely  to  feel  hi 
by  being  asked  to  contribute   £50  a  year  to  the  expense  of  the^-    j^. 
execution.     Having  got  their  Act  the  Boston  corporation  inimediate»-r^y 
instituted  a  series  of  systematic  town  improvements,   each   of  "-'■"'-    ^_l. 
Beems  to  have  been  on  at  least  as  great  a  scale  as  the  Strand  Impro^*«     e- 
ment  Bcheme,'and  they  thus  renovated  successively  the  older  quarters.^      of 
the  city.      Mr.  "VVinsor,  the  historian   of  Boston,  does  not  distingoi^K^sJi 
how  much  was  paid  by  the  private  owners  as  betterment  tax,  nor       c3o 
I  understand  whether  he  even  includes  it  in  his  totals,  But  his  figu-  "3r*ea  ™ 
will  at  all  events  give  some   idea  of  the  extent  of  the  operatic*  :r"a.3,^ 
Between   1822  and    1866   the  total  expenditure   in  Boston  for  csii^y 
improvements  was  only  ■i-/tOO,000  dollars  ;  between  1866  and  1880      it 
was  22,200,000  dollars,  and  most  of  this  was  expended  on  three  gi— ^^^at 
schemes  of  street  widening  and  demolition  between  1866  and  1872  —       fl 

Mr.  Winsor  says  this  was  all  done  ''  without  hardship  to  -t^h^ 
numerous  individuals  whose  property  was  taken,  and  without  la-.-»-  "g® 
expense  to  the  city."*  The  people  of  Boston  had  eight  years'  exp'^^^^*- "" 
ence  of  the  operation  of  the  betterment  tax,  when  Mr,  8haw-Lefe 
first  broached  the  subject  in  England  in  1875  in  his  speech  on 
(then  Mr.)  Cross's  Artisans  Dwellings  Bill,  and  Mr.  Lefevre  on  fc-^ 
occasion  quoted  the  remarkable  testimony  of  a  friend  in  Boston,  wt»-  -^'^™ 
he  has  since  mentioned  to  have  been  the  late  Mr.  II.  H,  Dana.  _J-"  ■^- 
Dana  informed  Mr.  Lefevro  that  although  he  had  been  much  oppo^^^^^ 
to  the  betterment  tax  proposal  at  first,  because  he  thought  it  in." 
fered  unduly  with  the  rights  of  property,  he  was  obliged  to  ad 
that  it  would  be  productive  of  great  benefit,  and  that  by  the  adop' 
of  the  principle  many  schemes  had  been  earned  into  effect  wl 
would  before  have  been  utterly  hopeless.  That  seems  to  have  \z^* 
the  general  opinion  in  Boston  at  the  time,  for  in  that  very  year 

city  applied  for  another  improvement  Act,  with  the  same  bettenr:»- j 

clauses  in  it,  for  the  acquisition  of  a  public  park,  and  under  this ~JJ 

they  purchased,  in  1877,  106  acres  of  flats  on  Back  Bay  at  an  aveac         *^ 
price  of  10  cents  the  square  foot,  and  Mr.  Winsor  says,  "The  assesBU^^* 
which  they  were  authorised  to  levy  on  the  adjoining  lands,  on  accouc:^'^ 
*  Winsor's  "  Memorial  History  of  Boston,"  iii.  274. 


THE  BETTERMENT  TAX  IN  AMERICA. 


659 


tlieir  increased  value  from  the  establisliment  of  the  park,  have  made  the 
Bet  cost  of  the  property  to  the  city  only  about  30,000  dollars."  * 

In  Washingtou  the  experience  was   not   so  satisfactory,    but  in 

Washington  the  betterment  tax  was  not,  as  in  Boston,  one-half  of  the 

benefit  the  owners  derived,  but  one-third  of  the  whole  cost  of  the 

teiprovement  itself ;  and  besides,  the  improvements  seem  to  have  been  in 

extent  out  of  all  proportion  with  the  roaonrces  of  the  city,  so  that  the 

I  TlioJe  body  of  ratepayers  felt  the  burden  to  be  oppressive,  and   the 

"■ipecial  payers  of  the  betterment  rate  to  have  felt  it  only  something 

more  than  the  rest.     Before  the  civil  war,  Washington  was  a  mere 

"^f^^mproved  village,  but  in  the  five  years,  1866-1871,  the  corporation 

^<5  out  8,000,000  dollars  on  improveraenta,  of  which  2,500,000  were 

^•seased  specially  on  adjoining  owners,  and  3,000,000  seem  to  have 

raised  as  a  loan.     This  expenditure  was  felt  so  heavy  by  the 

>le  that  a  clamour  arose,  under  which,  not  merely  the  individual 

lifisioners  but  the  commission  itself  as  an  institution  was  superseded, 

id  a  new  Board  created  in  1871  for  the  purpose  of  carrying  out 

ililic  improvements.     But  if  the  old  commission  scourged  them  with 

*"-"ips,  they  found  the  new  Board  scourged  them  with  scorpions.     It 

■^iixched  out  into  most  extensive  improvements  j  in  four  years  it  had 

^^ved  90  miles  of  streets  (more  than  half  of  them  with  wood),  it  had 

W*cl  down  13  miles  of  sewer-pipes,  1  !•  miles  of  water-mains,  20  miles 

^^  gpas-mains,  and  so  on  ;  in  short,  as  Mr.  J.  A.  Porter  says,  "  it  created 

■^^ashington  as  it  is  known." f     The  debt  of   the  city    was    raised 

^om  3,000,000,  in  1871,  to  20,000,000  dollars  in  1875,  and  I  presume 

B^e    taxation,  both  general  and  special,  was  also  raised  in  the  same 

^T>o  portion.      For  sewerage  a  special  tax  was  devised,     "  The  city  was 

jj-'vided  for  the  purpose  into  five  districts,  the  property  in  each  being 

^aVsjected  to    an    arbitrary  tax  per  square  foot  without    particular 

^*i£erence  to  value  or  location. "f     From  this  sentence  it  would  appear 

^^*«t  part  of  the  complaint  was  because  the  tax  was  imposed  indis- 

<iriinuiately  according  to  frontage  and  not  according  to  benefit.     At 

^r»j  rate  the  discontent  was  deep,  and  a  petition  was  sent  to  Congress 

"y  the  most  respectable  citize^i,  asking  tlie  Board  of  Works  to  be 

•^^^moned  t-o  the  Bar  of  the  Senate  on  a  charge  of  recklessness  and 

''^•l-administration.     When  this  failed,  they^  started  a  newspaper  to 

'PoPtjnue  the  agitation,   and    Mr.    Porter  particularly    mentions  that 

B*  fiome  of  their  (the  Board's)  '  special  taxes '  were  shown  to  amount 

y^'^Qctically  to  confiscation  ;"  and  that  the  *'  special  improvement"  rate 

^T^*  felt  very  severely,  so  that  it  seems  to  have  been  made  a  principal 

^ject  of  attack. 

1  will  only  add  one  observation  more.     Whatever  may  be  thought 

"ViMor'B  "  Memorial  History  of  Boston,"  iii.  285. 

I  Mr,  Porter's  interesting  study  on  tbo  "  City  of  Wasliington,"  in  John  Hopkins 
tSttttiics,"  p.  35.  *  X  Jbid.  p.  37. 


660 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[VLtr 


of  this  peculiar  tax,  it  is  at  least  very  clear  that  it  has  nothing  in  i\ 
world  to  do,  either  in  idea  or  in  eSect,  with  those  general  proposj^,^^ 
to  iotercept  the  unearned  increment  on   real  property  with  which  t*^ 
Duke  of  Argyll  has  unhappily  cbosen  to   confound  it.      Nothing 
thought  of  but  the  fairest  and  least  burdensome  way  of  meeting      ^ 
extraordinary  common  expense.     City  improvements  are  a  purpose    7^, 
which  it  has  verj'  generally  been   considered  necessary   to  provide      \^ 
some  special  resource.     The  city  of  London  used  to  meet  it  by    "tJia 
coal  duties ;  the  Scotch  towns  before  the  Union  by  an  impost  of  1;w9 
pennies   Scots  on  the   stoup  of  ale;     Glasgow,  sixty  years  ago,  bjr  « 
public  lottery.     But,  on  the  whole,  no  possible  resource  seems  so  Mt-tle 
burdensome  as  this  betterment  tax.      Who  is  hurt  by  it  ?     It  is  call^ 
discriminating,  but  it  is  not  really  so.      The  coal  duties  were,  inde^<3, 
disci'iminating  ;  they  forced  the  manufacturer  in  Lambeth  and  the  pt^cr 
searastregs  in  St.  GOes's  to  pay  for   improvements  in  the  City  fro^^ 
which  they  drew  absolutely  no  benefit,  while  the  rich  proprietor  in  ti^^ 
locality  escaped  almost  scot-free,  though  the  improvements  filled  fc»J9 
purse.     The  Duke  of  Argyll  condemns  the  betterment  tax  as  a  00*^" 
travention  of  the  economic  laws  of   exchange  value,  inasmuch  as  ii^^^t 
land  and  houses  alone,  but  every  commodity  occasionally  contracts  t^*^ 
accidental  enhancement  in  value  from  rises  in  public  demand,  witho"«t 
any  expenditure  of  labour.     But  we  have  to  do  here  not  with  ^am 
enhancement  due  to  a  rise   in  demand,  but  with   an  enhancem»'»t 
directly  contributed  by  labour.     When  a  house  in  a  back  street      is 
made  to  front  a  great  thoroughfare  by  clearing  away  the  houses  tt»ai 
stood  before  it,  the   improvement  in  its  situation,  which  makes     ii 
more  worthy  of  demand,  hag  all  been  conferred  upon  it  by  as  defin.if# 
a  piece   of  labour    as    the    labour    of  bringing   sewers    and   water 
to  the  house ;  and  the  only  question  is  whether  the  proprietor  ougit 
not  to  contribute  to  the  expense  of  that  labour  in  some  proportioD 
to  the  special  benefit  he  appropriates   from  it,  or  at  least  in  some 
higher  measure  than  his  fellow-citizens  who  do  not  participate  in  tb»t 
benefit.      The  benefit  he  recpivea,  it    is    trupj  accrues  to  him  in  this 
case  just  as  iu  the  ordinary  cases  of  mneamed  increment,  without  any 
definite  expenditure  on  his  own  part,  so  that  he  would  be  really  no 
sufierer  if  it  were  to  be  taken  from  him,  but  th©  peculiarity  in  the 
case,  which  marks  it  off  from  ordinary  unearned  increment,  is  that  the 
benefit  all  comes  from  a  definite  expenditure  on  the  part  of  the  pnbbc, 
to  which  every  other  citizen  is  forced  to  contribute  as  well  as  he.  Tbe 
Duke's  argument  from  the  general  utility  of  leaving  unearned  inert'- 
ment  untouched,  as   an   encouragement  to  enterprise,  turns  agaio* 
himself  in  the  present  case,  because  in  the  present  case  the  enterprise, 
the  spirit  of  improvement,  is  so  manifestly  encouraged  by  the  public 
appropriation  of  the  increment. 

JoHK  Bar 


A  "POISONED  PARADISE." 


|N  all  sides  I  hear  that  ilonte  Carlo  is  not  what  it  was.  Its  most 
devoted  admirera  are  gradually  becoming  faithless  in  their 
giance  ;  and  their  enthusiasm  strikes  me  as  chillier  as  year  succeeds 
r.  The  deep  blue,  tideless  Mediterranean  is  there ;  the  silver  grey 
kground  of  mysterious  mountains  still  shelters  this  fascinating  spot ; 
still  can  wander  in  orange  gardens  and  groves  of  lemon;  the 
sets  and  lanes  are  scented  with  geranium  and  mimosa  bloom  ;  roses, 
lets,  anemones,  are  as  plentiful  as  primroses  and  daffodils  in  an 
glish  garden,  the  sun  still  shines  alluringly,  the  air  is  charged  with 
lilaration,  but  over  the  whole  place  hangs  the  atmosphere  of  un- 
dtliiness,  the  miasma  of  decay  and  desolation.  Under  each 
impled  rose-leaf  is  a  bright-eyed  asp  ;  beneath  the  golden  fruit  in 
)se  Hesperides  gardens  gleams  the  foul-fanged  adder.  The  Paradise 
ide  by  God  is  th^re  in  its  transcendaat  beauty,  but  the  poison  is 
rarnount,  distilled  by  the  devil. 

I  was  ever  anxious  to  be  introduced  to  tho  many  joys  and  delights 
Monte  Carlo.  Year  followed  year  and  still  found  me  chained  to 
)  oar,  bound  to  the  mast  of  incessant  toil,  doomed  to  fogs  and  days 
Egyptian  darkness,  and  gas-lighted  gloom,  and  east  winds,  and  per- 
t«nt  melancholy,  whilst  others,  luckier  as  I  f>ver  thought,  could  fly 
ay  like  the  swallows  to  happier,  sunnier  climea.  The  torture  of 
at  I  then  thought  servitude  seemed  more  intense  when  boxes  of 
Vera  arrived,  beautiful  but  scentless— presents  from  Kellers,  the  daily 
uiezvous  of  Monte  Carlo  visitors — roses  that  smelt  not  of  the  English 
''den,  mignonette  that  somehow  lacked  what  Matthew  Arnold  calls  the 
lomely  cottage  smell,"  and  clusters  of  oranges  and  lemons  with  leaves 
•ched  which  ever  reminded  one  of  the  decorative  wall  papers  of 
illi&m  Morris.    It  seemed  to  me  from  these  tributes  of  afifection,  from 


THE   COXrEirPORARY  REVIEW. 


rooiQ^ 
tsepfl 


thran  gloving  ■inwiito  of  Moate  Culo  fife,  from  the  bapfpy  tone  0 
cane  in  letters  from  old  frimila,  fmn  whisperB  sent  from  hill-€ 
villtt  and  fruit  garfaw,  tiiafc  tbere  laaat  be  Horatian  ease,  indeed 
aodi  aa  were  ladcj  enongfc  to  cnjoj  As  hospitality  of  kindly  pat« 
like  tlie  modem  Mccenas.  fl 

Hie  diffical^  alwaja  waa  in  ay  mind  to  aaBodate  this  "  gtfl 
ease  *  with  the  daily  and  deadly  pfleamce  of  the  gambling  rooiqg 
separate  the  refinement  and  giadoasnesBof  Monte  Carlo  life, 
iwimiMt  Tulgantj  and  rowdyism  that  are  Bondicnr  or  other  inse; 
fxanx  ^jUOBnA  dutnoe ;  to  beliere  thai  Aere  was  indeed  one  place  J 
world  that  resisted  and  withstood  the  despair  and  decay  that  ioevftal 
follow  in  the  gamUet's  train.  Chance  willed  it  that  holiday  rambl 
from  town  to  town  made  me  JMnil^ity  in  old  dajrs  with  the  most  popal 
gambling  resorts  of  the  Continent.  I  think  I  saw  them  all  at  th« 
beat ;  at  the  period  of  bkeeoniing,  not  of  decay.  I  hare  eBJoy^ 
the  pleasures  of  (the  gaming  esano  apart)  the  delicioas  pine  woe 
that  snrronnd  the  picturesque  Spa  :  the  neatness  and  order,  the  tc 
box  grmmetry  of  the  sweltering  little  Rhine  Valley,  where,  on  t 
banks  of  a  tribntary  of  the  great  river,  kings  and  emperors  and  princ 
came  to  drink  the  waters  and  to  woo  the  goddess  of  fortune  at  Ei 
Baden.  I  hare  stood  aghast  at  the  glittering  crowd,  loxurions  I 
still  refined,  reckless,  but  still  aristocratic,  that  almost  dazzled  1 
senses  in  the  beautiful  gaming  rooms  at  Wiesbaden ;  and  on  IoV( 
summer  nights  I  hare  sat  "  under  the  dreaming  garden  trees'* 
Baden-Baden  listening  to  the  incomparable  music  of  the  band 
Strauss,  delightfully  fatigued  after  a  ramble  up  the  hills  and  about  1 
rains  of  the  old  Schloss  where  .£olian  harps,  artfully  concealed  in  I 
ivy-covered  window  frames,  were  stirred  by  every  passing  breeze  t! 
came  softly  over  the  hills.  The  impression  left  on  the  mind  afte 
visit  to  these  familiar  spots  was  one  of  luxurious  feveriehness,  never 
disgust.  There  was  much  there  to  allure ;  nothing,  so  far  as  I  co' 
see,  to  make  one  shudder.  We  did  not  mix  in  those  days  w 
rowdies,  cheats,  and  blacklegs.  There  may  have  been  disputes  at ' 
tables — as  there  aro  in  many  a  well-cond  acted  clab — from  the  h 
of  play,  but  there  was  no  petty  thieving,  no  grabbing  of  other  peop 
monty,  no  pot-house  cavilling,  sach  as  are  found  in  the  Monte  Cark 
to-day.  The  privilege  of  entrance  was  never  very  select,  but  it  t 
an  understood  thing  that  all  who  were  admitted  to  the  rooms  sho 
know  how  to  behave,  and  should  learn  how  to  dress.  At  the  ti 
that  Thomas  Robertson  wrote  his  comedy  called  "  l*lay,"  and  ini 
dnced  some  g^raceful  pictures  of  holiday  life  at  Baden-Baden,  I  si 
pope  the  place  was  in  its  fall  tide  of  success  and  fashion,  and  that 
about  the  time  that  I  visited  this  charming  and  well  ordered  nooi 
few  miles  from  the  main  railway  station,  called  "  Ooe,"  facetioo 
known  by  all  punters  of  those  days  as  *'  Double  Zeros." 


l89o] 


A    ''POISONED   PARADISE." 


668 


life  at  Baden-Baden  in  those  days  was  not  particularly  strait-laced, 
bat  yoa  saw  there  all  that  was  most  distinguished  in  the  aristocratic 
and  the  half  world  also.     There  were  races  at  Iflizheim  and  pigeoa- 
Bhooting  matches  and  driveg  throagh  the  woods  to  the  mountains ; 
there  were  balls  and  concerts  and  theatres,  and  shops  where  winners 
invested  in  diamonds,  and  losers  obtained  advances  on  priceless  jewels ; 
fortunes  were  lost  there,  and  folly  went  hand  in  hand  with  fun ;  but 
Baden  and  its  sister  watering-places  never  sank  to  the  tipsy  depravdty 
of  the  "  American  Bar."     It  was  a  case  of  "  levelling  up  "  at  Baden, 
not  of  *'  levelling  down."     No  doubt  some  of  the  scum  of  European 
society  floated  that  way,  but  the  atmosphere  of  the  place  made  them 
be  on  their  best  behaviour  and  not  their  worst.     A  man  who  did  not 
know  how  to  present  himself  in  society,  either  in  dress  or  conversation, 
would  have  been  politely  shown  the  door — on  the  wrong  side.     The 
snob  who  made  a  disturbance  in  the  well-ordered  rooms  where  discreet 
silence  prevailed  would  have  been  politely  hustled  out.     The  "  Corin- 
thian" who  would  have  dared  to  swear  and  curse  and  shout  at  a 
Baden  hotel  or  restaurant,  and  to  insult  the  guests  assembled  there, 
"Would  have  been  firmly  but  politely  presented  with  the  *'  key  of  the 
street,"  and  not  even  then  allowed  to  bnlly  and  holloa  like  a  tipsy 
Ooatermonger.     In  those  days  mere  wealth,  or  mere  impudence,  did 
'lot  secure  for  their  owners  any  special  pri\dlege  of  impertinence  towards 
^Jj©    majority.     On  the  contrary,   the  majority  were   perfectly   able 
and  willing  to  take  care  of  themselves,  and  to  protect  the  women 
inder  their  care. 

But  gradually,  I  suppose,  the  tide  of  progress — or  shall  I   call  it 

licence — aflfected  the  German  as  it  did  the  other  gambKug  places.    They 

^er©  quietly  closed  before  scandal  was  allowed  to  place  upon  them 

Its    festering  finger.     Ems,  Homburg,  Wiesbaden,  and  Baden-Baden 

^ere  as  brands  snatched  from  the  burning.     They  were  handed  over 

*ro»n  dissipation  to  health,  and  from  pleasure  to  education.    The  water 

'^fea  healed  the  body,  and  the  schools  assisted  the  mind.    Lawn  tennis 

*Qcceeded  the  board  of  green  cloth,  and  the  cricket-ball  was  heard  in- 

■^ad  of  the  eternal  click  of  the  roulette  table.     There  were  stranger 

**periences,  however,  elsewhere.     Some  mysterious  chance  helped  me 

**>  Bee  the  last  act  of  what  I  may  presume  was  the  most  disreputable 

*it.tle  gambling  hell  in  Europe.      Like    its  brothers    and  siatera  in 

Iniquity  it  was  situated  amidst  enchanting  scenery — the  last  place  in  the 

"''Orld  you  would  expect  to  find  amidst  the  "peace  of  solitary  mountains" 

*nd  in  the  heart  of  a   smiling  valley  with   its  simple  villages  and 

Waterfalls.     It   was  at  the  close  of  a  summer  holiday  in  Switzerland 

^uat  my  friends,  not  without  ominous  warnings,  left  me  on  the  platform 

^f  the  station  of  "  Saxon  les   Bains  "  in  the  Rhone  valley.     Here 

Rambling  was  kept  up  some  time  after  the  German  tables  were  closed ; 

*i»d  I  very  much  doubt  if  such  a  villainous  set  of  people,  such  a  scum 


664 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


of  blackguardism,  could  Lave  been  found  at  any  other  place  on 
European  continent.  Outside  all  was  fair  and  snailing — little  viJ 
seductive  chalets,  a  miniature  casino  concealed  in  some  gardens,  di 
and  burnt  up  with  the  summer  heat,  and  a  second-class  hotel  wit 
background  of  lovely  mountains.  I  was  destined  to  enjoy  a  stra 
experience.  Arriving  late  in  the  afternoon,  I  sat  down  in  the  unl 
mile  a  manger  of  the  hotel  for  table  d'hftte,  but  before  the  din 
was  half  over  I  was  astonished  to  find  that  my  left-hand  neighboai 
an  untidy,  careworn  looking  woman — burst  into  a  flood  of  te 
Being  of  a  sympathetic  turn  vi  mind,  I  tried  to  console  her,  or  at  i 
rate  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  her  despair.  It  appeared  that  her  I 
band,  who  was  a  French  commercial  traveller,  was  upstairs  in  1: 
half  tipsy  with  brandy,  and.  threatening  his  wretched  wife  that 
would  commit  suicide  before  moming.  He  had  lost  every  farthin| 
his  employer's  money  on  the  morning  of  that  very  day,  and  they  ' 
only  a  few  francs  between  them  to  pay  the  hotel  bill,  for  which  t 
were  being  pressed  by  the  landlord.  I  then  understood  the  objec 
the  flood  of  tears.  I  was  expected  out  of  my  charity  to  extricate 
fair  neighbour  from  her  difficulty,  and  save  her  demented  hosb 
from  a  premature  death.  But  my  own  finances  at  the  end  of  a  holi 
did  not  permit  me  to  indulge  in  any  very  extensive  scheme  of  cha: 
My  purse  would  not  yield  more  than  a  small  gold  piece,  which 
naturally  promptly  convoked  to  the  gambling  table.  Whether  I  st 
the  wretched  woman  from  the  beating  which  she  hourly  expectec 
her  drunken  husband  from  the  doom  he  contemplated,  I  never 
covered,  for  the  early  dawn  saw  me  many  miles  from  the  vile  ] 
known  as  Saxon  les  Bains.  But  In  the  few  memorable  hours  tht 
spent  there  I  had  impressions  that  I  am  not  likely  to  forget.  E 
anxious  to  see  what  is  to  be  seen  wherever  I  may  be,  I  made  my  v 
after  dinner  to  the  gambling  tables.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  I 
vile  appearaiice  nf  the  men  and  women  who  crowded  round  thetabi 
■or  to  record  the  language  that  was  used.  The  croupiers  all  seemed 
favour  the  most  disreputable,  and  on  more  than  one  occasion  tb 
waa  a  free  fight  over  some  disputed  stake.  The  smallest  coin  t! 
could  be  staked  waa  a  florin ,  and  I  am  bound  to  say  I  saw  very  lit 
gold  on  the  table.  I  happened  to  be  rather  lucky,  and  my  good  f 
tune  aided  me  in  securing  my  winnings  before  they  were  appropria 
by  the  thieves — men  and  women — in  whose  undesirable  compan; 
was  placed.  I  was  only  playing  with  florins,  and  as  there  appea 
to  be  no  gold  on  the  board  I  was  paid  in  silver  pieces.  As  time  W' 
on  I  got  heavier  and  heavier,  all  my  pockets  were  filled,  and,  as  n 
be  guessed,  the  winning  of  a  very  few  pounds  in  silver  pieces  woi 
eventually  retard  my  progress  somewhat,  and  make  me  an  easy  prey 
^  any  one  concealed  in  the  shrubberies  who  was  armed  with  a  stout  cli 
On  one  occasion  two  friends  of  mine  who  had  been  playing  and 


i«9oa 


A   ''POISONED    PARADISE." 


666 


ning   at   St.  Sebastian  on  the  Spanish  frontier  were  kindly  provided 

by  the  "  administration  "  with  a  couple  of  old  Dogberrys,    who   with 

pikes  and  lanterns  escorted  them  and  their  gains  to  their  hotel.     The 

authorities  at    Saxon  les  Bains  were  not  so  considerate  to  ine,  and  I 

had   to  make  tlie  best  of  my  way  home  unattended.     I  saw  at  once 

when  I  left  the  tables  that  I  was  a  marked  man.     Two  melodramatic 

villx&ins  followed  me  out  of  the  room,  and  as  I  anticipated  danger  in 

the    dark  shrubberies  of  the  casino  gardens,  for  the  gas  supply  was  very 

limited  indeed,  I  resolved,  heavily  weighted  as  I  was  in  the  handicap, 

bo     make  a  bolt  for  it,   and  to  show  my  evil-looking  friends  a  clean 

pair   of  heels.     Jingling  and  rattling  I  arrived  at  the  mean-looking 

hotel,  and   liaving  found  my  way  to  my  room  proceeded  to  lling  my 

^a.ins  on  to  the  bed  and  to  coant  the  spoil.      To  my  astonishment  I 

heard  crafty  steps  creeping  about  the  corridor.     Incautiously   I  had 

forgotten  to   lock   the   door.     Had  I  wanted  to  do  so  it  would  have 

been  impossible,  as  I  found,  when  examining  the  door,  that  the  lock 

and.  bolts  had  been  deliberately  ^vrenched  away.     There  was  no  time 

to  Vte  lost,  for  the  cat-like  steps  still  crept  about  the  passages,  waiting 

for    iny   light  to  be  extinguished.      There  was  no  help  for  it  but  to 

make   a  barricade.      I   dragged  the  heaviest  furniture  from  its  place 

and  barred  the  door  with  the  wardrobe,  the  chairs  and  tables.      Bat 

sleep  was  impossible.     All  night  long  my  door  was  being  tried  by  the 

K^este  of  the  hotel  proprietor  who  had  taken  a   fancy  to   my  silver 

pieces.     By  the  first  train  I  was  on  my  way  to  Geneva  with  my  prizo 

secure.     And  I  saw  no  more  of  Saxon  les  Bains,  whose  evil  career 

•^ttie  to  an  end  the  next  year.     It  was  ruined  by  the  power  of  its  in- 

aerent  vice  and  reckless  depravit}'. 

-A.ti  last,  after  many  years  waiting,  the   chance   of  visiting   Monte 

^^o  presented  itself.     I  was  to  go  under  the  happiest  auspices  and  in 

"*®  Company  of  old  friends.      Expectation  had  led  me  to  hope  for  much, 

**^^    in  this  instance  all  that  I  had  imagined   as  to  the  beauty  of  the 

^'^'^iera  was  exceeded.   The  best  way  to  approach  the  paradise  of  flowers 

*^^   sunshine  is  to  start  froni  Paris — after  a  rest-^by  the  train  dc  liuv, 

.   On   come  to  the  most  interesting  bits  of  the  scenery  in  the  early  mom- 

**&   after  a  good  sleep  and  a  comfortable  breakfast,  and  all  that  the 

^*^litisiast  can  desire  is  a  flood  of  sunshine.       We  got  it  almost  from 

^3^1ii*eak.    I  can  conceive  no  greater  pleasure  than  the  gradual  ascent 

^  it:  were  into  the  favoured  regions  of  the  sun.      Hour  after  hour  thfr 

^  *^H>m  and  mist  are  left  behind.     We  reach  the  grey  olives  when  the 

^^  is  breaking.      ^Ve  arrive  at  llai-seilles  and  the  calm  blue  Mediter- 

^^**oan  shore  when  the  sun  is  mounting  to  the  heavens.     No  more 

*^*::k9  of  olive-strewn  plains,  no  more  rocks  and  barren  pastures — all 

Ir^^tity  when  Marseilles  is  left  behind.   At  once  we  are  in  another  world. 

^^therto  our  English   eyes  have  only  been  accustomed  to  applo  and 

**erry  orchards  at  home,  but  here  the  landscape  is  starred  out  with  ripe 


Vol.  LVD. 


i:  X 


666 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Ma- 


-m 


red  oranges  and  golden  lemons.    There  seems  to  be  everything  in  nat 
here.     We  can   scarcely  believe  our  eyes.     Orange  trees  in  blosao 
and  in  fruit  at  the  same  hour :  violets  and  anemones  blooming  side 
side  with  acres  of  rose  trees  ;  spring,  summer  and  autumn,  as  we  kni 
them,    united    in    one    long    embrace.      After  Cannes    the    sceni 
intensifies  in    beauty.      The    train,    rushing  through   little  tunm 
skirts   blue,  land-locked  bays,  sparkling  with  yachts  and   gay  w 
men  of  war.     The  windows  of  all  the  villas  are  open,  and  altho^,;^^^r 
yesterday  we  were  shivering  in  the   Strand  now  there  are  sun-bl5.^f_,j 
and  tents  in  the  gardens,  and  lawn-tennis  players  are  seen  in  flaa-x:^^  e/s 
resting  from  some  tournament  among  the  flowers.    Each  sunny  s-^-tpt 
on  the  Hiviera  has  ita  admirers,  but  none  can  rival  Monte  Carlo  for  sit»_:3a. 
tion  and  grandeur.     Nowhen'  else  is  there  the  background  of  maje^  tic 
rock  ;    nowhere  else  the  castled   promontory   of  Monaco   where   C:>he 
palace  of  the  prince  is  half-hiddeu  by  bowers  of  mimosa  and  geranii*-  ^n. 
The  key-not<j  of  the  despair  of  the  place  is  struck  within  a  momenta     **' 
arrival.      An  old  fi'ifud  who  cornea  to  meet  ua  at  the  station,  a  gL^"^^^ 
fellow  who   enjoys  fun    like   the  rest  of  us,  is  already  preparing         *^     _ 
depart.     He  has  been  over  to  Mentono  and  he  owns  he  likes  it  bett^^^   "  I 
Another  who  has  had  but  a  slight  apprenticeship  of  the   Principal^***-      ? 
has   made    nji   his   mind    to  join    his  frionds  at  Nice.      A   third  ^^^^ 

enthusiastic  about  the  peaceful  villa  gardens  where  so  many  Engli 
make  a    home  on  the  sunny   road  between  Nice    and  Monte    Car! 
A  fourth,  who  has  only  remained  behind  to  welcome  us,  cordially  o 
that  *'  he  has  had  enough  of  it."       ^Vhat  is  the  matter  with  the  placi 
What  plague  has  stricken  it  ?     There  is  nothing  to  find  fault  with 
the  hotels,    except  the  prices,  which  must  run  high   at  such   pi 
where  money  is  no  object.     Some  prefer  noise,   others  quiet, 
some  the   Grand  and  the  Paris  are  too  fast :  to  others  the  decon 
Metropole  is,  according  to  them,  too  slow.     As  to  the  mere  eating  t^--^^"^^^^-"^ 
drinking*  all  own  that  you  can  dine  or  breakfsist  here  as  well    if  c:^^^*^* 
better  than  at  the  Cafe  Anglais  or  Delmonico's.     Every  luxury  that  vcm-  ^^■m 
or  woman  can   desire  is  to  be  had  here  for  the   asking.     The  suim-  ^ 

shining  in  the  heavens,  the  air  is  exhilarating,  not  depressing.  H*^^^ 
flowf^rs  scent  the  very  atmosphere,  the  music  is  of  the  very  best  ti:»-  -^^ 
can  be  obtained  in  Europe.  Why  then  are  all  the  visitors  exce*^^** 
the  confirmed  gamblers  talking  of  removing  away  to  select  Cann^^* 
or  lovely  Beaulteu  ?  There  is  something  wrong  with  the  plac--^? 
something  that  does  not  meet  the  eye.  What  is  the  matter  wit  ^ 
Monte  Carlo.  To  the  outward  gaze  it  is,  indeed,  a  paradise.  MTl-^** 
poisoned  it  ?     Ijet  ns  look  for  ourselves  and  see. 

Up  those  fatal  steps  then  to  the  great  white  building  from  whos^^^ 
portals  the  careless  and  s!ip-slop   administration ^  so  it  is   rumoured,,*-^ 
thought  fit  to  expel  the  Prime  Minister  of  England.  This  is  the  seat  oC"^ 
the  disease  that  is  eating  the  life  out  of  Monte  Carlo.  This  is  the  canker 


lo] 


A   "POISONED   PARADISE" 


667 


>t  of  the  lovely  Principality.  It  is  here  if  you  take  a  seat  at  the  cafi  ia 

9  pretty  flowered  square,  nail  emoke  a  meditative  cigar,  that  you  can 
ietly  observe  the  inner  and  the  despaiiing  life  of  Monte  Carlo.     All 

Y  long,  from  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  until  the  clock  strikes 
rven  at  night,  they  ascend  and  descend — men  and  women,  honest 
jple  and  scoundrels,  the  over-dressed  and  the  well-nigh  ragged — the 
ivhle  steps  that^ — good  chance  or  bad  chance — must  eventually  lead  to 
in.  How  confident  and  buoyant  is  the  new-comer ;  how  gloomy 
d.  meditative  the  old  hand ;  how  dejected  and  despairing  comes  out 
B  ;  how  feverishly  excited  and  talking  at  the  top  of  his  voice  comes 
;  gambler,  who  for  the  moment  thinks  that  he  is  destined  beyond 

others  to  alter  the  course  of  the  inevitable.  On  eveiy  face,  even 
tihe  youngest  and  prettiest,  are  already  marked  tbe  lines  of  anxiety. 
tkj  do  not  our  artists  come  and  paint  this,  the  most  dramatic  picture 

all  Monte  Carlo  ? 

Xefore  now  we  have  seen  in  pictures  the  interior  of  the  gaming  rooms, 
»  hght,  the  excitement,  the  greed,  the  various  expressions  on  the 
»C6.  But  the  true  drama  is  here  on  the  Casino  steps,  which  must  be 
>ddeQ  in  despair  at  last  in  spite  of  luck,  iu  spite  of  systems,  in  spite  of 
^.rking  of  cards,  and  mathematical  calculations,  in  spite  of  pilfering 
«3  cheating,  and  boiTowing  and  sponging  by  the  tragic  figure,  half 
aid,  hopeless,  penniless — a  pathetic  ruiu.  The  pitcher  has  gone 
oe  too  often  to  the  well.  It  ia  broken  at  last.  And  to  this 
oaplexion  every  gambler  in  the  world  must  come. 

The  people  at  Monte  Carlo  appear  to  act  on  the  principle  that 
Bry  respectable  person  should  be  eyed  with  suspicion,  and  every 
ady-looking  customer  welcomed  with  open  arms.  The  change  from 
3  Ban  and  gaiety  outside  to  the  squalor  aud  gloom  of  the  outer 
U  is  vety  striking  to  the  spectator  who  can  remember  the  old 
>den  days.  No  wondfr  that  hotel  robberies  are  of  doily  occurrence, 
•t  you  cannot  leave  your  room  without  danger  of  your  trunk  being 
led  ;  that  squabbles  and  wranglings  occur  over  the  stakes,  that  a 
>tipieThas  been  proved  to  be  in  league  with  the  "  knights  of  industry," 

10  swarm  like  beea  about  the  place,  when  free  admission  is  given  to 
aH  a  seedy  society  as  this.    Respectability  is  in  a  minority,  whereas  a 

V  years  ago,  it  had  a  decided  majority,  and  the  company,  as  it  ever 
^B,  has  given  a  tone  to  the  scene.  In  the  outer  hall,  that  reminds 
*  of  the  entrance  to  a  railway  station,  ill-decorated,  untidy  aud 
''Osted  of  all  style,  lounge  fsorocs,  smoking  and  spitting,  men  and 
'Ctien,  who  are  well  known  as  evil  characters  by  every  police  depart- 
■*it  in  Europe.  A  lady  points  me  out  a  man  who  robbed  her  and 
^  husband  only  a  season  or  so  ago,  and  was  kicked  out  of  the  Prin- 
*^ty.  Here  he  is  back  again,  practising  his  old  tricks,  and  con- 
tviently  provided  with  an  admission  ticket  by  the  courteous  adminis- 
^tion.     Here  are  well-known  characters  in  the  black  book  of  our 


668 


THE    COyTEMPORARV  REVIEW. 


fM* 


own  Scotland  Yard.     As  I  stand  watching  this  curious  assembly,        1 
see  a  little  man  come  out  of  the  room  in  an  excited  state,  his  han^HsJs 
full  of  money,  chuckling  to  himself,  and  followod  by  a  couple  of  wom^=?-u, 
who  cling  to  either  arm.      Ton  minutes  afterwards  I  discover  that      "»i.> 
has  robbed  a  friend  of  mine  of  a  winning  stake  amounting  to  abi":^  ut 
£20.      Where  on  earth  do  all  these   people  come  from  ?     Where      <lo 
they  hide  at  Monte  Carlo  '     We  do  not  meet  them  at  our  hotels ;    -^we 
do  not  sit  beside  them  at  table  d'h6te  or  the  restaurants ;  they  xkt9 
never  to   be   seen  at  the  concerts  or  public  places;  they  come  out 
mysteriously,  like  hats  or  owls,  and  flit   about  the  stifling  rooms  &Tid 
fcetid  tables.     They  are  the  vultures,  ready  to  prey  on  the  carcases   of 
the  good-natured  and  inex]ierienced.      People  at  home  are  under  the 
impression   that    the  gambling-rooms  have    a   certain   allurement     of 
refinement  and  fastidious  taste.     It  used  to  be  eo  in  the  old  days,  "but 
is  not  80  now.      Badly  ventilated  they  arc,  ill  decorated,  very  second- 
rate  and  down  at  heel;  the  old  drawing-room  style  has  been  abolished, 
out  of  deference  to  the  company  that  visits  them.   Strange  to  say.  I  -was 
reminded  far  more  of  dingy  Saxon  les  Bains,  than  of  aristocratic  Edo* 
and  Hombnrg,     At  Monte  Carlo  they  suit  their  room  to  their  companyf 
and  ft  nice  shady  company  it  appears  to  be.     There  are  three  sooi»l 
periods  at  the  tables.      First,  in  the  morning,  the  inveterate  gambleia 
who  make  a  trade  of  it,  and  are  to  bo  seen  in  their  chairs  almost  fro t" 
morning  until  night;  secondly,  in  the  afternoon,  what  may  be  called  't.'fce 
provincial  and  suburban  rush  that  brings  the  amiable  punters  by  tx"fii-iD 
from  the  neighbouring  peace f'vl  spots  shut  out  from  temptation,  and  c<i>^" 
sequently  sheltered  by  respectability.      Lastly,  the  desperate  and     ^^^s- 
jewelled  division,  the  after-dinner  crowds  in  which  peers,  and  officers,  ^^<i 
statesmen,  and  people  of  the  highest  respectability  from  every  city  in    "fci^ 
world,  attired  as  gentlemen  and  ladies,  rub  shoulders  with  thieves    xm-'ho 
demi  reps,  the  ostracised  and  the  suspected,  the  bold  and  the  brazen,    ^^Jif* 
the  queens  of  the  half-world,  plastered  over  with  jew  els,  which  are  "ti* 
admiration  and  envy  of  all  beholders,  particularly  of  the  hotel  rob*fc>^^j 
who  mark  down  their  prey. 

And  modem  Monte  Carlo  has  apparently  become  converted  to  the  "C^^ 
and  advantage  of  the  American  bar.     She  is  not  alone  in  that  reap^***" 
At  some  of  the  most   respectable  Swiss  hotels  in  the  holiday  seO^**'" 
may  be   seen,  either   ostentatiously    displayed   or  hidden   away  ix»-     * 
comer,  a  gaudy  bar,  at  which  cock-taila,  pick-me-ups,  and  deleteri<^°* 
drinks  are  administered  by  a  showy  young  lady,  or  some  accredi*-*** 
professor  in  the   art  of  alow  poison.      Monte  Carlo  is  well  provi*^*** 
with  these  social  rendezvous.     It  is  the  fashion  when  play  is  over   ^^ 
the  refined  and  the  vulgar,  the  man  of  breeding  and  the  social  outc^***' 
to  foregather  at  one  or  other  of  these  bars,  which  give  quite  a ton^    "^ 
the   society  of    Monte  Carlo.     The  downright  good-fellowship,    *^^ 
hail-fellow-well-met  principle,  the  good-natured,  reckless   Tom  ^^^ 


i 


i 
i 


670 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Kit 


fpi 


and  sisters  elsewhere  were  reformed,  it  will  be  by  the  innate  force  of 
its  ovvn  social  depravity,  and  the  growth  of  the  cancer-fibres  of  ite 
owix  unbridled  luxarj'.  Vulgarity  and  knavery  are  the  two  wonfc 
enemies  of  the  Monte  Carlo  administration.  When  the  place  becomets 
socially  impossible  to  ■sisit  its  destiny  is  fixed.  Monte  Carlo  vtX^ 
revive  its  old  charm  and  position  once  more,  its  unrivalled  beauty  ax^ 
majesty — not  because  there  is  a  revulsion  against  gambling — becaa^*^ 
gambling  must  exist  as  long  as  the  world  lasts — but  because  the  raggi^^ 
FalstafTs  array,  the  camp-followers  of  the  gaming-tables,  will  at  la-^^ 
become  intolerable  to  the  householders  and  peaceful  residents  of  tih»--^ 
enchanting  spot.  One  fine  morning  Monte  Carlo  will  arise  sod  fic::^* 
her  lovely  home  purged  from  its  impurity,  clean,  respectable,  swe^^B* 
and  garnished.      Nothing   can   take   from   her   the  glorious  gifts  ^' 

nature,   hor  bright   blue   sky,  her  castled  promontory,   her  flowe::^  ^ 
gardens  and  orange  groves,  her  lovely  atmosphere  that  can  soothe  i'^-^^^ 
jaiTed  nerves  of  dwellers  in  great  cities,  and  bring  the  roses  back 
the  pale  cheeks  of  the  sick.     The  question  is  whether   these  ex 
ordinary  gifts  of  nature  were  not  destined  for  a  better  purpose  th 
the  one  to  which  they   are  applied.     Already  to  Monte  Carlo,  tlu 
has  turned  its  paradise  into  a  pest-house,  that  has  allowed  luxury 
run   riot,  and  evil  to  triumph   over  good,  has  been   given  the  aw 
warning,  the  tremendous  doom  that  buried  I'ompeii  and  reduced  H^  J!i 
culaneum  to  ashes.     That  mighty  earthquake  shock,  that  rocked  t^f— the 
very  place  to  its  foundation,  and  sent  the  affrighted  pleasure-seek^^^^rs, 
pale  and  terror-stricken,  to  the  streets,  was  surely  not  given  as  a  ^^i^ga 
in  vain.     When  revelry  exceeds  the  bounds  of  licence  then  comes  (j^q 

ruin.     Already  the  "  writing  is  on  the  wall.'' 

Clement  Scom^, 


to 


THE     EDUCATIONAL    SYSTEM    IN 
PUBLIC    SCHOOLS. 


^HE  educational  problem  is  perpetual ;  it  baa  not  been,  nor  per- 
haps can  it  ever  be,  solved.  For  it  is  the  adjustment  of  moral 
and  intellectual  discipline  to  the  characteristic  conditions  of  the  time, 
and  those  conditions  are  necessarily  variable.  The  preparatory  part 
of  human  life  is  a  constant  quantity  ;  bo  too,  I  am  afraid,  is  the  recep- 
tive capacity  of  average  minds  ;  but  the  number  of  subjects  making 
up  the  sum  of  knowledge  is  always,  and  has  of  late  been  rapidly, 
increasing.  It  follows  then  that,  except  in  so  far  as  an  improved 
distribution  of  school-hours  enables  the  same  people  to  do  more  work 
in  the  same  time,  whatevf  r  amount  of  mental  energy  is  spent  upon  one 
subject  is  at  once  so  much  taken  from  the  rest.  It  is  not  enough, 
therefore,  to  show  that  a  subject  is  worth  learning;  we  must  show 
that  it  is  better  worth  learning  than  such  other  subjects  as  are  or 
Etiay  be  displaced  by  it.  Thus,  to  take  the  case  of  Latin  versification, 
it  is  an  art  which  may  be  elegant  and  elevating  and  may  lend  a  new 
pleasure  to  life  ;  but,  if  it  takes  up  so  much  time  as  to  prevent  the 
acquisition  of  indispensable  knowledge,  it  stands  condemned,  for  the 
Large  majority  of  boys,  not  indeed  absolutely,  but  in  relation  to  the 
proper  ends  of  educational  science.  Hence  it  is  the  first  duty  of  the 
educator  at  the  present  day  to  consider  the  relative  value  of  subjects 
in  education. 

It  is  not  always  seen  how  serious  is  the  difficulty  which  the 
multiplicity  of  subjects  places  in  the  way  of  an  educational  system. 
Fifty  years  ago  the  education  in  public  schools,  if  it  was  narrow,  was 
at  least  precise  and  definite.  The  good  old  formula  "  a  echolar  and  a 
gentleman  "  (though  perhaps  the  scholarship  was  sometimes  sacrificed 
to  the  gentility)  sufficiently  expressed  the  ideal  of  parents  and  school- 
muters.     It  is  not  unfair  to  say  that  the  curriculum  of  the  great 


672 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REJTEfT. 


VUr 


public  schools  at  the  beginning  of  this  centnir  wa 
same  as  it  had  been  three  centuries  earlier.      The  reigK  of 
Elisabeth  was  one  period  of  educational  progreea,  aad  tliB  n 
Queen  Victoria  has  been  another ;  bat  all  that  lies  between  tka 
be  called  the  Middle  Ages  of  scholastic  histoiy.      Dr.  ^falim 
hare  walked  through  the  playing  fields  at  Eton  in  ai 
tion  with  Dr.  Hawtrey  ;    but  it  is  sad  to  reflect   what  woaUL  hB 
feelings  if  he  should  listen  to  the  views  of  Dr.  Warre.     One 
fact,  taken   by  itself,    is   a   ■witness  to  the   neoeeaity  of  ed 
reform.     The  late  Dean   Stanley,  in  his   biography  of  Dr. 
claims  that  he  was  the  first  English  head-master  who  made  an 
to  incorporate  such  subjects  as  modern  history,  modem  langoaget, 
mathematics  in  the  regular  work  of  his  school.      He  adds  that. 
Dr.  Arnold  found  no  great  difficulty  in  introducing  modem 
Rugby,  it  was  made  impossible  for  him.  by  the  obstacles  pot  in 
way,  to  introduce  the  other  subjects  except  tentatively,  by  alow 
and  under  strict  limitations.     The  study  of  mathemalacs,  as  may 
expected,  was  the  first  to  intrude  into  the  preserre  of  the  old 
languages.     Yet  mathematics  dates  at  Harrow  from  the  year  1 
at  Eton  from  the  year  1836.       When   Mr.   Stephen   Hawtrey, 
fumcris  ac  pieiatu  causa  7107)11110,  went  to  Eton  hardlj  mors  than 
years  ago,  he  was  not  allowed   to   teach   mathematics  except  as 
extra  subject,  nor  to  teach  it  to  any  boys  except  to  such  as  were 
the   head-master's  division,  and  to  them  only  if  their  parents 
them  to  learn  it.     Yet  mathematics  was  a  thriving  subject  at  £ 
and  elsewhere  before  the  birth  of  natural  science  in  public  schools. 

Fifty  years  ago  not  only  was  there  little  demand  for  an  ed 
extending  beyond    Latin    and  Greek,  but  had  the  demand 
it  could    not  well    have  been   met.      It  would    have  been 
to  provide  such  books  and  appliances  as  are  necessary   for 
modem  languages  or  natural  science.      It  would  have  been  still 
difficult  to  find  the  teachers.     Few  Englishmen  of  academical  posit^^"^ 
had  thought   it  worth  while  to  enlarge  their  own  education  by  goL 
to  lire  for  a  time  in   some  foreign  country   or   by  entering  npoza 
course  of  study  in  a  laboratory.     There  was  a  sort  of  tacit  agTeeme" 
among  schoolmasteTs  that  the  mental  discipline  of  their  own  gene: 
turn  had  been  the  best  possible,  and,  if  a  critic  pointed  out  some  d^^ 
fects  occurring  in  the  educational  system,  it  was  easy  to  reply  that  tX* '' 
critic  had  himself  been  edacated  nnder  the   system   which  he  ooO"' 
demned. 

It  is  a  different  case  with  edocation  to-day.     For  if  it  was  onc^ 
hard  to  find  the  means  of  extending  the  educational  system  in  pnbli*^ 
schools,  it  is  equally  hard  now  to  find  the  means  of  confining  it- 
The  modem  schoolmaster  is  called  upon  to  teach  new  subjecta  withoa*' 
(urrendering  or  impairing  the  old.     It  is  taken  for  granted  that  if  a  hoy 


F 


SYSTEM  IN  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS. 


673 


68  his  public  school,  after  spendiBg  three  or  four  years  under 
motion,  there,  without  having  gained  any  knowledge  of  English 
lects,  such  as  history  and  geography,  without  having  read  any  book  in 
nchor  German,  and  without  having  learnt  the  elements  of  natural 
nee,  he  is  an  educational  failure,  whatever  may  be  his  skill  in  athletic 
tea  or  his  knowledge  of  the  world.  One  party  of  educational  re- 
fers insists  upon  the  value  of  natural  science,  another  upon  the  value 
Inglish  literature,  a  third  upon  the  value  of  modern  languages,  and, 
ed,  of  modern  languages  taught  colloquially.  Meanwhile,  mathe- 
cal  subjects  have  risen  in  importance,  besides  becoming  wider  in 
«.  And  classical  learning,  in  its  recent  developments  of  philology 
!ircha?ology,  which  enter  partially,  if  not  fully^  into  the  intellectual 
>f_schools,  tends  to  demand  a  greater  interest  and  attention. 
may  perhaps  be  doubted  if  modern  schoolmasters  have  appreciated 
aovel  aspect  of  the  educational  problem.  It  has  been  a  temptation  fco 
dace  subjects  into  the  curriculum  as  "  happy  thoughts  "  without  a 
5  of  proportion.  An  examination  of  studies  in  the  old  public  schools 
1  as  Iwas  led  to  make  some  time  ago)  suggests  the  thought  that  their 
ational  system  is  still  essentially  the  classical  system,  only  modified 
le  accretion  of  new  subjects.  It  is,  if  I  may  use  a  figure,  more  like 
Id  coat  let  out  here  and  there  to  suit  a  growing  child  than  like  a 
coat  properly  made  to  fit  his  body.  Perhaps  the  subject  which 
'ared  the  worst  in  schools  (probably  because  head-masters  knew 
east  about  it)  is  natural  science.  There  has  been  a  prevailing 
that  natural  science  should  be  taught.  But  whether  it  should 
a  primary  or  a  subordinate  place  in  education,  whether  it  should 
aught  to  all  boys  during  their  whole  school-life  or  to  all  boys 
ig  a  part  of  it,  or  to  some  boys  during  the  whole  or  to  some 
Dg  a  part ;  and  again,  as  natural  science  is  a  comprehensive  term, 
ier  all  the  subjects  which  fall  under  it  are  of  equal  purpose  and 
ft  as  educational  instruments,  and,  if  not  all,  which  should  be 
feed  in  particular  cii-cnmstances,  and  within  what  limits  or 
sr  what  conditions  a  liberty  of  choice  among  these  subjects  should 
liven  to  individuals — these  are  questions  upon  which  it  has  hardly 
ot  been  possible  to  arrive,  or  even  to  aim,  at  an  agreement, 
'he  present  paper  is  an  attempt  at  suggesting  some  considerations 
i  may  pave  the  way  for  a  reform  in  education.  For  it  is  the 
i-t«ble  which  is  the  test  of  the  modem  schoolmaster ;  it  is  there 
he  may  win  his  main  success.  But  to  construct  a  satisfactjry 
-table,  to  take  the  five  hundred  boys  or  more  who  make  up  a 
>1,  varying,  as  they  do,  in  age,  intelligence,  and  curiosity,  to  pay 
*d  to  their  neod.s  collectively  and  individually,  to  put  each  one 
em  in  the  way  of  learning  what  is  good  for  him,  and  of  learning 
ler  more  nor  less  than  this,  to  provide  that  their  education  shall 
Ide  without  being  vagae,  and  that,  while  it  is  suitable  to  the  mass 


THE   C0STE5fP0RARY  REVIEW. 


of  hajm^  win  auat  bs  orjinaiy,  it  shall  not  forbid  the  special  calt;.^ 
of  the  wAaet  ar  gBed  few — thia  b  a  task  of  severe  and  ser^ 
aSBtxitj.  Yet  it  is  oaily  he  who  haa  been  called  to  essay  it  tj 
kaows  wiiesB  the  dificnltf  lies,  and  how  gre»t  it  is. 

An  edoEHlioDal  xefrtsi  mna  back  to  psychology.  It  cannot  afa 
mkaa  it  ia  baaed  upon  a  study  of  human  nature.  For  the  o« 
odor  CKUioft  alter  man's  faenltiee ;  all  that  he  can  do  is  to  make  •€ 
beafc  IBM  of  tbca.  It  is  tme,  perhaps,  that,  in  dealing  with  a  jo^ 
child's  »"'"n<l  he  is  wixtn^  npon  a  tabula  raaa ;  but  it  is  one  wIb-^ 
ke  did  not  Bake  and  camtot  enlarge.  Bat  the  fact  of  this  essen.*! 
HmitBt^  beii^  set  fay  Nature  to  his  reforming  energy  is  a  proof,  "■ 
aatj  that  the  tniniiig  of  the  teacher  (as  it  is  called) — i.e.,  the  teacbJi 
which  the  ♦*^r>«r^  leqniras  in  the  art  of  teaching — is  an  indispens^ 
preliminssy  to  edwcatkait  bat  that  that  training  must  be,  not  mee^ 
practical  or  enipirical,  but  must  strike  its  roots  in  psycholo^^ 
theofy.  It  is  ooe  of  the  most  regrettable  incidents  in  the  contxe 
potaiy  hiaboKy  of  educatioD  tint  such  efforts  as  have  been  mad^ 
pnpvide  iuaUuLiion  far  fateze  achoohaaslera  in  the  theory  and  pracTi 
of  their  art  hsrs  met  with  so  little  ratcouragement.  Whether  fie 
impacieooe  of  stm^,  or  firom  the  need  of  earning  a  livelihood j 
(as  perhaps  is  probable)  &om  i}i.e  native  English  distrust  of  specu 
tioa,  it  has  happened  that  few,  if  any  at  all,  of  the  distinguished  in 
who  have  entered  the  scholastic  profesBba  have  taken  the  tronl 
of  attending  edncaidaaal  lectures  and  of  learning  the  principles 
discipline  and  instriKtion.  "When  I  entered  upon  my  work  at  Harrwi 
I  wrote  a  letter  to  a  gentleman  then  engaged  in  the  training 
teachers,  in  the  hope  that  he  would  be  able  to  recommend  a  mast:: 
among  his  students ;  but  he  replied  that  no  man  of  sufficient 
had  ever  come  under  his  influenc& 

Still,  without  a  peydtokgical  study,  it  will  be  admitted  as  sel 
evident  that  the  schoolmaster,  dealing  as  he  is  with  a  large  numhi 
of  boys,  is  bound  to  consider  individual  character.  He  cannot  tra 
them  all  alike;  he  must  endeavour  to  find  some  subject  for  which  eK 
haa  a  capacity,  and  eventually  to  train  him  in  it.  This  is  the  principle  < 
tpeeialisation,  which  may  be  said  to  be  the  great  educational  discovei 
of  the  present  day.  There  is,  I  think,  no  school  in  which  it  is  iii 
recognised ;  there  are  some  schools  in  which  it  is  acted  np>on  exttfi 
rively.  In  fact,  it  is  the  polar  star  of  the  schools  which  devote  thea 
adres  to  scholarship-winning.  But  specialisation,  if  it  is  begun  eaa 
and  practised  largely,  militates  against  the  system  of  a  school.  Tl 
is  the  reason  of  the  traditional  antagoxusm  between  public  Bchoolmaattf 
and  the  persons  who  have  been  somewhat  invidiously  called  '^aaa 
mers."  It  would  be  idle  to  deny  that  the  "  crammers "  have  oft* 
taught  their  pupils  better  than  the  schoolmasters,  and  have  snooerfa 
where  the  schoolmasters  have  failed.     "  Cramming  "  is  not  neceMOfl 


i«9o3 


SYSTEM   IN  PUBLIC   SCHOOLS. 


675 


bad  teaching,  but  it  is  rapid  teaching,  and  rapid  teaching  cannot  be 
tlie  "best.  But  on  the  whole,  where  the  "  crammers  "  have  achieved 
success,  and  the  schoolmasters  have  failed  to  achieve  it,  it  has  been 
aofc  so  much  by  superiority  of  skill  as  by  singleness  of  aim.  It  is 
l>eoo.ase  the  "  crammers "  have  subordinated  system  to  individual 
cas^s,  while  the  schools  have  subordinated  individual  cases  to  system. 
A.Tx<3  the  proof  of  this  fact  is  that  the  schools  by  which  the  greatest 
distinction  has  been  won  in  the  examinations  at  the  universities  and 
©Ise^where  are,  for  the  most  part.,  juat  the  schools  of  modem  founda- 
tioxi.  whioli  have  approximated  to  the  educational  lines  of  the 
•*  crammers." 

-Neverthelees,  although  it  may  be  frankly  admitted  that,  at  least  in 

some  respects,  a  great  public  school,  with  its  large  intereata,  its  hopes, 

amlntions,  functions,  and  privileges,  its  varied  life,  and  ita  relation  to 

society,  is    not  necessarily  the   best   place   for  preparing  boys  for 

paljlic   competitive  examinations,  it  may  be  doubted  if  the  schoolB, 

^d  in  particular  the  ancient,  endowed  schools,  have   altogether  risen  * 

^    th.e  level   of   their   opportunities.      Considering    their   power   of 

attracting  clever  boys  by  scholarships,  and  good  teachers  by  lucrative 

appointments,  I  am   afraid  they  fail  in  intellectuality  ;  they  do  not 

aKvays  keep  alive  a  true  ideal  of  boyhood  ;  and  it  happens  too  often 

'•^i^t.    the  boys  of  whom  a  school  ought  to  be  proud  are  in  their  school- 

lix&   clepreciated  or  ignored.    It  is  much  to  be  desired  that  the  schools 

<>*    '^vtich  I  am  thinking  should  re-assnme  their  intellectual  leadership. 

■*■*'  "W-ould  be  a  gain  if  they  could  permanently  hold  their  ground  against 

"*^     Tecent  schools  and  against  private  institutions.     And  so  far  as 

®**^cational  theory,  forming  a  basis  of  action,  is  qualified  to  inspire 

"*<^s«  schools  with  a  new  and  vigoj"ons  vitality,  it  claims  the  interest 

***^    attention  of  thoughtful  men. 

"Elducational  reform  may  proceed  upon  two  lines.    It  may  aim  at  pre- 

^*'>^ing  all  such  rigidity,  in  the  principles  of  a  public  school,  as  is  not 

^^^l^o-nsistent  with  the  satisfaction  of  inevitable  modern  demands.      Or  it 

^^'a.y  aim  at  allowing  the  utmost  elasticity  which  is  not  inconsistent  with 

*  ^e>finite  school  system.   In  other  words,  it  will  either  restrain  specialisa- 

*iiotj  except  in  so  far  as  it  is  nccesaitated  by  external  circumstances,  or  it 

^i\l  encourage  specialisation  except  in  so  far  as  it  imperils  the  common 

^^i^Kirate  life  of  the  school.    There  are  numerous  considerations  which 

**^m  to  show  that  the  second  of  these  views  is  the  truer.     It  is  justi- 

^ed  by  the  increasing  number  of  educational  subjects,  by  the  variety 

^f  the  examinations  in  which  boys  take  part  and  of  the  callings  in  life 

Tor  which  they  are  prepared,  by  the  study   of  individual  needs  and 

Capacities,  and  by  the  natural  desire  of  giving  every  boy  the  best 

chance  of  doing  himself  justice  in  the  world.     Accordingly,  it  will  be 

the  educator's  object  to  ascertain  at  the  earliest  time  the  study  or 

Btadies  in  which  a  boy  is  capable  of  excellence.     He  will  start  with 


676 


Tim    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[J 


■0, 

Serf 


1 


-» 

« 


I 


the  assumption  that  oveiy  boy  possesses  some  faculty  and  that 
must  discover  it.  Nor  will  he  count  himself  snccesaful  unless  in 
school  the  largest  number  of  boys  are  enabled  and  encouraged 
pursue  their  appropriate  studies. 

Still,  no  sooner  is  this  principle  stated  than  it  is  felt  to  requ 
some  limitation.      It  is  evident  that  an  absolute  freedom  in  educatio: 
subjects  is  chimerical.     Tastes  and  talents  do  not  reveal  themselve 
an  early  age  ;  it  is  often    more  difficult   to  discover  what  a  boy 
learn  well  than  to  afford  him  the  opportunity  of  learning  it.      Ag^^^ 
nobody  has  yet  succeeded  in   showing  how  a  school  can  be  organi 
and  administ'Ored  without  some  sacrifice  of  individuality  among 
members.     The  association  of  boys  in  forms,  classes,  pupil-rooma  ,      ot 
houses  implies  a  subordination  of  personal  character  to  the  goo<3     of 
the  whole.     But  the  determining  fact,  which  is  apt  to  be  forgott-^sn 
when  specialisation  is  advocated  as  a  panacea  for  the  intellectual  fail- 
ings of  the  young,  is  that  education  (as  opposed  to  mere  iustructio^«i') 
loses  a  large  part  of  its  value  if  it  be  not  to  some  extent  the  comm 
property  of  all  educated  persons.      Let  it  be  granted,  for  argumen 
sake,  that  an  education  in  mathematics  or  in  natural  science  is  as 
a  mental  discipline  as  an  education  of  a  linguistic  and  literary  kisi 
yet  for  the  purposes  of  life  two  people  educated  (let  me  suppose),  oi 
in  mathematics  or  science  alone,  the  other  in  the  classical  langu 
if  they  come  into  contact,  are  less  efficient  than  they  would  be  if  tl 
mathematician  or  man  of  science  were  not  in  ignorance  of  Latin  a 
Greek  or  the  literary  man  of  mathematics  and  natural  science.      It  fc- 
not,  I  think,  sufficiently  realised  how  much  of  human  happiness  ai 
culture  depends  upon  a   community   of   intellectual   interests.     T 
knowledge  which   is  common  to  all  cultivated  persons  is  a  sort 
lingua  frarnu,  and  nothing  can  make  amends  for  the  loss  of  it.     ^~— 
premature  and  exclusive  specialisation    is   not  only  prejudicial  to  t 
miud  ;   still  more  is  it  prejudicial  to  the  conduct  of  life.      For  if  it  S^ 
true,  as  experience  shows,  that  the  student  of  one  subject,  whethc^^^ 
language,  or  mathematics,  or  science,  imperceptibly  acquires  a  certair   * 
mental  temper,  which  it  is  not  the  less  easy  to  understand  because 
is  difficult  to  define,  then  education,   taken  in  a  large  sense,  ougl 
to   aim   at  correcting  this   one-sidedness,  at  restoring  the  intellectun 
balance,  and  at  qualifying  the  student  for  meeting  all  such  duties  ani 
difficulties  as  may  come  in  his  way. 

If  these  considerations  are  admitted  to  be  just,  it  seems  to  follov 
that  educjitional  subjects  are  divisible  into  two  classes.  There  an 
such  eubjecta  as  form  the  common  stock  of  educated  people ;  the^ 
should  be  taught  to  all  boys,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  during  thi 
whole,  or  nearly  the  whole,  of  their  school-life  ;  I  call  these  thi 
fundamental  or  pnmari/  subjects.  The  other  subjects,  which  I  caL— -^^  ^ 
secondartf  or  accessory,  are  of  such  a  nature  that  boys  should  not  al^   ^^'m 


r 


18903 


SYSTEM   IN  PUBLIC   SCHOOLS. 


677 


1>o  znade  to  learn  them,  nor  should  any  boy  be  made  to  learn  them 
■fcljrougboat  his  school-life;  but  boj's  should  have  the  opjwrtunity  of 
learning  them,  and  should  learn  as  many  of  them,  or  some  of  them, 
for  as  long  a  time  as  may  bo  suitable  to  their  intellectual  needs  and 
capacities;  or,  if  I  may  pat  the  matter  otherwise,  it  may  be  said  that 
tliere  will  be  a  common  educational  basis,  and  upon  this  will  be  raised 
a  superstructure  differing  in  character  and  extent  according  to  cir- 
cumstances. 

Snch  a  statement  of  the  case  clears  away  some  difficulties  which 

liave  at  times  been  felt  by  a  good  many  educational  reformers.      For 

instance,  it  has  been  proposed  to  organise  a  school  upon  the  principle  of 

bifurcation  or  trifarcation,  or  (as  I  think)  some  still   more  formidable 

f larcatiou,  the  idea  Ijeing  that  there  should  be  a  classical  department, 

a   xaodem  department,  a  science  department,  and  so  on,  and  that  the 

education  given  in  each  department  should  be   essentially   different 

finom  the  education  given  in  every  other.    But  such  a  school  is,  in  fact, 

several  schools  in  one ;  it  is  deficient  in  cohesion  and  co-ordination ; 

iTxdeed,    it   is   only  an  accident  (so  to  say)  that  its  members   receive 

i-ixstraction  in  the  same  buildings.     Nor  is  there  any  particular  virtue 

■-^x  the  comparison  of  a  reformed  educational  system  to  a  fork  : 

"  Natoram  exp«IIa«  farca,  tamen  nsqne  recarret." 

-*^*&J*liaps  the  truer  representative  of  such  a  system  would  be  a  tree, 
^ii©  trunk  remaining  always  the  same,  though  slowly  tapering  and 
^^nding  out  its  branches  ou  all  sides.  It  seems  clear,  too,  that  the 
S^'a^aal  widening  of  educational  opportunities  in  a  school  will  corre- 
^I*oinl  with  the  process  of  a  boy'a  life.  In  his  early  years,  when  his 
I^^sition  is  low  in  the  school,  he  will  learn  the  same  subjects  at  the 
*^Tn©  times  as  all  other  boys  in  his  form.  Little  or  no  privilege  of 
*^**<^ice  will  be  allowed  him  ;  nor  is  it  necessary.  But  as  he  grows 
^*Ao.er  and  advances  in  the  school,  as  he  becomes  conscious,  or  his 
^^^ster  becomes  conscious,  of  whatever  powers  and  faculties  belong  to 
■^^^^^^j  the  opportunity  of  specialisation  will  present  itself.  In  a  word, 
^**ticational  reform  will  begin  with  rigidity,  it  will  end  with  elasticity. 


It 


■^ill  begin  with  the  subjects  which  all  boys  alike  are  bound  to 
<^W,  and  will  end  with  such  subjects  as  each  individual  boy  is 
~^P«*l)le  of  learning  with  moat  pi"ofit.  It  will  begin  with  an  adherence 
^^  tHe  primary,  it  will  end  with  an  encouragement  of  the  secondary, 
^^^^jects.  But,  as  has  been  already  said,  it  will  never,  at  least  in  a 
*^^*^lic  school,  entirely  sacrifice  the  primary  subjects  to  the  secondary, 
the  primary  subjects  in  general  to  one  such  subject. 
VVe  have  reached  a  point  at  which  it  becomes  natural  t^  discuss  the 
^*ing  of  such  considerations  as  have  been  adduced  upon  the  character 
Preparatory  schools.  The  relation  of  preparatory  to  public  schools  is 
Subject  of  much  interest  and  importance.     It  is  my  belief  that  the 


i>- 


o£ 


678 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[MMTi. 


institution  of  preparatory  schools,  wHcb  are  now  widely  spread  throu^s»V 

the   country  and  admirably  organised,  has  been  itself  an   irnmen. k 

reform  in  education.   It  is  a  question  whether  the  limits  of  age  witK       \\<, 
which  boys  are  congregated  in  public  schools  are  not  still  somewl^^eiat 
wider  than  they  should  bo.      But   it    is    certain   that,    when  pab^^glif 
schools  contained  boys  of  all  ages  from  nine  to  nineteen,  if  not  frc^^mig 
a  still  younger  age,  they  were  much  more  likely  than  they  are  o-     oir 
to  be  centres  of  physical   cruelty  and   immorality.      A    boy  ente^^B^gj 
Winchester  in  the  last  century  at  the  age  of  six ;  and  it  is  atat     m^, 
though  not  on  trustworthy  authority,  that  a  boy  entered  Eton  in  — «ite 
present  century  at  the  age  of  four  and  a  half.     But  there  is  no  do^^zrbt 
that  boys  went  habitually  to  the  public  schools  at  nine,  eight,  ^mnd 
even  seven.      Whatever  improvement  has  taken  place  in  the  mcsjaJ 
tune  of  the  great  public  schools — and  nobody  who  has  studied  tLaeir 
records  will  dispute  it — has  been  due  in  no  small  measure  to    "tie 
di8api)earance  of  very  young  boys,  whose  mere  presence  in  the  sclaodl 
tended  to  call  out   whatever  was  bad  in  the  chai-acters  and  dispo- 
sitions of  their  elder  echoolfellows.       The    public    schools  owe     a» 
incalculable  debt  to  the  moral  and  intellectual  care  of  the  priv^at^ 
schoolmasters.     It  would  appear  to  me,  not  only  a  retrograde,  bat     tt 
dangerous  step  to  interfere  with  the  work  so  admirably  done.     It    «      n 
my  earnest  hope  that  the  years  from  ten  to  thirteen  or  fourteen  ir».   &  fl 
boy's  life  may  belong  as  much  by  right  to  the  preparatory  school      **  ~ 
the  years  from  fourteen  to  eighteen  or  nineteen  to  the  public  sch-oO'- 
Any  attempt  to  bring  boys   into  the  public  schools  before  ^thiri>^^*o 
would  disturb  one  of  the  main  improvements  in  the  training  of  l>oy~ 
hood.      But    the    preparatory  and    public    schools   ought   to   livo       *^ 
terms  of  intimacy.     It  is  desirable  that  the  head-master  of  a  g-r-^2** 
public  school,  and   in  a  less  degree  every  master,  should  enjoy     "tlP 
personal    acquaintance    of   the    preparatory  schoolmasters,   who       ^m* 
shaping  his  materials,  bo  as  to  communicate  with  them  freely  nl^^^'^fl 
educational  interests,  discussing  the  nature  and  extent  of  the  knC>"^" 
ledge  to  be  required  of  boys  at  their  entering  a  public  school,  off^x"*  ^8 , 
suggestions  and  accepting  them  in  return,  and,  whenever  a  boy  oo**^* 
to  his  school,  receiving  a  report,  of  a  complete  though  strictly 
lidential  nature,  upon  his  health,  his  industry,  his  intellectual  st.^^ 
his  moral  dangei-s — in  a  word,  upon  all  his  antecedents.  Whether"  '^^^ 
tendency,  which  seems  to  bo  strengthening  in  preparatory  schools  ♦■ 
associate  themselves   exclusively   with   ]iarticular    public  schools     '^- 
good  one  is  a  question  upon  which  a  good  deal  may  be  said  ;  for 
own  part,  I  regret  it  as  tending  to  limit  the  scope  and  functio*^^ 
preparatory  schools. 

But,  having  said  so  much  in  praise  of  prepai'atory  schools,  I 
allow  myself  to  point  out  two  defects  which  seriously  threaten  t>^^^ 
usefulness.     The  first  is,  that  they  are  becoming  too  large ;  for 


SYSTEM  IN  PUBLIC   SCHOOLS. 


679 


mcmtial  advantage  of  such  a  school,  in  comparisoa  with  the 
c  school,  that  every  boy  is  personally  known,  not  to  some  master 
e  school,  but  to  the  head-master,  who  is  responsible  for  him, 
teaches  and  watches  him,  and  who  supplies  in  the  organisation  of 
jhool  a  natural  medium  between  the  home  and  the  great  public 
1.  It  is  difficult  to  see  any  gain,  it  is  easy  enough  to  see  serious 
backs,  in  preparatory  schools  of  large  size.  In  tlie  next  plac&, 
ugh  this  is  partly  the  fault  of  thi^  public  schools  themselves, 
iratory  schoolmasters  have  not  yet,  I  tliink,  made  up  their  minds 
I  the  subjects  which  they  can  properly  teach,  or  the  attention 
1  they  ought  to  bestow  on  particular  subjects.  There  is  hardly 
lubject  taught  in  a  public  school  which  has  not  found  its  way  into 
uratory  schools.  The  education  of  preparatory  schools  has  tended 
come  the  same  as  the  education  of  the  public  schools,  only  iu 
iture.  But,  if  the  intellectual  capacity  of  a  boy  at  twelve  is  not 
smaller  than,  bat  different  from,  that  of  a  boy  at  sixteen  or  seven- 
then  it  follows  that  the  preparatory  schoolmaster  should  not 
an  all  subjects,  but  should  confine  himself  to  such  subjects  as  are 
BUy  suitable  to  tbe  tender  years  with  which  he  has  to  deal.  It 
lardly  be  denied  that  he  commits  a  grave  mistake  if  he  teaches 
y  subjects  simultaneously.  And,  as  the  subjects  which  have 
led  primary  are  those  which  will  occupy  the  first  years  of  a 
,blic  school  life,  while  the  secondar)'  subjects  will  come  later 
some  of  them  later  than  others),  it  would  seem  advisable  that 
ipimary  subjects  should  hold  the  chief,  if  not  the  sole,  place  in 
ftfir  of  the  preparatory  schoolmaster.  It  is  time,  therefore,  to 
|mne  these  subjects. 

liB  subjects  of  primary  importance  in  education  are  decided  partly 
Btoonstitution  of  the  human ^  mind  and  partly  by  the  practical 
mBif  life.  Thus  it  is  essential  to  excite  in  the  mind  the  idea  of 
Plhat  it  may  distinguish  between  what  is  known  and  what  is  not 
Ti.  To  know  what  knowledge  is  is  the  beginning  of  knowledge. 
habit  of  exact  thought  is  indispensable  to  all  thought.  That 
lifference  between  proof  and  prolmbility  is  an  absolute  one,  that 

fei  must  not  rest  satisfied  with   less  than  proof  whenever  it  is 
le,  and,  if  it  cannot  be  attained,  must  understand  the  nature 
jaiueof  the  difHculty  in  attaining  it — these  are  lessons  which  must 
t  and  laid  to  heart  in  the  earliest  days  of  self-culture.     There 

ment  of  teaching  them  like  mathematics. 
as  soon  as  the  nature    of    exact  proof  is  understood,  it  is 
to  apprehend  that  sucli  proof  is   not  commonly  given  in 
affairs.      If  we  delay  action  until  we  are  certain,  we  shall  never 
11,      Human  life  itself  is  a  venture  ;  so  are  most  undertakings 
isions  in  it.      Bishop  Butler,  in  laying  down  his  golden  rule 
iprobability  is  the  very  guide  of  life,"  denied  implicitly  to  the 


680 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


science  of  exact  thought  the  first  place  in  an  educational  Bystei 
is  BOmetbing  different  from  mathematics,  something  more  liberal 
more  human,  that  is  needed  to  fit  men  for  the  conduct  of  life.  S 
a  Btudy  is  pre-eminently  the  study  of  language.  Language  is  a  hu.^; 
product,  and  the  powers  evoked  in  passing  a  judgment  upon  litei 
or  linguistic  questions  are  akin  to  the  powers  required  by  conflict 
probabilities  in  life.     But  to  this  point  I  will  presently  return. 

The  necessary  education  of  all  men  cannot  be  said  to  be  satasfiei 
the  discipline  of  exact  thought  or  of  practical  wisdom.  Man  is  pla-* 
in  a  physical  universe  ;  he  is  surrounded  by  objects  of  beauty,  a.'i 
ana  wonder;  his  curiosity  is  aroused  by  experience ;  his  life  is  subj' 
to  the  limitations  of  law.  Even  if  the  study  of  natural  science  vr* 
not,  as  it  is,  second  only  to  mathematics  in  its  power  of  refining  1 
intellectual  faculty,  and  superior  to  it  in  its  power  of  stimnkfc^ 
observation,  it  would  possess  a  unique  claim  to  a  place  in  educati.' 
as  enabling  a  man  to  understand  his  environment  and,  in  the  Bacons 
phrase,  to  conquer  Nature  by  obeying  her.  It  is  incredible  that  W 
should  have  been  so  long  left  ignorant  of  the  world  in  which  tfa 
lives  must  be  spent.  It  is  incredible  that  their  interest  in  scient^ 
Study  should  still  be  so  indolent  and  half-hearted.  But  the  faults 
not  in  the  subject;  it  is  in  the  teachers.  Considering  that  the  tea<?j 
of  natural  science  in  various  branches  is  dealing  with  facts  wl» 
come  home  to  boys'  daily  consciousness,  that  he  possesses  in  expc 
mentation  an  educational  instrument  upon  which  the  classic  or  mat> 
matician  looks  with  envy,  and  that  it  is  in  his  power  to  pnt  yonng  mil 
in  the  way  of  learning  new  truths  for  themselves,  I  am  astonished— 
cannot  help  saying  so — at  the  poverty  of  the  results  attained  in  schc 
by  the  teaching  of  science.  But  it  is  enough  for  my  present  purpose 
have  shown  that  natural  science  claims  a  large,  and  will  prob» 
claim  a  still  larger,  place  in  a  good  educational  system. 

But,  as  man  is  a  denizen  of  a  physical  universe,  so  is  he  als<: 
citizen  of  a  particular  country  and  age.     His  education  must  take  i 
account  his  contemporaries  and  neighbours,  the  history  of  his  land  a 
its  opportunities.      Thus  the  Christian   religion,  considered  not  oJ 
doctrinally  and   morally,  but  historically, .  is    a  subject    calling 
systematic   instruction.     Thus,   too,  English  literature  and  Eug"! 
history  appeal  to  Englishmen  more  directly  than  the  literature    a 
history  of  other  countries.     Probably  it  will  some  day  be  thoni 
strange  that  the  youth  of  England,  after  spending  several  years  in 
public  schools,  should  at  any  time  have  been  sent  into  the  world  wi^ 
out  a  knowledge  of  the  illustrious  men  who  by  their  writings  or 
their  deeds  have  ennobled  and  exalted  the  English  name.     Wliate"' 
other  reform  is  made  in  education,  English  subjects  must  no  more 
ignored  by  English  boys.  ■ 

It  is  only  going  one  step  further  to  lay  down  the  principle  tha^ 


t89ol 


SYSTEM  IN  PUBLIC   SCHOOLS. 


681 


i 


an  Bge  of  rapid  and  constant  intercommunion  between  the  various 
Stat.e3  and  peoples  of  Eiirgipe,  one  modern  language,  and  that  the 
Ickngnage  of  widest  influonce  and  circulation,  deserves  recognition 
aznocg  the  primoxv  educational  subjects.  It  is  (Mssible  that  German 
is  "tlie  most  usefm  modern  language  for  purposes  of  scholarship  and 
Boionce ;  but  if  one  modern  language  is  to  be  chosen  as  a  general 
©dacational  instrument,  it  must,  I  think,  uudoubtedly  be  French. 

Xt  appears,  then,  that  by  a  natural  process  of  reasoning  we  have  been 

led.   to  ascertain  the  primary  subjects  which  will  constitute,  as  it  were, 

tb.e   backbone  of  a  reformed  or  scientific  educational  system.    Divinity, 

mathematics,  language  studied  for  its  own  sake,  French  studied  as  an 

instrnmcnt  of  utility,  some  branch  or  branches  of  natural  science,  and 

the  elements,  at  least,  of  English  literature  aud  history  as  well  as  of 

geof^aphy   will   make  up  the  sum  of  knowledge  without  which   no 

person  who  may  claim  to  be  educated  will  enter  upon  life. 

But  it  is  necessary  to   define  two  of  these   subjects  a  little  more 

closely.     What  is  the  language  to  be  studied   scientLGcally  or  for  its 

osvn  sake  ?      Shall  it  be   preferentially  a  living  or  a  dead  language  ? 

And,  if  one  of  the  dead   languages,  which  of  them  ?      Now,  it  seems 

clear  that,  as  an  object  of  scientific  study,  a  dead  language  possesses 

sotne  advantages.     It  does  not  lend  itself  to  the  natural  temptation  of 

**crificing    accuracy  to   utility.      A  language   which  is  spoken   can 

uardJy  be  treated  except  as  being  sfjoken ;  it  finds  its  natural  use  ia 

conversation.       A  student  may  acquaint  himself,  as  well  as   he  can, 

'''ita  the  grammatical  and  literary  characters  of  such  a  language  ;    but 

"S  is  not  satisfied  Unless  he  can  utilise  it  when  travelling  abroad.      It  ia 

practically  certain  that  the  minute  care  bestowed  for  generations  uf>oa 

^®     forms  and   idioms    of  tht-  classical   languages  would    have    been 

'^S'^rded  as  misspent  had  it   been  possible  to  make  use  of  them  in 

P''**ctical  dally  life.     It  is  worth  observing,  too,  that  all  students  stand 

^^  an  equal  footing  in  respect  of  the  dead   languages,  while  a  partial 

^*^acent  from  a  foreign  family,  or  the  teaching  of  a  foreign  governess 

*^    early  years,  or  the  opportunity  of  residing  abroad  gives  many  a 

^<3ent  a  considerable  start  in  the  learning  of  a  modern  language. 

**  Has  been  with  some  surprise  that  distant  observers  have  seen  some 

'^'^at  educational  institutions  awarding  prizes  for  proficiency  in  foreign 

^^gTiages  to    bova  bearing    unmistakably  foreign  names.      But   the 

J^***o  for  a  dead  language  is  strengthened  if  the  study  of  a  modem 

^^g'Uflge,  as  has  been  shown,  liolds    a  place  in  the  curriculum    inde- 

f*^ttdently  of   scientific  gi'ounds.      It  will  probably  be  admitted   that 

~^^  mind  is  capable  of  learning  in  its  educational  years  at  least  two 

***^age3  ;  and  if  one  of  these  is  a  living  language  studied  for  use, 

^®   other  may  well  be   a  di-ad  language  studied   scientifically.      iJut 

p*^    case  becomes  so  strong  as  to  be  irresistible  if  there  is  a  dead 

***g:Bage  which   may  be  regarded  as  occupying  an  imperial  position 

Vol.  Lvn.  2  y 


682 


THE    CONTEyfPORARY  REVIEW. 


[M- 


in  the  world,  which  is  tho  lan^age  of  law,  of  liberty,  and  of  religic^  -^^ 
which  is  the  parent  of  half  the  languages  spoken  in  Jiurope.  'whi^^-^-» 
exhibits  a  singnlar  strength  and  precision  of  grammatical  idioi 
and  which  has  been  so  long  and  closely  studied  iLs  tc  be  fomiskj^ 
with  the  necessary  means  and  appliances  for  teaching.  Sack:^ 
language  is  Latin  ;  and  I  cannot  help  thinking  it  would  be  an  e:k^(^ 
cation al  mistake  of  serious  magnitude  to  lose  the  nniversality  of  fci^^ 
Latin  language  as  an  element  of  the  higher  education.  There  ia 
purpose  in  my  saying  so;  for  it  has  happened  that  some  scbo-cz^l 
masters,  whether  acting,  as  may  be  the  truth,  under  a  servile  fear  ^^f 
parents,  or,  as  I  prefer  to  think,  losing  sight  of  general  principles,  ^^.^^ 
prepared  to  sacrifice  Latin,  when  they  have  already  sacrificed  Gre^^*^- 
to  snpposed  utilitarian  demands.  It  may  reasonably  be  argued  tfc».  ^^ 
Latin,  from  its  relation  to  the  Romance  languages,  is  a  subject  of  cc:^^*^' 
spicuous  ntUity  ;  bat  it  is  not  so  much  upon  that  ground  that  I  defe^'*^'* 
it.  1  defend  it  as  entering,  from  its  nature  and  its  historj-,  into  tM-::»-** 
collection  or  corporation  of  subjects  which  makes  up,  or  ought  toma^^^ 
up,  the  intellectual  furniture  of  every  educated  man. 

It  is  not  unknown  to  me  that  some  educational  theorists,  while  adir^aK  »-t^ 
ting  the  claim  of  a  dead  language  to  a  constant  place  in  the  educatio  ^«^  ^^ 
system,  hold  that  that  language  should  be  Greek  rather  than  Lafci-i  ''^ 
They  urge  in  support  of  this  opinion,  if  I  understand  them,  that  Gr 
is  the  more  beautiful  language,  and  that  its  literature  is  not  only  xo-^^^^'^ 
original  and  instructive,   but    is  proved   by  esperience   to  be  ii» 
interesting  to  boys.     It  is  possible  to  admit  the  contention  with.<:^'** 
admitting   the    conclusion.       The    idea    of    sabstituting    Greek       :^*~*'*' 
Latin  as  a  primary  educational   subject  has  never  appeared  to 
practical.     Whatever  may  be  the  comparative  merits  of  the  langui 
and  literatures  of  ancient  Greece  and  Rome  (and  it  is  a  comparis^^^** 
which  need  not  now  be  made),  Latin  stands  so  much  closer  tc«  mo(3^  *"** 
life,  it  is  so  much  more  nearly   related   to    the  other  subjects  wlai*^^^ 
constitute,  as  I    have  already   said,  the  sam  of  education,  that-       ^* 
possesses  an  inevitable  superiority,  not  necessarily  excluding  Gre<^  ■*"' 
as  will  appear  hereafter,  but  taking  precedence  of  it.      And  this      *^ 
perhaps,  a  proper  place  to  remark  that,  as  it  is,  in  my  mind,  a  mat*'^^^ 

of  the  highest  importance  to  retain  Latin  as  an  edncational  subject 

and  by  *'  retaining  ''  it  I  mean,  to  provide  that  it  shall  be  learnt  by  tl"** 
largest  number  of  people  for  the  longest  part  of  their  school-years       ' 
there  would   seem   to  be    little  or   no   gain   in  offering  an   artifi<^*^ 
impt-diment  to  the  study  of  Latin  by  insisting  upon  a  correct,  or  vrl>^* 
is  at  the  best  only  a  semi-correct,  pronunciation.     It  is  the  great  poi^* 
that  Latin  should  remain  as  a  general  educational  subject  ;  it  matt^''* 
little,  if  at  all,  how  it  is  pronounced.     For  the  time  is  past  when  eve**' 
scholars  of  different  nations  would  converse  in  Ciceronian  Latin 
is  much  better  for  them  to  converse  in  French  or  German. 


I 


^ 


i 


SYSTEM  IN  PUBLIC   SCHOOLS. 


<8S 


3at,  again  (to  leave  this  branch  of  the  discussion),  it  must  not  be 
aght  that,  in  preaeribing  natural  science  as  a  subject  suitable  to 
jMrly  years  of  life,  it  is  natural  science  conceived  in  an  exalted 
to.  It  would  be  unnatural  to  confine  young  boys  in  a  labora- 
Bat  the  study  of  natural  science  begins  out  of  doors.  What 
ean  is  that  children  should  be  familiarised,  even  before  going  to 
•aratory  schools  and  while  they  are  there,  mth  the  names  of  flowers, 
habits  of  birds,  the  elementary  physical  laws,  the  positions  of  the 
i.  That  is  just  the  teaching  which  can  hv  given  most  easily  and 
be  remembered  most  permanently.  It  will  establish  a  sympathy 
■een  teacher  and  learner.  At  a  later  age  the  boy  will  study 
ice  Bcientifically.      But   even   then,   unless,   indeed,  he  is  gifted 

an  aptitude  for  scientific  study,  unless  it  is  worth  his  while 
>end  a  great  deal  of  time  upon  scientific  work,  he  will  limit 
i«lf  to  a  few — to  two,  or  at  the  most  three — scientific  subjects. 
y  boy,  then,  will,  at  some  time  or  other  of  his  school-life,  learn 
such  subjects ;  few  boys  will  learn  more  than  two.  And  it  would 
I  desirable  that  of  these  subjects  one  should  be  such  as  will  elicit 
powers  of  observation,  the  other  such  as  admits  of  immediate 
Ication  by  experiment.  May  I  suggest  botany  and  physics  as  the 
acts  best  possessing  these  qualifications  ?  They  are  two  of  the 
3  6ubj<?cts  recommended  by  a  committee  of  the  Eoyal  Society 
h  reported  in  the  year  1867  upon  the  teaching  of  natural  science 
iiblic  schools. 

.aviug,  however,  in  this  way  determined  the  subjects  of  primary 
ational  interest,  I  am  in  a  position  to  give  an  answer  to  a  ques- 
which  arises  at  once  upon  a  consideration  of  educational  reform, 
position  of  Greek — the  Greek  question,  as  it  may  be  called — is 
ily  less  difficult  in  the  edticational  fivld  than  in  the  field  of  politics. 

if  Greece  is  advancinc^  her  claims  in  the  one  case,  it  may  be 
that  she  is  withdrawing  them  in  the  other.  It  is  necessary  to 
from  a  theoretical  as  well  as  from  a  practical  point  of  view,  and  as 
idering,  not  only  what  is  possible,  but  what  is  best, — Ought  Greek 
>  a  primary  or  a  subordinate  subject  in  education  ?  Should  it 
le  educator's  object  to  encourage  the  study  of  Greek  as  widely  as 
ble  among  his  pupils,  or  should  he  recogni.se  that  Greek  is  becora- 

Ed  ought  to  become,  the  study  of  a  minority  ? 
nust  be  admitted  that  this  question  is  complicated  by  the 
I  of  the  pul>lic  .schools  to  the  universities.  It  is  the  nniversities 
h  maintain  Greek  in  its  present  position.  So  long  as  a  knowledge 
Peek  is  required  for  matriculation,  or  for  some  indispensable  exa- 
.tion  of  the  university,  it  is  probable  that  the  study  of  Greek  will 
ti  ita  importance  in  the  schools.  Schoolmasters  are  not  alto- 
free  agents  in  education  ;  they  are  controlled  by  the  homes 
rhich  their  pupUs  come  and  by  the   universities  to  which  they 


G34 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


A 


Q-Lxn 


go.  AdcI  the  action  of  the  universities  afTects  a  lower  edncatiot 
ground  than  may  bo  supposed  ;  it  lends  to  Greek,  as  a  subject  requir 
for  admission  to  the  Bchools,  much  the  same  weight  that  it  alrea 
possesses  as  a  suliject  required  for  admission  to  the  universities, 
is  difficidt,  therefore,  to  say  with  certainty  what  would  be  the  actiotk^' 
schoolmasters  in  respect  to  the  study  of  Greek  if  they  were  left,  to  ^ 
freely.  Bat  there  are  evident  considerations  which  point  to  the  grad  ^j 
subordination  of  Greek.  I  do  not  mean  that  the  boys  who  st  mj  «; 
Greek  will  study  it  less  exactly  or  effectively.  I  mean  that  the  nuns.  "IX 
of  boys  who  study  it  has  already  been,  and  will  be,  diminished.  J 

wi'l  not,  I  think,  be  dented  that  the  simultaneous  study  of  two  O^ac 
languages  (besides  all  other  subjects)  is  a  burden  too  heavy  for  eocn4 
youthful  minds.  It  would  be  a  distinct  gain  if  some  such  boys  as  it 
past  years  have  left  school  without  knowing  anything  that  is  wor^ll 
knowing  of  either  Latin  or  Greek  could  leave  it  with  a  toleratilj 
as-sured  knowledge  of  one  language.  Nor,  again,  will  it  be  denied  t  t»a» 
some  lx)y3  who  are  not  altogether  incapable  of  mastering  two  d€»ai 
languages  may  yet  spend  their  time  more  proiitably  than  in  learru-J 
Greek.  It  would  be  perilous  to  augment  the  number  of  primary] 
fundamental  subjects  as  already  defined.  Greek  has  been,  so  to 
driven  out  of  the  field  as  a  study  indispensable  to  education  b3r 
variety  of  circumst-ances,  which  may  bp  regretted,  but  which  cax^^ 
be  ignored — by  the  increasing  demands  upon  boys'  time,  by 
multiplicity  of  educational  subjects,  by  the  competition  of  ' 
by  the  practicality  of  educational  views,  by  its  own  difficulty, 
the  iniportatice  of  other  branches  of  learning.  If  Greek  is  i&.x* , 
the  intellectual  demand  which  it  makes  is  often  so  serious  as  to 
elude  a  good  many  other  subjects  ;  and  to  some  boys  other  subject!* 
worth  more  tlinn  Greek.  Tho  need  of  the  present  day  is  not  that"- 
men  should  know  Greek,  but  that  all  men  should,  if  posfsible,  be  i^^ 
liarised,  by  books  of  translation,  interpretation,  and  criticism,  with- 
characteristics  of  Greek  thought  and  literature.  The  stndy  of  eucrj 
work  as  the  Jla^ter  of  Balliol'a  translation  of  tho  Dialogue-s  of  I*-' 
does  more  to  Hellenise  the  minds  of  the  contemporary  world  tIia-1 
large  expenditure  of  timf  upon  the  Greek  language. 

Greek  being,  then,  a  secondary  subject  in  education — j.»-..  a  sol 
which   will   not  be  universally   learnt — it  becomes  necessary  to 
terniine  what  boys  are  capable  of  profiting  by  the  full  classical  edi 
tion,  of  which  both  Greek  and  Latin  will  be  constituent.^.   If  it  appj 
that  the  element  of  classicality  is  wanting  to  a  boy's  mind,  it  wil 
natural   t:)    deter  him   from  sacrificing  time  and  energy  upon  a 
so  difficult  as  Greek.      If,  on  the  other  hand,  it  appears  that  his 
cities,  or  possibly  his  circumstances  and   duties,  are  such  as  tJ 
favour  of  a  classical   education,  he  will  be  led  to  begin  and  co| 
the  study  of  (Jreek. 


SYSTEM  IN  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS.  685 

issify  of  this  option  will  be  admitted  as  soon  as  it  is 
that  Greek  is  nob  a  subject  to  be  imposed  upon  all  boys, 
be  an  obvious  advantage  in  deferring  it  to  as  late  a 
boy's  life  as  is  educationally  convenient  or  possible.  And 
who  can  best  guide  him  in  exercising  it — unless,  indeed,  it 
it — will  be  some  one  who  is  interested  in  him,  who  knows 
id  who  is  qualified,  as  a  specialist,  to  pronounce  upou  his 
needs  and  opportunities.  But  such  a  person  will  be 
s  tutor  in  his  public  school. 

f  consider,  then,  this  option  in  its  relation  to  the  curriculum 
school. 

J.  E.  C.  Welldon. 


WEISMANN'S  THEORY  OF  HEREDITY- 


THE  recently  published  translation  of  Professor  Weismann's  essi^ 
Heredity,  and  allied  topics,  has  aroused  the  interest  of  the  genei 
public  in  the  system  of  his  biological  ideas.     But  seeing  that 
system,  besides  being  somewhat  elaborate  in  itself,  is  presented  in 
series  of  disconnected  essays,  originally  published  at  different  tim« 
it  is  a  matter  of  no  small  difficulty  to  gather  from  the  present  coIIe 
tion  of  these  essays  a  complete  view  of  the  system  as  a  whole.  Therefc 
I  propose  to  give  a  brief  sketch  of  his  several  theories,  arranged 
manner  calculated  to  show  their  logical  connection  one  with  anotha 
And,  in  order  also  to  show  the  relation  in  which  his  resulting  the 
of  heredity  stands  to  what  has  hitherto  been  the  more  usual  way 
regarding  the  facts,  I  will  begin  by  furnishing  a  similarly  brief  sket 
of  Mr,  Darwin's  theory  upon  the  subject.     It  will  be  observed 
these  two  theories  constitute  the  logical  antipodes  of  explanatcn^-^-^ 
thought ;  and  therefore  it  may  be  said,  in  a  general  way,  that  all  otl 
modern  theories  of  heredity — such  as  those  of  Spencer,  Haeckel,  Elsbei 
Galton,  Naegeli,  Brooks,  Hertwig,  and  Vries — occupy  positions  mc 
or  less  intermediate  between  these  two  extremes. 

When  closely  analysed,  Mr.  Darwin's  theory— or  "  provisioi 
hypothesis  of  Pangenesis  " — will  be  found  to  embody  altogether  se\ 
assumptions,  viz. : — 

1.  That  all  the  component  cells  of  a  multicellular  organism  thr 
off  inconceivably  minute  germs  or  "  gemmules,"  which  are  then 
persed  throughout  the  whole  system. 

2.  That  these  gemmules,   when  so  dispersed   and  supplied 
proper  nutriment,  multiply  by  self-division,  and,  under  suitable  oon« 
tions,  are  capable  of  developing  into  physiological  cells  like  those  fr 
which  they  were  originally  and  severally  derived. 


*S9o] 


WEISM ANN'S    THEORY   OF  HEREDITY. 


687 


IS.  That,  while  still  in  this  gemmular  condition,  these  cell  seeds  have 
fox*  one  another  a  mutual  affinity,  which  leads  to  their  being  collected 
fro"*!!  fiil  parts  of  the  system  by  the  reproductive  glands  of  the  organism  ; 
aiX3.<3  that,  when  so  collected,  they  go  to  constitute  the  essential 
m^i-terial  of  the  sexnal  elements — ova  and  spermatozoa  being  thus 
nofching  more  than  aggregated  packets  of  gemmules,  which  have 
emanated  from  all  the  cells  of  all  the  tissues  of  the  organism. 

■4.  That  the  developnieut  of  a  new  organism,  out  of  the  fusion  of 
^ywG  Buch  pEwkets  of  gemmules,  is  due  to  a  summation  of  all  the 
•^eveJopmeuts  of  some  of  the  gemmules  which  these  two  packets  contain. 

5.  That  a  large  proportional  number  of  the  gemmules  in  each  packft, 
liowever,  fail  to  develop,  and  are  then  transmitted  in  a  dormant  state 
♦o  future  generations,  in  any  of  which  they  may  be  developed  subse- 
<juently — thus  giving  rise  to  the  phenomena  of  reversion  or  atavism, 

6.  That  in  all  cases  the  deveJopment  of  gemmules  into  the  form  of 
<iheir  parent  cells  depends  on  their  suitable  union  with  other  partially 
developed  gemmules,  which  ])recede  them  in  the  regular  course  of 
groTvth. 

7.  That  gemmules  are  thrown  ofl'  by  all  physiological  cells,  not  only 
during  the  adult  statt'  of  the  organism,  but  during  all  stages  of  its 
development.  Or,  in  other  words,  that  the  production  of  these  cell- 
«ee<l8  depends  upon  the  adult  condition  of  parent  cells  :  not  upon  that 
of  tlie  multicellular  organism  as  a  whole. 

A-t  first  sight  it  may  well    appear  that  we   have  here  a  very  for- 
oaidable  array  of  as.sumptions.     But  Mr.  Darwin  ably  argues  in  favour 
of  each  of  them  by  pointing  to  well-knov\Ti  analogies,  drawn   from  the 
Tit&l  processes  of  living  cells,  both  in  the  protozoa  and  metazoa.     For 
«»a:a.tmplpj  it  is  already  a  well-recognized  doctrine  of   physiology  that 
•*<^h  cell  of  a  metazoon,  or  nmlticellnlar  organism,  though  to  a  large 
extent  dependent  on   others,  is  likewise  to  a  certain  extent  inde- 
pendent or  automatons,  and    has   the   power   of  multiplying  by  self- 
**^vision.      Therefore,  as  it  is  certain  that   the    sexual   elennnts  (and 
also  buds  of  all  descriptions)  include  formative  matter  of  some  kind, 
tlie  first  assumption — or  that  which   sup]K)ses  such   formative  matter 
be  particulate — is   certainly  not  a  gratuitous  assumption.      Again, 
**®  second  assumption — namely,  that  this  particulate  and  formative 
™*^t«rial    is   dispersed  throughout  all  the  tissues  of  the  organism — is 
*>sta,xn^  by  the  fact  that,  Ijoth  in  certain  plants  and  in  certuin  inver- 
"*Hted  animals,  a  severed  portion  of  the  organism  will  develop  into 
^        ®^tirc  organism  similar  to  that  from  which  it   was  derived,  as, 
*"  ^Xamplo,  is  the  case  with   a  leaf  of  Begonia,   and  ^^ith  portions 
,  from    certain  worms,  sea-anemones,  jelly-fish,  &c.     This  well- 

^***Wn  fact   in   itself   aeems   enough   to    prove    that    the    formative 
^^^'Hal  in  question  must  certainly  admit,  at  all  events  in  many  cases, 
'^ing  distributed  throughout  all  the  tissues  of  living  organisms. 


688 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


t^^ 


Jki 


4 


I 


The  third  assumption-^Kjr  that  which  supposes  the  formative 
terial  to  be  especially  aggregated  in  the   sexoal  elements — is  noti 
much  an  assumption  as  a  statement  of  obvious  fact ;  while  the  foc^ 
fifth,  sixth,  and  seventh   assumptions  all  follow  deductively  from  t"l:»  ^^ 
predecessors.     In  other  words,  if  the  first  and  second  assumptioix  ^    ^ 
grunted,  and  if  the  theory  is  to  comprise  all  the  facts  of  hereclj[<f. 
then  the  remaining  five  assumptions  are  bound  to  follow. 

To  the  probable  objection  that  the  supposed  gemmules  must  be       of 
impossibly  minute  a  size — seeing  that  thousands  of  millions  of  th  ^** 
would  require  to  be  packed  into  a  single  ovum  or  spermatozoon— 3W^*' 
Darwin  opposes  a  calculation  that  a  cube  of   glass  or  water,  havt  ^***  J 
only  one   ten-thonsandth  of  an  inch  to  a  side,   contains  somewh^^'^^" 
between  sixteen  and  a  hundred  and  thirty-one  billions  of  molecnl- 
Again,  as  touching    the    supposed   power  of  multiplication   on  t 
part  of  his  gemmules,  Mr.  Darwin    allndes  to  the  fact  that  infectio 
material  of  fill   kinds  exhibits  a  ratio  of  increase  quite  as  great 
any  that  his  theory  requires  to  attribute  to  gemmules.     Furthermo: 
with  respect  to  the  elective  afliiiity  of  gemmules,  he  remarks  th- 
"  in  all  ordinary  cases  of  sexual  reproduction,  the  male  and  fern 
elements  certainly  have  an  elective  affinity  fur  each  other;"  oft 
ten  thousand  species  of  Conipositae,  fttr  example,  "  there  can  be 
doubt  that  if  the  pollen  of  all  these  species  could  be  eiraultaneou&r 
ploced  on  the  stigma  of  any  one  species,  this  one  would  elect,  wiH 
unerring  certainty,  its  own  pollen," 

Such,  then,  in  brief  outline,  is  Mr,  Darwin's  theory  of  Pangenesi 

Professor  Weismann's    theory   of    Germ-plasm    is    fundamental 
based  upon  the  great  distinction   that  obtains    in   respect  of    th 
transmif^sibility    between      characters    which     are     congenital      ai 
characters    which    are    acquired.      By    a    congenital    character 
meant    any    individual  peculiarity,   whether    structural     or   mentc:^ 
with    which    the     individual    is    born.      By    an   aeqiilred    characf^ 
is  meant  any  peculiarity  which  the  individual  may  subsequently  d- 
velop  in  consequence  of  its  own  individual  expecience.      ForexampH 
IL  man  may  be  boru  with  some  malfnrmaf  ion  of  one  of  his  fingers  ;  ^ 
he  may  subsequently  acquire  such  a  malformation  as  the  result  of 
cident  or  disease.      Now,  in  the  former  case — it.,  in  that  where  tC 
malfortnntion  is  congenital — it  is  extremely  probable  that  the  pec" 
liarity  will  be  transmitted  to  his  children  ;   while  in  the  latter  cas' 
i.e.,  where  the  malformation  is  subspquently  acquired — it  is  virtu 
certain  that  it  will  not  be  fraiismitted  to  his  children.      And  thisgri 
difference  between  the  transmissibility  of  charncters  which  are  co 
genital  and   characters  which   are  acquired   extt  nds  universally  as 
general  law  throughout  the  vegetable  as  well  as  the  animal  kingdc 
and  in  the  province  of  mental  as  in  that  of  bodily  organization. 
course  this  general  law  has  always  been  well  known,  and  more  or! 
fully  recognized  by  all  modern  physiologists  and  medical  men^^ 


p 


I 

I 


I 

I 

I 


,8901  JVEISMANNS    THEORY   OF  HEREDITY.  689 

before  the  subject  was  takpn  up  by  Professor  Welsmnnn,  it  was  gen- 
erally assumed  that  the  difference  in  question  was  ono  of  degree,  not 
one  of  kind.      In  other  words,  it  was  assumed  that  acr|uired  characters, 
aldiough  not  so   fully — and  therefore  not  so  certainly — inherited  as 
congenital   characters,     nevertheless    were   inherited    in   some   lesser 
tlej^ree  ;  so  that  if  the  same  character  contiuiied  to  be  developed  suc- 
cessively in  a  number  of  sequent  genenitions,  what  was  at  lirstonlya 
slight  tendency  to  be  iuheritfd  would  become   by  summation  a  more 
and  more  pronouuced  tendeucy,  till  eventually  the  acquired  character 
mi^ht   be   as   strongly  inherited  as  any  other  character   which   was 
«^  initio  congenital.     Now,  it  is  the  validity  of  this  assnmption  that 
IS  challenged  by  Professor  Weismann.      He  says  there  is  no  evidence 
At  all  of  any  acquired  characters  being  in  any  degree  inherited  ;   and, 
■therefore,  that  in  this  important  respect  they  may  he  held  to  differ 
from  congenital  characters  in  kind.      On  the  supposition  that  they  do 
thus  differ  in  kind,  he  furnishes  a  very  attractive  theory  of  heredity. 
■*w^hich  8er\-e8  at  once  to  explain  the  difference,  and  to  represent  it  as 
^  tnalter   of   physiological  impossibility  that  any  acquired  character 
can,  under  any  circumstances  whatsoever,  be  transmitted  to  progeny. 
la  order  fully  to  comprehend  this  theory,  it  is  desirable  first  of  all 
"to     explain    ]*rofessor   Weismann's   riews  upon  certain  other   topics 
■'^'hich  are  more  or  less  closely  allied — and,  indeed,  logically  bound  up 
■'^ith — the  present  one. 

Starting  from  the  fact  that  unicellular  organisms  multiply  by  fis.fion 

^^  I     gemmation,  he   argues  that,  aboriginally  and  potentially,  life  ia 

immortal.      For,  when  a  protozoon  divides  itself  into  two  more  or  less 

^cjtxa.!  parts  by  fission,  and  each  of  the  two  halves  thereupon  grows 

mto  another  protozoon,  it  is  evident  that  there  has  been  no  death  on 

the   part  of  any  of  the  living  material  involved ;  and  inasmuch  as  this 

process  of  fission  goes  on  continuously  from  generation  to  generation, 

there  ig  never  any  death  on  the  part  of  such  protoplasmic  material, 

although   there  is   a  continuous   addition   to    it    as   the  numbers   of 

individuals  increase.      Similarly,  in   the   case   of   gemmation,  when  a 

P»x>tozoun  parts  with  a  small   portion  of  its  living  material  in  the  form 

^'  a  bufi,  this  portion  does  not  die,  but  develops  into  a  new  individual; 

^^^t  therefore,  the  process  is  exactly  analogous  to  that  of  tission,  save 

"'It.  H  small  instead   of  a  large  part  of  the   parent  substance  is  in- 

^  ^Ive^j     Is'ow,  if  life  bo  thus  immortal  in  the  case  of  unictllular  organ- 

*n.s,  vvhy  should  it  have  ceased  to  be    so   in  the  case  of  muUicel- 

**'"    organisms?     Weismann's   answer   is   that   all  the   multicellnlor 

^^^tiisnis  propagate   tliemaelves,  not    exclusively  by  fission   or  gem- 

^*'>on,  but    by   sexual   fertilization,  where  the   condition  to   a    new 

^'••iiiara  arising  is  that  minute  and  specialized  portions  of  two  parent 

^^^^^Tjisms  should   fuse  together.      Now,   it  is  evident  that  with    this 

^^'•'^IkfO   in  the   method  of  propagation,   serious  disadvantage   would 

*^*'Ue  to  any  species  if  its  sexaaJ  individuals  were  to  continue  to  be 


690 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


ti 


immortal ;  for  in  that  case  every  species  which  multiplies  by  sex-c:*.^ 
methods  would  in  time  become  composed  of  individuals  broken  do 


I 


and   decrepid  through   the    results  of  accident   and   disease — alw.^^,-^. 
operating  and    ever    accumulating    throughout   the   course   of  tkz^^^j^ 
imraorta.1  lives.      Consequently,  as  soon  as  sexual  methods  of  prcfc-j^*. 
gation   superseded   the    more  primitive   a-sexual  methods,    it  bec^^:x-|ig 
desirable   in  the    interests  of  the  sexually-propagating   species  tlfa.at 
their  constituent  individuals  should  coase  to  be  immortal,  so  that      ^lej 
species  should  always  be  recuperated  by  fresh,  young,  and  welI-for»-«c»  *d" 
representatives.     Consequently,  also,  natural  selection  would  spee^lily 
see  to  it  that  all  sexually-propagating  species  should  become  depri-^'^cd 
of  the  aboriginal  endowment  of  immortality,  with  the  result  thatd^^^fcth 
is  now  a  universal  destiny  among  all  the  individuals  of  such  specie*^ — 
that  is  to  say,  among  all  th<'  metazoa  and  metaphyta.      Neverthel^??^ 
it  is  to  be  rerarrnbered  that  this  destiny   extimds  only  to  the  part:^»  of 
the  individual  other  than  the  contents  of  those  specialized  cells  wY».  rich 
constitute  the  reproductive  elements.     For  although  in  each  indivi<i    -oal 
metazoon  or  metaphyton  an  innumerable  number  of  these  special! ::^ed 
cells  are  destined  to  perish  during  the  life  and  with  the  death  of"     "Ahtf 
organism  to  which  they  belong,  this  is  only  due  to  the  accident,  sc^  to 
speak,  of  their  contents  not  having  met  with  their  complements  in.     "^be 
opposite  sex :  it  does  not  belong   to  their  essential  nature  that  tfc^ey 
should  perish,  seeing  that  those  which  do  happen  to  meet  with  tl^K^fir 
complements  in  the  opposite  sex  help  to  form  a  new  living  individic      '*^» 
and  so  on  through  successive  generations  of/  infinUum,   Therefore  the 
productive  elements  of  the  metazoa  and  metaphyta  are  in  this  respi 
precisely    analogous  to   the    protozoa ;   potentially,   or  in   their  o 
nature,  they  are  immortal  ;   and,  like  the  protozoa,  if  they  die,  lb 
death   is   an   accident   due  to   unfavourable   circumstances,      lint  ll^^ 
case   is  quite   different   with    all   the  other  parts    of  a  m.ulticellnla 
organism.      Here,  no  matter  how  favourable  the  circumstances  maji^*^^ 
be,  every  cell  contains  within  itself,  or  in  its  very  nature,  the  eventual  "^^ 
doom   of  death.      Thus,    of  the   metazoa   and    metaphyta    it    is    the^^ 
specialized  germ-plasms  alone  that  retain  their  primitive  endowment 
of  everlasting  life,  passed  on  continuously  through  generation  after 
generation  of  successively  perishing  organisms. 

So  far,  it  is  contended,  we  are  dealing  with  matters  of  fact.  It 
must  be  taken  as  true  that  the  protoplasm  of  the  unicellular  organisms, 
and  the  germ-plasm  of  the  multicellular  organisms,  has  been  continuous 
through  the  time  since  life  first  appeared  upon  this  earth  ;  and 
although  large  quantities  of  each  are  perpetually  dying  through  being 
exposed  to  conditions  unfavourable  to  life,  this,  as  Weismann  presents 
the  matter,  is  quite  a  different  case  from  that  of  all  the  other  con- 
stituent parts  of  multicellular  organisms,  which  contain  within  them- 
selves the  doom  of  death.  Furthermore,  it  appears  extremely  probable 
that  this  doom  of  death  has  been  brought  about  by  natural  selection 


iSgol 


WEISM ANN'S    THEORY   OF  HEREDITY. 


G91 


/or  the  reasons  assigned  by  Weismann — namely,  becanse  it  is  for  the 
tj^netit  of  all  species  wliich  perpetuate  themselves  by  sexual  methods, 
C.lickt  their  constituent  individuals  should  not  live  longer  than  is 
jaeoessary  for  the  sake  of  originating  the  next  generation,  and  fairly 
srfcefc.rting  it  in  its  own  struggle  for  existence.  For  Weismann  has 
=*liowTi,  by  a  somewhat  laborious  though  still  largely  imperfect  itJ- 
laeajch,  that  there  is  throughout  all  the  metazoa  a  general  correlation 
"t>©t.ween  the  natural  lifetime  of  individuals  composing  any  given 
6p^^^^  ^^^  ^^^  ^gQ  *^  which  they  reach  maturity,  or  first  become 
<^tk^pMe  of  procreation.  This  general  correlation,  however,  is  some- 
»vli&t  modified  by  the  time  during  which  progeny  are  dependent  upon 
tHeir  parents  for  support  and  protection.  Nevertheless,  it  is  evident 
t-lxekt  this  modification  tends  rather  to  confirm  the  view  that  exppcta- 
t:ioii  of  life  on  the  part  of  individuals  has  in  all  cases  been  determined 
^wit-h  strict  reference  to  the  requirements  of  propagation,  if  under 
propagation  we  include  the  rearing  as  well  as  the  production  of 
oflEspring.  I  may  observe  in  passing  that  I  do  not  think  this  general 
law  can  be  found  to  apply  to  plants  in  nearly  so  close  a  manner  as 
^Veismann  lias  shown  it  to  apply  to  animals ;  bnt,  leaving  this  fact 
*si<ie,  to  the  best  of  my  judgment  it  does  appear  that  Weismann  haa 
'^a<le  out  a  good  case  in  favour  of  such  a  general  law  with  regard  to 
^'utnals. 

VVe  have  come,  then,  to  these  results.     Protoplasm  was  originally 

Jrtxxixortal,  barring  accidents ;   and  it  still  continues  to  be  immortal  in 

itk^    case  of  unicellular  organisms  which  propagate  a-sexually.      But  in 

^"^      case   of  all    multicellular   organisms,    which   propagate  sexually, 

*^^^aral  selection  has  reduced  the   term  of  life  within   the  smallest 

^■^cxi-ta  that  in  each  given  case  are  compatible   with  the  performance  of 

t*^^    fi«?xual  act  and  the  8ubso({ueut  rearing  of  progeny — reserving,  how- 

^^^^STF,  the  original  endowment  of  immortality  for  the  germinal  elements, 

^^*^^wby   a  continuum   of  life  haa   been   secured    from    the   earliest 

*'T*I>earance  of  life  until  the  present  day. 

^ow,  in  view  of  these  results  the  question  arises,  Why  should  the 

^*~*^^al  methods  of  propagation  have  become  so  general,  if  their  effect 

^s   b^pn  that  of  determining  the   necessary  death  of  all  individuals 

r^"^®^iiting  them  ?     Why,  in  the  course  of  organic  evolution,  should 


newer  methods  have  been  imposed  on  all  the  higher  organisms, 

^il  the  consequence  is  that  all  these  higher  organisms  must  pay  for 

*   innovation  with  their  lives  ?     Weismann's  answer  to  this  question 

^«      ^^  interesting  and  ingenious  ns  all   that  has  gone  before.     Seeing 

^^^*'     sexual  pnipagation  is  so  general  as  to  be  practically  universal 

^       *^^g  multicellular  organisms,  it  is  obvious  that  in  some  way  or 

^^^^lier  it  must  have  a  most   important  part   to  play  in  the  general 

-^^tne  of  organic  evolution.      What,  then,  is  the   part  that  it  does 

^y  ?    What  is  its  raison  d'^tir  f     Briefly,  according  to  Weismann,  its 

^c%ion  is  that  of  furnishing  congenital  variations  to  the  ever-watchful 


692 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[H*^ 


i^ncyof  natural  selection,  in  order  that  natural  Eelection  may  alwa^^^  , 
preserve  the  most  favourable,  and  pass  ihem  on  to  the  next  general ic::r-^^-n 

by  heredity.     That  sexual    propagation   is  well  calculated  to  fnmi    m  ii X 

congenital  variations  may  eajsily  be  rendered  appareiit.  We  have  oi^^^  "jy 
to  remember  that  at  each  union  there  is  a  mixture  of  two  germic: — ^^  ^j 
elements;  that  each  of  these  was  in  turn  ihe  product  of  two  otk: — ^^  ^ 
germinal  elements  in  the  preceding  generation,  and  so  backwards  .^^^ 

injiniium  in  geonjetrical  ratio.      liernembering  this,  it  follows  that  -^t    ie 
germinal  element  of  no  one  member  of  a  species  can  ever  be  the  s 
as  that  of  any  other  member ;  on  the  contrary,  while  both  are 
monsly  complex  products,  each   has  had  a  diflVreiit  ancestral  hist* 
such  that  while  one  preeents  the  congenital  admixtures  of  tbousani 
individuals  in  one  line  of  descent,  the  other  presients  similar  adiK=&  ix- 
tures  of  thousands  of  other  individuals  in  a  different  line  of  dest^^^mt.. 
Consequently,  when  in  any  sexual  union  tn'o  of  these  enormously com;j;z> lex 
germinal  elements  fuse  together,  and  constitute  a  new  individual  oua.*^  of 
their  joint  endowmentSjit  is  j>errectly  certain  t]i«t  Ihbt  individual  cai:*  :not 
be  exactly  like  any  other  individual  of  the  same  species,  or  even  o£~    ^lac 
same  brood  ;  the  chances  must  be  infinity  to  one  against  any  single  raca  «ies 
of  germ-plasm  Wing  exactly  like  any  other  mass  of  germ-plasm  ;  w  1:*^  il^ 
any  amouut  of  latitude  as  to  difference  is  allowcd^up  to  the  ]K>int  at  w  1j».  i<-:h 
the  ditference  becomes  too  pronounced  to  satihfy  the  conditions  of   ^"^r* 
tilization — in  which  ra«c,  of  course,  no  new  iiidividnal  is  born.    He-i^^  <^^ 
theoretically,  we  have  here  a  suQicient  cause  for  all  individual  variati'*^^^^*** 
of  acongeiiitiil  kind  that  can  possibly  occur  within  ihe  limits  of  fertil  .»-*/» 
and,  therefnre,  that  can  ever  become  actual  in  living  organisms.   In  p<^^  *  ^ 
of  fact,  WeibHiann  believes — or,  at  any  rate,  began  by  believing — 't  ^* 
this  is  the  sole  and  only  cause  of  variations  that  are  congenital,    *"■ 
therefore  (according  lo  his  views)  transmissible  by  heredity,      i^^— 
whether   or  not  he   is  right  as  repnrds   these  hitter  points,  1  th»  ^* 
there  can  be  noquettiou  timt  sexual  [iropagatiou  is,  at  all  events,  oci^^ 
the  main  cauf^ea  of  congenital  variation  ;  and  teeing  of  what  enorn^^^ 
importance  congenital  variation  must  uivvays  have   been  in  supply' ^ 
material  for  the  operation  of  natural  f election,  we  appear  to  have  fou»^ 
moi^t  fatisfueloiy  ans^ver  to  our  (|ne.«-lion — Why  has   sexual  prop^ 
tiou  become  so  universnl  among  all  the  higher  plants  and  animals? 
has  become  so  because  it  is  thus  shown  to  have  been  the  conditio: 
producing  congeniftil  variations,  which  in  turn  constitute  the  condi 
to  the  working  of  natural  selection. 

Having  got  thus  far,  I  should  like  to  make  two  or  three  subsid£ 
remarks.     In  the  first  ])lnce  it  ou^ht  to  be  observed  that  this  lumir> 
theory  tonching  tlie  causes  of  congenital  variations  was  not  origin^^^ 
propounded  by    ProPessJOP  Weismann,   but  occurs  in   the  writings 
several    previous    anlhorp,  and   is   expres.'-ly    alluded    to  by  Dartv> 
Nevei  theless,  it  tccupies  so  prominent  a  place  in  Weismann's  Bys^t^^ 
of  theories,  and  has  by  him  been  wrought  up  so  much  more  el»i 


1 

I 
I 
I 
I 

1 


at 
,  »id 


j^n 


JVETSM ANN'S    THEORY    OF  HEREDITY.  693 

ly  than  by  any  of  his  predecessors,  that  we  are  entitled  to  regard 
ifl,  par  exxdleuce,  tho  Weisraannian  theory  of  variation.  In  the 
b  place,  it  ought  to  be  observed  that  Wuismarin  is  careful  to 
rd  against  thr  seductive  fallacy  of  attributing  the  origin  of  sexual 
oagatiou  to  llie  agency  of  natural  selection.  Great  as  the  benefit 
ihis  newer  moda  of  propagation  nnisf:  huve  bt^en  to  the  species 
senting  it,  the  benefit  cannot  hcvf  been  conffrred  by  natural 
ction,  seeing  that  the  benefit  arose  from  the  fiict  of  the  new 
Ijod  furnishing  material  to  tho  operation  of  natural  selection, 
,  therefore,   in   so  far  as   it  did  this,  constituting   the  condition  to 

principle  of  natural  selection  having  been  called  into  play  at  aii. 

in  other  words,  we  cannot  attribute  to  natural  selection  the  origin 
exnal  reproduction  without  involving  ourselves  in  the  absurdity  of 
posing  natural  selection  to  have  originated  the  conditions  of  ita 
I  activity.*      What   the   causes   may  havo  been    which   originally 

to  sexual  reproduction  is  at  present  a  matter  ttjat  awaits  sugges- 
L  by  way  of  hypothesis  ;  and,  therefore,  it  now  only  remains  to  add 
;  the  general  structure  of  Professor  Weistoann's  system  of  hypo- 
ses  leads  to  this  curious  result — namely,  that  the  otherwise 
juitous  and  (as  he  supposes)  exclusive  dominion  of  natural  selec- 
i  stops  short  at  tho  protozoa,  over  which  it  cannot  exercise  any 
lence  at  all.      For  if  natural  selection  depends  for  its  activity  on 

occurrence  of  congenital  variations,  and  if  congenital  variations 
and  for  their  occurrence  on  sexual  modes  of  reproduction,  it  follows 
>  no  organisms  which  propagfate  themselves  by  any  other  modes  can 
;ent  congenital  variiit ions,  or  thus  become  subject  to  the  influence  of 
iral  selection.  And,  inasmuch  as  Weismann  believes  that  such  is 
case  with  all  the  protoxoa,  as  well  as  with  all  parthenogenetic  organ- 
I,  he  docs  not  hesitate  to  accept  the  necessary  conclusion  that  in 

Since  this  paper  was  ,eent  to  press,  Professor  Weisraann  hno  pnblislicd  in  Xuture 
.  6)  an  elaborate  answer  to  a  criticism  of  bis  theory  by  Professor  Vines  (Oct.  24). 
te  course  of  this  an-iwi-r  Professor  Weismann  fays  that  he  titirt  altriuiite  the  origin 
xnal  reiiro'iiiction  to  natural  selection.  Tl)i*  directly  coiitrudiciH  what  he  say.s  in 
8»aya  ;  and.  for  the  reasons  piven  in  tho  text,  appear.-*  to  me  an  illopical  departure 

his  previously  logical  attitude.  I  herewith  append  quotation)*,  in  order  to  reveal 
ontmdiction. 

Int  when  I  maintain  that  the  meaning  of  sexual  reproduction  is  to  render  possible 
lansformation  of  the  higher  orpanismsby  meaiisof  natural  selection,  such  nstate- 
;  in  not  equivalent  to  the  a.s.sertion  that  sexual  reproduction  origin.illy  came  int<-> 
«nce  in  order  to  achieve  thi.s  end.  The  effects  which  are  now  produced  by  sexual 
jdoction  did  not  constitute  the  canses  whioli  led  to  its  tirst  apfwarance.  Sexual 
>duction  came  into  existence  before  it  couM  lead  to  hereditary  individual  variu- 
f  [i«,,  to  the  possibility  of  natural  aelection].    Its  first  appearance  must,  therefore, 

had  some  other  cfiu^e  I  than  natural  selection]:  but  the  nature  of  this  cau.sa  can 
ly  be  dcterniined  with  anv  de^rreo  of  certainty  or  precision  from  the  facts  with 
A  wfl  are  at  present  acquainted. " — ("Essay  on  the  Sismificance  of  Siixual  Repro- 
ioo  in  the  Theory  of  Natural  .Selection  :  Kn^li-sh  Translation,"  pp.  281-2S2.) 
[  am  s'-ill  of  opinion  thai  the  origin  of  sexual  reproduction  depends  on  the  advan- 

which  it  afTonis  to  the  operation  of  natural  selection Sexual  reproduction 

wisen  by  aitd  for  natural  selection  as  the  sole  means  by  which  individual  varia- 

F«*n  be  united  and  combined  in  every  possible  proportion." — {Saturt,  vol.  xli. 

».) 

>w  «nch  opposite  statements  can  be  reconciled   I   do  not  mjsslf  perceive. — 

"  .Feb.  17. 


604 


THE    CONTEMPORARY    REVIEW. 


[Mx^ 


C 


these  cases  natural  selection  is  without  any  jurisdiction.  How,  then,  ^o^ 
he  account  for  individual  variations  in  the  protozoa  ?     And,  still  nic>r^ 
how  does  he  account  for  the  origin  of  their  innumerable  species?        ;gg 
accounts  for  both  these  things  by  the  direct  action  of  external  cckxidi- 
tions  of  life.      In  other  words,  so  far  as  the  unicellular  organisnia   g^ 
concerned,  Weismann  is  rigidly  and  exclusively  an  advocate  o£     tl» 
theory  of  Lamarck — just  as  much  as  in  the  case  of  all  the  malti- 
cellular  organisms  he  is  rigidly  and  exclusively  an  opponent  of   that 
theory.      Nevertheless,  there  is  here  no  inconsistency  :  on  the  contrary, 
it  is  consistency  with  the  logical  requirements  of  his  theory  that  le»<3^ 
to  this  sharp  partitioning  of  the  unicellular  from  the  mnlticeJJaJ  »^ 
organisms  with  respect  to  the  causes  of  their  evolution.      For,  as    3** 
points    out,   the    conditions    of    propagation    among  the    unicella3-  **^ 
organisms  are   such  that  parent  and  offspring  are  one  and  the  y»M^^^^ 
thing;   "the  child  is  a  part,,  and  usually  a  half,  of  its  parent."     Tlie^^^^, 
fore,   if  the  parent  has  been  in  any  way  taodilied   by  the  action 
external  conditions,  it  is  inevitable  that  the  child  should,  from 
moment  of  its  birth   (I'.f.,   fissiparous  separation),   be  similarly  moc^ 
tied  \  and    if  the  modifying    influences  continue  in  the    same   lin- 
for  a  sufficient  length  of  time,   the  resnlting  change  of  type  mi 
bt'come  sufficiently  pronounced  to  constitute  a  new  species,  genus, 
But  in  the  case  of  the  multicellular  or  sexual   organisms,  tJie  child 
not  thus  merely  a  severed  moiety  of  its  parent ;  it  is  the  result  of  tl 
fusion  of  two  highly  specialized  and  extremely  minute  particles  of  ea 
of  two  parents.     Therefore,  whatever  may  be  thought  touching  tl 
validity  of  Weismann  s  deduction  that  in  no  case  can  any  modificatic 
induced  by  external   conditions  on   these  parents  be  transmitted 
their  progeny,  at  least  we  must   recognize  the  validity  of  the  distin. 
tion  which  he  draws  between  the  facility  with  which  such  transmissic 
must  take  place  in  the   unicellular  organisms,  as   compared  with   tl 
difficulty— or,   as  he  believes,  the   impossibility — of  its  doing  so 
the  multicellular. 

We  are  now  in  a  position  fully  to  understand  Professor  Weismani 
theory  of  heredity  in  aU  its  bearings.      Briefly  stated,  this  theory 
as  follows.      The   whole    organization  of   any   multicellular  organi 
is    composed  of   two  entirely  different    kinds  of   cells — namely,  tJ 
germ  cells,   or  those  which  have    to  do  with  reproduction,  and 
somatic  cells,   or  those  which  go  to  constitute  all  the  other  parts 
the   organism.       Now,    the   somatic    cells,   in  their  aggregations 
tissues    and  organs,   may   be    modified    in    numberless  ways  by   t 
direct  action  of  the  environment,  as  well  as  by  special  habits  form 
during  the  individual   lifetime   of  the  organism.      But  although  t— 
modifications  thus  induced  may  be,  and  generally  are,  adaptive — sw" 
as  the  increased  muscularity  caused  by  the  use  of  muscles,  "practi-^^  <^ 
making  perfect  "  in  the  case  of  nervous  adjustments,  and  so  on, -^° 


isgo] 


TVE  ISM  ANN'S    THEORY   OF  HEREDITY 


695 


no  case  can  these  so-called  acquired  or  "  somatogenetic  "  cliaractera 
exercise   any  influence    upon  the   gei'in-cells,  such   that  they    should 
reappear  in  their  products  (progeny)  as  congenital  or   "  blastogenetic  " 
characters.      For,  according  to  the  theory,  the  germ-ct'lls  as  to  their 
germinal  contents  differ  in  kind  from  the  somatic  cells,  and  have  no 
other  connection  or  dependence  upon  them  than  that  of  deriving  fron» 
thern  their  food  and   lodging.      So  much,  thee,   for  the  somatic  cells. 
Turning  now  more  especially  to  the  germ-cells,  these  are  tiie  receptacles 
of    -w^hafc   Weismann   culls   the   germ-plasm ;  and   this   it  is    that  he 
supposes  to  differ  in  kind  from  all  the  other  constituent  elements  of 
the  organism.      For  the  germ-plasm  he  believes  to  have  had  its  origin 
in    the  nnicellular   organisms,  and  to  have  been   handed  down  from 
them  in  one  continuous  stream  through  all  successive  generations  of 
niultieellulai"  organisms.      Thus,  for  example,  suppose  that  we  take  a 
certain   quantum   of   germ-plasm  as    this  occurs   in   any    individual 
organism  of  to-day.      A   minute  portion    of  this   germ-plasm,   when 
mixed  with  a  similarly  minute  portion  from  another  individual,  goes 
o  form  a  new  individual.      But,  in  doing  so,  only  a  portion  of  this 
^'ttiniate  portion  is  consumed  ;   the  residue  is  stored  up  in  the  germinal 
C^lls   of  this  new  iiulividual,  in  order  to  secure  that  continuity  of  the 
S®*'na.-plasra  which  Weismann  assumes  as  the  necessary  basis  of  his 
^^'Dolfe  theorj'.      Furthermore,  he  assumes  that  this  overplus  portion  of 
K^*"!!! -plasm,    which    is   bo   handed  over   to  the  custody  of  tho  new 
^^i^iividuai,  is  there  capable  of  growth  or  multiplication  at  the  expense 
**»     t.\xe  nutrient  materials  which  are  supplied  to  it  by  the  new  soma  in 
''"''licli  it  finds  itself  located  ;  while  in  thus  growing,  or  multiplying,  it 
^itlnfnlly  retains   its  highly   complex   character,   so  that   in   no  one 
^**mate  particular  does  any  part  of  a  many  thousand-fold  increase 
^^i^ffer,  as  to   its   ancestral    characters,  from   that  inconceivably  small 

■  overplus  which  was  first  of  all  entrusted  to  the  embryo  by  its  parents. 
I  ■*■  berefore  one  might  represent  the  germ-plasm  by  the  metaphor  of  a 
^L  y^ast-plant,  a  single  [)article  of  which  may  be  put  into  a  vat  of 
^Kp*t»-ient  fluid  :  there  it  lives  and  grows  upon  the  nutriment  supplied, 
^P'^  'tUat  a  new  particle  may  next  be  tak«^n  to  impregnate  another  vat, 

■  and   80  on  ad  injimtum.      Here   the  successive  vats  would  represent 

■  sacccasive  generations  of  progeny ;  but  to  make  the  metaphor  complete 

■  One    Would  require  to  suppose  that  in  each  case  the  yeast-  cellwas 
^*^^ired  to   begin  by  making  its  own  vat  of  nutrient  material,  and 

*^^t  it  ^3£  only  the  residual  portion  of  the  cell  which  was  afterwards 

^^    to   grow   and   multiply.      But  although  the    metaphor    is   thus 

®ceaaarily  a  clumsy  one,  it  may  serve  to  emphasize  the  all-imporlaut 

^**^re  of  Weismann's  theory — viz.,  the  almost  absolute  independence 

^-Ke  germ-plasm.     For,  just  as  the  properties  of  the  3'east-plaut 

..**^id    be   in   no  way   affected  by  anything   that   might  happen    to 

Vat,  short  of  its  being  broken  up  or  having  its  malt  impaired,  so, 


I 
I 


606 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[1 


according  to  Weismann,  the  properties  of  the  germ-plasm  omnot 
affected  by  nnything  tliat  may  happen  to  its  containing  sivwu,  short 
the  8orrui  being  destroyeil  or  having  its  nutritive  functions  impaired 

Such  being  the  relations  that  are  supposed  to  obtain  between 
soma   and   its    germ-plasm,   we  havo    next  to   contemplate 
supposed  to  happen  when,  in  the  course  of  evolution,  some  modifictt 
of  the  ancostral  form  of  the  soma  is  required  in  order  to  adapt 
some  change  on  the  part  of  its  environment.      In  other  words,  we 
to  consider   Weismann's   views  on  the   viodus  oprrandi  of  ad: 
development,  with  its  result  in  the  origination  of  neup  species. 

Seeing  that,  according  to  the  theory,  it  is  only  congenital  variat — ^^^ 
which  can  be  inherited,  all  variations   subsequently  acquired  by 
intercourse  of  individuals  with  their  environment,  however  b 
such  variations  may  be  to  these  individuals,  are  ruled  oat  as 
the  species.      Not  falling  within  the   province  of   heredity,  1 
blocked  off  in  the  first  generation,  and  therefore  present  no  sic 
at  all  in  the  process  of  organic  evolution.      No  matter  how 
generations  of  eagles,  for  instance,  may  nsc  their  wings  for  pu 
of  flight ;  and  no  matter  how  great  an   increase  of  muscularit;^?^^ 
endurance,  and  of  skill,  may  thus  be   secured   to   each   generatic^» - 
eagles  as  the  result  of  individual  exercise ;  all  these  advantage's- 
entirely  lost  to  progeny,  and  young  eagles  have  ever  to  begii 
lives  with  no  more  benefit  bequeathed  by  the  activity  of  their  an 
than  if  those  ancestors  had  all  been  barn-door  fowls.     Therefore 
only  material  which  is  of  any  count  as  regards  the  species,  or 
reference  to  the  process  of  evolution,  are  fortuitous  variations  i» 
congenital  kind.     Among  all  the  numberless  congenital  van* 
within  narrow  limits,  which  are  perpetually  occurring  in  each  gpne«" 
of  eagles,  some  will  have  reference  to  the  wings ;  and  although 
will  be  fortuitous,  or  occurring  indiscriminately  in  all  directions, 
of  thf>m  will  now  and  then  be  in  the  direction  of  increased  rouscaV 
others  in  the  direction  of  increased  endurance,  others  in  the  dii 
of  increased  skill,  and  so  on.      Now  each  of  these  fortuitous  vi 
which   happens  also  to  bo  a  bi^neficial    variation,  will   be  favoni 
natural  selection  ;   and,  because  it  likewise  happens  to  beacon^ 
variation,  will  be  perjieLuatcd  by  heredity.     In  the   coarse  of 
other  congenital  variations  will  happen  to  arise  in  the  same  dii 
these  will   be   added  by    natural    selection   to  the  advantage 
gained,  and  so  on,  till  after  hundreds  and  thousands  of  gene 
I  ho  wiiiga  of  eagles  become  evolved  into  the  marvellous 
yMch  they  now  present. 

loh  being  the  theory  of  natural  selection  when  stripped 

"wntH  nf  sii-i'alled  Lamarckian  principles,  we  have  next  toi 
ilio  llii>(jry  means  in  its  relation  to  germ-plasm.     For,  as 
ifipd,  congenital   variations   are    supposed  by  "Weismann 
to  new  t'ombinalions  taking  place  in  the  germ-plasm  as  a» 


tSgo] 


WEISM ANN'S    THEORY    OF  HEREDITY. 


697 


» 


of  the  union  of  two  complex  hereditary  hiatoriea  in  every  act  of  fer- 
tilisation. Well,  if  congenital  variations  are  thus  nothing  more  than 
variations  of  germ-plasm  "  writ  large "  in  the  organism  which  is 
developed  out  of  the  plasm,  it  follows  that  natural  selection  is  really 
at  work  upon  these  variations  of  the  germ-plasm.  For,  although  it 
is  proximately  at  work  on  the  congenital  variations  of  organisms  after 
birth,  it  is  ultnmatoly,  and  through  them,  at  work  upon  the  varia- 
tions of  germ-plasm  out  of  which  the  organisma  arise.  In  other 
■words,  natural  selection,  in  picking  out  of  each  geneiation  those 
individual  organisms  which  are  by  their  congenital  characters  best 
suited  to  their  surrounding  conditions  of  life,  is  thereby  picking  out 
those  peculiar  combinations  or  variations  of  genn-plasm,  -which,  when 
expanded  into  a  resulting  organism,  give  that  organism  the  best 
chance  in  its  struggle  for  existence.  And,  inasmuch  as  a  certain 
overplus  of  this  peculiar  combination  of  germ-plasm  is  entrusted  to 
that  organism  for  bequeathing  to  the  next  generatiou,  this  to  the  nest, 
and  so  on,  it  follows  that  natural  selection  is  all  the  while  conserving 
that  originally  peculiar  combination  of  germ-plasm,  until  it  happens 
to  meet  with  some  other  mass  of  germ-plasm  by  mixing  with 
■which  it  may  still  further  improve  upon  its  original  peculiarity,  when, 
of  course,  natural  selection  will  seize  upon  this  improvement  to  per- 
petuate as  in  the  previous  case.  So  that,  on  the  whole,  we  may  say 
that  natural  selection  is  ever  waiting  and  watching  for  such  combina- 
tions of  gerra-plasm  aa  will  give  the  resulting  organisms  the  best 
IK>8sible  chance  in  their  struggle  for  existence ;  while,  at  the  same 
tixne,  it  is  remorselessly  destroying  all  those  combinations  of  germ- 
plasm  which  are  handed  over  to  the  custody  of  organisms  not  bo  well 
fitted  to  their  conditions  of  life. 

It  only  remains  to  add  that,  ac<;ording  to  Weismann's  theory  io 
^**  strictly  logical  form,  combinations  of  gerni-plaam  when  once 
effected  are  so  stable  that  they  would  never  alter  except  as  a  result 
^^  entering  into  new  combinations.  In  other  words,  no  external  in- 
flaences  or  internal  processes  can  ever  change  the  hereditary  nature 
^^  any  particular  iruxture  of  germ-plasm,  save  and  except  its 
^naiiture  with  some  other  genn-plasm,  which,  being  of  a  nature 
*<loally  stable,  goes  to  unite  with  the  other  in  equal  proportions  as 
Regards  hereditary  character.  So  that  really  it  would  be  more 
Correct  to  say  that  any  given  mass  of  germ-plasm  does  not  change 
®Ven  when  it  is  mixed  with  seme  other  mass — any  more,  for  instance, 
toan  a  handful  of  sand  can  be  said  to  change  when  it  is  mixed  with 
^  Jiandful  of  clay. 

Consequently,  we  arrive  at  this  curious  result.     No  matter  how 

^^y  generations  of  organisms  there  may  have  been,  and  therefore 

^   tnatter  how  many  combinations  of   germ-plasm  may  have  taken 

place  to  give  rise  to  an  existing  population,  each   existing  unit  of 

K^rtu-plasm   must  have  remained  of  the    aame  eeeential  nature  of 

▼OL.  LVU.  2  Z 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[M 


-A.T 


I 


constitution  as  when  it  was  first  started  in  its  immortal  career 
of  years  ago.     Or,  reverting  to  our  illuatration  of  sand  and  < 
particles  of  each  must  always  remain  the  same,  no  matter  how  ma 
admixtures  they  may  undergo  with  particles  of  other  materials,  su 
as  chalk,  slate,   &c.      Now,  inasmuch  as  it  is  an  essential — because 
logicnlly    necessary — part    of     Weisraann's    theory    to    assume   su 
absolute  stability  or  nnchangeableness  on  the   part  of  germ-pli 
the   question   arises,    and   has  to  be   met,  What  was   the   origin 
those    differences    of    character    in     the     different  "  germ-plasms 
mnlticellular  organisms  which   fii-st  gave  rise,  and   still  continue 
give  rise,  to  congenital  variations  by  their  niixiure  one  with  anoth 
This  important  question   Weiamann  answers  by  supposing  that  th 
differences  originally  arose  out  of  the  differences  in  the  unicella       lar 
organisms,   which   were  the  ancestors  of   the  primitive  mnlticellT^___l  ar 
organisms.       Now,   as  before    stated,    different    forms  of   unicelli^L_Xa^ 
organisms  are  supposed  to    have    originated  as  so   many  results  dfl 

differences  in  the  direct   action  of  the   en\'ironment.      Consequen-^t' ly, 
according  to  the  theory,  all  congenital  variations  which  now  occur —       i 
multicellular  organisms    are  really  the  distant   results    of  variati_-^i: 
that  were  aboriginally  induced  in   their  nnicellular  ancestors  by      "fc 
direct  action  of  surrounding  conditions  of  life. 

I  think  it  will  be  well  to    conclude  by  briefly  summarising     "fc- 
main  features  of  this  elaboi'ate  theory. 

Living  material  is  essentially,  or  of  its  own  natare,  imperishat>3 
and  it  still  continues  to  be  so  in  the  case  of  unicellular  organic 
which  propagate  by  fission  or  gemmation.       But  as  soon    as    tfa 
primitive    methods    of    propagation    became,    from    whatever    cav»  ^^i 
superseded  by  sexual,  it  ceased  to  be  for  the  benefit  of  species  -t'l:*'''' 
their  constituent  individuals  should  be  immortal ;   seeing  that,  if  tl »  *^J 
continued   to   bo   so,    all    species   of  sexually-reproducing   organis"*^^"^' 
would  sooner  or  later  come  to  be  composed  of  broken  down  and  decr^X-*^ 
individuals.       Consequently,   in    all    sexually-reproducing    or    miil*'*' 
cellular  organisms,  natural  selection  set  to  work  to  reduce  the  t^^"^*^ 
of  indl%'idual  lifetimes  within  the  narrowest  limits  that  in  the  caee»    ^' 
each  species  are  compatible  with  the  procreation  and  the  rearing'     *-* 
progeny.      Nevertheless,  in  all  these  sexuaUy-reproducing  organi^^*-*' '** 
the   primitive  endowment   of    immortality   has   been    retained    ■w^^-* 
respect  to  their  germ-plasm,  which  has  thus  been  continuous,  throti^* 
numberless  generations  of  perishing  organisms,  from  the  first  ofif?^^ 
of  sexual  reproduction  till  the  present  time.      Now,  it  is  the  nnioO    ^ 
germ-plawis  which  is  required  to  reproduce  new  individuals  of  nitil*^" 
cellular  organisms  that  determines  congenital  variations  on  the  part  ot 
such  organisms,  and  thus  famishes  natural  selection  with  the  mat«*^^' 
for  its  work  in  the  wny  of  organic  evolution — work,  therefore,  wb"^" 
is  impossible  in  the  case  of  unicellular  organisms,  where  variation  can 
never  be  congenital,  but  always  determined  by  the  direct  action  of 


I 


IFEISM ANN'S    THEORY   OF   HEREDITY'. 


699 


ng  conditions  of  life.  Again,  as  the  germ- plasm  of  multi- 
(rganisms  is  continuous  from  generation  to  generation,  and 
impregnation  gives  rise  to  a  more  or  less  novel  set  of 
J  characters,  natural  selection,  in  picking  out  of  each 
n  those  congenital  characters  which  are  of  most  service  to 
licms  presenting  them,  is  really  or  fundamentally  at  work 
je  variations  of  the  germ-plasm  which  in  turn  give  origin  to 
nations  of  organisms  that  we  recognise  as  congenital. 
I,  natural  selection  has  always  to  wait  and  to  watch  for  such 
1  of  germ-plasm  as  will  eventually  prove  beneficial  to  thi^ 
Is  developed  therefrom,  who  will  then  transmit  this  peculiar 
'  germ-plasm  to  their  progeny,  and  so  on.  Thrrefore,  also — 
is  most  important  to  remember — natural  st^leotion  as  thus 
becomes  the  one  and  only  cause  of  evolution  and  the  origin 

in  all  the  multicellular  organisms,  Just  as  the  direct  actinn  of 
onment  ia  the  one  and  only  cause  of  evolution  and  the  origin 
I  in  the  case  of  all  the  unicellular  organisms.  But  inasmucli 
ulticellular  organisms  were  all  in  the  first  instance  derivrd 
unicolliilar,  and  inaaunich  as  their  germ-plasm  is  of  bo 
tature  that  it  can  never  be  altered  by  any  agencies  internal 
al  to  the  organisms  presenting  it,  it  follows  that  all  congenital 
1  are  the  remote  consequences  of  aboriginal  dLSerences  on  tho 
nicellular  ancestors.  And,  lastly,  it  follows  also  that  these 
1  variations  —  although  now  ko  entirely  independent  of 
oonditions  of  life,  and  even  of  activities  internal  to  organisms 
iS — were  originally  and  exclusively  due  to  the  direct  action 
londitions  on  the  lives  of  their  unicellular  ancestry  ;  while 
be  present  day  no  one  congenital  variation  can  arise  which 
imately  duo  to  differenccH  impressed  upon  the  protoplasmic 

of  the  germinal  elements,  when  the  parts  of  which  these 
composed  constituted  integral  parts  of  the  protozoa,  which 
»ctly  and  differentially  affected  by  their  converse  with  their 
vironmente. 

then,  is  Weisraann'a  theory  of  heredity  in  ita  original  and 
'gical  form.     But  it  is  now  necessary  to  add  that  in  almost 

of  its  essential  features,  as  jnst  stated,  the  theory  has  had 
fi>— or  is  demonstrably  destined  to  undergo — some  radical 
on.  On  the  present  occasion,  however,  my  object  is  merely 
he  theory  :  not  to  criticise  it.  Therefore  I  have  sought  to 
le  whole  theory  in  its  completely  connected  shape.  On  a 
CBsion — I  hope  within  the  present  year — it  will  be  my 
r  to  disconnect  the  now  untenable  parts  from  the  parts 
ID   remain    for   investigation    at    the    hands   of   biological 


GbOROB  J,  RotUMEB. 


[Mat 


BABY-FARMING. 


"  nP|ONT  cry ;  oh,  don't  cry !  "  pleaded  a  frail  boy  with  outstretch  ^* 

M-J     hands,   sitting  up,   asleep,  in  bed,  in  the  night,  dreamir»r^*  ' 
He  often  did  so ;  the  tears  rolling  Hovni  his  pained  blanched  face,  as     '*' 


he  would  restrain  companiong  from  suffering.  He  had  been  got  iic^^^m 
a  bouse,  where  night  and  day  he  had  the  chief  care  of  six  cold,  so*"^^ 
wailing,  hungry  babies,  all  yoanger  than  himself,  all  unwanted, 
nearing  the  time  of  their  departure,  a  small  batch  of  that  monm^"*^*i 
tale  of  51,000  children  annually  born  in  the  land  who  ought  not 
have  been  bom.     He  was  dreaming  it  over  again. 

If  a  process  could  be  invented,  by  which  stories  of  the  invisible  aSX* 
hateful  things  done  to  these  children  could  be  brought  to  light,  a,s 
certain  eolution,  known  to  the  experiments  of  my  boyhood,  brought  otz*' 
writing  in  invisible  ink,  the  natron  would  not  hesitate  to  prononut?^ 
them  the  darkest,  most  ghastly  shame  in  the  land.    Yet  is  it  the  work  o»^ 
a  trade,  doing  a  brisk  basineas,  known  by  the  mild  name  of  the  '*  Bai*^" 
Farm."     Even  the  studeut  of  heathen  history  may  fairly  challeng"^^ 
"  Christians,"  as  all  Englislimen  are  called,  to  find  amongst  its  horror-^* 
anything  done   to  children  which  provides  a  parallel  to  it.     'Wlil-^^ 
cannibal  mothers,  when   an   unwanted  child   is   born,   are  said  "t>*^^ 
put  it  back  again  "  in  a  meal,  English  mothers  put  their  unwante-^^ 
children  back  by  a  process  of  which  the  cannibal  would  be  ashatnec^^ 
but  which,  happily  for  the   comparison,   her   eye  does   not  actaflll-.y^ 
see.     The  rcBponsibility  lies  with  a  trade  which  has  grown  up,  and  ^-^ 
in  full  swing  in  the  land — the  undertaker  for  the  unwanted  b«hy  ^ 
death. 

To  apply  such  a  disclosing  solution  as  we  have  supposed  to  the 
baby  institutions,  has  been  attempted  by  the  National  Society  for  th* 
Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Children.     This  much  of  the  history  of  J*    J^ 


BABY-FARMING. 


701 


1 


gallons  may  be  stated.  It  selected  a  certain  number  of 
option"  anuouiicements  in  newspaper  advertisements,  and,  under 
ible  cover,  attempted  to  bring  up  from  beneath  their  composing 
jarance,  the  trutli  of  Ibem,  with  a  view  to  place  it  before  the  heart 
conscience  of  Pailiament,  for  Parliament  to  apply  regulations  to  it, 
tefore  stating  what  those  regulations  must  be,  let  us  set  out  the 
1^  and  magnitude  of  the  trade  to  be  regulated, 
"here  seemed  to  be  an  impression  that  of  late  years  baby-farming 
gone  down  j  that  since  the  Infant  Life  Protection  Act  was  passed, 
gs  were  better.  It  was  my  own  impression  that  the  trade  was 
as  large  and  as  bad  as  ever,  though  it  was  more  skilfully  con- 
i>ed,  Where  permitted,  the  Society  has  carried  out  its  inquiry 
md  correspondence  into  interviews  with  the  advertiser  in  person. 
even  then,  it  has  not  always  been  allowed  to  see  her  home, 
never  has  it  been  able  to  see  the  place  which  many  considerations 
ered  it  certain  would  be  the  destiny  of  the  sought-for  child.  None 
'hose  who  have  attempted  such  wretched  and  delicate  inquiries  into 
i*et  ti"ade  can  imagine  the  number  and  magnitude  of  the  difiiculties 
h,  at  every  step,  barred  the  way.  While  definite  knowledge  was 
ionedly  obtained,  generally  it  has  been  possible  only  to  fonn 
,  the  opposite  of  which  would  be  laughed  at  as  absurd  by  any 
ind.  And  knowledge  and  opinion,  confirmed  by  independent 
."Umerous  lines  of  evidence,  make  it  certain  that  behind  these 
.try  air  and  motlier's   love  "   advertisements  live  a  band  of  cruel 

a  who  take  children  as  mere  means  of  gain  which  can  only  be   i 
Tjy  their  death, 
avoid  injusticCj  let  me  say  that  advertisers  are  not  all  alike, 
consist   partly   of    undoubtedly   good   ones,  where   a  child  to 

■  is  really    wanted,   for    joy    in    children ;  partly  of    doubtful, 

■  a  ''  living  "  is;  the  chief  motive  ;  and  partly  of  vile  and  criminal 
Pfc,  who  deserve  the  uttermost  vengeance  of  the  law.  These  are  mere 
Hl^rs,  obtaining  not  one  child,  but  child  after  child,  in  prodigious 

>crB,  getting  rid  of  them  to  receivers. 

en  found,  the  procurer  is  mostly  of  clean,  genteel,  respectable  1 
3ig  and  manners.  She  often  professes  that  she  has  been  married 
five,  or  seven  years,  has  had  ''  no  child,"  and  is  "  anxious  to 
one  from  the  birth."  She  wants  something  to  compassionate 
lo  love.  For  the  receiving  of  the  baby  an  appointment  is 
Jy  made  at  a  railway  station,  from  which  (when  negotiations  are 
ful)  a  wire  to  one  of  her  receivers  simply  announces  that  she  is 
way.      Her  business  is  to  snare  ;  her  receiver's  is  to  alay.  J 

is  the   goal   to  which    one   skilful   and   busy   procurer  hadi 
lyed  five  of  her  little  victims.     It  was  the  back  room  of  a  tumble- 
labourer's  cottage,  scarcely  fit  for  a  coal  place,  about  twelve  feet 
>.     Crouching  and  sprawling  on  the  floor,  in  their   own  excre- 


702 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


tVlT 


I 


( 


ment,  were  two  of  them.     Two  were  tied  in  rickety  chairs,  oae  lay 
in  a  rotten  basainet.      The  stench  of  the  room  was  so  abominable  Uiafe 
a  grown  man  vomited  on  opening  the  door  of  it.     Thoug-h  three  were 
nearly  two  years  old,  none  of  them  could  walk,  only  onp  could  stand  a 
even  by  the  aid  of  a  chair.     In  bitter  March,  there  was  no  fire.     T 
children  had  a  band  of  flannel  round  the  loins  ;  one  had  a  small  aha' 
on ;  the  rest  had  only  thin,  filthy,   cotton  frocks.     All  were  yellc 
fevered  skin  and  bone.      None  of  them    cried,  they  were  too  wea^^*^  * 
One  had  bronchitis,  one  curvature  of  the  spine,  and  the  rest  ricketr  .^^ 
all  from  their  treatment.      There  was  not  a  scrap  of  children's  food       i-,*^ 
the  house.     In  a  bedroom  above  was  a  mattress,  soaked  and  80^<^^xk 
with  filth,  to  which  they  were  carried  at  night,  with  two  old  coats     Pcir- 
covering.     All  the  children's  clothes  in  the  place  were  the  bandjftxX» 
of  rags  they  wore.      And  a  man  and  his  wife  sat  watching  them  di©  of 
filth  and  famine,  so  making  their  living.     It  was  their  trade.     Of  on^, 
which  had  died  a  few  months  before,  was  found  a  graceful  memorij^l 
card,  with  the  motto,  *'  He  shall  gather  them  into  his  arms,"  whi^ri'fa 
had  been  provided  for  the  procurer  who  sent  it.      At  the  farm, 
mother  was  not  known.      These  five  weary  creatures  were  all  reinori 
into  restorative  care :  all  injured  for  years  ;  some  for  life.     Two  ner 
recovered  and  died  in  hospital. 

This  was  the  destiny  of  the  babies  which  had  been  lured  from  dt- 
grace-driven,  perhaps  loving  mothers'  arms  to  their  procurer  by  sui 
pathetic  pleas  as  "  Married  seven  years  and  no  child."  and  which  hi 
been  received  by  her  at  some  railway  station  with  her  prettiest,  m 
deferential  grace.      It  was  while  the  Society  was  on  its  ordinary  pi 
vention  of  cruelty  work  that  it  came   upon  this  place  of  slow 
sure   slaughter,  and  was  able  to  connect  it  with  a  pious  adverti 
in  a  religious  paper. 

Anotlier  "farm,"  kept  by  a  man  and  wife,  consisted  of  one  am 
room  occupied  night  and  day  by  six  persons — the  two  adults  and  fo"^ 
children.     In  a  cradle  on  the  bed  was  a  child  sucking  at  a  bottH- 
In  a  cradle  by  the  bed  was  another  suckling.    On  the  bed  lay  a  thir- 
On  the  floor  was  a  fourth  child,  and  also  the  man  and  woman  w 
lived  upon  savings  out  of  these  children's  keep.     Two  of  the  childr«?  ^"^ 
were  very  ill  ;  hnd  been  ill  for  some  weeks ;  one  seemed  near  deat  I*— 
Neither  had  had  medical  care.       One  had  raw  sores  round  the  ejrCs^V 
which  were  explained,  "through   the  beetles  getting  at  it"     Th^^ 
were  on  the  l>ody.  too.     When  this  child  cried  (it  was  "  crying 
day  long,"  a  neighbour  said),  it  was  never  taken  up.     This  neighbo 
had  seen  the  man  angrily  pile  clothes  on  its  head  to  silence  it. 

I  cannot  .lay  if  these  j>ersons  take  pleasure  in  the  cruelties  tli<?y 
practise ;  but  one  thing  is  certain  ;  they  are  of  the  sort  who  bare  n<^ 
sympathy  with  the  imploring  helplessness  of  suffering.     They  woui" 
tot  save  an  ache  to  a  child  in  their  care  if  they  could  do  so  only  ly  » 


BABY-FARMING. 


703 


&  pressed  on  its  pallid  lips,  or  a  folding  of  it  to  their  breast  with  their 
KXiS.  Whatever  they  might  be  to  their  own  children — and  a  ahe- 
l_£   is  good  to  her  cubs — to  the  children  of  others  they  are  without 

"pale  of  humanity.  Baby's  dying  waLlings  have  no  more  effect  on 
B^'t,  they  are  doing  than  have  a  lamb's  on  what  a  butcher  is  doing. 
»3t»nst  be  done.  For  this  rea.son,  they  suit  the  procurer, 
iriie  procurer  seems  to  be  the  chief  advertiser.  She  lives  on  the 
irld  of  women  who  are  mothers  through  somebody's  misconduct, 
1.  in  despair.  The  receivers  are  her  business  connections.  These 
B>     by  her.    She  is  well  in  with  her  set.    "  Leave  here  10  p.m.  ;  expect 

■three  in  the  morning."  "  Meet  me  2.15."  These  are  two  tele- 
kxxis  sent  in  ^le  same  week,  by  the  same  procurer,  one  to  a  receiver 
liers  at  Swinfl,on,  one  to  another  at  Yarmouth.  One  was  sent  from 
r^rpool  Street  Station,  where  a  child  had  just  been  obtained ;  the 
ker  from  Oxford  Station,  where  another  had  been  obtained.  Both 
Idren  were  beautifully  dressed,  and  evidently  belonged  to  the  upper 
»sea  ;  one  went  to  the  wife  of  a  fish  hand,  the  other  to  a  retired 
—gatherer's  wife. 

file  meaning  of  the  telegrams  waa  well  understood.  The  one  was 
a©^  "  H — 1,"  the  other  "  W — e."  Both  were  from  the  same  person, 
>  "traffics  under  at  least  four  names.  After  a  time  we  found  out 
*  "this  foul  and  poisonous  deceiver  was,  and  traced  her  to  her  home, 
*i~0!  her  clergyman  had  no  idea  of  her  occupation,  and  where  she  had 
•^X"  but  one  child,  which  he  regarded  as  her  own.  She  had  a 
^ca— like  neatness  of  deportment  and  dress,  and  held  a  testimonial 
*^  a  vicar  with  which  the  more  easily  to  secure  her  hapless 
»*-»*ig.      The  explanation  of  tlie  secrecy  in  which  she  had  conducted 

Ibusiness  was  that  all  her  appointments  for  receiving  children  were 
*^  for  distant  railway  stations  within  easy  reach  of  some  of  her 
*i"Vers.  To  her  were  ultimately  traced  (wbat  more  she  had  had  it 
'  impossible  to  say)  four-and-twenty  babies,  none  of  whom  were 
^«^r  care,  but  all  of  whom  in  one  short  year  she  had  received  under 
*^-^nce  of  adopting  them.  — ^ 

^ Vich  is  the  monster,  a  baby-procorer,  publicly  carrying  on  her  buai- 
^a  aa  agents  carry  on  theirs  for  your  governess  or  clerk  ;  and  (like  all 
'"^^cies)  in  a  manner  which  those  alone  who  are  on  the  look  out  for 
**a  observe^  Her  business  success  depends  on  secrecy.  So  timid  and 
^  is  she,  that  under  cover  which  seems  incapable  of  suspicion  as  to 
^*<md  fidei,  you  may  conduct  your  negotiations  for  the  transfer  of 
•^Xild  to  her  to  within  one  point  of  such  success  as  you  want,  when 
"^lier  negotiations  are  suddenly  declined.  Negotiations,  not  only 
'V»  one,  but  with  two  or  three,  in  different  parts  of  the  country,  who 
*"«  supposed  to  be  separate  individuals,  are  abruptly  closed  at  the 
**.«  time,  which  suggests  that  yon  have  been  corresponding  with  the 
^^^  advertiser,  or  that  there  is  a  onion  in  the  procurer  s  trade,  with 


r04 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mil 


11 


alertness  for  common  intrerests.  One  apologised  for  precautions,  Baying 
that  the  exiatenee  of  the  Society  created  great  uneasiness  in  the  trad^ , 
and  rendered   them  more  than  ever  necessary,  and  that  advertisia'^ 
agents  and  papers  were  all  '*  very  chary  "  now. 

Judged  from  the  extent  of  its  advertisements  all  over  the  oonnt»-y^ 
(fi"om  which  we  selecl-ed  haphazard  for  our  investigation),  this  bal»^- 
procuriug  is  now  a  prodigious  business.  We  have  found  the  sarixDe 
person's  advertisements  as  far  north  as  Sunderland,  and  as  far  soca^th 
as  Eastbourne.  They  appear  very  largely  in  those  places  of  res<z>rt 
which  have  earned  the  name  "  gay,"  and  extend  to  the  resorts  of  tie 
English  on  the  Continent.  At  different  times  the  same  person  adver- 
tises in  the  same  paper  under  diflferent  names,  one  under  three,  anotlaer 
under  four.  *^ 

If  we  may  ground  an  opinion  of  what  we  do  not  know  on  evidence  | 
afforded   by  what  we   do  know,  all   procurers  obtain  tlieir   children 
under  false  pretences.      The  statements  of  their  advertisements,  their 
correspondence,  their  conversations,  are  mere  tissues  of  lies.    Two  cor- 
respondents, under  different  names,  which  eventually  turn  out  to  mean 
the  same  person,   make  totally  different  statements  of  their  circum- 
stances, and  whenever  by  other  means  you  get  at  the  actual  facta,  both 
statements  furn  out  to  be  crafty  and  misleading  inventions.     Onesai"- 
that  her  husband  was  in  a  hospital  for  an  operation,  which  left  hertec*^"" 
porarily  without  income.    The  same  one  said  that  she  was  a  widow  wi*** 
one  child.     Neither  statement  had  the  shadow  of  a  foundation.     IIT  ^* 
husband  was  a  railway-carriage  builder  in  good  pay  and  regular  wotr^-^' 
and  she  was  childless.     Another  said  she  had  only  one  little  girl,  fc^'"** 
and  a  half  years  old ;  the   rest  of  her  children  had  all  died  at  birt^-  •*^'' 
With  an  air  of  consistency,  she  wrote  on  the  deepest  mourning  pap^^''" 
She  was  found   to   have  ten   living    children,  an   invalid   husba 
and    much   trouble    as   to  ways   and  means.      Wherever  it  has  be* 
possible  to    get    through   the  precautions  as   to  personal  identifier 
tion   and  real  dwelling  of  the   procurer  and  to   test  statements 
facts   (as  the   mothers  of  the   children   have  no  means  whatever 
doing),    unfavourable    appearances    have    been    explained    away 
lies. 

But   false    pretences    are    not    always    necessary.      For    instant 
two  of  the  children  in  the  large  piggery  already  described  had  be- 
obtained   by  the  keeper  of  it    herself.      She   advertised,   "  Want 
a  child  to  adopt  by  a  respectable  married  couple  ;   premium  rt quire* 
apply,    &c."      The    address   given   woa  that    of  an    accommodati-^*^*^ 
acquaintance  five  miles  away  from  the  advertiser's  own  miserable  d^^*' 
***»«  inserted   her  advertisement  twice  in  a    London  and   twice  ia.       * 
lingham  paper  ;   and  with  no  more  knowledge   of  her  than  tiii* 
living  babies  were  made  over  to  her,  one  from  Havre,  one  froU* 
amUm,    In  neither  case  did  the  mother  of  the  child  see  theadver- 


BABY-FARMING, 


705 


Be.    The  Havre  child,  she  fetched  from  Southampton,    It  was 

regular  lady's."    The  other,  she  met  on  the  platform  at  Snow  Hil! 

bion,  Birmingham.    These  brief  advertisements  brought  her  one  £10 

one  £20  from  persons  who  knew  nothing  of  her,  and  did  not  know 

n  her  name  or  address.     All  the   correspondence  there  had  been 

I  as  to  terras.      The  children  were  never  to  be  seen  again. 

?ar  is  it,  alas!  from  being  always  necessary  to  deceive  mothers  in  order 
secure  their  children's  charge.  There  are  infamous  cAatm-es,  mere 
-things,  who  look  oat  for  foul  and  dishonourable  people  to  consign 
ir  children  to.  Such  was  the  following.  The  accommodation  she 
id  for  her  two  children,  and  for  two  other  children,  and  three  adults, 
listed  of  two  rooms,  one  living-room  and  one  bedroom.  In  the  bed- 
n  was  one  bed,  for  her  two  and  the  two  other  children,  and  three 
Its.  When  the  place  was  entered,  the  only  children's  food  in  it  was 
i-wl  of  pati-id  bread  and  milk.  Her  children  had  sat  daily  in  chairs 
iteir  thighs  were  now  horribly  raw  with  the  wood  of  the  chair  and 
T  own  filth.  A  chemise  or  a  night-gown  was  their  only  clothing. 
K  were  now  ill,  and  had  lain  for  days  unmoved  on  pillows,  cold, 
pBodden  with  filth,  and  creeping  with  maggots,  a  piece  of  sacking 
■them.  Tivelve  shillings  a  week  the  mother  paid  for  them.  She 
>dically  visited  them,  and  saw  their  deadly  whiteness,  their  shrink- 
lips,  their  protruding  teeth,  the  dry,  hot,  weary  anguish  in  them. 
died  ;  still  the  mother  visited  and  saw  the  other.  She  visited  up 
xe  last.  Her  'children  were  in  this  place,  wilfully  put  there  one 
*  the  other,  both  being  taken  away  from  excellent  care  to  be  so. 
saw  the  man  of  the  place.  He  had  the  wild  eye  and  restless  brain  of 
»d  spirit-drinker,  who  cared  nothing  for  the  rights  of  a  nurse  baby, 
less  than  nothing  for  tlie  wrongs  of  his  wife.  He  was  thirety,  sullen, 
l>earing,  mad ;  with  mind  and  will  and  craft  enough  to  have  his  way. 
"wife  was  pitiable,  crushed,  and  dissipated. 

•''ar  be  it  from  me  to  suggest  that  any  large  proportion  of 
:>andless  motherH  deliberately  seek  such  a  shambles  as  this, 
ly  a  one    sells   clothes,    trinkets,   and   watch,    and  taxes  all  her 

II  resources  to  the  uttermost  to  secure  ample,  if  possible,  hand- 
le attention  to  her  child.  To  be  bound  to  part  with  it  for  good 
Ditter  enough  price  to  pay.  Speaking  of  the  baby  to  be  dis- 
sd  of  to   "a  respectable  married   person "   advertiser,  one  letter 

Society  got  possession  of  says,  "  I  cannot  afford  the  £10  at  once, 
ill  give  you  £20  now,  and  £2()  in  a  year.  Were  you  to  see  her,  I 
ik  you  would  say  she  is  something  to  be  proud  of.  I  should  like  to 
illowed  to  come  and  see  her."  Another  says,  "  The  little  one  is 
T  engaging.  I  should  wish  her  to  have  a  plain  education,  and  to  be 
it  up  in  the  Protestant  religion,  I  will,  of  course,  give  up  all 
her,  but  should  like  to  bear  how  she  is.  I  shall  find  it 
pay  yon."     Could  such  a  mother  dream  of  the  kind  of  fate  to 


700 


TIFE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


[Mi^ 


which  &he  was  consigning  her  little  one,  a  thousand  times  rathex  wooL^ 
she  go  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea  with  it. 

As  we  are  not  reflecting  on  unhappy  mothers,  it  can  be  no  sort  m^zA 

answer  to  any  plea  for  baby-farm  regulation  to  say  that  they  nfti »tt 

part  with   their   babies   in    good    faith.     The    plea   rather   gathesc^re 
strength  from  the  fact.   Granting  that  even  the  great  mass  of  fann^i^ 
children    are    obtained    from    mothers,     honestly  making    the  be?-  st 
arrangements  they  can  for  baby's  welfare,  then  the  plea  for  regulati«z3)n 
primarily  urged  in  the  interest  of  the  baby  is  clinched  by  con8iderati(^:»a 
in  the  interest  of  the  mother.      She  and  her  little  means  ought  to  To© 
delivered  from    the  possibility  of   such    horrible    frauds  as,  by  ^akli 
lines   of    investigation   it  is  made  clear,  are  now  practised  on  )x^si- 
I,  for  one,  have  no  stone  to  throw  at  this  torn,  wits-driven  class     *>^ 
woman.     I  have  tears  for  her.      The  victim  of  a  trust,  maybe,  ^^<:»r 
which  there  was  no   foundation^  she  has  become  an   unhappy  motb^ss^- 
In  the  nam©  of  God  and  humanity,  let  us  relieve  her  of  the  chance      o"^ 
being  also  an  unwittiug  murderer. 

The  creatures  who  exist  to  obtain  her  child  are  known  to  her  only  "1 
advertisement,  a  testimonial-letter  from  a  minister  of  religion,  an^ 
hasty  glimpse  at  a  railway  station  while  the  train  stops — her  y* 
down  in  an  agony  of  fear  lest  some  one  on  the  platform  may  see  h^ 
who  knows  her.  She  never  supposes  that  this  woman  is  a  mere  procu 
^  for  some  other  person. 

The  price  for  the  absolute  disposal  of  a  child  varies  greatly.     Oe:: 
shrewd  guess  as  to  the  position  of  the  persons — father  as  well  as  motU. 
if  possible — who  have  to  escape  disgrace,  the  procurer  puts  out  feelers  ».^^:^^*-^ . 
makes  demaida  accordingly,  from  £5  for  servants  to  £200  for  gent^^^*'' 
people.    It  is  incredible  to  what  lengths  of  confidence  she  will  go  wfci.^^" 
she  no  longer  doubts  that  she  has  found  somebody  as  knowing  and.     ^^ 
bad  as  herself,  and  sees  a  round  sum  of  money  in   it.      One  who  adv^^^** 
tised,  "A  respectable  married  couple  want  charge  of  a  baby,  or  to  adop»"t- 
in  conversation,  with   the  greatest  simplicity  and  straightforwardn 
refused  £25  with  child  and  £25  at  death,  on  the  ground  that  she  Y^.^^ 
"  better  offers  than  that."      She  would  take  £G0.      She  had  been  al:*^*' 
she  said,  to  refer  to  hor  clergyman  till  lately,  but  she  had  given    "«^P 
going  to  church  and  gone  to  chapel,  because  the  curate  had  a8ke<3-      " 
the  last  child  she  had  was  not  ''born  in  sio."    Another,  who  advertis^^*' 
*'  Happy  home  for  a  little  child,  with  every  care  and  attention ;  r*^*-** 
house  aud  very  healthy,"  agreed,  also  in  conversation,  to  receive  £L  *-^   ' 
the  child  to  be  dead  in  three  months,  adding,  "  The  sooner  I  have  it   't-- *® 
better."     Another,  who  pat  her  proper  and  full  name  aud  addx"^^^ 
in  her  advertisement — and,  ia  the  pnper  she  advertised  in,  gave     m-^^ 
vicar   as    reference — undertook    that   for  £50    a   lady's   child   sho"*-* 
not  be    born   alive,   adding,    "  It  is  easily   done ;  the  easiest  tk»-*-^*^ 
in  the  world." 


i 


{ 


BABY-FARMING. 


7(yr 


^r  the  peace  of  tnin^  of  those  who  may  recognise  themselves  in 
le  statements,  it  may  be  worth  while  to  say  that  on  no  considera- 

ehall  they  be  informed  a^inst.      We  wanted  to  know  what  people 
ieir  profession  would  do  fur  a  consideration ,  and  we  learnt  it.     That 

all.     Besides,  we  have  neither  the  documents  nor  the  witnesses 
ch  would  be  required  for  the  technical  ordeal  of  a  witness-box. 
Vhilst  such  positive  undertakings  could  seldom  be  got,  and  least  of 
locnmentdrv  evidence  of  them  ;   the  etiect  of  what  was  got  was  to 
e  no  doubt  that  the  profession  of  desire  for  a  baby  for  love  of  a  baby 

dishonest.      The  advertiser  wanted  money,  not  babies  ;  and  that 

baby  might  go  to  the  grave  as  soon  as  was  safe.     To  all  the  facts 
be  case  no  other  meaning  could  be  given. 

t  may  be  well  to  state  some  of  these  meaningful  facts.  There  was 
air  of  humbug  about  most  of  the  procurers  wholly  inconsistent 
L  the  reality  of"  want  of  a  child  tci  love,  had  none  and  were  lonely," 

Moreover  their  statements  as  to  "  no  child  "  were  frequently  dis- 
iTed  to  be  false.    Here  is  a  report  on  one  forwarded  by  the  police  of 

town  the  woman  was  traced  to: — ''Mrs.  has  been  in  this 

a  but  a  short  time,  and  in  consequence  of  the  close  manner  in 
3h  she  keeps,  &c.  ....  She  has  a  child  of  tive  of  her  own,  and  other 
5ren  not  her  own,  and  I  may  tJiink  it  necessary  to  commuuicate 
I  respect  to  them."  Whilst  almost  none  had  ever  "  adopted  a 
i  before,"  when  terms  were  proposed  they  unwittingly  let  out  that 
*  had  "  been  paid  better  than  tliat."  One  of  the  most  satis- 
ory  ol  these  "  never-before  "  people  advertised  through  a  London 
icy,  through  which  we  learnt  that  she  advertised  much,  but 
erred  London  to  country*  papers  because  she  "  got  children  easier 
Ugh  them.  Ono  had  just  died  and  she  wanted  another."  Asked 
,  with  three  children   of  her  own  and   evidently  enough  to  do  to 

>  them,  she  wanted  another,  she  said,  "I  don't  want  any  more  of 
own,  but  my  husband  aud  I  are  so  fond  of  a  baby."  Before  the 
Pview  closed  she  showed  quite  a  student's  acquaintance  with  fatal 
Bafeways  of  baby-feeding.  Another  of  them  would  take  a  child  for 

but  would  not  give  her   address  because  she   said  her  husband 
8o  afraid  of  *'  having  a  child  taken   away."     They  had  "  been 

>  that  way  before."  One  wishing  t>o  dispose  of  a  child  wrote  a 
V  to  a  would-be  receiver,  as  the  husband  of  a  newly  made  mother 
ill  to  be  allowed  to  know  of  the  birth  of  her  child.  "  Doctor 
Ies  she  will  pull  through  "- — immediate  care  wanted.      The  writer 

a  woman,  in  good  health,  travelling  about,  who  wrote  her  letter 
rondoD,  posted  it  at  Leamington,  and  lived  elsewhere.  The  child 
just  been  procured  from  a  private  lying-in  establishment, 
'he  difficulties  in  the  way  of  getting  beliind  the  advertisements 
been  immense,  bat  wherever  the  effort  has  been  successful  almost  all 
statements,  quite  all  the  material  ones,  have  proved  to  be  useful  lies. 


0G4MI  MPfC  Msra 

Tke«e  wrelefed  eoKiaMMB  ai  to 
M  to  |wrtic»lar  iafiviiiaali  l^ 
nniltitadiBMM  ontMoi^  aad 
it,  Mid  Ibjr  tfe  tiitoof  daHc  ksoviedgeaod  cxpen 
M  tliejr  nawiUa^^  lee  drop.    Wlafee«cr  doBbt 
(frridence  nuf^  lesre,  u  raDored  ly  t^ 
iKmie  of  tiie«e  k«^;;en  lor  m  dtild.     Qae  aged 
bMid,  Mtlrawtical,  had  6tA^  was  hard  sp  £jr  daiif  iMcad.     Sib  vo^ 
take*  child  for  good  and  ail  for  £1Q.  Anodier  was  the  infeof  a  nvlc- 
ing  bootmaker.     Another  was  a  dr<easmaker  who  had  loet  her^ii 
Another  waa  a  coal-jard  labt>arer,  who  had  a  chance  of  boTing  ^ 
nuMter'a  bonneaa  if  hf:  coald  raise  moner  br  Chiistmaa.     He  hidbd 
sereral  "  adopted  "  children ;  they  were  all  dead.     He  was  fitiil  £1*^ 
Mhort  to  pay  for  the  horse  and  cart.     HIb  wife  would  adopt  for  £10. 
They  were  really  buying  n  a/H  business  by  adopting.     Another  was 
a  stevedore's  wife,  out  of  work.     Another  was  a  bankrupt  faraesr's 
wife :  another,  a  montlily  nttrse,  who  had  lost  her  eogsgements  tbioiigii 
drinking. 

Of  courne,  the  mere  procurer  does  no  ill.     Her  procured  cliil(lre*i 
go  to  receiving  houses  to  Ix^  "done  for,"  where  in  ones,  twos,  and  threes, 
generally  under  false  n&nies,  they  remain  till  they  die.     The  prociirer 
keeps  tho  birth  certificate.      At  an   inquest  she  may  be  required  to 
furnish  it  to  the  coroner,  when:  she  produces  one  wholly  regardless  o^ 
its  being  tho  right  or  wrong  one,  caring  only  not  to  give  one  ffiicDi 
if  the  pnpers  make  it  jjublic,  will  be  likely  to  get  her  into  tioubl^* 
At  the  receiver's,  behiiul  tlio  ordinary  screen  of  an  English  liouEe,  sod 
the  great  liberties  allowed  to  everybody  in  the  treatment  of  childre» 
in   it,    without  attracting  anybody's   attention,  the  child   is  slow^ly 
changed  from  a  bonny  baby  into  a  skin  and  bone  corpse.     One  pro- 
curer, liowever,  declared  her  preference  for  over-feeding ;  it  was  just  »* 
fatal  as  starving.     When  deaths  at  a  "  farm  "  have  attracted  attention 
And  remark,  or  some  accident  has  brought  its  treatment  of  children  to 
«e  "  farmer  "  removes.     One  woman  carried  on  her  business  i» 
mt  places  in  one  year  and  eight  months.     In  another  case, 
i<xn  had  been  aroused,  a  dying  child  was  removed  froiB      i 
»  second,  and  a  third,  and  a  fourth  in  eight  mentis.      J 
I  it  had  only  been  a  few  days.    When  there  hss  leen  » 
e^lect  in  one  place,  it  does  not  count  in  another,   i*      - 


BABT-FARMiyG.  lf» 

'Wkere  Ae  neglect  b  oantinined,  aod  brings  dMtli  ia 
r^vyfcd  tok  tdtere  is  no  presamptioa  i^minst  tbit  ~  fiurmer."' 
it  &e  espeneneed  miatetB  in  tihe  czafi,  tliere  is  the  quiet  c«nni> 
oftikedenL 

■e  Inge  and  luaaliie  balnr-hiniting  groond  is  polioe^eoott  «ffili«> 
emea  Mhen  ''qnalitj''  is  oonoemed,  and  wkidi  get  into  the 
9K.     In  Goe  month  wo  came  across  time  diildraL  attempted  to  be 
■red  in  this  fidd.  "^ 

kmdm  Ae  adrertisfaig  procurer,  there  are  |Hocmers  amco^  the 
of  wumoi  nsnallT  en^iged  at  the  iMith  of  these  illegitimates 
iv-daoB  monthly  nurses  amd  nudwives,  nuises  at  woitiiottaes,  and 
KTs  of  Ijing-in  houses — most  ot  them  probablr  helfung  the  mother 
of  her  **  trouble,"  not  for  gain,  vet  sending  to  houses  which 
t  iir  gain.  When  indirectly  asked  to  see  to  a  child  being  bom 
I,  one  of  this  last  dass  of  persons,  not  in  the  least  discomposed 
he  request,  replied :  "  We  dare  not  do  that ;  we  never  know  how 
ly  win  fed  to  her  baby  till  she's  a  mother.  We  prefer  to  deliver 
*■  provide.'  "  He  would  be  an  idiot  who  did  not  see  that  to  such 
odacions  woman  the  two  courses  meant  practically  the  same  thing 
a  diild's  death ;  the  choice  made  was  for  her  own  safety. 
ere  is  a  "  &rm  "  to  which  a  servant,  whose  child  was  bom  in  a 
Jionse,  was  referred  by  her  nurse  there.  Its  keeper  had  once 
a  nurse  herself,  but  drink  had  brought  her  down.  Our  attention 
called  to  it  by  a  young  Member  of  Parliament,  to  whose  wife's 
**  the  mother  had  become  wet-nurse.  On  the  floor  of  the  small 
-story  room  of  which  it  consisted  was  a  wretched  stinking, 
k  flodc-bed.  It  had  no  covering  of  any  kind.  There  was  one 
r  in  the  room,  and  a  chest  of  drawers.  The  place  was  damp  and 
'.  It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  on  a  February  night.  There  was  no 
neither  was  there  any  one  in.  The  owner  was  traced  to  a 
;eous  drinking  den,  where  one  child  of  a  year  old  slept  on  the 
'  at  her  feet  by  the  bar,  the  other,  a  few  months  old,  which 
the  cluld  we  were  seeking,  lay  on  her  knee,  with  protruding  eyes 
Dttg  at  the  gas.  Both  children  were  mere  skin  and  bone.  **  I 
alf  chose  the  mother  to  nurse  our  boy,"  said  the  M.P.,  *'  because 
*e  magnificence  of  her  baby."  Scarcely  seven  months  had  gone, 
this  was  the  plight  it  was  in.  Seven  shillings  a  week  were 
B  who  had  taken  from  it  its  mother  paying  for  it,  that  the 
>§f  little  thing  might  be  done  well   by.       When  the  revolting 

t«a  was  asked  if  she  had  got  this  child  from  S ,  sullenly  she 

**  Yes."     To  "  How  has  it  come  to  be  like  this  ?  "  she  muttered, 

s  no  appetite."      Judging  by  her  evident  skill  in  providing  to  meet 

l«gal  requirements  of  safe  baby-killing,  she  was  no  novice  at  her 

Uy  trade.     She  had  two  dispensary  tickets,  one  for  each  child. 

ma  "all  right "  for  *'  certificates."    Besides  which  precautions  she 


r^ 


Ifi  a  btNBeit  I 

«iil  m  vMftod  M  food  &r  ^'s 
dMoefeer,  Ibr  vrfaiek  ifce  pocket  ii  gla% 
Wii«li£Bl,  piMd  low  A£m^  it 
beiag  Ae  M^tevMl.    Th«  moklMr  gmt 
tfa«  CMni«f  gives  hm  A«^  £ar  Ini  life. 

Vo  iI^tqiTjit^  exp«di«uti  are  aeecMMy  in  tin  rawl  faonneaa. 
little  kanukn  liv^,  fir&tl  and  depenflgMt.  oe^ieol  fbniii^isa  an 
nmo^th  aiid  tmlfi  iocUiu;  to  t^  g7»ve  ;  and  the  ''  &rtaers''  know  it  Ti 
of  ways  of  f«*ding  and  they  will  eliow  tou  how  well  they  midetsta:^=> 
thui  a  f^rcrwn  cKtld'A  for^  ia  a  babj's  poi£oii.  Talk  of  siptaps  h^aa 
laodaikuo],  and  they  will  canttonslj  smUe  afsent.  Talk  of  oppcv 
taniiiM  for  iettiog  dJ«,  and  they  will  take  refuge  in  cant  aoc]  a  et^sH 
^'  If  it  Hbotild  pleaae  God  to  take  it,  it  will  escape  all  the  trials  of  «i^1 
work?,  and  Iwi  bwtl^r  off/'  iwid  one.  Not  an  tmoommon  creed,  yet  ^3 
all  tlmi  not  tho  \t;m  a  creed  of  the  devil.  Medicines  can  be  procnred  fV 
dinRnHnH  tlm  chilrl  hn«  not  got.  InguiHcient  clothing  on  bitter  nig-l*.' 
will  bring  on  ailini'nts  ;  ailmente  neglected  will  end  in  death.  It  is  m 
omy  to  get  a  baby's  life  out  of  it  as  it  is  to  rub  off  the  dast  from 
buttarfly's  wing. 

By  mere  neglect,  the  odds  are   all   against  the  child  living.      A  7/ 
ohildren  have  ailments  latent  in  their  constitution.     But  for  patiaxi^ 
l(JV6  and  oaro,  tho  childhood  of  most  of  them  would  be  but  of  few  days 
and  evil.    The  soundest  constitutions  emerge  from  cradle  and  nnrseiy 
alive  ou\y  because,  happily,  in  almost  every  household  baby  commands 
tht^se.     But  in  the  house  of  the  mere  living-maker  it  is  motives  of 
UMmey-proflt  that  reign  ;  and  profit  increases  by  every  untended  weari- 
neaa  and  pain,  m\d  is  completed  by  death.     Remembering  that  tl» 
retM^iver'a  undertaking  in  the  cases  we  are  considering  is  a  commerda! 
undertaking,  not  one  of  natural  instinct,  nor  of  charity,  and  that  when 
l»ttUY  dies  it  leaves  money  behind  it  and  room  for  another  to  do  the  same, 
it  ia  not  ditlienlt  to  form  an  opinion  of  baby's  chances  in  her  hands. 
Uer  hi»U8e  is  a  social  shambles  to  which  the  unwanted  thing  goes 
a»  a  laiub  to  the  butcher.     It  is  this  woman  who  is  largely  responsible 
t\vr  the  terrible  death-rate  among  these  illegitimates,  which  is  pennar 
neuthk'   )tH>  jier  cent,  greater  than  it  is  amongst  all  other  childrea, 
iueludiu$  the  children  of  married  poverty  and  cnaeltT  and  litx  and 


i89o3 


BABY-FARMING, 


711 


crima ;  greater  far  than  it  is  amongst  these  even  when,  in  periods  of 
tnaat  virulent  infantile  epidemic,  it  rises  to  its  most  abnormal  height. 
WHilst  in  every  thousand  of  the  man-ied-bom  it  ia  17 ;  of  the  illegiti- 
mate, it  is  37. 

If  the  manner  of  tlie  deatrucfcion  of  these  little  human  things  were 
that  of  the  destruction  of  our  unwanted  dogs,  or  even  that  once 
•naployed  in  the  destruction  of  babies  on  the  Ganges,  outraged 
tamanity  would  have  less  to  say.  But  it  is  neither  by  the  lethal 
sbamber,  nor  by  the  short  pain  of  the  crocodile's  jaws,  that  they 
ollov^  one  another  out  of  life.  It  is  by  methods  infinitely  more 
mel  than  these. 

The  deadlinesa  of  the  receiver's  house  is  the  same  whether  she  takes 
©«kly  payments  or  lump  sums  down.      Idleness  and  bankruptcy  can 
on   three   starving  children's  payments,  for  there   is   a   constant 
ocession  of  unwanted  children  to   be  had.     One  is  born  every  tea 
utes  of  the  day  and  the  night,  the  whole  year  round. 
-A.nd  there  is  little  check  to  her  foul  play. 

The  child  cannot  complain  ;  the  police  are  not  informed ;  and  the 
igtibours,  when  they  know  a  little,  do  not  interfere.  One,  on  being 
'feed  why  she  did  not  tell  somebody  what  she  knew  was  happening, 
^,  "  You  gets  no  thanks  for  interfering  for  them  sort  of  children." 
Tlie  system  of  death  certificates  is  but  small  security ;  as  a  rule 
is  none  at  all.  Disease  generally  supervenes,  is  named  on  the 
*^Lficate,  and  is  enough.  Even  that  is  often  filled  in  from  the 
^S  of  the  woman  who,  in  the  cases  supposed,  knows  that  her  libprty 
't>^nds  on  lies  easily  and  safely  told.  When  the  child  is  seen  alive 
y  the  doctor,  the  view  is  generally  only  a  cursory  glance  at  its  face, 
X"t  lies  in  "the  anxious  woman's"'  arms;  and,  under  "convulsions," 
*^*Xinchitis,"  and  a  host  of  other  words  which  mean  want  of  breath, 
^  whole  wickedness  of  the  afiUii' is  covered  up.  One  woman  who  bad 
'^"t  secured  such  a  certificate  paid  twopence  at  a  pawn-shop  for  a  clean 
^^lit^gown  to  convey  the  dying  thing  to  the  dispensarj'.  It  was 
*^  then  almost  always  naked !  In  most  districts  there  is  a  doctor 
*i-o  is,  as  one  of  the  "  farmers'*  ex]jre3sed  it,  '*  not  troublesome  about 
^^"t^ificates."  Where  there  is  no  respectable  registered  practitioner 
^*  the  not-troublesome  kind,  there  is,  at  least,  an  assistant,  or  a  non- 
'"^gistered  practitioner,  or  a  registered  one  without  integrity,  and  hard- 
^p,  who  for  a  consideration  will  do  almost  anything.  All  this  is  well 
'^'UowTi  in  this  shameless  trade. 

And  should  all  these  chances  fail  this  baby-slaughterer,  unless 
*he  is  a  bom  idiot  at  her  trade,  it  is  only  she  who  can  supply  the 
kroner's  inquest  with  the  material  for  its  judgment.  Its  criminal 
verdict,  too,  is  restricted  to  manslaughter,  and  on  tiie  evidence  produced 
that  is  almost  never  possible.  Failing  manslaughter,  her  conduct  is 
aothing^  criminal.    Besides  this  limit  of  the  coroner's  power,  there  is  the 


i89o] 


BABy-FARMLWG. 


718 


a  orinae  which  has,  moreover,  nothing  to  do  with  the  horrible  iniquities 
of  the  system. 

Besides,  it  says  nothing  whatever  to  the  infamous  traffic  of  the 

procurer.      Assuming  that  this  has  attained  finything  like  the  magni- 

tttde  suggested  by  its  thousands  of  advertisements  annually  paid  for 

in.  papers  (many  papers  decline  to  receive  them),  it  must  be  admitted 

that  it,  too,  demands  the  control  of  just  national  sentiment.    Procurers 

as    yreU   as  receivers  must  be  put  under  conditions  which  protect  a 

■wretched  mother  from  plunder  ;    and  secure  an  endurable  life  to  the 

child  that  that  mother  commits  to  their  charge.    They  must  be  punished 

for  obtaining  babies    by  advertising  lies.     We   have  just  raised    a 

baby  in  England  to  the  rank  of  a  dog,  we  need  now  to  raise  it  to 

,       the    rank  of  a   sixpence.     To    obtain  money  under  false  pretences, 

■  that  is  febny  ;  to  obtain  a  baby  under  false  pretences,  that  must  be 

■  felony  too.  "^ 
m           llec^ivers — drink-ruined  monthly  nurses,  loafing  labourers'  wives, 

and  blind  old  tax-gatherers — to  whom  the  little  life  that  is  obtained 

by  the  genteel-looking  procurer  goeSj  must  be  forbidden  to  eke  out 

their  own  living  by  eking  out  a  baby's  dying.    I  use  the  wurds  eke  out 

,        advisedly,  for  in  making  dying  last  consists  the  whole  art  of  keeping 

liberty  and  getting  gain.    We  drive  the  receiver  to  do  this.     If  avarice 

■oscfi  mercy,  and  dispatches  its  little  charge  with  but  one  .short,  sharp 

pang,  we  hang  it.  We  hanged  Jessie  King,  we  hanged  George  Horton, 

"ecaose,  for  securing  their  ends,  they  did  not  resort  to  the  slower, 

^^ft^r,  and  more  infamous  arts  of  the  crafty  '"  farmer."  They  disregarded 

^he  plain  lesson  of  the  law  as  to  the  means  to  be  employed  ;  that  was 

*" — and  they  are  dead.    The  crafty  "  farmer"  give.s  heed  to  it ;  that  is 

enough — and  she  lives  and  is  free.     In  the  name  of  all  that  is  biinian, 

^♦■abbing  is  kinder  than  inflicting  aches  and  biiraing  sores,  and  lasting 

k      thirst,  and   famine,  and  fits  j  and  snrely,  if  anybotly,  the  person  who 

H     **^liberately  intlicts  th<^se,  not  the  passionate  user  of  the  knife,  ought 

^  be  hanged, 

I  One  grave  objection  to  what  we  ask,  which  is  widely  entertained, 

^**d  by  the  wise  and  humane  chiefly,  needs  still  to  be  met. 
It  may  be  feared  that  a  thorough  system  of  licence  and  inspection'^ 
^Ould  destroy  that  secrecy,  in  which,  at  present,  women  stricken  with 


I 


tih 


^xtxe  are  able  to  bury  it,  and  so  save  their  whole  life  fi-oni  absolute 


'^^Q.  To  do  that  were  cruel,  unjust,  and  unreasonable.  But  widely 
^^Oaidered,  this  very  proper  dread  is  wholly  on  our  side,  and  greatly 
*Peiigthens  the  Argument  for  supervision.  Hitherto,  these  English 
*ck  holes  of  Calaiitta  have  been  beyond  the  reach  of  the  humane. 


bl 


^^ay,  by  52  &  53\  Victoria,  chap.  14,  they  may  be  entered.     As  the 

*^  public  sentiment!  extends,  becomes  acquainted  with  its  powers,  and, 

^^od  with  those  powers,  is  watchful  on  behalf  of  children,  the  miscon- 

^*>ct  of  buby-farmenj  ilnayplay  a  part  in  bringing  happily  buried  scandals 

Vol.  Lvii.  I  3  a 


714 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Max 


and  personal  miseries  to  light,  which  for  everybody's  sdke  had  hette^^^ 
sleep.     Whatever  may  have  been  the  case  in  the  paM.,  in  the  fatur^j^ 
everything  that   tends   to    enconrage   the   ili-iareatm^nb   of  an  Q^^  ' 
wanted  child  most  tend  to  the  exposure  in  courts  of  all  persons  c»^_ 
nected  with  its  disposal  and  birth.     In  five  cases  (over  which  we  U^a^j 
no  control)  these  unhappy  particulars  have  all  como  to  light,  and  g^^ 
into  public  print ;  one  was  the  buried  story  of  a  housekeeper ;  one,  of 
a  governess  ;  and  one,  of  a  youmg  lady  of  good  &.imly.     Through    &. 
thousand  chances  of  discovery  they  had  concealed  that  bitter  esperi.— 
ence  till  then.    Two  other  stories  of  the  misconduct  of  persons,  capabl-^ 
of  untold  anguish,   who  have  given  big  bribes  to   baby-takss  f^i^'C 
silence,  are  now  in  my  hands.     Not  a  word  of  them  shall  trsnspirr-^^  - 
Our  Society  is  not   for  pillorying  wrongdoers.     It  is  for  stoppiv^s.^ 
cruelty  to  children.     That  done,  that  is  enough. 

Danger  will  not  arise  &om  instituting  national  supervision  in  tfts.^ 
trade.  It  will  arise  from  leaving  the  trade  as  it  now  is;  because  l>al>;y»^''g 
dangers  have  recently  become  its  parents'  dangers  too.  What  now  C2^^^ 
be  done  to  secure  baby's  health  and  comfort  under  a  proper  '*  Cara  ^jf 
Children  Bill,"  will  also  secure  its  parents  from  miserable  exposim.  ^ 
under  the  Children's  Charter  in  the  witness-box  of  a  court  of  law,  a:^^/ 
in  the  police  column  of  our  daily  press. 

For  everybody's  sake,  all  round ;  for  the  child's  Bake,  first  and  abota 
all ;  for  the  mother's  and  even  the  father's  sake  ;  lor  tlie  sake  of  our 
own  priceless  national  sentiment  of  justice  and  self-respect;  it    jg 
urgent  that  there  be  made  thorough  and  reasonable  regulations    for 
these  unhappily  greatly  needed,  and  at  present  shamefully  condactW, 
institutions. 

Bexjamis  Wil'GB. 


^1 


:atthew  prior. 


IIOR'S  poems,  even  tlie  best  of  them,  have  been  somewhat 
neglected  of  late  years ;  it  is  therefore  especially  fortunate  that 
y  have  now  found  an  editor  in  the  author  of  *'  Old  World  Idylls." 

other  writer  is  so  well  qualified  to  speak  of  the  vers  de  socUU  by 
ich  I'rior's  fame  will  ever  be  kept  alive  as  Mr.  Austin  Dobson  ; 
i,  OS  might  be  expected,  the  volume  of  "  Selected  Poems,"  which 

lias  prepared  for  the  Parchment  Library,  is  one  that  will  be 
asured  by  all  lovers  of  books  that  please  on  account  both  of  the 
Ltxe  of  their  contents  and  of  the  beauty  of  their  outward  form, 
sides  an  excellent  introduction,  there  are  valuable  notes,  and  an 
'Hing  of  Prior  taken  from  a  painting  by  Dahl.  Mr.  Dobson  has  had 
*  benefit  of  access  to  an  account  of  Prior,  more  particularly  of  the 
t*lier  events  of  his  life,  which  was  written  by  his  schoolfellow  Sir 
ttiea  Montague,  brother  of  the  Charles  Montague  who  was  after- 
k^^ds  Earl  of  Halifax.  The  information  thus  obtained  has  enabled 
■^.  Dobson  to  correct  the  generally  received  account  of  several  matters, 

vill  be  more  faUy  noticed  hereafter  ;  and  from  clues  furnished  by 
^•e  memoranda,  and  from  other  sources,  we  shall  be  able  to  add  a 
^  further  details  in  this  paper. 

Matthew  Prior  was  bom  on  the  21  at  of  July  16G4,  at  Wimbome, 
'Oording  to  the  view  now  generally  held.  A  house  in  Eastbrook  in 
'«t  town  is  said  to  have  been  the  abode  of  liis  fathep,  George  Prior, 
fcjd  we  are  told  of  one  or  more  old  people  who  had  heard  of  visits 
Md  by  Prior  to  the  place.  Ilutchins,  in  his  *'  Dorset,"  says  that 
^ut  1727  a  labouring  man  named  Prior,  of  Godmanston,  declared  to 
I- la  and  others  that  he  was  Mr.  Prior's  cousin,  and  that  he  remembered 
Cr.  Prior  going  to  Wimbome  to  visit  him.  This  is  coniirmed  in  a 
irkable  manner  by  the  fact  that  a  cousin  of  Prior's,  named  Arthur, 


Ht 


fUt  raNTCJtPQKJRr  eusview. 


^^  IM^  IJH^i^  k  l«9^MltS  to  tih*  poor  d- 
|mi*^v  «»  Ml;?  «i*fs.  tliywl  wtr  VttiAiiniu.     T3» 

W  '^  ^dUNwMiiiiii''  ^  i» 

INdm^  «»t  «t  2n%  lamlfcw  Ih*-  »  Ji  i  iHi  i  m.  "i 


%;£i^ 


tnvc  pBtt  <i^^ 

in.  tfai?       


tioA.  l>»»a<  i3»»iifcK  t»  aNJti»i»  iifc  bitt-  -"  ^pirtte-t»  HuuiwuuJ.  SbefkBek"    ^= 


rW  'M^t)»fi|feN»aC  g>*ag^  piiMMV  aii -'■r  nay 

t<MC   'i.  tJ«M«t  tkifc  lb)  "WMfe^  aft  loiHft  banr  ia:<]r- 

b««^  'v]M«Mt.  tQ«aiL  cn«atkMk  -.^  tiaft  aitaafamK:  to  a.  ^^vpp-  o£ 

icu,   \vvk«^v«r.  .0  ^««M«d  s^Mttk  lasNTv-  prhmmm  ibat  -'tm^'waiat.  -^vimk^c^^ 

i  sij«i:ii.   >wUi.«i.    iUtMiib    URHUMOry-  inkvtt-  ?<»  'j»~  i.XMk.  in: 

.\ai,v'i^u  "    '«»,*m(i[?>-  -viKV  e   -^Mims  .::»««  -r>  ca*  camtt  Lit  I68*h. 
c^s-  isvc^c   ■>»>«:  .i*i.  '^i  "''¥iatoo£»s      'Ve  r'-^^c.  'atsreMRt  dam 

V  1:110  ^"*>/r  -*•«».  •  (rf^  ^'^uusc.    -t«^  Safins?*',  -viio  ^^  utaawaoeii  astAt 

"Cteiuiuui.        iii>    •lie.     ''5r».»%iiv,    _e**    ;:   n*-  ^a 
HI    -'-•    ---ii      laitil»ri«v.     :>.««iiitt       u"»«.»«ia»«    --.lu^iiiit.    .2-  »v»  i«^^ 


r^^jir^T  ^_iu  -'Tiv^av      ->^- 


rt»s- tiiafcTWwk 


I  in  the  licence,  George  was  described  as  "  gentleman,  of  St. 
rtholomew-by-the-Exchange,  London,"  and  Dorothy  as  daughter  of 
otnas  Wilkinson,  of  Tamdon,  Cheater. 

Tortunately  Prior  had  a  kiud  uncle,  who  became  a  second  father  to 
EL  This  uncle  was  perhaps  the  Prior  refeiTed  to  by  Pepys  in  his 
Diary  "for  February  li,  lOUU.  "  We  took  him  (Eoger  Pepys)  out  of 
»  Hall  to  Prior's,  the  Rhenish  wine-house,  and  there  had  a  pint  or 
3  of  wine  and  a  dish  of  anchovies."  This  Rhenish  wine-house  was 
Cannon  (then  Channel)  Row,  Westminster,  and  Prior  refers  to  the 
tter  in  his  •'  Epistle  to  Fleetwood  Shepherd,  Est],,"  which  was 
tten  about  1G89.     His  uncle,  it  will  be  seen,  was  then  dead. 


b 


"  My  uncle,  rest  his  soul  I  when  living, 
l^light  bav«j  coiitri^c-d  me  ways  of  thriving  ; 
Taught  me  witli  cyder  to  replenish 
My  vats,  or  ebbing  tide  of  Rhenish." 


laa  generally  been  said  that  Prior's  uncle  kept  the  Rummer  Tavern 
IJbaring  Cross,  and  it  appears  that  Samuel  Prior  (who  has  been 
posed  to  be  the  poet's  uncle,  and  who  was  probably  the  son  of  a 
auel  Pryor,  of  St.  Martin's-in-the-Fields,  who  died  in  1062)  was 
ilord  of  that  house  from  1085  to  1688.  Of  course  he  may  have 
tx  proprietor  both  of  the  Rhenish  Wine  House  and  of  the  Rummer 
"ern ;  both  are  mentioned  in  a  couplet  in   *'  The  Country  Mouse 

the  City  Mouse."  But  Sir  James  Montague,  in  his  memoranda, 
Elects  Prior's  uncle  with  tho  Rhenish  Wine  House,  and  Mr.  ])obson 
Jgs  forward  several  arguments  in  support  of  this  excellent  evidence. 
»  Rhenish  house  was  a  favourite  place  of  resort  with  the  Earl  of 
"Bet  and  his  friends,  and  thera  it  was  that  Dorset  found  young 
ar,  who  had  apparently  left  schoul  to  follow  his  uncle's  trade, 
ling  Horace.  The  gentlemen  were  struck  with  the  boy,  and  at 
"set's  suggestion  he  was  sent  to  Westminster  to  continue  his  studies 
ler  Dr.  Busb}'.  The  admission  indentures  of  the  time,  which 
(ht  have  given  ns  interesting  particulars  of  Prior  and  his  uncle,  are 
brtunately  missing  ;  but  we  know  that  Prior  obtained  his  election 
^  King's  scholar  in  IGBl,  and  no  doubt  he  entered  the  school  at 
vt  a  year  earlier.     At  Westminster  his  great  friends  were  Charles 

James  Montague,  and  when  they  went  to  Cambridge  Prior 
Kpted  a  scholarship  at  St.  John's  College,  in  order  that  he  might 
Ht  the  same  university.  This  was  in  1683.  In  1C8G  Prior  took 
hachelor's  degree,  and  in  the  following  year  joined  with  Charles 
Qtague  in  writing  "  The  Hind  and  tJie  Panther  transversed  to  the 
t^y  of  the  Country  Mouse  and  the  City  Mouse,"  the  wittiest  of  the 
lies  to  Dryden's  "  The  Hind  and  the  Panther."  Prior,  according 
Sir  James  Montague,  wrot«  the  burlesque  of  the  opening  lines,  and 
■ibiy  had  the  principal  hand  in  this  piece.  There  are  allusions 
iVing  intimate  knowledge  of  a  vintner's  business. 


718 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  RE  VIE  IF, 


[5 


In  tMs  year  1687,  the  will  of  Arthur  Prior,  made  in  1685,  ar 
already  referred  to,  was  proved  by  his  son  Laurence,  the  executor. 
is  worth  printing  a  summary  of  this  document,  because  it  cont 
allusions  to  several  relatives  of  the  poet's.  The  testator  says 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  City  of  London,  one-third  of  his 
would  go  to  his  wife.  To  his  "  cousin  Mathew  Prior,  now  in 
University  of  Cambridge,"  he  left  £100.  He  left  small  legacies  to^ 
sister  Joane  Kellaway  ;  to  Mary,  and  the  two  other  children. 
Christopher  Prior ;  to  Joane  Kellaway's  children  ;  to  the  poor  of 
native  place,  Godmanston ;  and  to  the  hospital  of  Greencoatejs 
Tattle  fields.  He  had  already  disposed  of  a  share  of  the  last  tia_u 
part  of  the  estate  upon  his  two  daughters ;  to  the  one  upon  in* 
marriage  and  since ;  and  to  the  other  Katherine,  he  had  lately  gi"v< 
the  £500  due  to  him  out  of  His  Majesty's  exchequer.  With  thi 
thought  they  ought  to  be  content.  The  residue  of  the  estate  was  Id 
to  his  son  Laurence,  who  was  to  pay  Katherine  £100  in  full,  ^kXLd 
moneys  left  by  his  grandmother,  to  make  her  equal  with  her  si^rfc^ 
Thompson.  If  the  testator's  brothers,  Christopher  or  Thomas,  -vr^r^ 
living  at  his  decease,  they  were  to  have  £10  each.  Not  the  le-s*^ 
interesting  thing  about  this  will  is  the  fact,  that  the  testator's  tm 
was  Arthur.  He  was  Prior's  "  con  sin,'*  and  this  adds  some  fore* 
Sir  James  Montague's  statement,  that  Prior's  uncle  was  "  Mr.  Artfc^*'^] 
Prior."  Mr.  Dobson,  knowing  that  it  was  Samuel  Prior  who  kept 
Rummer  Tavern,  naturally  suggests  that  this  was  written  by  a  slip 
memory  ;  but  Arthur  was  evidently  a  family  name,  and  the  keep 
of  the  Rheniah  Wine  House  may,  after  all,  have  been  an  Arthi 
Prior,  a  near  relative  of  the  landlord  of  the  other  house.  Laurenci 
the  son  and  executor  of  Prior's  cousia  Arthur,  did  not  long  survive  h; 
father,  for  his  will,  made  in  1690,  was  proved  early  in  1691,  by  \Sf^^^L 
mother  Katherine.  He  left  £200  to  his  sister  Katherine,  and  th  ^^ 
same  sum  to  his  nephew  James  Thompson,  son  of  his  dearest  sister"^^ 
Mrs.  Ann  Thompson,  deceased  ;  and  "  to  my  cousin  Mathew  Prior  £5C 
besides  what  I  have  still  in  my  hands  of  the  legacy  left  by  my  father. 

In  1688  Prior  was  chosen  a  fellow  of  his  college,  and  wrote 
exercise  on  a  verse  of  Exodus,  which  led  to  his  appointment  as  tut 
to  the  song  of  the  Earl  of  Exeter ;  but  with  the  Revolution  came 
uncertainty  for  the  noblemen  who  had  supported  King  James,  ani^^-^ 
Prior  was  thrown  on  his  own  resources.  He  not  minaturally  appeale«^-^ 
to  Lord  Dorset,  and  sent  an  "  Epistle  "  to  Shepherd,  friend  and  com- 
panion of  that  nobleman. 

"  The  sum  of  all  1  have  to  say, 
Is  that  jou'd  put  me  in  some  waj ; 
And  your  petitioner  shall  pray — 
There 'a  one  thing  more  I  had  almost  slipt, 
Bnt  that  may  do  as  well  in  postscript ; 
My  friend  Charles  Montague's  preferred  j 
Nor  woqld  I  have  it  long  observed. 
That  one  mouse  eats,  whilu  t'other's  starved." 


iS^ol 


MATFHEW  PRIOR. 


719 


I 
I 


I^ord   Dorset    procured   for  Prior  the    post  of  secretary  to   Lord 
Dvirsley,  afterwards  Earl  of  lierkeley,  the  newly  appointed  AmLassador 
to  tvlie  Hagae.     Thus,  at  the  age  of  twenty-sue,  Prior  commenced  his 
career  as   a   diplomatist,  and  in  the  year  immediately  following  he 
fotand  opportuoitiea  of  securing  the  friendship  of  Eang  William.     He 
(lid    not  forget  to  publish  various  loya!  poems;  but,  with  one  exception, 
they  are  nut   among  those  by  which  his  name  will  be  remembered. 
Thxit  exception  is  the  "  English  Ballad  on  the  taking  of  Namur,"  a 
witty  answer  to  Borleau's  "  Ode  "  of  1602,  written  when  the  town  was 
retaken  by  the  English  in  1 095.      In  "  The  Secretary,"  written  in  the 
following  year,  Prior  describes  his  life  at  the  Hague,  and  his  departure 
on  Saturday  night  "  in  a  little  Dutch  chaise  "  to  a  place  of  rest,  free 
from  tea-parties  and  dull  refugees;  "  on  my  left-hand  my  Horace,  a 
njrTuph  on  my  right."      In  1697  peace  was  concluded,  for  a  time,  by 
the  treaty  of  Ryswick.      Prior  act«d  as  secretary  during  the  negotia- 
tions, and  in  October  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Secretary  Blathwayt,  reminding 
^iB  correspondent  that  by  a  letter  of  June  16,  169t,  in  His  Majesty's 
'^ftTne,  he  had  been  recommended  as  His  Majesty's  secretary,  and  had 
«ver  since  been  treated  by  the  States  with  all  kindness.     He  now  asked 
that     another  letter  might  be  sent  when  the  King  pleased  that  ho 
should  leave  Holland,  so  that  he  might  have  occasion  to  take  his  leave 
*tt<i   return  thanks  for  the  favours  he  had  received,     **  It  would  let  the 
"^tat^g  gpg  I  ^as  not  wholly  forgotten  by  my  master,  and  entitle  me 
^^     a    medal."      On    his  return,  Prior  was   made   Chief   Secretary  for 
•'•''elo.tid ;   but  ho  was  soon  afterwards  sent  to  Paris  as  secretary  to  the 
**^^1  of  Holland,  and  he  acted  in  the  same  capacity  under  the  Earls 
^^    Jersey  and  Manchester.      A  large  quantity  of  Prior's  diplomatic 
^^^'^^spondence   is  still  in  existence,  some  in  the  public  libraries,  but 
***Ore  in   private  muniment  rooms.     Most    of    the  letters  evidently 
^^*^te  wholly  to   public   affairs,  but   doubtless  a  careful   examination 
^^'^uld  disclose  passives  of  interest  to  the  biographer.     One  letter  to 
'^'^rd  Halifax,  dati-d  August  20,  1698,  commences,  "  My  good  lord  and 
^^^ister,  1  have  written  one  letter  to  you  to  congratulate  you  on  your 
^^Qours,  one  to  condole  with  you.  another  to  dunn  you,  and  here  is  a 
to  thank  you  ; "  and    it  concludes    thus :    '*  Adieu,    Master, 
^^obody  respects  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer   more  or  loves  dear 
"^Ir.  Montague  better  than  his  old  friend  and  obliged  humble  servant, 

In  1699  Prior  was  appointed  Under  Secretary  of  State,  and  was 
^aoon  afterwards  elected  mpmbfr  for  East  Grinstead,  and  made  a 
TlJommiBBioner  of  Trade  and  Plantations.  Official  salaries  in  those 
^lays  were,  however,  somewhat  uncertain  ;  and  in  1703  wo  find  Prior 
the  other  Commissioners  complaining  to  the  Treasury  that  their 
klaries  were  six  quarters  in  arrear.  Inquir}'  was  ordered,  and  the 
ftpers  were  minuted,  '•  They  have  as  much  in  ^^  ^n  as  the  other 


*^iirth 


#30  THE   COSTEMPOMAMT  MKVJEW.  [lu 

fA&eKri/'  -m'aiek  was  ace  a  viuuLj  ^rwfiffcrity  isp^-     Rior  Ink  Us 
pcoc  In  April  1 707.  cos  chcained  a*  acam.  im.  Jii£r  17I*>>.     la  1701  k 
UmA  in  an  aftpiieasiai  fcr  die  Kaeyrrftip  cf  tbe  BteimJi  at  YUfe- 
k»^i.     la  cii«  Twantinu*-.  ae  ^  James  Hiwitagng  rtpfaJBK.  Ae  ftrtitioB 
Trtat/  «nM  tander  tfiacaawon-  aatd  Ptv?  wva  made  nae  of  lif  WillaB 
IIL  and  Juooda  XIV,  to  eoore^  coe  iiiiwagi  ii  wtiek  ooder  vaaA 
ekc*A  U>  maxaaii  to  {MfKK.     Whea  tiie  deatit  c£  tke  King  of  Spisi 
alt«ri»d  the  Eoxopeaa  soiaCioiir    WtUiaDL  Azev  tbe  ofam  oC  U>e 
impoimlar  inaitj  npoa  bia  Miniasets.  and  »  mte  fcr  tfce 
</  Sjr^d  Sonten,  Load  HalifliT  and  otfaexs  vac  earned.     Rior 
that  tbeae  noUemoi  luid  been  kept  in  Hus  dazk  wiiile  ibe  negotiatia0& 
wer*;  bein^  carried  en,  and  wexe  tlieiefixv  anjastlr  blamed,  bok   Isie 
Toted  againct  them  becao^e  be  held  that  it  was   better  that 
H'^rranta  ahonid  taSrir  than  the  fiong^'s  credit  be  damaged.     Bat 
condact  nfiA  mmataraDj  proroked  a  fediing  of  ccxdnesB  towards  VaTMira 
in  l/ml  Halifax. 

Hhf/rtij  after  Queen  Anne's  acceasion  Prior  joined  the  Tories,  aznd 
for  a  time  we  hear  little  of  him,  except  that  he  wrote  some  oocascna^al 
jHMiTnsi,  including  pieces  in  celebration  of  the  victories  of  1704  ax&d 
1700,  and  that  in   1709  he  published  a  ooUection  c£  his  writii^^K, 
which  he  apologeticsllj  described  as  the  prodnct  of  his  leisure  hoor:^  ; 
{i/r  he  "  was  only  a  poet  by  accident"     Upon  the  fall  of  the  Whij 
in  1 7 1 0  he  joined  with  others  in  establishing  the  Examiner,  and 
th'^  sixth  number  ridiculed  some  lines  upon  Lord  Godolphin,  wbicla 
had  li*5en  written  by  Garth.     Addison  replied  in  the  Whig  Examn^^^^ 
And  complained  of  the  "  shocking  familiarity  both  in  his  railleries  axm^ 
civilities,"  though  he  allowed  that  Prior  had  elsewhere  shown  '*'  &ha^pf>y 
talent    at  doggrel,"  and    been   "very  jocular  and  diverting;"  l^"*^* 
remarks  on  ingratitude  did  not  come  very  well  from  him,     Intl*^' 
following  month  we  have  the  first  allusion  to  Prior  in  Swift's  Joune*^' 
On  the  1 5th  of  October  Swift  and  Prior  dined  at  Barley's ;  Lo*^'*-* 
}'et<Tborougli  afterwards  joined   the   party,  and  they  bantered  eac^-*-* 
Other  OS  to  the   authorship   of  "  Sid   Hamet's   Rod,"  a  lampoon  «::>*-* 
(iodolphin,  by  Swift.     "  Prior  and  I  came  away  at  nine,  and  sat    ^^ 
the  8myma  till  eleven,  receiving  acquaintance."     A   few  days  lat>^* 
Bwifl  wrote  again  about  the  verses.      "  Hardly  anybody  suspects  r*»^ 
for  them,  only  they  think  nobody  but  Prior  or  I  could  write  thenc*^ 
During  the  following  weeks  the  i^ets  were  constantly  together,  diiax*J0 
at  Harley's,  St.  John's,  Lord  Peterborough's,  or  an  inn.    On  the  iStla 
of  Novomber  they  dined  with  Erasmus  Lewis  at  an  eating-house,  bt^* 
with  Lewis's  wine.     "  Lewis  wont  away,  and  Prior  and  I  sat  oi>* 
*^)kere  we  complimented  one  another  for  an  hour  or  two  upon  otir 

'ttll  wit  and  poetry."     On  another  day  Swift  had  too  much  colo 
'^.Kipper  at  Prior's  lodgings,  and  was  so  much  upset  that  be 
tlwoghts  of  it. 


MATTHEW  PRIOR. 


721 


tout  this  time  the  Government  began  to  negotiate  for  a  ]>Qace 
France,  and  in  the  summer  of  1711  Prior,  who  had  been  made  a 
aiasioner  of  Customs  in  January,  was  sent  on  a  secret  mission  to 
f  On  his  return,  accompanied  by  iL  Mesnager  and  the  Ahh6 
ier,  he  was  aiTested  by  mistake  ;  and  in  order  to  pacify  and 
id  the  public  mind,  which  was  much  excited  by  tlie  stoiy, 
^published  in  September  a  relation  of  Priors  journey,  ''  all  pure 
tion,"  called  "A  New  Journey  to  l^aris."  The  tract  purported 
a  translation  from  the  French,  but  it  was  ''  a  formal  gi-ave  lie, 
:he  beginning'  to  the  end."  A  few  days  later  Swift  wrote  :  "  I 
he  Ministry  very  busy  with  Mr.  Prior,  and  I  believe  he  will  go 
to  France."  In  the  meantime  the  Ministers  had  conferences 
Mesnager  at  Priors  house.  In  November  plenipotentiaries  were 
ited  to  negotiate  the  treaty  with  France,  and  from  Swift's 
al.  and  a  letter  from  a  Jack  Wiche  (Priors  "old  school-fellow 
•ieud")  to  Lord  Strafford,  it  appears  that  Prior  was  named  for 
>st — a  noble  advancement,  as  Swift  said  ;  but  he  wondered  how 
3ud  a  nobleman  as  Lord  Strafford  would  bear  "  one  of  Prior's 
birth  ■'  as  his  equal.  Lord  Strafford's  objections  seem  to  have 
led,  for  Prior  did  not  go  ;  and  in  January  Lady  Strafford  wrote  : 
jar  Mr.  Prior  is  discontented  and  dos  not  think  the  Court  dos 
jy  him."  But  he  was  no  doubt  satisfied  in  August,  when  he 
mt  to  France,  with  the  position  of  ambassador,  though  he  did 
ssume  the  title  until  the  Duke  of  Shrewsbury  returned  to 
nd. 

or  seems  to  have  been  equally  popular  with  his  royal  mistress 
je  French  king.  In  Octol>er  he  brought  a  letter  from  Lotus  to 
L  Anne,  in  which  the  writer  said :  "I  expect  with  impatience  th© 
i  of  Mr.  Prior,  whose  conduct  is  very  agreeable  to  me ; "  and 
peplied,  "  I  send  back  Mr.  Prior  to  Versailles ;  who,  in  con- 
\f  to  conduct  himself  in  the  manner  that  shall  be  entirely 
ible  to  you,  does  no  more  than  execute,  to  a  tittle,  the  orders 
I  have  given  him."  The  peace  made  at  Utrecht  in  1713  was 
ed  by  great  uneasiness  at  home.  A  section,  at  least,  of  the 
■y  viewed  with  favour  a  return  of  the  Stuarts,  and  Bolingbroke 
)thers  were  in  correspondence  with  the  Pretender.  In  March 
Prior  vrrote  to  Bolingbroke  urging  hiui  not  to  give  way  to 
in,  but  to  do  his  duty  in  spite  of  enemies.  He  himself  had 
than  his  share  of  trouble  and  apprehension,  considering  the 
lical  circumstances  of  his  fortune,  and  the  uncertain  situation  of 
pirB.  They  must  bear  the  importunity  and  impertinence  of  the 
or  go  into  retreat  at  Bucklebuiy  or  St,  John's  College.  Retreat 
I  be  made  "  as  late  as  ever  we  c-au."  Writing  on  Good  Friday, 
jly  to  a  letter  from  Bolingbroke  complaining  of  illness,  Prior 
med,  "  Good  God  !  in  case  of  an  accident,  what  is  to  become  of 


THE   CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


us  all  ?     And,  as  I  hinted  to  you,  what  is  to  become  particularly^    ^f 
your  poor  friend  and  servant,  Mat,  in  all  cases  ?  "     Prior  often  xj^^^g^ 
the  phrase  "  Mat  and  Ilarry  "  in  these  letters,  and  Bolingbroke,    '^j^ho 
addressed  him  as  "  Dear  Mat,"  assured  him   that  no  man  loved     '\:xiin. 
better  than  he,  or  was  with  greater  sincerity  his  faithful  servant.  j^ 

May,    Prior    inquired  whether   the   report    that    he    would    soon       he 
recalled  was  true.     It  might  look  like  a  bagatelle,  but  what  was    to 
become  of  a  philosopher  like  him  ?  he  was,  too,  plenipotentiary,  ^tai 
ought  not  to  appear  neglected  and  forgotten  by  his  mistress.      M_     do 
Torcy  spoke  of  writing  to  '*  Robin  aud  Harry  "  about  him,  but  Grod 
forbid  that  he  should  need  foreign  intercession.     It  was  reported  tr-i"** 
he  was  to  go  to  Baden,  or  be  added  to  the  Commissioners  for  settli^S 
the  commerce.     *'  My  lord,  you  have  put  me  above  myself,  and  L^ 
am  to  return  to  myself,  I  shall  return  to  something  very  disconten"*^®*^ 
and  uneasy."     A  few  days  later  he  wrote  again  :  "  It  is  a  long  tirr*^   ' 
my  lord,  that  I  have  practised  to  dissemble,  under  a  face  not  handsoc^:^^  '    _ 
but  seemingly  pleased  enough,  a  heoi't  melancholy  enough."  ■ 

The  death  of  the  Queen  frustrated  BoUngbroke's  plans,  and  theWh^^-  ^_„ 
returned  to  power.      Prior  remained  at  Paris  for  a  time,  but  his  positi— 
was  an  awkward  one.     The  author  of  a  Whig  pamphlet,  publish*-  , 

soon  after  the  ascension  of  King  George,   and  written  in  imitation  j 

Arbuthnot,  alludes  incidentally  to  Prior's  early  life  :  ''  Matt.  Spind. — ^^^ 
shanks,  the  tavern-boy,  is  in  a  strange  quandary,  whether  he  shor         ^^ 
return  homo  or  stay  at  old  Savage's.     It  is  noted  for  excellent  air 
consumption,  and  'tis  very  probable  that  Matt.,  who  is  a  little  in 
will  choose  it  for  his  health's  sake."     There  was,  too,  much  trouble 
recovering  arrears  of  pay.     In  October,  Prior  wrote  to  Lord  Halifj 
with  whom  in  earlier  days  he  had  been  so  closely  connected:   "I  hi 
the  satisfaction  to  believe  that  you  think  me  an  lionest  man  and 
Englishman."     There  might  be  defects  of  pride  in  his  mind,  but 
could  swear  to  its  integrity  j  as  long  as  the  treaties  of  Ryswick  aJi 
Utrecht  were  legible  he  might  as  well  be  thought  a  ISIahometan  as 
Jacobite.     Since  coming  to  France  he  had  had  no  advance  money  o* 
allowance  stated  by  Privy  Seal,  but  always,  by  a  verbal  power,  drew 
upon  the  Lord  Treasurer.      He  hoped  that  bills  would  soon  be  paid, 
and  begged  that  "  our  old  fellow  collegiate  and  my  Fidus  Achates, 
Mr.  Richard  Shelton,"  might  retain  the  Commissiouership  of  Stamps 
given  him  by  Lord  Oxford,  and  that  Mr.  Drift,  w^ho  had  been  •w-ifch 
him    as    secretary    eighteen   years,  might    keep    his    place    of    first 
clerk  or  under-secretary  in  the  Plantation  Office,  where  he  had  been 
fourteen  years,   and   had  been  carefully   trained   by   Prior  while  he 
was  in  that   Commission   and   afterwards.      "  I    have    troubled   you 
with  a  book  rather  than  a  letter,  but  you  must  remember  I  have  the 
silence  of  a  great    many   years  to   atone    for  ;  and    a    good    many 
things,    as    you    see,   to    ask."     In    response    to  directions  that  he 


TO 


,d 


Sgo] 


MATTHEW   PRIOR, 


723 


live  in  leas  compass,  Prior  wrote  that  he  had  lived  like  an 
ktnbasBador — not  that  he  took  pleasure  in  it,  for  it  was  only  an 
mcumbrance — but  for  the  honour  and  dignity  of  the  nation.  Halifax 
>eplied  that  be  had  done  him  all  the  good  he  could,  and  that  the 
dng  had  directed  that  Prior's  allowance  as  a  plenipotentiary,  from 
ih.e  first  of  August  to  the  first  of  December,  was  to  be  paid  im- 
mediately, and  that  debts  incurred  during  the  late  reign  would  be 
paid  in  due  course.  In  the  meantime  Lord  Stair  was  sent  as 
ftmbassador  to  Paris,  and  Prior's  papers  were  seized;  but,  as  he  said, 
he  would  have  been  arrested  if  he  had  tried  to  leave  Paris  without 
paying  his  debts.  At  last  the  money  came.  *'  It  will,"  wrote 
Halifax,  "  be  a  great  pleasure  to  me  in  particular,  to  hasten  your 
return  from  an  unhappy  station  to  yoar  own  coantry  and  friends,  in 
which  number  I  desire  you  will  rank  me."  When  Prior  reached 
England  in  March,  it  was  only  to  be  arretted  by  order  of  the  House 
of  Commons,  and  in  June,  upon  Walpole's  motion,  he  was  impeached, 
and  remained  in  the  custody  of  the  sergeant-at-arma.  It  was  no 
doubt  hoped  that  he  would  give  information  against  Bolingbroke, 
whose  instrument,  to  some  extent  at  least,  he  had  been  while  in 
Paris.  He  was  invited  to  dinner  at  Walpole's,  and  Bolingbroke  fled 
on  the  night  that  he  heard  of  the  entertainment.  But  Prior  did  not 
betray  his  friend.  From  the  Treasury  papers  we  learn  that  the 
Speaker  acquainted  the  sergeant-at-arnia  that  Prior,  being  committed 
for  no  offence,  ought  to  pay  no  fees  while  in  custody,  and  that  the 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  ordered  the  sergeant  to  apply  to  the 
iVeaaury  for  satisfaction.  The  sergeant  often  waited  on  Prior,  in 
talking  out  for  his  health,  and  he  was  duly  recompensed  by  the 
Dreasury.  Prior  was  specially  excepted  from  the  Act  of  Grace  passed 
n  1717,  but  was  soon  afterwards  released.  He  had  occupied  his 
eisure  in  writing  "  Alma,"  but  ho  had  nothing  to  rely  upon,  save  his 
'ellowship,  which  he  had  prudently  kept  even  in  his  prosperity, 
;hough  he  had  given  the  emoluments  to  another.  It  would,  he  had 
re<marked,  procure  him  bread  and  cheese  at  the  last.  In  1718  his 
friends  arranged  for  the  publication  by  subscription  of  a  two  guinea 
edition  of  his  poems  in  folio,  and  the  work  brought  in  four  thousand 
^ineaa.  Lord  Harley  added  an  equal  sum  for  the  purchase  of  Down 
Hall,  in  Essex,  and  there  Prior  spent  the  remainder  of  his  days,  varied, 
however,  by  visits  to  friends'  houses,  and  to  St.  John's  College.  He 
has  left  an  amusing  ballad  about  his  first  visit  to  Down  Hall,  in  com- 
pany with  John  Morley,  Lord  Harley's  agent.  The  description  of  the 
ride,  and  the  gossip  with  the  landlady  of  the  Bull  at  Hoddesdon, 
make  this  poem  one  of  the  cleverest  and  most  entertaining  of  all 
Trior's  pieces. 

Swift  took  considerable  trouble  in  procuring   subscribers  to  the 
edition  of  Prior's  poems,  and  we  have  several  letters  which  passed 


724 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


[:»itJ« 


between   them.      Prior  complained  of    a    CJOUgh,   which   he  thou.  .^^Ivt 
woiild  be  his  for  life.      If  Swift  should  %-isit  London  (this  was  writ^'fc^ti 
in  July  1717),  he  must  come  at  once  to  Duke  Street,  where  he  wc^~«xld 
find  a  bed,  a  book,  and  a  candle.      The  *'  brotherhood  "  was  extrein:m.^ly 
scattered,  yet  three  or  four  sometimes  met  and  drank  to  their  ab^  ^nt 
friends.     In  more  prosperous  days  the  "  weekly  friends  "  who  me"*::    at 
"  Matthew's  palace/'  *'  to  try  for  once  if  they  can  dine  on  bacon,  h  ^Okxsi, 
and  mutton-chine,"  had  included  Oxford,  *'  humble  statesman  " ;    ^^nd 
"  Dorset  used   to  bless   the   roof."     lu  a  letter  of  September  Y^  1 8. 
Prior  said  he  coughed,  but  was  otherwise  well.     He  found  the  gresfc.~t>est 
pleasure  in  the  conversation  of  his  old  friend,  Dr.  Smalridge.     F  :«roiii 
a  letter  of  Swift's,  dated   April    28,  1719,  we  learn  that  copiers     of 
Prior's  poems  were  not  yet  delivered  to  the  subscribers  ;   "  your  bc::>ok- 
seller  is  a  blockhead  for  not  sending  them."     Swift  had  hoped  to        see 
Prior;  but  had  now  resolved  to  tiy  the  more  lazy  method   of  Ilx-ish 
country  air.      Prior  replied,  regretting  that  he  should  not  see  S^^^iift; 
a  cough  was  worse  than  the  spleen,  with  which  he  thought  Swift     '^^as 
troubled.      *'  My  bookseller  is  a  blockhead  ;   so  have  they  all  beein. ,    or 
worse,  from  Chaucer's  scrivener  down  to  John  and  Jacob,  Mr.  H^'de 
only  excepted."     In  December  he  was  again  at  his  "  palace  "  in  YDMjmk'S 
Street,  Westminster.      All    subscribors  had    now   been    supplied,   cm-^^ 
they  had  "  ceased  to  call  the  bookseller  a  blockhead,  by  transferrin's 
that  title  to  the  author."     His  lungs  were  weak  ;  but  he  had  a  v^s**^ 
good  heart.     In  May  1720,  he  complained  of  deafness;  he  did  c^^**^ 
take  care  of  his  ears  till  he  knew  if  his  head  were  his  own  or  nc 
In   Febraaiy  1721,  he  wrote  that  he  had  been  ill  that  winter.     Ag 
was  coming  on,  he  said,  and  the  cough  did  not  diminish.      He  we 
tired  of  politics,  and  had  lost  in  the  South  Sea   mania.      In  April 
was  again  in  London.     Matters  ecclesiastical  as  well  as  civil  were,  fo 
the  most  part,  he  wrote,  a  complication  of  mistakes  in  policy,  and  ot^' 
knavery  in  the  execution  of  it.      "  Priend   Shelton,  commonly  callec 
Dear  Dick,  is  with  me.     We  drink  your  health.     Adieu."     This  is 
the   last  letter  ;  on   the   1 8th   of   September   Prior  died  of  fever  at 
Wimpole,  Lord  Barley's  seat.     He  was  buried  at  Westminster  Abbey, 
and  a  monument,  for  which   he   bad  left  £500,  was  erected  to  him. 
with  a  long  Latin  inscription  by  Dr.  Prelnd. 

BoUngbroke  wrote  to  Swift,  some  months  later,  that  he  had  heard 
of  Prior's  death,  and  that  he  was  sorrj'  their  "  old  acquaintance  Matt." 
lived  so  poor  as  Swift  represented.  Bolingbroke  thought  tliat  a 
certain  lord  had  put  him  above  want ;  he  surely  might  have  managed 
things  better  with  his  young  patron.  It  is  evident  that  Prior  was 
often  travelling  with  Lord  Harley ;  but  when  at  Down  Hall  lie 
amused  himself  by  improving  the  grounds,  p'or  such  an  enil  he  had 
profesBed  to  wish  in  lines  written  as  early  as  1700: 


MATTHEW   PRIOR. 


725 


"Great  Mother,  let  me  once  be  able 
To  have  a  garden,  bouse,  and  stable ; 
That  I  may  read,  and  ride,  and  plant, 
Superior  to  desire,  or  want ; 
And  as  LealtL  fails,  and  years  increase. 
Sit  down  and  think,  and  die  in  peace," 

I  he  says  :  "  It  has  pleased  God  for  some  years  past  to  bless 
nworthy  creature  with  a  greater  share  of  health  than  I 
a  expected  from  the  tenderness  of  my  native  constitution  or 
WB   and   troublea   of  life   which   I   have   undergone."       He 

Lord    Hurley  and  Adi-iau  Drift,  his  secretary  and  friend. 

The  only  relative  mentioned,  his  "  well-beloved  and  dear 

.therine    Harrison,"  was  to  have  £100   for  mourning.*      An 

as  to  be  bought  for  Mrs.  EUzabeth  Cox,  a  woman,  we  are 

whom  friends  thought  him  fortunate  in  being  emancipated, 
eath ;  and  after  the  payment  of  some  other  legacies,  the 
is  to  go  to  Adrian  Drift  and  Mrs.  Cox  equally.      His  papers 

to  his  executors,  and  towards  the  close  of  1739  a  volume 
,.  History  of  His  Own  Time,"  with  the  date  1740  on  the 
was  published,  pur[>orting  to  be  by  Prior.  Probably, 
le  had  little  hand  in  the  materials  thus  collected.  Heneage 
)te  to  Lord  Dartmouth  that  the  book  was  ouly  a  trick  of  the 
B ;  Drift  had  been  dead  many  years,  and  all  Prior's  papers 
le  hands  of  Lord  Oxford  (Lord  Harley  had  now  succeeded  to 
m),  who  was  extremely  angry  at  such  an  imposition  on  the 
ugh  the  publishers  had  had  the  impudence  to  dedicate  the 
im.  But  the  volume  contains  much  that  is  of  interest  to 
it. 

iid  that  Dan  Prior  was  "  beloved  by  every  muse  ; "  and 
nsay  wrote  a  pastoral  on  his  death ;  "  Dear  sweet-tongued 
ousands  shall  greet  for  thee."  That  there  wer<^  serious 
ons  in  Prior's  character  we  cannot  doubt.  He  is  said  to 
Bk  fondness  for  low  society  in  Long  Acre,  and  his  Chloes  and 
vere  very  real  persons.  He  was  an  easy-going,  pleasure- 
id  a  connection,  Robert  Prior,  who  wn«  admitted  into  St.  Peter's  College, 
r,  in  1710,  at  the  ago  of  iHicen,  and  was  elected  to  Cambridge-  in  1713.  la 
ro  of  his  atlraiAsion  to  WVstiuinstcr.  Robert  is  described  iw  the  son  of 
*r,  born  tti  tx>nilon  ;  ami  iti  the  entry  of  his  ndmirision  into  Trinity  GolleRe 

a  Uertfordslure  person.  Bolingbroku  wrote  to  Prior  in  July  1713,  that  he 
aurod  to  send  "a  very  jiretty  lad,  who  wears  your  nanii.',  and,  therefore, 
,tO  Diy  very  best  Bervice.s,  to  Christ  Church,"  but  he  ha<l  been  thwarted  by 
I  Vaster  of  Trinity,  who  picked  out  the  boy  as  liL*  tirst  option.  Prior 
t  am  obliged  to  you  very  particularly  for  your  care  of  my  friend  Prior.  I 
fine  how  you  came  to  know  that  !<nudging  boy,  for  his  mother  i»  very 

intky  will  always  bo  an  ill-bred  pedant I  think  I  shall  always*  have 

uRh  at  Cambridge  to  make  his  stay  there  easy;  and  if  ho  has  the  con - 
your  patronni^e,  I  think,  too,  mattcr.s  cannot  go  ao  ill  but  tl>at  in  four 
y  net  him  alioat  in  flie  world."    Probably  this  Robert  Prior  w  the  same  as 

who  wjis  editor  of  a  volume  published  in  January  ITM).  with  the  title 
ixtmonaKtcriensiH.  Being  a  collection  of  epigrams,  declamations,  &c., 
jionally  by  the  Weslmitister  Scholars." 


726 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[MAX 


u 


loving  man,  popular  with  all  be  met.  Leigh  Hunt,  having  in  nmid 
the  portrait  often  founi  in  old  editions  of  the  "  Poems,"  said,  ^'  I  think 
some  books,  such  as  '  Prior's  Poems,'  ought  always  to  have  portraits 
of  the  authors.  Prior's  airy  face,  with  his  cap  on,  is  like  having  hiii 
company."  It  is  not  safe  to  place  mach  reliance  in  scandalous  tales 
about  public  men  who  lived  in  the  days  of  JMrs.  !Rlanley ;  as  Dr. 
Johnson,  no  friendly  critic  in  this  CMe,  says :  "  He  lived  at  a  tinw 
when  the  rage  of  party  detected  all  \^hich  it  was  any  man's  interest  to 
hide  ;  and,  as  little  ill  is  heard  of  Prior,  it  is  certain  that  not  much 
was  known."  And  we  have  the  testimony  of  the  Duchess  of  Portland, 
daughter  of  Lord  Harley,  to  whom,  as  a  little  girl — "  My  noble,  lovely, 
little  Peggy  " — Prior  had  addressed  charming  verses  that  he  "  ma<le 
himself  beloved  by  every  living  thing  in  the  house — master,  child,  and 
servant,  human  creature,  or  animal." 

Of  I'rior's  poems  those  upon  which  he  himself  set  most  store  are — 
&s  so  often  happens — now  little  known.  He  wrote  two  long  poems, 
and  he  was  disappointed  because  his  friends  preferred  the  lighter  of 
the  two.  Few  persons  now  living  could,  we  think,  honestly  say  they 
had  read  the  whole  of  "  Solomon  on  the  Vanity  of  the  World.  A 
Poem.  In  three  Books."  In  tlie  preface  Prior  admits  that  "  it  is 
hard  for  a  man  to  speak  of  himself  with  any  tolerable  satisfaction  or 

success It  is  harder  for  him  to  speak  of  his  own  writings." 

Out  of  the  mass  of  treasure  to  be  found  in  the  books  attributed  to 
Solomon  he  here  endeavoured  to  collect  and  digest  such  observations 
and  apothegms  as  best  proved  the  assertions  io  Ecclesiastes  :  "  All  is 
vanity."  He  would  make  no  apology  for  the  panegjTic  npon  Great 
Britain  which  he  had  introduced  :  '*  I  am  glad  to  have  it  observed  that 
there  appears  throughout  aU  ray  verses  a  zeal  for  the  honour  of  my 
country  ■  and  I  hml  rather  be  thought  a  good  Englishman  than  the 
best  poet  or  greatest  scholar  that  ever  wrote."  But  in  spite  of  fine 
rhetoric  and  many  happy  turns  of  thought  and  expression,  "  Solomon '' 
is  hopelessly  tedious,  and  the  author  himself,  in  his  poem  of  '*  The 
Conversation,"  makes  his  professing  friend  Damon  give  utterance  to 
the  general  opinion : 

•'  Indeed  poor  Solomon  in  rhyme 
Was  much  toti  grave  to  be  sublime." 

"  For  '  Alma,'  "  said  the  same  candid  friend,  "  1  returned  him  thanks." 
"  Alma  ;  or,  The  Progi'ess  of  the  Mind,"  was  described  by  Prior  as 
"  a  loose  and  hasty  scribble ;  "  but  it  retains  its  interest,  to  some 
extent  at  least,  because  we  have  here  Prior  himself,  and  not  an 
eighteenth  century  setting  of  the  Old  Testament.  "  Alma "  is  in 
Hudibrastic  verse,  and  among  the  most  interesting  passag^es  are  the 
eulogies  of  Butler  and  of  Pope.  So  far  as  it  has  any  plan,  it  is  a 
burlesque  account  of  the  theory  that  the  mind  moves  npwards  from 
tlie  extremities  to  the  head^  as  a  man   advances  from  infancy  to  old 


to     j 


j89o] 


MATTHEW  PRIOR. 


727 


age  ;  but  the  poom  attracts  us  chiefly  by  the  humorous  passages  and 
witty  sayings  with  which  it  abouncis.  The  style  is  wearisome  in 
certain  moods,  and  to  some  readera  always,  even  as  in  tho  case  of 
I*rior's  "  oonsiimraate  master "  in  this  method  of  writing  ;  and  we 
cannot  but  feel  that  the  poem  occupies  an  undue  amoant  of  space  in 
Mr.  Dobson's  volume.  It  was,  however,  desirable  to  give  a  specimen 
of  the  more  sustained  efforts  of  the  poet,  and  extracts  would  hove 
been  inconsistent  with  the  plan  of  the  book.  The  end  of  the 
argument  is  characteristic.  Richard  Shelton,  the  poet's  friend,  tired 
of  the  philosophy,  exclaims  : 

"  Dear  Drift,  to  set  our  matters  right, 
Remove  these  papers  from  my  sight  ; 
Bum  Mat's  Descartes,  and  Aristotle  ; 
Here  !  Jonathan,  jour  master's  bottle." 

As  Voltaire  remarked,  "  Peut-etre  cet  ouvrage  est-il  trop  long  ;  toute 
plaisanterie  doit  etre  courte,  et  meme  le  s6rienx  devrait  bien  etre 
court  aussi;"  and  Prior's  own  lines  apply  to  this  case: 


"  Redtice,  my  muse,  the  vrandering  song  ; 
A  tale  should  never  be  too  long." 


^^^.Another  piece,  '*  Henry  and  Emma,"  which  Johnson  called  "  dull 
Hnd  tedious,"  but  which  was  for  long  one  of  thp  best  known  of  Prior's 
poems,  has  no  place  in  Mr.  Dobson's  volume.  In  this  effort  Prior 
elaborated  anil  spoilt  the  fine  ballad  of  the  ^"  Nnt-Brown  Maid.'' 
Assuredly  *'  Emma  and  thi^  Xut-Brown  Maid  "  are  not  "  one,"  as 
Prior  said. 

But  enough  of  fault-finding ;  it  is  not  necessary  to  refer  again  to 
the  political  and  loyal  odes,  one  of  which  is  supposed  to  bo  "in 
Spenser's  manner,"  though  the  writer  thought  he  could  "  make  the 
number  more  harmonious.''  by  adding  a  vei'se  to  the  stanza.  Prior's 
Tales,  some  of  which  were  first  published  as  single  folio  leaves,  are 
among  his  best  works,  bat  unfortimately  the  more  important  of  them 
cannot  now  be  quoted  on  accoimt  of  their  coarseness,  though  Johnson, 
when  Boswell  asked  if  the  Doctor  would  print  them  all  in  his  edition 
of  the  English  poets,  insisted  on  their  harmlessness.  *'  No,  sir.  Prior 
is  a  lady's  book.  No  lady  is  ashamed  to  have  it  standing  in  her 
library."  Elsewhere  he  admits  that  one  of  the  tales  is  "  not  over 
decent."  But  Mr.  Dobson  gives  the  admirable  stories  of  "  Truth  and 
Falsehood j"  "  Protegenes  and  Apelles."  and  "  The  Convei'sation,"  in 
which  Damon  talks  much  and  condescendingly  of  the  poet: 

"I  lovwl  him,  OB  I  told  you,  I 

Advisrd  liiin.     Here  .1  staader-by 
Twitched  Damon  gently  by  tho  clnak, 
And  thus  iiQwtltinf;  silence  Inoke: 
Duniun,  "lis  time  we  should  retire, 
The  man  you  talk  with  is  Mat  Prior." 

We  have,  too,  "  An  English  Padlock  "  (printed  in  1705),  in  which 


728  THE   CONTEMPORARY    REVIEIT.  ta« 

the  troubled  husband  is  advised  to  send  his  wife  abroad,  to  lee  ^i^ 
what  she,  "  being  forbidden,  longs  to  know."  is  a  dull  &ice,  ^ » 
staple  of  romance  and  lies."  When,  to  shun  tlieae  ills,  she  retgroa  to 
her  husband,  let  him  make  much  of  her : 

"  Wait  on  her  to  the  park  and  piaj  ; 
Pat  on  good  hnmoor,  make  h«f  pn^ ; 
Be  to  her  Tirtnes  veiy  kind ; 
Be  to  her  faults  « little  blind ; 
Let  all  her  ways  be  nnconfised. 
And  cli^  yoiirpadlo<^ — on  lier  mittd." 

When  we  turn  to  the  shorter  pieces,  which  ane  Priora  Im* t^ 
we  find  so  great  a  nomber  and  variety  that  we  hardiv  knov 
which  to  mention.  **  Every  man  oonversMit  with  veree-writii^ 
knows,"  says  Cowper,  *'  and  kno^re  by  painful  esperience,  that  Ihb 
familiar  style  is,  of  all  styles,  the  most  difiSctilt  to  succeed  in.  .  ,  .  . 
He  that  could  accomplish  this  task  was  Prior."  And  Thackeray  addE, 
"With  due  deference  to  the  great  Samuel,  Priori.  siE^enis  to  me 
amongst  the  easiest,  the  richest,  the  most  channin^ly  hniztorons  of 
English  lyrical  poems."  Where  can  we  match  such  pieces  as  •'  The 
Bemedy  worse  than  the  Disease,"  or  "  ABeaeonable  Affliction/'  where 
Lubin  and  wife  are  in  despair  at  Lnbin's  approaching  death  : 

"A  different  caose,  says  Paison  Sly, 
The  same  effect  may  ^ve ; 
Poor  Lnbin  fears  that  he  shall  die. 
His  wife  that  he  may  lire." 

Or  the  lines  upon  a  lady's  troubles  : 

"  From  her  own  native  France  as  old  Alison  psissed. 

She  reproached  English  Nell  with  nejfjlect  orwitb  *ngFk% 
That,  the  slattern  had  left  in  the  hnrrr  uul  basti- 
Her  lady's  complexion  and  eyebrows,  at  Uolate." 

Or  this  epigram : 

"  To  .Tohn  I  owed  jrreat  obligation. 
But  John  unhappily  thought  fit 
To  publish  it  to  all  the  nation  ; 

Sure  John  and  I  am  more  thxm  quit." 

Or  the  lines  "  To  a  person  who  wrote  ill,  and  spoke  worse,  against 

me": 

"  PtiTsno  mc  with  satire  ;  what  harm  i.s  there  in't  ? 
But  from  all  rint  rnrv  reflection  forbear : 
There  o«n  bo  no  dancer  from  what  thou  shalt  print ; 
There  may  be  ii  little  from  what  thou  may'st  swear.' 

Ill  mfttiy  of  his  lovo  verses  Prior  followed  the  fashion  of  his  dav  in 

tiHiiif.'  el(l.*^ie»ll   tiames.  much  to  the  annoyance  of  Dr.  Johnson.      TW 

hp~^\  '.1    t.hrra,    )iif»rrs,  snch   as  the  one  be.ginnin£r  "  The  merdaacz  » 

st'.un     Id:    rrrtttanrr-  "'  n.r<'  clflssical  in  nothinc:  hnt  the  names,  bes  a 

wftiii  i-t  rrii,    rrniiuj.'  (.1-  fWitlifnlness  often  deprives  them  of  the  caacm 

♦ti-     -,,.,,11  i,ihrrwi«r  'pnsseiss.      This  is  the  case  with  smarv  rf 

'  ut...i.i  < 'Ul..n  t,h,l  l.tfltMtH.  and    the  rest.      Cfaloe 

pr«rr      u,.,     iiitilthi<ri».l  with   cryincr;  the  poet 


iago2  MATTHEW  PRIOR.  729 

against  haying  to  swear  to  the  truth  of  a  song :  "I  court  others  in 

Terse,  bnt  I  love  thee  in  prose." 

"  Then  finish,  dear  Chloe,  this  pastoral  war, 
And  let  us,  like  Horace  and  Lydia,  agree ; 
For  thoa  art  a  girl  so  much  brighter  than  her, 
As  he  was  a  poet  sablimer  than  me." 

"  The  Turtle  and  Sparrow,"  an  "  elegiac  tale,"  written  upon  the 

death  of  Prince  George  of  Denmark,  may  serve  as  a  type  of  the  bad 

taste  which  Prior  sometimes  showed.     It  is  pleasant  to  turn  from  such 

a  piece  to  "  The  Female  Phaeton,"  in  which  Lady  Katharine  Hyde — 

•*  Eatty  beautiful  and  young,  and  wild  as  colt  untamed  " — frets  with 

zage  at  the  restraint  ordained  by  her  wise  mamma  : 

"  Fondness  prevailed,  mamma  gave  way ; 
Kitty  at  heart's  desire, 
Obtained  the  chariot  for  a  day, 
And  set  the  world  on  fire." 

Long  afterwards,   when   Kitty  was  Duchess  of  Queensberry  and 

seventy-one  years  old,  Horace  Walpole  wrote : 

"  To  many  a  Kitty,  Love  his  car 
Will  for  a  day  eng:^e  ; 
But  Prior's  Kitty,  ever  fair, 
Obtained  it  for  an  age." 

We  have  not  space  to  quote  the  whole  of  the  poem  "  To  a  Child  of 

Quality  five  years  old,"  which  Mr.  Dobson  calls  "  the  crown  of  Prior's 

achievement";  but  which,  though  printed  as  early  as  1704,  was  not 

inclnded  in  the  subscription  volume  of  1718.     Nothing  forbids  the 

poet  writing  of  "  dear  five-years-old  " — "  till  she  can  spell ; "  and  when 

she  grows  older,  too,  he  may  write,  and  they  will  still  be  friends : 

"  For,  as  our  difiEerent  ages  move, 

'Tis  so  ordained  (would  Fate  but  mend  it  I) 
That  I  shall  be  past  making  love, 
When  she  begins  to  comprehend  it." 

May  we  not,  in  closing  with  lines  written  half  in  humour,  half  in 

sadness,  "  For  my  owfi  monument,"  say  that  Prior  has  done  himself 

something  less  than  justice  ? 

"  Tet,  counting  as  far  as  to  fifty  his  years, 

His  virtue  an4  vice  were  as  other  men's  are ; 
High  hopes  he  conceived,  and  he  smothered  great  fears, 
In  life  party-coloured,  half  pleasure,  half  care. 

Not  to  business  a  drudge,  nor  to  faction  a  slave. 

He  strove  to  make  interest  and  freedom  agree ; 
In  public  employment  industrious  and  gnivc, 

And  alone  with  his  friends — lord,  how  merry  was  he  1 

Now  in  equipage  stately,  now  humbly  on  foot. 
Both  fortunes  he  tried,  but  to  neither  would  trust ; 

And  whirled  in  the  round,  as  the  wheel  turned  about, 
He  found  riches  had  wings,  and  knew  man  vran  but  dust. 

*•••»♦ 

If  his  bones  lie  in  earth,  roll  in  sea,  fly  in  air, 
To  fate  we  must  yield,  and  the  tiling  is  the  same, 

And  if  passing  thou  giv'st  liim  a  smile,  or  a  tuir, 
He  cares  not — yet  prithee  be  kind  to  his  fame." 

George  A.  Aitken. 

TOL.  LTn.  3  B 


THE    PEACEABLE   SETTLEMENT    0 
LABOUR   DISPUTES. 


I 
I 
I 

I 


I 


THIS  19  no  new  question.     There  have  been  constant  attempts-^-*-^ 
provide  some  method  of  settling  labour  disputes  in  an  antt^*-  ^^' 
tative  way,  and  to  prevent  the  parties  taking  the   matter   into  t>-'-^^"' 
own  handa,  ever  since  we  first  hear  of  labour  questions  in  En^^^  ^ 
hist<iry.     But  all  these  attempts  alike  invoked  the  strong  arm  of     '^^ 
law,  and  the  law,  being  made  by  those  who  had  nothing  to  do  •%'V^^^" 
labour  aave  to  employ  and  pay  for  it,   inclined  towards  settlenr^*^" 
which  were  not  always  as  judicial  as  impartial  justice  might  have  «i^c- 
tated.    Especially  during  the  eighteenth  century  many  Acts  were  pass*" 
which  were  directed  against  combinations  of  employers  or  employ^'"' 
and  which   provided   means   for  the  settlement  of  disputes  in  tJ^* 
particular  trades  to  which  such  Acts  had  reference.     In   some  ca*^ 
the  justices  of  the  peace  were  to  hear  and  determine  the  disputes;  -^" 
other  cases  the  justices  appointed  referees  to  determine  the  questioi^^  ^ 
But  in  1802  a  Parliamentary  Committ€e  stated  that  recent  legislation"^  . 
"on  labour  questions  had  operated  only  in  favouring  the  strong  an 
against  the  weak.      Everything  is  made  subservient  to  the  maatt 
and  exclusively  too.''     Thus  there  grew  up  amongst  the  labour  clas^^*^' 
a  not  unnatural  suspicion  and  dislike  of  the  law,   which  has  showed       . 
itself  in  the  practical  refusal  to  adopt  methods  of  peaceable  settlemenr  -^^^ 
dictated,  or  even  encoui*aged,  by  it.  » 

If  we  take  this  century  alone,  we  find  that  there  has  been  frequen'"^^^^^^^ 
legislation  upon  the  subject  of  industrial  arbitration,  and  that  man^  ^^"^ 
Acts  have  been  passed  with  the  direct  object  of  furthering  the  adoption' 
of  arbitration  in  trade  disputes.     The  most  important  of  these  is  th- 
5  George  IV.,  c.  9G,  which  was  really  an  Act  of  consolidation,  an- 
made  one  general  law  relating  to  difficulties  in  every  branch  of  trade  aiu- 
manufacture.     It   provided  that  disputes  relating  to  past  contrac* 


SETTLEMENT  OF  LABOUR  DISPUTES. 


ig  between  masters  and  workmen  migkfc  be  settled  and  adjusted 
bitration,  either  Bummarily  by  a  justice  of  the  peace,  or  by  referees 
nted  by  suchjnstice.  The  parties  migbt  mutually  agree  that  any 
)r  in  difference  ehould  be  arbitrated  in  some  other  way,  and  the 
1  would  be  final  and  conclusive,  and  powers  were  given  to  enforce  it. 
it  this  Act  has  never  really  worked.  The  Select  Committee 
inted  in  1856,  "  to  inquire  into  the  expediency  of  establishing 
able  tribunals  for  the  amicable  adjustment  of  differences  between 
?r9  and  operatives,"  reported  that  it  appeared  to  be  nearly 
rative ;  hardly  any  one,  whether  master  or  workman,  ever 
:ed  to  it,  and  ita  existence  was  unknown  to  many  people.  It 
Hsliked  by  masters  and  men,  and  "  the  dislike  was  inherent  in 
n  nature,  and  in  the  relative  positions  of  the  masters  and  the 
naen."  They  would  rather  settle  matters  amongst  themselves  by 
tation,  or  even  with  some  degree  of  violence.  There  was  an 
athy  on  the  part  of  the  workmen  to  go  before  the  magistrates  : 
ked  like  a  criminal  proceeding :  and  the  masters  deemed  it  a  dis- 
to  be  taken  to  the  court. 

e  evidence  given  before  this  Committee  contains  a  mass  of  valu- 
Bformation,  and  shows  that,  when  it  sat,  men  were  beginning  to 
at  law  was  not  a  necessity  in  matters  of  this  kind.  One  of  the 
sses,  an  engineer  by  trade,  said  that  he  knew  of  no  strike  that 
Dccurred  which  might  not  have  been  settled  by  a  Board  of  Arbi- 
n,  but  no  Act  of  Parliament  was  necessary.  It  was  better  to 
the  Board  named  amicably  without  the  interference  of  the  law 
I  for  though,  if  tbe  law  were  adopted,  you  bad,  no  doubt,  tbe 
it  of  the  law  on  your  side,  yet  he  could  acarcely  conceive  a  case 
lich  a  decision  could  be  arrived  at,  by  a  fair  and  equal  arbi- 
n  in  which  each  party  named  its  own  arbitrators,  to  which  tbe 
nen  would  not  agree,  even  if  they  felt  that  it  was  a  decision  by 
I  they  were  foregoing  something  which  they  had  a  right  to. 
lother  Select  Committee  was  appointed  in  1860  "  to  consider  the 
neans  of  settling  disputes  between  masters  and  operatives,"  and 
ted  in  favour  of  '*  the  formation  of  Courts  of  Conciliation  in  the 
ry,  more  especially  in  manufacturing,  commercial,  and  mining 
cts."  Although  a  Bill  was  introduced  to  carry  out  this  recom- 
ation,  no  Act  was  passed  until  1867,  when  "  The  Councils  of  Con- 
on  Act  "  became  law.  It  recited  the  Arbitration  Act  of  Geo.  IV. 
three  amendments  of  it  in  the  present  reign,  and  went  on  to 
oonncils  of  masters  and  workmen  to  be  formed  under  license 
the  Crown,  with  power  to  determine  the  disputes  which  were 
mplated  by  tlie  Arbitration  Act,  but  without  power  to  deal  with 
ate  of  wages  or  price  of  labour  or  workmanship  at  which  the 
nan  should  in  future  be  paid.  Thus,  the  whole  result  of  these 
r«te  inquiries  was  to  provide  a  Council  of  Conciliation,  in  the 


732 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[I 


place  of,  or  as  well  as,  a  Board  of  Arbitration,  bat  aa  the  poven 
the  Conncil  were  more  restricted  than  those  of  the  Bou6,  the 
Act  was  rather  worse  than  the  old  one. 

Bat  the  question  of  the  peaceable  settlement  of  labour  disputes 
for  ever  trniiing  np.    The  appropriate  sections  of  the  British 
tion  discussed  it,  the  defunct  Social  Science  Association   deman^^^ 
further  legislation  upon  it,  and,  in  1872,  a  new  Act  was  forthcomi:^^^ 
"  The  Arbitration  (Masters   and   Workmen)  Act,  1872."     It  siira.;^;^' 
provided  for  agreements  of  arbitration  between  the  parties,  and  tix^^^ 
agreements    might    leave    to    the    board,   council,  or    persons  to      1^ 
appointed  arbitrators,  the  rate  of  wages,  conditions  under  which  vvori 
was  to  be  done,  or  any  disagreement  or  dispato  mentioned  in  tho  ojrf 
Arbitration  Act,  or  to  which  reference  was  made  in  "  The  Master  ajnd 
Servant  Act,  1867'' — an  Act  passed  to  remedy  the  one-sided  law    'hj 
which  protection  and  assistance  were  given  to  masters  against  servanrs, 
but  without  corresponding  aid  for  servants   against  masters,      ^nt 
this  fresh  attempt  to  deal  with  the  peaceable  settlement  of  labo'**' 
disputes  by  law,  although   really  of  a  more  thorough  nature  than  9-^^ 
predecessors,  was  vain  and  ineffectual.  ^ 

And  all  the  time  the  old  oostly  system  of  indastrial  war  flonriah.  ^"^-^ 
in  spite  of  universal   condemnation,  and  to-day  there  are  strikes 
rnmours  of  strikes    in    eveiy  part  of  our  land ;    there  is  a  labo^"^ 
agitation,  an   industrial   unrest,  which  we  have  never  before  kno 
the  like  of.     And  yet,  abroad,  men  look  to  England  as  to  the  land 
which  the  peaceable    settlement  of  labour    disputes    has    made 
greatest  progress,  and  deputations  come  from  Grerman  Chambers 
Commerce  to  know  how  it  is  that  we  manage  to  avoid  industrial  stri 
and  German  students,  of  high    culture  and  trained  habit  of    cl 
observation,  live  here  to  see  for  themselves  how  it  is  that  the  labo 
question  is  on  a  footing  so  much  more  satisfactory  here  than  it  is  wi 
them. 

There  is  a  good  and  sufficient  reason  for  this.     The  fact  is  th 
whilst  no  body  of  men  have  cared  to  avail  themselves  of  that  assistam 
of  the  law  which  has  been  so  often  offered  to  them,  yet  the  peaceab 
settlement  of  labour  disputes  by  purely  voluntary  methods  has  co: 
stantly  progressed.     Forty  years  ago  imiwrtant  trades  in  England  h 
appointed  voluntary  Boards  of  Arbitration,  and,  thirty  years  ago, 
Mundella  formed,  at  Nottingham,  the  first  voluntary  Board  of  Concil: 
tion  and  Arbitration,  and  it  still  continues  to  flourish,  and  to  legis 
for  the  hosiery  and  glove  trade,  and   its  plan  has  been  adopted  in 
textile  and  chemical  trades,  the  boot  and  shoe  trade,  the  lace  t: 
the  building  trade,  aa  well  as  in  coal  and  iron  mining,  and  in 
manufacture. 

I  am  best  acquainted  with  what  has  occurred  in  some  of  the 
important  industries  of  Northumberland  and  Durham.     In  them 


-:*» 


SETTLEMENT  OF  LABOUR  DISPUTES. 


73a 


y  to  avoid  mduetriaJ  war  has  be^n  found,  and  followed  with  remark- 
.e  success.  In  the  coal  trade  in  both  of  these  connties,  and  in  the 
.jQufactured  iron  trade  of  the  North  of  Englnnd,  the  chosen  repre- 
itativen  of  employers  and  employed  have  met  together  at  stated 
«rTals  and  under  fixed  regulations ;  have  discussed  and  settled 
lumerable  disputes  of  more  or  less  importance  ;  have,  from  time  to 
le,  established  sliding  scales  by  which  the  rate  of  wag€^a  has  been 
»niatically  regulated  ;  and  when,  upon  great  and  general  questions, 
eement  has  been  found  impossible,  have  referred  their  decision  to 
or  more  independent  persons  mutually  agreed  upon.  And  this 
^m  has  lasted  for  long  years,  and  has  continued  to  work  through 
cl  times  and  bad  times  alike,  and,  though  occasionally  under  cir- 
istances  of  a  peculiarly  trying  nature,  the  decisions  which  have  been 
iG  to  have  been  loyally  accepted. 

^nd  this  has  been  accomplished  voluntarily,  by  the  mutual  agree- 
i.t  and  mutual  loyalty  of  employers  and  employed ;  and  without 
^mJ  to  any  law  but  that  of  honour. 

[This  is  a  general  statement  of  the  case,  and,  as  a  general  statement, 
-s  correct.  But  there  have  been  instances,  even  in  some  of  tho 
lastries  which  1  have  alluded  to,  in  which  there  has  been  an  inter- 
"t^ion  of  the  peaceful  policy  ;  the  olive  branch  lias  been  cast  aside 
L  the  sword  drawn.  It  is  not  surprising  that  this  should  bo  so. 
>  are  not  yet  thirty  years  away  from  the  time  when,  in  these  very 
3.68,  the  peaceful  solution  of  labour  disputes  was  a  thing  unknown. 
B  evil  teachings  of  the  olden  time  are  not  forgotten.  A  younger 
aeration  enter  into  work  upon  both  sides  who  only  know  what 
ostrial  war  means  by  those  traditions  which  soften  its  worst  features, 
I  Mrho  experience  the  glamour  which  distance  lends,  not  to  natural 
Sets  alone.  To  them  the  questions  in  which  they  are  bo  deeply 
treated  seem  to  have  but  one  side  and  to  admit  of  but  one  solution. 
*y  are  impatient  of  the  tamer  way  of  dealing  with  them.  They 
*8e  to  learn  from  the  knowledge  of  the  older  men,  or  to  accept  the 
«*nce  of  leaders  who  have  the  wisdom  of  accumulated  experience, 
^  strlkeB  are  the  result.  But  when  such  strikes  are  over,  and  the 
iliiieas  of  war,  even  to  the  victor,  has  once  more  been  evidenced,  all 
ties  return  to  the  datus  quo.  It  is,  speaking  generally,  true  of  all 
"^re  alike  that  the  men  who  desire  a  v?ar  have  never  seen  one, 
"lit,  if  we  give  all  the  weight  which  they  deserve  to  such  failures 
'laege,  what  a  great  balance  of  advantage  still  remains  to  the  credit 

k peaceful  system.  That  system  is,  as  I  have  pointed  out,  two- 
The  great  majority  of  questions  which  come  before  a  joint  board 
tloyera  and  employed,  or  the  standing  committee  of  sucli  board, 
fctled  by  what  is  called  conciliation — which  is  simply  friendly 
^tudon  over  the  table,  bat  very  few  matters  being  sent  to 
on.     In  a  single  year  629  disputes  in  the  Durham  coal  trade 


734 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[ILAT 


were  so  eettled.  More  than  3000  have  been  peacefully  disposed  of  in 
the  Northumberland  ooal  trade  in  the  sixteen  years  of  its  exi8teii.<re, 
and  the  standing  committee  of  the  Finished  Iron  Trade  of  the  Nortli  oi 
England  has,  in  twenty  years,  met  318  times,  and  has  amicably  arrang>5d 
more  than  850  questions,  whilst  the  Board  itself  has  only  met  1  09 
times,  and  in  but  eighteen  instances  has  arbitration  been  resorted  to. 

I  do  not,  of  course,  say  that  each  of  these  disputes  would  have  liad 
to  be  decided  even  by  a  local  strike  had  the  peaceful  method  of  settle^ 
ment  not  existed,  but  many  of  them  must  have  been  so  decided,  axxd 
in  several  instances  the  strike  would  have  been  general.     They  ha-vo- 
incJuded  every   possible  variety  of  disagreement ;  questions  of  wag-e^ 
only  forming  one,  though  the  most  important,  section.     But,  recallir*-^ 
the  misery,  the  loss,  the  ill-feeling,  the  disorganization  of  trade,  all  tfc»-  ^ 
evils   attendant  upon  strikes,   think  of  the  benefit  which  industri  ^^ 
peace  has  conferred  upon  all  parties,  and  of  the  great  moral  gm  .^^    " 
the  substitution  of  reason  and  argument  for  force  and  opposition. 

It  may  be  well  that  I  should,  at  this  point,  describe,  in  rather  mo: 
detail,  exactly  what  a  Joint  Board  of  Conciliation  and  Arbitration  i 
and  how  it  works.      I  shall  take  that  for  the  manufactured  iron 
for  the  North  of  England,  which  is  a  good  example  of  such  a  boai 
It  has  succeeded  in  developing  and  maintaining  friendly  relationsh 
between  employer  and  employed  in  a  trade  in  which  a  hostile  attitu^ 
largely  prevailed,   a  trade  which  had  undergone    peculiarly   rap: 
development,  and  into  which  there  had  been  a  large  influx  of  laboure 
fix)m  Ireland  as  well  as  other  parts  of  England,  so  that  masters  an 
men  were  strangers  one  to  the  other.     This  friendly  relationship  h 
stood  the  test  alike  of  prosperity  and  of  adversity,  for,  during 
twenty  years'  existence  of  the  Board,  prices  have  touched  the  highei 
and    lowest  points  recorded,  and   wages  have  been  reduced  to  t 
smallest  sum  yet  given. 

The  Board  is  thoroughly  representative  in  its  character.    It  consi 
of  one  employer  from  each  works  in  union  with  it,  and  one  delej 
who  is  annually  chosen  by  ballot  by  the  operatives  at  each  works  so 
union  with  the    Board,     Each  representative  is  deemed  to  be  fal 
authorised  to  act  for  the  works  which  has  elected  him,  and  the  decisi 
of  a  majority  of  the  Board,  or,   in  case  of  equality  of  votes,  of  i 
referee,  is  binding  upon  the  employers  and  operatives  of  all  wor 
which  are  represented  upon  it.    As  a  matter  of  fact  it  is  binding  u 
the  whole  trade,  and  must  be  so  where  the  greater  number  of  wor 
in  the  trade  are  represented  on  the  Board. 

At  its  first  meeting  in  each  year,  a  president  and  secretary 
elected  out  of  the  representatives  of  the  employers,  and  a  vice-preside? tc«  t 
and   a  second  secretary  out  of  the  representatives  of  the  employ^?'<7. 
The  Board  also  appoints  a  referee,  who  presides  when  his  presence     £& 
required,  two  treasurers,  and  two  auditors.     The  employers  nomiaate 


^M-» 


SETTLEMENT  OF  LABOUR  DISPUTES. 


735 


of  their  number,  exclusive  of  the  president,  and  the  operatives 

of  their  numberj  exclusi^'e  of  the  vice-president,  to  form  the 
L«ling  Committee.  Only  five  of  the  employers'  representatives  can 
.  or  take  part  in  any  discussion  at  any  meeting  of  the  Committee, 
greater  number  which  they  are  allowed  being  simply  to  meet  the 
e  frequent  absence  from  home  of  those  upon  whom  the  manage- 
l"*  of  works  devolves.  The  president  and  vice-president  are  ex 
t4>  members  of  all  committees,  but  without  the  power  of  voting. 

Board  meets  twice  a  year,  but  it  can  be  convened  at  any  time  by 
Standing  Committee,  which  meets  monthly,  or  more  frequently  if 
Lness  should  require  it. 

fkJl  questions  requiring  investigation  are  referred,  in  the  first 
«nce,  to  the  Standing  Committee,  and  must  be  submitted  to 
bing,  and  supplemented  by  such  verbal  evidence  as  the  Committee 
r  think  needful.  IJefore  any  question  is  considered  an  agreement  of 
misaion  is  signed  by  the  employer  and  the  operative  delegate  of  the 
lc8  affected,  and  if  the  Committee  fail  to  agree  the  referee  is  called 

He  has  power  to  take  the  evidence  of  witnesses  should  he  desire 

0  so.  Seven  clear  days'  notice  of  any  question  to  be  brought  before 
Committee  or  the  Board  must  be  given  to  the  secretaries. 

should  mention  that  the  Board  has  issued  and  circulated  printed 
•uctiona  which  direct  that  auy  subscriber  to  it,  who  has  a  grievance, 
b  first  explain  it  to  the  operative  representative  of  his  works,  and, 
^re  seem  to  be  good  grounds  of  complaint,  they  must  belaid  before 
foreman,  works  manager,  or  head  of  the  concern.  "  The  complaint 
lid  be  stated  in  a  way  that  implies  an  expectation  that  it  will  be 
y  and  fully  considered,  and  that  what  is  right  wiU  be  done.  In 
b  cases  this  will  lead  to  a  settlement  without  the  matter  having  to 
"xirther." 

'lie  Standing  Committee  has  power  to  settle  all  questions,  except  a 
Bral  rise  or  fall  of  wages,  or  tlie  selection  of  an  arbitrator  to  fix 
X  rise  or  fall.  These  points  are  rfiserved  for  the  Board  itself.  In 
>  it  can  arrive  at  no  agreement  upon  them,  a  single  arbitrator  is 
ointed,  and  his  decision,  at  or  after  a  special  court  held  for  the 
"pose,  is  final  and  binding  on  the  parties.  The  Board  also  considers 
i  decides  all  questions  which  the  Standing  Committee  may  refer 
it. 
When  an  arbitrator  is  appointed,  the .  party  making  an  application 

a  rise  or  fall  in  wages  furnishes  him  with  a  printed  statenient  of 

1  grounds  upon  which  it  bases  its  claim,  and  tlie  opposing  party 
ids  in  a  printed  answer.  It  is  desirable  that  these  should  be  so  full 
t  each  party  may  know  the  exact  standpoint  of  the  other,  and  under- 
ad  what  will  have  to  be  met  at  the  hearing.  There  is  sometimes  a 
oinder  from  one  or  both  parties,  and,  when  the  case  is  complete, 
t  arbitrator  proceeds  to  hold  his  court    The  members  of  the  Board 


736 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


attend,  one  being  appointed  to  lead  the  argument  upon  each  aide,   t^^^j 
opportunity  being  also   given  for  fall  expression  by  every  meirxX^^^^j, 
who   wishes  to  speak   upon   the    matter.     Either    side    may    bx-i-j-^—, 
forward     any    evidence,   or   the    arbitrator    may    require    evido-xa.cs* 
to  be  brought  before  him.  cind,  when  his  award   is  arrived   at,      ii.« 
prints  it,  and  forwards  a  copy  to  each  member  of  the  Board.  ^^ 

shorthand  note  is  taken  of  all  the  proceedings,  and  this  is  afterwar-'«3-3 
extended  and  printed.  Reporters  for  the  press  are  allowed  to  f® 
present  at  the  hearing. 

The  practice,  of  course,  varies  considerably  in  detail  in  the  arbitr*^ 
tiona  of  different   industries — reporters  are  frequently  not  allowed 
be  present ;  sometimes   many  witnesses  are  called  and  there  is  litU       ^__^ 
argument;  but  I  am  describing   the   practice  in   one  special  tra^^*~^ 
only.     Invariably  there  is  a  desire  to  avoid  mere  legal  technicaliti 
but  this  does  not  prevent  strict  proof  being  recfuired  of  statements 
fact  upon  which  the  parties   differ.     In  practice,  and  as  a  genei 
rule,  each  side  is  anxious  to  furnish  the  other  with  all  facts  ai 
figure.s   which  it  intends  to  use,  and   as  a  result   an   agreement  rr 
arrived  at  which  prevents  the  necessity  of  calling  much  evidence. 
The  Board  appoints  an  accountant  of  high  position  and  great 
perience,   by   whom  the  books  of  the  several  firms  connected  with 
are  audited  at  the  end  of  each  two  months,  with  the  object  of  correctTT- 
ascertaining  the  net  soiling  price  of  the  ii-on  actually  Invoiced  and  sor 
by  these  firms  during  the  preceding  two  months.     He  issues  a  form, 
certificate   of   the  average  selling  price  for   that  period,   and   thes 
ascertainments  are  held  to  be  authoritative.     He  is,  of  course,  pled 
to  secrecy. 

*  Perhaps  the  only  Other  matter   which  needs  explanation    is  tl 
method  of  proWding  for  the  expenses  of  the  Board,  and  the  pajine 
of  its  members.      One  penny  per  head  per  fortnight  is  deducted  fro: 
the  wages  of   each   operative  earning  half-a-crown  per  day  and  u 
ward.%  and  each  firm  contributes  a  sum  efjnal  to  the  total  sum  deduc 
from  its  workmen.     Each  member  of  tho  Board  or  Standing  Co: 
mittee   is  allowed  10s.  for  each  meeting,  and  the  sum  thus  obtained 
[is  divided   erjually  between  the  representatives  of  the  employed  a: 
those  of  tho  employers,  and  is  distributed  by  each  side  in  proportio 
to  the  attendances  of  each  member.     Second-class  railway  fare  ei 
[■way   is  allowed  in   addition,  and  necessary  loss  to  night-shiftmen  S 
made  up  to  them. 

This,  then,  is  a  description  of  the  way  in  which  a  board  has  beerr 
formed   and  has  worked  for  twenty  years  in  the  constant  practice 
industrial  peace.      But,  if  this  be  so,  and  if  we  can  point  to   simil 
boards,   in   many   different   industries,   practising   a   similar   peacefi 
method  of  settling  industrial  disputes,  and  with   conspicuous  succe; 
how  comes  it  that   such  methods   are  not  more  generally  adopted 


( 


I 


i89o3  SETTLEMENT  OF  LABOUR  DISPUTES.  737 

W  l3.Ab  are  tHe  real  or  imaginaiy  difiiculties  whicli  stand  in  the  way  of 
tlie  peaceable  solution  of  labour  questions  ?  Why  are  not  Joint 
6ockr<3s  of  Conciliation  and  Arbitration  the  rule  instead  of  the 
e3cc«ption  ? 

^Before  I  address  myself  to  these  questions,  let  me  point  out  again 
tlis^t;  the  peace  principle,  so  far  as  arbitration  is  concerned,  was  long 
a^o  adopted  in  certain  trades.  There  were  one  or  two  instances 
of  l>oards  which  aimed  at  the  joint  arrangement  of  prices  and  wages, 
€>veii  so  early  as  1853.  Since  that  time  the  principle  of  arbitra- 
"tioxx  has  been  widely  accepted,  bo  widely,  indeed,  that  there  are 
'f'^^w  trades  in  which  serious  disputes  have  not  been  settled  by  references 
to  <ii3interested  persons,  and  there  are  probably  no  important  and 
'"®p>re8eutative  bodies,  either  of  employers  or  employed,  which  have  not, 
iix  one  way  or  another,  declared  in  its  favour.  In  fact  the  rules  of 
most  trade  unions  make  special  provision  for  it.  But  arbitration  is 
<^^ily  one  department  of  industrial  peace,  and  the  least  important.  It 
1*  tilae  department  of  conciliation  which  is  the  most  useful  and 
'^^I'ciable,  and  it  is  exactly  in  that  depailment  that  so  little  progress 
*ia.s   "been  made. 

In  some  trades  there  is  provision  for  a  sort  of  temporary  joint 

"Oixrd  which  adopts  a  kind  of  conciliation  policy.     In  the  shipbuild- 

^'^S"   industry,  for  example,  the  most  important  section  of  the  employed 

are    represented  by  the  General  Committee  of  the  Boiler  Makers  and 

-'^^'oix  Shipbuilders  Society,  to  which  has  been  delegated  full  power  to 

^^ttle  labour  disputes.     In  the  event  of  a  local  or  general  dispute  in 

^*^y    district,  they  meet  the  special  firm,  or  the  employers  of  the  dis- 

^'T-ct.  generally,  and  endeavour  to  come  to  an  amicable  arrangement. 

"*■*•    is  sometimes  claimed  that  this  plan  is  superior  to  that  of  a  joint 

**'^*^»^d,  because,  as  it  has  no  place  for  a  referee,  a  strike  is  the  only 

*'**^^'»Tiative  to  an  agreement,  and  this  fact  makes  an  agreement  more 

V*>*c>l:jftble.       But  there  is  really  the  widest  possible  difference  between 

'^^    two  methods,  and  the  joint  board  seems  to  possess  many  certain 

^•^"^ outages.     In  the  first  place,  it  brings  the  employers  and  employed 

^'-^S'either,  and  teaches  them  mutual  forbeai-ance  by  showing  each  side 

.•**-^    actual  difficulties  under  which  the  other  is  placed,  and  it  does  this 

^*      »  way  which  is  calculated  to  foster  mutual  respect,  at  the  same 

'^'^ie  as  it  strengthens  self-respect.     In  the  second  place,  it  is  more 

^^-*^Gly  to  encourage  the   discussion  which  aims  rather  at  that  which  is 

***^lljr  fair  and  right  all  round  than  at  victory.    In  the  third  place,  the 

***en  of  the  district,  the  men  who  are  to  bo  affected  by  the  decision, 

*»«  men  who  know  intimately  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  matter,  are  those 

ho  have  to  argue  it  with  the  employers — and,  in  the  case  of  a  local 

7**spote,  instead  of  having  to  argue  it  with  one  firm  or,  possibly,  one 

^<iividual  alone,  they  have  the  presence  and  the  moral  influence  of  the 

'^^sen  representatives  of  the  employers  of  the  district,  exercising  a 

straining  force  upon  any  unreasonable  member. 


788 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


I 
I 


I 


^ 


I 


I  do  not  wish  to  imply  any  doubt  fts  to  the  excellent  work  for 
industrial  pence  which  has  been  done  by  the  old  and  successful  society 
to   which    I   have  just    alluded.      Its    able    secretary  recently  stated 
publicly  that  the   aim  in  past  years  both  of  the  North-East  Coast 
employers  and  the  society  had  been  to  adjust  all  labour  difficulties  by 
peaceful  means,  and  he  specially  acknowledged  the  kind  and  courteous^ 
spirit  in  which  they  had  been  met  by  the  employers.    It  is  interesting^ 
to  know  that  the  plan  they  adopt  has  been  found  so  successful,  for  i^ 
is  certainly  a  form  of  cxjnciliation. 

And  now,  having  pointed  out  certain  approaches  which  have  bee~  - 
made  to  habitual  industrial  peace,  and  having  also  shown  how  th 
habitual  industrial   peace   is  secured,  I  must  return  to   answer  tl 
question  why,  when  it  is  so  beneficial,  it  is  not  universally  adopted. 

The  reasons,  in  ray  opinion,  are  not  far  to  seek.  That  which  I  shoi^ 
place  first  is  the  prevalence  of  caste  feeling  upon  both  sides.  WhL 
fully  acknowledging  that,  so  far  as  its  moat  objectionable  features  ^ 
concerned,  this  is  disappearing,  it  is  yet  (perhaps  unconsciously) 
but  universal,  even  where  the  best  understanding  prevails  betw^ 
employers  and  employed,  even  amongst  the  wise,  honest,  good,  s^ 
earnest  men  upon  both  sides. 

Where  this  caste  feeling  has  not  been  removed   or   modified 
experience,  employers  do  not  look  upon  those  whom  they  employ 
men  with  whom  they  can  discuss  upon  equal  terms  labour  questio 
affecting  both ;  and  the  employed  look  upon  the  employer  as  one  W- 
is  not  amenable  to  reason,  who  does  not  eipect  his  decrees  to  be  argu  - 
about.      There  is  no  mutual  trust,  no  confidence  or  sympathy.     Tbe^ 
is  suspicion  of  motives  ;  doubt  on  one  side  of  the  disinterestedness 
any  third  party  proposed  by  the  other  ;  entire  want  of  faith  that  ai 
good  could  arise  from  meeting  and  talking  matters  over,  for  neith 

Ueves  that  it  is  possible  to  convince  the  other. 

This  caste  feeling  will  be  killed  out,  partly  by  experience  on  th 
part  of  the  employers,  and  partly  by  growth  of  education  on  the  par 
of  the  employed.     We  must  always  remember  that  the  factory  system  -^^  & 

the  parent  of  so  many  trade  troubles,  has  been  little  more  than  i^^^-^^^^s. 
century  in  existence,  and  trade  unions,  without  which  joint  boards^'"  _^-s«-*str 
can,  perhaps,  not  exist,  have  only  been  fully  legalised  for  the  "^^sls^ ^^_^,^rj 
fifteen  years.  Daring  four-fifths  of  the  existence  of  the  factoiy  "^^^ ^^^ 
system  the  law  itself  adopted  the  idea  of  the  supremacy  of  the^'^^ 
employer.  The  old  domestic  systera  of  manufacture  died  out  with 
the  utilisation  of  the  steam  engine.  '  The  patriarchal  systeim 
applied  to  labour  died  out  with  the  growth  of  the  great  factories,  bu 
the  masters  practically  retained  for  long  years  the  power  to  combine 
and  to  regulate  labour  as  they  thought  best,  and  to  keep  wages  down, 
whilst  the  men  were  comparatively  powerless.  Fifteen  years  is  far 
short  a  period  to  admit  of  the  uprooting  of  the  jealousy,  the  distrust, 


i89o]  SETTLEMENT  OF  LABOUR  DISPUTES.  739 

■  "tlie  lieart-bumiDgB  on  the  one  side,  and  the  dominant  feeling  upon  the 
ofclxer,  which  ninety  years  gave  strength  to.  It  is  not  surprising  that 
there  are  masters  who  cling  to  the  old  relationehip  of  superior  and 
JTrferior,  of  master  and  servant,  who  have  still  the  feeling  that  they 
cir<e  "the  benefactors  of  the  men  who  give  them  the  agreed  amount  of 
latjoxir  in  exchange  for  the  agreed  amount  of  their  coin.  For  that  is, 
affcer*  all,  the  view  generally  entertained  and  sanctioned,  by  no  less  an 
anfcliority  than  Society  itself,  which  regards  men  who  get  money  in 
exrclaange  for  work  as  inferior,  bnfc  men  who  get  money  for  doing 
noticing  as  superior  beings,  ipso  facto.  And  wherever  the  old  feeling, 
tH^    old  feudal  feeling,  prevails  amongst  employers — wherever  employers. 

I^o      :i3ot  recognise  that  the  relationship  of  master  and  servant  has  been 
^-^csXaanged  for  that  of  the  purchaser  and  the  seller  of  labour — the  old 
»ov»1)ting,    antagonistic,    warlike  feeling  will  be  found  amongst  the 
©>3a^^>loyed. 
^5o  long  as  eraployera  endeavour  to  insist  that  their  views  alone 
**^^^.H  be  considered  in  the  regulation  of  labour,  bo  long,  in  any  case  of 
**^^^X3.culty,  will  war  prevail.     The  men   will  believe  that  the  masters 
^'<^'«-ald  not  advocate  a  peaceful  solution  unless  they  had   some  strong 
■P*^<:^"fcive  to  do  so,  and  unless  it  must  result  to  their  advantage,  and  both 
P*^^^c— ties   will   be  inclined  to   think  that  any  peaceful  decision  which 
^-^  ^^  ^ht  be  oome  to  would  only  be  obsen-ed  if  it  were  not  convenient  to 
^■•-'ti'^laer  of  them  to  disregard  it. 

—Again,  the  feeling  to  which  I  have  alluded  arouses  an  unwillingness 

^-**^*-       the  part  of  employers  in  any  way  to  recognise  unions  amongst 

^_J^^^^  men,  and  the  interference  of  "outsiders  "  in  their  business  affairs. 

."^  i^*-ds  places  a  serioQS  obstacle  in  the  way  of  the  peaceful  settlement  of 

^^  »^;^>our  disputes  by  a  Joint  Board  of  Conciliation  and  Arbitration,   for 

;h  a  board  can  only  exist  in  any  trade  if  it  represents  practically 

5  whole  of  such  trade  in  any  special  district,  and  such  representation 

^-^  ^^      most  readily   ensured  where  th©  employers  and  employed  of  the 

-*-^trict  each   have   strong  and  general   associations.     Before  either 

:*^^  ^^^rty  consents  to  join  a  board  it  must  be  satisfied  that  the  other  is  so 

^^J^^'^'^y  representative  that  the  decision  of  the  board  will  be  authoritative, 

^^^^^d  will  be  practically  recognised  and  obeyed  by  the  trade  of  the 

^"^■^  ^strict,   for  the  ultimate  sanction  of  arbitration  and  conciliation  is 

^^"%irikes  and  locks-out. 

Then,  again,  the  idea  of  furnishing  information  to  others  about  their 

^-^'wn    business    transactions    has    been   a   stumljling-block    to    some 

^^  mployers  who  have  begun  to  think  seriously  about  adopting  industrial 

^^:)eace.     Now,  in  order  that  any  discussion  of  trade  difficulties  may  be 

k^^io  profit  there  must   be    an   equal    knowledge   on  both  sides  of  all 

lecessary  facts.     It  is  not  enough  that  the  employers  should  make 

^38rtain  statements.     The  point  of  view  of  the  buyer  and  seller  is  never 

%he  same.     However  anxious  for  the  truth  a  man  may  be,   •'  where 


I 


740 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[1 


self  the  wavering  balance  shakes,  it's  rarely  right  adjusted."     E"v?-^u^ 
when  such  facts  as  can  be  are  actualliy  ascertained,  and  their  accor^vcTy- 
guaranteed,  the  conclusions  drawn  from  them  often  differ  so  wi3.^1y 
that  a  third  party  must  be  called  in  to  decide  which  view  is    "t^lie 
correct  one.     But  not  only  have  many  employers  the  old  feeling  fcln  ^t 
they  only  have  the  right  to  be  judge,  and  that  questions  of  pri<3^s^ 
wages,  and  so  forth  are  for  them  alone ;  but  each  employer  ia,       ijQ 
relation  to  other  employers,  in  the  position  of  a  competitor,  and  <3o^»« 
not  wish  to  disclose  anything  to  those  who  may  take  advantage  of       it 
to  hia  detriment.      The  verj'  knowledge  that  there  must  be  openn^s^^^ 
in  the  place  of  secrecy,  the  ignorance  of  how  far  this  may  go,  the  fe*  ^^. 
that  it  may  militate  against  his  interests,  are  barriers  in  the  way       '^^'^ 
the  formation  of  a  lx)ard,  the  undoubted  merits  of  which  eeem  to  ht^'—^ 
to  be  paid  for  at  too  great  a  price. 

]'ut  this,  in  common  with  the  other  objections  to  joint  boards, 
vanish  with  full  knowledge  of  their  character,  and  with  even  a  eligb^ 
experience  of  their  actual  working.     The  books  of  an  employer  ar 
neither  disclosed  to  other  employers  nor  to  the  employed.     No  evidei 
is  given  or  asked  for  which  mentions  the  profits  which  are  being  mads^ 
The  books  of  each  firm,  which  has  given  in  its  adherence  to  th-  ^-■ 
hoard,    are    periodically  examined  by  a  skilled  accountant,  who 
pledged  to  absolute  secrfcy.     At  the  close  of  his  investigations  h». 
gives  the  result  he  has  arrived  at,  the  average  selling  price  which  h& 
been  obtained  during  the  period  examined.     I  have  never  heard  an;; 
instance  of  an  employer  receiving   the    amallest  injury   from   sue! 
investigation. 

I  have  already  pointed  out  that,  speaking  generally,  the  decisioE 
which  have  been  come  to  by  voluntary  conciliation  or  arbitration  hav» 
been  loyally  accepted  and   acted  upon   by  both  parties.     In  the  his- 
tory of  joint  boards,  there  are,  indeed,  cases  recorded  where  this  has 
not  been  so,  but  they  have   been  the  rare  exceptions,  and  have  no'' 
been  upon  one  side  only,  and  loyal  acceptance  has  been  the  rule.     M 
must  put  this   point  emphatically ;    for   the  experience  which   I  have 
had   in    several    industries,    but  especially  in  that   of  which  I  have 
Been  the  most,  the  finished  iron  trade  of  the  North  of  England,  and 
that  exclusively  during  an  unsettled  and  trying  period,  has  abundantlj 
'shown  me  that  awards,  come  to   after   patient  hearing   and   careful 
consideration,  are  received  with  a  loyalty  and  appreciation  which  are 
not  only  satisfactory  and  surprising,  but  which  also  give,  t-o  the  person 
called  upon  to  decide,  confidence  and  encouragement  in  the  performance 
of  a  delicate,  difficult,  and  often  painful  duty. 

And  not  only  so,  but  the  fact  of  sitting  round  the  same  table  and 

ening  to  each  other's  arguments  ;  the  endeavour  to  see  each  other's 

Ipoiut  and  to   understand  each  other's  reasons ;  the  learning  to 

M  well  as  to   take ;  to  bear  and   forbear ;  to  hold  your  own 


SETTLEMENT  OF  LABOUR  DISPUTES. 


741 


ion  firmly  and  to  express  it  moderately,  -whilst  keeping  your 
Ld  open  to  conviction  ;  the  desire  to  come  to  a  sound  and  fair 
<jlusion  ;  these  things  arc  valuable  in  promoting  mutual  good- 
1.  ing,  confidence,  and  sympathy,  which  evidence  themselves  in  many 
ys  outside  of  the  sphere  in  which  thoy  have  been  acquired,  and 
k3  tend  to  lessen  the  caste  feeling  to  which  I  have  alluded,  and 
ch  18  not  one  of  the  most  wholesome  features  of  our  English  life. 
5j  friendly  meeting  is  the  best  feature  of  voluntary  conciliation, 
3  is  the  grand  distinction  between  it   and  conciliation  under  the 

r      . 

TI  think,  then,  that  the  best  way  to  secure  the  peaceful  solution  of 
X)ur  disputes  is  to  promote  the  formation  of  Joint  Boards  of  Con- 
aition  and  Arbitration  in  all  branches  of  industry,  and,  in  order  that 
irTi  boards  may  be  readily  fonned  with'^'th©  greatest  chance  of  suc- 
a,  to  encourage  combinations  both  of  employers  and  of  employed. 
L^elieve  that  there  will  be  an  increasing  tendency,  as  sach  boards 
ntinae  to  perform  their  peaceful  mission,  for  the  unions  to  become 
L6S,  instead  of  competitors,  to  the  great  benefit  of  Ixith  classes,  and 
the  community  of  which  they  form  so  important  a  part, 
I  need  scarcely  say  that  I  have  not  dwelt  upon  the  question  of 
k«leavouring  to  make  either  arbitration  or  conciliation  compulsory 
r~  Act  of  rarliament,  although  that  Las,  from  time  to  time,  found 
t locates,  because  I  do  not  think  that  anything  of  the  kind  is  likely 
►  obtain  acceptance  in  this  country.  It  is  entirely  opposed  to  the 
t scries  and  practice  alike  of  the  employers  and  the  employed,  and 
KDald  be  altogether  a  retrograde  step.  There  ia  in  certain  minds  an 
t*noHt  pathetic  love  of  legislation,  and  especially  for  other  people, 
lat  those  who  would  bo  the  most  aflected  will  scarcely  consent  to 
btom  to  the  plan  which  was  tried  through  last  century  and  failed, 
b  it  would  fail  again  even  though  it  were  greatly  modified, 

I  would  only  add,  in  conclusion,  that  I  have  no  desire  to  urge  the 

brsal  adoption  of  Joint  Boards  of  Conciliation  and  Arbitration, 
lied  upon  that  which  I  Iiave  described.  Tliere  are  cases  in 
Mch  industrial  peace  has  been  secured  in  other  ways,  and  it  may 
ft  be  that,  in  industries  where  there  are  few  fluctuations  in  the 
mg  price  of  the  article  manufactured,  there  is  no  need  for  the 
nachincry  of  a  joint  board.  So  long  as  the  desired  end  ia  attained, 
BB  choice  of  road  is  not  a  matter  of  importance.  But  it  is  well  to 
piow  that  a  certain  road  is  a  safe  and  sure  one ;  and  it  is  of  the  first 
importance  to  understand  that  the  English  working  men  do  not  yet 
bok  to  the  law  as  their  saviour,  bat  still  act  upon  the  old  maxim 
|3iat  Heaven  helps  those  who  help  themselves. 


Robert  Spence  Watson. 


THE  RACE  BASIS   OF  INDIAN   POLITICAL 

MOVEMENTS. 


ON  &  stone  panel  forming  part  of  one  of  the   grandest  Buddhist 
monuments  in  India — the  great  tope  at  Sanchi — a  carving  in  1 
low  relief  depicts  a  strange  religious  ceremony.      Under  trees  with' 
conventional  foliage  and  fruits,  three  women,  attired  in  tight  clothing] 
without  skirts,  kneel  in  prayer  before  a  small  shrine  or  altar.     In  the] 
foreground,  the  leader  of  a  procession  of  monkeys  bears  in  both  hands] 
«  bowl  of  liquid  and  stoops  to  offer  it  at  the  shrine.     His  solemn 
countenance  and  the  grotesquely  adoring  gestures  of  hia  oomndesj 
seem  intended  to  express  reverence  and  humility.     In  the  background 
four  stately  figures — two  men  and  two  women — of  tall  stature  and 
regular  features,  clothed  in  flowing  robes  and  wearing  most  elaborate 
turbans,  look  on   with  folded   hands   and   apparent  approval   at  tbif 
remarkable  act  of  worship.     Antiquarian  speculation  has  for  the  most 
part  passed  the  panei  by  nnnoticed,  or  has  sought  to  associate  it  with 
some  pious  legend  of  the  life  of  Buddha.     A  larger  interest,  however, 
attaches  to  the  scene,  if  it  is  regarded  as  the  sculptured  expression  of 
the  race  sentiment  of  the  Aryans  towards  the  Dravidians,  which  now 
through  the  whole  course  of  Indian  tradition  and  survives  in  scarcely 
abated  strength  at  the  present  day.     On  this  view  the  relief  would 
belong  to  the  same  order  of  ideas  as  the  story  in  the  Ramayan*  of 
the  anny  of  apes  who  assisted   Rama  in  the  invasion  of  Ceylon.    It 
shows  us  the  higher  race  on  friendly  terms  with  the  lower,  but  keenly 
conscious  of  the  essential  difference  of  type  and  not  taking  part  in  the 
ceremony  at  which  they  appear  as  patronising  spectators.    An  attempt 
is  made  in  the  following  pages  to  show  that  the  race  sentiment,  v]dch 
this  curious  sculpture  represents,  so  far  from  being  a  figment  of  tie 
intolerant  pride  of  the  Brahman,  rests  npon  a  basis  of  fact  whici 
scientific  methods  confirm,  that  it  has  shaped  the  intricate  groapiogB 


1890] 


RACE  BASIS  IN  INDIAN  POLITICS. 


743 


of  the  caste  syatem,  and  has  preeerved  the  Aryan  type  in  comparative 
purity,  and  finally,  that  within  the  last  few  years  it  has  helped  to 
unite  the  moat  advanced  classes  of  the  Indian  people  in  an  organised 
eflFort  to  win  for  themselves  the  characteristic  Aryan  boon  of  repre- 
sentative institutions. 

Some  seven  years  ago,  when  the  vast  array  of  figures  called  up  by 
the  last  census  of  India  was  being  gradually  worked  into  shape,  it 
occurred  to  the  Censns  Commissioner  that  this  costly  statistical 
material  might  be  made  the  basis  of  an  attempt  to  extend  and 
systematise  our  knowledge  of  the  cuatoms,  beliefs,  and  occupations  of 
the  Indian  people.  Sir  William  Plowden's  suggestions  for  an  inquiry 
directed  towards  this  end  were  submitted  to  the  Government  of  India 
and  commended  by  them  to  the  various  provincial  governments,  with 
a  pious  hope  that  something  might  be  done  to  carry  them  out.  In 
most  provinces  short  work  was  made  of  them  by  the  abhorred  shears 
of  finance.  The  inquirj'  was  bound  to  cost  money  j  it  did  not 
promise  any  immediate  return ',  and  local  governments  straitened  in 
their  revenues  were  naturally  disinclined  to  try  experiments.  In 
Bengal  the  seed  fell  on  more  fruitful  soil.  The  larger  aspects  of  the 
proposal  were  realised,  and  early  in  1885  it  was  developed  into  an 
ethnographic  survey  of  the  traditions,  usages,  beliefs,  and  social 
relations  of  the  seventy  miiliona  of  people  inhabiting  the  territories 
administered  by  the  Lieutenant-Governor  of  Bengal.  A  few  months 
later  the  scheme  was  extended  by  adding  to  it  an  anthropometric 
inqairy  on  lines  prescribed  by  Professor  Topinard  of  the  School  of 
Anthropology  at  Paris,  and  approved  by  Professor  W.  H.  Flower,  F.R.S., 
into  the  physical  characteristics  of  selected  castes  and  tribes  of  Bengal, 
the  North-West  Provinces,  Ondh,  and  the  Pan  jab.  The  record  of  these 
researches  has  been  printed  for  the  Government  of  Bengal.  It  fills 
four  large  octavo  volumes,  which,  although  complete  for  administra- 
tive purposes,  require  some  further  elaboration  before  they  can  be 
published  in  Europe. 

Before  attempting  to  sketch  the  main  results  of  the  Bengal  inquiries 
we  may  pause  for  a  moment  to  take  stock  of  our  terminology.  Thanks 
to  Sir  John  Lubbock  and  Dr.  E.  B,  Tylor  the  study  of  ethnography 
lias  of  late  years  begun  to  be  understood  in  England.  "  It  embraces," 
eays  M.  Elisee  Reclus,  "  the  descriptive  details  and  ethnology,  the 
rational  exposition  of  the  human  aggregates  and  organisations  known 
aa  hordes,  clans,  triboa,  and  nations,  especially  in  the  earlier,  the 
sarage,  and  barbarous  stages  of  their  progress."  In  other  words, 
ethnography  collects  and  arranges  large  masses  of  social  data ; 
ethnology  applies  the  comparative  method  of  investigation,  and  frames 
by  this  means  hypotheses  concerning  the  origin  of  the  tribes  themselves. 

The  less  familiar  anthropometry  has  an  ancient  and  curious  history. 
.By  its  aid  the  Egyptian  sculptors  of  Camac  and  Memphis  worked  out 


744 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


iiUr 


an  artistic  canon  of  the  ideal  proportions   of  the  human  figure,  til© 
influence  of  which  may  be  traced  in  Greek  art;,  which  was  studied  by 
Dft  Vinci  and  Dfirer,  and  which  has  descended  to  French  studios  ia 
the  form  given  to  it  by  their  contemporary  Jean  Cousin.      Ita  latest 
application  may  be  witnessed  in  a  branch  of  the  Prefecture  of  Police 
at  Paris,  where  the  features   and   limbs  of  convicted   criminals  are 
measured  under  scientific  supervision,  and  the  results  recorded  witli  a 
view  to  tracing  their  identity  in  future.     For  our  present  purpose 
anthropometry  may  be  di^fined  as  the  science  which  seeks,  by  measuriDg 
certain   leading   physical   charactfrs,    such    as   the   stature  and  th^ 
proportions  of  the  head,  features,  and  limbs,  to  ascertain  and  clnasifr 
the  chief  types  of  mankind,  and  eventually  by  analysing  their  points 
of  agreement  and  difference  to  work  back  to  the  probable  origin  of 
the  various  race-stocka  now  traceable.      Like  ethnography  and  ethno- 
logy, it  forms  part  of  the  circle  of  studies  grouped  together  under  the 
head  of  anthropology. 

Looked  at  merely  as   a  scientific  experiment,   an   anthropometric 
examination  of  even  a  small  fraction  of  the  people  of  India  promised 
to  yield  results  of  no  ordinary  interest.     Nowhere  else  in  the  world 
do  we  find  the  population  of  a   large  continent  broken  up  into  on 
infinite  number  of  mutually  exclusive  aggregates,   the   membera  of 
which  are  forbidden  by  an  inexorable  social  law  to  marry  outside  of 
the  group  to  which  they   themselves  belong.     "Whatever  may  have 
been  the  origin  and  the  earlier  dpyelopments  of  the  caste  system,  tlufl 
absolute  prohibition  of  mixed  marriages  stands  forth   at  the   prpsemt 
day  as  its  essential  and  most  prominent  characteristic,  and  the  feeling 
against  such  unions  is  so  deeply  engrained  in  the  people  that  even  the 
Theistic  and  reforming  sect  of  the  Brahmo  Samaj  has  found  a  difficalty 
in  freeing  itself  from  the  ancient  prejudices.      In  a   society  tlos 
organised,  a  society  sncriEcing  everything  to  pridt:^  of  blood  and  tie 
idea  of  social  purity,  it  seemed  that  differences  of  phj'sical  type,  how- 
ever produced  in  past  time,  might  be  expected  to  manifest  a  higb 
degree  of  persistence,  and  that  the  scifuco  which   seeks  to  trace  aad 
express  such  differences  would  find  a  peculiarly  favourable  fielJ  for  its 
Operations.     In  Europe  anthropometry  has  to  confess  itself  hindered, 
if  not  baffled,  by  the   constant  intermixture  of  races  which  tends  to 
obscure  and  confuse  the  data  arrived  at  by  measurement.    In  acoaatrr 
where  such  intermixture  is  to  a  large  extent  eliminated,  there  weft> 
grounds  for  believing  that  divergent  types  would  reveal  themseJrM 
more  clearly,  and  that  their  characteristics  would  furnish  somecioeto 
their  original  race  affinities. 

Apart  from  these  special  conditions,  the  necessity  of  having  recoara? 
to  methods  of  research  more  exact  in  their  character  aud  less  misleading 
in  their  results  than  the  mere  collation  of  ca^^joTflB  mv^  beliefs  wts 
brought  into  prominence   by   the   transform aJOvss^  '"^'^^  rw^^^  * 


1890] 


RACE  BASIS  IN  INDIAN  POLITICS. 


745 


gradually  bringing  about  in  Indian  society.  At  the  risk  of  driving 
patient  analogy  too  bard,  we  may  perhaps  venture  to  compare  the 
social  gradations  of  the  Indian  caste  system  to  a  serious  of  geological 
deposits.  The  successive  strata  in  each  aeries  occupy  a  definite  posi- 
tion determined  by  the  manner  of  their  formation,  and  the  varying 
customs  in  the  one  may  be  said  to  represent  the  fossils  in  the  other. 
The  lowest  castes  preserve  the  most  primitive  customs,  just  as  the 
oldest  geological  formations  contain  the  simplest  forms  of  organic  life. 
Thus,  the  totems  or  animal-names,  by  which  the  Kols  and  Santals 
regulate  their  matrimonial  arraogementSj  give  place,  as  we  travel 
upwards  in  the  social  scale,  to  group-names  based  upon  local  and 
territorial  distinctions,  while  in  the  highest  castes  kinship  is  reckoned 

•  by  descent  from  personages  closely  resembling  the  eponymous  heroes 
of  early  Greek  tradition.  Even  the  destructive  agencies  to  which  the 
imperfection  of  the  geological  record  is  attributed  have  their  parallel  in 

tthe  transforming  influence  by  which  the  two  great  religions  ot*  modem 
India,  Brahmanism  and  Islam,  have  modified  the  social  order.  A 
carious  contrast  may  be  discerned  in  their  methods  of  working  and  in 
the  results  which  they  produce. 

Islam  is  a  force  of  the  volcanic  sort,  a  burning  and  integrating 
force,  which,  under  favourable  conditions,  may  even  make  a  nation. 
It  melts  and  fuses  together  a  whole  series  of  tribes,  and  reduces  their 
internal  structure  to  one  uniform  pattern,  in  which  no  survivals  of  pre- 
existing usage  can  be  detected.  The  separate  strata  disappear ;  their 
characteristic  fossils  are  crushed  out  of  recognition,  and  a  solid  mass 
of  law  and  tradition  occupies  their  place.  Brahmanism  knows 
nothinpr  of  open  proselytism  or  forcible  conversion,  and  attains  its  ends 
'ft  a  different  and  more  subtle  fashion,  for  which  no  precise  analogue 
**i^  l>e  found  in  the  physical  world.  It  leaves  existing  aggregates 
^®ry  "much  as  they  were,  and  so  far  from  wekling  tliem  together,  after 
the  manner  of  Islam,  into  larger  cohesive  aggregates,  tends  rather 
^  ^^^'eate  an  Lndefinite  number  of  fresh  groups ;  but  every  tribe  tbat 
P**Sos  within  the  charmed  circle  of  Hinduism  inclines  sooner  or  later 
^  ^"bandon  its  more  primitive  usages  or  to  clothe  them  in  some 
"^^Ixmanical  disguise.  The  strata,  indeed,  remain,  or  are  multiplied ; 
^^i**  relative  positions  are,  on  the  whole,  unaltered  j  only  their  fossils 
*"^  metamorphosed  into  more  advanced  forms.  One  by  one  the 
"■^i-^nt  totems  drop  ofT,  or  are  converted  by  a  variety  of  ingenious 
■^^ces  into  respectable  personages  of  the  standard  mythology ;  the 
"^*^5ih  gets  a  new  name,  and  is  promoted  to  the  Hindu  Pantheon  in 
^  guise  of  a  special  incarnation  of  one  of  the  greater  gods ;  the  tribal 
'•■^^f  sets  up  a  family  priest,  starts  a  more  or  lees  romantic  family 
^^■^snd,  and  in  course  of  time  blossoms  forth  as  a  new  variety  of 
Kj  put.  His  people  follow  his  lead,  and  make  haste  to  sacrifice  their 
len  at  the  shrine  of  social  distinction.  Infant  marriage  with  all 
'Vol.  lvii.  S  c 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mat 


its  attendant  Horrors  is  introduced ;  widows  are  forbidden  to  many 
again ;  and  divorce,  which  plays  a  great  and,  on  the  whole,  a  nsefal 
part  in  tribal  society,  is  Bummarily  abolished.  Throughout  all  theae 
changes,  which  strike  deep  into  the  domestic  life  of  the  people,  the 
fiction  is  maintained  that  no  real  change  has  taken  place,  and  every 
one  believes,  or  affects  to  believe,  that  things  are  with  them  as  they 
have  been  since  the  beginning  of  time. 

It  is  cnrious  to  observe  that  the  operation  of  these  tendencies  has 
been  quickened,  and  the  sphere  of  their  action  enlarged,  by  the  great 
extension  of  railways  which  has  taken  place  in  India  during  the  last 
few  years.     Both  Benares  and  Manchester  have  been  brought  nearer 
to  their  customers,  and  have  profited  by  the  increased  demand  for  their 
characteristic  wares.      Siva  and  Krishna  drive  out  the  tribal  gods  a^ 
surely  as  grey  shirtings  displace  the   more  durable  hand-woven  clotti  . 
Pilgrimages  become  more  pleasant  and  more   popular,  and   the  tout'^j^ 
who  sally  forth  from  the  great  religious  centres  to  promote  these  piot».a 
excursions,  find  their  task  easier  and  their  clients  more  open  to  pes  or— 
suasion  than  was  the  case  even  twenty  years  ago.      A  trip  to  Jaganna^-fctv  j 
or  Gya  is  no  longer  the  formidable  and  costly  undertaking  that  it  wa 
The  Hindu   peasant  who  is  pressed  to  kiss  the  footprints  of  VishE:»_tx 
or  to  taate  the  hallowed  rice  that  has  been  ofiered  to  the  Lord  of  fe.- "!:».« 
World,  may  now  reckon  the  journey  by  days  instead  of  months, 
need  no  longer  sacrifice  the  savings  of  a  lifetime  to  this  pious  objt 


and  he  has  a  reasonable  prospect  of  returning  home  none  the  wo: 
for  a  week's  indulgence  of  religious  enthusiasm.  Even  the  diat 
Mecx^a  has  been  brought,  by  means  of  Messrs.  Cook's  steamers  aJ 
return-tickets,  within  the  reach  of  the  faithful  in  India ;  and  tfc»-  ^ 
influence  ef  Mahomedan  missionaries  and  returned  pilgrims  has  mac*-'^^ 
itself  felt  in  a  quiet  but  steady  revival  of  orthodox  usage  in  Eastei 
Bengal, 

Rapidly  as  the  leveUing  and  centralising  forces  do  their  work, 
considerable  residue  of  really  primitive  usage  still  resists  their  trans- 
forming  influence.  The  race  element  remains,  for  the  most  part,  un- 
tonched.  Diversity  of  type  is  still  the  rule,  and  identity  the  eiceptioi 
among  the  manifold  groupings  of  the  Indian  people.  To  a  practised 
eye  the  personal  appearance  of  most  Hindus  gives  a  fairly  accurate 
clue  to  their  caste  ;  and  within  certain  limits  it  is  even  possible  to 
determine  the  strata  of  the  population  to  which  given  sections 
Mahomedans  must  have  belonged  before  their  conversion  to  Islam. 

The  BcientiGc  methods  which  anthropometry  prescribes  attempt  to 
fix  vague  personal  impressions  by  reducing  them  to  statistical  formulas. 
No  one  could  mistako  a  Brahman  for  a  Kol,  but  the  most  minute 
verbal  description  of  their  characteristic  differences  of  feature  falls  far 
short  of  the  numerical  analysis  that  can  be  arrived  at  by  measuring" 
specific  dimensions  of  the  head,  nose,   cheekbones,  orbits,  forehead, 


1890] 


RACE  BASIS  IN  INDIAN  POLITICS. 


747 


ind  zygomatic  arches,  and  ■working  out  their  proportions  by  the  system 
Jf  indices  invented  by  the  Swedish  anthi-opologist,  Andei-s  Retzius,  in 
1842.  Add  to  these  weight,  stature,  and  the  facial  angle  devised  by 
Cuvier,  extend  the  observations  to  about  a  hundred  specimens  of  each 
groap,  and  it  will  be  found  that  the  averages  calculated  from  this  masB 
of  figares  bring  out  a  uniform  tribal  type  to  which  all  individuals  tend 
to  conform.  The  data  thus  obtained  from  nearly  GOOO  persona,  repre- 
senting 89  of  the  leading  castes  and  tribes  in  Northern  India,  from  the 
Bay  of  Bengal  to  the  frontiers  of  Afghanistan,  enable  us  to  distinguish 
two  extreme  types  of  feature  and  physique,  which  may  be  provisionally 
lescribed  es  Aryan  and  Dravidian. 

In  adopting,  even  tentatively,  these  designations,  I  am  aware  that  I 
aa  disreganling  advice  which  Professor  Jlax  Midler  was  good  enough 
give  me,  about  three  years  ago,  in  a  letter  since  published  (I  believe) 
a.n  Appendix  to  his  latest  work.  He  warned  me  against  the  con- 
sion  which  might  arise  from  using  philological  terms  to  denote  eth- 
log-ical  conclusions.  I  am  entirely  sensible  of  the  value  and  the 
se^saity  of  the  warning,  and  fully  recognise  his  right  to  speak  with 
il»ority  on  such  questions.  But  we  must  have  some  general  namea 
our  types  ;  it  is  a  thankless  task  to  invent  new  names  ;  and  I  trust 
J  Ustify  my  invasion  of  the  domain  of  philology  by  the  universal 
entice  of  tlie  Indians  themselves,  and  by  the  example  of  Professor 
"^^e,  who  did  not  hesitate,  in  a  recent  number  of  this  IIeview,  to 
^Ic  of  the  Aryan  race  as  an  established  ethnic  aggregate. 
"lie  Aryan  type,  as  we  find  it  in  India  at  the  present  day,  is  marked 
^  relatively  long  (dolichocephalic)  head,  a  straight,  finely  cut 
^'^^o-rhine)  nose,  a  long  symmetrically  narrow  face,  a  well-developed' 
*li-ead,  regular  features,  and  a  high  facial  angle.  The  stature  is 
^y*  high,  ranging  from  171"G  centimeters  in  the  Sikhs  of  the  Panjab. 
L-05'6  in  the  Brahmans  of  Bengal ;  and  the  general  build  of  the 
'•^'^  is  well-proportioned,  and  slender  rather  than  massive.  In  the 
"^e  which  exhil>it  these  churactoristica  the  complexion  is  a  very  light 
^Sparent  brown — "  wheat- coloured  "  is  the  common  vernacular 
^fiption — noticeably  fain-r  than  that  of  the  mnss  of  the  popalation. 
"^^nr,  however,  is  a  character  which  eludes  all  attempts  to  record  or 
**i.e  its  gradations,  and  even  the  e.^reme  varieties  can  only  be 
^fibed  in  verj'  general  terms.  As  representative  Aryan  castes  we 
^y  name  the  Sikhs  and  Kliatris  of  the  Panjab,  and  the  Brahmans, 
^yaaths,  Babhans,  and  Chattris  of  Bengal  and  the  North-West  Pro- 
■ices.  A  larger  series  of  mt-asuremfnt  would  probably  add  several" 
^T©  castes  to  the  list,  especially  in  the  Panjab,  where  the  observa-, 
*>ns  were  greatly  restricted  by  financial  difficulties. 

In  the  Dravidian  type  the  form  of  the  head  usually  inclines  to  be 
iolichocephalic,  but  all  other  characters  jjresent  a  marked  contrast  to 
he  Aryan.     The  nose  is  thick  and  broad,  and  the  formula  expressbg' 


748 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


tlLir 


ita  proportionate  dimeuaions  is  higher  than  in  any  known  race,  except 
the  Negro.  The  facial  angle  is  conipai-atively  low  ;  the  lips  are  thick; 
the  face  wide  and  fleshy  ;  the  features  coarse  and  irregular.  The 
average  stature  ranges  in  a  long  series  of  tribes  from  150*2  to  1621 
centimeters  ;  the  figure  is  squat,  and  the  limbs  sturdy.  The  colour  of 
the  skin  varies  from  very  dark  brown  to  a  shade  closely  approaching 
black.  The  most  characteristic  Dravidian  tribes  are  the  Male  Pahariae 
of  the  Hajmahal  hills,  and  the  Mundaa  and  Oraons  of  the  Chota  Nagpur 
plateau."  The  two  latter  are  better  kno^Ti  under  the  general  name  of 
Kol,  which,  according  to  Herr  Jellinghaus,  the  best  authority'  on  this 
subject,  means  "  pig-killer  "  or  "  pig-eater,"  and  belongs  to  the  large 
class  of  epithets  by  which,  since  Vedic  times,  the  Aryans  have  expressed 
fheir  contempt  for  the  voracious  and  promiscuous  appetite  of  the 
Dravidian. 

Between   these   extreme  types,  which   may  fairly  be   regarded  as 
repre.senting  two  distinct  races,  we  find  a  large  number  of  intermediate 
groups,   each   of  which  forms    for    matrimonial  purposes  a  sharply 
defined  circle,  beyond   which   none  of   its   members  can  pass.     By 
applying   to    the    entire   series   the   nasal   index   or    formula   of  the 
proportions  of  the  nose,  which  Professors  Flower  and  Topinard  agre* 
in  regarding  as  the  beat  test  of  race  distinctions,  some  remarkable 
results  are  arrived  at.     The  average  nasal  proportions  of  the  Mal6 
Pah^ria  tribe  are  expressed  by  the  figure  94'5,  while  the  pastoral  Gujars 
of  the  Panjab  have  an  index  of  GG'O,  the  Sikha  of  68'8,  and  the  Bengal 
Brahmans   and    Kayasths    of    70-4.      In    other    words,    the    typical 
Dravidian,  as  represented  by  the  Malo  Paharia,  has  a  nose  as  broad 
in  proportion  to  ita  length  as  the  Negro,  while  this  feature  in  tUo 
Aryan  group  can  fairly  bear  comparison  with  the  noses  of  8ixty-eig»*t 
Parisians,  measured  by   Topinard,  which  gave  an   average  of  Gi**'*' 
Even  more  striking  is  the  curiously  close  correspondence  between,  t^* 
gradations  of  racial  type  indicated  by  the  nasal  index  and  certain     **^ 
the  social  data  ascertained  by  independent   inquiry.     If  we  tak^    ^ 
series  of  castes  in  Bengal  Behar,  or  the  North-Western  Provinces,  ^"**"^ 
arrange  thcTU  in  the  order  of  the  average  nasal  index,  so  that 
caste   with   tho   finest   nose  shall   be  at  the  top,  and  that  with 
coarsest   at  the  bottom  of  the  list,  it  will  be  found  that  this  o 
substantially  corresponds  with  the  accepted  order  of  social  precede**^ 
The  casteless  tribes,  Kols,  Korwaa,  Mundas,  and  the  like,  who   1**^ 
not   yet  entered   the  Brahmanical   system,  occupy  the   lowest  t>^ 
in  both   series.      Then   come   the    vermin-eating   Mussihars   and 
leather-dressing   Chanidrs.     Tho   fisher    castes  of  Bauri,  Bind, 
Kewat  are   a  trifle  higher  in   the    scale ;     the    pastoral    Goala, 


the 

race- 
ave 
ace, 


I 


anil 
the. 


cultivating  Kurmi,  and  a  group  of  cognate  castes  from  whose  l»«'^'-° 

*  The  distinction  between  Dravidian  and  Kolarian  tribes,  on  wMch  stress  is  \.»m.*^  "^ 
ome  writers,  seems  to  be  purely  linguiatic. 


fSi 


RACE  BASIS  IN  INDIAN  POLITICS. 


749 


Brahman  may  take  water,  follow  in  due  order,  and  from  them  we 
188  to  the  trading  KJiatris,  the  land-holding  BAbhans,  and  the  upper 
ust  of  Hindu  society.  Thus,  it  is  scarcely  a  paradox  to  lay  down  as 
law  of  the  caste  organisation  in  Eastern  India  that  a  man's  social 
atna  varies  in  inverse  ratio  to  the  width  of  his  nose.  Nor  is  thia 
le  only  point  in  which  the  two  sets  of  observations — the  social  and 
le  physical — bear  out  and  illustrate  each  other.  The  character  of  the 
irious  matrimonial  groupings  for  which  the  late  Mr.  J.  F.  McLennan 
jvised  the  happy  terra  exogamous,  also  varies  in  a  definite  relation 
t  the  gradations  of  physical  type.  Within  a  certain  range  of  nasal 
■oportions,  these  subdivisions  are  based  exclusively  on  the  totem, 
long  with  a  somewhat  finer  form  of  nose,  groups  called  after 
llages  and  larger  territorial  areas,  or  bearing  the  name  of  certain 
ibal  or  communal  officials,  begin  to  appear,  and  above  tliese  again 
e  reach  the  eponymous  saints  and  heroi-s,  who  in  India,  as  in 
reece  and  Rome,  are  associated  with  a  certain  stage  of  Aryan 
regress. 

It  would  be  vain  to  attempt  within  the  compass  of  a  magazine 
iicle  to  analyse  and  compare  the  large  mass  of  figures  which  hare  been 
>llected,  or  to  develop  at  length  the  inferences  which  they  may  be 
lought  to  suggest.  We  can  only  glance  at  a  few  of  their  more  im- 
ortanib  bearings.  In  the  first  place,  it  deserves  notice  that  tlie  data 
btained  by  the  most  modem  anthropological  method  agree  in  the 
lain  not  only  with  the  long  chain  of  Indian  tradition,  beginning  with 
le  Vedas  and  ending  with  the  latest  vernacular  treatise  on  the  theory 
nd  practice  of  caste,  but  also  with  the  rationalised  and  critical  story 
r  the  making  of  the  Indian  peoples,  as  it  has  been  told  by  Sir  William 
[unter  in  the  "  Imperial  Gazetteer."  Here  the  historian  shows  how, 
irough  the  veil  of  fable  and  miracle  in  which  pre-historic  India  is 
arouded,  traces  may  be  discerned  of  a  protracted  struggle  between  a 
rwer  and  a  higher  race,  which  would  have  tended  to  produce  much 
iie  same  results  as  our  statistics  bring  out.  Studied  in  the  light  of 
lese  statistics  it  would  seem  that  the  standard  Indian  theory  of  caste 
lay  deserve  more  respectful  consideration  than  has  been  accorded  to 
;  of  late  years. 

The  division  of  the  people  into  four  cksses  corresponding  roughly 
0  the  chief  professions  or  modes  of  life  of  the  time  is  in  itself 
ilansible  enough,  and  is  supported  by  parallel  cases  in  the  history  of 
.ncient  societies.  It  is  nowhere  stated  that  these  groups  were  rigidly 
occlusive,  like  modem  castes,  and  the  rules  laid  down  to  regulate  their 
atermarriage  show  a  general  resemblance  to  those  observed  by  the  Kulin 
tlasses  of  to-day.  So  far  as  anthropological  considerations  are  concerned 
ihere  would  be  no  great  difficulty  in  our  recognising  the  Brahmans 
Elajputs  and  higher  trading  castes  as  descendants  of  the  three  upper 
slasses — Brahmans,  Kshatriyas,  and   Vaisyas — of  the  ancient  Aryan 


750 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Hit 


Common  wealth.    The  Sudras  alone  have  no  compact  aggregate  as  their 
modern  representative.    But  the  fonrtli  caste  in  the  ancient  system  was 
apparently  not  of  pure  Aryan  descent,  and  it  is  aplausibleconjecturethat 
it  may  have  been  constantly  recruited  by  the  admission  of  Drandian 
elements.      The  dominant  Aiyan  society  must  have  exercised  a  stron/f 
attraction  on  the  Dravidians,  but  the  only  caste  into  which  the  latter 
could  ordinarily  expect  to  be   received  would  be   the  Sudra.     Their 
admission  into  this  group  would  doubtless  have  been  facilitated  by 
resort  to  the  liction,  characteristic  of  all  early  societies,  that  they  iuul 
belonged  ti  it  all  along.     But  such  accretions  must  have  swelled  the 
caste  to  unwieldy  dimensions  and  thus  have  introduced  the  tendency 
to  disintegration  or  fission,  which  affects  all  social  aggregates  in  India. 
In  course  of  time,  as  new  groups  split  ofl",  and  took  to  themselves  new 
names,  the  original  caste  would  have   been,  so  to  speak,  lost  in  the 
crowd,    and  only  a  small   nucleus  would  have   retained  its  original 
designation.     In  support  of  the  hypothesis  that  the  survivors  of  the 
ancient  Sudras  are  to  be  sought  among  the  higher  strata  of  the  so- 
caJled  mi.\ed  castes,  we  may  point   to  the  fact  that  a  group  of  castes, 
whose  physical  characters  approacli  more  closely  to  the  Aryan  than  to 
the  Dravidian  type,  still  cliog  to  the  name  Sudra,  and  regard  them- 
selves as  descendants  of  the  classical  fourth  caste. 

Modern  criticism  has  been  especially  active  in  its  attacks  on  that> 
portion  of  the  traditional  theory  which  derives  the  multitude  of  miie*i 
or  inferior  castes  from  an  intricate  series  of  crosses  between  member* 
of  the  original  four.  No  one  can  examine  the  long  lists  which  puC* 
port  to  illustrate  the  working  of  this  process  without  being  struck  ^^ 
much  that  is  absurd  aud  inconsistent.  But  in  India  it  does  nG^*" 
necessarily  follow  that,  because  the  individual  applications  of  a  principle  "* 
are  ridiculous,  the  principle  itself  can  have  no  foundation  in  fact.  Th-—  * 
last  thing  that  would  occur  to  the  literary  theorists  of  those  times,  c^^^J 
to  their  successor,  the  pand'di  of  to-day,  would  be  to  go  back  upo^^^^^^--'^ 
actual  facts,  and  to  seek  by  analysis  and  comparison  to  work  out  th— -^* 
true  stages  of  evolution.  They  found,  as  I  infer  from  troubleson^^^® 
experience  among  some  of  my  Indian  coadjutors,  the  a  priori  metho^^^ 
simpler  and  more  congenial.  That  at  least  did  not  compel  them 
pollute  their  soula  by  the  study  of  plebeian  usage.  Having  once  g 
hold  of  a  formula,  they  insisted,  like  Thales  and  his  contemporaries, 
making  it  account  for  the  entire  order  of  things.  Thus,  castes  whii^^  ch 
had  been  developed  out  of  corporations  like  the  medieval  trade-guil(5^:i^« 

or  which  expressed  the  distinction  between  fishing  and  hunting,  ag n- 

calture  and   handicrafts,  were  all  supposed  to   have  been  evolved 
interbreeding. 

But  the  initial  principle,  though  it  could  not  be  stretched  to  e 
everything,  was  in  the  main  correct.     It  happens  that  we  ( 
observe  its  workings  among  a  number  of  Dravidian  tribes,  whic 


I 


t«9o] 


RACE  BASIS  IN  INDIAN  POLITICS. 


751 


not  yet  drawn  into  the  vortex  of  Brahmanisin,  have  been  in  some  degree 
affected  by  the  example  of  Hindu  organisation.     As  regards  inter- 
tribal marriages,  they  seem  to  be  in  a  stage  of  development  through 
which  the  Hindus  themselves  have  passed.     A  man  may  marry  a  woman 
of  another  tribe,   but  the   offspring  of  such  unions  do  not   become 
members  of  either  the  paternal  or  maternal  groups,  but  belong  to  a 
distinct  endogamous  aggregate,  tlie  name  of  which  often  denotes  the 
precise   cross  by  which  it  was   started.     Among   the  large  tribe  of 
idas  we   find,   for   instance,  nine   snch  grotips — Khangar-Mnnda, 
iria-Munda,     Konkpat-Munda,     Karanga-Munda,    llahili-Munda, 
Nsigbansi-Munda,  Oraon-Manda,  Sad-Munda,  Savar-ilunda — descended 
from  intermarriages  between  Munda  men  and  women  of  other  tribes. 
The  Mahilis,  again,  have  five  sub-tribes  of  this  kind,  and  themselves 
"trace  their  descent  to  the  union  of  a  Munda   with  a  Santdl  woman. 
Illustrations  of  this  sort  might  be  multiplied  almost  indefinitely.    The 
point    to   be   observed   is  that   the  sub-tribes  formed  by  intertribal 
crossing  are  from  an  early  stage  complete  endogamous  units,  and  that 
they  tend  continuelly  to  sever  their  slender  connection  with  the  parent 
jfroup,  and  stand  forth  as  independent  tribes.      As  soon  as  this  comes 
I  to  pass,  and  a  functional  or  territorial  name  disguises  their  mixed 
descent,  the  process  by  which  they  have  been  formed  is  seen  to  resemble 
closely  that  by  which  the  standard  Indian  tradition  seeks  to  explain 
the  appearance  of  other  castes  alongside  of  the  claaaica!  four. 

From  the  literarj'  theor}'  of  caste  we  are  led  on  to  speculate  regard- 

I  ing  the  origin  of  caste  itself.      How  comes  it  that  the   Arynn  race, 

which  in  South  Europe,  as  Herr   Penka  has  shown,  has  modified  its 

physical  type  by  free  intermixture  with  Turanian  elements,  displayed 

in  India  a  marked  antipathy  to   marriage  with  persons  of  alien  race, 

[  and  devised  an   elaborate  system  of   taboo  for  the  prevention  of  such 

nnions  ?     An  explanation  may,  perhaps,  be  found  in  the  fact  that  in 

India  alone  were  the  Aryans  brought  into  close   contact  with  an  un- 

i  equivocally  black  race.     The  sense  of  differences  of  colour  which,  for 

all  our  talk  of  common  humanity,  still  plays  a   grt^at,  and,  politically, 

oft«n    an  inconvenient,  part  in  the  history  of  the  world,  finds  forcible 

expression  in  the  Vedic  descriptions  of  the  people  whom  the  Aryans 

found  in  posgepsion  of  thf^  plains   of  India.      In  a  well-known  passage 

the  god  Indra  is  pi'aised  for  having  protected  the  Aryan  colour,  and 

fthe  word  meaning  colour  (vama)  is  need  down  to  the  present  day  as 

"the  equivalent  of  cnstf,   more  especially  with   reference  to  the  castes 

'%>elieved  to  be  of  Aryan  descent.      Another  text  depicts  the  Dasyus  or 

Dravidians  as  noseless  ;  others  dwell  on  their  low  stature,  their  coarse 

eatures,  and  their  voracious  appetite.     It  is  hardly  an  exaggeration 

V  that  trnm    th^jje   sources   there  might  be  compiled  a    fairly 

nition  of  the  Dravidian  tribes  of  to-day. 

regates  which  would  be  included   in 


752 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Hat 


the  definition  represent  the  lower  end  of  a  long  series  of  social 
gradations  which  ia  their  turn  correspond  not  only  to  varieties  of 
physical  type,  bat  also  to  peculiarities  of  custom  and  tribal  structure, 
it  is  obviously  but  a  short  step  to  the  conclusion  that  the  motive 
principle  of  Indian  caste  is  to  be  sought  in  tbe  antipathy  of  the  higher 
race  for  the  lower,  of  the  fair-skinned  Aryan  for  the  black  Dravidian. 

It  will  be  said,  reasonably  enough,  that  tliis  hypothesis,  however 
applicable  to  certain  larger  groups,  fails  to  account  for  the  vast  net- 
work of  intricate  divisions  which  the  caste  system  now  presents.  The 
differences  of  type  which  distinguish  the  various  trading,  agricultural, 
pastoral,  and  fishing  castes  from  each  otier  are,  it  may  be  argued, 
not  sharp   enough  to  have  brought  the  sentiment  of  race  antipathy 
into  play.     On  what  principle,  then,  were  these  multifarious  groups 
separated  from  the  larger  aggregates  of  which  they  formed  part  ?     I 
would  reply,  by  the   influence  of  fiction — a  factor  which  Sir  Henry 
Maine  has  shown  to  have  contributed  largely  to  the  development  o£ 
early  societies.      For  illustrations  of  the  working  of  this  principle  we 
need  not   ti"avel  far.     The    caste-making  impulse  has  by  no  mean 
spent  its  force,  and  its  operation  can  be  studied  in  most  Indian  districi 
at    the    present  day.      In   Bengal,  where  the  Aryan   and  Dravidi; 
elements  are  in  continual  contact,  it  has  created  a  series  of  end 
gamoua  groups,  which  may  be  roughly  classified  as  Ethnic,  P-r^nif'^^      w  ? 
or  lAnguistic,  Territorial  or  Local,  Functional  or  Occu pat  io7ial.  Sect 
Tia7i,  and    Social.     In  the    first   of  these  classes  the  race    basis 
palpable  and  acknowledged.     The  others  have  been  generated  by  tl 
fiction    that    men  who  speak  a  diil'erent  language,  who  dwell    in 
different    distiict,  who  worship  different  gods,  who  observe  diffe: 
social  customs,  who  follow  a  different  profession,  or  practise  the  sai 
profession  in  a  slightly  different  way,  must  be   of  a  fundamental 
different  race.     Usually,  and  in  the  case  of  sub-castes  invariably,  t 
fact  is  that  there  is    no  appreciable  difference  of  race  between  t 
newly  formed  group    and  the   aggregate    from    which    it  has 
broken  off 

If   then  caste  was  an  institution  evolved  by  the  Aryans  in 
attempt  to  preserve  the  pimty  of  their  own  stock,  and  afterwa: 
expanded  and  adapted,  by  the  influence  of  a  series  of  fictions,  to  fit 
endless  variety  of  social,  religious,  and  industrial  conditions,  we  m; 
expect  that  the  physical  data  recently  collected  will  have  some  bearin 
on    Herr    Karl  Penka's  speculations    concerning  the   origin    of  tlr::^^^ 
Aryans  themselves.     Clearly  the  Indian  Aryans  represent  the  furthe* 
extension  of  tho  race  towards  the  East.     All   along  the  eastern 
northern  frontier  of  Bengal  we  meet  with  a  fringe  of  compact  tri 
of  the  short-headed  or  brachycephalic  type,  who  are  beyond  questi 
Mongolian.     Starting  from  this  area,  and  travelling  up  the  plains 
India  north-westward  towards  the  frontier  of  the  Panjab,  we  obser 


0 


RACE  BASIS  IN  INDIAN  POLITICS. 


75» 


gradual  but  steady  increase  of  tlie  dolichocephalic  type  of  head, 
lich  Herr  I'enka  claims  aa  one  of  the  chief  characteristics  of  the 
ginal  Aryans.  Bengal  itself  is  mostly  mcsaticephaiic,  and  dolicho- 
)ha]y  only  appears  in  some  of  the  Dravidian  tribes.  In  Behar, 
ichocephalic  averages  are  more  numerous ;  in  Oudh  and  the  North- 
Bst  Provinces  this  tj'pe  is  universal,  and  it  reaches  its  maximum  in 
}  Panjab.  Assuming  that  Herr  Penka  has  correctly  determined 
)  original  Aryan  type,  and  that  the  theory  of  caste  propounded 
jve  is  the  true  one,  these  are  just  the  results  which  might  be  looked 
According  to  the  French  anthropologists,  the  shape  of  the  head 
the  most  persistent  of  race  characters,  and  the  one  which  offers  the 
latest  resistance  to  the  levelling  influence  of  crossing.  That  the 
yans  should  have  retained  this  more  durable  character  while  under- 
ng  a  change  in  the  more  fugitive  character  of  colour  is  in  keeping 
h  what  we  know  of  the  conditions,  social  and  climatic,  to  which 
sy  were  exposed.  In  point  of  colour,  indeed,  the  Aryan  castes  are 
no  means  so  dark  as  Europeans  are  apt  to  suppose — a  fact  which 
rtially  explains  the  indignation  which  the  upper  classes  in  India 
pressed  at  Lord  Salisbury's  reference  to  Mr.  Dadabhai  Naoroji  as 
I  black  man."  The  complexion,  moreover,  tends  to  grow  lighter 
3  further  north-west  we  go,  and  survivals  of  reddish-blonde  com- 
jxiun  and  auburn  hair  are  met  with  beyond  the  frontier. 
A  possible  objection  may  be  disposed  of  here.  It  may  be  argued 
it  if  the  Dravidians  are  dolichocephalic,  the  prevalence  of  this  cha- 
5ter  in  North-western  India  may  be  accounted  for  by  the  assump- 
n  of  an  intermixture  of  Dravidian  blood.  But  if  this  were  bo,  the 
)portion  and  degree  of  doHchocephaly  would  increase  as  we  approach 
I  Dravidian  area,  instead  of  diminishing,  as  is  actually  the  case. 
>reover,  it  is  impossible  to  suppose  that  the  rtices  of  the  North- 
st,  if  originally  brachy cephalic,  could  have  acquired  their  dolicho- 
)halic  form  of  head  from  the  Dravidians,  without  at  the  same 
le  acquiring  the  characteristic  Dravidian  nose  and  the  distinctive 
avidian  colour. 

The  student  of  European  history  will  naturally  inquire,  whether 
las  which  have  exercised  so  marked  an  influence  over  social  develop- 
»nt  have  not  also  made  themselves  felt  in  the  sphere  of  politics, 
e  modern  theory  of  race  has  within  our  own  times  contributed 
»atly  to  the  changes  which  have  transformed  tJie  map  of  Europe  and 
[fted  the  centres  of  power.  In  India,  where  race  distinctions, 
krper  than  any  we  know  in  Europe,  have  been  maintained  from 
aeration  to  generation  by  a  system  of  artificial  selection,  their 
itBcal  influence  has  hitherto  been  almost  imperceptible.  External 
pnre  has  everywhere  held  the  ethnic  element  in  cheek.  Only 
tJiin  the  last  few  years,  and  under  the  stimulating  influence  of  the 
of  English  history  and  literature,  has  the  Aryan  section  of 


754 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW, 


[KUt 


the  Indian  people  risen  to  tBe  conscioasnesB  of  a  sort  of  unity,  and 
attempted  to  give  it  political  pxpression  in  the  National  Ck)ngreeB,i 
which,  a  few  months  ago,  held  its  fifth  annual  session.  This  awaken- 
ing of  tho  upper  classes — the  Aryan  castes — of  India,  though  brought 
about  by  contact  with  European  thought,  does  not  in  all  respects 
correspond  to  the  Western  national  moveraentB  to  which  it  bears  a 
certain  general  resemblance.  The  essential  difference  was  clearly 
brought  oat  by  Sir  Comer  Petheram,  Chief  Justice  of  Bengal,  in  an 
address  delivered  by  him  as  Vice-Chancellor  of  the  Calcutta  University, 
in  January  last  year. 

"  Above  all,"  said  the  Chief  Justice,  "  it  should  be  borne  in  mind  by  those 
who  aspire  to  lead  the  people  of  this  countrj'  into  the  untried  regions  of 
politiKil  life,  that  all  the  recogriised  nations  of  the  world  have  been  produced 
by  the  fi-eest  possible  intermingling  and  fusing  of  the  different  raoe-stocks 
inhabiting  a  foumion  territory.  The  horde,  the  tribe,  the  caste,  the  clan,  all 
the  smaller  sepiirate  and  often  warring  gi-oups,  characteristic  of  earUer  stages 
of  civilisation  nuiat,  it  w-otild  seem,  be  welded  Uigether  by  a  process  of  un- 
restricted crossing  before  a  nation  can  be  proihiced.  Can  we  suppose  that 
Oermany  would  ever  have  an'ivedat  her  jiresent  greatness,  or  would,  indeed, 
have  come  to  be  a  nation  at  aU,  if  the  numerous  tribes  mentioned  by  Tacitus, 
or  the  three  hundreil  petty  princedoms  of  last  century,  had  been  sterotyped 
and  their  social  fnsiou  rendered  impossible  by  a  system  forbidding  inter- 
marriage between  the  members  of  different  tribes,  or  the  inhabitants  of 
different  juristUctions  ?  If  the  tribe  in  Geriuany  had,  iis  in  India,  developed 
into  the  caste,  would  Oerman  unity  ever  have  been  heard  of  ?  " 

The  ethnological  argument  here  used  does  not  exclude,  nor,  if  the 
address  is  rightly  understood,  was  it  intended  to  exclude,  the  possibility 
of  the  Indian  people  advancing  in  the  direction  of  representative 
government  by  a  route  somewhat  more  direct  than  the  reconstruction  > 
their  entire  social  system  on  European  lines.  It  is  true  that  the 
of  nationality  does  not  assume  the  same  form  in  India  and  in  Enrox)e. 
But  anthropology  shows  us  that  an  appreciable  unity  of  racial  type; 
underlies  the  apparent  diversity  of  the  educated  castes  from  whose  ^ 
ranks  the  leaders  and  supporters  of  tho  Congress  movement  are  drawn. 
T!ie  scientific  data  upon  which  this  conclusion  rests  confirm  and 
illustrate  the  unbi-oken  current  of  Indian  tradition  which  preserves  the 
belief  in  the  continuity  of  the  Aryan  stock.  Whatever  may  be  thought 
of  the  proposals  of  the  Congress  aa  an  essay  in  practical  politics,  thet 
can  be  no  doubt  that  its  propaganda  have  drawn  together  the  mc 
advanced  sections  of  the  Aryans  in  India,  and  that  the  political  aspira- 
tions which  unite  them  owe  much  of  their  atrength  to  the  conscionsne 
of  close  ethnic  athnity. 

In  truth,  this  intellectual  and  political  awakening,  be  it  of  good  or 
of  bad  omen  for  India,  is  no  more  than  the  necessary  outcome  of  the 
process  of  evolution  which  was  set  in  action  whpn  Lord  Macanlay 
induced  the  Government  of  India  to  make  the  English  rather  than  the 
Oriental  classics  tho  basis  of  the  higher  edacation.     Some  have  seen. 


RACE  BASIS  TN  INDIAN  POLITICS. 

in  Lord  Macaulay's  decisioa  a  characteristic  lack  of  political  foresight, 
and  have  blamed  him  for  lightly  sowing  a  seed  which  in  the  course  of 
half  a  century  has  brought  forth  embarrassing  fruit.  As  an  English 
statesman  and  man  of  letters  he  could,  however,  hardly  have  given 
other  advice  than  he  did.  And  his  action  after  all  was  perhaps  scarcely 
so  important  aa  it  is  often  made  out  to  be.  Had  he  held  his  hand  or 
taken  side  with  the  Orientalists  the  same  results  would  sooner  or  later 
have  been  brought  about  by  the  influence  of  the  missionary  schools 
and  colleges,  which,  from  the  first,  regarded  English  education  as  a 
possible  stepping-stone  towards  the  extension  of  Christianity.  How- 
ever this  may  be,  it  is  too  late  now  to  think  of  things  as  otherwise 
than  they  are.  "VVe  can  no  more  restrict  the  study  of  English  literature 
than  the  Popes  of  the  fifteenth  century  could  have  set  bounds  to  the 
study  of  classical  antiquity.  And  wherever  EagUsh  literature  finds  its 
way  the  teachings  of  the  Congress  tend  to  take  root  and  flourish. 

If,  then,  it  ia  impossible  to  arrest  the  stream  of  tendency  which 
ifisnes  in  the  Congress  movement,  may  it  not  be  a  more  profitable 
pursuit  to  inquire  how  its  force  should  be  conducted  into  a  useful 
channel  and  enabled  to  do  its  part  fcowarda  governing  the  people  of 
India  ?  Any  scheme  which  attempts  to  compass  this  end  will  have  to 
reckon  with  certain  general  considerations  arising  from  the  influonce 
of  the  race  element.  It  tnunt  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  Indian 
social  system,  among  both  Mahomedans  and  Hindus,  presents  about 
tho  most  perfect  example  of  organised,  though  as  yet  unused, 
political  machinery  that  it  is  possible  for  the  human  imagination 
to  conceive.  A  caste  is  a  ready-made  caucus  of  the  most  compact 
character  and  adaptive  structure,  a  permanent  unit  which  is  always 
there,  which  needs  no  nursing  or  looking  after,  and  which,  above  all, 
is  not  liable  to  drop  in  pieces  as  public  opinion  changes  or  political 
enthusiasm  wanes.  It  has  its  council  which  initiates  proposals, 
its  popular  assembly  which  decides  by  acclamation  on  the  questions 
laid  before  it,  and  its  executive  officers  who  give  effect  by  fines, 
penances,  and,  in  the  last  resort,  by  the  ancient  Asiatic  sanction 
of  boycotting,  to  the  judgments  which  are  pronounced.  Instances 
are  not  unknown  in  which  this  organisation  has  been  emp  :o 

further  objects   of  some   public   importance.      In  one  of 
districts  of  Bengal,  during  the  Census  of  1881,  a  curious 
about  among  the  Dravidian  tribes  that  the  numbering  of 
was  merely  the  preliminary  to  the  wholesale  depoitation  of 
«erve  as  camp-followers  in  Afghanistan,  and  of  the  worn 
leaf- pickers  in  the  tea-gardens  of  Assam.     This  silly  fal 
with   characteristic   but  highly   indelicate   details,  crei 
panic.      Many  thousands  deserted  their  villages 
a  range  of  forest-clad  hills,  where  they  hot 
enumerators.     The  number  of  the    fugitii 


I 

I 


756 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


vitiate  the  censns  statistics  for  that  area,  and  the  day  £xed  fo 
final  enumeration  was  periloasly  near.  Something  had  to  be  « 
bat  any  attempt  to  compel  the  tribes  to  come  in  would  only 
increased  the  panic.  The  district  oflicial  used  his  personal  acqi 
ance  with  some  of  the  tribal  headmen  or  elders  to  induce  til 
meet  him  and  talk  matters  over.  By  explaining  to  them  in  t 
language  the  real  object  of  the  census,  and  laying  stress  a 
necessity  of  knowing,  for  the  purpose  of  relieving  famine,  the 
population  of  a  district  which  had  within  living  memory  sq 
from  two  severe  famines,  he  succeeded  in  inducing  them  to 
tJneir  influence  to  get  the  people  back.  So  eifective  was  their  ( 
and  so  readily  were  their  orders  obeyed,  that  within  three  daj 
villages  were  again  occupied,  and  whatever  may  have  bea 
defects  of  the  census  in  that  part  of  the  country,  they  certain 
not  lie  on  the  aide  of  omission.  i 

The  same  thing  was  done,  only  in  a  more  humorous  fashion, 
district  officer  in  the  Central  Provinces.  Some  of  his  tribe! 
fright  and  ran  away,  and  he  induced  their  headmen  to  listen  to  t 
nations.  Relying  on  the  fact  that  wagers  of  various  kinds  ; 
extensively  in  Indian  folk-lore,  he  solemnly  assured  them  that  the  I 
of  England  and  the  Emperor  of  Russia,  having  quarrelled  as  to' 
ruled  over  the  most  subjects,  had  laid  a  big  bet  on  the  point, 
went  on  to  explain  that  the  census  was  being  taken  in  order  to 
the  bet,  and  he  warned  bis  hearers  in  a  spirited  peroration  that  i 
stayed  in  the  jungle,  and  refused  to  be  counted,  the  Queen  wool 
her  money,  and  they  would  be  disgraced  for  ever,  as  Tiimak-h4if 
traitors  to  their  salt.  The  story  served  its  purpose,  and  the ' 
came  in. 

Trivial  and  grotesque  as  both  incidents  must  appear,  they  mai 
to  bring  out  some  points  which  are  worth  remembering.  Thejl 
us  how  wide  is  the  moral  and  intellectual  gulf  which  separatt 
Dravidian  races  at  one  end  of  the  Indian  social  system  from  thd 
vated  Aryans  at  the  other,  who  have  assimilated  so  many  Engliali 
and  are  now  striving  to  introduce  corresponding  political  institl 
The  Dravidians  are  everywhere  on  a  far  lower  level  than  the  it 
and  between  the  two  extremes  we  may  trace  manifold  gradatJ 
culture  and  capacity.  But  property,  especially  property  in  lani 
the  power  which  masses  of  men  can  exert  when  they  move  toj 
are  not  so  concentrated  in  the  hands  of  the  more  advanced  ra< 
are  they  distributed  according  to  intellectual  attainments.  Any  i 
of  representation  that  professes  to  be  final  must  take  account  ol 
facts.  To  estfl.blish  a  literate  oligarchy,  and  call  it  represai 
government,  would  be  a  mere  evasion  of  the  real  diflBculty  i 
problem.  Any  one  with  a  turn  for  constitution-making  can  coi 
abundant  voting  apparatus  out  of  the  mnnicipal  institutions' 


i890] 


RACE  BASIS  IN  INDIAN  POLITICS. 


757 


already  exist  in  the  towns ;  but  a  franchise  framed  on  this  basis  would 
leave  the  landed  interests  practically  unrepresented. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  adoption  of  a  wider  franchise  may  give 
undue  leverage  to  the  caste  organisation,  the  peculiarities  of  which  we 
have  already  indicated.  If,  under  certain  conditions,  foreign  officials 
can  manipulate  this  agency  with  such  far-reaching  effect,  it  is  easy  to 
imagine  what  a  formidable  political  engine  it  might  become  in  the 
hands  of  a  competent  wire-puller.  Many  people  believe  that  the 
appearance  of  a  shoal  of  professional  politicians  of  the  American  type 
would  be  the  first  result  of  any  extension  of  the  principle  of  repre- 
sentative government.  A  few  specimens  of  the  class  have  already 
shown  themselves,  and  the  large  centres  of  population  in  India  are  in 
some  respects  favourable  to  its  development.  We  may  no  doubt  reply 
that  the  professional  politician  is  a  necessary  evil ;  that  everywhere, 
except  io  England,  representative  institutions  tend  to  bring  him  to  the 
front,  and  tlmt  in  America,  where  his  habits  can  best  be  studied,  he 
has  not  done  so  very  much  harm  after  all.  But  readers  of  Mr. 
Bryce'a  great  book  on  the  American  Commonwealth  will  remember 
now  he  explains  that  behind  the  boss  and  the  caucus,  behind  the  mani- 
fold appliances  for  manipulating  votes,  there  exists  a  great  reserve  of 
solid  aud  sensible  public  opinion,  which  asserts  itself  every  now  and  then 
"'^ith  telling  effect,  and  can  be  relied  upon  in  nny  real  crisis  to  save  the 
true  interests  of  the  country  from  being  sacrificed  to  the  vanity  or 
Spite  of  either  political  party.  Can  we  say,  at  present,  that  any  such 
reserve  of  practical  wisdom  exists  in  India  ?  Can  we  conBdently  hope 
t-hat  the  leaders  who  will  wield  the  tremendous  voting  apparatus  which 
■the  caste  organisation  provides  will  never  lose  their  heads,  and  make 
*ix  unwise  use  of  the  power  they  will  have,  to  lead  millions  of  men  to 
Vote  solid  on  almost  any  conceivable  question  ?  These  are  questions  to 
^hich  experience  alone  can  find  the  answer.  Prndence  demands  that 
fiQch  experience  should  be  gradually  and  tentatively  acquired. 

Notwithstanding  these  dangers,  the  extent  of  which  we  have 
^Udeavoured  not  to  understate,  it  seems  likely  that  the  problem  of 
Extending  representative  institutions  in  India  will  have  to  be  faced  in 
*  not  very  distant  future.  That  such  privileges  should  be  claimed  is 
'Xothing  more  than  the  logical  consequence  of  our  resolution  to  govern 
India  by  English  riither  than  Asiatic  methods.  The  nation  which  has 
*©tthe  rest  of  the  world  the  standard  example  of  constitutional  govem- 
tient  cannot  consistently  decline  to  apply  its  own  doctrines  to  its 
-^V^iatio  subjects  as  soon  as  they  have  shown  tbcraBelves  fit  to  make  a 
ptopcr  use  of  the  boon.  Nor  does  it  foltew  that  action  need  be 
*3.«feri-ed  until  the  whole  of  India  has  attained  the  neces-sary  educa- 
tional level.  The  provincial  system  of  government  would  readily  lend 
*taelf  to  a  partial  extension  of  representative  institutions.  A  similar 
<H)uclu3ion   is   suggested   by  the  financial   difficulties  in   which   our 


758 


THE   COSTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Mat 


k 


domestic  policy  has  involved  ns.  Instead  of  mling  India  by  the 
simple  Oriental  system  which  contents  itself  with  looking  after  its 
revenue,  and  for  the  rest  leaves  people  to  shift  for  themselves,  we 
have  from  the  first  set  up  a  high  and  progressive  ideal  of  civilised 
admiaistration.  The  demand  for  a  variety  of  improvements,  such  as 
village  sanitation,  special  forms  of  education,  improved  medical  treats 
ment,  and  the  like,  grows  continually,  but  brings  with  it  no  pro- 
portionate increase  of  financial  resources.  Money  mast  be  found  to 
meet  these  wants,  but  any  farther  increase  in  general  taxation  is  felt 
to  be  undesirable.  It  follows  that  a  system  of  local  taxation  enforced 
by  local  representative  bodies  ofiers  us  the  best  chance  of  being  able 
to  continue  the  career  of  administrative  progress  on  which  we  have 
embarked.  Such  a  system  is  also,  as  history  teaches,  the  best,  if  not 
the  only,  school  for  the  wise  exercise  of  political  rights. 

Remembering,  then,  that  the  population  wo  have  to  deal  with  is 
almost  wholly  agricultural,  it  would  seem  that  a  commencement  mnst 
be  made  with  the  rural  unit,  the  village.  By  strengthening  the 
village  organisation,  and  legally  recognising  the  authority  of  the 
paivrhdyat  or  elective  council  of  village  elders,  one  of  the  oldest  and 
most  durable  of  Indian  institutions,  a  solid  foundation  would  be  laid 
for  further  development.  Before  we  begin  to  make  all  things  new, 
it  is  clearly  essential  to  ascertain  what  can  be  done  with  existint 
machinery.  In  a  series  of  tracts  addressed  to  the  people  of  India  the 
leaders  of  the  Congress  have  appealed  for  support  to  the  rural  popn-, 
lation,  and  it  may  be  inferred  from  this  that  they  consider  tlie  Indian 
villager  capable  of  exercising  electoral  functions.  Whether  he  is  or 
13  not  can  only  be  determined  by  actual  experiment,  and  there  are 
many  forms  in  which  such  an  experiment  might  be  tried  without 
producing  any  disastrous  results  or  materially  clianging  the  present 
system  of  Goveminent.  My  own  impression  is,  that,  within  the  range 
of  subjects  of  which  he  has  jiersonal  knowledge,  he  is  considerably 
more  intelligent  than  the  English  agricultural  labourer. 

It  would  be  impossible  within  our  present  limits  to  sketch  even  the 
outlines  of  a  scheme  of  village  representation.  But  it  would  seem  that 
the  administrative  reforms  recently  carried  out  in  Prussia  may  furnish 
some  general  ideas  which  might  bear  translation  into  Indian  forms. 
There  a  bureaucratic  system  bearing  a  surprisingly  close  resemblance 
to  that  prevalent  in  India  has  been  leavened  by  the  infusion  of  an 
elective  element.  The  elective  village  headmpn  whose  powers  had 
fallen  into  disuse  have  been  revived  with  the  best  effect,  and  a  system 
of  communal  and  provincial  councils  has  been  introduced.  The 
example  does  not  seem  impossible  to  follow.  Recognise  village  councils 
by  law ;  give  them  small  quasi-judicial  powers,  both  civil  and  criminal, 
such  as  the  village  headmen  in  Prussia  exercise ;  provide  for  their 
election  ;  create  a  communal  revenue  and  let  the  councils  administer 


iSfo]  RACE  BASIS  IN  INDIAN  POLITICS.  759 

it  lor  local  purposes ;  and  it  is  reasonable  to  expect  that  thepanckdyaty 
now  o£Sciall7  rather  discredited,  will  gradually  rise  in  dignity  and 
inflaenoe.  The  personal  law  of  a  large  number  of  castes  is  at  present 
administered  solely  by  their  councils,  and  much  interesting  custom  has 
by  this  means  been  preserred.  Once  let  the.  village  council  be  made 
a  reality,  and  the  leading  men  of  these  caste  councils  will  seek  election 
to  it.  It  will  thus  assume  the  representative  character  which  at  present 
is  wanting,  and  the  village  itself  will  cease  to  be  a  mere  mob  of 
individoalB,  none  of  whom  can  assume  any  responsibility  for  the 
common  interests.  Given  a  number  of  villages  thus  organised,  and 
the  task  of  forming  them  into  larger  units  for  electoral  purposes  would 
be  a  mere  matter  of  arrangement.  Their  representatives,  the  elected 
members  of  the  village  councils,  would,  I  believe,  in  course  of  timo 
become  as  capable  of  forming  a  sound  judgment  on  the  political  ques- 
tdoDB  submitted  to  them  as  the  peasants  of  most  European  countries. 
In  advancing  slowly  and  cautiously  on  these  lines  we  shall  at  any  rate 
avoid  the  fatal  error  of  beginning  at  the  wrong  end. 

H.   H.   RiSLEY. 


[Mi^- 


THE   LAND   PURCHASE   BILL. 


«0 


icd 
ief 

to 

Dtit 

all 


THE  more  Mr.  Balfour's  Land  Purchase  scheme  is  examined  by  t- 
public,  the  less,  I  think,  will  the  public  like  it,  I  have  calfl 
it  Mr.  Balfour's  Bill ;  but  there  seems  to  be  some  serious  doubt  as 
whether  Mr.  Balfour  is  really  the  author  of  the  scheme.  Many  in^ 
that  the  Bill  is  mainly  ^Mr.  Goschen's  production  ;  and,  indeed,  it  sees 
more  like  the  device  of  a  cleirer  experimentalising  financier  than  ~i 
Bill  of  a  practical  Irish  Chief  Secretary.  If  one  were  free  to  ind»- 
in  mere  idle  speculation  on  such  a  subject,  I  should  be  rather  incli  :3i 
to  conjecture  that  the  measure  came  out  of  an  appeal  from  the  d 

Secretary  to  the   Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer.      '*  Look  here" 

may  suppose  for  the  moment  such  an  appeal  taking  place — ''  I  hav^ 
bring  in  a  Bill  for  the  buying  out  of  some  of  these  Irish  laudlords, 
the  trouble  is,  that  the  British  taxpayers  are  sure  to  make  a  :i 
about  having  their  credit  pledged  for  such  a  purpose.  You  know 
about  figures  and  finance— can't  you  tinker  me  up  some  sort  of  j^^  Jan 
which  will  show  that  nobody  will  run  any  risk,  and  that  everyttm-  '"^^^6 
will  pay  for  itself  out  of  its  own  pocket?  "  Thus  put  upon  his  m^""^**'® 
we  can  imagine  Mr,  Goschen  going  to  work  and  devi&ing  an  elabo- 
scheme,  by  virtue  of  which  everybody  is  shown  to  be  able  to  di 
without  anybody  having  to  pay  the  piper.  For  assuredly  the 
prominent  and  the  most  carefully  elaborated  part  of  the  Bill  is 
part  which  concerns  itself  to  show  that  the  Britisli  tarpayer  rnn^*- 
risk  of  being  called  upon  to  pay  anything,  A  plain-minded  man 
good  deal  puzzled  at  first ;  but  still,  being  plain-minded,  he  he 
come  back  always  to  the  veiy  plain  fact  that  there  are  thirty-t>^ 
millions  of  money  to  be  got  at  soiuehow,  and  he  cannot  see  on  w 
credit  that  money  ia  to  be  raised  imless  on  the  credit  of  the  Bi 
taxpayer. 

Another  difficulty  arises  about  determining  the  authorship  o£ 


t 


THE   LAND   PURCHASE   BILL. 


rm 


for  Mr.  Chamberlain,  althougb  he  does  not  actually  claim  the 
ae  as  hiB  owii,  yet  describes  it  aa  practically  identical  with  a  scheme 
1  he  had  prepared.  la  this  Bill  then  only  Popkias  plan,  after 
Perhaps  I  may  explain  this  allusion  to  Popkin's  plan,  a  term 
ed  in  the  House  of  Commons  three  years  ago  to  a  scheme  of  which 
Uhamberlain  was  the  author.  The  phrase  waa  taken  from  a  speech 
r.  Diaraeli^s  in  one  of  the  debates  on  Peels  Corn  Law  policy  in 
Mr.  Disraeli  told  the  House  of  Commons  that  the  first  day 

Feel  had  made  the  exposition  of  his  policy,  a  gentleman  "  well 
"n  and  learned  in  all  the  political  secrets  behind  the  scenes,"  met 
(Disraeli)  and  asked  what  he  thought  of  the  plan.  "I  said  I  did 
sxactly  know  what  to  say  about  it ;  but,  to  use  the  phrase  of  the 
,  I  supposed  it  waa  a  great  and  comprehensive  plan."  "  Oh,"  he 
sd,  "  we  know  all  about  it ;  it  is  not  Aw  plan  at  all,  it  is  Popkin's 
"  Then,  having  made  this  amusing  announcement  on  the  authority 
escribed,  Mr.  Disraeli  turned  to  the  Speaker  and  asked  :  "  Is 
and,  sir,  to  be  convulspd  for  Popkin's  plan  ? "  Further,  Mr. 
leli  asked  whether  the  Minister  will  •'  appeal  to  the  people  on  such 
jx  ?  Will  he  appeal  to  Enj^land  on  a  fantastic  scheme  of  some 
nfc  ? "  Mr.  Disraeli  answered  his  own  question  with  the  words 
lo  not  believe  it."  The  Government,  we  may  be  sure,  have  not 
•etnoteat  idea  now  of  going  to  the  country  on  the  Land  Purchase 
whether  it  be  Mr.  Balfour's,  or  Mr.  Goschen's,  or  only  Popkin's 
coming  up  in  a  new  form. 

^hat  is  the  object  of  the  measure  ?  Let  any  one  try  to  strip  the 
of  its  multitudinous  details  and  get  a  clear  good  look  at  its  con- 
;tion,  and  he  will  soon  see  what  it  is  meant  to  do.  It  is  meant  to 
t  some  of  the  least  successful  and  the  least  popular  of  Irish 
lords  to  get  a  higher  price  for  their  land  than  they  oould  get  in 
)pen  market.      There  seema  to  have  been  some  misgiving  of  this 

in  the  mind  of  the  author  of  the  Bill,  for  one  of  the  conditions 
•hich  the  Land  Department  is  to  make  a  vesting  order  is  that  the 
sment  is  "  bond  Ji(h  and  witliout  collusion."  But  what  would  be 
idered  collusion  ?  A  landlord  has  got  his  affairs  into  a  mess ;  he 
»  to  sell  his  land  aa  fast  as  he  can  ;  he  does  not  want  to  stay  ;  he 

not  like  the  place ;  he  does  not  like  tlm  people ;  the  people  do 
jiuch  like  him.  He  goes  to  one  of  his  tenants  and  shows  the  man 
it  will  be  for  the  advantage  of  both  of  them  if  they  can  agree 
i  a  sale  and  purchase.  He  lets  the  tenant  see  that  it  will  even  be 
lis  advantage  to  agree  to  a  much  larger  sura  than  could  be  got  by 
sale  in  the  open  market ;  for  the  Treasury  will  find  the  monev. 
the  repayments  are  spread  out  in  such  a  fashion  that  a  trif 
fair  amount  could  do  the  tenant  no  harm  and  would 

much   good.     Then    the    landlord  clinches  th^ 
ig :  *'  If  you  don't  consent  to  this  111  not  oo 


LVn. 


3  D 


REVIEfF. 


I 


CM" 


?     tf 

be  Tery  lew 

DOt  be  emfeOedte 

•  Ibi  if  ke  doHDoi  ooMBBt  Id 

•■  the  hadkicd's  tema,  aU  tl» 

kis  kad  aoii  oC  which  he  ooi»- 

b  amj  cmtB  he  wmU  to  hoj^  if  he 

off  froB  aD  duuioeof  bvjring;  aad 

,  will  be  »  capital  instraiiic&t  in  the 

Id  (ei  4Mft  of  the  TreMox  aad  the 

thej  eoald  have  anj-  poeaifale 

Now  aaeoBuiig,  what  I  hope 

of  Krglairf  KHit  be  pledged  to 


Vi- 


Xt 


if  it  ia  |»  be  a  taaKly  in  ai^  eeaae,  I  do  not  see 
Triah  hadavds  aa  a  daaa  haf«  done  for  the 
tibithe  ■heaH  he  wiBag  to  pat  hia  name  to  a  bond 
aecBring  to  tlwaa  a  peeititr  peeauiaiy  boea  or  bribe  whidi  he  maj 
have  to  pej  tot  in  the  end. 

For  a^fMtf— and  I  am  onlj  apffakiag  for  aijseif  in  this  article — H 
nagr  eqr^^  ^"^  inowe»t  I  knew  that  the  aale  was  not  to  be  oocnpnl^ 
■cay  OB  the  part  of  the  kodkzd.  there  vaa  an  end  of  an j  iwctmmlaa— 
towaxda  the  meaaaae  on  mj  pare     The  Bill  haa  thne  objecia  aa 
forth  in  ita  laiaiBtdi       It  is  a  meaBore  "  to  pnmde  fiuther 
for  the  par^aoe  o£  land  in  Ireland  f  **  iot  the  improvement  of 
condition  of  the  poorer  and  more  on^ceted  diatrietB i*  and  "  fcr 
conatitntioo  of  a  Land  Depaitment.*'     For  the  cofwtiliition  of  a 
Department !     As  if  thej  had  not  Departmenta  enoagfa  already 
Ireland !     As  if  they  wanted  any  more  !     As  if  the  people  of 
had  the  slightest  fiuth  and  'oonfidenoe  in  moat  of  the  Departm^ents 
which  they  are  already  Ueat!     Aa  if  a  new  Department  of  Dublii^^^^^ 


Geatie  oookt,  to  nse  a  phrase  of  Carlyle's,  *^  eThilarate  any  creaUtre 
ootaide  what  I  may  call  the  ''  Libertiee''  of  Dublin  Castle ! 
let  the    Department   pass.        Va    pomr   U    nfiai»— the    phraae    i^ 
Molitee's,  and,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  say  eo^  qaoting  from   Byron^. 
*'  not  ill  applied ;  '^  for  there  will  be  ribbons  to  give  away  oat  of  this. 
There  might  be  a  tale  of  almost  romantic  interest  told  of  the  manner  is 
which  whole  families  have  been  enabled  in  Ireland  to  recompense  tbem" 
eelvea  for  the  stinginess  of  Nature  or  Fate,  or  an  nnappreciatiTe  pnblic 
of  solicitors  and  clients,  or  a  War  Office  th^t  would  not  recognise  true 
merit,  by  means  of  a  Department  of  Dublin  Castle.     How^rer,  let  as 
accept  the  Department  and  "  argue  not  with  the  inejcorsble."     Ereiy 
change  in  Ireland  under  the  rule  of  a  Castle  Government  means  aneir 
OapartmenL     Therefore  let  us  take  the  Land  Department  for  panted. 


«9ol 


THE  LAND   PURCHASE   BILL. 


763 


Hiat  is  one  of  lie  three  avowed  objects  of  tlie  Bill ;  I  feel  almost 
mcliued  to  say  that  is  one  of  the  two  real  objects  of  the  Bill,  It  is 
put  lastj  but  perhaps  it  ought  to  be  put  first.  Then  we  have  the 
object  of  providing  further  facilities  for  the  purchase  of  land  in  Ireland, 
md  then  the  improvement  of  the  poorer  and  more  congested  districts. 
May  I  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  it  was  not  any  Govemraent 
official  who  first  pointed  out  the  necessity  of  special  treatment  for 
Mngested  districts  in  Ireland  '^  If  I  am  not  greatly  mistaken, 
ihe  very  phrase  itself  was  first  used  in  that  special  application  by  Mr. 
Rarnell  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and  it  was  Mr.  Parnell  who  first 
iQggested  that  "migration"  and  not  "  emigration  "  was  the  proper 
oarse  of  remedy.  The  Land  Purchase  Bill  covei-s  both  emigration 
nd  migration,  but  its  clauses,  so  far  as  I  can  form  a  judgment,  will 
BVe  absolutely  no  practical  effect  either  way.  The  important  part  of 
he  Bill  is,  of  course,  that  which  deals  with  the  sale  and  purchase  of 
be  land.  The  Land  Department  being  constituted,  an  agreement  for 
lie  and  advances  is  to  be  made  on  certain  conditions.  These  are — 
If  the  landlord  and  the  tenant  of  a  holding  in  Ireland  make  an  agree- 
lent  for  the  sale  of  the  holding  to  the  tenant,  and  either — the  purchase- 
loney  is  agreed  on  by  them,  and  specified  in  the  agreement — or,  the 
jreement  refers  it  to  the  Land  Department  to  fix  the  price  of  the 
Lterest  which  the  tenant  agrees  to  buy  in  the  holding."  Now  the 
ust  provision  will  be  seen,  fvova.  what  I  have  already  said,  to  be  of  little 
r  no  value.  Suppose  the  Land  Department  to  be  all  that  the  best 
iends  of  the  tenant  could  wish  it,  yet  it  is  plain  that  the  tenant 
Minot  go  before  the  Land  Department  without  the  consent  of  bis 
kndlord.  How  could  he  ?  The  tenant  shrinks  from  the  conditions 
f  sale  and  purchase  offered  by  the  landlord.  He  says  he  would 
inch  rather  take  his  chance  with  the  Land  Department,  Thereupon 
othing  prevents  the  landlord  from  sajring,  "  If  that  be  so,  then  I 
Bcline  to  consent  to  any  sale  and  any  purchase,"  and  where  is  the 
snant  then  ?  This  Bill  seems  as  if  it  were  ingeniously  designed  to 
ut  the  tenant  at  the  absolute  mercy  of  his  landlord.  It  will  create 
(ro  distinct  and  different  classes  of  tenantry  living  side  by  side  under 
le  Bame  apparent  conditions  to  begin  with,  but  under  totally  different 
Dnditions  forced  on  them  by  Mr.  Balfour's  measure.  Let  us  take  the 
&se  of  two  brothers.  One  holds  a  farm  under  a  landlord  who  is 
illing  to  sell.  Let  na  suppose  him  to  be  a  good  landlord,  anxions  to 
0  all  he  can  for  his  tenants,  but  compelled  by  the  pressure  of  the 
imes  to  endeavour  to  get  bought  out  of  his  land.  The  other  brother 
olds  under  a  landlord  whom  we  shall  suppose  to  be  good  also  and 
nsel£sh,  but  who  has  been  on  the  whole  doing  fairly  well  with  his 
indf  and  has  his  theories  and  principles  about  ownership  and  respon- 
Ibility,  and  is  not  inclined  to  part  with  his  property.  He  will  not 
sll.     Then  yon  have  the  two  brothers,  who  are  absolutely  on  a  level 


764 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Hit 


to  begin  with,  before  this  scheme  of  Mr.  Balfonr's  was  devised,  but 
who  from  that  moment  become  absolutely  unlike  in  conditions,  and 
of  whom  one  is  supposed  to  be  put  on  the  high  road  to  prosperity, 
while  the  other  is  left  in  the  ditch  by  the  roadside. 

It  may  be  argued  that  a  good  landlord  will  always  be  willing  to  sell. 
Nothing  of  the  kind  can  seriously  be  maintained.  There  are  excellent 
landlords  who  have  a  strong  faith  in  the  principle  of  landlordism,  and 
who  believe  they  are  doing  good  to  the  whole  community  by  maintam- 
ing  it.  Then  there  are  landlords  who  have  good  intentions,  but 
whose  property  is  heavily  encumbered  with  mortgages,  and  such-like 
loads,  and  in  whose  case  the  payment  of  the  purchase-money  in  ita 
yearly  instalments  would  be  an  advantage  rather  to  the  creditors 
than  to  the  owners.  Hardly  anything  could  be  more  utterly  unsatis- 
factory tlian  this  sudden  creation  of  two  distinct  classes  of  tenants  in 
Ireland,  whose  luck  or  ill-luck  depends  not  on  themselves,  bat  solely 
on  the  will  of  their  landlords,  Tf  the  Bill  were  meant  to  do  any 
good  at  all  to  the  counti*y  in  general,  it  ought  to  have  been  made 
one  of  its  principles  that  a  tenant  wishing  to  purchase  should  have 
the  power  to  apply  to  the  Land  Court  to  order  a  sale  if  it  thought 
■  proper,  just  as  a  tenant  could  apply  to  the  Court  under  the  previoaa 
legislation  to  fix  a  judicial  rent.  Nearly  all  the  Tory  legislation 
which  professes  to  carry  out  anything  in  the  nature  of  social  oi 
economic  reform  is  spoiled  by  this  introduction  of  what  is  oddly 
called  the  "  voluntary  principle  " — a  voluntary  principle  which,  as  one 
of  my  countrymen  said  of  reciprocity,  is  "  all  on  the  one  side."  Tlie 
way  of  Tory  legislation  is  to  indicate  in  a  measure  that  there  is 
something  which  a  landlord  or  an  employer  ought  to  do,  and  then  to 
leave  him  to  do  it,  or  let  it  alone,  just  as  it  pleases  him.  A  reall' 
good  Land  Purchase  Bill  for  Ireland  must  be  a  measure  of 
revolution  in  the  best  sense  of  the  words.  It  must  start  oa 
principle  that  a  great  change  is  to  be  wrought  by  the  law.  The 
not  the  landlord,  must  rule. 

I  must  say  that  I  believe  the  British  taxpayer  would  be  wi 
run  any  risks,  and  even  to  spend  much  money,  for  the  sake  oil 
and  final  settlement  of  the  Irish  land  question.     How  many; 
passed  away  since  John  Stuart  Mill  made  his  famous  recomiD€ 
to  the  English  people  to  have  recourse  to  heroic  remedies  is  > 
with  that  Irish  land  question !     Twenty  years  at  least  have  ^ 
since  that  time,  and  the  heroic  remedies  are  .still  untried, 
vinced  that  if  the  English  public  now  were  offered  some  schfi 
promised  a  final   settlement,  they  would  not  shrink  from. 
risk,  the    mere    responsibility,  the    mere  cost    in    moot 
scheme  put  forward  by  Mr.  Balfour  is  not  in  the  nattt^ 
remedy.     It  does  not  promise  to  settle  anything.     It  r 
indicates    the    departure    of   a    new  agitation.     It   ij 
thoroughly   by  any    class  of  persons  in   Ireland.     It 


766 


TIfi    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEfF. 


[Kit 


cost  of  maintenance  of  pamper  lunatics  in  district  asyhiM  in 
Ireland  ;  the  grants  in  aid  of  the  salaries  of  schoolmasters  and  school- 
mistreases  in  Ireland,  and  of  the  salaries  of  medical  officers  of  work- 
houses and  dispensaries  in  Ireland  ;  of  the  cost  of  medicines  and 
medical  and  surgical  appliances  in  Ireland  ;  of  the  salaries  of  officers 
appointed  under  the  Public  Health  Act ;  of  the  grant  in  aid  of 
the  maintenance  of  children  ui  industrial  schools  in  Ireland ;  and 
the  grant  for  the  expenses  of  the  Commissioners  in  Ireland  under  the 
account  headed  "  National  Schools,"  I  wonder  bow  the  British  tax- 
payer likes  the  look  of  his  securities?  I  wonder  how  he  likes  the 
idea  of  ''collaring  "  the  salaries  of  the  poor  schoolmasters  and  school- 
mistresses, and  of  the  medical  officers  in  the  Irish  workhouses,  to  meet 
any  deficiency  in  the  payment  of  the  instalments  of  purchase-money? 
I  wonder  how  he  likes  the  idea  of  the  pauper  lunatics  being  turned 
adrift  in  Ireland  if  the  purchase-money  be  not  annually  ]>aid  ^p? 
Does  not  all  this  belong  to  the  realm  of  grim  burlesque  ?  In  Web- 
ster's pathetic,  terrible  "  Duchess  of  Malfi,"  the  cruel,  vengeful,  selfish 
brother  of  the  Dachess  turns  loose  the  madmen  from  the  asylum  on 
his  sister  in  order  to  frigliten  her  into  submission.  la  the  Engliah 
ratepayer  prepared  to  play  the  part  of  the  Duke  Ferdinand,  and  tnm 
loose  the  madmen  of  the  Irish  pauper  lunatic  asylums  of  Ireland  on 
hia  poor  sister  Ireland  in  order  to  frighten  her  into  submission  to 
the  demands  of  the  Land  Purchase  Bill  ? 

Remember,  too,  that  tliis  punishment  would  fall  chiefly  on  the  poor 
tenants  who  had  not  got  any  benefit  out  of  the  measure.     According 
to  Mr.  Pamell's  estimate,  one  out  of  every  four  tenants  at  most  would 
gain  by  this  Bill.     If  those  who  got  the  advantage  of  the  Bill  should 
fail  to  meet  their  legal  obligations,  then  those  who  had  had  no  benefit 
by  it  would  have  to  do  without  education  and  medical  attendance  in 
workhouses,  and  would  have  their  pauper  lunatics  returned  on  their 
hands,  or  else  would  have   to  make   good   the  deficiencies  of  their 
neighbours  who  had  got  their  farms  and  their  purchase-money.     Of 
course  everybody  in  his  senses  knows  that  these  guarantees  would  not 
be  enforced — could  not  be  enforced.      Even  in  Ireland  there  must  be 
some  consideration  shown  by  the  ruling  authorities  for  the  decencies 
of  civilisation.     The  Chief  Secretary  has  yet  to  be  invented  who  coold 
come  to  the  House  of  Commons  and  say,   "  The  annual  instalment  of 
the  Land  I'urchase  Fund  has  not  been  fully  repaid  this  year,  and  so 
we  have  stopped  the  salaries  of  the  schoolmasters  and  mistresses  and 
the  medical  officers  in  Irish  workhouses,  and  -we  have  evicted  all  tie 
pauper  lunatics  and  sent  them  drifting  along    the  streets  and  roa^.' 
Of  course  nothing  of  the  k-ind  could  be  done,  bh^  as  nolVxwg  ol^il« 
kind  can  be  done,  then  we  have  to  fall  bacls:  ^^u  ^e  BnVi^\»J- 
payer.     The  British  taxpayer  has  to  reflect  tti  555.  ^<,tts.  M  V«  ^«>^  \s^ 

^^  TnVh     land        ^^     ^«^.     ^«  \s.  l***"^ 


sacrifice  he  is  not  settling  tJio  Irish   land 


Jishing  a  system  wkich  tc\ay  benefit  one  tena^ 


THE   LAND   PURCHASE   BILL, 


767 


B8  that  mean  but  the  starting  of  a  new  agitation  on  the  part  of  the 
:ee  tenants  who  have  been  thus  left  out  in  the  cold  ?  Are  they 
ing  to  sit  down  tamely  and  submit  not  only  to  being  shut  out  from 

the  benefit  of  the  Act,  but  also  to  having  to  accept  part  of  the 
3uniary  responsibility  of  those  whom  the  Act  favours  ?  Will  they 
t  fort.hwith  fiet  going  a  new  agitation  for  a  far  wider  scheme  of 
rchase,  ami  a  far  more  liberal  advance  on  the  part  of  the  Grovem- 
>nt  ?  Would  they  not  be  quite  right  in  doing  so  ?  Then  where  is 
3  settlement  under  this  Bill  ?  What  are  the  English  taxpayers 
edging  their  credit  for  ? 

Again,  suppose  for  the  sake  of  argument  that  the  Irish  local 
surities  were  really  available  funds  for  the  purpose  and  were 
Bicient,  who  guarantees  them  ?  Dublin  Castle  ?  But  can  Dublin 
fitle  guarantee  anything  in  the  name  of  the  Irish  people  ?  When 
B  ftuthoritiea  in  Dublin  Castle  can  succeed  in  getting  a  supporter  of 
eirs  elected  for  the  very  division  of  IJiublin  in  which  the  Castle 
mds,  we  shall  begin  to  believe  in  the  possibility  of  the  Lord  Lieu- 
lant  and  the  Chief  Secretaiy  and  the  Grand  Juries  being  able  to 
br  a  guarantee  in  the  name  of  the  Irish  people.  As  matters  stand, 
B  authors  of  this  Land  Purchase  scheme  propose  to  give  a  guarantee 
lich  if  it  were  theirs  to  give  ^ould  bo  not  alone  utterly  insufficient 
it  wholly  unacceptable,  and  they  propose  to  give  it  in  the  name  of 
9  Irish  people,  for  whom  they  have  as  much  authority  to  speak  aa 
e  Austrian  commandant  of  a  Venetian  garrison  in  the  old  times  had 

speak  in  the  name  of  the  pt*ople  of  Venice.  Let  us  face  the  facta 
sadily.  A  Coercion  Government  can  otter  nothing  in  the  name  of 
0  Irish  people.     A  Coercion  Government  can  indeed  do  a  good  deal 

get  the  offer  of  an  Irish  landlord  to  still  his  estate  accepted  by  the 
ndlord's  tenants.  A  reluctant  tenant  can  be  pressed  in  various  ways. 
a  may  be  a  member  of  the  local  branch  of  the  National  League — 
deed,  he  is  almost  certain  to  be.  He  may  have  been  present  at 
me  meeting  of  the  branch  when  some  one  called  for  a  cheer  for 
''illiam  O'Brien  or  a  groan  for  Mr.  Balfonr.      He  may  be  reminded 

these  crimes,  and  it  may  be  hinted  to  him  that  if  he  does  not  cloao 
ith  his  landlord  there  may  be  an  orison  in  which  all  his  sins  will  be 
iDiembered.  No  one  who  knows  anything  about  the  present  state 
'  Ireland  will  aay  that  I  am  talking  abtiut  iuipossibilities  or  even 
aprobabilitie3.  In  that  way  a  Coercion  Government  can  undoubtedly 
B  of  direct  or,  at  all  events,  indirect  assistance  in  bringing  about  a 
(ttlement  between  landlord  and  tenant  for  the  sale  and  purchase  of 
ad.  But  between  the  Irish  people  and  the  British  taxpayer  the 
3«rcion  Government  can  otter  nothing  in  the  way  of  guarantee.  Mr. 
ilfour  answering  for  Ireland  is  like  Gessler  answering  for  Switzer- 
id.  The  British  taxpayer  who  believes  in  that  assurance  deserves 
have  to  pay  for  liis  credulity, 
^Qt  Mr.  B.ilfour  has  deliberately  token  a  coarse  which  makes  his 


768 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVlEfV. 


[Xii 


position  much  worse  than  he  need  have  made  it.     He  has  declared 
his  conriction  that  the  leaders  of  the  Irish  Party  in  and  out  of  Parlii- 
ment  are  opposing  his  Bill  only  because  they  believe  it  will  fully  and 
finally  settle  the  Irisli  Land  question,  and  because  with  that  settlement 
their  occupation  will  be  gone  and  they  will  no  longer  be  able  to  liw 
by  agitation.     Mr.  Balfour  is  an  accomplished  man,  and  in  many  ways 
a  very  clever  man.     But,  quite  apart  from  a  matter  of  good  taste  aud 
good  feel  ng,  and  a  rational  recognition  of  possible  sincerity  in  thoee 
who  difter  from  us,  ia  there  not  something  akin  to  positive  stupidity 
in  such  an  argument  on  such  a  subject  and  at  such  a  crisis  ?     Can  it 
be  that  Mr.  Balfour  really  believes  what  he  says  ?     Is  he  reallj  so 
ignorant  of  human  nature- — is  he  so  blind  as  to  what  is  going  on  under 
hia  very   eyes  ?      Did  he  ever  hear  or  read  of   a   great  national  agita- 
tions-one might  almost  say  a  great  social  revolution — carried  on  to 
success  by  men  who  only  got  it  up  to  make  a  living  by  it  ?     Will  he 
refer  us  to  any  page  of  history  which  gives  us  an  authentic  account  of 
such  a  phenomenon  ?     Or,  to  come  to  a  matter  of  small  and  practical 
detail,  will  he  give  us  the  names  of  the  Irish  members — of  any  Ifi«h 
members — who  have  gained  in  the  vulgar  and  pecuniary  sense  by  their 
connection  with  the  Irish  National  cause  ?     I  can  g^ive  him,  if  he 
cares  abont  it,  a  fairly  long  list  of  the  names   of  men  who  have  lost 
by  it.     But  what  manner  of  niler  of  a  country  is  he  who  tells  the 
Irish  people  that  the  men  whom  they  have  elected  to  represent  them 
by  the  most  overwhelming  majorities  are  adopting  their  cause  only  to 
make  money  out  of  it  ?     If  anything  were  needed  to  make  his  Land 
Purchase  scheme  detestable  in  the  mind  of  the  Irish  people  it  would 
be  just  this  sort  of  senseless  cynical  calumny.     Mr.  Balfour  is  too 
clever  by  half.     He  overdoes  his  sceptical  cleverness.      If  he  has  not 
imagination   enough   to  conceive  the   possibility  of  men  acting  and 
fiuffering  for  some  higher  end  than  the  making  an  ignoble  livelihood, 
then  he  ought  to  have  cleverness  enough  to  pretend  to  a  people  like 
the  Irish  that  he  really  does  believe  they  have  such  persons  among 
them.      I   hope   all   British  taxpayers  will  take   account  of  thii  i" 
estimating  the  value  of  the  security  which  the  Irish  Chief  Secretaiy 
has  to  oiler  them  as  a  guarantee  that  they  are  not  to  be  called  upon  to 
pay  for  the  buying  out  of  a  few  of  the  least  deserving  Irish  landlords. 
I  hope  all  British  tft.\payera  will  observe  that  this  Chief  Secretary,  who« 
power   and   influence  could  not  get  a  candidate  rejected  by  a  I 
majority  than  ten  or  fifteen  to  one  in  any  Irish  constituency  outside  tn^ 
University  of  Dublin  and  a  certain  portion  of  Orange  Ulster,  nnder" 
takes  to  settle,  in  the  name  of  the  Irish  people,  what  three  out  of 
every  four  Irish  tenants  will  be  willing  to  sacriBce  for  a  measure  which 
brings  them  in  no  benefit  whatever. 

JdSTLV  M'CABTflT. 


COMPENSATION   FOR  LICENSES. 


I. 


rWO  years  ago,  when  Mr.  Ritchie's  excellent  Bill  for  County 
Gfovemment  was  nearly  wrecked  by  his  unhappy  licensing 
taoses,  Bomebody  wrote  the  following  words  :  "  The  Government  is 
(ready  a  sleeping  partner  in  the  Drink  Trade,  as  every  Budget  showe. 
ihis  Bill  and  Mr.  Goschen's  Budget  will  create  as  many  sleeping 
artntTS  as  there  are  counties  in  England."  .  .  .  .  "  The  Drink 
Vade,  like  the  shirt  of  Nessas,  so  clings  to  the  Bill  as  to  be  identified 
ith  it."  The  shirt  of  Nessus  was  torn  off  by  the  public  indignation 
f  the  conntrVj  and  the  Bill  was  saved.  But  it  seems  to  cling  to  the 
k)vemment.  Mr.  Goschen  has  slipped  into  the  manifold  financial 
etaiifi  of  the  Budget  a  compensation  for  publicans  tenfold  worse  than 
Ir.  Ritchie's  licensing  clauses.  Is  the  Drink  Trade  a  condition  ot 
Ife  to  the  party  now  in  government  ?  Is  it  not  possible  to  rnaintain 
lie  constitational  and  conservative  traditions  of  the  Empire  without 
mying  or  bribing  the  goodwill  of  the  Drink  Trade  ?  The  worst, 
nemy  of  Lord  Salisbury's  goveminent  could  hardly  impute  a  lowtr 
ftotive  or  harbour  a  more  dishonouring  auspicion. 

And  yet  here  we  are  one©  more,  face  to  face,  with  the  same  covert 
theme  to  establish  and  to  endow  the  Drink  Trade,  and  that  for  the 
rat  time  with  the  money  of  the  people  of  England,  in  violation  of  the 
kcta  of  history,  the  decisions  of  the  law,  and  the  welfare  of  the  people 
t  large. 

"We  complain  of  this  all  the  more  intensely,  because  the  condition 
ad  the  future  of  tho  Drink  Trade  ought  to  be  discussed  and  decided 
a  its  own  merits  only,  and  as  a  question  of  prime  and  vital  importance 
^  the  United  Kingdom.  Inateail  uf  this  we  have  now  for  the  second 
{tne  a  covert  and  indirect  introduction  of  the  whole  question  treated 
ot  aa  a  matter  of  history  and  law  and  policy,  but  as  a  scheme  of 
bance.     It  is  upon  this  ground,  and  not  on  the  plea  that  moneys 

VOL.  Lvn.  3  K 


770 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


[Jun 


raised  upon  granting  of  licenses  can  be  better  applied,  that  we 
earnestly  appeal  to  the  public  opinion  and  public  conscience  of  the 
country,  including  the  Oos'ernment  itself,  to  obtain  the  excision  of  this 
portion  of  Mr.  Goschen's  Budget  as  the  same  opposition  two  years 
ago  cut  out  the  licensing  clauses  from  Mr,  Ritchie's  Bill. 

I,  We  are  compelled  therefore  once  again  to  restate  the  reasons 
and  laws  which  govern  the  Drink  Trade. 

1.  Encouraged  by  brewers,  distillers  and  publicans,  and  by 
all  interested  in  it,  both  in  private  life  and  by  Chanoellora  of  the 
Exchequer  for  the  sake  of  revenue,  nevertheless,  the  Drink  Trade 
has  at  all  times  of  our  history  been  subjected  to  rigorous  limita- 
tions to  repress  its  evil  eSects  by  the  Acts  of  the  Legislature.  The 
Drink  Trade  has  never  hod  need  of  legislative  promotion,  but 
has  always  needed  legislative  repression.  It  stands  alone  in  the 
history  of  free  trade. 

2.  A  license  to  sell  intoxicating  drink  is  a  legal  limitation 
and  precantion  taken  against  the  trade.  So  far  is  it  from  a 
personal  property  negotiable,  or  giving  claim  to  continaance  or 
renewal,  it  is  a  simple  permission  to  sell  intoxicating  drink 
under  two  stringent  limitations,  the  one  in  point  of  time,  that  is, 
for  one  year  only ;  and  the  other  in  point  of  conduct,  that  is,  on 
the  part  of  the  holder  of  the  license  and  on  the  conduct  of  the 
business. 

3.  A  license  therefore  is  a  permission  to  the  holder  and  a  pro- 
hibition under  penalty  to  all  other  men  to  sell  intoxicating  drink. 
The  whole  licensing  system  is  intended  to  restrict  and  to  mini- 
mise the  extent  of  the  trade.  It  was  to  put  away  tippling 
houses  and  to  limit  the  number  of  places  where  intoxicating 
drink  was  sold,  that  the  first  licenses  were  granted  in  the  time 
of  Edward  VI.  They  were  granted  only  to  persons  commended 
by  local  authority  as  fit  to  hold  the  responsible  duty  of  checking 
the  vice  of  intrmperance. 

By  what  torture  of  reasoning  can  it  be  contended  that  an  annual 
license  is  a  personal  property  pr  a  negotiable  value,  attaching  either  to 
the  holder  or  to  the  house  ?  So  much  for  the  liistOry  of  a  license  in 
itself. 


II,  Again  and  again  for  many  years  publicans,  brewers,  and  licensed 
victuallers  have  attempted  to  set  up  a  claim  of  a  vested  intereet. 
Both  Parliament  and  the  judges  have  made  short  work  of  this  vested 
interest. 

1.  The  Act  35  &  36  Victoria,  chap.  27,  section  6,  defines  the 
tenure  of  a  license.  "  It  shall  be  in  force  for  one  year  from  the 
date  of  its  being  granted."  The  Act  9  George  IV.  chap.  1, 
section  13,  says  for  one  year  "  and  no  longer." 


l89o] 


COMPENSATION. 


771 


2.  Justice  Stephen,  in  the  Court  of  Queen's  Bench,  November 
1882,  said :  "  By  the  renewal  of  a  license  we  mean  a  new 
license  granted  to  a  man  who  hod  one  before." 

3.  Mr.  Patteraon,  in  his  book  on  the  Licensing  Acts,  aays  of 
the  Act  of  137 1,  "  there  is  nothing  in  this  or  other  Acts  to  make 
it  compulsory  on  the  justices  to  renew  the  license  any  more  tian 
in  ordinary  cases. 

4.  In  the  "Justice  of  the  Peace,"  in  1883,  it  was  laid  down: 
"The  discretion  of  the  licensing  justices  to  grant  or  refuse  or 
transfer  a  victualler's  license  is  absolute,  and  they  are  not 
obliged  to  state  any  reason  for  their  refusal." 

5.  Lord  Chief  Justice  Cockburn,  in  the  Court  of  Queen's 
Bench,  May  18,  1878,  said  :  "  According  to  the  Act  of  1828  the 
justices  have  the  same  discretion  to  refuse  a  renewal  as  they 
had  to  refuse  granting  a  new  license." 

6.  Viscount  Cross,  when  Home  Secretary,  declared  that 
magistrates  had  just  the  same  power  to  refuse  renewals  as  they 
had  to  refuse  new  licenses. 

7.  Sir  William  Harcourt-,  when  Home  Secretary  in  1883, 
said  the  law  is  that  every  license  ia  annual  and  may  be  refused ; 
the  magistrates  have  power  to  prohibit  any  sale. 

8.  Mr.  Justice  (now  Lord)  Field,  in  the  Court  of  Queen's  Bench, 
November  1882,  said :  "In  every  case  in  every  year  there  ia  a 
new  license  granted.  You  may  call  it  renewal  if  you  like,  but 
that  does  not  make  it  an  old  one.  The  Legislature  does  not  call 
it  a  renewal.  The  Legislature  is  not  capable  of  calling  a  new 
thing  an  old  one.  The  Legislature  recognises  no  vested  right 
at  all  in  any  holder  of  a  license.  It  does  not  treat  the  interest 
as  a  vested  one  in  any  way." 

9.  Baron  Pollock,  also  in  the  Court  of  Queen's  Bench, 
January  31,  1884,  said :  "  The  notion  that  there  is  a  property  of 
the  landlord  in  a  license  cannot  be  considered  as  sound  law." 

10.  Mr.  Justice  (now  Lord)  Field  and  Mr.  Justice  Wills, 
April  30,  1888,  united  in  the  same  judgment.  Justice  Wills  said, 
in  1874,  ^that  a  new  license  is  defined  as  a  license  granted  at  a 
general  annual  licensing  meeting  in  respect  of  premises  in 
respect  of  which  a  similar  license  has  not  been  granted  beforo, 
which  was  a  little  modified  from  the  definition  of  the  Act  of 
1872,  but  only  to  correct  a  mistake  from  the  use  of  -the  words 
"  licensed  premUe^H,"  inasmuch  as  premises  wero  never  licensed, 
the  license  being  in  all  cases  a  persojtal  one. 

11.  What  wonder,  then,  that  the  late  Mr.  Nash,  Barrister-at- 
Law,  and  counsel  to  the  Licensed  Victuallers'  Association,  said  : 
"  Now,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  having  looked  into  this  question  most 
exhaustively,  and  having  compared  notes  with  my  brethren  well 


77i 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


fJDSB 


versed  in  these  matters,  that  there  cannot  be  the  grnallest  doubt 
that  in  the  strict  sense  no  snch  thing  as  a  vested  interest  exists. 
....  The  mere  mention  of  the  term  vested  interest  should  b© 
avoided,  as  it  infuriates  every  Court  from  the  Queen's  Bench 
downwards,"  * 
Nevert-heless,  Mr.  Goschen  assumes  that  publicans  have  a  vested 

interest  to  be  compensated,  overturning  without  a  word  the  decisions 

of  judges  and  the  definitions  of  the  Legislature. 


III.  In  defiance  of  all  these  Acts  and  authorities,  Mr,  Goschen's 
Budget  would  create  for  the  first  time  a  vested  interest  in  the  holding 
of  a  license,  and  the  effect  of  creating  this  vested  interest  would  render 
it  impossible  to  deal  with  publicans  without  compensation. 

1.  Nevertheless,  our  history  shows  that  from  the  time  of 
Edward  III.  to  this  day  Parliament  has  dpalt  with  the  Drink 
Trade,  reducing  and  prohibiting  its  sale  in  England,  Scotland, 
and  Ireland,  often  by  extensive  and  peremptory  meaaares,  with- 
out a  particle  of  compensation. 

2.  In  our  colonies,  a<3  in  Canada,  local  option  and  temperance 
legislation  have  no  shadow  of  compensation. 

3.  In  the  United  States,  as  in  Maine,  Vermont,  New  Hamp- 
shire, Iowa,  and  Kansas,  there  is  no  compensation. 

4.  A  claim  for  compensation  was  brought  in  appeal  before  the 
United  States  Supreme  Court,  and  the  appeal  was  dismissed. 

But  now  it  may  be  said  that  surely  to  put  a  man  out  of  a  lawfnl 
trade,  on  which  he  has  lawfully  entered,  without  compensation,  is 
obviously  unjust. 

To  which  I  answer  : 

1.  No;  if  he  has  entered  ujion  it  with  a  full  knowledge  that 
his  tenure  of  it  is  for  a  year  only. 

2.  No ;  if  upon  the  tenure  of  a  year  he  has  made  imprudent 
outlay.  There  is  no  compensation  for  imprudence.  Imprudence 
must  bear  its  own  penalty. 

3.  No ;  if  he  has  more  than  compensated  himself  already 
during  his  year's  tenure  out  of  the  large  profits,  which  were 
obviously  the  reason  and  the  motive  for  seeking  the  license. 

The  profits  of  a  public-house  are  notoriously  so  large  that  a  year's 
trade  is  a  disproportioned  remuneration  both  on  money  spent  and  on  toil 
involved.  In  this  sense  a  license  is  of  tbe  nature  of  a  monopoly,  and 
gives  to  a  publican  an  exclusive  right  in  the  midst  of  his  neighbours 
to  make  for  a  year  a  great  profit  in  the  sale  of  intoxicating  drink. 
He  has  no  right  to  compensation,  because  he  cannot  obtain  the  profit 
and  the  monopoly  of  another  year. 

•  "  CompeOBation,"  by  Mr.  Malina,  p.  45. 


COMPENSATION, 


That  we  may  form  some  idea  of  the  enormcua  profits  of  the  Drink 
Trade,  we  may  take  the  following  facts.  Mr.  Caine,  who  I  am  glad 
to  see  is  aboat  to  republish  his  pamphlet,  stated,  two  years  ago  : 
*'  A  new  house  was  built  at  Newcastle-on-Tyne,  at  a  total  cost  for  site, 
bailding,  and  incidental  charges,  of  £800.  A  license  from  an  old 
house  was  bought  and  removed  to  it,  and  its  value  rose  to  £6t300.  The 
house  was  shortly  afterwards  sold  for  that  snm."  Under  the  compen- 
sation of  Mr.  Ritchie's  Bill,  "  it  would  be  impossible  to  withdraw  the 
license  even  on  grounds  of  public  convenience  without  a  compensation 
of  £5500." 

'*  A  house  in  Liverpool  with  a  license,  worth  £2000,  was  bought  by 
a  brewer  for  £10,500.     The  compensation  would  be  £8500." 

"Another  house  in  Liverpool,  purchased  a  few  yetirs  ago  for  £800, 
before  the  grant  of  a  license,  was  lately  sold  for  £8500,  which  would 
require  a  compensation  of  £7700." 

"  A  gin-palace  near  the  docks  was  built  for  less  than  £8000.  All 
the  steamship  owners  in  vain  opposed  the  grant  of  a  license.  A  leading 
brewer  has  offered  £20,000  for  it,  but  the  ofier  has  been  refused.  The 
compensation  would  be  £12,000." 

If  these  clauses  had  become  law,  the  Drink  Trade  "  would  have 
been  endowed  and  protected  at  the  cost  of  from  two  hundred  to  two 
Hundred  and  fifty  millions  of  money  ;  and  this  compensation  would  go 
not  only  to  publicans,  but  also  to  brewers,  and  even  still  more  to 
ground-landlords." 

But  Mr.  Goschen's  scheme  raises  no  question  of  millions  of  money, 
bat  of  a  sum  so  ludicrously  small,  that  no  perceptible  diminution 
for  generations  to  come  in  the  evils  of  the  Drink  Trade  could  be 
obtained  by  it.  But  the  principle  involved  in  it,  in  violation  of  law, 
policy,  and  public  morality,  would  be  for  the  first  time  established  in 
the  law  of  England,  and  our  public  revenues  would  be  applied  to 
its  encouragement  and  support. 

Henrv  Edward  Card.  MAKxma. 


iJomi 


11. 


THE  establialiineiit  by  law  of  some  scheme  for  providing  safety  for 
those  iuterested  in  public-hoase  licenses  appears  to  have  a 
remarkable  fascination  over  the  present  Government.  They  attempted 
it  in  their  Local  Government  Bill  of  1888.  Then  it  evoked  a  pas- 
sionate protest  from  the  country,  not  merely  from  those  who  are  styled 
"  temperance  fanatics,"  but  equally  from  the  sober  and  sensible  work- 
ing men.  It  cost  the  Govemmeut  two  seats,  one  at  Southampton, 
where  a  Tory  majority  of  G68  was  turned  into  a  minority  of  885  ;  and 
one  at  th©  Ayr  Burghs,  where  a  Unionist  majority  of  1175  became  a 
minority  of  63 — a  defeat  reversed  a  few  weeks  ago,  when  another 
election  was  taken  without  this  complicating  issue.  The  Government 
wisely  withdrew  their  proposals,  the  culminating  influence  being, 
it  is  said,  a  private  remonstrance  signed  by  all  the  Conservative 
members  for  the  Metropolis. 

Mr.  liitchie'a  proposal  for  compensation  was,  that  if  the  County 
Councils,  acting  as  licensing  authorities  in  place  of  the  justices, 
thought  fit  to  refuse  to  renew  a  license  for  any  canse  other  than  olfences 
against  the  law,  an  arbitrator  should  be  appointed,  who  would  value  the 
public-house  n-iik  and  mitlwut  the  license  attached,  and  that  the  dif- 
ference should  be  paid  to  those  interested  from  funds  derivable  partly 
from  taxation  and  partly  from  increased  licensing  charges  on  the 
remaining  publicans.  The  Government,  though  defeated  in  1888,  do 
not  seem  to  have  been  disheartened,  and  are  once  more  attempting 
to  introduce  by  the  back  door  the  principle  which  two  years  ago  was 
kicked  down  the  front  steps. 

Their  new  proposal  appropriates  certain  revenues  from  liquor  ^>rw 
ratd  to  the  County  Councils,  for  the  express  and  only  purpose  of  buy- 
ing up  public-house  licenses  with  a  view  to  their  extinction.     It  is 


i»9o] 


COMPENSATION. 


775 


mixed  up  in  the  same  Bill  with  schemes  for  the  superannnation  of  the 
police,  and  the  sufipension  of  power  to  grant  any  more  new  licenses. 
These  latter  form  the  sugar-coating  which  it  is  hoped  may  induce 
Parliament  to  swallow  the  pill  of  comi-tensation. 

Mr.  Ritchie  is  very  indignant  at  being  charged  with  a  desire  bo 
"  compensate.'*  He  vows  that  the  word  "  compensation  "  never 
appears  in  the  Bill  at  all,  and  that  in  doing  what  the  Government 
have  don©  they  do  not  in  any  way  lay  the  basis  of  compensation. 
He  asserts  that  they  do  not  desire  by  their  proposals  to  lay  down  any 
lines  upon  which  compensation  is  to  proceed  when  Parliament  comes 
to  deal  with  the  whole  question  of  licensing.  I  am  snre  Mr.  Ritcbie 
is  sincere  in  these  declarations,  but  nobody  appears  to  ogi'ee  with  him. 
He  has  alarmed  the  whole  Temperance  party,  even  the  most  moderate 
section  of  it,  and  the  fiery  cross  has  gone  round  the  count^J^  Thr> 
liquor  trade  hail  the  Bill  with  joy,  their  leading  organ,  the  Mornimj 
Adraiiser,  calling  on  the  trade,  wholesale  and  retail,  to  give  unani- 
mous support  to  legislation  which  "  asserts  the  principle  that  the 
suppression  of  a  license  through  no  misconduct  on  the  part  of  its 
holder  shall  be  effected  by  payment  for  its  extinction."  The  Con- 
servative press  join  in  the  chorus.  The  St.  James s  Gazette  contends 
that  "  the  Government  has  successfully  asserted  the  principle  that  the 
extinction  of  a  license  shall  be  accompanied  by  compensation." 

It  is  therefore  abundantly  clear  that  the  Government  have  once 
more  thought  it  wise  to  bring  on  the  compensation  struggle,  and  by 
getting  the  House  committed  to  a  small  and  limited  proposal,  to 
establish  the  principle  in  an  Act  nf  Parliament  in  such  definite  form 
that  it  will  be  impossible  for  future  Governments  to  go  back  upon  it. 
They  evidently  attach  greater  importance  to  this  than  to  any  other  Bill 
they  have  before  the  House.  Already  the  session  is  committed  to  a  pro- 
gramme fully  up  to,  if  not  beyond,  its  powers  ;  and  it  appears  as  though 
the  Government  were  prepared  to  set  aside  even  their  l)oasted  reme- 
dial legislation  for  Ireland  to  secure  the  safety  of  their  old  and  trusty 
allies  the  publicans  from  the  dangers  of  a  possible  Radical  successor. 

If  the  Bill  becomes  an  Act  of  Parliament,  the  first  County  Council 
that  exercises  the  powers  contained  in  it,  and  negotiates  successfully  for 
the  purchase,  out  of  public  money,  of  the  interest  In  a  licL-nse  granttd 
for  twelve  months  only,  establishes  and  roots  in  a  precedent  that  cannot 
b«  departed  from.  The  temperance  party  feel  that  this  is  a  qnestion 
of  life  and  death  to  their  hopes,  and  will  therefore  resist  by  every 
legitimate  means  within  their  reach  tho  passing  of  this  measure. 
They  cannot  and  will  not  entertain  any  proposal  which  confers  any- 
thing but  a  twelve  months'  interest  in  a  public-house  license,  holding 
that  nothing  more  exists;  or  can  exist,  without  fresh  legislation 
conferring  it. 

1  dismiss  as  unworthy  of  consideration  what  is  called  "  compas- 


776 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jvn 


donate  "  compensation.  It  is  ecouted  alike  by  publican  and  teetotaller.  ! 
The  licensee  is  cither  entitled  to  compensation  or  he  is  not.  If  he  is, 
■  he  is  then  outitled  to  the  full  and  complete  compensation  proposed  by 
the  Govornmeut  in  its  Bill  in  1888,  to  which  ^Ir.  Ritchie  declares  h^% 
and  \m  colleagues  still  adhere,  and  they  are  quite  justified,  if  the  k^H 
is  not  clear,  in  attempting  to  amend  tlie  law.  The  temperance  part]^^ 
and  I  think  I  may  Jidd  the  great  bulk  of  the  Liberal  party,  demur 
entirely  to  any  such  view,  and  refuse  to  entertain  the  question  of  legal 
compensation  at  all. 

The  liquor  trade  differs  from  every  other.     There  is  not,  and  never 
has  been,  free  trade  in   intoxicating   drinks.       It    is  a    privileged 
monopoly,  jealously  guarded   by  Acts  of   Parliament,  every  one  of 
whicli   hag  been  passed  with  the  intention  of  protecting  the  public 
frooi  the  publican.     It  is  treated  in  those  Acts  as  a  dangerous,  crime- 
•creating  trade ;  the  person  t*ntrusted  with  the  license  to  sell  must  \it 
«  man  of  spotU  bs  reputation,  and   must  reappear  at  the  end  of  his 
term  of  twelve  months,  the  utmost  limit  of  time  during  which  tie 
State    will    trust  him    with    his  dangerous  responsibility,  that  the 
justices  may  be  satisfied  that  his  reputation  remains  spotless.     The 
house  in  which  ho  carries  on  the  business  must  be  of  a  certain  character 
and  proportion  ;  before  he  is  licensed,  the  justices  are  bound  to  take 
into  account  the  requirements  of  the  neighbourhood  ;  and  after  he  is 
iicensed,  he  is  placed  under  strict  police  supervision.     Nothing  can  b^ 
clearer :  a  license  is  a  permission  granted  to  a  most  carefully  seleci 
individual,  living  in  a  carefully  selected  house,  to  sell  a   dangeroi 
article  for  twelve  months,  and  no  longer ;  and  the  State,  by  cloBel; 
limiting  the  period,  has  always  reserved  to  itself  the  right  to  withdraw 
the  permission. 

This  principle  is  solidly  established — that  a  publican's  license  is 
held  subordinate  to  the  public  good  and  the  common  weal.  The 
holder  of  a  license  for  one  year  only  has  no  legal  claim  whatever  to  a 
license  for  the  next  year.  Mr.  Justice  Field  declared,  in  the  Court  of 
Queen's  Bench,  in  November  1882,  that  "in  every  case  in  every  ye*r 
there  is  a  new  license  granted.  The  legislature  recognises  no  vested 
-right  at  all  in  any  holder  of  a  license."  A  publican's  license  is  not. 
considered  to  be  ''  property  "  in  the  sense  of  property  which  wonW 
pass  to  the  holder's  trustee  in  bankruptcy ;  for  in  a  recent  case  in 
which  such  a  trustee  took  possession  of  a  bankrupt  publican's  Mceaie, 
and  opposed  applications  for  its  temporary  transfer  to  the  landlord  of 
the  house,  the  learned  Chief  Judge  in  Bankruptcy  held  that  the 
trustee  had  no  right  to  the  license.  (Ex  parte  Royle,  46  L-Jt 
Bankruptcy,  p.  85.) 

The  recent  well-known  case  of  Sharp  v.  Wakefield  shows  that 
reoewab  of  licenses  may  be  refused  at  the  absolute  discretioD  of  the 
^'nstices  ;  the  action  of  the  Westmoreland  Justices  in  this  case  faanng 


i89o] 


COMPEXSATIOX. 


77; 


been  confirmed  on  appeal  by  the  County  Quarter  Sesaiona,  the  Court  of 
Queen's  Beach,  and  the  Court  of  Appeal ;  the  latter  finally  deciding 
that  the  justices  had  an  unlimited  judicial  discretion  in  the  matter, 
and  might  refuse  to  renew  a  publican's  license  on  other  grounds  than 
the  want  of  qualification,  bad  character,  or  misconduct  of  the  applicant. 
All  this  is  proved,  upheld  and  fully  admitted  by  the  Bill  now 
before  the  House.  It  is  therein  expressly  stated  that  new  on-licenses 
shall  only  be  granted  "  at  the  free  and  unqualified  discretion  of  the 
Licensing  Authority,"  and  Mr.  Ritchie  stated  that  these  words  were 
inserted  to  make  it  clear  that  no  right  whatever  should  attach  in  the 
case  of  new  licenses.  But  I  contend  that  evert/  license  now  in  existence 
has  been  granted  on  precisely  similar  terms  ;  and  on  the  same  grounds, 
no  right  whatever  should  attach  to  them  either.  The  attempt  on  the 
part  of  the  Government  to  establish  these  compensation  rights,  ia  in 
itself  an  ample  avowal  on  their  part  that  they  do  not  now  exist  in  law. 
Of  course,  the  contention  of  the  Government  can  only  be,  that, 
existing  in  equity  and  morals,  they  ought  to  be  made  legal.  I  deny 
the  equitable  or  moral  claim.  No  compen-sation  ought  erer  to  be 
given  for  the  extinction  of  a  privileged  monopoly  for  which  nothing 
has  been  paid  to  the  State  granting  it,  simply  because  the  monopoly 
has  changed  hands,  and  money  has  passed  between  successive  mono- 
polists. A  monopoly  in  its  very  nature  bars  all  claim  for  compensa- 
tion. It  already  confers  what  is  eqiiivalent  to  compensation  in  the 
advantage  given  by  the  monopoly.  This  particular  monopoly  is 
granted  for  a  strictly  limited  period  of  time.  If  the  monopolist  makes 
money  during  that  period,  he  has  received  his  compensation.  If  he 
has  lost  money,  where  is  his  claim  ? 

The  equitable  position  of  the  holder  of  a  license  is  quite  clear.  He 
has  special  profits  from  a  license,  the  possession  of  which  rf^sti^icls 
competition,  while  he  knows  perfectly  well  that  he  ia  under  risk  of 
2iaving  the  monopoly  withdrawn. 

It  is  perfectly  true  that  the  risk  of  withdrawal  has  been  alight. 
P  and  that  on  the  strength  of  it,  the  monopolist  has  been  able  to  sell 
liis  chance  of  renewal  to  other  monopolists.  Caveat  emptor  !  The 
tuyer  knew  what  he  was  about ;  and  if  any  one  has  been  silly  t- nough 
tio  give  excessive  prices  for  the  speculative  chances  of  renewal,  he 
^sannot  expect  the  British  public  to  step  into  his  shoes. 

How  have  these  artificial  values  been  created,  from  which  the 
<^vemment  think  the  present  owners  ought  to  be  bought  out  ?  I 
%ake  one  or  two  cases  out  of  many  hundreds. 

Four  or  five  years  ago  some  one  built  a  gin-palace  opposite  the 

'Entrance-gates  of  one  of  the   great  Bteam-ahip   docks   in   Liverpool. 

Ifie  spent  £8000.     When  it  was  finished,  ho  applied  for  a  license. 

^is  application  was  opposed  by  every  shipowner  using  the  dock,  and 

\  fcy  every  stevedore  and  master-porter  employing  labour  in  the  dock. 


778 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


iirst 


Their  opposition  was  fruitless,  and  the  license  was  granted.  The 
owner  of  the  gin-palace  was  worth  £8000  as  he  ate  his  breakfast ;  he 
eat  down  to  his  tea  worth  £20,000,  having  refased  that  sum  from  abig 
brewer  for  his  house,  plus  a  twelve  months'  license  and  the  speculative 
chance  of  renewal. 

Sir  Andrew  B.  Walker,  of  Liverpool,  has  for  forty  years  been 
slowly  amassing  250  public-housea  in  and  about  that  city.  I  donbt  if  they 
have  cost  him  £500,000  all  told.  He  has  just  sold  them  to  a  com- 
pany for  £2,000,000,  and  the  prospectus  declares  that  the  wholesale 
and  rotiiil  profit  of  his  business  has  been  over  £200,000  a  year  for 
Home  years  past.  This  gentleman  has  had  250  licensed  monopolies, 
out  of  which  lie  has  realised  a  princely  fortune,  and  which  he  has  sold 
to  a  sanguine  public,  greedy  of  high  rates  of  interest,  for  an  enormous 
sum.  If  I  had  attempted  to  make  money  out  of  drink  without  these 
licenses,  I  shoidd  have  been  sent  to  prison. 

No  doubt  it  may  be  hard  upon  the  last  specalator  in  monopolies 
that  he  should  suddenly  find  that  the  State  which  granted  them  has 
decided  to  withdraw  them,  but  he  cannot  pretend  he  has  gone 
unwarned.  The  buyers  of  Sir  Andrew  Walker's  250  monopolies 
knew,  or  ought  to  have  known,  that  an  attempt  on  the  part  of 
one  of  the  strongest  Governments  of  the  century  to  establish  a 
vested  interest  in  them  had  to  be  withdrawn  in  the  face  of  popular 
indignation,  and  that  the  strongest  and  richest  non-party  organisation 
in  the  kingdom,  the  United  Kingdom  Alliance,  has  for  twenty  years 
been  agitating  for  the  total  and  immediate  suppression  of  the  hquor 
traflfic. 

It  is  well  that  the  public  should  thoroughly  realise  what  these  pro- 
posals of  the   Government  to  recognise   a   vested  interest   in  State 
monopolies  really  mean.     It  is  admitted  on  all  sides  that  the  value  of 
the  on-Iicenses  of  the  kingdom,  on  the  basis  laid  down  by  Mr.  Ritchie 
in  1888,  and  reaffirmed  this  Session,  cannot  be  less  than  £200,000,000 
sterling.      AVith  this  amount  the  Government  proposes  to  endow  a 
trade   which   has  already  made  vast  profits  out  of  its  monopoly,   a 
monopoly  which  l"'arliament  or  Local  Authority  would  then  be  unable 
to  withdraw,  until  the  whole  amount  of  this  endowment  had  been  paid 
nut  of  the  resources  of  the  coantry.     It  would  turn  the  shares  of  Pewr 
Walker  &  Son,  and  all  the  other  brewery-cum-tied-houses  companies 
into  a  security  as  good  as  Consols.    The  infatuation  of  the  Government 
is  beyond  all  explanation.      It  thinks  that  the  electors  of  this  coantiy 
will  consent  to  confer  this  vast  endowment  on  a  trade  which  is  the  most 
fruitful  source  of  crime,  misery,  ignorance,  social  and  moral  degrada- 
tion, disease  and  premature  death.     If  Mr.  Ritchie  and  his  colleagues 
persevere  in  their  proposals,  I  fear  nothing   but  disaster  will  «»'*''' 
the  Unionist  party  at  the  next  election. 

The  GoveiTiraent  contends,  that  by  levying  additional  taxation  oat 


>89o] 


COMPENSATION. 


779 


of  drink  and  drink  sellers,  to  be  ear-marked  for  compensation  purposes, 
the  cost  will  not  be  laid  upon  the  general  public,  but  on  the 
trade  itself,  which  in  future  is  to  live  upon  its  own  fat.  But  I  refuse 
to  accept  any  such  proposition.  The  revenues  of  the  country  are 
raised  from  various  sources,  taxes  on  income,  property,  succession^ 
probate,  stamps,  customs,  excise.  The  community  have  a  common 
interest  in  the  proceeds,  present  and  prospective.  If  a  portion  of  this 
revenue  is  set  aside  for  some  new  purpoee,  it  either  weakens  the  pro- 
spective revenue  in  case  of  fresh  needs  or  sudden  emergencies,  or 
some  other  tax  must  be  levied  to  make  good  the  deficiency.  Revenue 
derived  from  excise  is  just  as  much  the  property  of  the  general  tax- 
'  payer  as  revenue  from  tea,  tobacco  and  income.  The  power  to  levy 
I  increased  taxation  on  any  of  these  sources  of  income  forms  the  reserve 
fond  of  the  nation,  and  the  incidence  of  any  one  of  them  does  not 
affect  the  common  property  of  the  whole.  This  setting  aside  of 
special  revenues  for  special  purposes  is  bad  in  principle,  and  dangerous 
in  its  probable  results.  The  specious  argument  that  those  who  do  not 
i  drink  will  beaj  no  share  in  the  cost  of  the  proposed  compensation  will 
not  hold  water  for  a  moment. 

No  one  can  deny  that  in  emergency,  such  as  a  costly  or  disastrous 

war,  the  first  tax  that  would  be  strained  to  its  utmost  capacity  would 

be  that  upon  intoxicating  liquor,  and  those   engaged   in   its  sale.      If 

i  two-thirds  of  the  persons  engaged  in  the  trade  were  driven  out  of  it 

by  High  license  taxes,  does  anybody  suppose  that  compensation  would 

be  given  ?     It  will  be  the  probable  fate   of  the  liqnor  trade,  in  the 

early  future,  if  the  foolish  proposals  of  the  Government  are  placed 

I  on  the  statute  book.     Compensation  will  utterly  prevent  the  reduction 

I  of  drinking   facilities   through  the  refusal   to  renew  on  the  part,  of 

<•  CJounty  Councils,  and   public  opinion   will  return   a   Parliament  that 

■  will  take  a  short  cut  out  of  the  difficulty  by  that  ready  method  of 

High  license  charges  which  is  becoming   so  popular  in  many  of  the 

.  States  of  the  American  Union. 

W.  S.  Caine. 


[Svn 


VESTED   INTERESTS. 


A  VESTED  interest;  is  the  latest  form  of  property  which  society  hu 
recogaised  and  eaforced.  It  is  a  claim  on  the  part  of  indi- 
■vidoals  to  levy  a  more  or  lesa^enduring  tax  on  the  industry,  profits,  or 
income  of  others,  and  this  by  the  force  of  law,  or  under  the  authority 
or  connivance  of  Parliament,  It  was  not  heard  of  till  comparatively 
recent  times.  The  doctrine  of  vested  interests  is  now  being  rapidly, 
and  in  my  opinion,  dangerously  extended.  It  is  clear  that  many 
•who  allege  vested  interesta  do  so  on  grounds  which  might  be  M 
solidly  maintained  on  behalf  of  other  persons,  and  other  classes,  and 
that  unless  the  principles  upon  which  such  demands  are  to  be 
recognised  and  admitted  aro  very  rigidly  and  scrupulously  defined, 
society  runs  no  small  risk  of  being  impoverished  by  importunate 
claimants,  or  arrested  in  its  entire  progresa.  For  there  is,  and  I  fear 
there  can  be,  no  change  in  the  organisation  of  society,  however  ohriooB 
and  urgent  it  may  bo  proved  to  be,  which  will  not,  in  appearance  at 
least,  perhaps  in  reality,  imperil  some  existing  advantage.  There  is 
rarely  any  great  invention  which  does  not  displace  labour,  at  least  for 
a  time,  and  constrain  those  who  have  been  engaged  in  the  old  procesa 
to  submit  to  loss,  perhaps  to  privation.  There  is  no  reform,  howefer 
necessary,  in  the  conduct  of  social  business,  which  does  not  press 
hardly  on  those  whose  occupation  has  grown  np  under  the  old,  or 
nnreformed  conditions.  The  invention  of  the  power-loom  ruined  the 
hand-loom  weavers.  A  modification  of  the  verbiage  employed  and 
the  labour  spent  in  the  exigencies  even  of  a  modem  title  to  land. 
would  diminish,  it  would  seem  inevitably,  the  occupation  of  solicitors. 
The  discovery  and  development  of  railroads  on  which  locomotive 
engines  could  haul  passengers  and  goods,  must  have  seriously  cartailed 
the   industry  of  stage  coaches,  the  income  derivable  from  tumpib 


VESTED  INTERESTS. 


781 


and  the  dividends  heretofore  received  from  canal  shares.  All 
rement  is  a  loss  to  those  who  worked  on  unimproved  lines. 
'  it  is  to  be  alleged  that  those  who  are  thus  displaced,  curtailed 
lir  profits,  or  unemployed,  are  to  be  compensated  at  the  expense 
Be  who  work  on  the  new  lines,  I  cannot  see  how  progress  can  be 

and  society  escape  impoverishment.  In  the  nature  of  things, 
airaants  must  submit  to  the  contingency,  or  they  must  show  a 
alarly  strong  case,  or  they  must  be  imduly  favoured  by  those 
make  and  administer  law.  I  shall  attempt  here  to  point  out 
are  the  circnmstancea  under  which  an  interest  is  unquestion- 
rested,  and  examine  into  others  on  behalf  of  which  a  claim  ia 


tho  early  days  of  rarliamentary  administration  and  legislation, 
ces,  which  we  should,  in  our  days,  rightly  consider  to  be  out- 
Qsly  unjust,  were  common  and  familiar,  and  apparently  provoked 
iignation.  Oar  kings  constantly  repudiated  their  debts,  and,  not 
[uently,  with  the  sanction  of  Parliament.  This  was  done  on 
F  of  Henry  VIII.  Loans  under  the  name  of  benevolences  were 
3ted  from  the  rich,  made  illegal  by  statute,  revived,  and  tamed  by 
kment  into  legal  liabilities.  ITieje  were  people  who  defended 
^B  book  of  rates,  Noy's  ship  money,  and  even  the  plunder  of  the 
}Tb'  money  in  1672,  when  it  was  lodged  in  the  exchequer.  On 
ther  hand,  it  was  a  favourite  doctrine  that  the  king  could  not 

a  perpetual  grant  out  of  the  crown  estate,  still  less  out  of  the 
ion  of  the  country.  No  rational  person  coold  have  believed  or 
;ted  that  the  grants  which  Charles  II.  made  to  his  illegitimate 
pen  would  be  a  perpetual  charge  on  the  British  taxpayer.  We 
JO  on  paying,  if  they  are  not  commuted,  pensions  to  the  represen- 
BB  of  General  Monk,  of  General  Schomberg,  of  Pulteney,  Earl  of 
,  and  other  such  people.  We  may  be  sure  that  when  these  gifts 
made,  no  one  imagined  that  they  were  to  be  perpetuities,  or  that 
X)wer  which  bestowed  them  was  not  competent  at  any  time  to 
ae  them.  No  one,  I  am  convinced,  at  the  commencement  of  the 
eenth  centurj-,  conceived  that  the  Bentincks  and  others  would  be 
the  vast  donations  which  were  bestowed  on  them  np  to  the 
m  of  the  nineteenth  century.  There  is  nothing  which  modern 
recognised  more  completely  as  a  vested  interest  than 
Onel's  commission.  It  was  apparently  mnch  more  the  property  of 
afiBcer  in  the  eighteenth  century  than  it  now  is ;  for  it  was 
antly  the  case  that  the  colonel  had  raised  the  regiment  at  his  own 
But  in  173-1,  two  peers  were  deprived  of  their  regiments  for 
g  against  Wal pole's  Excise  Bill,  and  six  others  of  their  sinecure 
ions.  The  policy  of  the  action  was  disputed;  but  its  strict 
ity  was  not  challenged.     On  the  other  hand,  resistance  was  made 

filamentary  grants  for  supporting  the  dignity  of  a  peerage, 


782 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jtn 


ev«ii  in  the  case  of  Chatham,  and  in  general  all  aodi  proponli  wn 

impugned. 

The  Kevolution  of  1688  established  the  first  and  the  most  io&po- 
table  of  vested  interests.     I  mean  the  right  of  the  pabtic  creditar  to 
the  panctual  payment  of  his  interest^  and  repevmeot  d  his  prindpai 
in  fnll,  if  the  State  were  determined  on  ridding  itself  of  its  obligitioni. 
The  strict  midntenance  of  the  pablic  faith  in  the  obUgatiaiis  vhielithe 
State  binds  itself  hj  when  it  borrows,  is  as  just  as  it  is  politic.    It 
may  be  that  the  greater  part  of  the  pablic  debt  was  raised  in  order  to 
achieve  illasorj  and  even  mischievons  porposes.     Wats  on  behalf  of  & 
sole  market,  the  principal  object  of  Chatham's  expeditiaos^  were  of  tlie 
former  kind.     The  war  with   the  American  plantalaoDS  wsb  of  tlu< 
latter.     There  were  not  wanting  persons,  up  to  oompm^Toly  reoent 
times,  who  have  disputed  the  liability  of  the  nation  in  respect  of  diew 
loans.      But  though  the  doctrine  that  the  pablic  policy  of  ffitpoww'"' 
governments  should  be  continnous,  is  a  dangerous,  a  disaatmis,  even 
an  immoral  theory,  it  would  be  even  more  dangerous  and  disutrons  to 
dispute   the  validity  of   engagements   entered  into  with  the  public 
creditor.     The  popular  defence  for  the  sanctity  of  these  obtigatiou^^ 
that  the  nation  has  inherited  the  benefits  as  well  as  the  aCnuggjes  O^ 
bygone  public  action,  has  never  seemed  to  me  to  be  worth  mvdi. 
in  the  first  place,  many  of  those  who  have  inherited  the  liability,  ba^ 
succeeded  to  no  other  part  of  the  inheritance ;  and  in  the  next,  tfc — ^ 
progress   of  the   nation   is  very   doubtfully  due   in   any  appreciab*"^^^^^ 
quantity  to  the  wisdom  of  bygone  administrations.      The  inheritancs^ss^* 
too,  of  Great  Britain  after  1782,  according  to  what  was  then  thoagl^KIht 
wisdom,  was  enormously  curtailed  in  comparison  with  what  it  was  £:     ''^ 
]  763.     But  an  inheritance  of  public  faith  and  honour,  tiie  anbrok^^^^^ 
satisfaction  of  formally  contracted  obligations,  is  of  infinite  value,  n-^^^^ 
merely  because  it  makes  the  creation  of  fresh  obligations  easy,  Ir'^*"^* 
because  it  inculcates  commercial  integrity,  the  most  difiicalt  lesson  f^^Btfc 
states  and  individuals  to  learn. 

Of  the  same  kind  with  these  public  debts  are  municipal  obligatio^- 
secured  on  the  income  of  local  taxation.     The  incidence  of  this  1 
taxation,  is  indeed,  grossly  unfair.      Occupiers,  entirely  apart  f 
any  contracts  which  they  have  made,  the  policy  of  which  contracts 
exceedingly  disputable,  and  might  very  properly  be  made  the  subj 
of  legislation,  are  constantly  and  increasingly  hardened  by  the  obltf 
tion  of  making  permanent  improvements  on  the  landowner's,  or  grotL*^;^ 
landlord's,  estate,  to  which  that  fortunate  personage  contributes  nothi«:  -in?- 
Now  I  am  persuaded  that  nothing  tends  more  powerfully  to  deve'^^^s^op 
the  growing  hostility  tx)   landed  property  than  the  evasion  of  tb  j^mosf 
legitimate  liabilities  which  should  be  met  and  liquidated  by  the  owtr      "iera 
of  it.     Nothing  would  be  more  ruinous  than  an  attempt  to  recon8tt^=^~ncf 
society  on  theoretical  principles.     But  angry  men  are  ^'ery  apt  to        be 


VESTED   INTERESTS. 


783 


0  the  advocacy  of  violent  remedies,  and  in  time,  I  cannot  say  at 
ime,  no  anger  is  hotter  than  tho  conviction  that  fiscal  injustice 
g  perpetrated.  But  tha  liability  which  is  created,  even  tliough 
prighteously  imposed,  is  a  vested  interest  of  the  true  kind,  and, 
&s  the  creditor  is  concerned,  must  be  religiously  and  scrupulously 
ted.  In  point  of  fact,  the  State  has  delegftted  a  part  of  its 
\  to  the  borrowing  municipality  or  other  organisation,  and  the 
if  the  borrowers  is  as  stringent  in  relation  to  those  local,  as  it  is 
lerial,  liabilities. 

oiay  seem  that  I  am  proving  what  needs  no  proof.  But  my 
in  dwelling  on  these  facts  is  to  point  out  what  a  true  vested 
it  is,  in  order  that  I  may  show,  as  I  go  on,  what  is  a  doubtful 
lintereat,  and  what  is  finally  a  fictitious  or  unwarrantable  one. 
imll  be  plain,  that  if  such  an  interest  in  no  way  resembles  that 
"^is  confessedly  binding,  or  is  deficient  in  the  evidence  of  any 
le  or  real  contract,  the  claim  is  always  disputable,  and  may  be 
y  untenable.  One  would  never  admit  that  one  was  bound  by 
dmant's  view  of  the  case,  one  must  never  allow  that  his  real  or 
d  social  or  political  influence  is  to  justify  his  demand,  but  one 
aave  ample  proof,  that  in  his  relations  to  the  public,  and  in  the 
which  he  assumes  under  these  relatione,  there  has  been  an  ante- 
\  and  clear  recognition  of  his  contingent  demand,  and  the  public's 
gent  liability  to  compensation.  And  this  evidence,  necf  ssaiy  in 
le  of  an  individual,  should  be  still  more  strictly  demanded  when 
Ited  interest  is  claimed  as  an  inheritance.  A  pension  granted  to 
krl  of  Bath  and  his  heirs,  to  Marshal  Schomberg,  &c-  &c.,  not 
te  other  and  even  more  startling  illustrations,  is  totally  different 
he  interest  payable  on  money  advanced  and  loans  created.  In 
ter  case,  there  is  undoubted  value  received  ;  in  the  former,  there 
>  value,  the  8er\'ice  was  in  some  casea  doubtful,  in  some  even 
litable,  and  it  is  intolerable  that  posterity  should  be  permanently 
id  with  what  was  in  its  inception  a  scandal,  an  indecency,  and 
live  wrong.  The  power  which  gave  them  or  permitted  them  is 
f  entitled  to  demand  that  they  should  ceaae.  Now  this  power 
tiaraent,  or  rather  the  House  of  Commons.  And  though  it  is 
►le  that  hereafler  Parliament  will  not  permit  such  grants,  it 
pDo  well  if  the  Legislature  marked  its  disapprobation  of  past 
y  rescinding  what  a  bygone  generation  had  no  earthly  right  on 
x>und  to  impose  on  posterity.      Besides  there  is  good  rea.son  to 

1  that  the  respect  which  has  been  shown  hitherto  to  such  inde- 
\t  grants  is  made  a  more  or  less  plausible  excuse  for  advanci 
■vhich  are  in  no  greater  degree  defensible. 

pensions  which  have  been  granted  with  full  knowledj 
stime  of  those  who  have  been  engaged  in  the  publii 
tly  vested  interests.     They  are  part  of  the  te' 


784 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Ju» 


pardoned  the  expresBion,  under  which  the  service  was  hired.  The 
bargain  may  have  been  improvident,  the  terms  may  have  been  far  too 
high.  I  have  been  accuetomed  to  say  that  our  judges  are  bound  to 
justify  the  £5000  a  year  or  more  which  is  paid  them,  and  that  few 
succeed  in  doing  so,  and  when  I  am  told  that  they  did  better  when  tbey 
were  in  practice^  I  am  full  of  compassion  for  their  former  clients.  It 
may  be  that  the  other  services  are  overpaid.  On  that,  I  can  form  no 
opinion,  nor  if  I  could,  would  it  be  important  to  my  argument.  I 
entirely  recognise  that  the  public  is  bound,  during  the  lifetime  of  every 
person  whose  services  it  has  secured,  to  the  t'Orms  of  its  bargain. 
But  it  is  not  debarred  from  revising  this  bargain  in  the  case  of  all 
new  comers.  It  is  under  no  hereditary  obligation,  and  I  can  conceive 
no  proceas  under  which  an  hereditary  obligation  could  be  made  binding, 
any  more  than  I  can  conceive  a  perpetual  and  unalterable  Act  of 
Parliament,  I  am  not,  it  will  be  observed,  assuming  that  the  present 
arrangement  would  be  wisely  changed.  All  I  assert  is  that  it  cannot 
be  unchangeable.  The  vested  interest  is  particular  or  individual,  and 
ceases  with  the  individual. 

Analogous  to  this  case,  but  not  nearly  so  clear,  was  the  compensation 
{^ranted  to  the  clergy  under  the  Irish   Church  Disestablishment  Act. 
Here  no  security,  with  full  knowledge  on  the  part  of  one  of  the  parties, 
had  been  given  or  implied,  beyond  the  exceedingly  arguable  question, 
as  to  whether  persons  who  are  necessarily  damnified  by  what  we  must 
assume,  w  In/poihrsi,  to  have  been  an  imperative  and  urgent  change, 
are  entitled  to  consideration  and  compensation.      I  Bhall  be  able  to 
point    out    cases   which   are    incomparably   harder  than  that  of  the 
Irish  clergy  was,  in  which  no  compensation  was  awarded,  and,  indeed, 
no  compensation  could  have  been.     And  I  shall  be  able  to  quote  a 
case  in  which  ample  compensation  was   made,  where  on  no  considera- 
tion whatever  was  compensation  justified.      In  the  case  of  the  Irish 
clergy,  the  existing  beneficiaries  were  presented  with  a  sum  calculated, 
perhaps  liberally,  on  the  expectation  of  life,  and  those  who  were   not 
•beneficed^  but  might  expect  to  be  proraotetl,  were  also  compensated. 
Now  this  could  not  be  challenged,  in  my  opinion.     The  Irish  Church 
had  committed  no   offence  which  would  justify  any  deprivation,    atid 
its  members  could  not  be  iield  resixinsible  for  the  circumstances  wtigji 
made  a  political  change  imperative.    They  who  held  benefices  had  Ijeen 
presented  to  them  for  life,  and  during  good  behaviour.     There  «rj^^  ^^ 
ground  on  which  they  could  in  fairness  be  dispossessed.     The  Cq^^  ^r 
the  curates  was  more  doabtful,  and  the  claim  less  defensible. 

Now  let  ua   take  another  cose.     After   the  affair  of   174o^     ^v. 
Parliament  of  Great  Britain  determined  on   abolishing  the  ^^t-\\^^\]q 
jurisdictions  in  Scotland.    The  marvel  is  that  these  abomination^ 
allowed  to  last  so  long.     But  it  was,  perhaps  still  is,  a  featuves   \^  »Lg 
Scottish  character,  that  it  has  been  constantly  desirous  oi  ^^^^^"tx\^    .^ 


use,  apparently  because  it  seemed  a  part  of  the  nationality.  And 
leed,  the  Scotch  waged  a  long  ? nd  vety  unequal  struggle  to  maintain 
Now  it  was  clear  that  no  social  or  political  union  was  possible  in 
otland,  if  a  swarm  of  little  chieftains  were  to  be  recognised  as 
iglets.  But  after  1745  Scotland,  even  Lowland  Scotland,  was 
seedingly  sensitive  and  very  irritated.  The  war  in  the  Highlands  had 
en  finished  savagely,  and  the  Honse  of  Hanover  was  decidedly 
popular  north  of  the  Tweed.  So  the  Government  of  the  day  bought 
i  Scotch  heritors  oat.  A  protest  was  indeed  lodged  against  the 
U.  The  names  appended  to  it  are  not  considerable,  and  that  of  one 
■te  Lords  is  remarkable.  It  is  that  of  Lanrence  Shirley,  Lord 
fiers.  who  might  have  had  an  instinct  against  all  jurisdiction,  for 
came  to  be  hung.  Now  this  was  a  case  in  which  a  political  error 
s  committed  in  order  to  conciliate  opposition,  for  none  of  the  Scottish 
ds  who  took  the  money  signed  the  protest.  It  was  a  case,  in  short, 
which  a  reform,  an  inevitable  reform,  was  most  unjustiflably  bought, 
i  it  formed  the  precedent  for  a  far  worse  transaction  more  than 
if  a  century  later,  and  was  quoted,  ineffectually  indeed,  later  still. 
The  constitution  of  the  Irish  House  of  Commons  was  the  work  of 
)8e  who  advised  James  L,  after  that  pacification  of  Ireland  which 
lowed  on  O'Neill's  rebellion,  and  l^&  social  changes  which  Davis 
istrained.  It  would  be  difficult, -iferhaps  impossible,  to  discover  the 
3ns  which  induced  the  Lancastrian  and  Tudor  Sovereigns  or  their 
listers  to  confer  the  privilege  of  sending  members  to  Parliament 
ratton  and  BlelehiDgly,  on  the  Cornish  and  the  Wiltshire  boroughs, 
muld  be  impossible  and  entirely  unprofitable  to  seek  after  the 
|Ve6  which  induced  the  English  (roverument,  at  the  beginning  of 
jeveuteenth  century,  to  bestow  a  similar  franchise  on  the  beggarly 
2ta  which  sent  a  majority  of  the  Irish  members  to  the  J'arlia- 
of  Wentworth,  of  Molyneux,  and  of  Grattan.  It  is  easy, 
\er,  to  discover  why,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  the  franchise 
valuable.  The  worst  scandals  of  the  English  civil  list  were 
virtue  by  the  moat  defensible  practices  of  the  Irish  civil  list. 
la  lucky  rogue  fled  from  justice  to  Ireland,  and  carried  his 
pm  Englaud,  he  was  made  an  Irish  peer.  When  a  ministerial 
was  too  scandalous  to  be  rewarded  by  Walpole  or  Newcastle, 
lade  an  Irish  placeman,  and  the  attempts  to  purify  the 
[ouse  of  Commons,  inadequate  as  they  were  in  the  days  of 
re  not  copied  in  the  discipline  of  the  Irish  House.  Tlie 
making  laws  for  the  Irish  people  was  indeed  denied,  under 
LCt,  to  the  Irish  Parliament :  the  power  of  levying  taxes  on 
people,  and  distributing  the  proceeds  among  the  Irish  peers, 
*ish  representatives,  so  called,  was  a  convenience  to  the 
'"ernment,  and  was  conceded.  A  seat  in  the  Irish  House 
Was  therefore  a  possible  advantage  of  a  very  soUd  kind. 
3  F 


78G 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEfF. 


[Jb 


The  Irish  House  sat  during  the  lifetime  of  the  Sovereign,  and  one  of 
the  refoiina  which  the  Irish  refonners  at  last  and  after  many  effiirts 
procured,  was  the  ILraitation  of  parliamentary  existence  to  eight  years. 
I  do  not  think  that  in  all  the  farces  which  have  been  played  in 
history,  under  the  name  of  representative  institutions,  anything  was 
ever  more  grotesque  and  indefensible  than  the  old  Irish  House  of 
Commons :  that,  indeed,  which  subsisted  up  to  the  Union.  It  waa 
actually  far  worse  than  that  of  Scotland. 

Now  I  will  assume  here  that  the  Union  of  1800  was  necessary, 
inevitable,  beneficent.  I  am  concerned  with  the  economical  circum- 
stances only  which  accompanied  it.  Base  and  corrupt  as  the  majorilv 
of  that  Parliament  was,  it  is  plain  that  the  measure  with  which  Pitt's 
name  is  indelibly  associated  woiild  never  have  been  carried  if  tli« 
patrons  of  seats  in  the  Irish  Commons  had  not  been  bribed.  Elected 
Parliaments  have,  by  an  obvious  and  accurate  metaphor,  been  called 
the  grand  juries  of  nations,  the  members  of  which  are  bound  to  do 
justice  between  contending  interests.  However  much,  in  practice, 
Parliament  has  violated  or  evaded  this  duty,  it  always  professes  to 
fulfil  it.  When  it  does  its  worst  acts,  it  always  puts  forward  or 
accepts  plausible  sophisms  for  its  misconduct.  But  the  majority  of 
the  Irish  House  of  Commons,  as  Flood  indignantly  alleged,  never 
professed  a  higher  motive  than  personal  interest.  To  aftect  pabhc 
virtue  was  too  transparent  a  fiction.  So  these  people  had  to  l» 
bought,  and  the  British  taxpayer  is  still  paying  the  interest  on  the 
purchase- money.  Mr.  Goschen  has  recently  and  very  properly,  the 
opportunity  otferiug,  been  able  to  reduce  the  interest.  The  stock  is 
probably  in  veiy  diftl^rent  hands  from  those  which  originally  received 
the  compensation.  It  is  very  difficult  to  conceive  a  vested  interest 
which  hiis  less  defence  than  that  of  a  seat  in  Parliament. 

The  two  cases  of  the  compensation   for  the  abolition  of  herit-abie 
juvisdictions  in   Scotland,   and    the  compensation    given  to  the  pt'O' 
prietors  of  nomination  boroughs  in   Ireland,  both  entirely,  and  npo^ 
any  principle,  indefensible,  are,  I  cannot  doubt,   the  precedents  b>^^ 
defence  of  the  modern  doctrine  that  whatever  the  State,  ignorantly   **^ 
negligently,  permits  to  exist,  cannot   be    extinguished  or    refortf**^ 
without  cumpensating  those  who  have  made  profit  out  of  a  wrof  ^' 
When  the  first  Reform  Bill  of  1832  waa  passed,  the  precedent  of  Ic?^ 
was  strongly  pressed,  especially  in  the  House  of  Lords,  and  parti^^ 
larly  by   Lord   ^lansfield,  one  among    the   numerous   illustrations 
how  dangerous  and  mischievous  it  is  to  bestow  hereditary  rank  »J3^ 
power  on  great  lawyers,  for  no  more  marked  contrast  can  be  foi»J* 
than  that  between  the  illustrious  and  wise  judge  who  received  t**^ 
peerage    and  the    successor  who  inherited  it.      Fortunately  for  "tJ> 
honour  of  the  Legislature,  compensation  was  refused,  and  tie  1»*^' 
precedent  was  not  created.      But   nnlackily  the   mischief  had  b©®" 


of 


VESTED   INTERESTS. 


787 


Still,  bad  as  tlie  nnreformed  Parliament  of  Great  Britain  was, 
d  never  in  its  worst  days  been  guilty  of  the  scandals  which  were 
al,  habitualj  and  recognised  in  the  Irish  House  of  Commons. 
we  take  the  principles  which  have  guided  Parliament  in  com- 
kting  vested  interests,  I  know  no  stronger  case  than  that  which 
[  he  made  out  on  behalf  of  the  English  agricultural  labourer 
le  time  when  the  New  Poor  Law  was  enacted.  The  English 
int  had,  at  various  periods  in  his  history,  been  deliberately 
ped  of  certain  definite  advantages  which  he  possessed.  By  the 
>f  15(J2  he  had  been  constrained  to  accept  the  wages  which  the 
|§B  in  Quarter  Sessions  thought  proper  to  allow  him.  How 
ely  these  personages  administered  the!  Act  is  proved  by  the  fact 
employers  were  more  merciful  than  the  law,  or,  rather,  tlmn  those 
interpreted  it.  In  1589  came  the  Allotments  Act,  nnder  which  it 
highly  penal  to  build  a  cottage  with  less  than  four  acres  of  land 
hed  to  the  occupancy,  and  penalties  were  also  imposed  on  the 
rowding  of  inhabitants  in  cottages,  severe  fines  being  put  on 
t  who  allowed  mora  than  one  family  to  dwell  in  one  of  these 
ges,  or,  indeed,  any  other.  TJio  Act  lasted  for  nearly  two 
tries,  and  was  undoubtedly  a  great  boon  to  the  peasant,  for  the 
srs  in  the  eighteenth  century  complained  that  it  made  him  too 
jMident.  Then  the  various  Enclosure  Acts  of  the  eighteenth  and 
MDth  centuries,  by  which  I  do  not  mean  those  which  distributed 
ion  or  open  fields  into  several  and  fenced  ownerships,  but  those 
:i  enclosed  and  appropriated  the  commons,  deprived  him  of 
ler  advantage.  Furthermore,  the  progressive  stringency  with 
h  the  Game  Laws  were  enacted  and  administered,  some  of  them, 
those  the  worst,  being  of  very  recent  date,  cut  him  off  from  inci- 
d  advantages  which  he  freely  enjoyed  up  to  comparatively  modern 
u 

DW,  when  these  invasions  on  his  social  or  traditional  rights  were 
«d,  and  the  privilege  of  making  a  bargain  for  his  labour,  the 
itagoof  an  inalienable  allotment  to  his  cottage,  the  right  of  nsing 
arish  common  for  his  little  stock,  and  that  of  soaring  game  on  the 
land  for  his  subsistence,  were  successively  taken  away,  and  the 
let  of  those  who  did  him  these  injuries  was  criticised,  the  answer 
Mly  given  was  that  his  maintenance  was  the  first  charge  on  the 
ftWe  are  of  course  aware  that  the  famous  jvoor  law  of  Elizabeth 
Hiacted  in  1601.  But  there  were  poor  laws  in  plenty  during  the 
^f  her  reign,  and  the  object  of  all  of  them  was  to  compensate 
Bkourer  for  the  restraint  which  the  law  put  on  his  power  of 
nding  what  wages  he  thought  proper.  T  am  quite  aware  that  the 
was  of  doubtful  sincerity,  but  it  was  always  put  forward  in 
of  these  changes.  I  am  also  aware  that  those  who  paid  for 
>Iementary  maintenance  ^vcrc  constantly  those  who  did  not 


388 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEJV. 


[Jon 


use  his  services  ;  in  other  words,  that  the  burden  of  supporting  him 
was  put  on  to  those  who  did  not  obtain  the  advantage  of  plnndering 
him  ;  but  this  was  an  incident  subsequent  to  the  social  conditJOM 
under  which  Elizabeth's  poor  law  was  enacted,  and  practically  unfore- 
seen by  thoso  who  enacted  its  provisions.  But  for  more  than  twt' 
centuries  it  was  alleged  that  the  maintenance  of  the  peasant  was  a 
first  charge  on  the  land  and  on  its  profits. 

The  New  Poor  Law  of  1834  took  away  all  that  had  been  pledged, 
I  do  not  say  guaranteed,  to  the  poor,  without  any  compensation  what- 
ever. Now,  it  cannot  bo  doubted  that  the  changes  to  which  I  hav? 
referred  were  invariably  justified  by  the  reservation  which  I  have 
(|uoted — that  the  labour  of  the  peasant  should  be  employed,  and  fafl- 
ing  this,  that  his  maintenance  should  be  guaranteed.  The  defence  0/ 
the  Corn  Laws,  too,  and  of  their  obvious  effect  on  wages,  was  always 
borrowed  from  the  same  topic,  that  if  the  cost  of  the  peasant's  liveli- 
hood was  heightened,  the  charges  of  it  were  imposed  on  the  land. 
But  the  New  Poor  Law,  perhaps  inevitably,  declined  to  find  him  work, 
and  coupled  his  maintenance  with  harsh  and  degrading  conditions. 
Besides,  the  Com  Laws  were  kept  in  existence  twelve  years  after  Hat 
New  Poor  Law  was  enacted,  and  were  surrendered  to  an  agitation  whidi 
was  almost  national,  and  to  the  calamity  of  the  Irish  famine,  whidi 
was  as  national.  I  cannot  imagine  on  any  plea  which  has  been  alle^ 
on  behalf  of  vested  intereata  in  modem  times,  any  case  in  which  tl)« 
defence  is  better  made  out  than  in  that  of  the  English  peasant.  Bat  a 
moment's  reflection  will  prove  that  it  could  not  have  been  satififie<J 
without  ruinous  concessions.  It  is  proved  by  implication  that  cod- 
cessions  which  have  been  made  to  others  whose  claim  is  far  less  vwlii 
have  been  favours  and  not  equities.  It  may  be  that  they  seemed  Ut 
be  politic,  it  does  not  follow  that  they  are  just,  and  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  it  is  ever  politic  to  yield  to  a  demand  on  the  public  pnrw, 
the  justice  of  which  may  be  very  effectively  controverted.  Let  u» 
look  at  one  or  two  of  these  cases. 

About  five-and-twenty  years  ago,  I'arliament  decided  on  refornung 
the  old  courts  which  were  known  collectively  as  Doctors'  Commons. 
In  these  courts  a  system  of  law,  mainly  derived  from  the  civil  code, 
was  administered,  and  the  practitioners  in  these  courts  were  known  as 
advocates  and  proctors,  the  analogues  of  barristers  and  soliciUn 
Now,  the  changes  in  the  administration  of  law  which  Parliament  had 
resolved  on  effecting,  and  the  new  laws  which  it  had  determined  vn 
enacting,  were  certain  to  increase  the  business  of  those  who  we»  en- 
gaged as  advocates  and  proctors,  and  in  no  sense  whatever,  actual  or 
prospective,  was  these  people's  livelihood  from  their  calling  liable  ii> 
curtailment.  But  Parliament,  led  by  the  precedents  of  unjust  »b^ 
saperfluous  compensation  to  interests  which  no  ingenuity  could  ded«* 
to  be  vested,  agreed  to  give  these  people  compensation,  appartflt!?' 


«89o] 


VESTED   INTERESTS. 


789 


becaase  it  hafl  improved  their  position.  The  examination  of  their 
position  led  to  a  singular  reaulfc.  They  put  in  enormous  claims,  and 
the  CommiBsioners,  one  of  whom  was  my  informant,  were  aghast  at  the 
liabilities  which  Parliament  had  sanctioned.  But  an  astute  member 
of  the  Board  bethought  himself  of  comparing  the  claims  of  profits 
made  under  the  old  system  with  the  income-tax  retnrns  which  these 
honest  people  had  made.  The  discrepancy  was  enormousj  and  the  un- 
paid and  undeclared  liabilities  which  were  disclosed,  still  due  from  them, 
went  a  great  way  towards  clearing  off  the  liabilities  with  which  the 
thoughtless  and  unwarrantable  generosity  of  Parliament  had  burdened 
the  exchequer.  The  income-tax  is  a  very  bad  tax,  and  not  even  the 
ingenuity  of  Mr.  Gladstone  has  been  able  to  discover  a  decent  apology 
for  it.  But  on  this  occasion  it  did  a  valuable  indirect  service,  for  it 
neutralised,  to  a  considerable  extent,  an  act  of  folly  and  a  conseqaent 
fraud.  I  do  not  think  that  the  compensation  to  the  advocates  and 
proctors  would  ever  have  been  Berioualy  proposed  if  it  had  not  been  the 
case  that  still  more  indefensible  compenaations  were  given  in  the 
Acts  for  abolisliing  heritable  jurisdictions  in  Scotland,  and  for  carry- 
ing the  Irish  Union.  I  am  persuaded  that  if  one  were  to  extend  the 
practice  into  cases  infinitely  more  defensible  than  those  which  I  have 
quoted,  not  only  would  necessary  reforms  be  arrested,  but  the  tax- 
payer would  be  overwhelmed  with  tho  burdens  which  Parliament, 
having  regard  to  consistency,  would  impose.  But  it  is  only  what 
Juvenal  calls  the  chicks  of  the  white  hen  who  get  these  superfluous 
favours. 

Rightly  or  wrongly,  Parliament  resolved,  near  twenty  years  ago,  on 
abolishing  purchase  in  the  army,  and  making  entrance  into  that  branch 
of  the  public  service  depend  on  competitive  examinations.  Now  a  com- 
petitive examination  is  by  no  means  the  best  way  in  which  you  can 
teat  fitness  for  any  function  whatever.  Its  chief  excuse,  and  experi- 
ence proves  that  it  needs  a  peqjetual  excuse,  perhaps  some  limitations, 
SB  soon  as  people  can  get  over  the  craze  in  its  favour,  is  that  it  is  an 
escape  from  more  serious  evils,  as  any  one  who  knows  aljout  the  consti- 
tution and  practice,  for  example,  of  the  Oxford  colleges,  before  the 
first  "University  Act  of  1854,  would  have  to  confess. 

During  the  reign  of  the  early  Georges,  regiments  were  constantly 

raised  on  what  may  be  called  the  joint-stock  principle,  the  officers, 

from  the  colonel  to  the  ensign,  subscribing  the  funds  necessary  for 

enlisting,  clothing  and  drilling  the  recruits.      The  system  received  the 

sanction  of   Parliament,   and   was  a  recognised  process,  and  value  was 

given  for  the  rank,  pay  and  pensions  of  the  ogents  in  this  method  of 

raising  forces.   Indeed  at  the  time,  so  great  was  the  hatred  of  a  standing 

knny,  that  it  may  be  doubted  whether  the  House  of  Commons  would 

vre  voted  supplies  for  what  they  insisted  was  the  enslavement  of  the 

aple,  and  the  revival  of  the  enormities  perpetrated  during  Oliver's 


70O 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVJEiV 


[Jm 


reign,  even  if  the  most  powerful  Minister  had  pressed  them  to  yieli 
The  successors  of  that  party  which  denounced  a  standing  arm)-,  aod 
waa  unreasonably  jealous  of  it  then,  are  as  unreasonably  fond  of  h. 
now.  But  there  cannot  be  a  doubt  that  the  original  subscribers  Lad 
a  vested  interest,  on  the  principles  which  I  have  laid  down,  and 
that  successive  purchasers  had  u  vested  interest  also.  The  nation 
could  not  recover  its  army  for  itself  without  compensation.  In  my 
opinion,  it  should  have  given  that  compensation  to  every  officer  wbo 
had  purchased  his  steps,  whether  he  left  the  army  or  remained  in 
it,  the  State  electing,  as  part,  of  the  bargain,  whether  it  wouU 
retain  hia  sei'vicea  or  dispense  with  them.  It  did  not  take  this  faoneat 
and  straightforward  coui-se,  and  in  consequence  considerable  pecniuMy 
loss  was  inflicted  on  some  of  the  most  deserving  and  valuable  men  it 
the  public  service.  The  fact  is,  it  was  forced,  under  the  traditional 
doctrine  of  the  vested  interest,  into  giving  undue  compensation  w 
the  least  valuable  and  the  least. deserving. 

The  Government,  or  at  least  the  War  Office  under  Government^ 
had  strictly  limited  the  price  at  which  commiasionfl  could  be  tnuu- 
fcrred  by  sale.     The  tariff  had  all  the  force  of  law.    But  many  pur- 
chasers had  given  more  than  the  statutable  price,  especially  in  tbo» 
regiments  which  are  seldom  called  into  active  service,  and  it  is  not  un- 
charitable to   suppose  that  there  were  motives,  other  than  heroifin. 
which  heightened  the  price  that  these  inactive  warriors  gave.    It  % 
again,  not  unfair  to  suggest   that  such  persona  were  not  the  motf 
desirable  and   trustworthy  of  officers,  and  indeed  the  Crimean  war 
supplied  several   painful   illustrations  of  the  case  which    I  pnt    On 
every  ground  then,  especially  that  the  parties  had  knowingly  broken 
the  law,  the  compensation  should  have  been  limited  U)  the  regulata^^ 
price,     ■  But   the  sons  of  Zeruiah,   not    in  this  case  as  vahant  u.^v 
David's  champions,  were  too  strong  for  the  Treasury,  and  the        ^ 
was  paid  by  a   patient  people.     Few  cases  more  strongly  i"^V^~^^-vc^ 
the  diHerenco  between  a  vested  interest  which  should  be  ^^^^^^;^^/^*^ 
and  a  false  vested  interest  than  the  final  settlement  of  the        ^^**^ 
Purchase  Act.     The   Act   did   not  a  few   wrongs,  and    it   o<*^jj^^^^ 
breaches  of  the  law. 

Closely  analogous  to  the  vested  interest,  and  indeed   on  _^  vfla^N-Hs 

an  offshoot  of  it,  is  tho  modern  doctrine  of  compensation  ^^^  '^     »<5>-^«** 
polsorj'  purchase  of  land,  houses,  and  property  inaepartblc  tr"?     "a/**^^ 
— W.,  te(|uiring  the  permanent  use  of  land  for  its  existence-  ^  ^c>iJ''  -(^ 

"that  the  ownership  of  any  laad  whatever  is  in^^^    .ej'^"^ 


1  sncred  spots,  round  which  public  and  private  :    ^'^^•^^^ 
be  clustered,  must,  if  need  arise,  be  saoiiticed  to  pviblic  ^  ^Htsjm 
low,  for  example,  what  would  be    done  if   »   w^ge         '^^-^^ 
^.     Kow,  of  course,  those  who  are  displaced   fihoolZo 
1.      If  their  property  is   wanted    for  the   public  s     ; 


792 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[JCVK 


the  largest  share.  Our  forefathers  did  not  compensate  the  owneis 
of  Alsatia,  the  Mini,  the  Savoy,  and  the  Westminster  dens,  and  I  do 
not  see  why  we  should  give  more  than  the  bare  value.  At  last  tkd 
systero  was  altered,  chiefly  owing  to  the  action  of  Sir  Richard  (now 
IjQvd)  Cress — at  least  he  assured  me  so  himself.  But  the  10  percent, 
remains  in  deference  to  the  new  and  untenable  doctrine  that  one  must 
needs  compensate  what  the  owners  of  something  are  pleased  to  call 
a  vested  interest,  if  \hey  are  clamorous  and  powerful  enough  to 
extort  it. 

In  the  same  way  the  old  telegraph  companies  were  purchased  at  t 
price  which  was  far  in  excess  of  their  possible  value.  This  transaction 
ifl  now  about  twenty  years  old.  The  system  has  the  advantage  of 
being  under  Government,  of  being  carried  out  with  enforced  econoniy, 
with  many  privileges,  and,  therefore,  many  savings  which  private 
enterprise  cannot  secure,  and  notwithstanding,  as  I  read  recently  in 
a  statement  of  one  of  the  Ministers,  the  service  cost  half  a  million 
more  than  it  earned  in  the  year.  The  public  had  to  pay  for  an  unten- 
able vested  interest.  Tlie  State  should  have  paid  what  the  under- 
takings were  worth.  They  should  have  enforced  honest  terms  by  the 
threat  and  the  reality  of  competition.  As  it  was  they  treated  tie 
plant  as  indestructible,  the  undertakings  as  a  legal  monopoly,  and 
then  paid  on  this  fictitious  capital  r50  per  cent,  more  than  it  could 
possibly  be  worth.  And  it  is  noteworthy  that  tlie  President 
of  the  Board  of  Trade,  when  debating  Mr.  Watt's  motion  for  the 
purchase  of  the  railways,  cited  this  very  purchase  of  the  telegraphs  as 
a  reason  why  thw  Government  should  hesitate  exceedingly  before  it 
purchased  any  property  wbatevor.  Parliament,  in  short,  has  recog- 
nised in  its  doctrine  of  vested  interests  such  extravagant  oompensa- 
tions  that  it  is  debarred  in  common  prudence  from  making  the  nation 
the  victim  of  its  own  practices. 

In  1880  the  Government  had  nearly  completed  a  project  for  pur- 
chasing,  on   behalf  of  the   London   ratepayers,   the  property  of  the 
London  Water  Companies.      The  same  extravagant  and  indefensible 
estimates  had  been  made  about  the  capital  value  of  the  property  by 
Mr.  E.  Smith,  and  ho  was  supported  in  his  views  by  members  of  the 
Institute  of  Surveyors,  a  body  of  scientists  who  have,  in  my  opinion, 
inflicted  more  Injury  on  the  public  and  their  clients  than  is  generally 
known  or  even  augpected.      Mr.  Smith's  calculations  assumed  that  the 
undertakings  were  exempt   from  competition,  a  contingency  to  which 
all  their  Acts  expressly  subject  them  ;  that  their  plant  was  indestructi- 
ble ;  that  they  had  a  vested  interest  in  the  right  to  tax  the  inhabi- 
tants  under  colour  of  supply,  and  that  the   10   per  cent,   maiimoni, 
which    they  might   divide,    was   a   guaranteed  dividend  ;  as  thongh 
Parliament   in  its  most  insane  moments  would  ever  guarantee  «ny 
commercial  undertaking  whatever  a  10  per  cent,  dividend  backwards 


1890] 


VESTED    INTERESTS. 


798 


and  forwards,  out  of  the  public  or  private  purse.  Upon  these  assump- 
tions the  price  of  coTnpensation  for  appropriating  these  undertakings 
was  based.  Fortunately,  the  bargain  was  examined  by  a  Select  Com- 
mittee on  which  I  served,  and  the  principles  of  the  scheme  were 
repudiated.  It  has  been  my  fortune  subsequently,  when  three  of  the 
companies  came  for  increased  boiTowing  powers,  to  define  and  intro- 
dnce  into  the  Acta  very  different  rules  of  action  from  those  which 
marked  the  older  project.  Now  it  is  difficult  to  defend  principles  of 
purchase  which  experience  has  shown  to  be  ruinous^  and  which  would 
assuredly  end  in  grave  public  disaster  if  many  such  negotiations  were 
carried  out.  There  is  no  higher  value  in  an  undertaking  than  that 
for  which  it  will  sell,  and  the  price  at  which  an  undertaking  will  sell 
ia  generally  indicated  with  sufficient  accuracy  by  the  capitalised  value 
of  its  stoc^,  before  it  is  inflated,  as  the  Telegraph  stocks  were,  by  the 
prospect  of  a  Government  purchase. 

The  common  practice  in  relation  to  what  are  assumed  or  asserted 
to  be  vested  interests,  is  the  most  serious  hindrance  to  fiscal  and  social 
reforms.  It  was  alleged  a  generation  ago  that  landed  property  had 
been  bought,  subject  to  certain  charges,  levied  for  the  service  and  the 
fabric  of  the  Established  Church,  and  that,  therefore,  no  act  of  the 
Legislature  could  equitably  relieve  the  owner  from  such  contingencies. 
It  is  obrious  that  this  reasoning  would  apply  t«  relief  of  any  property 
from  any  burden,  wise  or  unwise,  disastrous  or  foolish,  which  had  been 
laid  on  it.  If  it  were  true  it  would  have  been  a  conclusive  criticism 
on  Sir  R.  Peel's  tariff  reforms,  the  boldest  and  most  far-seeing  legis- 
lation which  any  country  has  adopted.  It  would  be  a  sufficient 
answer  to  any  fiscal  change  whatever,  that  property,  no  matter  what, 
had  been  subjected  to  the  charge,  and  therefore  could  not  and  should 
not  escape  it.  It  would  be  the  doctrine  that  taxation  is  ransom  with 
m  witness,  the  amount  of  the  ransom  to  be  unchangeable  and  inex- 
orable. I  am  well  aware  of  the  difficulty  which  there  is  in  the  way 
of  shifting  taxes  and  imposing  new  ones,  and  Chancellors  of  the 
Exchequer  have  been  disagreeably  surprised  at  the  ferocious  criticism 
to  which  their  projects  are  subjected. 

The  remission  of  a  tax,  no  doubt,  confers  an  advantage  on  some  who 
have  hitherto  been  the  subjects  of  it,  or  the  channels  of  it,  for  I 
believe  tlmt  it  is  difficult  if  not  impossible  for  the  first  payer  of  a  tax 
to  shift  all  the  burden  of  it  on  to  other  shoulders,  and  in  some  cases 
he  cannot  shift  it  at  all.  Even  in  those  cases  where  he  seems  to 
transfer  it  wholly  to  his  customer,  his  business  is  cramped.  If  an 
Article  is  taxed  to  three  or  four  times  its  original  value,  or  cost  of  pro- 
duction, it  must  be  a  very  singular  commodity  if  its  use  is  not  curtailed, 
and  the  dealer  is  not  forced  to  acquiesce  in  narrower  and  more  stinted 
transactions  than  would  have  characterised  his  trade,  if  the  impost  had 
been  leas.      Over  and  over  again  it  has  been  shown  that  the  lessening 


794 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jtob 


of  import  duties  has  proved  a  great  Bptir  to  business,  and  has  even  put 
the  Exchequer,  after  a  time,  into  the  possession  of  a  higher  rerenoe 
that  it  gathered  tinder  a  larger  impost.  In  point  of  fact,  not  only  is 
Swift's  dictum  true,  that  in  tlw  arithmetic  of  the  customs,  two  and 
two  do  not  always  make  four,  hut  the  paradox  of  the  Greek  proverb, 
ttX/oi'  rtfiitrv  travTOQ,  half  is  more  than  the  whole,  has  been  over  and 
over  again  verified  by  experience. 

As  the  remission  of  every  old  tax  is  a  benefit,  and  that  frequently 
to  an  amount  which  is  considerably  in  excess  of  the  sum  which  is 
actually  paid,  so  the  imposition  of  a  new  tax  may  frequently  involve 
a  greater  loss  than  tlip  actual  charge  imposed.  This  is  alleged,  for 
example,  in  tho  case  of  Mr.  Goachon's  wheel  tax.  Had  it  been 
extended  to  all  carriages  which  use  such  roads  as  are  kept  in  repair  at 
the  public  charge,  and  had  it  not  contained  that  apparently  inera- 
dicable unfairness  of  agricultural  or  <p^ia,<>i  agricultural  exemptions, 
the  tax  would  have  been  perfectly,  ideally  fair.  It  is  impossible  to 
escape  Mr.  Goschen's  contention,  though  one  might  obviously  criticise 
the  reality  of  its  application,  that  those  who  use  the  road  should  pay 
for  tho  road.  They  should  not  indeed  pay  the  whole  cost,  for  the 
foot  passenger  uses  it.  But,  of  course,  the  contribution  from  the 
wheels  would  be  only  a  percentage  of  the  total  cost.  The  oppositicm 
to  the  tax  sfems  txj  me  to  amount  to  a  claim  that  people 
who  use  roads  for  trade  purposes  have  a  vested  right  in  having  a 
perfect  road  supplied  for  them  at  the  cost  of  other  people.  Let 
me  take  a  case.  The  London  vestries  have  determined  to  pavp 
the  principal  thoroughfares  with  wood.  It  is  a  very  expensive  kind 
of  pavement,  and  is  not  very  durable.  But  for  purposes  of  traction, 
a  wooden  pavement  is  nearly  as  perfect  as  a  tramway.  Now  it  needs 
no  great  efifort  of  the  imagination  to  see  that  a  very  large  share  of  the 
profits  annually  earned  by  the  London  Omnibus  Company,  and  the 
cab  proprietors,  are  due  to  the  outlay  on  roads  procured  f  ron  the  taxa- 
tion of  shopkeepers  along  the  lines  of  highway  which  are  thus  paved. 
I  cannot  see  why  these  people  should  be  mulcted  in  order  to  assist 
the  personal  profits  of  these  carriage  proprietors.  They  cannot  in 
equity  have  a  vested  interest  in  other  people's  taxes,  and  wide  reaching 
as  the  doctrine  of  vested  interests  is,  X  do  not  think  if  the  case  were 
fairly  stated,  and  the  impost  were  universal,  that  it  could  be  success- 
fully criticised. 

Of  course,  there  are  and  will  be  people  on  whom  the  tax  presses 
more  severely  than  it  does  on  others.  But  I  cannot  see  that  any  one 
luks  a  right  to  carry  on  his  business  at  somebody  else's  cost.  Goods 
must  be  carried,  and  the  cost  of  carriage  is  part  of  the  cost  of  distri- 
bution. But  the  cost  of  carriage,  like  any  other  service,  ought  to 
bear  its  own  necessary  charges,  and  a  well-repaired  road  is  part  of  tbe 
cost  of  carriage.     Nor  does  it  at  all  follow  that  the  public  will 


1890] 


VESTED   INTERESTS. 


796 


to  pay  for  tte  enhanced  charge,  any  more  than  that  they  always  derive 
a  benefit  from  the  remission  of  a  tax.  It  is  not  bo  many  years  since 
London  cabs  paid  a  tax  of  Is.  a  day,  or  £18  bs.  a  year.  The  tax  was 
greatly  reduced,  but  the  fares  were  not  lessened,  the  vehicles  are  not 
much  bettered,  and  the  cost  of  traction  all  the  while  has  been  greatly 
lessened.  The  saving  to  the  health  and  strength  of  horses  must  be 
very  great,  but  it  seems  that  van-owners  and  carriers  are  constantly 
hned  in  London  for  working  diseased  horses. 

The  most  recent  demand  for  compensation  on  the  plea  of  vested 
interests,  one  which  has  been  boldly  put  forward,  and  is  angi'ily  resisted, 
is  that  of  recognising  a  jiroperty  in  a  public-house  license,  of  making 
it,  as  has  been  said,  an  l state  of  inheritance.  It  is  not  new,  for  it 
has  always  been  held  out,  in  taroran,  against  those  temperance 
reformers,  who  are  by  no  means  the  advocates  of  abstinence,  but  con- 
clude that  as  the  profits  and  wages  of  the  country  pay  the  charges 
which  are  directly  traceable  to  the  intemperance  of  those  who  become 
ultimately  criminal  or  destit  ute,  they  who  pay  should  be  intrusted  with 
the  control  of  those  places  which  admittedly  are  responsible  for  those 
results.  But  the  public-house  interest  has  great  political  strength, 
owing  to  its  organisation  and  the  peculiar  opportunitiea  which  it 
possesses  for  making  its  influence  felt,  to  say  nothing  of  the  great 
wealth  possessed  by  brewers,  who  generally  own  the  freehold,  or,  at 
least',  hold  mortgages  of  those  places. 

Public-houses  in  England  have  always  been  under  police  control. 
In  the  manor  courts  they  are  under  the  supervision  of  two  officers 
annually  checked  by  the  homage.  When  the  local  jurisdiction  of  the 
parish  was  gradually  and  finally  transferred  to  the  justices,  the  licens- 
ing system  of  our  day  commenced.  It  is  only  the  county  magistrates 
who  have  the  control  of  licenses,  the  grant,  the  refusal  to  grant,  and 
the  revision  of  decisions  arrived  at  by  town  or  borough  magistrates. 
Recent  decisions  in  the  law-courts  have  affirmed  that  the  discretion  of 
the  quarter-sessions  is  absolute,  and  that  there  is,  as  yet,  absolutely 
no  property  Ln  the  license,  quite  uTespectively  of  the  conduct  of  the 
licensee. 

The  license  of  a  public-honse  is  really  a  mere  form  of  police, 
entitling  the  police  constubles  to  enter  such  bouses  at  their  discretion, 
to  report  on  the  character  of  those  who  keep  and  those  who  frequent 
such  houses,  to  put  some  check  on  drunkenness  and  disorder,  and  to 
prevent  if  jtossible  tboir  being  made  the  harbour  of  criminals.  Tho 
regulations  do  somethiug  in  these  directions,  but  only  a  little,  as  all 
who  are  acquainted  with  the  trade  testify.  The  competition  of  public- 1 
houses  is  very  sharp,  the  outlay  for  attracting  customers  is  very  great, 
but  the  profits,  if  all  I  have  heard  is  true,  are  enormous.  Certainly 
the  price  at  which  they  change  bauds  from  brewer  to  brewer  is  very 
often  many  times  in  excess  of  the  capital  valae  of  that  at  which  they 


are  rated.  It  is  novy  proposed  that  a  system  of  gupervision, 
which,  feeble  attempts  are  made  at  limiting  the  number  of  such  hooaefl, 
juad  rigid  police  inflpection  ia  theoretically  enforced,  may  be  held  to 
have  created  a  property  in  the  owner,  and  that  if  the  renewal  of  the 
license  ia  tobe  refused,  the  refusal  is  to  be  made  a  moral  plea  for  compen- 
sation ;  that,  in  brief,  a  man  is  to  hereafter  have  an  estate  in  his  own 
power  of  wrongdoing.  The  new  form,  it  is  true,  is  permissive,  but 
the  sting  of  the  measure  ia  the  virtual  recognition  of  a  new  kind  of 
property  in  a  calling,  which  the  present  law  declares  to  be  no 
property  at  all.  In  this  case,  I  cannot  but  conclude  that  the 
doctrine  of  ve8ted  interests  has  been  carried  to  a  point  which  it  has 
never  reached  before. 

The  concession  has  indeed  something  to  countervail  it,  which  I  do 
not  remember  t<3  have  noticed  in  the  very  numerous  comments  which 
I  have  read  on   the  new  departure.      If  the  license  is  so  exceptional 
an  advantage  that  it  should  in  equity  be  compensated  by  the  general 
taxpayer  on  being    extinguished,  two  things  it  seems  must   ensue. 
No  licensing  court  will  grant  a  new  license,    because  by  doing  so 
they  will  create  a  new  vested  interest  against  the  ratepayers,  for  whom 
they  may  be  considered  the  trustees.     The  project,  therefore,  tends 
towards  making  the  new  property  in  police  control  a  more  or  les§ 
regulated  monopoly,  which  cannot  grow  greater  and  may  grow  less, 
and  this  on  behalf  of  brewers  and  distillers,  whose  gains  are  already 
reputed  to  be  excessive,   and  as  the  evidence  of  cert-ain  joint-stock 
companies  of  recent  formation  indicates,  are  correctly  so  reputed.  And 
in  the  second  place,  if  this  be  a  valuable  property,  (and  the  contention 
of  those  who  claim  compensation  aflBrms,  whether  it  be  recognised  by 
the  legislature  or  not,  that  it  is,)  the  profits  of  these  houses  justify  the 
exceptional  rating  of  them,  to  an  amount  often  four  or  five  times  as 
much  as  that  at  which  they  are  customarily  rated,     I  cannot  see, 
even  under  the  Rating  Act  of  William  IV.,  how  they  can  escape  com- 
ng  to  the  full  under  the  force  of  the  definition,  that  the  rateable  value 
of  a  tenement  is  the  amount  at  which  one  can   reasonably  expect  it 
would  be  let.      But  if  this  is  to  be  the  result  of  the  claim,  certainly 
in  the  interest  of  brewer   and  publican  it  had  better  not  have  been 
made.      I  have  heard  of  a  public-house  being  sold  at  eighty  yean 
purchase  of  the  reputed  rent.      This  would  justify  a  fourfold  rating  af^ 
what  has  been  commonly  valued  at  twenty  years*  purchase  for  rating 
purposes,     I  cannot  see  how  an  appeal  could  be  consistently  main* 
tsined  against  »uch  a  valuation.      But  it   is  clear  that  if  the   rate 
were  sustained,  the  potential  compensation  would  hardly  be  a  blessing 
n  disguise. 

J.  E.  Tqobold  Rooebs. 


i89o] 


THE    LAW    IN    1847    AND    THE 
LAW    IN    1889. 


THE  following  paper  was  written  and  delivered  to  the  Law 
Students  at  Birmingham  early  in  last  year ;  but  I  tlien  refuBed 
to  publish  it,  as  it  might  be  thought  to  refer  to  passing  events  and 
living  men,  at  that  time  the  subjects  of  personal  and  strong  con- 
troversy. This  reason  against  publication,  never  one  founded  in  fact, 
has,  by  lapse  of  time,  ceased  to  be  of  any  avail ;  and  aa  there  are 
some  who  still  desire  to  see  the  paper  in  print,  it  is  not  worth  while 
on  this  score,  and  in  so  small  a  matter,  any  longer  to  object.  Haste 
and  incompleteness  are  much  better  objections ;  but  these  are  beyond 
my  power  to  remove  or  lessen,  and  I  will  say  only  that  I  am  as  fully 
aware  of  them  as  any  reader  can  be,  I  wish  to  add  that  when  the 
paper  was  written  I  had,  of  course,  not  seen  the  important  and 
admirable  paper  of  Lord  Herschell  on  the  duties  and  responsibilities 
of  an  advocate. 

Many  years  ago,  in  1877,  my  honoured  friend  William  Edward 
Forster  persuaded  me  to  go  to  see  him  at  his  YorkshLre  home, 
and  to  deliver  the  prizes  at  a  great  meeting  held  at  Bradford,  which 
he  then,  and  to  the  day  of  his  death,  represented  in  Parliament. 
He  and  I  had  to  make  speeches ;  and  as  it  was  an  educational 
gathering,  we  spoke  about  education.  About  his  speech  I  will  say 
nothing,  except  that  it  seoraed  to  me  excellent  and  characteristic  ;  bnt 
mine  undoubtedly  was  weary,  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable.  Next  day  in 
a  London  newspaper  there  was  an  article  on  our  speeches.  Had  the 
Chief  Justice  or  Mr.  Forster  nothing  to  give  us  but  platitudes  on 
education  ;  an  old  and  worn-out  subject,  on  which  neither  of  them 
had  anything  fresh  to  say  ;  of  which,  indeed,  their  knowledge  was  the 
knowledge  of  other  men,  long  since  assimilated  by  every  one  intereeted 


in  the  matter.  If,  now,  they  would  have  told  us  something  about  them- 
selves, how  they  prepared  themselves  for  their  parta  in  life,  how  they 
got  on  in  the  world,  how  far  and  in  what  respects  their  career  might 
be  an  example  or  a  warning  to  other  men ;  then,  indeed,  we  might 
have  listened,  certainly  with  interest,  possibly  with  advantage.  Well, 
I  remember  saying  to  my  friend,  supposing  we  had  taken  the  advice, 
we  know,  by  experience,  the  article  which  would  have  followed. 
Who  are  these  men  who  expect  to  interest  U9  in  their  egotistical 
reminiscences  ?  A  second-rate  politician,  a  third-rate  lawyer.  Have 
they  really  the  vanity  to  suppose  that,  beyond  their  own  families  and 
<li'pendents,  who  must  affect  an  interest  they  do  not  feel,  any  human 
beiug  cares  one  fju'thing  how  they  managed  to  achieve  any  position  in 
the  world,  which  did  very  well  without  them  before  their  appearance, 
and  which  will  be  hardly  conscious  of  it  when  they  disappear  ?  So, 
no  doubt,  would  our  young  gentleman,  our  daily  oracle  and  monitor, 
have  said,  and  not  without  reason. 

Twelve  years  have  passed  away,  and  one's  sensibility  to  attack  and 
criticism  has  become,  or,  at  least,  ought  to  have  become,  twelve  years 
blunter.  But  I  still  think  it  would  be  unwaiTantable  presumption  to 
occupy  your  time  with  a  personal  narrative,  or  to  attempt  to  direct 
you  into  paths  which  I  have  trodden  more  by  chance  than  choice,  and 
which  have  as  often  led  me  away  from,  aa  towards,  that  earthly  goal 
which  all  human  life  should  aim  at,  success  in  some  definite  and 
honourable  piu'suit,  chosen  with  prudence  and  followed  with  energy. 
Yet,  without  so  wasting  your  time,  it  nmy  be  that  I  may,  not  altogether 
uselessly,  employ  it  by  a  sort  of  comparison  between  what  the  Profession 
was  when  I  entered  it,  and  what  it  is  now,  by  considering  how  far  the 
outward  changes  in  it  are  changes  which  affect  its  real  life,  whether 
•or  no  they  have  altered  in  any  manner  the  principles  of  conduct, 
which,  as  far  as  I  know  history,  no  great  and  honourable  lawyer  has 
«ver  questioned  in  theory,  or  defied  in  practice. 

1  began  my  legal  life  in  1847,  and  at  that  time  the  Common  Law 
rested  mainly,  though  not  exclusively,  upon  special  pleading,  and  truth 
was  investigntod  by  rules  of  evidence  so  carefully  framed  to  exclude 
falsehood,  tliat  very  often  truth  was  quite  unable  to  force  ita  way 
through  the  bankers  erected  against  its  opposite.  Plaintiff  and 
defendant,  husband  and  wife,  persons,  excepting  Quakers,  who  objected 
to  an  oath,  those  with  an  interest,  direct  or  indirect,  immediate  or  con- 
tingent, in  the  issue  to  be  tried,  were  all  absolutely  excluded  from  giving 
evidence.  Nonsuits  were  constant,  not  because  there  was  no  cause  of 
action,  but  because  the  law  refused  the  evidence  of  the  only  persons  who 
could  prove  it.  I  do  not  speak  of  Chancery,  which  had  defects  of  its  own, 
because  I  pretend  to  no  more  knowledge  of  Chancery  practice  than  ta 
picked  up  by  a  common  lawyer  who,  as  he  rises  in  his  profession,  ia 
taken  into  Courts  of  Equity  to  examine  a  witnefffl  or  to  argue  a  caeo 


i89o]        THE  LAW  IN  1847  A}^D  THE  LAW  IN  im 


799 


upon  conflicting  facta.  Questions  as  to  marriage,  and  as  to  wills,  so 
far  as  they  related  to  personal  property,  were  under  the  jurisdiction  of 
courts  called  ecclesiastical,  with,  a  procedure  and  principles  happily 
of  their  own,  aud  presided  over  by  judges  not  appointed  by  the 
Crown.  The  Admiralty  jurisdiction,  at  all  times  of  great,  in  time  of 
war  of  enormous,  importance,  was  in  practice  committed  to  an  ecclesias- 
tical judge.  Criminals,  except  in  high  treason  and  in  misdemeanour, 
could  be  defended  by  counsel  only  through  the  medium  of  cross- 
examination.  Speeches  could  be  delivered,  with  the  above  exceptions, 
only  by  the  prisoners  themselves,  and  the  system  of  writing  speeches 
for  the  parties  themselves  to  deliver,  a  system  of  which,  in  questions 
of  real  property,  the  orations  of  Isasus,  and,  in  other  matters,  those  of 
Lysias,  Isocrates,  and  many  even  of  Demosthenes  himself,  are  examples, 
this  system  never,  I  know  not  why,  obtained  in  this  country. 

Then,  too,  during  large  portions  of  tho  year,  the  Common  Law 
Courts  were,  from  necessity,  altogether  closed.  The  circuits  otx-upied, 
not  quite,  but  nearly,  at  the  same  time,  the  services  of  fourteen  judges; 
and  while  the  circuits  went  on  there  was  no  work  for  common  lawyers 
in  London  except  at  the  Privy  Council  and  in  the  House  of  Lords. 
The  circuits  were  great  schools  of  professional  conduct  and  professional 
ethics ;  and  the  lessons  learnt  upon  them  were  to  receptive  minds  of 
unspeakable  value.  The  friendships  formed  on  circuit  were  sometimes 
the  closest  and  most  enduring  that  men  can  forai  with  one  another ; 
the  cheery  society,  the  frank  manners,  the  pride  in  the  body  we  be- 
longed to,  the  discipline  of  the  mess,  the  friendly  mingling  together 
on  equal  terms  of  older  and  younger  men,  the  lessons  to  be  learnfc 
both  from  leaders  who  were  good  and  leaders  who  were  bad  by  the 
constant  attendance  in  court  which  was  the  invariable  custom,  the 
large  amount  of  important  and  profitable  business  which  was  trans- 
acted ;  all  these  things  gave  the  circuits  a  prominent  and  useful 
place  in  the  Ufe  of  a  common  lawyer,  which,  I  am  afraid,  they  are 
ceasing  to  have,  except  in  a  few  of  the  largest  and  most  populous 
counties. 

Such,  in  rude  outline,  was  the  Bar  when  I  joined  it  forty-two  years 
ago.  The  system  had  its  great  virtues,  but  it  had  its  great  and  crying 
evils  ;  and  they  were  aggravated  by  the  powerful  men  who  at  that 
time  dominated  Westminster  Hall,  and  whose  spirit  guided  its  adminis- 
tration. The  majestic  presence  of  Lord  Lyndhurst,  a  luminons, 
masculine,  simple,  yet  most  powerful  mind,  the  very  incarnation  to  an 
outward  observer  of  courtesy  and  justice,  was  departing  from  the 
Bench;  Lord  Denman,  high-bred,  scholar-like,  with  a  noble  scorn  of 
the  base  and  the  tricky,  was  just  about  to  follow.  The  ruling  power 
in  the  Courts  in  1 847  was  Baron  Parke,  a  man  of  great  and  wide  legal 
teaming,  an  admirable  scholar,  a  kind-hearted  and  amiable  man,  and 
of  remarkable  force   of   mind.     These  great  qualities  he  devoted  to 


800 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


IJQMI 


heightening  all  the  absurdities,  and  contracting  to  the  reiy  utmost  tiic 
narrowneBB,  of  the  eystein  of  special  pleading.  The  client  waa  un- 
thought  of.  Conceive  a  judge  rejoicing,  as  1  have  myself  heard  Baron 
Parke  rejoice,  at  nonsuiting  a  plaintiff  in  an  uudefended  cause,  saying, 
with  a  sort  of  triumphant  air,  tliat  "  those  who  drew  loose  declarations 
brought  scandal  on  the  law."  Tbe  right  was  nothing,  the  mode  of  stating 
everything.  When  it  was  proposed  to  give  power  to  amend  the  statd- 
ment,  "  Good  Heavens  !  "  exclaimed  the  Baron,  "think  of  the  state  of 
the  Record !  " — i.e.,  the  sacred  parchment,  which  it  was  proposed  to 
defile  by  erasures  and  alterations.  He  bent  the  whole  powers  of  his 
great  intellect  to  defeat  the  Act  of  Parliament  which  had  allowed  of 
equitable  defences  in  a  Common  Law  action.  He  laid  down  all  but 
impossible  conditions,  and  said,  with  an  air  of  intense  satisfaction,  in 
my  hearing,  "I  think  we  settled  the  new  Act  to-day,  we  shall  hearno 
more  of  Equitable  defences  "  !  And  as  Baron  J'arke  piped,  the  Court 
of  Exchequer  foUowed,  and  dragged  after  it,  with  miJfe  or  less  reluc- 
tance, the  other  Common  Law  Courts  of  Westminster  Hall.  Sir 
William  Maule  and  Sir  Cressweli  Cresswell  did  their  best  to  resist  the 
current.  Cresswell  was  a  man  of  strong  will,  of  clear,  sagacious,  sensible 
mind,  and  a  sound  lawyer  ;  Sir  William  Maule  seems  to  me,  on  reflec- 
tion, and  towards  the  close  of  a  long  life,  on  the  whole,  the  most 
extraordinary  intellect  I  ever  came  across.  He  could  split  a  hair  into 
twenty  filaments  at  one  time,  and  at  another  could  come  crushing 
down,  like  a  huge  steam  hammer  of  good  sense,  through  a  web  of 
subtlety  which  disappeared  under  his  blow.  A  great  scholar,  a  ven- 
great  mathematician,  who  extorted,  as  I  have  been  told  by  Cambridge 
men,  a  Senior  Wranglersliip  from  examiners  wedded  to  the  synthetic 
method,  in  spite  of  his  persistent  and  indeed  defiant  use  of  the 
analytic  ;  a  great  linguist,  an  accomplished  lawyer,  and  overflowing 
with  humour,  generally  grotesque  and  cynical,  but  sometimes  alive 
with  a  rich  humanity.  He  was  a  somewhat  disappointed  man  ;  his  life 
was  said  hardly  to  court  inspection ;  he  was  certainly,  with  all  his  great 
gifts,  personally  indolent.  He  was  not  a  great  judge,  not  because  be 
could  not,  but  because  he  would  not  be.  He  played  with  his  office. 
An  utter  disbeliever  in  the  virtue  of  women,  he  was  cruel  to  them  io 
court ;  but,  with  this  lai^e  exception,  there  was  nothing  mean  about 
him,  nothing  unjust  ;  and  anything  Ukt^  brutality  or  fii^ud  roused  his 
indignation,  and  brought  out  all  the  nobler  qualities  of  his  strangelj 
compounded  character.  Baron  Parke  was,  in  a  legal  view,  his  favourite 
aversion.*  "  Well,"  I  have  heard  him  say,  "that  seems  a  horror  in 
morals  and  a  monster  in  reasoning.  Now,  give  us  the  judgment  of 
Baron  Parke  which  lays  it  down  as  law."    With  the  advent  of  Lord 

•  Baron  Martin  thus  spoke  of  Baron  Parke  in  his  judgment  in  Lord  Dcrbv  r.  Burj 
Improvement  Commissioners,  3  L.  R  Kzch.  133 : — "  He  waa  without  doubt  tha  ibieA^ 
and  best  public  servant  I  was  personally  acquainted  with  in  the  whole  co\irsQolmj  . 

We." 


iSgo]        THE  LAW  IN  1847  AND  THE  LAW  IN  1889.       801 


Campbell  to  the  Chief  ^l  uaticesbip,  a  great  lawyer,  not  wedded  to  the 
narrow  technicalities,  which  he  thoroughly  understood,  but  did  not 
aJmirej  came  to  the  assistance  of  good  sense  and  justice.  But  for 
some  time  he  struggled  in  vain  agaiust  the  idolatry  of  Baron  Parke 
to  which  the  whole  of  the  Common  Law  at  that  time  was  devoted. 
Even  so  very  great  a  lawyer  and  so  independent  a  man  as  Sir  James 
Willes  dedicated  a  book  to  him  as  the  judge  "  to  whom  the  law  was 
under  greater  obligations  than  to  any  judge  within  legal  memory." 
One  of  the  obligations  he  was  very  near  conferring  on  it  was  its 
absolute  extinction,  "  I  have  aided  in  building  up  sixteen  volumes 
of  Meeson  &  Welsby,"  said  he  proudly  to  Charles  Austin,  "  and 
that  i.-i  a  great  thing  for  any  man  to  aay."  "  I  dare  say  it  is,"  said 
Austin ;  "  but  in  the  Palace  of  Truth,  Baron,  do  you  think  it 
would  have  made  the  slightest  difference  to  mankind,  or  even  to 
England,  if  all  the  cases  in  all  the  volumes  of  Meeson  &  Welsby  had 
been  decided  the  other  way  ?  "  He  repeated  his  boast  to  Sir  William 
Erie.  **  It's  a  lucky  thing,"  said  Sir  William,  as  he  told  me  himself, 
"  that  there  was  not  a  seventeenth  volume,  for  if  there  had  been  the 
Common  Law  itself  would  have  disappeared  altogether,  amidst  the 
jeers  and  hisses  of  mankind  ;  "  "  and,"  he  added,  "  Parke  didn't  seem 
to  like  it." 

Peace  be  with  Jiim.  He  was  a  great  lawyer,  a  man  of  high  character 
and  powerful  intellect.  No  smaller  man  could  have  produced  suoh 
results.  If  he  ever  were  to  revisit  the  glimpses  of  the  moon  one 
shudders  to  think  of  his  disquiet.  No  absque  hoc,  no  d  }wn,  no  colour, 
express  oj  implied,  given  to  trespass,  no  new  assignment,  belief  in  the 
great  doctrine  of  a  negative  pregnant  no  longer  necessary  to  legal 
salvation,  atid  the  very  nice  question,  as  Baron  Parke  is  reported  to 
hare  thought,  whether  you  could  reply  dt  injurid  to  a  plea  of  devia- 
tion iti  an  action  on  a  marine  policy  not  only  atill  unsolved,  but  actually 
considered  not  worth  solution !  I  suspect  that  to  the  majority  of  my 
hearers  I  am  talking  in  an  unknown  tongue,  and  it  is  strange  that  in 
the  lifetime  of  one  who  has  not  yet  quite  fulfdled  the  appointed  span 
of  human  life  such  a  change,  such  a  revolution  in  a  most  conservative 
profession  should  be  actually  consumTtmted.  I  must  not  indulge 
in  any  feeble  attempt  to  reproduce  We  men  who  then,  bound  in  the 
fetters  of  this  system,  yet  in  spite  of  them,  fnlightened  ua  by  their 
intellect,  instructed  us  by  their  learning,  charmed  and  touched  us  by 
their  eloquence.,  Two  alone  remain  of  the  great  men  of  those  times. 
Lord  Bramwell  and  Sir  Montague  Smith,  whom  I  mention,  because 
they  have,  though  living,  entered  upon  the  inheritance  of  their  fame ; 
the  last,  the  most  sensible,  weighty,  and  sagacious  of  men  ;  the  6rst,  a 
great  lawyer,  a  keen  intellect,  who  has  chosen  to  cloke  the  kindest 
and  most  generous  heart  that  beats  on  earth  under  a  garb  of  caustic 

VOL.  LTQ.  3  G 


■H  Wife  SV  HM| 

^obB,  exoept,  «sl 
Imw  and  ocfotj 

if  jv^gcs  ^'^  i>ct  B  ^Ttrnr  of  < 

)oF  the  new  gystem,  tijoas 
Hv  aad  Omw  iA»  bov  pnade  orer  or  coDitend  Qodn  it, 
Um  KtIb^  flad  ^  kbdf  dead«  it  is  not  Tor  me  to  speak.  Koandel! 
FlllMir,  lUbh.  C^mi.  BUdcboni,  Charl^  Bnssell,  Horace  Threr, 
Bony  immM,  Jeha  Kanilake,  who  I«d 

"  A  life  tnw  itort  for  tneod^hip,  not  for  fatoc  "— 

tIkMe  aod  ntftD/  aicnv,  wbom  I  c&Dnot  even  presumci  to  catalo;^ae,  mast 
wait  tor  *  tjctterj  a  filter,  a  younger  man  to  commemorate  as  ihej 
deserve  their  manj  great  and  various  merits.  I  do  not  think,  how< 
ever,  that  as  English  law  has  grown  more  jast  and  reasonable  English 
lawyers  have  grown  less  learned  or  more  dull. 

There  is  one  possibly  impending  change,  as  to  which  you  have,  I 

understand,  been  addressed  here  by  the  present  Solicitor-General,  Sir 

Edward  Clarke,  whose  opinion  is  favourable  to  it :  I  mean,  the  intro- 

dnction  of  the  American  practice  as  to  our  profession :  the  allowing 

the  functions  of  the  attorney  and  the  functions  of  the  hamster  to  be 

exercised  by  the  same  person.     It  is  true  that  in  the  great  cities  of 

America,  where  there  are  firms  of  lawyers,  the  principleB  <rf  natmal 

selection  send  some  of  the  firms  into  court  ai»d  keep  others  in  cbani- 

bers,  so  that  the  practice  a  good  deal  modifies  the  principle.     Bat 

*^«»  principle  remains,  and  I  beliew  the  extenska  of  it  to  England  n 

^  off     Whether  it  will  be  a  benrft  or  w  I  do  not  feel 

teked  Mr.  Benjamin,  who  had  had  espenence  of  boA 

fCB  tl»e  whole,  be  thc«aght  the  best.    He  rep&d  ^^ 


I 


1 890]       THE  LAW  IN  1847  AND  THE  LAW  IN  1889.        803 


the  question  could  not  be  answered  in  a  word.  "  If,"  he  said,  "  you 
ask  me  which  is  best  fitted  for  producing  from  time  bo  time  a 
dozen  or  a  score  of  very  eminent  and  highly  cultivated  men,  men 
fit  to  play  a  great  part  in  public  affairs,  and  to  stand  up  for  the 
oppressed  and  persecuted  in  times  of  trouble  and  danger,  I  should 
say  at  once  the  English.  If  you  ask  me  which  is  best  in 
ordinary  times  for  the  vast  majority  of  clients,  I  answer  at  once  th» 
American."  This  was  very  weighty  and  very  impartial  evidence, 
and,  I  think,  if  Mr.  Benjamin  was  right,  that  what  is  clearly  for 
the  benefit  of  the  vast  majority  of  clients  is  certain  to  be  estab- 
lished in  the  end.  Without  expressing  any  opinion  whatever  upon 
recent  hotly  controvert«^d  facts,  which  I  cannot  do,  and  which  would 
be  quite  improper  for  me,  if  I  could,  I  may  say  so  much  as  this, 
that  I  think  they  have  appreciably  hastened  the  advent  of  the  change. 
There  is  one  consideration,  the  weight  of  which  has  lately  been 
much  increased,  which  in  my  judgment  makes  strongly  in  its  favour. 
No  doubt  can  e.xist  in  any  reflecting  mind  that  the  prejudice,  which,  it 
is  useless  to  deny,  exists  against  the  lionour  and  morality  of  the 
profession,  arises  mainly  from  the  supposed  conflict  between  the  rules 
of  the  profession  and  the  first  principles  of  ethics.  It  is  said,  and  it  is 
believed,  that  statements  and  conduct,  which  honour  and  morals  would 
condemn,  are  sanctioned  by  the  principles  of  our  profession.  That 
men  in  all  time  belonging  to  our  profession  have  done  things  aa 
advocates,  which  they  would  disdain  as  men,  I  sorrowfully  yet  freely 
admit.  But  this  is  to  say  nothing  against  the  profession  itself. 
Some  clergymen  preach  things  they  entirely  disbelieve,  some  soldiers 
and  sailors  violate  the  laws  of  war  and  of  honesty,  some  traders  cheat, 
some  professional  witnesses  fence  with  scientific  truth,  of  which  they 
ought  to  be  the  impartial  guardians.  This  only  shows  that  in  all 
profession",  however  noble,  however  sacred,  men  are  to  be  found  whose 
conduct  is  not  guided  by  the  moral  code,  I  will  not  say  of  the  New 
Testament,  but  of  Aristotle  or  Cicero.  More  is  heard  of  the  short- 
comings of  lawyers,  because  their  acts  come  home  so  closely  to  what 
Lord  Bacon  calls  men's  business  and  bosoms,  because  they  practise 
in  the  light  of  day,  and  before  the  face  of  men.  I  deny  altogether 
that  their  principles  are  different  from  those  which  guide  men  of 
honour  in  any  other  calling.  We  practise  in  courts  of  law,  we  contend 
for  legal  results,  to  be  arrived  at  according  to  legal  rules.  In 
criminal  courts  men  a'^e  punished  not  for  sins,  but  for  crimes ; 
some  sins,  amongst  the  worst  men  can  commit,  are  unpunished  and 
unpunishable  by  human  tribunals.  Crimes  even  are  not  punishable 
till  they  are  proved,  and  they  can  be  proved  only  according  to  rules 
of  evidence  which  are  rules  of  law.  Mutatis,  viutaiidis,  all  this  is 
true  of  civil  issues  tried  in  civil  courts.  Now,  these  are  the  tritest 
platitudes,  and  yet  they  are  habitually  forgotten  or  disregarded  in  the 


discussions  which  arise  about  the  morality  and  honoiu-  of  lawyers.  Grant, 
what  110  believing  reatler  of  the  New  Testament  can  deny,  that  ad\x»cacy 
is  a  lawful  calling,  grant  that  what  a  man  may  honourably  say  and  do 
for  himself  aa  advocate  may  say  and  do  for  him,  not  more  not  less, 
and  I  ask  for  no  further  concession,  and  I  desire  to  be  judged  by  no 
tither  rule.  A  man  in  a  court  of  law  may  rightly  and  honourably 
contend  that  by  law  an  estate  belongs  to  him,  a  debt  is  due  to  him, 
damages  should  be  paid  to  him,  a  crime  has  not  been  committed  hy 
him.  By  legal  means  he  contends  for  legal  right,  by  the  same  means 
he  repels  legal  wrong ;  and  what  he  may  do  or  may  not  do  for  himself  aa 
advocate  may  do  or  may  not  do  for  him.  A  man  may  not  lie  for  him- 
self, neither  may  his  advcwat-e  for  him  ;  a  man  may  not  deliberately 
deceive,  or  accuse  a  man  of  a  crime  of  which  he  knows  him  to  be 
innocent,  or  devise,  or  without  careful  inquiry  and  reasonable  belief 
disseminate,  a  slander,  and  neither  may  his  advocate. 

Now,  I  think  it  cannot  be  denied   that  the  English  system  greatly 
increases  the  temptation  to  do  these  things  by  di\'iding  the  respon- 
sibility for  them.     A  man  makes  a  deadly  attack  upon  the  character 
of  another,  which  turns  out  to  be   unfounded.     He  says  he  followed 
his  instructions.     Granted  that  he  did  ;  if  he  took  reasonable  care  to 
inquire   into  the    nature  of  the  evidence  and  the   character    of  the 
witnesses,  he  is  no  more  to   be  blamed  than  any  man  who  repeats 
something  to  the  discredit  of    another   which   he  has  heard   upon 
authority,  which  he  knows,  or  has  satisfied  himself,  to  be  unimpeach- 
able.     But  if  he  makes  no  inquiry,  the  mere  statement  in  the  brief  is 
absolutely  no  excuse   whatever,   and   he  deserves  the  scornful  con- 
demnation of  all  honourable  men.     There  ought  to  be,  there  can  be, 
no  doubt  about  this.      If   it  were  otherwise  our  profession  would  not 
be  the  profession  of  a  gentleniuu,   find  would   deserve   all  the  hard 
things  its  enemies  ignorantly  say  of  it.      Think  for  a  moment.     What 
a  counsel  says  in  court,    if    at   all    relevant  to  the   inquiry  (some 
authorities  carry  it  even  further),  is  absolutely  privileged  ;  so  that  tie 
subject  of  a  slander  so  made  is  entirely  without  redress.     If  what  J 
say  is  not  sound,  it  follows  that,  according  to  the  rules  of  our  profe^^ 
sion,  an  unscrupulous   attorney,   making  no   inqoirj*,  may  iD8tra<>^ 
counsel  to  utter  an  atrocious  slander  ;  the  counsel  so  instructed  jj^ 
without  inquiry,  utter  and  enforce  it ;  and  the  suhject  of  it,  how^  ' 
foul  the  slander,  and  however  absolute  his  innocence,  may  sta^^  ^1" 
the  rest  of  his  life,  as  Thackeray  says  of  Addison,  *'  stainless  b^^^  *<iY 
that,  but  bleeding  from  that  black  wound  " — a  wound  which  55,        t\jr 
be  healed,  because  he  can  neither  force  the  man  who  stabbed  V  x^^V^v 
withdraw  the  weapon,  nor  yet  to  meet  the  man  whom  he  has  ^v^Vm  \o 
in  fair  and  equal  %ht.     A  man,  indeed,  not  dead  to  honoin*  ^>0'''^^o. 
feeling,  will  withdraw  an  accusation  the  moment  he  discover:^    V  "- 
made  it  on  evidence  which  he  cannot  trust,  and  withdraw  it 

>5^ 


I 


i 


^ 


i89o]       THE  LAW  IN  1847  AND  THE  LAW  IN  1889.       805 

as  h6  made  it,  tendering  such  amends  as  hearty  regret  can  frame  for 
hanng  been  misled  into  it. 

This  was  the  common  practice  when  I  was  young  :  I  do  not  doubt 
it  is  the  common  practice  now ;  but  I  have  read  arguments  to  show 
that  an  advocate  may  indeed  thus  act  if  he  thinks  fit,  but  that  there  is 
no  rule  of  his  profession  binding  him  to  do  so.  I  cannot  myself  con- 
ceive a  worae  enemy  to  the  profession  than  he  who  maintains  this ; 
I  cannot  conceive  anything  more  likely  to  lead,  and  which  wonld 
more  justly  and  surely  lead,  to  the  imposition  of  some  legal  curb  on 
that  free  speaking  of  the  advocate,  which,  when  restrained  by  the 
ordinary  rules  of  honour  and  morality,  is  almost  the  most  precious 
right  which  a  free  people  can  possess.  It  is  obvious  that,  outside  the 
court,  an  advocate  (unless  he  is  forced  to  speak  by  assaults  on  his 
conduct)  had  far  better  be  silent  as  to  personal  attacks  which  he  has 
made  in  it.  Excuses  which  may  be  made  for  thp  language  of  an 
4Mlvocate  in  the  discharge  of  his  duty  have  no  force  whatever  as  to 
what  he  may  say  when  he  is  not  performing  it.  Then  he  is  like  any 
other  man,  subject  to  the  same  rules,  liable  to  the  same  condemnation 
if  he  breaks  them.  It  is  no  part  of  his  duty  out  of  court  to  deal  in 
defamation;  the  public  and  society  justly  look  on  him  then  just  as 
they  look  on  any  other  gentleman,  and  if  he  is  found  to  bear  false 
^tncsa  against  his  neighbour,  upon  instructions  which  he  has  not 
verified,  and  which  may  possibly  have  misled  him,  he  must  not  only 
submit  to  the  disapprobation  of  all  honourable  men,  but  to  the  still 
heavier  reproach  that  he  has  done  something  to  let  down  the  character 
<>f  a  great  profession  and  to  justify  the  slanders  uttered  against  it  by 
*ta  enemies. 

I  do  not,  as  I  have  said,  so  understand  the  rales  of  our  profession. 

^  have  lived  amongst  those  who  did  not  bo  understand  them.     Within 

^y  own   experience  Cresswell,  Thesiger,   Crowder,   Cockbum,  Bovill, 

'^arslake.  Collier,  Holker,  Honyman  (I   will  not  speak  of  living  men, 

^d  I  speak  only  of  instances  I  have  known  ;   I  doubt  not  there  are 

"QUclreds    of  others),  these  men  have   withdrawn  from  cases  sooner 

i*W  peT'sist  in  attacks  which  they  found  to  be  groundless  made  npon 

■^tractlcfz^^a  which  they  discovered  had  deceived  them ;  in  some  cases 

^  be&^f^      intended  to  do  so.      Sir   Alexander   Cockburn  onco  said 

\Ht  a  jTM^^*-^   "who  behaved  otherwise  deserved  to  be  brand<^d  as  a  criminal 

^ihiraty*^^*   and  on  an  occasion  which  has  become  historical  he  qualified 

^f^  ,  jfm,^^^    ^■^o  loose  generality  of  a  dictum  of  Lord  Brougham,  by 

^    -_^^^t>      an  English  advocate   should   maintain   his  client's   caus<» 

j^  M2  *   not  per  nefas ;  with  the  sword  of  the  soldier,  not  the 

-^i^ix^  assassin."     These   ai-e  the  rules  which  I  believe  guide 

^ ^^^  -^y      oi   all  honourable  men  in  our  profession  from  thir  highest 

rv^,^^  *i    i     these  are  tJb©  principles  which  no  man  who  respects 

^^^%rGT  violate  in  practice  ;  and  by  which,  if  his  practice  were 


r 


808 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


rjrsi 


questioned,  lie  woald  not  for  a  moment  hesitate  to  have  it  jadged.  These 
principles  are  plain  and  simple,  and  ought  not  to  be  difficult  to  follow. 
Our  profession  does  not  stand  outside  Christian  ethica ;  and  the  rule, 
rightly  and  sensibly  interpreted,  that  we  should  do  to  other  men 
what  we  should  wish  in  like  case  other  men  should  do  to  us,  is  as 
^ood  for  us  as  for  the  rest  of  mankind.  I  am  very  sure  that  no  man 
of  character  will  question  this,  and  I  am  also  sure  that  if  ever,  in 
time  past,  present,  or  to  come,  any  such  man  is  supposed  to  have 
acted  otherwise,  it  can  and  will  be  only  because  the  facts  relating  to 
his  conduct  are  inaccurately  stated,  have  been  imperfectly  apprehended, 
or  are  altogether  misunderstood.  But  as  we  value  our  honour  and  love 
our  profession  let  there  be  no  paltering  with  these  principles,  and  no 
hesitation  in  condemning  any  departure  from  them. 

There  is  one  step  fuither  still,  which  I  will  illustrate,  withholding 
names,  by  an  instance  which  I  heard  myself.  In  a  Divorce  Bill, 
before  the  creation  of  the  Divorce  Court,  and  heard,  therefore, 
in  the  House  of  Lords,  there  was  clear  evidence  that  a  woman 
resembling  the  incriminated  wife  had  been  seen  in  a  compromising 
position  with  a  young  groom  in  the  stableyard  of  a  nobleman's 
castle.  The  attorney  knew  that  the  wife  herself  was  the  woman, 
and  he  suggested  this  to  the  counsel,  but  said  that  there  was  a 
maid,  whom  I  will  call  Rose,  upon  whom  suspicion  might  plausibly 
be  thrown.  Suspicion,  happily  unsuccessfully,  was  th^o\^^l  up>on  Bose 
by  the  counsel,  who  actually  told  the  story  himself ;  and  when  some- 
what roundly  taken  to  task  for  it,  calmly  obser\-ed  "that  he  had 
followed  his  instructions,  but  that  he  always  felt  it  was  rather  hard 
upon  Rose."  I  thought  then,  and  think  now,  that  this  conduct  was 
infamous,  and  that,  in  his  case  at  least,  it  was  true  that  a  man  in  a 
wig  and  gown  had  done  that  which  if  ho  had  done  without  those 
appendages,  most  honourable  men  would  have  said  with  Henry 

Fifth, 

"  We  would  not  die  in  that  man'a  companr  " ; 

or,  with  Horace: 

"  Vetabo  sub  ....  isdcm 
Sit  trabibus  fra^leiuve  mcciuu, 
Solvat  phoselon." 

(I  would  not  sleep  under  the  same  roof  with  him,  or  go  to  sea  with 
him  in  the  same  boat.) 

Now,  whatever  one  may  think  of  the  counsel,  it  is  plainly 
inconceivable  that  if  he  had  been  attorney  as  well  as  advocate, 
and  had  himself  heard  the  confession  of  his  client,  he  would 
have  descended  to  such  almost  incredible  baseness  as  to  put  upon 
another  what  he  knew  from  his  client  she  had  done  herself.  ^ 
me  say  that  this  was  an  exception,  and  that  I  liave  lived  my  ^^« 
amongst  men  as  incapable  of  it  as  Bayard,  and  wKo  would  aave 


1890]       THE  LAW  IN  1847  AND  THE  LAW  IN  1889.       807 

demned  it  as  sternly  as  St.  Paal.-  While,  therefore,  I  am  not 
insensible  to  the  many  advantages  of  the  present  system,  the  comfort 
of  which  to  the  advocate  I  enjoyed  for  six-and-twenty  years,  I  cannot 
shut  my  eyes  to  the  many  countervailing  benefits  to  be  found  in  the 
American  practice  if  and  when  it  is  ever  introduced  into  the  English 
courts. 

"  Here,  then,  my  words  have  end."  Too  long,  and  yet  desultory 
and  superficial.  Forgive  their  imperfections,  accept  them  as  a  poor 
token  of  goodwill  from  an  old  judge  to  youthful  students,  from  one  at 
the  end  of  his  career  to  you  who  are  at  the  beginning  of  yours,  from 
memory  to  hope,  from  winter  to  the  spring  which  will  surely  and 
very  soon  replace  it,  from  one  who  has  had  much  more  success  than  he 
deserves,  and  who  wishes  you  to  succeed  at  least  as  well  and  to  deserve 
it  better. 

Coleridge. 


[JCMI 


DANTE   IN   HIS   RELATION 

TO   THE   THEOLOGY  AND   ETHICS   OF 

THE  MIDDLE  AGES- 


THE  opinions  of  Dante,  like  those  of  every  great  writer  who  hu 
treated  of  ethical,  political,  or  religious  subjects,  have  ' 
made  the  battle-gi-ound  of  bitter  controversy.  Apart  from  the 
who  fall  into  the  shallow  trap  of  seeking  the  greatness  of  the 
poet  in  some  secret  doctrine  which  CAn  be  read  by  the  aid  of  a 
verbal  key,  there  are  many  who  have  sought  for  I^rotestantism,  and 
some  who  sought  for  Socialism,  or  even  Nihilism,  in  his  pages* 
And  their  interpretations,  as  was  to  be  expected,  have  called  out  those 
of  an  opposite  school,  who  have  turned  him  into  a  champion  of 
orthodoxy,  and  have  treated  his  denunciation  of  the  Papal  policy  as  a 
separable  accident  of  his  poetry.  Now  in  a  sense  it  may  be 
maintained,  that  both  parties  are  "right  in  what  they  affirm  and 
wrong  in  what  they  deny."  Those  who  see  in  Dante's  words  the 
germs  of  religious  and  political  change  are  not  altogether  in  error, 
though  they  sometimes  look  for  the  evidence  of  their  view  in  the 
wrong  place.  The  writers  who  are  most  revolutionary  in  their 
ultimate  effect  are  not  those  who  violently  break  away  from  the 
institutions  of  the  past  and  set  up  a  new  principle  against  them,  but 
rather  those  who  so  thoroughly  enter  into  the  spirit  of  those  institu- 
tions that  they  make  them,  so  to  speak,  transparent.  When  the 
soul  becomes  visible,  the  body  is  ready  to  drop  away.  W<« 
often  find  systems  of  doctrine  surviving  the  most  violent  attack  from 
without,  and  apparently  only  deriving  new  vigour  from  the  contest. 
But  one  thing  there  is  which  they  cannot  survive — viz.,  bebg 
thoroughly  understood  and  appreciated,  for  the  intelligence  that  has 
fully  appreciated  them  has  ipso  facto  grown  out  of  them  and  beyond 
them.  It  has  extracted  the  principle  from  its  former  ^nbodimeol^ 
and  so  made  it  capable  of  entering  into  combination  with  other 
principles  to  produce  new  forma  of  life  and  thought.  It  is  in  tliis 
*  E.  Aranz:  "Dante  H€r4tiqae,  Rerolationaire,  et  Soeialute.'* 


1890] 


THEOLOGY  AND   ETHICS    OF  DANTE. 


809 


relation  that  Dant'O  etands  to  mediojval  Catholicism,  In  attempting 
to  revivify  its  ide^a,  he  "  betrayed  its  secret.''  As  Plato  in  his 
"  Republic  "  developed  the  ruling  ideas  of  Greek  politics  to  a  point  at 
which  they  necessarily  break  through  the  fonn  of  the  Greek  state  and 
destroy  it,  so  Dante,  in  giving  a  final  and  conclusive  utterance  to 
niedifeval  ideas,  at  ©nee  revealed  the  vital  source  of  their  power,  and 
showed  where  they  come  into  contradiction  with  themselves  and  point 
beyond  themselves  for  their  completion.  The  attempts  made  to  prove 
that  Dante  was  a  "  Reformer  before  the  Reformation/'  or  a  "  Revolu- 
tionary before  the  Revolution  "  are,  in  the  sense  in  which  they  were 
made,  vain  and  futile :  and,  in  spite  of  the  rough  way  in  which  he 
denounces  the  state  of  things  ecclesiastical  and  political,  writers  like 
Ozanam  and  Hettinger  have  no  difficulty  in  showing  Dante's  complete 
orthodoxy,  and  hia  complete  acceptance  of  the  Catholic  system 
of  life  and  thought.  Even  from  the  first  the  Catholic  Church 
recognised  that  the  attacks  of  Dante  were  the  wounds  of  a  friend,  and 
that  it  would  be  an  absurdity  to  put  in  the  Index  a  poem  which  was 
the  most  eloquent  of  all  expressions  of  its  own  essential  ideas.  The 
revolutionary  power  of  Dante's  poetry  lay  in  quite  a  different  direction. 
It  lay  just  in  this,  that  Dante  held  up  to  mediaeval  Catholicism  its 
own  idea!,  the  very  principle  on  which  it  rested  and  from  which  it 
drew  all  its  power,  that  he  judged  it  by  that  ideal,  and  that  by  that 
ideal  he  found  it  wanting.  For,  although,  as  "  the  most  hopeful  son 
of  the  Church  Militant,"'  Dante  seemed  to  himself  to  be  able  to 
indicate  one  simple  way  in  wliich  the  old  order  of  Church  and  State 
could  be  restored,  to  all  but  himself  the  very  expression  of  the 
conditions  necessary  for  this  return  to  the  past  was  the  demonstration 
of  its  impossibility. 

In  this  article,  it  is  not  proposed  tx3  consider  Dante  as  a  poet,  or  at 
least  to  enter  into  any  questions  directly  connected  with  the  poetic 
form  in  which  he  has  expressed  himself,  but  rather  to  treat  him  as  a 
writer  who  sought  in  his  own  way  to  read  the  signs  of  his  times,  and 
to  declare  to  others  the  lesson  he  had  thus  learnt.  In  doing  so,  we  ar« 
judging  Dante  according  to  a  standard  which  he  himself  has  set  up. 
The  poetic  form,  indeed,  is  inseparable  from  Dante's  thought,  as  is 
shown  by  hia  comparative  failure  to  utter  himself  in  prose  ;  but  to 
Mmself  it  was,  so  to  speak,  an  inseparable  accident,  necessary  only  as 
the  vehicle  of  his  message  to  his  time,  as  the  form  through  which 
alone  he  could  express  his  whole  conception  of  human  life,  and 
"justify  the  ways  of  God  to  man."  If  ever  there  lias  been  a  poetry 
which  was  indifferent  to  its  own  matter,  it  was  certainly  not  the  "sacred 
poem  to  which  heaven  and  earth  had  set  their  hands  so  that  for  many 
years  it  had  made  the  poet  lean."  The  '*  Divitia  Comniedia  '  was  for 
Dante  simply  the  last  perfect  expression  of  the  same  thought,  which  in  all 
his  other  works,  both  of  prose  and  verse,  it  had  been  his  effort  to 


810 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[Jun 


utter.  It  is  not,  indeed,  a  didactic  ]>oem  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the 
word.  Dante  was  too  perfect  an  artist  not  to  see  that  the  direct  prac- 
tical movement  of  the  preacher  or  the  orator  is. alien  to  the  conteni- 
plative  spirit  of  poetry.  But  it  is  didactic  in  the  sense  that  it  is  an 
eflTort  to  exhibit  the  ideal  truth  of  things,  the  moral  law  of  the  world, 
which  is  hidden  from  us  by  the  confusion  of  phenomena,  and  the  illu- 
sion of  our  own  passions.  Hence  the  first  problem  suggested  by  the 
"  Comraedia  "  is,  how  Dant*^*8  poetry  becomes  the  vehicle  of  a  complete 
philosophical  and  theological  view  of  human  life  without  ceasing  to  be 
poetry. 

We  may  answer,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  reason  why  Dante  is 
able  to  be  philosophical  without  ceasing  to  be  poetical,  is  the  same 
which  enables  Plato  to  approach  so  closely  to  poetry  without  ceasiDg 
to  be  a  philosopher.  By  Dante,  as  by  Plato,  every  part  is  seen  in  the 
light  of  the  whole,  and  therefore,  becomes  a  kind  of  individual  whole 
in  itself.  Dante  can  be  faithful  to  truth  without  ceasing  to  be  a  poet, 
because  for  him,  the  highest  truth  is  poetical.  His  unceasing  effort 
to  reach  the  poetrj'^  of  truth  and  the  truth  of  poetry  may  be 
evidenced  in  maoy  ways.  He  began  his  career  as  a  poet  by  a  kind 
of  Wordsworthian  reaction  again.st  the  atfectatio-'s  of  the  Proven^ 
school,  from  which  lie  received  his  first  lessons  in  the  art  of  verse.  In 
a  well-known  passage  in  the  "  Purgatorio,"  Bonagiunta  di  Laoca,  oneof 
his  poetical  predecessors,  questions  him  as  to  the  reason  of  the 
superiority  of  his  lyrics.  Daute  answers  that  his  secret  was  simply 
strict  adherence  to  the  truth  of  feeling.  "  I  am  one,  who,  when  love 
inspires  me,  make  careful  not{3  of  what  he  says,  and  in  the  very 
manner  in  which  he  speaks  within,  I  set  myself  to  utter  it."  Bona- 
giunta is  made  to  answer :  "  Now,  I  see  the  obstacle  which  made  me 
and  the  Notary  and  Guittooe  fall  short  of  the  sweet  new  style,  which 
in  your  verses  sounds  in  my  ears.  I  see  cleai'ly  that  your  wings 
follow  closely  after  the  dictation  of  love,  which  was  certainly  not  the 
case  with  ua."  In  the  description  of  outward  things,  Dante's  minute 
accuracy,  as  of  one  who  wrote  always  "  with  his  eye  on  the  object," 
is  one  of  his  mo.st  obvious  characteristics.  Sometimes  he  goes  bo 
far  in  breaking  through  the  conventional  limitations  of  poetical 
language  as  to  give  us  a  shock  of  surprise,  like  that  which  we  receire 
from  the  homely  detail  of  Wordsworth  ;  though  in  Dante  wb  never 
meet  with  those  pieces  of  crude  undigested  prose  to  wliich  Words- 
worth sinks  in  his  less  inspired  moments.  More  often  Dante  fail* 
into  this  kind  of  error  in  relation  to  the  prose,  not  of  bare  fact,  but  of 
thought.  In  his  anxiety  to  utter  the  whole  truth  of  his  theme,  «ad 
to  make  his  work  a  kind  of  compend  o 
he  sometimes  introduces  definitions  a 
are  too  abstract  to  be  fused  into  un 
instance,  in  the  curious  Arietote 


i89o] 


THEOLOGY  AND   ETHICS   OF  DANTE. 


811 


soul  aad  the  body,  which  he  puta  into  the  mouth  of  the  poet  Statins. 
Generally,  however,  the  intractableness  of  his  tJieme  is  overcome 
partly  by  the  Platonic  cast  of  Dante's  thoughts,  to  which  we  have  already 
referred,  and  partly  by  the  reahaing  force  of  imagination  with  which 
these  thoughts  are  grasped.  The  synthetic  power  of  pwetrj-,  which 
individualises  all  that  is  universal,  is  made  the  servant  of  tl^e  philoso- 
phic synthesis,  which  overcomes  abstraction  by  grasping  ideas  in  their 
relations.  The  passage  in  the  thirteenth  canto  of  the  "  Taradiso,"  where 
St.  Thomas  is  made  to  expound  the  scale  of  being,  and  the  parallel 
passage  in  the  first  canto,  are  good  instances  of  the  way  in  which 
Daate  conquera  this  difficulty.  And  it  is  remarkable  that  he  succeeda,  r 
not  by  expansion,  but  by  compression  of  thought;  in  other  words,  he 
makes  the  conceptions  of  philosophy  and  theology  poetiCj  not  by  dilut- 
ing them  in  metaphors,  but  by  a  concentrated  intensity  of  expression, 
which  suggests  the  connection  of  each  part  with  the  whole,  and  the 
presence  of  the  whole  in  every  part. 

What,  then,  is  Dante's  theme?  To  this  Dante  himself  gives  au 
auawer  which  might  at  first  sight  seem  inconsistent  with  the  very 
nature  of  poetry,  as  a  direct  sensuous  presentment  of  its  object.  In 
his  letter  to  Can  Grande  della  Scala,  to  whom  he  dedicates  the 
"  Paradiso,"  he  declares  that  the  subject  of  the ''Couimedia,'' taken 
literally,  is  the  state  of  souls  after  death.  But,  he  goes  on,  if  the 
work  be  taken  allegorically,  the  subject  is  man,  as  by  the  good  or  ill 
use  of  his  freedom  he  becomes  worthy  of  reward  or  punishmeaL 
Now,  many  modern  critics  might  be  disposed  to  say  that  to  play  in 
this  way  with  double  meanings  is  necessarily  to  lose  the  immediate 
appeal  of  poetry  to  our  inner  perception,  and  to  "  sickly  o'er  the 
native  hues  of"  imagination  "  with  a  pale  cast  of  thought."  Nor 
can  we  escape  the  force  of  this  objection  by  saying  that  the  allegory 
is  an  after-thought,  which  occurred  to  Dante  only  when  his  poem  was 
completed,  and  did  not  affect  him  during  its  composition.  On  the 
contrary,  during  the  course  of  the  poem  he  frequently  directs  our 
attention  to  the  "  subtle  veil  '  under  which  he  half  conceals  and  half 
reveals  a  higher  truth  :  and  this  deeper  meaning  is  suggested  to  us  not 
only  by  the  numerous  symbolic  figures  which  are  introduced  at  each 
stage  of  our  progress,  but  by  the  main  lines  of  the  structure  of  the 
**  Com  media,"  Even  this  might  be  regarded  by  some  as  a  concession 
which  was  forced  upon  Dante  by  the  ideas  of  his  time.  But,  whea 
wo  look  more  closely,  we  see  that  such  a  double  meaning  is  no  mere 
lit«'rary  convention,  but  that  it  is  inwrought  into  the  very  essence 
of  Dante's  work.     It  was,  in  fact,  the  necessary  condition  which  he 

be.  what  Cailyle  calls  him,  "  the  spokesman 

■mte  was  to  give  poetic  expression  to 

^ges,  it  was  as  necessary  for  him  to 

for   Homer   to  live  in   one.     What 


812 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jnrx 


characterised  the  Homeric  age  was  the  fresh  sens©  of  the  reality  of 
life  and  its  interests,  and  therefore  the  poet  of  the  "  Iliad  "  and  ttc 
"  Odyssey  could  iotrodnce  the  world  of  the  dead  only  as  a  shadowy 
and  spectral  existence  at  the  extreme  verge  of  his  pictareol  the  living 
world.      But  to  the  highest  consciousness  of  the  Jliddle  Ages  it  might 

I  almost  be  said  that  the  parts  were  inverted,  and  that  the  world  of  the 
living  was   but   a   shadowy   appearance  through   which   tlie    eternal 
realities   of   another  world    were    continually   betraying    themselves. 
The  poet  who  made  himself  the  interpreter  of  such  a  time  was  obliged 
to  encounter  all  the  difficulties  of  this  strange  division  of  man's  being. 
u  He  must  draw  his  picture,  as  it  were,  on  windows  lightenedjby  an 
'  unseen  sun.     However  alien  it  might  seem  to  the  natiir©  of  poetry,  or 
at  least  to  the  ordinary  theory  of  its  nature,  he  must  be  prepared  to 
live  in  an  atmosphere  of  double  meanings,  of  crosalights  and  symbolic 
references,  in  which  nothing  was  taken  for  simply  itself;  and  yet, 
\  in  spite  of  this,  he  had  to  be  ''  simple,  sensuous,  and  passionate,"  in 
urder  to  be  a  poet  at  all.     It  is  his  strange  success  in  this  apparently 
impossible  task    that  gives   the   unique  cliaracter  to  Dante's  achieve- 
ment.      His  poem  seems  as   if  it  were   constructed  to  refute  all  the 
\  ordinary  canons  of  poetic  criticism,  and  to  prove  that  genius  is  ite 
^1   own  law.    But  the  key  to  the  difficulty  is  not  very  hard  to  discover.   It 
I    18  juat  through  the  symbolic  nature  of  his  theme  that  Dante  finds  his 
way  back  to  poetic  truth  and  reality.     It  is  because  the  other  world, 
as  he   fixes  hia  eyes   upon   it,   turns  for   him  into  an   enlarged  and 
idealised  counterpart  of  this  world,  l>ecause  its  eternal  kingdoms  of 
•'Holl,"   "Purgatory,''  and   ''Paradise,"  are  for  him   the   symbol  of 
the    powers    which   underlie  and   control  the  confusing  struggle   of 
human  life,  that  Dante   is   able   to   gixe   to  his  journey  through  aD 
these  supernatural  kingdoms  the  vivid   force  of  natural   realisation. 
Hence  it  may  fairly  be  said,  that  it  is  just  because  the  "  Commedia  "  is 
symbolic  that  it  is  true.     Accepting  the  dualism  of  tlie  Middle  Age, 
Dante  can  transcend  it  oidy  by  the  double  reflection  of   each  world 
upon  the  other. 

The  meaning  of  this  last  statement  will  become  clearer,  if  we  con- 
sider for  a  moment  the  nature  and  origin  of  that  dualism.    It  arose 
out  of  the  opposition  of    Christianity   to  the  ancient  forms   of  life 
which  it  had  to  overcome.      As  in  every  great  revolution  by  which 
a  new  principle  of  life  has  been  introduced  into  human  history,  it 
was  to  be  expected    that  the    negative   side  of  Christiam'ty  shooJJ 
manifest  itself  first.      Till  the  enemy  was  conquered,  it  was  impossible 
that  he  should  be   recognisid  as  not  altogether  an  enemy.     And  the 
materialiem  and  sensualism,  which  were  partly  oonseqaences  of  the 
fact  that  ancient  civilisation  was  in  process  of  decay,  made  it  a»l  wn 
impossible  for  the  Christian,  under  the  fresh  inspiration  o?  the  most 
idealistic  faith  which  the  world  had  ever  seen,  to  admit 


kindwd 


914 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[ivst 


treacherous,  and  that  the  political  system  of  the  empire  mast  neces- 
sarily be  destroyed  by  the  development  of  a  principle,  which  it  could 
neither  assimilate  nor  overcome.  The  Church  grew  within  tie 
empire,  at  once  using  it,  and  exhausting  its  energy  by  the  invasive 
power  of  its  stronger  spiritual  life,  till  in  the  course  of  time  the 
imperial  autbority  had  to  choose  between  extinction  and  submission. 

The  intellectual  narrowness  that  hinders  men  from  grasping  more 
than  one  aspect  of  a  great  principle  at  one  time,  and  even  the  limita- 
tions of  human  speech,  are  continually  tending  to  exaggerate  relative 
into  absolute  opposition,  and  to  reduce  unity  into  identity.  And,  as  in 
its  distinctive  maxim,  "  Die  to  live,"  Christianity  contained  the  germ  at 
once  of  a  deeper  antagonism,  and  of  a  more  comprehensive  reconcilia- 
tion, between  the  diiferent  elements  of  man's  nature,  than  any  previc 
BvuteTn  it  was  inevitable  that  in  its  development  it  should 
between  the  two  extreme  poles  of  Maiiichiean  Dualism  and  a  Pantbi"- 
ism  in  which  all  difference  of  good  and  evil  was  lost ;  though  it  conld 
not  identify  itself  either  with  the  one  or  the  other  without  losing  its 
distinctive  character.  The  necessity  of  conquering  other  forms  of 
belief  and  of  contending  with  the  materialism  of  ancient  civilisation 
tended  at  first  to  throw  emphasis  upon  the  negative  rather  than  the 
positive  aspect  of  the  maxim.  And  this  tendency  was  seconded  by 
the  order  of  thought  in  the  maxim  itself,  which  involved  that  self> 
realisation  should  be  sought  through  self-.sacrifice.  The  consequenc:* 
was  that  the  early  Church  threw  all  its  weight  in  this  direction,  and 
viewed  its  own  life  as  essentially  opjwsed  to  that  of  the  kingdoms  of 
this  world,  which  it  expected  soon  to  be  subverted  by  the  second 
coming  of  Christ.  It  is,  however,  noticeable  that,  in  its  earliest 
form,  Christianity  is  less  hopeless  of  the  world,  leas  dualistic  than  it 
afterwards  became :  even  the  Millenarian  idea  being  itself  a  witness 
that  the  first  Christians  .saw  no  incongruity  in  the  idea  that  tbis  world 
should  be  directly  tunied  into  the  kingdom  of  God,  or  in  the  hope 
that,  without  passing  through  the  gnto  of  death,  the  faithful  shonld 
have  their  mortal  nature  transformed  entirely  by  the  power  of  thr 
new  life.  The  explanation  of  this  lies  partly  in  the  fact  that  the  Jinit 
Christians  received  the  principle  of  Christianity  in  its  nnevolved  com- 
pleteness, before  the  tendency  to  emphasise  one  aide  of  it  had  gainfil 
strength.  Still  more  it  lay  in  the  natural  confidence  of  those  who 
first  felt  the  inspiring  power  of  the  new  faith,  and  who  had  not  y^t 
learned  to  estimate  the  obstacles  that  stood  between  the  simple 
acceptance  of  the  Christian  principle  in  its  unexplained  generality 
and  the  realisation  of  it  in  a  complete  system  of  life  and  thought.  In 
the  first  intuitive  apprehension  of  a  new  idea  of  life  everything  seems 
at  once  to  Ije  attained.  Tn  its  universality  men  seem  to  possess  a 
present  infinity,  a  principle  of  unlimited  good,  which  can  be  resisted 
by  nothing  because  it    includes    everything.      In  this   sense  Hegel 


iSgo] 


THEOLOGY  AND   ETHICS    OF  DANTE. 


813 


I 


speaks  of  the  infinite  value  of  the  unenfolded  religious  emotion,  as  it 
exists  in  the  breast  of  the  simpleet  man  who  has  fe!t  its  powrr. 
But,  in  another  point  of  view,  an  idea  so  apprehended  is  merely 
a  germ,  which .  as  yet  has  shown  as  little  of  what  it  contains  or 
of  the  real  results  to  which  it  will  grow,  as  the  acorn  shows  of 
the  future  oak.  In  the  course  of  the  second  century,  when  the 
first  fervour  of  hope  and  faith  was  over,  it  began  to  be  seen  tliat 
the  perfect  fruition  of  the  Christian  ideal  could  not  be  grasped  at 
once.  The  immediate  ho]ie  of  a  sodden  divine  change  of  the  world 
disappeared,  and  with  it,  we  might  almost  say,  the  hope  of  a  realisa- 
tion of  Christiimity  in  this  world,  Tlie  first  steps  townrd  the*  building 
up  of  an  organised  community  of  Christians  brought  with  tliem  a 
oonsciousness  of  the  immense  hindrances,  inward  and  outward,  which 
stood  in  the  way  of  the  realisation  of  a  kingdom  of  heaven  upon 
earth.  And,  though  the  idea  that  human  nature  ia  capable  of  a  com- 
plete puriftcatioiii  and  regeneration  could  not  be  lost  without  the  Iofs 
of  Christianity  itself,  the  belief  began  to  prevail  that  such  completion 
can  be  attained  only  in  nnother  world. 

Hence  the  apparent  contradiction  that  the  principle  of  Christianity 
comes  to  be  regarded  as  unrealisable.  Just  at  the  time  when  the  first 
steps  are  taken  to  realise  it.  It  is  when  the  Church  has  begun  to 
establish  itself  as  one  of  the  political  powers  of  the  world,  that  the 
expectation  of  a  kingdom  of  God  on  earth  all  hut  disappears,  and 
Christianity  becomes  decisively  an  other-world  faith — the  hope  of  a 
victory  to  be  won,  and  a  fruition  to  be  enjoyed,  ouly  beyond  the  grave. 
In  like  manner,  it  is  when  the  Christian  idea  has  ceased  to  be  a 
simple  consciousness  of  relation  to  Christ,  when  it  has  put  itself  in 
relation  to  the  philosophy  of  the  ancient  world  and  begun  to  develop 
into  a  system  of  doctrine,  that  the  distinction  of  faith  and  knowledge 
begins  to  be  emphasised,  and  divine  things  to  be  regarded  as  alto- 
gether beyond  the  sphere  of  the  understanding  of  man.  In  the  Xew 
Testament,  and  especially  in  the  Epistles  of  St.  Paul,  the  minor 
note  of  sadness — which  could  never  be  entirely  absent  from  the 
expression  of  the  Christian  consciousness — ia  sometimes  all  but  lost  in 
the  hope  of  a  joy  to  be  revealed  in  the  near  future ;  and  sorrow  takes 
the  aspect  of  a  passing  shadow,  which  is  soon  to  disappear  from  the  new 
heavens  and  the  new  earth.  But  with  the  apwetolic  age  this  confident 
spirit  passes  away,  and  life  begins  to  be  regarded  as  a  pilgrimage  in  a 
foreign  land,  in  which  the  Christian  has  continually  to  contend  with 
enemies  without  and  within,  and  no  fruition  corresponding  to  his 
hopes  is  to  be  expected.  Existence  is  thus,  as  it  were,  projected  into 
a  future  beyond  the  grave,  and  even  the  Church  is  conceived,  not  as 
the  kingdom  of  God  realised  on  earth,  but  as  an  ark  of  refuge,  in  which 
man  is  to  be  carried  through  the  storms  of  life  to  his  true  fatherland. 
It    was   by  the   aid   of  this  conception,   which   practically  deferred 


816 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jrxi 


the  realisation  of  its  ideal  to  another  world,  that  the  Church  was 
enabled  to  retain  that  ideal,  and  yet  partly  to  reconcile  itself  to  the 
conditions  of  its  existence  in  a  society  still  only  half  civilised,  and 
organised  on  principles  alien  to  Christianity.     For  the  division  which 
was  thus  made  between  the  secular  and  the  sacred,  if  in  one  point  of 
view  it  tended  to  exalt  the  Church  at  the  expense  of  the  State,  yet 
supplied  an  excuse  to  the  former  for  tolerating  in  the  latter  a  kind  of 
life  that  was  not  in  harmony  with  its  own  principles.    In  this  way  the 
revolutionary  tendencies  of  Christianity,  the  demands  of  its  idealistic 
morality,  and  its  purely  spiritual  criteria  of  judgment  were  retained, 
and  yet  made  reconcileable  with  acquiescence  in  the  status  quo,  and 
even  with  a  Conservative  alliance  with  the  existing  political  powers. 
The  kingdoms   of  this   world  were   allowed   to  subsist,    nay,    their 
authority  was  consecrated,  by  a  church  which    repudiated  all  their 
principles  of  life  and  government ;  and  the  doctrine  that  this  life  is 
merely  a  preparation  for  another  enabled  Christianity  to  be  used  as 
an  anodyne  to  reconcile   men  to  sufferings  and  wrongs   which  were 
regarded  as  inevitable,  rather  than  as  a  call  to  change  the  institutions 
which  caused  such  evils.    On  the  other  hand,  the  Church,  at  least  in  its 
dedicated  orders,  in  its  priests,  monks,   and  nuns,   sought  to  realist- 
within  itself  that  higher  life  which  it    refrained    from    demanding 
from  the  world.     But  even  here  the  same  antagonism  betrayed  itself; 
and  the  three  vows  of  the  "  religious"  life  turned  Christianity  into  an 
ascetic  struggle  against  Nature.     Yet  such  asceticism  could  not  be 
based  on  the  idea  (which  underlay  earlier  ascetic  systems)  that  the 
iJ  natural  passions  or  feelings  are  in  themselves  evil.      Such  a  Mani* 
cha^an   division,  discordant  as   it  was  felt  to  be  with  the  doctrine 
of  a  divine  humanity,  was  once  for  all  rejected  and  refuted  by  tiif 
Krat  great  speculative  genius  of  the  Western  Church,  St.  Angnatine. 
Jt  remained  that  asceticism  should  be  conceived  as  a  stage  of  transi- 
tion, and  that  the  object  of  it  should  be  taken  to  be,  not  to  root  out 
uature^^  but  only  to  purify  it.     Nature  must  die  to  itself  that  it  might 
live  to  (Jod,  but  it  could  so  die  without  perishing ;  it  conld  rise  again 
to  a  new  spiritual  life  without  ceasing  to  be  Nature.      Nay,  if  the 
mediseval  saint  could  believe  that  Nature  had  so  "  died  to  Uve,"  he 
could  even  accept  its  voice  as  divine.      On  this  point,  however,  be 
was    very  difficult  to   reassure ;  he   was,    indeed,    scarcely  willing  to 
admit  that  the  spiritual  death  of  Nature,  which  is  the  beginning  of  a 
I  higher  life,  could  come  before  the  natural  death  of  the  body.      Hence 
the  highest  morality,  the   morality  of  the  cloister,  remained   for  him 
negative  and  ascetic,  and,  if  he  ever  regarded  it  as  a  preparation  for  » 
positive  morality  in  which  impulse  and  duty  should  be  made  one,  it 
was  in  a  future  life  only  that  he  expected  such  an  ideal  to  be  realised. 
The  tender  feminine  voice  of  medieval  piety,  its  self -repression  and  sub- 
mission to  an  evil  present,  its  ardent  longing  for  a  glory  to  be  revealed, 


iSgo] 


THEOLOGY  AND   ETHICS    OF  DANTE. 


817 


its  self-mortiGcation  and  reniinciation  of  the  world,  and  its  exultant 
consciousness  that  everything  it  lost  would  one  day  be  regained,  its 
combination  of  all-levelling  love  with  the  resigned  acceptance  of  a 
social  state  in  which  men  were  held  down  and  held  asunder  by  the 
most  fixed  class-divisions,  were  the  natural  results  of  this  curious 
compromise.  Christianity  had  brought  together  so  many  apparently 
inconsigtent  elements  of  thought  and  feeling,  that  in  the  first  instance 
it  was  possible  for  them  to  be  combined  only  by  distributing  them 
between  two  worlds.  But,  after  all,  it  was  one  mind  that  lived  in 
both  :  it  was  one  spirit  which  was  thus  divorced  from  itself,  and  which 
was  at  the  same  time  engaged  in  a  continual  effort  to  overcome  the 
division. 

Dante  comes  at  the  end  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and,  as  has  already 
been  indicated,  it  was  his  work  to  bring  the  mt^dioeval  spirit  to  a  con- 
sciousness of  itself  and  so  to  carry  it  beyond  itself.  He  does  so,  how- 
ever, not  by  the  rejection  of  any  of  its  characteristic  modes  of  thought. 
He  does  not,  like  some  of  his  immediate  successors,  recoil  from  the  one- 
sided spiritualism  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  set  against  it  a  naturalistic 
delight  in  the  beauty  of  the  world  of  sense.  Nor  does  he  rise  to  that 
higher  pt^rception  of  the  spiritual  in  the  natural  which  has  inspired 
the  best  modem  poetry.  He  was  no  Boccaccio  or  Heine,  raising  the 
standai'd  of  revolt  in  the  name  of  nierf  nature  against  all  that  hindered 
her  free  development.  Nor  was  he  a  Sbakspere  or  Goethe  who 
could  spiritualise  the  natural  by  force  of  insight  into  its  deeper 
meaning.  But,  accepting  without  a  shadow  of  a  doubt  or  hesitation 
all  the  constitutive  ideas  of  mediaeval  thought  and  life,  he  grasped 
them  so  firmly  and  gave  them  such  luminous  expression  that  the 
spirit  in  them  broke  away  from  the  form.  The  force  of  imaginative 
realisation  with  which  he  saw  and  represented  the  supematuralism, 
the  other-worldliness,  the  combined  rationalism  and  mysticism  of  the 
Middle  Age,  already  carried  in  it  a  new  idea  of  life.  In  this  view 
we  might  say  that  Dante  wa.s  tlie  last  of  mediaeval  and  the  first  of 
modem  writers.  To  show  that  this  is  the  case  will  be  the  object 
of  the  remainder  of  this  paper. 

We  may  best  realise  this  aspect  of  Dante's  poem  if  wo  regard  it  in 
three  different  points  of  view,  and  if  we  consider  how  he  deals  with  three 
contrasts  or  antagonisms  which  run  through  all  mediteval  thought 
and  life — though,  indeed,  they  may  rather  be  regarded  as  different 
aspects  of  one  great  antagonism  :  Jirst,  with  the  antagonism  between 
this  and  the  other  world  ;  sn'ond/i^,  with  the  antagonism  between 
the  Empire  and  the  Church,  with  which  in  Dante's  mind  is  closely 
connected  the  opposition  l>etween  faith  and  reason,  or  between 
theology  and  philosophy ;  and,  finally^  with  the  antagonism  between 
the  natural  and  the  spiritual,  or  between  the  morality  of  self-denial 
and  the  morality  of  self-realisation. 

VOL    LMI.  o  U 


818 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


P 


1.   It  has  already  been  pointed  out  that  tnedicoval  religion  tended 
to   regard  the  world  as  a  sphere  in    which  man    is    prepared   for  a 
better  life,  but  which  has  no  substantial  worth  in  itself.     "  Thia  is 
not    our   home,"    "  the  native    land,   the  patria   of    the    soul,    is  in 
heaven,"  *•  we  ai-e  pilgrims  and  sojourners,  who  seek  for  a  cdty  that 
hath  foundations."     In  such  sayinga  we  find  the  distinctive  note  of 
medifflval  piety,  the  source  at  once  of  its  weakness  and  its  strength,  of 
its   almost  fatalistic     resignation    to  suffering,   and  of  its   consohng 
power.    The  other  world  is  tlie  inheritance  of  those  who  have  failed  in 
this  ;  and  the  sens©  of  failure,  the  sense  that  man  is  utterly  powerless 
in  himself,  had  in  this  period  altogether  expelled  the  joyous  aelf-oun- 
fidence  of  ancient  virtue.     Thia  change  may  be  traced  to  many  causes. 
The  BufFerings  of  an  age  of  war  and  oppression,  the  insecurity  of  a  time 
when  the  tribal  }x)nds  of  barbarous  society  were  being  dissolved,  and 
when  the  unity  of  modern  nations  was  not  yet  established,  may  furmsh 
a  part'ial  explanation ;  but  still  more  is  due  to  the  agonies  of  fear  and 
remorse,  which  took  the  place  of  the  self-confident  animalism  and  rude 
freedom  of  the  Teutonic  races  when  brought  into  the  presence  of  the 
new  spiritual  light  of  Christianity,  and  to  the  ascetic  recoil  from  all 
secular  interests,  which,  as  we  have  seen,  was  the  necessary  result  of 
the  first  conflict  of  Christian  ideas  with  a  world  they  could  not  yet 
transform.     These  causes  tended  to  develop  a  kind  of  religion  which 
withdrew  man  from  the  int^regts  of  the  present  and,  as  it  were,  trans- 
ferred the  centre  of  gravity  of  his  life  beyond  the  grave.      Such  a 
religion  essentially  contrasted  with  the  religions  of  classical  antiquity, 
which  were  in  the  main  worships  of  a  divine  principle  revealed  in  the 
family  and  the  State.       And  it  contrasted  equally  with  the  religion  of 
the  Jews,  which,  if  it  took  men  beyond  the  present,  yet  did  not  lift 
them  out  of  this  world,  but  only  carried  them    forward  to  a  better 
future  for  their  race.      It  has  often  been  felt  as  a  difficulty  by  modem 
stBdents  of  the  history  of  religion,  that  ancient  religions  dwelt  so  little 
on  the  concerns  of  another  world ;  but  it  is  a  difficulty  only  because 
the  mediaeval  stamp  has  been  so  strongly  impressed   on  our  mindfi 
that,  like    Kant,  we    are  ready  to   say  that   ''  without   a  belief  in  a 
future  state  no  religion  can  be  conceived,"     But  the  inspiring  power 
of    religion   for   most    of   the  peoples   of    antiquity    lay,  mainly  at 
least,  in  the  yiew  which  it  led  them  to  take  of  this  rather  than  of  an<ither 
world.      Mediaeval  Christianity,  on  the  other  hand,  turned  the  Jewish 
aspiration   aft^r   a   better   future   on   earth   into   a   belief  that  man's 
good  can  b©   realised,  and   his  happiness   attained,   only    in  heaven. 
And,  for  what  was  thus  lost  in  the  inspiring  power  of  the  conscious- 
ness   of   a    divine    purpose    realising    itself  in  the    present    life  of 
man,  it   tried    to  make    up  by    the    idea  of   the  present  life  «  » 
preparatory    discipline    for    another.      Now,  it  is  easy  to   «^ 
such  a  belief  is  susceptible  of  many  shades  of  meaning 


i«9o] 


THEOLOGY   AND   ETHICS    OF  DANTE. 


819 


of  sinking  into  the  coaraest  superstition  which  barters  a  joy  here 
for  a  joy  of  no  higher  character  in  the  life  to  come.     Yet,  even  ia 
that  case   it    inay    be    said,   that    the  Joys  that  are   not    seen,    tb« 
desires  that  cannot  be  gratified  here  and  now,  are  by  that  very  fact 
changed  and   elevated  in  charack'r,  if  for  no  other  reason  at  least 
because  a  joy  nnt  possessed  is  always  idealisetl  by  imagination.      And 
it  may  be  further  said  that  even  mediajval   Christianity,   if  it  caught 
men  at  first  by  sensuous  fears  and  hopes,  contained  in  itself  a  pro- 
vision for  their  gradual  idealisation,   as   the  natare  of  the  Christian 
life  became  better  knowTi,     It  admittt?d  of  a  sort  of  sliding  scale  of 
interpretation  from  the  mere  superstitious   fear   of  the  vengeance  of 
God  to  the  most  saintly  desire  for  inward  purity.      Still,  so  long  as  it 
laid  such  exclusive  emphasis  on  the   idea  of  another  life — which  was 
broken  off  from  this  life  by  a  chasm  that  could  not  be  filled  up — so 
long  as  its  supernatural  was  not  the  natural  seen  in  its  ideal  truth, 
bat,  so  to  speak,  another  natural  world  somewhat  diflercntly  constitu- 
ted, so  long  mediasval  religion  wanted  something  which,  e.ff.,  even 
Greek   religion   possessed.      The  division  of    the  religious   from  the 
secular  vocation  of  man  was  necessarily  a  source  of  disharmony  in  all 
his  existence.     It  led  naturally  and  almost  inevitably  to  a  separation 
between  divine  service  and  that  service  of  God  which  is  only  another 
aspect  of  the  service  of  man— a  separation  which  turns  religion  into 
superstition,  and  deprives  morality  of  its  ideal  character.     Now  in 
Dante's  great  poem  the  mediaeval  form  of  representation  is  strictly 
preserved.      Human   life  is  viewed  as  essentially  a   preparation  for 
'another  world,  whose  awful  reality  throughout  overshadows  it,  and 
i-educes  its  interests  almost  into  an  object  of  contempt,   except  when 
they  are  viewed  in  relation  to  that  world,      "  O,  wretched  man,  do  ye 
not  Bee  that  we  are   worms  produced  only  to  contain  the  angelic 
butterfly,  which  flies  to  justice  without  a   covering,"  is  one  of  many 
Bimilar  utterances  ;  and  in  a  remarkable  passage  in  the  "Paradiso"  Dante 
represents  himself  as  looking  down  upon  the  earth  from  the  highest 
heaven,  and  makes  the  minuteness  of  its  apparent  size  a  symbol  of  the 
littleness  of  earthly  things  as  seen  from  tlie  heavenly  point  of  view. 
Yet,  after  all,  the  eternal  world  which  he  exhibits  to  us  is  just  this 
world  seen  svh  spca-e  ceUrnitntis,  this  world  as  it  is  to  one  who  views 
it  in  its  moral  aspect.     And    as  we  see  from  the  lett-er  to  Can  Grande 
della  Scala  ahvady  quoted      Dante    means   it  to  be  so  understood. 
ThuH  taken,  the  "Inferno  "a  Jj   the  "Para^so"  are  simply  Evil  and  Good 
in  the  full  development  of  ti,    -^  abstract  opposition.and  the "Purgatorio" 


itt^-mpt  w  to  mate  tbt 

m  omr^fisioa  of  cba 


tb. 


scene  of  moral  struggle  and  puri- 
nfetuo 


is  simply  this  world,  refn^     -«    as  a 

fication.     Thus,  holb  in  ^t  ^^*^  -g- ^f^^n"  and  in  the  "  Paradiso,"'  Dante's 


•^ierlst 


^nd  the  py  as 


closely 


as 


Vf 


<o 


C?t  OX 


possible 
being  1 
atUto^e;  and  in  the  "Purgatori- 


the 


liich  fin^  ^^*  ^°^™  *^ 


fixed 


830 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


tJcSrx 


the  same  sufferings — wHch  in  the  "  Inferno"  had  been  the  penal  return 
of  the  crime  upon  the  criminal — become  the  purifying  pains  thcx)agh 
which  he  frees  himself  from  his  sin.  Or,  looking  at  it  in  a  shghtly 
different  point  of  view,  the  descent  of  Dante  through  the  oircles  of 
the  "  Inferno"  is  a  kind  of  treatise  on  tlie  process  of  moral  degradation, 
and  his  ascent  through  the  Purgatorial  mount,  together  with  his  upward 
flight  through  the  heavens,  a  description  of  the  proc€88  of  moral 
renovation.  Thus  in  the  upper  circles  of  the  "Inferno"  we  begin  with 
the  sins  of  passion,  of  inordinate  indulgence  in  some  finite  good,  witL 
lust,  gluttony,  avarice,  and  prodigality,  the  punishment  being  in  each 
case  a  kind  of  symbol  of  the  crime,  or  as  has  just  been  said,  the 
return  of  the  crime  upon  the  criminal.  Those  who  have  yielded  to 
lawless  desire  are  blown  about  in  the  dark  whirlwind.  The  avaricious 
and  the  prodigal  are  doomed  to  the  endless  task  of  rolling  hea\7 
weights  backward  and  forward,  each  undoing  the  other's  work. 
Lowest  among  the  sins  of  passion  Dante  puts  the  discontent  which 
wastes  its  energy  in  fretting  against  the  limits  of  earthly  satisfaction, 
and  will  not  look  kindly  upon  the  light  of  day,*  Those  who  hare 
been  thus  morose  and  sullen  in  their  lives  are  plunged  in  the  deep 
mire,  where  they  continually  keep  np  a  monotonous  complaint.  "  Sad 
were  we  alxjve  in  the  sweet  air,  which  is  brightened  by  the  sun,  bearingr 
in  our  hearts  a  lazy  smoke  that  hid  its  light  from  our  eyes  ;  now  are 
we  sad  in  the  black  mire."  In  the  next  circle  is  punished  the  sin  of 
heresy,  which  is  for  Dante  the  acceptance  of  the  evil  in  place  of  the 
good  principle,  or,  in  other  wordH,  the  denial  of  that  higher  idea  of  life 
which  raises  man  above  the  animals.  Those  who  have  thus  shnt  their 
minds  to  il  hen  del  intclletfo  are  prisoned  in  fiery  tombs.  Out  of  this 
root  of  evil  principle,  according  to  Dante's  way  of  thinking,  spring 
all  the  sins  of  malevolence,  of  hate  of  God  and  man,  beginm'ng  in 
violence  and  ending  in  deceit  and  treachery  in  all  its  kinds,  wbid, 
as  involving  the  utmost  corruption  of  man's  peculiar  gift  of  reason,  are 
punished  in  the  lowest  circles  of  the  "  Inferno." 

In  the  ' '  Pnrgatorio  "  the  principle  of  good  is  supposed  to  iiare 
been  restored,  and  therefore  suffering  has  ceased  to  be  penal,  and  has 
changed  into  the  purifying  pains  by  which  men  free  themselFM  from 
evil.  Hence,  though  there  is  notliing  here  exactly  corresponding  ^ 
the  lower  circles  of  the  "  Inferno."  the  lowest  terraces  of  the  Paig»* 
torial  mountain  have  still  to  purge  away  some  remaining  gtaiiia  of  th*^ 
baser  forms  of  sin,  stains  of  pride,  envy,  and  anger,  -vjNj^vcV  ''^  * 
man  seek  his  own  good  in  opposition  to  the  good  of  \^^^  ^'^^^.  ^ 
In  the  fourth  circle,  man's  purification  from  acndia — ■"\^<^^'^^  ,^^ 
relaxed    temper    of  mind  which    refuses  to  be  atiitL-x^^. ^^^ '^      a. 


by  divine  love   or  by  the  desire  of  finite    go^s^^^^^^^^^'^  •    ^^^ 


rr'i'  essay  on  "The  Spiritual  »Sen-'<e  of  the   Divit 
of  Specviativt  I'hilogitphy,  for  October   1887 , 


»890] 


THEOLOGY  AND   ETHICS    OF  DANTE. 


821 


way  for  his  purgation,  iu  the  three  liighest  terraces,  from  the  sins  of 
passion,  the  sin  of  giving  to  finite  good  the  love  that  should  be  reserved 
for  the  infinite.      Finally,  the  heavenly  journey  of  Dant«  carries  us  up 
tlirough  all  the  finer  shades  of  spiritual  excellence,  beginning  with  the 
devotion  that  is  not  yet  unswerving  in  purpose,  the  love  that  still  clings 
to  the  charm  of  sense,  and  the  practical  virtue  which  is  still  haunted 
with  the  "  last  infirmity  of  noble  minds,"  and  ending  with  the  pas- 
sionate  faithfulness  of  crusaders  like  Dante's   ancestor,  Cacciaguida, 
the  pure  zeal  for  justice  of  kings,  like  Godfrey  of  Jerusalem,  and  the 
perfect  devotion  of  monastic  sainthood,  whether  seraphic  in  love  with 
St.  Francis,  or  cherubic  in  wisdom  with  St.   Dominic.      In  all  this 
Dant-e  holds  to  the  mediieval  point  of  view,  in  so  far  as  he  makes  this 
world  altogether  secondary  and  subordinate  to  the  other  ;  yet  he  escapes 
the  media>val  dualism  by  exhibiting  the  other  world  aa  simply  the  clear 
revelation  of  ideal  forces  which  are  hidden  from  us  amid  the  confused 
phenomena  of  our  earthly  exist-ence.     In  effect,  though  not  in  so  many 
words,  the  postponement  of  this  world   to   the  other  comes  simply 
to    mean   the   postponement   of  appearance  to   reality,   of  the  out- 
ward show  and   semblance   of   life  to   the   spiritual   powers   that  are 
working  in  and  through   it.     It  is,  therefore,  no  mere  afterthought 
when,  ia  his  letter  to  Can  Grande,  Dant«  bids  us  regard  the  de8crii>- 
tioa  of  the  other  world  as  symbolic  of  the  truth  about  man's  life  here. 
We  might  even,  fiom  this  point  of  view,  be  tempted  to  regard  Dante's 
representation  of  the  other  world  as  a  mere  artistic  form  under  which 
the  Universal  meaning  of  our  present  life  is  conveyed.   For,  even  if  Dante 
"*tf  not  mean  to  say  this,  his  work  says  it  to  us.    His  poetical  handling  of 
•"©ideaof  another  life  tends  to  remove  from  it  all  that  is  conventional 
"^^^  ai*bitrary,  and  to  turn  it  into  the  appropriate  expression  of  an  ever 
©Sent  moral  reality.     And,  though  some  elements  of    the   horror 
•^      brutality     of    the     medL'uval     conception     of    retribution    are 
*     i^tained   in  harsh    discords    of    the    "  Infemo,"    and  some    of 
,®  CQildisliness,  which  mingled  with  the  childlike  purity  of  mediceval 
'®*y,  in  tlie  dances  and   songs  of  the  "  Paradiso,"  we  may,  perhaps, 
'™Pftre  tliese  things  to  the  unfinished  parts  of  the  statoes  of  Michael 
"g^io,  wHich  exhibit  the  material  the  artist  had  to  use,  and  heighten 
^   Consciousness  of  bis  power  by  a  glimpse  of  the  difficulty  with 
"ch  he  wek^  struggling. 

^*    In  mediaeval  thought  the  opposition  between  this  and  the  other 

"Q   was     closely  connected    with   the   second   opposition  to  which 

^'^Dce    licta   been  made,  the  opposition  between  the  Enipiro   and  the 

"^n,  betM^eexi  |X>litics  and  religion,  and  also,  as  Danto  holds,  between 

OBophy  a.ri«fl  theology.  In  Dante's  pros©  treatise,  the  "  De  lilonarchia," 

vp  an  el^tujrnte  argument  in  regular  scholastic  form,  in  which  he 

defencl  tig  own  reading  of  the  politico-ecclesiastical  ideal  of  the 

°  '^fi^*  ^^"hich  was  expressed  in  the  maxim :  "  One  God,  one  Pope, 


822 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[JlT\B 


one   Emperor."     Tlie   following   quotation    gives     the   snbstaiice  o^ 
Dante's  view  : 

"If  man  is  a  mean  between  the  corrupt ible  ami  the  incorruptible,  ID 
cverv  otlier  mean,  i\&  must  have  ^ionietliing  in  hira  of  both  extremcft 
Further,  iis  every  nsitiire  is  constituted  in  view  of  some  ultimate  end,  man, 
who  piirtiikes  of  two  mittu'es,  must  be  const itutetl  in  view  of  a  twofold  end- 
Two  euils,  thei'efore,  the  inellViblo  wisdom  of  Providence  has  set  before  his 
etlbrta  ;  to  wit,  the  beatitude  of  this  life,  which  consists  in  the  exoitise  of  hi* 
proper  virtue,  iind  which  is  tigm-ed  to  us  by  tiie  Terresti-ia.1  Fsmidise  ;  and  the 
bcRtitude  of  eternal  life,  which  consists  in  the  fruition  of  the  divine  vision, 
and  which  is  represented  by  the  Celestial  Paradise.  To  these  dilferent 
beatitudes,  as  to  difi'erent  conclusions,  we  can  attain  only  through  different 
means.  To  the  former  we  attain  by  the  teaching  of  philosophy,  which  we 
follow  in  the  exercise  of  the  moml  and  intellectual  \-irtuo8.  To  the  Utter 
we  attnui  by  means  of  thosn  spiiituul  teachings  which  transcend  humau 
reason,  and  which  guide  us  in  the  exi-nise  of  the  theological  virtues,  faith,  hope, 
and  charity.  These  ends  and  the  means  to  them  are  exhibited  to  us,  on  the 
one  hand,  by  human  reason  expressing  itself  in  it,s  fulness  in  the  f»hilosophers, 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  wiiich,  through  the  prophet* 
and  sacred  writers,  through  the  Eternal  Son  of  God  Jesus  Christ  and  hiA 
disciples,  has  revealed  to  ua  a  truth  whicli  is  beyond  nature.  Hut,  in  spito 
of  all  these  evidences,  human  pission  wouhl  iuevitiibly  disregard  both  the 
earthly  and  the  heavenly  end,  unless  men,  like  horses,  had  their  brutal  lasU 
restnune<l  with  bit  and  bridle.  Hence  there  was  needed,  in  order  to  bring 
man  securely  to  his  ilouble  end,  a  double  directing  i>ower :  to  wit,  the  Holy 
PontiiV,  to  guide  him  in  accordance  with  Revelation,  to  eternal  life;  and  the 
Emperor,  to  direct  him  to  temporal  felicity,  in  accordance  w^ith  the  preceptsof 
{jhilosophv.  And  since  none  or  few,  and  these  only  with  the  utmost  difficulty, 
could  attain  to  this  haven,  unless  the  waves  of  deceitful  lust  were  quelled, 
and  the  human  raci*  enabled  to  enjoy  the  fi-eedom  and  tranquillity  of  peace, 
this,  above  all,  is  the  aim  to  which  the  Curator  of  the  world,  who  is  called 
the  Komnn  Prince,  should  direct  all  his  eflbrts  :  to  wit,  that  in  this  mortal 
sphere  life  may  be  freely  psissed  in  peace.  ....  It  is  clear,  then,  that  the 
authority  of  the  teaipoi-sil  monarch  descends  to  him  without  any  medium 
from  the  founttiiti  of  all  authority — that  fountain  which,  one  and  simple  in 
its  lofty  source,  ilows  out  into  inany  channels  in  the  abundance  of  the  divine 

goodness This,  however,  is  not   to   be   taken  as   meaning   that  tlie 

lloman  Emperor  is  in  nothinii  subject  to  the  Roman  Pont  iff ;  for  that  mortal 
happiness,  of  which  we  have  been  speaking,  itself  has  a  farther  end  in  the 
happiness  which  is  immortal.  Let  then  Caesar  pay  such  revei'euce  to  Peter 
as  a  first-born  son  owes  to  his  father,  that,  illumined  by  his  paternal  grace, 
he  may,  with  greater  virtue,  irradiate  the  whole  circle  of  the  world,  over 
which  he  is  placed  by  Him  alone,  who  is  the  ruler  of  all  things  temporal  and 
spiritual." 

The  ideas  which  Dante  thus  expresses  ia  prose  govern  the  whole 
movement  of  the  ''  Coniniedia."  They  explain  the  conti'ast  between  the 
two  guides  of  Dante,  Virgil  and  Beatrice,  the  former  of  whom  is  imme- 
diately taken  as  the  representative  of  philosophy,  and  of  the  teachings  of 
reason,  and  indirectly  also  of  the  Roman  imperial  power  which  Dante 
regarded  as  the  source  of  that  secular  moral  discipline  by  which  man  is 
taaght  the  cardinal  virtues  of  the  secular  life  ;  while  the  latter  spe»b 
for  a  theology  based  on  revelation,  and  maintains  the  necessity  of  that 
discipline  in  the  three  theological  virtues,  which  it  is  the  f  nnction  of  the 


iSgo] 


THEOLOGY  AND  ETHICS   OF  DANTE. 


828 


Church  to  supply.  The  great  evil  of  his  time,  according  to  Dante, 
was  that  these  two  different  functions  had  been  confused,  that  the 
Empire  aud  the  Church  had  become  rivals  instead  of  complements  of 
each  other,  and  that  by  this  dislocation  of  the  governing  power,  the 
whole  life  of  man  hatl  been  thrown  into  disorder  :  "Ye  may  well  see 
that  it  is  ill  guidance  that  has  made  the  world  stray  from  good,  and 
not  any  corruption  of  the  natm-e  of  man.  Rome,  that  once  gave  peace  to 
the  earth,  was  wont  to  have  two  suns.  Now  that  one  has  quenched  the 
other,  and  the  sword  is  joined  with  the  pastoral  staff,  they  must  both 
wander  from  the  path.      For,  so  united,  the  one  fears  not  the  other." 

As  is  manifest  from  this  passage,  the  main  responsibility  for  the 
perversion  of  the  divine  order  of  life,  lay,  in  Dante's  opinion,  with  the 
Church,  and  esptcially  with  the  Papacy,  which,  as  he  held,  had  abau- 
tloned  its  proper  functions,  and  had  grasped  at  the  imperial  authority. 
For,  by  this  policy,  the  Papacy  alienated  its  natural  ally,  and  gave 
opportunity  fur  the  undisciplined  licence  of  the  communes  and  the 
sangoinary  ambition  of  France,  to  which  the  Papacy  itself  ere  long 
became  a  victim.  And  the  main  cure  for  this  state  of  things  which 
Dante  requires  and  prophesies  is,  that  some  great  emperor  or  servant 
of  the  empire,  some  Henry  VII,  or  Can  Grande,  should  appear  to  drive 
back  to  hell  the  woWjCupidigia — i.t\,  to  repress  the  greedy  ambition  which 
had  thrown  the  world  into  disorder,  and  to  reatoro  the  Church  to 
its  original  purity,  the  purity  it  had  before  the  fatal  gift  of  Con- 
stantine  had  begun  tu  draw  it  into  the  arena  of  worldly  poUtics.  Dante, 
therefore,  seeks  for  the  reversal  of  the  whole  course  of  policy  by  which 
the  Church,  especially  after  the  time  of  Gregory  the  Great,  had  sought 
to  establish  its  secular  authority.  He  would  strip  the  Church  of  her 
wealth  in  order  to  make  her  trust  only  in  spiritual  weapons.  In  the 
**  Inferno,"  Dante  breaks  out  into  taunts  and  rejoicings  over  the  just 
fate  of  the  simoniacal  popes.  *'Tell  me  how  much  gold  our  Lord 
required  of  St.  Peter,  when  he  put  the  keys  into  his  charge  ?  Verily 
he  demanded  of  him  nought,  bat  ''  Follow  me.'  "  On  the  other  hand, 
his  intensest  s\Tnpathy  is  reserved  for  the  new  orders  of  mendicant 
friars,  who  sought  to  bring  back  the  simplicity  of  the  Gospel,  and 
hia  severest  denunciations  are  for  those  who  have  corrupted  the  original 
purity  of  these  orders,  and  of  tho  Church  in  general. 

This  enables  us  to  understand  an  often-discussed  passage  in  which 
Dante  puts  among  those  contemptible  beings — who  "  were  neither 
faithful  nor  rebellious,  but  were  for  themselves,"  and  who  are  therefore 
'•  hateful  to  God  and  to  his  enemies  " — one  who  is  characterised  only 
as  "  the  man  who,  through  meanness,  made  the  grand  renunciation." 
This  we  are  told  by  all  the  older  commentators  of  Dante  refers  to  Pop© 
Celestine,  who  resigned  the  papacy,  and  was  succeeded  by  Boniface 
VIII.  The  contempt  of  Dante  for  this  simple  monk,  who  shrank 
from  a  burden  which   he  could  not  bear,  is  to  be  understood  only  if 


824 


f^   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[JWt 


"we  regard  it  as  an  expression  of  the  disappointment  of  thoee  who, 
in  Celestine,  saw  a  representative  of  the  pure  unworldly  view  of  the 
functions  of  the  Church  lifted  to  the  throne  of  Christendom,  and  who 
then  saw  him  confess  himself  unequal  to  the  mission  thus  committed 
to  liim,  Dante  sympathised  with  the  resentment  of  the  so-called 
"  spiritual  Franciscans," — those  who  sought  to  maintain,  in  all  its 
strictness,  the  original  law  of  St.  Francis  as  to  poverty — when, 
after  a  short  interval,  they  saw  worldly  policy  restored  to  the  papal 
throne  in  the  person  of  Boniface.  Jacopone  di  Todi,  the  poet  of  the 
"  Spiritual  Brethren,"  attacked  Boniface  with  accusations  of  sacrilege, 
heresy  and  avarice,  and  in  the  "  Paradiso "  St.  Peter  is  made  to 
pronounce  him  a  usurper.  But  for  Celestine,  whose  selfish  sunth* 
ness  was  not  capable  of  sustaining  contact  with  the  world,  and  whose 
pusillanimity  lost,  as  it  seemed,  the  greatest  of  all  opportunities.  Dante 
reserves  his  bitterest  word  of  contempt. 

Now  it  is  easy  enough  io  see  that  Dante's  ideal  of  a  univnsftl 
Church,  standing  side  by  side  with  a  universal  empire,  protected  by 
the  empire,  and  by  its  unworldliness  saved  from  all  collision  there- 
with, was  impracticable,  was  indeed  incapable  of  realisation  in  hi'lK 
its  aspects.  The  universality  of  the  empire  was,  even  at  the  best, 
vmyni  nominis  umlni,  and  the  assertion  of  its  claims  invariably 
brought  it  into  collision  with  the  privileges  of  the  Church,  and  the 
Church,  on  the  other  band,  not  seldom  found  itself  driven  to  maintain 
those  privileges  by  excommimicating  the  emperor  and  calling  on  hia 
subjects  to  rebel.  The  emperors  could  not  uphold  law  and  order  in 
their  dominions  without  interfering  with  the  spiritual  courts  and  cur- 
tailing the  rights  of  the  clergy,  and  the  popes  saw  no  way  of  securing 
the  independence  of  the  Church  except  by  asserting  its  claim  to  rule 
over  the  world.  Thus  the  essential  contradiction  of  the  attempt  tfl 
divide  human  life  into  two  halves,  and  to  determine  definitely  what 
was  Caesar's,  and  what  was  God's,  showed  itself  in  tlie  logic  of  facte. 
Yet  undoubtedly  the  idea  of  such  a  separation,  which  should  leave 
each  in  possession  of  all  its  legitimate  prerogatives,  and  should  com- 
pletely secure  it  from  coming  into  collision  with  the  other,  was  thu^ 
political  ideal  of  the  Middle  Age,  an  ideal  which  was  the  noce«ary 
outcome  of  the  way  in  which  the  Christian  Church  had  for  centuries 
been  existing  or  endeavouring  to  exist,  as  a  community  in  the  world 
yet  not  of  it.  Hence  Dante  was  only  following  ont  tJiat  ideal  in  its 
most  logical  form,  when  he  demanded  that  the  Church  should  rHiim 
to  its  original  purity,  and  should  withdraw  from  all  interference  wiih 
the  interests  of  the  world,  and  that  the  empire  should  a£rain  bMome 
all-powerful  over  man's  secular  life,  as  it  seemed  1 
the  Church  became  its  rival.  We  might  perhaps  s 
of  Dante's  we  find  a  culminating  instance  of  the  u 
escaping  all  diflBculties  by  a  "  Distingno" — i.e.,  c 


1890] 


THEOLOGY  AND   ETHICS    OF  DANTE. 


825 


to  make  a  kind  of  truce  between  elements  wliich  it  could  not  bring 
together  in  a  true  reconciliation.  By  absolutely  separating  the  empire 
and  tlie  Church,  Dante  conceived  it  to  be  possible  to  restore  harmony 
between  them.  And,  indeed,  it  is  true  that  such  abstract  opposites,  if 
they  could  exist,  would  cease  to  come  into  collision,  because  they 
would  cease  to  come  into  contact.  Unfortunately,  at  the  same  time 
in  which  they  thus  cease  to  atlect  each  other,  they  lose  all  meaning, 
as  abstractions  which  have  no  longer  any  reference  to  the  whole  from 
which  they  were  abstracted.  Thus  in  Dante's  treatise,  "  De 
Monarchta,"  from  which  the  above  quotation  is  taken,  the  empire  is 
represented  as  an  omnl|>otent  justice,  which,  because  omnipotent,  has 
no  special  interest  of  its  own,  and  therefore  is  freed  from  all  tempta- 
tion to  injustice  ;  while  the  Church  is  conceived  as  reaching  the  same 
ideal  purity  by  the  opposite  way — i.e.,  by  detaching  itself  from  all 
6nite  interests  whatever.  The  real  lesson  to  be  learnt  from  such  an 
abstract  opposition  is  just  the  reverse  of  that  to  which  it  apparently 
points.  It  is  that  the  opposing  forces  can  never  cease  to  be  rivals, 
and  are  therefore  never  safe  from  impure  compromises,  until  they  are 
brought  to  a  unity  as  complementary  manifestations  of  one  principle 
of  life,  wliich  at  once  reveals  itself  in  their  difference,  and  overcomes 
it.  The  problem  is  not  to  divide  the  world  between  God  and  Ctesa)-, 
or,  as  we  should  now  say,  between  God  and  Huniaaity,  but  to  give  all 
to  God  in  giving  all  to  Humanity,  Humanity  being  conceived,  not  as 
a  collection  of  individuals,  but  as  an  organism  in  which  the  Divine 
Spirit  reveals  himself.  Of  this  solution  there  is  no  direct  statement 
in  Dante,  nor  could  any  unbiassed  interpreter  supixise  that  beneath 
the  form  of  adhesion  to  the  mediaeval  duality  of  Church  and  empire, 
he  conceals  the  idea  of  their  essential  unity.  What  gives  a  colour 
of  reason  to  such  an  idea  is  merely  that  the  new  wine  of  Dante's 
poetry  dtf.s  buret  the  old  lx)ttlos  of  medispval  philosophy,  or,  in  other 
words,  that  he  so  states  the  mcdispval  ideal  that  he  makes  us  see  it 
to  be  in  hopeless  antagonism  with  reality  and  with  itself,  and  at  the 
^^ttme  time  to  carry  in  it  the  germ  of  a  new  form  of  social  life. 
^^  3.  A  cleai-er  anticipation  of  this  new  order  of  ideas  is  seen 
I  in  Dante's  tre«,tment  of  the  last  of  the  three  contrasts  to  which 
I  reference  has  been  made.  For  Dante,  as  he  repeats  after  St. 
"  Augustine  and  St.  Thomas  the  conception  of  a  twofold  truth,  a  truth 
of  reason  which  is  determined  by  reason  alone,  and  a  truth  of  faith 
which  is  primarily  due  to  revelation,  bo  he  necessarily  accepts  the  idea 
of  a  twofold  morality,  a  morality  of  the  four  cardhal  virtues,  which 
are  acquired  by  habit  and  teaching  on  the  basis  of  nature,  and  a 
morality  of  the  three  theological  virtues,  which  are  entirely  the  effect 
of  supernatural  inspiration.  Hence  the  continu.tllv  Jncreasing  danger 
and  darkness  of  his  descent  through  the  circle  'ifemo,  and  the 

hopeful  but  slow  and  1  *  terraces 


826 


THE    CONTEMPORARY    RE  VIE  IF. 


[Jem 


of  the  Purgatorial  hill,  are  put  in  contrast  with  hia  swift  upward 
flight  through  the  planetary  heavens,  in  which  he  is  conscious  of  no 
effort,  but  only  of  the  vision  of  Beatrice  and  of  her  growing  brightneas. 
But  the  theological  barrier  between  the  human  and  the  divine  which 
Dante  thus  acknowledges,  and  which  we  may  even  say,  he  builds  into 
the  structure  of  his  poem,  is  removed  or  reduced  to  a  merely  relative 
difference,  when  we  consider  its  inner  meaning.  In  the  exaltation  of 
Beatrice  two  very  different  ideals  of  life  are  united,  and  two  difl'erent 
streams  of  poetrj-,  which  had  ntn  separate  up  to  the  time  of  Dante, 
are  concentrated  in  a  common  channel.  The  chivalrous  worship  of 
woman,  which  grew  up  in  connection  with  the  institutions  of 
feudalism,  is  combined  with  that  adoration  of  divine  love,  as  embodied 
in  the  Virgin  Mother,  which  gave  tenderness  to  the  piety  of  the  saints. 
The  hymn  of  ivorship,  in  which  tho  passionate  devotion  of  St.  Francis 
and  Jacopone  di  Todi  found  utterance,  absorbs  into  itself  the  love- 
ballad  of  the  Troubadour,  and  the  imaginative  expression  of  natural 
feeling  is  purified  and  elevated  by  union  with  the  religious  aspirations 
of  the  cloister.  Thus  poetry  brings  ideas  which  had  been  separated 
by  the  widest  "apace  in  nature"  to  "join  like  likes,  and  kiss  like 
native  things."  Dante's  poetic  idealism — with  that  levelling  power 
which  is  characteristic  of  all  idealism ,  and  above  all  of  the  idealism  of 
Christianity — seta  aside  all  the  hindrances  that  had  prevented  human 
and  divine  love  from  coalescing.  Or,  perhaps,  we  should  rather  say 
that  he  approximates  as  ncarhj  to  this  result  as  the  mediaeval  dualism 
will  let  liim,  retaining  the  mark  of  his  time  only  in  the  fact  that  the 
natm-al  passion  which  he  idealises  is  one  which  was  fed  with  hardly 
any  earthly  food,  but  only  with  a  few  words  and  looks,  and  which  was 
soon  consecrated  by  death.  Thus  tho  ascetic  ideal  of  purity,  which 
ehuna  like  poison  the  immediate  touch  of  sense,  claims  its  tribute ; 
but  when  this  tribute  has  been  paid,  Dante  has  no  further  scruple  in 
following  the  impulse  of  natural  emotion  which  bids  him  identify  his 
earthly  love  with  the  highest  object  of  his  reverence,  with  the  divine 
wisdom  itself.  Thus  in  the  adoration  of  Beatrice  the  Platonic 
idealisation  of  todjc  is  interwoven  with  the  Christian  worship  of  b 
divine  Ilumanity ;  and  a  step  is  mode  towai-dsthat  renewed  recogni- 
ti&n  of  the  sacredness  of  natural  feelings  and  relations,  by  which 
modern  is  distinguished  from  mediaeval  ethics. 

Again,  Dant©  accepts  the  media?val  idea  of  the  superiority 
of  the  contemplative  to  the  active  life.  This  idea  was  the 
natural  result  of  the  ascetic  and  mystic  view  of  religion  which 
separates  the  love  of  God  from  the  love  of  man,  and  regards  the 
service  of  the  latter  as  partly  withdrawing  our  eyes  from 
the  direct  vision  of  the  former.  "  To  love  God  sccunJuvi  st,"  s»p 
St.  Thomas,''  is  more  meritorious  than  to  love  one's  neighbour.  No* 
the  contemplative  life  directly  and  immediately  pertains  to  the  love  of 


God,  while  the  active  life  directly  points  to  the  love  of  our  neigh- 
bour." Such  a  doctrine,  if  logically  carried  out,  would  involve  an 
opposition  of  the  universal  principle  of  morality  to  all  the  particulars 
that  ought  to  come  under  it ;  or,  to  express  the  same  thing  theo- 
logically, it  would  involve  a  conception  of  God  as  a  mere  Absolute 
Being,  who  is  not  revealed  in  his  creatures — a  conception  iri'econcilable 
with  the  Christian  idea  of  the  unity  of  the  divine  and  the  human. 
The  natural  inference  from  such  a  conception  would  be  that  we  must 
turn  away  from  the  finite  in  order  to  bring  ourselves  into  relation  with 
the  infinite.  But,  in  Dante,  the  ideutilication  of  Beatrice  with  the 
divine  wisdom,  or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  the  representation  of  tho 
divine  wisdom  as  individualised  and  embodied — and  that  not  merely 
in  Christ  or  in  the  saints,  but  in  the  human  form  that  was  nearest 
to  the  poet's  affection — practically  counteracts  this  tendency,  and 
involves  a  reassertion  of  the  positive  side  of  Christianity  as  against 
the  over-emphasis  which  the  Middle  Age  laid  on  its  negative  side.  It 
may,  indeed,  be  said  that,  for  Dante,  the  contemplative  life  remains  still 
the  highest.  But  this  is  not  altogether  true,  at  least  in  the  sense  in 
which  the  alwve  objection  holds  good.  For  there  is  a  sense  in  which 
contemplation  may  be  said  to  include  and  go  beyond  action — the 
sense,  via.,  in  which  religion  includes  and  goes  beyond  morality. 
Religion  does  nob  lift  man  oni  of  the  practical  struggle  for  good,  but 
in  a  sense,  it  lifts  him  above  it.  It  turns  morality  from  the  effort 
after  a  distant  and  unattainable  ideal  into  a  consciousness  of  a  divine 
power  within  and  without  us,  of  which  all  things  are  the  manifesta- 
tion ;  and  so  it  enables  us  to  regard  all  things  as  working  together 
for  good,  even  those  that  seem  moat  to  oppose  it.  Religion  is  thus 
primarily  contemplative,  not  as  looking  awuy  from  the  world  to  God, 
nor  as  excluding  tJie  active  life  of  relation  to  the  world,  but  because 
it  is  a  rest  in  the  consciousness  that  the  ultimate  reality  of  things, 
the  world  as  seen  sub  specie  (tiirmlatis,  is  at  once  rational  and  moral. 
And  such  a  consciousness,  though  it  gives  the  highest  inspiration  to 
moral  activity,  dot^s  so  by  removing  much  of  the  pain  of  efibrt,  and 
especially  much  of  the  feeling  of  hopelessness,  which  is  apt  to  arise 
whenever  moral  effort  is  long  continued  against  powerful  obstacles.  So 
far,  then^  the  addition  of  religion  to  morality  tends  to  assimilate  moral 
activity  to  Dante's  swift  and  effortless  ascent  into  heaven,  in  which,  as 
we  have  seen,  he  is  drawn  upward  simply  by  the  vision  of  Beatrice. 
*'  Not  I  work,  but  God  worketh  in  me,"  is  tbe  genuine  expression  of 
religious  feeling,  and  the  source  of  its  inspiring  jyower.  Dante  puts 
tJie  same  idea  in  another  way,  when  he  tells  us  that,  if  freed  from 
the  burden  of  sinful  inclination,  man  carmot  but  follow  the  divine 
attraction  of  his  nature,  and  inevitably  rises  to  Paradise  as  to  his 
natural  place.  "  Thou  Bhouldest  not  wonder  at  thy  ascent,"  says 
Beatrice,  "  any  more  than  that  a  stream  descends  from  the  top  of  the 


828 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jcsi 


hill  to  the  bottom.  It  would  rather  be  a  marvel  if,  freed  from  all 
impediment,  thon  didst  remain  below,  like  living  jvrc  lyiivg  quietly 
on  tht  ground."  Thus  in  Daiit-e'a  hands  the  one-sided  exaltation  0/ 
the  contemplative  life,  which  he  accepts  a3  part  of  the  theological 
tradition  of  hia  time,  beoomes  susceptible  of  an  interpretation  which 
removes  all  its  one-sidedness.  It  is  open  for  us  to  take  it  as  express- 
ing the  truth  that  religion  bases  the  "  ought  to  be  "  of  morality  upon 
a  deeper  "  is,"  and  that  the  moral  ideal  is  not  merely  a  subjective 
hope  or  aspiration  of  the  individual,  but  our  best  key  to  the  natore 
of  things.  In  a  similar  way  the  absolute  distinction — which  Danre, 
like  the  scholastic  theologians  whom  he  followed,  is  obliged  to  make — 
between  the  truths  of  faith  and  the  tx'uths  of  reason,  finally  resolves 
itself  into  this,  tliat  there  are  sonit'  truths  which  cannot  be  attained 
except  by  those  "  whose  intelligence  is  ripened  in  the  flame  of  love "; 
or,  in  other  words,  some  truths  that  must  be  felt  and  experienced 
before  they  can  be  known.  Considering  all  these  points,  we  may 
fairly  say  that,  orthodox  as  Dante  is,  his  poem  is  the  enthanasia  of 
the  tlaaliatic  theology  and  ethics  of  the  Middle  Ages.  In  spite  of 
the  horrors  of  his  "  Inferno,"  which  are  the  poetic  reflection  of  the 
superstitious  terrors  of  a  half-barbarous  age,  and  in  spite  of  the 
monastic  austerity  and  purity  of  hie  Panvdise  of  light  and  music, 
which  is  like  a  glorified  edition  of  the  services  of  the  church,  Dante 
interprets  the  religion  of  the  cloister  in  such  a  way  sa  to  carrv  118 
beyond  it.  His  "  Divina  Commedia"  maybe  compared  to  the  portal 
of  a  great  cathedral,  through  which  we  emerge  from  the  dim 
religious  b'ght  of  the  Middle  Ages  into  the  open  day  of  the  modern 
world,  but  emerge  with  the  imperishable  memory  of  those  harmonies 
of  form  and  colour  on  which  we  have  been  gazing,  and  with  tlio 
organ  notes  that  lifted  our  soul  to  heaven  Etill  sounding  in  our  ears. 


Edward  Caibd, 


TRUSTS  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


No  future  treatise  ou  political  economy  will  be  complete  without  an 
exposition  of  modem  Trusts,  which  have  attained  auch  alarm- 
ing proportions  in  the  United  States  of  America.  The  growth  of  these 
combinations  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  economic  developments  of 
the  time.  The  great  staples  of  the  country  are  fast  falling  into 
their  clutches ;  and  some  of  the  necessaries  of  life  are  already 
under  their  control.  Trusts  are  illegal  corporations,  born  of 
rapacity,  and  maintained  by  the  exercise  of  tyranny.  Their 
organisation  is  secret ;  their  workings  dark,  silent,  and  subtle. 
They  stretch  out  their  tentacles — Cjnietly  and  stealthily — until  whole 
industries  are  in  their  grasp.  They  are  contrivances  to  create  a 
monopoly  by  throttling  all  competitors.  They  squeeze  the  people  at 
both  extremes  of  the  commercial  scale — grinding  down  those  who 
furnish  the  raw  material  and  supply  the  labour  to  the  lowest  limit, 
and  exacting  the  highest  possible  price  from  the  consumer.  Once 
established,  Trusts  soon  become  strong — -almost  impregnable — citadela 
of  capital.  The  highest  business  capacity  is  employed  in  organising  and 
ni(untaining  them.  They  laugh  at  public  opinion,  ride  rough-shod 
over  legislative  enactments,  and  baffle  the  law  courts.  They  bridle 
newspapers  with  subsidies,  and  send  members  to  Congress.  They 
have  their  agents  in  every  Legislature,  and  Bills  are  passed  in  their 
interest.  They  tamper  with  judges,  ihey  ally  themselves  with 
political  leaders,  and  hire  professors  of  political  economy  to  defend 
them*  But  the  people  are  at  last  awakening  to  the  dangers  of  Trusts, 
ftnd  see  in  them  not  only  an  interference  with  trade,  but  a  menace  to 
political  liberty.  Trusts  stand  in  the  forefront  of  the  Protectionist 
breastworks.     They  ar*  c  of  the  tariff  qnestion.     It  is  round 

em  that  tho  ariff  reformers  are  bint 


t 


830 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


rjt 


before  all  things  on  clearing  them  away.  In  this  article  I  will 
endeavour  to  sketch  the  rise  of  these  Trusts,  to  explain  their  organisa- 
tion, to  indicate  their  extent,  to  point  out  their  effect,  to  seek  the 
cause  of  their  existence,  and  suggest  the  remedy. 


Wliat  is  a  Trust  ?  In  answering  this  question,  the  apologists  of 
Trusts  go  away  back  to  the  time  of  Charles  the  Pirst  and  Queen 
Elizabeth,  and  bring  forth  a  mass  of  legfil  evidence  intended  to  show 
that  the  Trnst  is  a  very  ancient  and  respectable  institution,  I  am  not 
concerned  with  these  excursions  into  ancient  history,  and  do  not 
intend  to  disinter  the  petrified  prototypes  of  the  Trust.  Old  Trust'' 
and  monopolies  have  no  bearing  on  the  case.  The  modem  Trust  is 
the  creation  of  the  present  commercial  age.  It  bears  no  relation  to 
its  ancient  namesake,  and  the  word  Trnst  in  the  legal  sense  in  no  way 
describes  it.  A  Trust  in  the  legal  sense  of  the  term  is  an  arrangement 
whereby  one  pt'raon  holds  the  title  to  property  for  the  benefit  of 
another.     The  American  Trnst  is  a  very  different  thing. 

It  is  a  combination  of  manufacturers,  engaged  in  the  same  in- 
dustry, to  kill  competition  and  establish  a  monopoly.  All  monopoliea 
are  not  Trusts  ;  but  all  Trusts  are  monopolies,  or  attempts  to  be 
monopolies.  A  Trust  unites  the  varions  manufacturers  or  traders  ia 
the  same  article  on  a  new  principle.  It  is  an  outgrowth  of  the 
''pool"  system.  A  ''pool ''was  a  temporary  arrangement  to  raiae 
prices  artificially.  The  Trnst  is  a  permanent  "  pool,"  but  organised 
on  a  solid,  and  not  on  a  loose  basis.  It  is  not  a  corporation  made  up 
of  individuals ;  but  a  combination  of  corporations  governed  by  a 
directorate  of  trustees.  The  Federal  system  of  the  United  States  ii 
particularly  favourable  to  the  creation  of  Trusts.  They  make  a  show 
of  complying  with  the  law,  while  in  reality  they  trample  it  under  foot^ 

There  are  various  ways  of  forming  a  Trnst  ;  but  the  avowed  purposn 
of  Trusts  are  the  same : — to  destroy  all  competition,  to  diminish 
supplies,  and  to  raise  prices.  The  system  most  generally  adopted  to 
achieve  these  ends  is  as  follows  :— Each  of  the  parties  ent<?ring  into 
the  Trust  incorporates  his  own  establishment,  if  it  is  not  an  incorporate 
company  already.  The  stock  of  the  several  corjwrations  forming  the 
Trust  is  then  handed  over  to  certain  persons  called  trasteee.  In 
payment  for  the  stock  the  trustees  issue  to  each  party  '*  trust ''  certifi- 
cates— -similar  to  shares  of  stock  in  corporations — and  rdso  "  trust " 
certificates  for  the  goodwill  of  the  business.  These  certificates  generally 
represent  four  times  the  real  value  of  the  property.  The  trustees — 
who  have  been  the  prime  movers  in  the  concern  and  the  leading 
manufacturers  of  the  product  "  trusted  " — retain  the  major  part  of 
the  stock  in  each  corporation.     They  elect  directors — themoelves  if 


1890] 


TRUSTS  IN   THE    UNITED   STATES. 


831 


they  like — appoint  agents,  and  systematise  the  working.  The 
management  is  centralised,  and  the  directore  placed  in  supreme 
authority.  They  have  absolate  power.  They  regulate  production, 
and  control  the  market.  They  can  raise  prices  in  one  direction,  lower 
them  in  another,  and  "  shut  down  "*  establrshmpnts  when  they  think  fit. 
The  fact  that  a  factory  is  standing  idle  does  not  reduce  the  profits  of 
the  owners  or  stockholders  in  this  particular  branch  of  the  business. 
The  profits — whether  one  factory,  or  ten  factories  are  working— are 
distributed  equally  among  all  the  holders  of  trust  certificates.  It  is 
understood  that  the  directors  know  their  business  best,  and  are 
working  in  the  interest  of  all.  Complete  confidence  is  placed  in 
thrm.  As  Trusts  are  outside  the  pa!e  of  the  law,  confidence  in  the 
managing  directors  and  ties  of  self-interest  are  what  unite  them. 
There  are  other  ways  of  forming  TnistSj  but  the  same  object  is  attained. 
What  were  formerly  conflicting  interests  are  united  and  placed  under 
tine  control,  and  the  organisation  is  ingeniously  devised  bo  as  to  evade 
the  law. 


IL 

Some  of  the  existing  Trusts  were  evolved  oat  of  "pools,"  "comers," 
or  "combines,"  which  were  only  temporary  and  uncertain  arrangements; 
but  supposing  a  new  Trust  is  to  be  formed  without  having  such  found- 
ation, this  is  how  it  is  done : — Several  of  the  leading  manufacturers 
in  any  industry — sugar,  salt,  steel,  whisky,  oil,  paper,  or  anything  else 
— will  take  the  initiative.  Tliey  are  men  who  have  hitherto  held 
strongly  to  the  belief  that  '*  competition  is  the  life  of  trade  ;  "  but  are 
begitming  to  lose  confidence  in  it.  Competition  has  grown  too  fierce, 
the  struggle  for  existence  too  hard.  Some  have  profited,  but  others 
have  failed.  The  mass  of  the  people  have,  no  doubt,  benefited  from 
competition,  but  that  does  not  interest  the  maniifacturers  ;  so  the 
leaders  call  a  meeting  to  extinguish  this  "  competition,  which 
is  the  life  of  trade."  The  majority  of  the  manufacturers  meet. 
"  Now,"  they  say,  "  let  us  talk  over  our  affairs  in  a  business-like 
spirit.  This  fierce  competition  is  ruining  our  trade ;  we  spend  the 
greater  part  of  our  profits  in  trying  to  keep  abreast  of  each  other, 
we  are  always  having  trouble  with  our  workmen,  and  somebody 
else  gets  ahead.  Come,  let  us  put  an  end  to  this  unprofitable  rivalry. 
Let  us  stop  cutting  each  other's  throats.  Our  interests  are  identical. 
Our  one  object  is  to  make  money.  Now,  if  we  could  work  in  harmony 
we  should  save  an  enormous  amount  in  salaries,  in  buying  new 
machinery,  in  finding  a  market  for  our  goods,  in  advertising,  and  in 
other  directions ;  we  could  adjust  prices  and  wages  to  suit  ourselves. 
Above  all,  we  shonld  make  money."  This  sound  economic  doctrine 
naturally  commends  itself  to  a  set  of  intelligent  manufacturers.  They 
*  An  Americanum  for  "  shnt  up  "  or  close. 


832 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jrsn 


see  that  if  they  were  all  united  they  could  just  pay  as  little  as  possible 
for  their  raw  material  and  labour,  and  they  could  adjust  the  selling 
price  to  suit  their  consciences,  which  are  pretty  sure  to  be  elastic. 
Being  intelligent  manufacturers  and  sharp  business  men,  the  logic  of 
these  facta  prove  irresistible.     They  resolve  to  form  a  Trust 

Having  formed  their  Trust,  they  begin  by  making  a  discovery  which 
heretofore  escaped  their  attention.  There  has  been  "over-production" 
in  their  buainess.  This  must  be  put  a  stop  to  at  once.  To  bring 
production  down  to  the  proper  level,  factories  are  closed,  and  the 
Trusts  have  been  known  to  destroy  gootls  rather  than  put  them  on  the 
market.  The,  workmen  who  used  to  kick  against  their  wages  are 
now  thrown  out  of  employment,  or  have  their  wages  reduced.  The 
directors  then  turn  to  certain  rivals  who  have  obstinately  held  out 
against  the  blandishments  of  the  Trust-makers,  and  present  to  them 
the  pleasing  alternative,  to  join  or  be  crushed.  If  the  competitors  still 
cling  to  a  belief  in  the  virtue  of  competition,  down  go  the  Trust's 
prices,  its  factories  are  ail  set  agoing,  and  it  floods  the  market  with 
cheap  goods.  The  Tnist  continues  this — aided  in  its  designs  by  rail- 
way companies  and  other  corporations  in  league  with  it — until  the 
recalcitrant  ones  are  brought  to  a  sense  of  their  duty.  This  method  of 
warfare  has  never  in  the  long  run  been  known  to  fail,  and  the  outsiders 
end  by  joining  the  Trust  or  by  going  into  bankruptcy.  Minor  com- 
petitors, who  do  not  interfere  seriously  with  the  Trust's  business,  may 
be  left  alone,  and  in  a  country  so  vast  as  the  United  States  distance 
often  makes  manufacturers  in  the  same  line  as  the  Trust  quite  harmless. 
Some  Trusts  are  purely  local  concerns,  such  as  the  Milk  Trust  in  New 
York,  and  the  Gas  Trust  in  Chicago.  Others  are  confined  to  particular 
States  and  are  safe  from  competitors  in  other  States.  The  cost  of 
transportation  alone  prevents  competitors  300U  miles  away  from 
seriously  injuring  the  interests  of  a  Trust.  But  there  are  Trusts  which 
are  not  confined  to  States  or  territorial  regions,  but  stretch  over  the 
whole  continent  of  North  America.  Having  crushed  competitors  that 
come  in  its  way,  and  obtained  control  of  the  market,  a  Trust  soon 
recuperates  itself  from  the  effects  of  temporary  lowering  its  prices. 
The  reader  will  now  understand  what  a  IVust  is,  and  will  have  eome 
idea  how  it  works. 


IIL 

Trnsta  organised  on  the  lines  described  are  quite  modem  concerns. 
The  Standard  Oil  Trust,  which  was  the  pioneer  in  this  lino  of  business, 
and  has  sei-ved  as  a  model  for  future  Trusts,  was  organised  in  1882. 
Tho  Cotton  Oil  Trust  and  the  Sugar  Trust  followed  ;  but  it  was  not 
until  1887  that  there  was  any  alarming  progress  made  in  the  formatdoi 
of  Trusts.  During  that  year  there  was  the  first  "  boom"  in  Tmsts. 
Public  attention  was  then  directed  to  them.    The  press  began  to  ezpov 


iSgo] 


TRUSTS  TN   THE    UNITED    STATES. 


833 


them.  The  New  Yark  Times  was  the  first  newspaper  to  declare  war 
against  Trusts,  anrlj  ever  since,  this  ably  conducted  journal  has  given 
the  fullest  details  of  their  working  and  the  best  exposure  of  their  evils. 
Other  metropolitan  journals  entered  tlie  campaign  against  Trusts,  and 
in  the  West  the  Chicago  Tribune  led  the  attack.  As  the  Presidential 
election  approached,  the  attack  on  Trusts  became  general.  All  the 
Democrats  denounced  them,  and  many  Republicans  opposed  them. 
Mr.  Blaine  declan^d  that  "Trusts  were  private  affairs,"  but  the  Re- 
publican Convention  thought  it  advisable  to  include  in  its  platform 
a  denunciation  of  Trusts.  This  was  by  way  of  answer  to  the  Demo- 
cratic cry  that  the  high  protective  tariff  was  responsible  for  Trusts. 

In  the  winter  session  of  1887-1888  inquiries  were  instituted  into  the 
working  of  Trusts  by  the  Congress  of  the  United  States,  by  the  Cana- 
dian Parliament,  and  by  the  New  York  Tjegislature.  As  the  evidence 
taken  by  these  committees  of  inquiry  was  published  during  the  spring 
and  summer  of  188S,  the  people  began  to  know  something  more  about 
Trusts,  and  hoped  that  something  would  be  done  to  destroy  them. 
There  was  a  lull  in  the  creation  of  Trusts  while  the  presidential  elec- 
tion was  in  progress,  but  as  soon  as  it  was  found  that  the  Protectionist 
party  had  triumphed,  the  Trust  fever  broke  out  again.  Measures 
were  introduced  into  different  State  Legislatures  last  year  to  prohibit 
and  supprf'sa  Trusts,  but  they  still  continue  to  tlourish,  and  there  are 
now  more  Trnsta  in  the  country  than  ever  there  were.  There  are 
Trusts  in  kerosene  oil,  sugar,  cotton-seed  oil,  steel,  rubber,  steel  beams, 
cartridges,  lead,  iron,  nails,  straw  paper,  linseed  oil,  coal,  slates,  gas. 
cattle,  tramways,  steel  rails,  iron  nuts,  wi-ought-iron  pipes,  stones, 
copper,  paving  pitch,  felt  roofing,  ploughs,  threshing,  reaping  and 
binding  machines,  glass,  oatmeal,  white  corn  meal,  starch,  pearled 
barley,  waterworks,  lard,  castor  oil,  barbed  wire,  school  slates,  school 
books,  lead-pencils,  paper  bags,  envelopes,  meat,  milk,  matches,  canvas- 
back  duck,  ultramarine,  borax,  sand-paper,  screws,  cordage,  marble, 
coflSns,  toothpicks,  peanuts,  lumber,  lime,  overshoes,  hides,  railway 
springs,  carriage  bolts,  patent  leather,  thread,  white-lead,  and  whisky.. 
Some  few  Trusts  have  failed  through  internal  disputes  and  other  causes. 
but  the  list  is  not  by  any  means  complete.  One  Trust  breeds  another 
Trast,  and  new  combinations  are  being  formed  every  week. 


IV, 

The  greatest  of  all  these  combinations  is  the  Standard  Oil  Trust, 
It  is  the  greatest,  the  most  powerful,  and  the  most  hated.  Through- 
out the  country,  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific,  the  very  name 
Standard  snggests  tyranny  and  smacks  of  rapacity.  But  the  epithets 
applied  to  it  do  not  hurt  it.     The  attacks  made  on  it  are  as  harmless 

fairdshot  to  a  turret  phip.    It  pursues  its  way  unimpeded  and  over- 

TOL.  Lvn.  3  I 


836 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[3\rsw 


favourable  light  possible.  It  refused  to  produce  its  records,  and  the 
trustees  were  at  first  reluctant  to  give  evidence;  bnt  although  na 
witnesses  were  called  against  it  nothing  came  out  calculated  to  gain 
it  public  favour.  It  is  not  known  to  what  extent  the  Trust  controls 
the  supply  of  crude  oil,  but  evidence  was  given  before  the  Congres* 
Committee  on  Trusts,  which  showed  that  5,000,000  bairels  of  refined 
oil  were  set  aside  by  the  Trust  for  the  benefit  of  an  association  of  pro- 
ducers on  condition  that  they  curtailed  the  production  by  at  least  17,500 
barrels  a  day. 

The  Standard  Oil  Trust  has  used  every  means  to  maintain 
its  supremacy,  and  to  crush  its  competitors.  It  is  affiliated 
with  other  corporations  which  help  to  maintain  its  monopoly — 
notably  with  railway  companies  and  traffic  agencies.  One  of  its 
favourite  plans  for  squeezing  rivals  out  of  the  market  has  been 
to  get  preferential  rates  for  its  own  oil,  while  its  rivals  were 
compelled  to  pay  high  rates  for  the  transport  of  their  product.  At 
one  time  the  Trust  received  rebates  from  milway  companies  avemging 
half  a  million  dollars  a  mouth.  The  independent  refiners  were 
gradually  becoming  absorbed  by  the  Trust,  but  the  existence  of 
a  few  competitors  in  Ohio  and  elsewhere,  and  the  fear  of  com- 
petitors from  the  Baku  oil-fields,  has  helped  to  keep  down  the  price 
of  petroleum. 

Another  powerful   combination  is  the  great  Sugar  Tmst.      Sugar 
presented  an   excellent  opportunity  for  the  IVuet-raakers.      It  is  pro- 
tected by  a  duty  which  averages  about  80  per  cent.,  and  a  bounty  fa 
paid  by  the  Govfmraent  on  all  sugar  exported.     Sugar  is  one  of  the* 
necessaries  of  life,  and  is  used  in  every  household.    The  sugar  refiners 
discovered  in  1887  that  too  much  sugar  was  being  manufactured,  so 
they  conaolidat^d  to  reduce  the  supply  and  raise  the  price.      The  reai 
value  of  the  property  "  trusted"  was  $15,000,000,  but  "  trust "  cerUfi- 
cates  were  issued  which  "  watered  "  it  up  to  $60,000,000.    The  Trust 
first  depressed  the  price  of  raw  sugar,  and  then  raised  the  price  of  cut 
loaf   and    crushed  sugar   by   1^    cents  per   lb.,   and  of  granulated 
sugar  by  1  cent  per  lb.      A  rise  of  1  cent  per  lb.  on  the  sugar  con- 
sumed   in    the   United    States  would  mean  an    increased  profit   of 
$30,000,000.      Strong    opposition    has   been    made    to    this   Trust, 
but  it  still  holds  its  own.     A  millionaire  sugar  refiner  is  at  present 
building  an  immense  factory  at  Philadelphia  to  crush  the  Trust,  and 
has  obtained  a  great  amount  of  gratuitous  advertising  from  the  news-'' 
papers  for  his  enterprise,  but  so  long  as  the  present  protective  and 
boxinty  system  lasts,  the  Americans  are  not  likely  to  get  cheap  sugar. 
English  people  have  nothing  to  complain  of  in  this  matter.     Tbey 
ought  to  appreciate  the  friendly  attitude  of  the  United  States  Govern- 
ment, as  it  helps  to  pay  for  their  sugar.      After  allowing  for  the  cost 
of  transportation   from  America  to  England,  including  charges  for 


1890] 


TRUSTS   IN   THE    UNITED    STATES. 


837 


handling,  insurance,  tScc,  the  American  refiner  can  still — with  the  aid 
of  the  '•  drawback  " — sell  sugar  at  Ps.  less  per  lOO  lbs.  in  England  than 
in  America,  Up  to  1875,  the  United  States  Government  used  to 
retain  10  per  cent,  of  the  "  drawback,"  but  it  was  very  properly 
thought  that  this  was  not  quite  fair  to  the  refiners  and  their  English 
castomers,  eo  that  an  Act  was  passed  requiring  the  retention  of  Otdy 
1  per  cent.  Some  protectionists  still  thought  that  this  was  not  generous 
enough,  and  it  was  proposed  in  the  Senate  Bill  of  last  year  to  give 
the  i*efiner8  the  fuU  benefit  of  the  "  drawback."  All  this,  of  course, 
makes  excellent  business  for  the  Trusty  but  it  hag  incurred  great 
•expense  in  crushing  competitors  and  maintaining  the  illegal  constitu- 
tion in  the  teeth  of  the  law  courts. 

One  Trust  breed.s  another  Trust.  When  the  sugar  refiners  obtained 
control  of  the  market,  the  manufacturers  of  glucose  and  cheap  grape- 
sugar — used  for  the  purposes  of  adulteration — followed  their  example 
and  went  into  a  Trust.  When  the  steel  combination  prc-^ised  on  the 
western  plough  manufacturers  they  in  turn  organised  a  Trust,  and 
iqueezed  the  farmers,  who  are  now  contemplating  a  similar  course  to 
resist  the  pressure. 

A  steel  rail  combination  has  been  in  existence  since  1877.  It  is  not 
formed  on  Tra&t  lines,  but  serves  the  same  purpose.  The  "  iron 
lords  "  and  "  steel  lords  "  are  bound  together  by  the  closest  ties  of  self- 
interest  in  the  American  Iron  and  Steel  Association.  This  Associa- 
tion keeps  the  prices  as  high  as  the  tariff  will  allow,  and  does  all  it 
can  by  the  circulation  of  pamphlets,  by  employing  "  lobbyists,"  and 
resorting  to  other  well-known  methods,  to  maintain  a  feeling  in 
favour  of  the  continuance  of  a  protective  tariff  on  iron  and  steel. 

There  is  a  very  respectable  Trust  in  linseed  oil.  It  was  formed  in 
January  1877,  in  consequence,  as  usual,  of  there  being  too  much 
linseed  oil  in  the  country ;  during  that  year  the  price  of  the  oil  rose 
from  38  cents  to  62  cents  per  gallon,  and  it  is  now  Gl  cents.  The 
price  of  linseed  oil  in  England  is  about  31  cents  per  gallon.  The 
Trust  is  protected  by  a  duty  of  64  per  cent.  The  increased  price 
fiincethe  formation  of  the  Trust  is  clear  ^irofit ;  add  to  this,  economy 
in  manufacture,  and  the  reduction  in  the  price  paid  to  tlie  farmer  for 
■seed,  and  it  will  be  seen  how  this  Trnst  must  have  enriched  its  members. 
It  had  an  opposite  effect  on  the  workmen,  many  of  whom  lost  employ- 
ment through  the  stoppage  of  mills,  and  as  the  higher  price  of  the  oil 
mu6t  have  lessened  the  consumption,  workers  have  suffered  in  another 
way.  The  Cotton-seed  Oil  Trust  has  increased  its  profits  both  in  buy- 
ing and  in  selling  in  a  similar  way.  The  evidence  given  in  the  suit 
brought  against  this  monopolist  Trust  by  the  State  of  Louisiana  showed 
that  it  had  reduced  the  price  paid  to  thn  planters  for  seed  from  7  to  4 
dollars  per  ton.  As  thr-  Trust  buys  about  700,000  tons  a  year,  this  is 
a  clear  gain  of  over  two  million  dollars  at  one  sweep. 


838 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW, 


[Jmfi 


The  principal  n)anufactarej*s  of  American  whisky  got  up  "pools'* 
now  and  then  between  1878  and  1887  to  arrange  prices.  Tht 
"  pools  "  were  not  quite  so  successful  as  the  distillers  desired,  and  in 
1887  they  discovered  that  the  hitch  arose  because  there  was  too  macb 
whisky,  niis  discovery  was  worthy  of  temperance  reformers,  bnt 
the  object  of  the  distillers  was  not  to  help  forward  the  prohibition 
movementj  or  the  temperance  cause.  Nor  was  their  ultimate  aim  th* 
limitation  of  whisky-drinking.  They  only  wanted  to  temponml? 
limit  the  supply.  They  organised  the  Western  Distillers  and  Cattle 
Feeders  Trust — a  compound  sort  of  Trust.  On  its  formation,  seventy 
distillers  joined  it,  and  the  price  of  whisky  wa.s  at  once  raised  from 
3U  to  ■[()  per  cent.  Fifty-seven  distilleries  were  closed,  and  the 
remaining  thirteen  left  to  make  profits  for  the  time  being  for  all  the 
shareholders.  The  owners  of  the  distilleries  which  were  lying  idle 
therefore  did  not  lose  anything.  The  wages  of  the  men  still  left  at 
work  were  cut  down  from  10  to  20  per  cent.  But  the  Trust  had 
been  too  gi-asping,  and  competition  began  to  reappear.  New  dis^ 
tilleries  were  opened,  and  as  these  had  to  be  crushed  or  absorbed, 
down  went  the  price  of  whisky — lower  than  it  had  ever  been  before 
— \tntil  they  succumbed.  The  Trust  now  controls  more  than  half 
the  distilleries  in  the  country.  It  also  fixes  the  price  for  "mash" 
used  Ibr  feeding  cattle — hence  its  double-barrelled  name.  The 
duty  on  alcohol  is  171*85  per  cent.,  and  the  duty  on  spirits 
distilled  from  grain — such  as  the  Trust  makes — rises  to  396' 13  per 
cent. 

The  stove-makers  met  early  in  188S  and  haWng  considered  that  a 
great  saving  in  patterns,  catalogues,  advertising,  and  in  other  thing* 
might  be  effected  by  combination,  concluded  that  "  the  trust  plan  is 
founded  on  the  fundamental  laws  of  commerce  and  the  dictates  of 
reason,"  and  they  proceeded  t^o  comply  with  both.  The  nail-makere 
in  the  Atlantic  States  found  that  there  were  too  many  nails  being 
made,  and  as  the  protective  duty  ranges  from  40  per  cent,  to  80  per 
cent.,  they  combined  to  check  production  and  receive  the  full  benefits 
of  protection.  When  the  combination  in  lead  rai.sed  the  cost  of  lead 
to  the  cartridge  and  ammnnition  manufacturers,  they  also  consoli- 
dated. Over-production  was  going  on  in  railway  car  springs  in 
March  1888,  and  the  makers  united  to  regulate  the  market.  As  the 
duty  on  iron  carriage  bolts  is  60  per  cent.,  and  is  practically  pn?- 
hibitory,  this  was  too  good  an  opportunity  for  a  trusts  experiment  ti> 
be  lost.  The  White  Lead  Trust  is  a  formidable  concern  ;  but  the  doty 
— which  is  3  cents  in  the  pound — is  not  quite  high  enough  to  ward 
of!  foreign  competitors,  as  over  700, 00"  lbs.  are  imported  every  year. 
English  white  lead  in  oil  is  now  selling  at  \\  cents  a  jwund  in 
England,  and  at  8  cents  in  America.  There  are  Trusts  in  light  and 
heavy  rubber-clothing,  which  have  advanced  prices  between  25  and  5U 
per  cent.    The  Trust  remedy  was  applied  to  the  sand-paper  and  emeiy- 


i89o] 


TRUSTS  IN  THE    UNITED   STATES. 


839 


cloth  business  as  there  was  a  superabandance  of  these  articles.  There 
was  a  great  overstock  of  paving  pitch  and  felt  roofing  in  the  country, 
so  that  the  makers  when  they  got  up  their  Trust  made  a  bonfire  of 
30,000  barrels  of  pitch  in  Philadelphia.  A  duty  of  lOU  per  cent. 
was  not  sufficient  to  protect  the  screw-makers.  They  paid  Mr.  Joseph 
Chamberlain's  firm  in  Birmingham  an  annual  subsidy  not  to  send 
screws  to  America.  Tlu>y  have  now  created  a  Trust.  There  is  a 
particularly  audacious  Trust  in  envelopes.  It  recently  sent  out 
circulars  asking  customers  to  boycott  the  Crovernment-stamped 
envelopes.  It  complained  that  to  buy  these  envelopes  was  to  en- 
courage a  Government  monopoly.  There  is  a  Natural  Gas  Tmst — an 
oftahiwt  from  tlie  Standard  Oil  Trust.  It  has  just  paid  its  usual 
quaiterly  dividt-nd  of  2^  per  cent,  with  an  extra  stock  dividend  of 
23  per  cf-nt.  As  its  capital  is  greatly  inflatid,  tlie  real  dividend  is 
much  higher.  One  of  the  newest  Trusts  is  in  school  books.  All  the 
great  publishing  firms,  i.-xcept  one,  aro  in  it.  The  promoters  say  that 
"  ruinous  competition  "  necessitated  the  Trust. 

The  American  must  deal  with  'IVusts  all  tlirough  life.  If  he  is  a 
native  of  New  York  State  a  Trust  will  nurture  him  with  milk,  which 
it  buys  from  the  farmers  at  three  cents  a  quart,  and  sells  to  the  people 
at  from  seven  to  ten  cents  a  (|uart.  When  he  goes  to  school  his  slate 
is  furnished  by  another  Trust,  which  has  raised  the  price  of  school  slates 
30  per  cent.,  and,  thanks  to  Protection,  sends  its  best  slates  to 
England  and  Germany.  If  the  American  boy  wants  a  Icad-prncil  he 
must  ai^ply  to  a  Trust,  which  charges  Americans  one-and-u-thiid  more 
for  pencils  than  it  asks  from  foreigners.  The  American  boy's  candy  is 
indiri'ctly  affected  by  the  Sugar  Trust,  and  hi.«  peanuts  are  doled  oat 
to  him  through  the  medium  of  the  peanut  combination.  If  the 
American  has  a  taste  for  canvas-back  duck,  the  Baltimore  Trust,  which 
has  control  of  that  delicacy,  will  supply  him.  "When  he  has  finished  the 
duck,  another  Trust  is  ready  with  a  toothpick  for  him — for  even  such 
an  insignificant  industry  as  toothpick-making  has  not  escaped  the 
Tmst  schemers.  The  American  may  continue  his  progi'ess  through 
life,  using  ''  trusted  "  envelopes,  wearing  "  trusted  "  overshoes,  drink- 
ing "  trusted  "  whisky,  warming  himself  at  ''  trn.sted  "'  stoves,  and 
patronising  other  Tru.'^ts  which  control  indispensable  commodities. 
Should  illness  overtake  liim  a  Castor-oil  Trust  will  do  its  best 
for  him,  and  as  the  duty  of  20O  per  cent,  on  castor  oil  insures  it  an 
absolute  monopoly,  it  wilt  charge  very  highly  for  its  medicine.  Even 
death  does  not  free  the  American  from  Trusts.  Tht-y  pursue  him  to 
the  grave.  There  is  a  coflBn-makers'  ring  in  New  York,  which  has 
raised  prices  to  the  Trust  standard.  There  is  also  a  Trust  in  nmrble, 
which  has  increased  the  price  of  tombstones.  Thus,  the  American 
citizen,  who  iS  surrounded  on  all  sides  with  accommodating  Trusts 
througli  life,  may  be  buried  in  a  "  trusted  "  coffin,  and  commemorated 
by  a  "  trusted  "  tombstone. 


THE    CONTEMPORARY    REVIEW. 


[JCWB 


This  list  of  Trusts  is  not  by  any  meaaa  complete.  New  Trasts 
are  continual ly  being  organised.  Hardly  a  day  passes  in  which  the 
newspapers  tlo  not  contain  the  aanouucemeut  of  tie  creation  of 
some  new  combination.  The  New  York  Tribune — a  leading  Protec- 
tionist organ,  which  befriends  Trusts — of  the  day  on  which  T  write 
contains  these  headings  close  to  each  other — "  The  Window-glass 
makers  combine,"  "  A  Riibber  Trust  formed  in  Trenton,"  aad 
"  Physicians  form  a  Trast."  The  last  named  is  a  curiosity,  and  rvhn 
to  the  physicians  of  a  city  who  agreed  to  raise  their  professional 
charges  during  the  recent  influenza  epidemic.  The  other  two  are 
of  the  usual  stamp,  and  will  have  the  usual  effect,  for  we  are  told 
that,  "hereafter  buyers  of  window  glass  must  pay  higher  prices  than 
at  any  time  within  the  last  five  years." 

There  are  many  monopolies  in  the  United  States  which  do  not 
come  under  the  head  of  Trusts.  Nearly  the  whole  mineral  wealth  of 
the  country  is  owned  by  monopolists.  Zinc  ia  in  the  bauds  of  a  com- 
bination. Thf  copper  mines  are  controlled  by  a  few  men.  The  great 
railway  corporations  possess  immense  mineral  tracts.  The  rich 
anthracite  coal-lields  of  Pennsylvania  cover  300,000  acres,  and  two- 
thirds  of  this  area  is  owned  by  seven  railway  companies,  which  work 
together  in  making  the  price  low  in  districts  where  they  have  compe- 
tition, and  arbitrary  where  they  have  a  monopoly.*  The  companies 
extracted  31,G4--3,127  tons  of  coal  from  their  mines  in  1887,  for  which 
they  obtained  90,2<j1,S0j  dols.  Owning  the  mines  and  possessing  the 
means  of  transportation,  the  companies  can  defy  competitors.  The 
mines  in  the  State  of  Missouri  and  in  the  Indian  territory  are  con- 
trolled by  the  Missouri  Pftcific  Railway,  which  also  ^hare^  with  other 
railway  companies  in  the  ownership  of  the  Colorado  mines.  The 
Wyoming  fields  are  distributed  among  other  companies.  One 
company  works  the  mines  in  the  northern  part  of  Illinois,  and  another 
controls  the  output  in  the  southern  part.  The  Oregon  Railway 
manfiges  the  coal  trade  on  the  Pacific  slope.  In  fact  the  whole  coal 
business  of  the  United  States  ia  at  the  mercy  of  railway  corpomtions. 
The  prices  are  raised  to  just  a  little  below  where  it  would  be  pro- 
fitable to  import  coal  from  Nova  Scotia,  England  or  Australia. 

There  are  other  monopolies,  such  as  the  Western  Union  Telegraph 
Company,  and  the  Bell  Telephone  Company,  The  Western  Unioa 
has  now  absorbed  moat  of  its  rivals.  The  unification  of  the  telegraph 
service  resulted  in  a  great  saving,  in  plant,  in  offices,  in  employt-s 
and  in  canvassing  for  business.  The  rates  are  high,  but  cannot  be 
made  exorbitant,  as  the  telegraph  is  a  convenience  rather  than  s 
necessity,  and  exorbitant  charges  would  reduce  the  profits.  The  same 
may  be  said  of  the  telephone. 

Trusts  have  spread  over  Canada  as  well  as  the  United  States.   Tba 

*  Thi!  ftnthmclto  onal  miner*  «rp  nt  pr«"-aent  poverty  stricken,  and  are  liv:n„'-ia 
public  t;Uarity,  bt-uiUst;  ibecoal  owuors  fin  1  it  oonvcnient'just  now  to  limit  the  Mij'plt. 


lS9o] 


TRUSTS  TN  THE    UNITED   STATES. 


841 


committee  of  the  Dominion  Parliament  which  inquired  into  the 
anbject,  reported  that  it  had  "  received  sufficient  evidence  of  their 
injurioug  tendencies  and  effects  to  justify  legislative  action  in  sup- 
pressing the  erils  arising  from  this  and  simitar  combinations."  The 
principal  Trust  in  Canada  is  one  which  regulates  the  supply  of  sugar, 
and  which  includes  both  refiners  and  wholesale  dealers.  Members 
of  the  Trust  receive  rebates,  and  outsiders  are  charged  exorbitant 
prices.  There  is  also  a  well-organised  coal  ring  in  the  Dominion 
which  employs  detectives  to  see  that  its  members  comply  with  its 
regulations. 

As  much  has  been  heard  recently  about  the  organisation  of  English 
syndicates  in  America,  it  may  be  briefly  explained  that  more  than 
half  the  stories  which  obtain  currency  concerning  the  purchase  of 
breweries,  grain-eleTators  and  flour-mills  by  English  capitalists  are 
purely  fictitious.  It  is  true,  however,  that  during  last  year  a  very 
large  sum  of  English  capital — said  to  amount  to  £20,000,000 — has 
been  invested  in  America,  but  the  industries  capitalised  bear  no  rela- 
tion to  Trusts,  or  are  not  likely  to  develop  into  monopolies,  London 
company  promoters  have  discovered  a  new  field  for  their  operations, 
but  the  "  boom "  now  seems  to  have  subsided.  America  does  not 
possess  similar  facilities  for  the  capitalisation  of  industrial  enterprises 
on  a  stock  basis  witti  proper  safeguards,  so  that,  small  Investors  can 
put  their  money  in  them.  When  several  flour-mills  or  breweries  are 
turned  over  to  a  company  and  floated  in  London,  the  usual  plan  is 
for  the  owners  to  become  the  managers  and  retain  a  third  of  the  stock. 
It  seems,  however,  that  an  English  company  is  sometimes  preferred 
to  a  Trust.  The  promotrrs  of  &  brick  works  company  recently  floated 
in  L<3n(lon  give  it  out  that,  "  One  reason,  and  the  priuclpal  one,  for 
bringing  this  out  as  an  English  company  is  to  prevent  the  State 
legislature  from  interfering  as  it  does  in  Trusts  fornn^d  in  the  States." 

Attempts  to  form  an  international  Trust  have  as  yet  been  unsuc- 
cessful. The  French  copper  ring  tried  to  "corner"  the  world's  supply 
of  copper,  but  collapsed,  and  the  att«Tnpts  made  in  England  and 
America  to  do  away  with  competition  iin  salt  have  fallen  through. 
The  North  American  Salt  Company  and  the  English  Salt  Union  were 
engineered  by  shreved  business  men,  and  at  first  threatened  to  be 
saccessful,  but  fortunately  they  did  not  succeed  as  an  international 
combination. 


Having  explained  the  organisation  of  Trusts,  and  indicated  their 
<»xtent  in  the  United  States,  I  will  now  deal  with  their  legal  aspect, 
and  the  attempts  made  to  suppress  them.  The  histuric  side  of  the 
case  is  of  importance  to  lawyers.  Although  the  modern  Trust  differs 
greatly  from  its  ancient  prototype,  the  existence  of  combinations 
which  restrict   production,  or   prevent  competition,  or  regulate  prices, 


842 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


tJtisx 


is  considered  to  be  contrary  to  the  common  law  of  England  and  the 
United  States.  Lord  Coke,  in  the  famous  '*  case  of  the  monopolies,'" 
laid  down  a  true  rule,  and  created  a  ]irecedent,  when  he  said  that  the 
inevitable  results  of  monopoly  were  three:  (1)  "That  the  price  of  tie 
same  commodity  will  be  raised;  (2)  that  the  commodity  is  not  so 
good  as  before ;  (3)  that  it  tends  to  the  impoverishment  of  di^ 
artisans,  artificers,  and  others."  These  results  are  deemed  to 
against  the  interests  of  trade,  and  contraiy  to  public  policy,  and 
several  States  in  America  have  statutes  directed  against  combinations 
and  monopolies.  It  is  a  conspiracy  under  the  law  of  New  York  State 
for  two  cir  more  persons  to  combine  to  do  anything  '*  injurious  to 
trade  and  commerce,"  or  to  "attempt  to  destroy  competition,"  and 
when  such  partnership  or  combiriBtions  have  come  before  the  courts 
the  judges  refuse  to  interfere.  And  when  the  stockholders  or 
directors  in  tho  modem  Trust  appeal  to  law  they  are  told  that  their 
disputes  cannot  be  settled  by  the  courts,  or  their  agreements  enforced 
by  law.  It  is  clear  that  Trusts  are  illegal  combinations.  The  coarts 
do  not  uphold  them ;   can  the  courts  suppress  them  ? 

That  question  is  now  being  put  to  the  test.  Trusts  were  too 
subtle  and  too  far  reaching  in  their  organisation  to  be  dealt  with 
effectively  by  the  law  as  it  stood,  and  many  bills  were  introduced  into 
State  Legislatures  last  year  specially  directed  against  Trusts.  Soma 
of  these  anti-Trust  bills  have  become  law,  and  others  are  still  pending- 
These  laws  are  sweeping  enough  to  embrace  all  possible  Trusts,  '*  pools  " 
and  combinations  calculated  to  restrict  competition  and  interfere  with 
the  freedom  of  trade,  or  which  are  designed  to  have  such  a  tendency. 
Several  suits  have  been  brought  against  Trusts,  but  they  generally 
manage  to  adroitly  innnipulate  their  afiairs  so  that  they  wrigsfle  out 
of  the  clutches  of  the  law.  They  appeal  from  court  to  court,  migrate 
from  State  to  State,  or  resort  to  some  other  means  to  baffle  the 
courts. 

The  first  case  of  importance  to  test  the  legality  of  Trusts  was  that 
instituted  by  the  Attorney-General  of  the  State  of  New  York  against 
the  North  River  Refining  Company,  one  of  the  corporations  forming 
the  Sugar  Trust.  It  was  brought  under  the  law  as  it  then  existed, 
on  the  ground  that  by  entering  into  an  illegal  combination  it  had 
forfeited  it.s  charter  from  that  State.  The  case  first  came  before  the 
lower  courts,  and  was  decided  against  the  company.  When  it  came 
np  before  the  Supremo  Court,  in  January  1889,  Judge  Barrett  again 
condemned  it,  and  in  giving  his  decision  said  that  "  if  Trusts  were 
allowed  to  thrive,  and  to  become  general,  they  must  inevitably  lead  to 
the  oppression  of  the  people,  and  ultimately  to  the  subversion  of  their 
political  rights."  Judge  Barrett's  order  annidling  the  company's 
charter  was  affirmed  by  the  Supreme  Court.  The  judges  held  tLat 
by  entering  into  an  unlawful  combination,  the  company  had  "  re- 
noanced  and  abandoned  its  own  duties,  and  subverted  its  own  frftfl- 


i89o] 


TRUSTS   IN   THE    UNITED    STATES. 


848 


chiees."  Of  coarse  the  Trust  has  again  appealed,  and  the  case  is 
now  before  the  New  York  Court  of  Appeals,  but,  anticipating  another 
adverse  verdict,  it  has  arranged  to  migrate. 

The  counsol  of  the  Sugar  Trust  succi'eded  in  getting  a  charter  from 
the  Connecticut  Legislature  last  year  for  the  "  Commonwealth  Re- 
fining Company,"  nnd  the  charter  is  so  i*ido  that  the  whole  sugar 
industry  of  the  world  might  be  transacted  under  it.  Thi-  company  is 
authorised  'to  acquire,  purchase,  receive  in  trust,  or  otherwise  hold, 
grant,  sell,  mortgage,  lease,  and  otherwise  dispose  of  all  kinds  of 
property — real,  personal  and  mixed — whetht-r  in  the  8tiito  of  Con- 
necticut or  elsewhere."  There  is  nothing  niggardly  about  this 
cliarter,  Tlie  Trust  is  perfectly  safe.  Tt-chnically  it  will  transfer 
itself  to  Connecticut,  but  the  headquarters  will  renmin  in  New  York, 
and  everything  will  go  on  as  before.  While  the  State  of  Connecticut 
i-s  rescinding  its  chartt-r  and  taking  procei'dings  against  it,  the  Trust 
will  have  plenty  of  time  to  make  another  move.  The  net  result  of 
this  prosecution  seems,  therefore,  to  be  that  the  State  and  the  political 
organisation  that  instigated  the  suit  will  have  spent  a  large  sum  for 
nothing,  and  that  the  expenses  to  which  the  Trust  has  been  put  will 
be  wrung  from  the  people  iu  higher  prices  for  sugar. 

The  State  of  Missouri  has  passed  the  severest  anti-Trust  law.  This 
law  requires  that  every  corporation  chartered  by  the  State  must  make 
afiidavit  that  it  is  not  connected  with  any  Trust,  *'  pool  "  or  other  com- 
bination which  tends  to  suppress  or  restrict  competition,  or  to  fix 
prices,  and  the  corporation  that  refuses  to  make  this  declaration  will 
be  declared  illegal  and  have  its  charter  cancelled,  Tho  law  applies 
to  corporations  organised  in  other  States  and  doing  business  iu  Mis- 
souri. As  1000  corporations  failed  to  disavow  association  with  com- 
binations the  Secretary  of  State  revoked  their  charters,  and  decided  to 
proceed  against  2(t0  foreign  coqwrations  wljich  did  not  comply  with 
the  law.  Proceedings  have  now  been  instituted  against  the  otl'ending 
companies,  but  they  are  going  to  hedge  themselves  in  the  Federal 
courts,  on  the  ground  that  they  lawfully  existed  before  the  new  law 
passed,  and  that  the  State  is  going  against  the  Constitution  in  trying 
to  regulate  commerce  between  States.  One  St«te  has  very  little 
chance  against  a  thijusand  corporations,  and  Trusts  are  generally  in  a 
position  to  spend  more  money  in  defending  themselves  than  the  State 
treasuries  can  afford  for  prosecuting  them. 

The  people  of  Chicago  are  fighting  a  Gas  Trust  which  has  planted 
itself  in  that  city,  and  their  case  is  more  hopeful  than  any  which  has 
yet  come  up.  There  used  to  be  several  gas  companies  in  the  city, 
but  they  amalgamated  and  went  through  the  usual  process  ofiutlating 
their  stock.  When  the  monopoly  was  established  the  stock  of  the 
gas  companies  on  which  the  people  were  supposed  to  pay  dividends 
was  increased  from  $15,000,000  to  340,000,000,  and  the  bonds  which 
tho  people  are  expected  to  pay,  both  principal  and  interest,  were  swollen 


844 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jen 


from  $10,000,000  to  $18,000,000.  It  is  stated  that  the  whole  pro- 
perty ia  not  worth  more  that  $10,000,000,  and  that  the  Trnat  attempted 
to  make  the  people  pay  dividends  and  interest  on  four  times  as  niucli 
by  exorbitant  charges  for  gas.  Tho  Trust  pretended  to  issue  tLt? 
stock  in  place  of  the  stock  of  the  several  companies  which  formerly 
existed.  The  Attorney-General  proceeded  against  the  Trust  because  it 
had  abused  the  powers  granted  to  it  by  the  State,  and  had  established 
a  monopoly.  As  far  as  the  case  has  gone  the  decisions  have  been 
adverse  to  the  Trust.  A  Louisiana  corporation  controlled  by  the  Cotton 
Oil  Trust  was  sued  by  that  State,  but  escaped  by  transferring  all  iU 
property  to  another  corporation,  also  in  the  trust,  but  doing  business 
in  Rhode  Island.  A  San  Francisco  company  joined  the  Sugar  Trust, 
and  the  State  of  California  proceeded  against  it,  but  it  sought  refug* 
in  a  pretended  transfer  of  its  business  to  three  trustees  as  individuals 
or  as  members  of  a  firm.  The  law  courts,  it  is  thus  seen,  are  not  able 
to  copo  with  Trusts, 

VI. 

It  is  easy  to  bring  a  strong  indictment  against  Trusts ;  bat  it  will 
be  a  difficult  thing  to  sweep  them  away.  The  American  people  have 
a  great  straggle  before  them.  Trusts  cannot  be  allowed  to  contione 
as  they  are.  They  have  demoustrRted  clearly  the  advantage  of  pro 
duction  on  a  large  scale,  and  the  evils  of  cut^throat  competition. 
They  have  also  proved  that  industries  can  be  organised  on  a  national 
basis.  But  the  result  of  cheaper  production  has  not  benefited  the 
public  in  any  way,  but  has  had  just  the  opposite  effect.  It  has  simply 
led  to  the  enrichment  of  a  few  individuals.  Immense  fortunes  have 
been  made  out  of  Trusts  in  a  few  years,  and  we  hear  of  one  of  the  Standard 
Oil  Trust  directors  who  alone  possesses  twenty  millions  sterling. 
The  vast  aggregations  of  capital  in  the  hands  of  a  few  illegal  corporu- 
tions,  if  allowed  to  continue,  will  lead  to  the  subversion  of  all  liberties, 
and  the  country  will  be  governed  by  a  band  of  plutocrats.  How  is 
the  country  to  escape  this  fate  ?  How  are  Trusts  to  be  abolished  ? 
One  remedy  suggested  for  Trusts  is  the  encouragement  of  new  cc>m- 
petitors  to  storm  the  monopolist's  stronghold.  This  might  for  a  short 
time  benefit  the  people,  bat  ultimately  the  new  competitor  would  be 
strangled,  or  would  kill  the  Trust,  or  the  two  would  amalgamate.  It 
is  evident  that  little  can  be  expected  from  anti-Trust  laws.  Free 
Trade  would  be  more  useful.  But  for  the  protective  tariff  few  of  the 
Trusts  could  exist.  It  looks  at  present  as  if  duties  were  expressly 
put  on  to  foster  Trusts.  The  new  Tariff  Bill  now  being  discussed  by 
Congress  seems  to  have  been  frnnied  in  the  interest  uf  certain  poirer- 
ful  Trusts,  such  as  the  Sugar,  Lead,  Linseed  Oil,  and  Diamond  Match 
Trusts.     There  is  also  an  Anti-Trust  Bill  before  the  Senate,*  bo( 


♦  Somcoftbe  petitions  which  come  from  farmers  in  favonr  of  this  Bill  ar*e: 
m  reuiailuibU  sXror.^  \ain^ua^Q.    TV\«  N&tiooal  Farmers'  AUi4U>c«  «»k  (or  reliof 


n:ss 


•89o] 


TRUSTS  IN   THE    UNITED    STATES. 


845 


even  if  passed  this  measure  will  be  irnable  to  cope  with  combiaations 
which  have  not  been  affected  by  the  adverse  decisions  of  the  State 
Courts,  and  which  now  receive  fresh  encouragement  from  the  Protec- 
tionist party  in  office.  Free  Trade,  therefore,  is  the  remedy  most 
generally  advocated.  Bat  Free  Trade  is  more  of  a  palliative  than 
a  remedy.  It  would  not  alwlish  all  Trusts,  it  would  not  affect  the 
Standard  Oil  Trnst,  or  the  Cotton  Seed  Oil  .Trust.  And  inter- 
national Trusts  might  exist  under  Free  Trade.  The  real  remedy 
for  Trusts  is  not  abolition,  but  Government  control.  The  Standsird 
Oil  Trust  itself  thinks  this  is  the  only  solution.  In  the  history  and 
defence  of  the  Trust  written  by  its  solicitor,  we  are  told  that  "  the 
facts  show"  that  the  Trust,  or  ''some  similar  combinatiou,"  was 
"  essential  to  the  building  up  and  maintenance  of  the  American  oil 
trade,"  and  that  its  destruction  '"  would  be  the  destruction  of  that 
trade."  Therefore,  "  let  the  State  aud  National  Legislature  provide 
a  better  mode  for  carrjTug  on  this  business  if  they  can,  but  k't  them 
not  despoil  the  structure  until  a  better  is  provided  to  take  its  place." 
Socialism,  and  the  very  antithesis  of  Socialism — the  greatest  combina- 
tion of  capital  in  the  world — are  thus  of  the  same  opinion.  Why 
should  we  flee  from  the  Scylla  of  monopoly  to  be  wrecked  again 
on  the  Charybdis  of  wasteful  competition  ? 

Edward  Bellamy,  in  hia  "Looking  Backward,"  which  has  had 
an  enormous  sale  in  the  United  States,  and  has  led  to  the 
formation  of  many  associationa  and  clubs  for  the  propagation  of 
"  nationalism,"  thinks  that  Trusts  are  a  part  of  the  industrial 
evolution  which  is  not  yet  complete.  "  Was  there,"  he  writes,  "  no 
way  of  commanding  the  services  of  the  mighty  wealth-producing 
principle  of  consolidated  capital  without  bowing  down  to  a  plutocracy 
like  that  of  Carthage  ?  As  soon  as  men  began  to  ask  themselves 
these  questions,  they  found  the  answer  ready  for  them.  The  move- 
ment toward  the  conduct  of  business  by  larger  and  larger  aggregations 
of  capital,  the  tendency  toward  monopolies,  which  had  been  so  desper- 
ately and  vainly  resisted,  was  recognised  at  last,  in  its  true  significance, 
as  a  process  which  only  needed  to  complete  its  logical  evolution  to 
open  a  golden  future  to  hamanity."  Mr.  Bellamy  does  not  tell  ua 
how  the  transfer  was  effected-  Public  opinion,  he  says,  had  become 
fully  ripe  for  it.  Public  opinion  must  have  undergone  a  great  change, 
and  human  nature  must  have  altered.  Before  we  reach  "the  golden 
future  of  hamanity,"  men  must  become  less  selfish,  and  work,  not  for 
their  private  ends,  but  for  the  common  weal. 

Robert  Donald. 

the  robbery  tmd  oppresaion  of  TruatB  and  monopolies,  und  a  petition  from  Missouri 
fanners,  after  stating  that  there  is  great  danger  that  "we  will  soon  be  a  nation  of  mil- 

lionaires  and  paupers."  r&ys,  "we  ask  CorRress  to  pay  particular  attention  to  

and  his  meat  lYust,  the  most  damDnble  robbers'  den  on  this  oontincnt,  by  which  the 
pioducers  as  well  as  the  consumers  of  the  country  are  robbed  of  millions  cvtry  year." 


Ittm 


BROUGHT  BACK  FROM  ELYSIUM. 


Scene. — The  Library  of  a  Piccadilly  did)  for  high  thinking  and  lad 
dinners;  Time,  midnighi.  Four  eminent  novdisU  of  the  ioji 
regarding  each  other  sdf-conscioudy.  They  are  (!)  a  Bealid, 
(2)  a  Bomancist,  (3)  an  Msnurian,  (4)  a  Stylist.  The  eUek 
strikes  thirteen,  and  they  all  start. 

Realikt  (staring  at  the  door  and  drawing  back  from  it). — ^I  thooglit 
I  heard — something  ? 

Stylist. — I — the (pauses  to  reflect  on  the  best  loay  of  saying  U 

was  only  the  clock). 

(A  step  is  heard  on  the  stair.) 

Elsmerian. — Hark !  It  must  be  him  and  them.  (Stylist  shttddm). 
I  knew  he  would  not  fail  us. 

RoMA>'CiST  (nervously). — It  may  only  be  some  member  of  the  club. 

Elsmerian. — ^The  hall-porter  said  we  would  be  safe  from  intrusicn 
in  the  library. 

Realist. — I  hear  nothing  now.  (His  Jiand  comes  in  contact  with  a 
bookcase).  How  cold  and  clammy  to  the  touch  these  books  are.  A 
strange  place,  gentlemen,  for  an  .eerie  interview.  (To  JSlsmcrian). 
You  really  think  they  will  come  ?  You  have  no  religious  doubts  abont 
the  existence  of  Elysian  Fields  ? 

Elsmerian. — I  do  not  believe  in  Elysium,  but  I  believe  in  him. 

Realist. — Still  if 

(The  door  is  sliaken  and  tM  handle  falls  off.) 

ROMANCIST. — Ah !     Even  I  have  never  imagined  anyUiing  so  worf 
as  this.     See,  the  door  opens ! 

(Enter  an  American  novelist.) 

Omnes. — Only  you ! 


tSgo] 


BROUGHT  BACK   FROM   ELYSIUM. 


847 


Ameiucan  (looking  around  him  self-consrimisly). — I  had  always  sna- 
pected  that  there  was  a  library,  though  I  have  only  been  a  member  for 
a  few  months.      Why  do  you  look  at  ine  so  strangely  ? 

EuSMEitiAN  {ifflcr  ivkrapcriiuj  wiik  (he  others). — We  are  agreed  that 
since  you  Iiave  found  your  way  here  you  should  be  permitted  to  stay; 
on  the  understanding,  of  courst^,  that  we  still  disapprore  of  your 
methods  as  profoundly  as  we  despise  each  other. 

American. — But  what  are  you  doing  here,  when  yon  might  be 
asleep  downstairs  ? 

Elsmeriax  (i7nprcssirdi/), — Have  you  never  wished  to  hold  con- 
verse with  the  mighty  dead  ? 

American. — I  don't  know  them. 

EL8MERIAN. — I  ntlmit  that  the  adjective  was  ill-chosen,  but  listen : 
the  ghosts  of  Scott  and  some  other  novelists  will  join  us  presently. 
We  are  to  talk  with  them  abont  their  work. 

Realist. — And  ours. 

Elsmeriak. — And  onrs.  They  are  being  brought  from  the  Grove 
of  Bay-trees  in  the  Elysian  Fields. 

American. — But  they  are  antiquated,  played  out ;  and,  besides,  they 
will  not  come. 

RoMANCiST. — You  don't  understand.      Stanley  has  gone  for  them. 

AsiERiCAN, — Stanley  ! 

Elsmeriak. — It  was  a  chance  not  to  be  missed,  {h^oks  at  his 
tcalrh).  They  should  have  been  here  by  this  time  ;  but  on  these 
occasions  he  is  sometimes  a  little  late. 

(^Their  moutlis  open  as  a  voice  rings  through  the  cltih  crying,  "/  cannot 
stop  to  nrgut  with  yon  ;  FIl  find  the  wui/  myself.") 

Realist. — It  is  he,  but  he  may  be  alone.  Perhaps  they  declined 
to  accompany  him  ? 

Elsmerian  (^wilh  ronvietion). — He  would  bring  them  whether  they 
wanted  to  come  or  not. 

{Enter  Mr.  Stanley  with  five  Ofiaats.) 

Mr.  Stanley. — Here  they  are.  I  hope  the  row  below  did  not 
alarm  you.  The  hall-porter  wanted  to  know  if  I  was  a  member,  so 
I  shot  him.     Waken  me  when  you  are  ready  to  send  them  back. 

(Sits  doicn  and  sleeps  imnitdintdy) 

First  Ghost. — I  am  Walter  Scott. 

Second  Ghost. — I  am  Henry  Fielding. 

Third  Ghost. — My  name  is  Smollett. 

Fourth  Ghost. — ^line  is  Dickens. 

Fifth  Ghost. — They  used  to  call  me  Thack. 

All  the  Ghosts  (looking  at  the  sleeper), — And  we  are  a  little  out 
of  breath. 

American  (to  himself). — There  is  too  much  plot  in  this  for  me. 

Elsmerian  (to  the  visitors). — Quite  so.     Now  will  you  be  so  good 


848 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


as  to  stand  in  a  row  against  that  bookcase.     {Tliey  do  so.)      Perl 
you  have  been  wondering  why  we  troubled  to  send  for  you  ? 

Sir  Walter. — We 

Elsmekian. — You  need  not  answer  nae,  for  it  really  doesn't  matk-r. 
Since  your  days  a  great  change  has  come  over  fiction — a  kind  of 
literature  at  which  yon  all  tried  your  hands — and  it  struck  us  that  yoo 
might  care  to  know  how  we  modems  regard  you. 

Realist. — And  ourselves. 

Elsmerian. — And  ourselves.  We  had  better  begin  with  ourselves, 
as  the  night  is  already  far  advanced.  You  will  be  surprised  to  hear 
that  fiction  has  become  an  art. 

Fielding. — I  am  glad  we  came,  though  the  gentleman  {looking 
the  sleeper)  was  perhaps  a  little  peremptory.     You  are  all  novelists ! 

RoMANCiST. — No,  I  am  a  Roraancist,  this  gentleman  is  a  Reali 
that  one  is  a  Stylist,  and 

Elsmerian, — We  had  better  explain  to  you  that  the  word  novel 
has  gone  out  of  fashion  in  our  circles.  We  have  left  it  behi 
us 

Sir  Walter. — I  was  always  content  with  story-teller  myself. 

American. — Story-teller!     All  the  stories  have  been  told. 

Sir  Walter  (u-ist fully) . — How  busy  you  must  have  been  since 
day. 

RoMANCiST. — We  have,  indeed,  and  not  merely  in  writing  stories- 
to  use  the  latiguage  of  the  nursery.  Now  that  fiction  is  an  art,  i 
work  of  its  followers  consists  less  in  writing  mere  stories  (to  n-peal 
word  that  you  will  understand  more  readily  than  we)  than  in  classif 
ing  ourselves  and  (when  we  have  time  for  it)  classifying  you. 

Thackeray. — But  the  term  novelist  satisfied  us, 

Elsmerian. — There  is  a  difference,  I  hope,  between  then  and  i 
I   cannot  avoid  speaking  plainly,   though    I  allow  that  you  are 
seed  from  which  the  tree  has  grown.     May  I   ask  what  was  your  fx. 
step  toward  becoming  novelists. 

Smollett  (icith  foolish  jn-omytihide). — We  wrote  a  novel. 

THACKERAy  {hvvihly). — I  am  afraid  I  began  by  wanting  to  write^ 
good  story,  and  then  wrote  it  to  the  best  of  my  ability.      Is  there 
other  way  ? 

Stylist. — But  how  did  you  laboriously  acquire  your  style  ? 

Thackeray. — I  thought  little   about  style.     I  suppose,  snch  i 
was,  it  came  naturally. 

Stylist. — Pooh  !     Then  there  is  no  art  in  it. 

Elsmerian.— -And  what  was  your  aim  ? 

Thackeray. — Well,  I  had  reason  to  believe  that  I  would  get 
thing  for  it. 

Elsaierian. — Alas !  to  you  the  world  was  not  a  sea  of  dro' 
Bouls,  nor  the  novel  a  stone  to  fling  to  them,  that  they  mi] 


i89o] 


BROUGHT  BACK   FROM  ELYSIUM. 


84» 


on  it  to  a  quiet  haven.  Yoa  had  no  aims,  no  methods,  no  religious 
doubts,  and  you  neither  analysed  your  characters  nor  classified  your- 
selves. 

American. — And  you  reflected  so  little  about  your  art  that  you 
wrot«  story  after  story  without  realising  that  all  the  stories  had  been 
told. 

Sir  Walter.- — But  if  all  the  stories  are  told,  how  can  yoa  write 
novels  ? 

American. — The  story  in  a  novel  is  of  aa  little  importance  as  the 
stone  in  a  cherry.  I  have  written  three  volumes  about  a  lady  and  a 
gentleman  who  met  on  a  car. 

Sir  Walter. — Yes,  what  happened  to  them  ? 

Amkhican. — Nothing  happened.     That  is  the  point  of  the  story. 

Stylist. — Style  is  everything.  The  true  novelist  does  nothing  but 
think,  think,  think  about  his  style,  and  then  write,  write,  write 
about  it.  I  daresay  I  am  one  of  the  most  perfect  stylists  living.  Oh, 
but  the  hours,  the  days,  the  years  of  introspection  I  have  spent  in 
acquiring  my  style ! 

Thackeray  (sadly). — If  I  had  only  thought  more  of  style !  May 
I  ask  how  many  books  you  have  written  ? 

Stylist. — Only  one — and  that  I  have  withdrawn  from  circulation. 

LAh,  sir,  I  am  such  a  stylist  that  I  dare  nob  write  anything.     Yet 
I  meditate  a  work. 
Sir  Walter. — A  story  ? 
Styli.-^t. — No,  an  essay  on  style.     I  shall  devote  four  years  to  it. 
Sir  Walter. — -And  I  wrote  two  novels  in  four  months ! 
I   Stvll-^t. — Yes,  that  is  still  remembered  against  you.      Well,  you 
paid  the  penalty,  for  your  books  are  still  popular. 

Dickens. — But  is  not  popularity  nowadays  a  sign  of  merit  ? 
Stylist. — To  be  popular  is  to  be  damned. 

Sir  Walter. — I  can  see  from  what  you  tell  me  that  I  was  only 
a  child.  I  thought  little  about  how  novels  should  be  written. 
I  only  tried  to  write  them,  and  as  for  style,  I  am  afraid  I  merely 
used  tbe  words  that  came  most  readily.  (Sti/list  gruans.)  I  had 
such  an  interest  in  my  characters  (.^  »i«rwan  groans),  such  a  love  for 
them  {Realist  groanH\  that  they  were  like  living  beings  to  me.  Action 
seemed  to  come  naturally  to  them,  and  all  I  had  to  do  was  to  run  after 
them  with  my  pen. 

IloMANCLST. — In  the  dark  days  you  had  not  a  cheap  press,  nor 
scores  of  magazines  and  reviews.  Ah,  we  have  many  opportunities 
that  were  denied  to  you. 

KiELDLNG. — We  printed  our  stories  in  books. 

II0.MANCIST.— I  was  not  thinking  of  the  mere  stories.  It  is  not 
our  stories  that  we  spend  much  time  over,  but  the  essays,  and  dis- 
cussions and  interv'         -^-."f  nnr  art.     Why,  there  is  not  a  living 

VOL.  LVII. 


850 


CONTEMPORARY    REVIEW. 


[JCSB 


man  in  this  room,  except  the  sleeper,  who  haa  not  written  aa  many 
articles  and  essays  about  how  novels  should  be  written  as  would  stock 
a  library. 

Smollett. — But  we  thought  that  the  best  way  of  showing  how 
they  should  be  written  was  to  write  them. 

liEALisT  {hithujly). — And  as  a  result,  you  cannot  say  at  this 
moment  whether  you  are  a  Realist,  a  Romancist,  an  American  Analyst, 
a  Stylist,  or  an  Elsmerian  !     Your  labours  have  been  fruitless. 

Smollett. — What  am  I  ? 

Ro.MANCiST. — I  refuse  to  include  you  among  novelists  at  all,  for 
your  artistic  views  (which  we  have  discovered  for  you)  are  different 
from  mine.     You  are  a  Realist.     Therefore  I  blot  you  out. 

Sir  Walter  (anxiondt/). — I  suppose  I  am  a  Romancist  ? 

Realist. — Yes,  and  therefore  I  cannot  acknowledge  you.  Yonr 
work  has  to  go. 

AMEiiiCAN. — It  has  gone.  I  never  read  it.  Indeed,  I  can't  stand 
any  of  you.     In  short,  I  am  an  American  Analyst. 

DiCKKNs  ((ircamili/). — One  of  the  most  remarkable  men  in  that 
country, 

Amehican. — Yes,  sir,  I  am  one  of  its  leading  writers  of  fiction 
without  a  story — along  with  Silas  K,  Weekes,  Thomas  John  Hillocks. 
William  P.  Crinkle,  and  many  others  whose  fame  must  have  reached 
the  Grove  of  Bay-trees.  We  write  even  more  essays  about  ourselves 
than  they  do  in  tliis  uld  country. 

EL.SMEHIAN. — Nevertheless,  Romanticism,  Realism,  and  Analysis  are 
mere  words,  as  empty  as  a  drum.  Religious  doubt  is  the  only 
subject  for  the  novelist  nowadays ;  and  if  he  is  such  a  poor  creature 
as  to  have  no  religious  doubts,  he  should  leave  fiction  alone. 

Stylist. — Style  is  everything.  1  can  scarcely  sleep  at  night*  for 
thinking  of  my  style. 

FiELDiNU. — This,  of  course,  is  very  interesting  to  us  who  know  so 
little,  yet,  except  that  it  enables  you  to  label  yourselves,  it  does  not 
seem  to  tell  you  much.  After  all,  does  it  make  a  man  a  better 
novelist  to  know  that  other  novelists  pursue  the  wrong  methods? 
You  seem  to  despise  each  other  cordially,  while  Smollett  and  I,  for 
instance,  can  enjoy  Sir  Walter.  We  are  content  to  judge  him  by  results, 
and  to  consider  him  a  great  novelist  because  he  wrote  great  novels. 

Elsmeriax. — You  will  never  be  able  to  reach  our  standpoint  if  you 
cannot  put  the  mere  novels  themselves  out  of  the  question.  The 
novelist  should  bo  considt-red  quit©  apart  from  his  stories. 

REALLST.^It  is  nothing  to  me  that  I  am  a  novelist,  bat  I  am  prond 
of  being  a  Realist.     That  is  the  great  thing. 

Romancist. — Consider,  Mr.  Smollett,  if  you  had  thought  and  written 
about  yourself  as  much  as  I  have  done  about  myself  you  might  never 
have  produced  one  of  the  works  by  which  you  are  now  known.    That 


x89o] 


BROUGHT  BACK  FROM  ELYSIUM. 


851 


vroald  be  something  to  be  proud  of.    You  might  have  written  romances, 
like  mine  and  Sir  Walter's. 

Elsmerian. — Or  have  had  roligioua  doubts. 

Stylist. — Or  have  become  a  Stylist,  and  written  nothing  at  all. 

Realist. — And  you,  Sir  Walter,  might  have  become  one  of  us. 

TriACKERAY. — Bat  why  should  we  not  have  written  simply  in  the 
manner  that  suited  us  best  ?  If  the  result  is  good,  who  cares  for  the 
label  ? 

RoMAXCiST  (cydng  Sir  Walter  severely). — No  one  has  any  right  to  be 
a  Romancist  unconsciously.  Romance  should  be  written  with  an  effort 
— as  I  write  it.      I  question,  sir,  if  yon  ever  defined  romance  ? 

Sir  ^V^ALTE[l  (wcaldj/). — I  had  a  general  idea  of  it,  and  I  thought 
that  perhaps  my  books  might  ba  allowed  to  speak  for  me. 

Romancist. — -We  have  got  beyond  that  stage.  Romance  (that  is 
to  say,  fiction)  has  been  defined  by  one  of  its  followers  as  *'  not  nature, 
it  is  not  character,  it  is  not  imagined  history ;  it  is  fallacy,  poetic 
fallacy ;  a  lie,  if  you  like,  a  beautiful  lie,  a  lie  that  is  at  once  false 
and  true — false  to  fact,  true  to  faith." 

(The  Qhosis  look  at  each  other  apjtrehensivdy). 

Sir  Walter. — Woald  you  mind  repeating  that?  {Romancist 
repeats  it).  And  are  my  novela  all  that  ?  To  think  of  theu'  being 
that,  and  I  never  knew !  I  give  yon  my  word,  sir,  that  when  1  wrote 
*•  Ivanhoe,"  for  example,  I  merely  wanted  to — to  tell  a  story. 

Realist. — Still,  in  your  treatment  of  the  Templar,  you  boldly  cast 
off  the  chains  of  Romanticism  and  rise  to  Realism. 

Elsmerian. — To  do  you  justice,  the  Templar  seems  to  have  religious 
doubts. 

Stylist. — I  once  wrote  a  little  paper  on  your  probable  reasons  for 
using  the  word  "  wand "  in  circumstances  that  would  perhaps  have 
justified  the  use  of  "  reed."     1  have  not  published  it. 

Sir  Walter. — This  would  be  more  gratifying  to  me  if  I  thought 
that  I  deserved  it. 

American. — I  rememlier  n^'iding  "  Ivanhoti "  before  I  knew  any 
better ;  but  even  then  I  thought  it  poor  stuff.  There  is  no  analysis 
in  it  worthy  of  the  name.  Why  did  Rowena  drop  her  handkerchief  ? 
Instead  of  telling  us  that,  you  pranco  off  afler  a  band  of  archers. 
Do  you  really  beUevo  that  intellectual  men  and  women  are  interested 
in  touniament.s  ? 

Sir  Walter. — You  have  grown  so  old  since  my  day.  Besides, 
I  have  admitted  that  the  Waverley  novels  were  written  aimply  to 
entertain  the  public. 

Ei^MERiAN. — No  .one,  I  hope,  reads  my  stories  for  entertainment. 
We  have  become  serious  now. 

American. — 1  have  thought  at  times  that  I  could  have  made  some* 
thing  of  "  Ivanhoe."     Yes,  sir,  if  the  theme  had  been  left  to  me  I 


858  TUB   CONTEMPORARY  KBVIEW.  [^w 

would  have  worked  itonfe  in  a  manner  quite  different  fiomyooxs.  Ib 
my  mind's  eye  I  can  see  myself  developing  the  character  of  the  hen. 
I  would  have  made  him  more  like  ourselves.  The  Bebeoca,  too^  I 
would  have  reduced  in  sise.  Of  course  the  plot  would  have  had  to  go 
overboard,  with  Robin  Hood  and  Richard,  and  we  would  have  had  no 
fighting.  Yes,  it  might  be  done.  I  would  call  it,  let  me  see,  I 
would  call  it,  *'  Wilfrid :  a  Study." 

Thackeray  (timidly). — Have  you  found  out  what  I  am  ? 

Amkbican. — You  are  intolerably  prosy. 

Stylist. — Some  people  called  Philistines  maintain  tlu^  you  are  • 
Stylist ;  but  evidenUy  yon  forgot  yooiself  too  frequently  for  that. 

RoMANCiST. — ^You  were  a  cynic,  whidli  kills  romanticism. 

RSAUi^. — And  men  allow  their  wives  to  read  you,  so  you  doo) 
belong  to  us. 

Amsmcan  (/«rfi/y). — ^No,  sir,  yon  need  not  turn  to.  me.  Ton  sol 
I  have  nothing  in  common. 

DiCKSSts. — 1  am  a ? 

Rkaust. — It  is  true  that  von  wrote  about  the  poor;  but  how  did 
joa  treat  them  ?  Are  they  all  women  of  the  street  and  bnwfing 
ntfllans  ?  Insttead  «^  dwelhog  for  ever  on  thdr  sodden  misery,  sad 
glMling  over  iheir  immoraliir,  yon  positiTely  regard  than  from  s 
genial  standpoint.    I  regnt  to  have  to  say  it,  bat  tod  are  a  BomaBOit 

RintAxasT.— Xv>>  wx  Mr.  Dickens,  do  not  croaa  to  me.  Too  wmts 
with  a  pttx|M».  sir.     RemembH-  Dodteboys  HalL 

KLiiMWMAN. — A  aowl  withont  a  porpoee  »  as  a  hrfmless  skqi. 

IXVXEX^  \jti\,ia\ — ^Tben  I  am  an  ELsmertan  : 

KLS^tKKiAN. — A!a»!  Tvn  had  so  other  pcrpose  than  to  add  to 
«h«  tcuttenal  cv^cixycs  of  th<»  ^^<ft.  Noc  oae  c£  yoar  Ataeuxs  mi 
tcv>&bM«2  »::&  r«Ii^-ii»  docbc&  W^^^k  ioes  Itr.  rSekwieL  passe  to 
jk»k  idtt&ftHZ'  why  &«  sa^olii  sec  l»  a:r  aue^  r  Yen  cannot  ansmt 
In  thiMtf  dKv»  c£  tMmais  aevfvcotsixzxc.  we  ±wS  ICr.  Fkkwkk  puf 
f%tN-  «aaLU3^.  Hcv  ofta  7ma»s  rs»  fr:m  is  pagej  a  £aatmti 
niaki  ?     Yvxt  rsf rsfc  ^t^  casern  a  coaao;. 

r!&ACS.sa;A>. — Xv.^  ^<»v  is  airchr-r-j:  scklj  3^-<n  FSsrwvk. 

K^:<v>i53wJl>. — Awci-xsetv  accn.'Trc  H-?  is  x  s  igfejenc  varid  Q. 
xtt  itxvc  V  s»y  tais  ivot  ^aas  b:  wiici  3ij  iec^ses  an:«».  Xat  is- 
oe«c.  33JA  3Ct«^  <&*  'aitfvv  3ima.  'c-k*^  jss  x  :staie  ami  a  aaa  «itk 
ik^t^ci.  A3»i  I  wCI  j:tvT;  vctt  a  3i;««L      Hr*  jik  joIt  v  at  «b  liiA 


:^^ti2«r  — .U  I  sc  >A  aitiw.  ::^.'ncna:  ainkau:.  Tanraw  skst 
"Sty  scjW. 

notJsa^ — ^Y^ivn^  ?*'P^^  ^  ^i**^  ar  juc  xc  SH^iuK.  at 

SL^HflBLkX— Iw  sMift  ar  «ranc  aar  swec  saE  ^mut  ai 
%aMBiMKl«a£  an  Atdasr' 


I890] 


BROUGHT   BACK  FROM  ELYSIVM. 


853 


higli  art  is  high  morality,  and  that  the  better  the  literature  the  more 
ennobling  it  must  be, 

Reallst. — And  this  man  claimed  to  be  one  of  ub  t 

DiCKEXd. — I  wrote  for  a  wide  public  {^Stylist  sighx),  whom  I  loved 
{BeaJiist  sighs).  I  loved  my  characters,  too  (American  sighs),  they 
Beemed  so  real  to  me  (Romfnicist  sighs),  and  so  I  liked  to  leave  them 
happy.  I  believe  I  wanted  to  see  the  whole  world  happy  {Elsrrurian 
sigJis). 

Sir  Walter. — I  also  had  that  ambition. 

Thackeray, — Do  you  even  find  Mr.  Pickwick's  humour  offensiye 
nowadays  ? 

RoMANCL-^T, — To  treat  a  character  with  humour  is  to  lift  him  from 
his  pedestal  to  the  earth. 

Elsmerian. — We  have  no  patience  with  humour.  In  these  days  of 
anxious  thought  humour  seems  a  trivial  thing.  The  world  has  grown 
sadder  sinc^  your  time,  and  we  novelists  of  to-day  begin  where  you 
left  off.  Were  I  to  write  a  continuation  of  *'  The  Pickwick  Papers," 
I  could  not  treat  the  subject  as  Mr.  Dickens  did  j  I  really  could  not. 

Stylist, — Humour  is  vulgar. 

American. — Humour,  sir,  has  been  refined  and  chastened  since 
the  infancy  of  fiction,  and  I  am  certain  that  were  my  humorous 
characters  to  meet  yours  mine  would  be  made  quite  uucomfortuble. 
Mr.  Pickwick  could  not  possibly  be  received  in  the  drawing-room 
of  Sara  H.  Finney,  and  Sam  Weller  would  be  turned  out  of  her 
kitchen.  I  believe  I  am  not  overstating  the  case  when  I  say  that  one 
can  positively  laugh  at  your  humour. 

Dickens. — They  used  to  laugh. 

American. — Ah,  they  never  laugh  at  mine. 

Dickens. — But  if  I  am  not  a  Rexilist,  nor  a  Romanciat,  nor  on 
Elsmerian,  nor  a  Sfc 

American. — Oh,  we  have  placed  you.  In  Boston  we  could  not  live 
without  placing  everybody,  and  you  are  ticketed  a  caricaturist. 

Dickens  (sighing), — I  liked  the  old  wjiy  best,  of  being  simply  a 
novelist. 

American. — That  was  too  barbarous  for  Boston.  We  have 
analysed  your  methods,  and  found  them  puerile.  You  have  no  .subtle 
insight  into  character.  You  could  not  have  written  a  novel  about 
a  lady's  reasons  for  pas.sing  the  cruet.  Nay,  more,  we  find  that  yow 
never  drew  either  a  lady  or  a  gentleman.  Your  subsidiary  char- 
acters alone  would  rule  you  out  of  court.  To  us  it  is  hard  work  to 
put  all  we  have  to  say  about  a  lady  and  gentleman  who  agree  not  to 
become  engaged  int»3  three  volumes.  But  you  never  send  your  hero 
twelve  miles  in  a  coach  without  adding  another  half-dozen  characters 
to  your  list.     There  is  no  such  lack  of  artistic  barrenness  iu  our  scliool. 

Smollett  (enthusiastically), — What  novels  you  who  think  to  much 


856 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jm' 


2.  That  he  will  act  in  conformity  with  the  express  provisioM 
contained  therein. 

3.  That  when  these  are  defective,  he  will  look  for  light  and 
leading  to  the  general  law. 

So  far,  the  duties  undertaken  may  not  seem  onerous.  Nor  a» 
they  in  a  simple  case.  But  trust  instruments  are  occasionftll/ 
obscure,  and  are  open  to  two  or  more  inconsistent  construct  ions, 
Alas  for  the  trustee  who  adopts  the  wrong  one !  He  may  lire  to 
riio  his  mistake,  even  although  it  has  been  professionally  backed  np. 
The  language  of  the  trust  instrument,  however  equivocal,  has  only 
one  meaning  when  that  meaning  has  been  once  judicially  ascertnint^ 
Laymen  may  err,  counsel  and  solicitor  may  err,  but  the  Conrt  of 
interjiretation,  with  power  to  enforce  its  own  decrees,  is,  like 
Napoleon  with  his  big  battalions,  "  alvrays  in  the  right."  Instead  of 
acting  on  his  own  view,  or  that  of  hia  legal  advisers,  the  puzzled 
trustee  should  have  sought  the  opinion  of  the  Conrt  at  the  expense 
of  the  trust  estate.  The  annoj^ance  and  vexation  he  now  feels  at 
having  neglected  this  precaution,  would  in  that  case  have  been  shiAed 
from  himself  on  to  the  beneficiaries.  They,  in  their  natural  anxiekj 
to  save  costs,  will  probably  insist  that  there  is  no  obscurity  at  alL 
Let  him  pay  no  heed  to  them.  Whichever  way  he  turns,  he  is  in  a 
dilemma.  lie  must  be  prepared  either  to  incur  personal  risk,  or  lo 
bear  with  perfect  equanimity  the  thought  of  being  dubbed  a  faddirf 
or  an  obstructive. 

Nor  is  the  trustee  any  better  off'  if,  for  lack  of  express  direction  b, 
the  trust  instrument,  he  has  to  put  himself  under  the  gnidanoe  of  i 
the  general  law.     The  general  law  is  a  sealed  book  to  most  men, 
although    by  a   singular   liction    of  jurisprudence  all    are  supposed 
to  be  familiar   with  it.     The   law  of   trusts,  in   particolar,  is  pjt©* 
tically   inaccessible  to  the  layman.     It   is  not   to   be    found  in  any 
written    code.      It    is    buried   in  a   vast     storehouse   of     authorities 
where  the  chaff  ia  largely  intermixed  with  the  wheat.      The  sepMft- 
tion  between  the  two  is  often  made  for  the  first  time  on  the  tbrefh- 
ing-Qoor  of  the  courts   by   the   exertions   of  contending  counsel  ia 
the  presence  of  Her  Majesty's  judges.     Indeed,  the  judges  seem  to  h»  ' 
the  only  persons  for  whom  this  fiction  of  imputed  knowledge  does  ool 
hold  good ;    and    in   this   respect   they    enjoy   advantages   denied  to 
the   rest  of   mankind.      They   have  the  best  assistance  the  coantiy 
can  afford  them   to  prevent  their   going  wrong,  and,  but  that  theit 
are  Courts  of  Appeal  (which  do  not,  by  the  way,  always  agree  arouryf 
themselves),  they   might,  one  and  all,  be   thought   to  be  infalhhk. 
Private   persons  aro  in    a  very  different  plight.     They  are  easily  If! 
astray,  being  thrown  entirely  on  their  own  resources,  and  whi-n  th"" 
err  they  must  take  the  consequences.     "  I  have  no  doubt,^'  said  Lc 
Bedesdale,  Lord  Chancellor  of  Ireland  and  a  master  of  his  craft, ' 


i89o] 


THE   PERILS   OF  TRUSTEES. 


837 


these  executors  meant  to  act  fairly  and  honestly,  but  they  were  mis- 
advised, and  the  Court  must  proceed,  not  on  the  improper  advice 
under  which  an  executor  may  have  acted,  but  upon  the  acts  he  has 
done.  If  under  the  best  advice  be  could  procure  he  acts  wrong,  it  is 
his  misfortune ;  but  public  policy  require^s  that  he  should  be  the 
person  to  suffer."  In  these  days  of  Hyde  Park  demonstrations  a 
procession  might  be  formed  of  the  victims  of  this  species  of  judicial 
ruling,  and  of  their  impoverished  families,  interspersed  with  banners 
bearing  the  old  tragic  motto,  ftuBoc  iruOu — wisdom  by  suffering. 
Perhaps  Mr.  Monro  might  be  induced,  for  this  occasion  only,  to  allow 
it  to  pass  along  the  Strand,  and  to  halt  in  front  of  the  Itoyal  Conrts. 

I  now  proceed  to  examine  some  incidents  taken  from  actual  life  in 
which  trustees,  although  morally  innocent,  have  l>een  held  to  be  legally 
liable,  Let  me  first  take  cases  of  liability  arising  from  the  holding  of 
shares  in  joint  stock  companies.  It  is  common  knowledge  that  any 
one  who  allows  himself  to  be  registered  as  a  shareholder  in  such  a 
company,  is  liable  to  pay  all  sums  of  money  that  may  be  lawfully 
called  up  on  his  shares.  What  is  not  generally  known  is  that  an 
pjEPcutor  or  trustee  who  is  registered  as  such,  becomes  liable  for  these 
calls,  as  between  himself  and  the  company,  out  of  his  own  private 
means,  and  that  his  liability  is  not  measured  by  the  amount  of  his 
testator's  assets,  oi*  the  value  of  the  trust  estate.  "When  the  company 
is  nnlimited,  as,  for  example,  many  banking  companies  are,  the  risk 
which  an  executor  or  trustee  runs  is  simply  incalculable.  Some 
fearful  examples  of  this  were  furnished  a  few  years  ago  by  the  failure 
of  the  City  of  Glasgow  Bank.  This  bank  was  a  joint  stock  partner- 
ship, created  in  1830,  and  was  registered  as  an  unlimited  company  in 
1862.  The  bank  did  a  considerabk"  business  for  many  years,  but 
suspended  payment  in  1878,  and  went  into  liquidation  shortly  after- 
wards. The  stock  of  the  bank  was  at  this  time  held  by  a  large 
number  of  persons  in  .Scotland,  and  there  was  nothing  beyond  the  fact 
that  the  bank  was  registered  as  an  ualimited  company  to  indicate  to 
the  holders  that  they  were  under  any  liability.  Among  the  holders 
were  many  trustees  and  executors  who  had  been  registered  as  such, 
and  also  in  their  individual  names,  pursuant  to  deeds  of  transfer  duly 
executed  by  them.  The  liabilities  of  the  bank  turrred  out  to  be 
enormous,  and  calls  were  made  in  the  winding  up  on  the  persons  so 
registered  for  an  amount  far  beyond  the  amount  of  their  trust  funds. 
Tlie  Court  of  Session  in  Scotland,  and  the  House  of  Ixirds,  held  this 
to  be  a  lawful  proceeding.  The  fact  that  the  qualification  of  trustee 
or  executor  was  appended  to  the  individual  names  did  not  in  their 
opinion  place  the  trustees  in  a  better  position  as  regards  personal 
liability  than  any  of  the  other  partners. 

The  consternation  and  ruin  produced  by  this  judgment  it  is  even 
now  painful  to  contemplate.     In  one  case,  a  yioor  sempstress  having 


858 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jvti 


received  a  legacy  of  £100,  had  consulted  a  beuerolent  patron  as  to 
what  she  should  do  with  it.  He  suggested  an  investment  in  stock  of 
this  Glasgow  Bank  ;  and  in  oi-der  to  savt^  her  trouble,  volunteered  thst 
the  investment  should  be  made  in  hia  own  name,  and  that  he  shonld 
receive  the  dividends  on  her  behalf  and  transmit  them  as  they  fell 
due.  When  the  bank  was  wound  up,  this  self-constituted  trustee, 
who  occupied  a  first-class  position  in  Scotland,  found  himself  a  mined 
man.  He  had  undertaken  a  trust,  and  the  measure  of  his  liabihty 
was  not  the  pocket  of  the  poor  sempstress,  which  was  usually  eraptv. 
bat  his  own  private  means,  which  were  ample  for  himself  and  his 
family,  but  inadequate  to  the  demands  of  the  bank's  creditors.  Thi» 
instance  is  only  one  out  of  hundreds.  So  t<?rrible  and  widespread  ww 
the  havoo  that  it  called  forth  the  following  remarkable  expression  of 
feeling  from  Earl  Cairns,  who  moved  the  judgment  of  the  House  of 
Lords  :  "  It  is  difficult,"  ho  said,  "  to  use  words  which  will  adefjuatelr 
express  the  gympatliy  1  feel  for  all  those  who  have  been  overwhelmed 
in  the  disaster  of  the  Glasgow  bank,  and  that  sympathy  is  pecaliarhr 
due  to  those  who,  without  possibility  of  benefit  to  themselv».'S.  and 
probably  without  any  trust  estate  behind  sufficient  to  indemnify  them, 
have  become  subject  to  loss  or  ruin  by  entering,  for  the  advantage  of 
others,  into  a  partnership  attended  with  risks  of  which  they  probaWj 
were  forgetful,  or  which  tbey  did  not  fully  realise.  The  duty  of  your 
lordships  is,  however,  to  declare  the  law,  and  of  the  law  applicable  to 
this  ca.«e  your  lordships  can,  T  think,  entertain  no  doubt."  It  may  btJ 
added  that  it  is  not  easy  to  see  how  the  trusts  of  the  stock  of  this 
particular  banking  company,  or  of  any  other  company  similarly  con- 
stituted, could  have  been  accepted  without  involving  the  risk  of  the 
distresising  cousequencea  that  actually  ensued. 

The  law  might,  no  doubt,  be  altered  by  enacting  that  wherever  the 
trust  property  involves,  irrespectively  of  the  terms  of  the  trust.  \\w 
payment  of  any  call  or  other  like  liability,  the  trustee  is  to  be  liable 
only  to  the  extent  of  the  trust  property.  Bnt  such  a  sweeping 
provision  would  in  the  case  of  unpaid  shares  do  quite  as  mnch 
injustice  as  it  aims  at  curing,  by  adding  to  the  pecuniary  burdt-ns  nf 
the  remaining  members  of  the  company. 

It  may  he  objected  that  trusts  of  unpaid  shares,  and  tspccialJy  oi 
shares  in  unlimited  companies,  are  not  of  frequent  occurrence.  Beil 
so.  Then  let  us  take  such  a  common  case  as  the  trnst  of  a  policy  <jf 
life  assurance.  A  struggling  professional  man  is  minded  to  many. 
He  has  not  yet  been  able  to  save  enough  to  enable  him  to  secure  fw 
hia  future  wife  and  children  as  comfortable  a  home  after  his  death  *» 
that  which  he  can  well  afford  them  so  long  as  his  health  continn* 
He,  therefore,  prudently  takes  out  a  life  policy,  and  settles  it  iu  the 
ordinary  way.  He  asks  two  friends  to  be  his  trustees,  and  with  \hat 
consent  he  assigns  to  them  his  interest  in  the  policy  upon  trust  fw  hi 


t89o] 


THE    PERILS    OF  TRUSTEES, 


859 


wife  for  life,  and  afterwards  for  his  childi^en.  In  order  that  the  policy 
may  be  kept  up,  he  engages  with  his  tnist^es  to  pay  the  premiums 
as  they  accrue  due.  He  does  pay  them  for  some  years.  Then  hia 
business  begins  to  flag,  perhaps  from  no  fault  of  his  own.  The 
premiums  which  were  easily  paid  at  first,  now  become  a  serious  drag 
ou  his  diminished  means.  He  allows  them,  at  last,  to  fall  into  arrcar, 
and  the  policy  lapses  to  the  office.  After  his  death,  his  widow  brings 
an  action  against  the  truste^es  for  not  seeing  that  the  policy  was  duly 
renewed.  What  answer  can  the  trustees  give  ?  None,  except  that 
they  knew  nothing  of  their  friend's  default,  and  that  they  could  not 
be  expected  to  see  to  the  punctual  fulfilment  of  his  yearly  engage- 
ment to  pay.  This,  however,  is  no  answer  in  law.  They  have  made 
themselves  responsible  for  the  man  who  promised  to  pay,  and  they  can 
only  discharge  themselves  by  showing  that  under  no  circumstances 
could  he  have  paid  if  he  had  been  pressed  to  do  eo.  In  other  words, 
it  lies  on  them  to  establish  the  insolvency  of  the  husband,  which,  of 
course,  they  may  not  be  able  to  do.  If  they  cannot,  they  become 
equally  liable  with  the  original  defaulter. 

The  same  thing  happens  when  the  trust  instrument  contains  a 
contract  to  pay  a  sum  of  money  at  a  future  time — a  very  common 
form  of  provision  by  a  futht-r  for  his  daughter  when  he  does  not  find 
it  convenient  to  hand  over  lit-r  fortune  at  once.  When  the  time  for 
payment  arrives,  it  is  the  duty  of  the  trustees  to  call  in  the  money» 
and  if  they  po.stpone  doing  so,  out  of  consideration  for  the  circum- 
stances of  the  settlor,  they  iucur  personal  risk,  even  though  they  act 
with  the  consent  of  every  adult  member  of  the  family  interested  in  the 
trust  fund.  Infant  beneficiaries  are  not  bound  by  the  consent  of 
their  brothers  and  sistere,  and  any  one  coming  forward  on  their  behalf 
may  bring  the  trustee  to  an  unpleasant  reckoning.  It  ia  truf  that,  in 
relief  of  these  burdens,  every  well  drawn  trust  instrument  contains  a 
provision  that  trustees  shall  not  bo  bound  to  enforce  any  of  the  covenants 
to  pay  premiums,  or  other  sums  of  money  ;  but  such  a  clause  would 
not  exonerate  them  from  tlie  consequences  of  what  the  law  might  hold 
to  be  wilful  upglecfc,  or  breach  of  duty,  and  only  protects  them  agaiust 
accidents,  and  in  the  exercise  of  a  reasonable  discretion. 

In  the  cases  already  mentioned,  the  liability  of  the  trustee  arises 
from  the  precariousnesa  of  the  trust  property.  But,  though  innocent, 
he  may  also  saffer  by  reason  of  some  act  or  default  of  administration. 
It  is  not  enough  that  the  trust  property  is  fortlicoming  in  the  form  in 
which  it  was  originally  settled.  It  must  also  be  found  in  the  condition 
in  which  the  law  requires  it  to  be.  Suppose,  for  example,  that  it  is 
of  a  terminable  nature,  such  as  a  leasehold  house,  or  a  business,  or 
that  there  is  some  prior  life  or  other  interest  outstanding  which  gives 
to  it  a  fature  or  reversionary  character  yielding  no  present  income. 
In  all  these  cases,  the  trustee  may  be  able  to  show  that  the   trust 


am  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REIIEW.  [Jew 

pr'>|Hrrfy  in  unaflVjct/jd  except  by  lapse  of  time.     Yet  this  very  cii>- 
fnttiHtJiucA)  tnhy  hi  Mafficicnt  to  get  him  into  troable. 

TriiMt  firofxirty  of  the  above  deEcription  ought  to  be  sold  and  placed 
ofi  tviiiu-t  f)ormiinerit  income-yielding  Eecnrity,  whether  the  tmst  in- 
niruuii:n\,  utuh'r  which  it  is  derived  eo  prescribes  in  terms,  cm:  not; 
for,  titilftHH  ii  bn  so  dealt  with,  justice  cannot  be  done  as  between  the 
didiircni  linncflciiirif^H  who  are  to  enjoy  it  in  snccesion.  If  the  bene- 
fl(Mury  who  iiikcH  th»  firHt  life  interest  is  allowed  to  receive  the  rents 
of  l.h<«  li<nMi«hol(l  hoiiH(>,  or  to  enjoy  the  profits  of  the  business  in  tpeeie, 
hn  iIoi-N  HO,  1o  It  Certain  oxtont,  at  the  expense  of  capital,  the  owna> 
Nhip  of  whirh  wholly  bdongH  to  the  persons  who  come  after.  Lease- 
IiiiIiIn,  Ii.  Nhould  bo  nMniMnborod,  are  a  wasting  property,  and  businessea 
oiiitnot.  ho  («x|u*ct(>(I  to  go  on  for  ever.  It  is,  therefore,  the  duty  of 
tho  trtiNli'OH  ill  Hiicli  casoH  without  being  so  directed,  and  unless  they 
iiiY  so  itiivtii'il  to  Ihr  con f ran/,  to  realise  all  snch  properties  witJiin* 
roivMoni^Mo  poriiHl,  und  thoy  may  be  made  personally  liable  at  the  snit 
of  lluwo   inlon»»tod   in   rtMuainder  if  they  fail  in  their  duty  in  this 

I")\i>n  t(u]t)uvsing  this  to  W  done,  they  have  still  another  dnty 
to  pi«rfonn.  Thov  must  select  an  investment  within  the  scope  of 
tho  trust.  Kit  intorprt^tiHl  by  the  rules  of  the  Court.  Suppose  they 
nrt'  AulUoristnl  to  invost  on  a  freehold  mortgage,  and  nothing  is  said 
«H  to  \:»hu« ;  it  is  not  ovorj-  fnvhold  mortgage,  though  stated  by  com- 
|H>t»M\t  jHM-sonsi  to  Iv  sutlioiont  to  cover  the  sum  lent,  that  ib  withio 
thv»  trustoos'  auihv^rity.  If  the  soourity  consists  of  land  or  buildings, 
th<Mv  liW'.st  K*  n  ir.Arvin  v^t"  one-:hird  value  over  and  above  the 
*«h.-»«xv  iv.,'u;o.  "n-.o^i^  aT^»  also  limitations  imposed  by  the  law 
.■»s  t^^  tV.e  Ki'.\*i  V**  :>r'v.^-.vr:y  :'>-.:rc'haseaKe  by  a  trustee  who  is 
,-»\;?V.»^r,N.v,  :o  Vrv  \\v.v'..  .'iv.»i  :V.os?  .<i:r?  ss  binding  on  him  as  if  they 
V,.i,;  \vr.  /\y:vs;t;v.  r.'.  :"-.:-  tr.-.j:  ir.s:r-.:rr.ent.  A  few  years  ago.  an 
."»,\v.-. ■.■.:.•»'■?  .*iv.;  .-»  Tio".-.v"r.'.v>:i-r  .s>wy:.;c  t"::-  Tmsts  of  the  will  of  a 
io^.J«;,^^  XX  .'..■";■.  ,;— .v:.v,  ^V."  irvr>:v.'.:r.:  :i  £?■••-'.  c~  rsortca^e,  the 
-.vo.'v.;^  •:,•  K"  -.v  ,'.  :.•  :*r:  tf-sr.*,:,-?*  ■":£:■"■  fcr  lirV,  »r:d  the  capial^ 
iv  .  X  .\\l  •■w." ,--  "■,-  .i,vr>.  .'.-••-T.rj-t  tl'*  jiilirr".  T:lt  tr^'its 
•.',*.. a".  ;  •■  w-r  .■:"  :>;■  i'  ••.'  :,-«^--:'::'*c  ■»"::1*-  £:•.'•!  fr:~  anotb^ 
N.-    ',v    V'f.v     ^  :  .•'   ■      -.  .<-.      .;,x-  t  r;;:'rx^ti7*  ::  i  fr«ei-:".i  triokfeld 

^  -  ■  "v^"  ■•-    »■*  ■  '  <i.      ■  j;  f  ;>,"-  •■::■■   .'■,:■>>>  v-  tM  'i*  >,-.-  :--^  maciineir, 

>      -v   •      ...  .V    V       >   *  ■  s:  :  \\  ','   :'i   5   .  !?«rC.T^   "-»•*»  r-  -  ^  -•■  ■»  y.fTiW. 

■'     '     .        ..'»,■       V         "'.    .•:"S     ," '.    :".,■>;  "vrrf    ~,'     r.iJ'  "tT  -]»~    TCT-TXfrTV  OH 

r.      ;x  •  i  -..      -V  -v'.x;-  ■.".  ■ :  fc  ":■■■-  t-stt   iT-ir?  tLi:  thfl* 

>■■■  ■■•.    •     •  v        ■ -c  :-.i     ^  ■;.-;:<    i»>  -:■♦   THKrir^tl  ■•ts  Veiag 

•'■■*■«■  V  •  '.i  ■      ?.j  ".T^    n^^-.'w."    ■»-,— ■fc.iTjroj  tiif 

*^'  "•  ■     -  ■■'  T"      ;•. . —  V  : -s   T  r*  rs^rrwi   .tt  tbf  "scsM* 


iSgo] 


THE   PERILS    OF   TRUSTEES. 


861 


paid  the  interest  on  their  mortgage  for  six  years  and  then  went  into 
liquidation.  The  property  was  pat  up  for  sale  by  auction,  but  was 
not  gold.  The  widow  and  the  children  then  brought  their  action 
against  the  trustees  for  making  an  improper  and  unauthorised  invest- 
ment, and  succeeded  in  all  the  three  Courts  in  which  the  case  was 
tried,  the  trustees  having  carried  it  as  far  as  the  House  of  Lords. 
*'  No  one,"  said  the  present  Lord  Chancellor,  "  has  doubted  that  the 
trustees  intended  to  do  what  was  right,  and  no  imputation  can  certainly 
be  made  against  them  that  they  were  actuated  by  any  ofher  motive 
than  that  of  procuring  the  highest  amount  of  interest  that  they  could 
for  their  cesluis  que  trust,  but  the  goodness  of  the  motive  cannot 
JQstify  the  propriety  of  the  investment."  In  point  of  fact,  the  trustees 
had  accepted  and  acted  on  the  valuers'  bare  assurance  that  the  security 
was  sufficient,  in  the  absence  of  detailed  information  which  would 
enable  them  to  form,  and  without  forming,  an  opinion  for  themselves. 
As  the  law  then  stood,  and  probably  also  as  it  now  stands,  a  trustee, 
though  he  is  not  expected  to  possess  professional  skill  or  knowledge, 
and  is  entitled  to  call  in  the  aid  of  skilled  persons  in  matters  in  which 
he  has  no  experience,  may  not  wholly  surrender  his  own  judgment 
to  experts  even  in  so  special  a  matter  aa  the  valuation  of  house  or 
other  property. 

Up  to  this  point,  we  have  been  considering  cases  which  involve  no 
serious  moral  delinquency.  The  most  common  cases  of  all,  however, 
are  those  in  which  one  trustee  has  to  suffer  for  the  gross  negligence 
or  criminality  of  a  trustee  associated  with  him.  Where  there  are  two 
or  more  trustees,  all  cannot  be  equally  active,  and  it  is  very  usual  for 
one  of  them  to  assume  the  position  of  acting  trustee,  the  others 
signing  documents  that  are  put  before  them  by  him  in  implicit 
reliance  on  his  statement  that  they  are  in  order.  The  law,  however, 
recognises  no  such  thing  as  a  dummy  trustee.  All  who  accept  a 
trust  are  liable  for  the  joint  act,  though  only  one  be  the  real  actor, 
unless  it  be  a  necessary  act  of  conformity,  such  as  the  receipt  of  a 
sum  of  money,  where  the  signature  of  all  the  trasteea  is  required, 
and  all  cannot  conveniently  receive.  True  it  is  that  each  trustee  is 
said  to  be  liable  for  his  own  acts  and  defaults  only — but  this  really 
means  that  A.  is  not  liable  for  the  acts  of  B.,  his  co-trustee,  in  which 
he  took  no  part,  and  to  which  he  gave  no  .sanction.  The  law-books 
abound  with  cases  of  vicarious  suffering  for  the  sins  and  follies  of 
co-trustees.  Here  a  country  squire,  or  clergj'man,  has,  at  the  instance 
of  his  colleague,  an  experienced  man  of  business,  been  induced  to 
sign  documents  of  transfer,  which  have  put  it  in  the  power  of  the  latter 
to  speculate  with  the  trust  funds  for  his  own  purposes,  and  the  mistake 
has  only  been  found  out  after  the  man  at  whose  instance  they  acted 
has  suddenly  fled  the  country.  There,  a  too  confiding  widow  of  a 
testator  has  joined  in  a  transfer  of  stock,  standing  in  the  name  of 


862 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jrxi 


herself  and  co-executors,  on  the  false  representation  that  it  was 
nquired  for  payment  of  her  husband's  debts,  and,  the  stock  having 
been  misapplied  by  her  co-executors,  she  has  been  held  liable  to 
replace  it.  These  examples  might  be  multiplied  to  any  extent.  The 
modern  practice  of  issuing  securities  to  bearer  has  su]jplied  a  large 
crop  of  them,  and  tin-  crop  has  yielded  a  plentiful  harvest  of  costs  in 
the  Chancery  Division  of  the  High  Court  of  Justice. 

Are  there  any  means  by  which  this  unsatisfactory  state  of  things  can 
be  improved  ?  For  it  seems  obvious  that  something  must  be  done. 
Wo  must  not  forget  that  the  office  of  a  trustee  is  essentially  voluntary, 
and  that  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred  it  is  undertaken  without 
fee  or  reward.  The  hundredth  case  is  that  of  a  solicitor  trustee,  who 
may  be  entitled  to  charge  for  the  transaction  of  the  business  of  the 
trust,  if  the  trust  instrument  so  provides  in  express  ternas.  It  must 
also  be  remembered  that  a  trustee  who  has  once  acted  cannot  retire 
merely  to  suit  his  own  convenience.  He  must  show  some  good  reason 
for  withdrawing,  and  if  the  beneficiaries  object,  he  can  only  do  so  with 
the  sanction  of  the  Court,  unless  he  leaves  at  least  two  trustee 
behind  him.  The  difficulty  of  finding  a  new  trustee  is  often  very 
great.  Some  judges  object  to  appoint  relatives  as  trustees  ;  othera 
object  to  appoint  beneficiaries.  In  a  case  of  domestic  difference 
between  husband  and  wife  it  often  happens  that  no  one  can  be  fonud 
to  rush  into  the  breach  and  accept  the  oflSce.  It  is  a  thankless 
business  to  intermeddle  in  such  circumstances,  and  it  is  proverbially 
dangerous  to  attempt  to  do  so. 

Two  forms  of  remedy  have  beeji  proposed.  One,  the  formation  of 
Trust  Companies,  which  shall  undertake  trusteeship  and  executorship 
aa  part  of  their  ordinary  business.  Of  course,  they  will  onJy  do  » 
for  gain,  as  companies  are  not  formed,  or  conducted,  on  philanthropic 
principles.  The  gain  will  usually  be  measured  by  a  percentage  of  ti^ 
income  or  capital  of  the  funds  administered.  Projects  of  this  kind 
were  first  started  in  this  country  in  1854,  when  two  Bills  were  intro- 
duced into  Parliament  empowering  two  companies  named  in  them  to 
undertake  trusts.  This  system  has  not  yet  taken  root  amongst  a& 
It  is,  however,  in  operation  in  our  Australian  colonies.  A  Company 
called  "  The  Victoria  Trustees  and  Executors  Agency,  Limited,"  the 
name  of  which  explains  itself,  was  formed  in  Victoria  in  1879 ;  and  s 
second  company  having  the  same  object,  and  known  as  "  The  Union 
Trustees  Executors  and  Administrators  Company,  Limited,"  was  started 
in  the  same  colony  in  1885.  Similar  companies  exist  in  the  United 
States.  In  1887,  Lord  Hobhoiise  introduced  a  Bill  into  the  Hoosp 
of  Lords  entitled,  "  A  Bill  to  enable  Incorporated  Companies  to  ad 
as  Executors,  Administrators,  and  Trustees,  and  in  other  Fiduci«y 
Capacities."  It  empowers  any  company,  if  authorised  by  its  Memo- 
randum of  Association  to  accept  such  trusts,  to  obtain,  probates  <rf 


1890] 


THE    PERILS    OF   TRUSTEES, 


863 


wills  and  tetters  of  adminiatration,  and  also  to  become  a  trustee  of 
any  real  or  personal  property,  either  alone  or  jointly  with  any  other 
trustee,  provided  it  haa  a  subscribed  capital  of,  at  least,  £100,000,  of 
which  at  least  £50,000  shall  he  paid  up  or  depo3it«d  by  the  Company 
in  the  High  Court.  This  deposit  is  liable  to  be  increased  by  direction 
of  the  Board  of  Trade,  on  the  application  of  any  persons  interested  in 
the  trust.  No  statutoiy  limit  ia  imposed  on  the  charges  to  be  made 
by  the  Company  for  the  work  done,  but  a  statement  of  the  scale  of 
charges  is  required  to  be  inserted  ia  the  Articles  of  Association ;  and 
this  scale  is,  in  each  case,  to  be  approved  by  the  Board  of  Trade. 

Lord  Uobbouse's  Bill,  which,  in  his  absence,  was  backed  this  year 
by  Lord  JJerschell,  has  passed  tlie  House  of  Lords  more  than  once, 
but  it  has  not  yet  been  read  a  second  time  in  the  House  of  Commons. 
The  serious  objection  to  it  is  that,  iu  all  these  Trust  Companies,  there 
mast  inevitably  be  a  direct  conflict  of  duties.  The  Company  ought,  in 
the  interest  of  its  shareholders,  to  make  as  much  profit  as  possible, 
while,  in  the  interest  of  those  for  whom  it  acts  as  trustee,  it  ought 
to  keep  the  expenses  of  administration,  which  are  the  sources  of 
those  profits,  within  the  narrowest  limits.  One  of  the  Australian 
Trust  Companies  is  said  to  be  making  as  much  as  40  per  cent,  by 
charging  the  trust  estate  2^  per  cent.  Again,  as  the  Company  will 
know  nothing  about  the  beneliciaries,  it  will  require  everything  to  be 
strictly  proved,  and  applications  to  the  Court  for  directions  will  be 
mnch  more  frequent  biian  in  the  case  of  private  trustees.  The  smaller 
estates,  which  are  oflen  the  most  troublesome,  will  thus  be  in  danger 
of  being  swallowed  up  in  costs.  The  public  danger  will  be  still 
further  increased  if  Lord  Herschell  should,  by  hia  friends  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  carry  the  point  he  made  both  in  the  Lord's 
Committee  and  on  the  third  reading,  namely,  that  the  business  of 
Trust  Companies  should  not  be  confined  by  law  to  trusts,  but  should 
comprise  other  bu.siness  of  a  remunerative  character.  The  effect  of 
this  extension  would  be  to  embark  trust  funds  in  speculations  over 
which  the  Ijeneficiaries  would  have  no  control,  and  unless  the  doctrine 
of  average  were  introduced,  and  the  trust  investments  were  (as  the 
phrase  goes)  '"  pooled,"'  it  might  lead  to  grave  disasters. 

The  other  remedy,  which  has  also  found  favour  iu  the  Colonies,  par- 
ticularly in  New  Zealand,  is  the  creation  of  an  oflScer  of  State,  called 
the  *•  Public  Trvistee,"  with  a  department  over  which  he  presides 
CftUed  "  The  Public  Trust  Office."  The  New  Zealand  Act,  which  was 
passed  in  1872,  empowers  every  private  person,  corporation,  or 
Friendly  Society,  and  also  (as  amended  in  1875)  every  executor  or 
trustee,  to  place  any  property  belonging  to  him,  or  within  his  control, 
under  the  care  of  this  public  department,  by  vesting  such  property 
in  the  Public  Trustee,  to  be  held  by  him  upon  the  trusts  specified  in 
the  trust  instrument.     The  Public  Trustee,  however,  is  not  bound  to 


861 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jcsi 


accept  any  trast  until  its  acceptance  has  been  sanctioned  by  a  Board 
of  Advice  specially  constituted  for  that  purpose  by  the  Act,  and  also, 
in  certain  cases,  further  approved  of  by  a  judge's  order.  Anotber 
provision  is,  that  no  trust  instniment  is  to  be  accepted  by  the  Poblic 
Trustee  in  which  any  other  peraon  is  appointed  to  act  with  him  The 
adminiatration,  therefore,  is,  in  every  case,  wholly  of  an  officiil 
character.  Based  on  the  lines  of  this  Act,  Public  Trustee  Bills  were 
introduced  into  our  own  House  of  Commons  in  1887,  and  again  in 
1889,  by  Mr.  Howard  Vincent  and  others.  But  in  each  case  the  order 
for  the  second  reading  was  discharged,  it  being  obvious  that  a 
measure  of  such  importance  could  only  make  its  way  under  the  direct 
auspices  of  the  Government. 

The  present  Administration  has  not  been  slow  to  take  up  the  glove 
thus  thrown  down  to  it.      Last  year  the  Lord  Chancellor  introduced* 
Public  Trustee  Bill  of  his  own,  and  piloted  it  through   the  House  of 
Lords.     This  ye^r  he  has  introduced  it  again ;  it  has  again  p&ased 
the  Upper  House,  and  is  very  shortly  to  be  considered  in  detail  by  a 
Committee  of  the  Hou^e  of  Commons.     Unlike  any  of  it^  predeces- 
sors, this  Bill  allows  the  Pulilic  Trustee,  who  is,  of  course,  a  corpora- 
tion with  perpetual  succession,  or,  to  use  the  legal  phrase,  a  corpora- 
tion sole,  to  act  as  trustee  jointly  with   a  private  trustee,  or  private 
trustees.     It  thus  delivers  us  from  the  web  of  officialism  which  Mr. 
Vincent  and  bis  friends  would  weave  around  us.     The  Trust  estate  is 
to  be  indemnified    out   of   the   Consolidated   Fund   against  any  loss 
arising  out  of  any  fraud  or  negligence  of  the  Public  Trustee,  or  his 
•  ofiScers,  and  his  salary  and  expenses  are  to  be  recouped  to  the  Public 
Treasury  by  a  percentage  levied  on  the  income,  or  capital,  cf  thft 
Trust  property.      The  bill  will,  no  doubt,  meet  with  the  oondemnalion 
of  Lord  Wemyss  and  the  "  Liberty  and  Property  Defence  I^eague  ^as 
socialistic  legislation  ;   but  it  is  no  more  socialistic   in   the  ^M^''  *' 
appoint    a   Public   Trustee    than    to  appoint  a   I'ostmaater-Gi : 
Lord  Salisbury  may  fairly  refer  to  it  at  the  next  Academy  baui^opt  la 
one  more  instance  of  the   tutelary  care   of  "  our  grandmofli^f  ti" 
State,"  and  yet  defend  the  consistency  of  his  Cabinet  by  Moving  ihii 
the  instance  is  not  wholly  new.     Official  trustees  of  charity  Uaiis »'"' 
funds  have  been  long  established,  and  have  been  known  by  iJwt  nw* 
as  far  back  as  the  year  1855.    They  have  conferred  a  double  heaSU 
for,  first,  they  have  made  the  charity  property  secure,  aad,  srcoDiJ'j". 
since  the  official  trustee  never  dies  or  resigns,  they  harf^  saved  lii» 
expense  of  appointing  new  trustees  from  time  to  time.    There  seenu 
to  be  no  reason  why  this  office  should  not  be  extended  ffOW  * 
public,  or  charitable,  to  the  private  trust. 

I'hf^  debatable  point  is  this.      Can  the  mav 
be  conveniently  left  to  the  Public  Trustef . 
a  private  person  associated  along  with  h' 


i89o] 


THE    PERILS    OF  TRUSTEES. 


865 


has  to  manage,  or  concur  in  managing,  the  estate,  there  is  the  same 
objection  on  the  score  of  expense  as  has  been  already  urged  against 
Trnst  Companies.  If  his  co-tmatee  is  to  manage  witliout  him,  and 
he  himself  is  to  take  no  part,  his  presence  in  the  trust  is  delusive, 
and  is  likely  to  mislead  the  beneficiaries.  The  opinion  of  the  present 
writer  is,  that,  upon  the  balance  of  convenience  and  inconvenience,  it 
would  be  better  not  to  interfere  with  the  private  management  of 
tnists,  but  simply  to  lighten  the  responsibilities  of  management  by 
easing  the  burden  of  the  law  wherever  it  bears  with  undue  weight 
upon  innocent  shoulders.  The  management  of  the  trust  and  the 
legal  control  of  the  trust  property  are  entirely  distinct  things,  and  do 
not  necessarily  unite  in  the  same  persons.  This  fact  is  acknowledged 
by  Lord  Halsbury's  Bill,  which  provides  that  if  the  trust  instrument 
directs  that  any  specified  power  shall  not  be  exercised  by  the  Pubhc 
Trustee,  such  direction  shall  have  effect  given  to  it,  but  that  he  shall 
notwithstanding,  at  his  co-trustees'  request,  concur  with  them  in  all 
acts  necessary  to  ensure  its  exercise  on  their  pai-t,  unless,  indeed,  such 
request  should  amount  to  an  invitation  to  assist  in  a  breach  of  trust. 

In  divers  ways  much  has  been  done  of  late  years  to  relieve  those 
who  gratuitously  undeilake  the  thankless  task  of  looking  after  the 
affairs  of  others.  This  is  dm  partly  to  the  action  of  the  Courts  and 
partly  to  the  Legislature.  Th(«  Courts  have  now  laid  down  the  sensible 
rule  that  a  trustee  sufficiently  discharges  hts  duty  if,  in  manoging  the 
trust  affairs,  he  takes  all  those  precautions  which  an  ordinary  prudent 
man  of  business  would  take  in  managing  similar  atiaii-s  of  his  own. 
From  this  it  follows  thnt  wherever  a  usual  course  of  business  exists,  a 
trustee  is  justified  in  pursuing  it  ulthough  it  involves  the  trust  pro- 
perty in  risk  by  reason  of  the  difihonesty  or  insolvency  of  an  agent. 
L«et  me  illustrate  this  l^  an  example.  Some  few  years  ago,  a  trustee 
"I  a  ^Tll  who  was  authorised  to  invest  the  trust  money  on  stock  of 
municipal  coi-poiations,  employed,  at  the  request  of  the  testator's 
family,  a  broker  to  purchase  corporation  debenture  stock  for  £15,000. 
e  broker  in  due  course  of  business  forwarded  to  the  trustee  the 
usual  bought  note  which  purported  to  be  subject  to  the  rules  of  the 
J>onaon  Stock  Exchange,  and  obtained  from  the  trustee  a  cheque  for 
il»e  purcha-se-monej  npon  the  representation  that  it  was  payable  the 
pfxt  day.  Mfhich  was  the  next  account  day  on  the  Exchange.  The 
l^rokcrlurned  oat  to  be  a  rogue.  He  appropriated  the  £1.^,000  to 
lita  own  nae,  imd  then  absconded  and  was  no  more  heard  of  Vice- 
hMcellor  Bacon  hold  the  tnistee  liable,  on  the  ground  that  he 
0ght  not  to  havn  trusttx?  rh**  broker  with  the  cheque,  on  the  faith 
f  ^■^^^»F^f'  "ot.  -  ,„  ^as  reversed  by  the  Court  of 

V^   ■  ni>J  bv  the  House  of  Lords. 

irft 


ve  changes  to  which  I  have  above 
and  too  miscellaneous  to  be  here 
1^ 


866  THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW.  [Jot« 

stated  in  detail.  They  will  be  found  embodied  in  the  Trustee  Act  of 
1888,  and  the  Trustee  Investment  Act  of  1889,  and  have  more  than 
a  professional  interest.  Nothing  more  seems  to  be  now  compassable 
beyond  an  extension  of  these  statutes  so  as  to  meet  new  cases  of 
hardship  where  they  arise,  as  they  are  sore  to  do.  Unfortunately, 
the  Legislature  cannot  always  intervene  in  time.  But  for  tiiis  there 
is  no  help.  Every  law,  which  is  afterwards  amended,  presses  hardly 
while  it  remains  in  force.  It  is  too  much  to  expect  that  the  law 
affecting  trustees  should  furnish  the  solitary  exception  to  the  rule. 

For  the  rest,  we  may  be  content,  as  I  venture  to  think — and  I 
believe  that  this  is  also  the  view  of  the  majority  of  both  branches  of 
the  legal  profession — with  a  much  more  modest  instalment  of 
ofiBlcialism  than  is  provided  by  the  Lord  Chancellor's  Bill.  It  will 
suffice  for  the  present  to  institute  a  Public  Trustee  in  whom, 
as  in  the  case  of  the  lands  and  funds  of  charities,  the  Trust  property 
may  be  solely  vested,  leaving  its  management,  as  heretofore,  to 
private  individuals  selected  for  that  purpose  by  the  author  of  the 
Trust,  or  those  that  fill  the  chair  which  time  has  called  upon  him  to 
vacate. 

Montague  Cbackanthobpk. 


tSpo] 


MUTE  WITNESSES  OF   THE   REVOLUTION. 

A  WALK  THROCGH  THE  IITSTORTCAL  EXHIBITION 
OF  THE  FKENCH  REVOLUTION. 


THE  Society  for  promotint?  Historical  R<?searcli  into  tbe  Revolution 
ami  its  Causes,  have  sought  ia  their  Exhibition  to  correct, 
by  a  aeriea  of  visible  objects,  the  written  accounts  of  that  event. 
Truth,  and  nothing  but  the  tnith,  was  their  aim.  To  get  at 
the  whole  trutli  was  impossible.  Their  belief  in  the  salutary 
nature  of  that  great  event,  or  series  'of  events,  moved  them  to 
receive  every  kind  of  evidence  which  bore  upon  the  Revolution. 
The  imagery  expressing  the  enthusiasm  •which  the  sweeping  move- 
ment called  out,  the  caricatures  which  were  meant  to  sting  and 
injure  those  who  held  the  handle  of  the  besom,  the  touching  relics  of 
the  Temple  prison,  the  picture  of  the  Dauphin  in  the  ill  condition  in 
which  the  cobbler  Simon  kept  him,  are  all  impartially  displayed.  Louis 
XV' I,,  the  Girondins  and  Jacobins,  the  Mountain  and  Plain,  Danton 
and  Robespierre,  Charlotte  Corday  and  Marat,  are  equally  in  view. 
This  exhibition,  arranged  with  chronological  seqaence,  shows  first 
the  precursors,  and  then  the  actors,  in  the  period  embraced  between 
the  opening  of  the  Stat/es-General  in  1  78*.'  and  the  creation  in  180  I 
of  the  Empire,  which  arose  in  tawdry  showiness  and  ended  in  depletion 
and  national  di.saster. 

Everything  is  full  of  suggestion  in  the  material  evidence  thus  col- 
lected and  classified.  One  sees  what  the  Monarchy  was  before  the 
)rm  burst  which  brought  it  down,  the  rapidity  of  its  fall,  and  the 
mtoneously  evolved  agencies  which  forced  France  into  a  Republic. 
That  the  Revolution  was  to  be,  and  could  not  but  be,  is  the  conclusion 
forced  upon  the  thoughtfnl  visitor  who  has  been  prepared  by  previous 
^atndy  to  seize  the  points  furnished  by  the  mute  witnesses  of  which  1 
)ffak.  Human  design  had  hut  a  small  part  in  directing  the  general 
current  of  events,    which  imparted  to  commonplace  men  and  women 


868 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[JUSK 


who  took  part  in  them  an  astonishing  grandeur.  Others  of  the  actors, 
who  had  evil  passions,  became  prodigiously  terrible.  Most  were  as  if 
under  the  influence  of  possession.  Some  were  possessed  by  noble, 
some  by  ferocious  spirits,  and  all,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  aided 
in  transforming  the  oldest  and  most  powerful  Monarchy  of  Europe 
into  a  llepublic.  It  is  shown  in  the  hall  devoted  to  the  precursors  of 
the  Revolution  that  the  tempest  had  its  birthplace  in  North  America, 
and  that  Washington,  not  less  than  Voltaire  and  Rousseau,  helped  to 
furnish  the  momentum. 

Montgollier  the  balloonist,  and  Galvani,  are  classed  as  precursors, 
though  the  scientists  had  but  a  small  place  among  those  who  prepared 
the  way  for  the  Revolution.  Galvani  in  reanimating  dead  frogs  and 
Franklin  in  flying  hia  kite  had  an  intuition  that  much  was  to  come  of 
what  they  were  doing.  But  they  oould  not  have  known  that  they 
were  beginning  to  give  a  nervous  system  to  the  planet. 

Irony  was  the  great  intellectual  power  of  the  eighteenth  centmy. 
Its  reign  begau  in  England,  having  its  origin  as  far  back  as  the  reign 
of  Charles  II.  ;  and  that  reign  was  extended  through  Voltaire  to  Paris 
and  Berlin,  where  Frederick  sought  in  it  an  intellectual  pastime. 
The  wita  were  masters  of  the  age.  Ribaldrj.'  and  raillery  filled 
its  literature,  and  held  the  first  place  in  letters  and  in  the 
conversation  of  the  great.  Voltaire  towered  above  them  &U. 
because  he  had  a  burning  hatred  of  injustice  and  of  those  legal 
iniquities  which  were  giants  in  his  time.  What  wit  before  him  ever 
elected  to  be  an  exile  for  the  best  part  of  his  life  rather  than  ceaae 
attacking  inhuman  laws  and  customs  ?  There  was  no  such  reforming 
purpose  in  Bolingbroke,  Sterne,  or  Jlelding,  whatever  there  may  haw 
been  by  fits  and  starts  in  Swift. 

It  is  therefore  due  to  Voltaire  to  place  his  bust  by  Houdon  at  the 
entrance  to  the  hall  of  the  precursors.  Rousseau's  faces  it.  The  one 
came  to  destroy  through  intellectual  action,  the  other  to  set  right  the 
world,  which  he  found  out  of  joint,  through  the  action  of  the  heart 
and  sensibilities.  Rousseau  was  the  father  of  Socialism,  and  found 
his  gospel  in  the  New  Testament.  It  was  brought  home  to  him  hy  a 
life  of  misery  too  great  for  words  to  utter.  Louis  Blanc  was  his 
descendant  in  the  spiritual  order,  and  Laesalle,  Karl  Marx  and  th» 
German  Socialists  borrowed  lai-gely  of  Louis  Blanc.  Iloussean  was  the 
teacher  of  the  blessings  of  inwardness.  His  effigy  is  indicative  of  painfol 
chronic  disease,  from  the  misery  of  which  he  could  only  escape  by 
retiring  to  a  dreamland  within  himself.  There  he  found  the  eloqnenw 
which  enabled  him  to  give  old  truths  the  freshness  of  a  spring  bloom. 
His  eyes,  as  if  drawn  in  from  behind,  have  the  look  which  we  fixvdisa 
cholera  patient  who  is  past  recoverj%  There  is  also  a  cjueroloas 
expression  which,  if  it  robs  the  head  of  dignity,  testities  to  the 
sculptor's  veracity. 


1890]      MUTE    WITNESSES   OF  THE   REVOLUTION. 


869 


On  a  panel  facing  the  door  kept  by  these  two  illustrious  janitors, 
we  find  proof  that  tradespeople  made  use  of  the  events  of  the  Revo- 
lution to  make  business  hits.  A  piece  of  printed  Jouy  cotton  is 
stretched  on  the  panel ;  the  prints  are  in  red,  brown,  and  grey,  on  a 
white  ground,  and  illustrate  the  rejoicings  at  the  fall  of  the  Bastille. 
That  prison  fortress  is  all  but  demolished,  and  the  rubbish  is  being 
cleared  away.  No  cotton  printer  of  our  time  would  pack  such  a 
variety  of  designs  into  a  space  of  a  few  yards  square.  Parties  of 
pleasure  visit  the  ruins,  cross  a  drawbridge,  unfurl  flags,  dance, 
embrace,  drink  coffee,  atid  read  gazettes  at  little  tables.  Elegantly 
dressed  ladies  wheel  rubbish  away  in  barrows.  A  fever  of  demolition 
has  taken  hold  of  men  who  tear  down  walls.  Costumes  mark  the 
date  1790.  The  Marie  Antoinette  style  is  not  yet  out,  but  it  is 
going,  going,  and  soon  will  be  gone. 

This  Jouy  cotton  was  intended  as  a  substitute  for  tapestry.  A 
treaty  of  commerce  was  concluded  between  France  and  England  a 
few  years  before  the  Revolution.  The  competition  of  English  cottona 
and  pt)ttcry  had  already  put  the  French  upon  their  mettle.  It  was 
complained  that,  while  France  bought  largely  these  wares  of  England, 
England  bought  but  little  S<>vre8,  Bourg  la  Reine,  Nevers,  or  Rouen 
porcelain  and  faience,  because  they  were  too  dear,  A  means  of 
taking  the  wind  out  of  the  Englisli  sails  was  hit  upon  by  French 
potters  in  the  Revolution.  It  was  to  give  the  interest  of  actuality  to 
vessels  in  coarse  clays,  which  would  be  within  the  reach  of  persons 
of  small  means.  They  carried  out  their  idea,  and  a  great  number  of 
pictorial  plates,  dishes,  salad-bowla  and  barber's  dishes  frame  the 
square  of  Jouy  cotton,  and  help  to  illustrate  episodes  of  the  Revolution. 
They  belong  to  liu'  famous  Champfleury  collection. 

Voltaii-e  and  Rousseau  occupy  the  largest  space  in  the  Pre- 
cursors' Hall.  Both  great  men  are  in  many  subject-pictures.  Fancy 
has  nrj  part  in  those  of  Voltaire,  who  often  gave  hospitality  to 
artists.  One  of  them  did  for  him  from  life  a  pictare  of  the  Colas 
family,  wliich  is  here.  But  imagination  runs  riot  in  most  of  the 
Bubject^pictures  about  Rousseau.  There  are  cursory  sketches  of 
Voltaire  in  pen  and  ink  worth  close  study.  Obviously  they  were 
also  done  from  life,  and  perhaps  he  was  not  aware  when  the  artists' 
pencil  was  busy  setting  down  his  traits  that  he  was  being  sketched. 
His  visage  is  worn  away,  bis  mouth  sunken  from  want  of  teeth,  and 
Uie  body  attenuated  and  bent.  A  few  lines  mark  the  contour  of  jaw, 
strong  cheek-ljoncs.  nose,  forehead,  and  goggle  eyes,  which  are  still 
watchful,  bright,  and  eager,  and,  it  may  surprise  many  to  hear, 
strangely  and  lieautifully  soft.  Indeed^  all  the  harshness  lies  around 
th«f  mouth.  In  another  sketch  he  is  writing,  and  l(X)ks  as  though 
he  knew  that  vitriol  ilowed  from  his  pen.  A  jwrtrait  of  him 
in    pftstcla   of   singnlar    charm   was    done    when    lie   was    n    young 


872 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  RE  VIE  IV. 


[.II 


had  devoted  lady-friende,  to  judge  from  the  knick-knacks  they 
gave  him.  Among  these  objects  we  find  a  portfolio  with  vellunj 
leaves  within,  and  green  silk  without.  A  miniature  of  himself  of 
rare  beauty,  too,  is  painted  on  one  of  the  leaves.  Sauvage  pintiL 
A  garland  of  flowers  serves  to  frame  the  head  :  they  are  in  the  trim 
style  of  the  day,  by  Madame  Vallayer  Coster,  the  donor.  The  Pre- 
cursors of  the  Revolution  owed  much  to  the  sympathy  of  women. 

CagliostTo  ranks  as  a  Precursor.  He  was  certainly  a  dissolmg 
ferment  in  French  society  just  before  the  Revolution,  and  strikes  ooe 
as  a  powerfully  blatant  impostor.  Cagliostro  was  the  Mirabean  of 
charlatanism.      His  portrait  is  like  Mirabeau's. 

Lafayette    is    handed    down    to    us    m    an    engraving    by   Paon, 

"war  painter  to  his  Highness   the   Prince   of  Cond^,"   as  he  may 

have  wished  himself  to  be  shown  to  posterity,  and  as  the  hourgfoisU 

of  Paris  expected   to  see  him  when  he  was   "  camp  marshal  to  the 

king,  and  commander  of  the  national  guard."     Lafayette,  a  finical, 

natty  person,  stands  before  a  neighing  war-horse  (which  is  held  by  a 

negro    man-servap.t)    in    an    American    N'olunteer    uniform   and  the 

feathered  hat  of  a   French  nobleman.     His  wide  brim,  is  thatchfti 

all   round  with  ostrich  feathers,  the  ends  of  which  droop  over  the 

brim.     The  general  points  towards  an  army  which  marches  in  the 

direction  of  a  bay  filled  with  transport-vessels,  but  his  eyes  look  in 

an  opposite  direction.     The  letterpress  tells  us  that — 

"  L'Amf'riqne  etait  asseme 
Ce  h<'Tos  vint  briser  sen  fers 
Son  suoces  nu  dela  des  mers 
Presageait  ceux  de  la  I'atrie." 

Near  to  Lafayette  is  a  picture  of  the  last  lit  (i.e.,  lecture  w 
reading)  of  justice.  (Carlyle,  by-the-by,  translates  lit  de  jvMi» 
"  bed  of  justice,"  as  he  translated  serviettes — i.e.,  portfolios  of  th« 
judges  and  councillors  of  the  Parliament  of  Paris — "  towels.")  Loois 
is  perched  up  on  a  throne  in  a  comer,  on  a  lofty,  and,  to  modem 
eyes,  grotesque  scaffolding  covered  with  Jieur-dc-lys  cloth.  There 
is  no  access,  save  from  behind,  to  his  perch.  One  of  his  brothers 
sits  on  a  step  at  the  edge  of  the  scaffolding.  The  position  is  an 
uneasy  one,  there  being  no  baluster,  and  the  top  of  the  last  st«p 
being,  perhaps,  seven  feet  from  the  ground.  The  Duo  d'Orleans 
protests,  with  the  judges,  against  the  king's  order  to  register  what  has 
been  read  in  his  name.  They  are  drawing  down  thnnderbolts  upon 
themselves  and  on  the  monarchy  with  light  hearts,  not  knowing  what 
they  do. 

And  80  we  come  to  Washington  as  a  young  colonel  of  the  United 
States  Militia,  and  also  as  a  soldier  under  Braddock  in  tlie  service  \A 
King  George,  whose  weakness  he  learned  when  serving  him  a^ntf 
the  French  in  Ohio.  I  deem  it  a  piece  of  good  inck  to  havr  hod  mj" 
former  impressions  of  Washington  corrected  by.  this  portrait.     By  th^ 


i89o]      MUTE    WITNESSES    OF   THE   REVOLUTION.       873 


time  he  was  raised  to  the  dignity  of  Fathf^r  of  liis  Country,  his  counte- 
nance was  spoiled  by  an  ill-fitting  set  of  falae  teetli  (Americau  dentistry 
not  yet  existing).  We  have  him  among  the  mute  witnesses  in  a  large 
oval  water-colour  miniature,  done  on  rough  paper,  and  in  the  Frt^nch 
style  ot  the  time.  Washington,  under  Bratldock,  took  a  good  many 
French  prisoners.  It  is  possible  that  there  was  one  among  them  who 
knew  how  to  paint  a  good  portrait.  The  American  patriot  in  this 
miniature  is  a  young  man,  and  ought  to  be  a  man  of  strong  impulses  and 
passions,  held  well  in  hand.  There  is  no  constrainnd  set  expression  in 
the  under- part  of  the  face,  and  there  is  manly  beauty  and  dignity  in  the 
whole  head.  You  get  at  once  into  sympathetic  feeling  '»\-ith  the  Colonel, 
who  must  be  as  courageous  a.s  he  is  thoughtful  and  judicious.  The  hazel 
eyes,  accustomed  to  watch  for  ambushes  of  French  and  Indians  in  a  wild 
country,  have  an  eagle  glance  that  scours  the  horizon.  Washington  was 
an  eager  as  well  as  a  judicious  man.  He  shrank  from  no  responsibility 
when  once  he  saw  his  way  to  do  a  daring  thing  which  it  was  well  to 
venture  upon.  The  hair  is  leas  carefully  brushed  than  in  most  of 
Washington's  portraits,  and  grows  from  the  scalp,  though  young  men 
wore  wigs  when  he  was  sent  to  Fort  Ohio.  There  is  a  slight  dust  of 
powder  on  it.  George,  the  founder  of  the  United  States,  followed 
the  gentlemanly  modes  of  his  time  at  a  distance.  Possibly  he  might 
have  evolved  into  George  the  First  of  the  Kingdom  of  America,  if 
about  the  time  he  sat  for  this  sketchy  likeness  he  had  not  been  jilted. 
We  may  assume  that  his  lady-love  was  insensible  to  those  qualities 
which  make  him  to  our  eyes  the  greatest  political  man  of  his  century 
and  the  idol  of  the  Americans.  Mrs.  Martha  Custis,  when  he  married 
her,  had  gone  through  a  sobering  experience  of  life,  and  learned 
wisdom  in  that  school.  Her  head  was  as  solid  as  her  husband's,  and 
she  was  appreciative  of  the  quiet  happiness  of  her  lot  as  the  wife 
of  a  Virginian  planter  of  mental  and  moral  worth,  and  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  a  fair  opulence.  We  do  not  hear  enough  of  Mrs.  Washington. 
No  vestige  of  her  is  to  be  found  among  the  relics  with  which  I  deal. 

Franklin,  according  to  Greuze,  is  also  widely  different  from  the  prosaic 
patriarch  of  the  United  States  postage-stamps  and  from  most  of  his 
other  portraits.  In  him  and  Washington  there  is  a  characteristic  ex- 
pression that  I  do  not  find  in  a  single  great  Frenchman  of  their  time. 
They  were  Ixith  weighted  by  a  sense  of  their  responsibilities,  purposeful, 
patient,  and  self-reliant,  and  Washington  was  high  hearted.  All  thia 
told  in  their  physiognomies.  Madame  Roland  truly  said  that  th« 
tyranny  of  the  Monarchy  for  eleven  centuries  left  no  place  for  stead- 
fastnrfs  in  the  French  character.  Wit  £ind  quick  apprehension  were 
the  paramount  qualities,  and  wit  too  often  was  degraded  to  ribaldry. 
She  attributed  the  crimes  of  the  Revolution  to  want  of  moral  courage. 
The  upper  classes  lacked  backbone.  Franklin,  as  he  looked  to  Grenze, 
interesting  and  strong  countenance.     A  thoughtful  habit  is 


874 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEH'. 


[Jon 


shown  in  deep-set,  brown  eyes.  His  face  explains  better  than  his 
writings  why  he  was  so  successful  a  negotiator,  and  made  his  w»y 
s«i  far  in  a  society  which,  if  corrupt  and  light-headed,  was  (juick  to 
perceive  and  penetrate, 

*' Scenes  from  the  War  of  Independence,"  in  another  square  piece  ol 
Jouy  cotton,  are  placed  near  a  grisaille  representing  a  marble  bust  of 
Washington  as  Fatiier  of  his  Country.  The  bust  is  supported  by  t 
spread  eagle,  and  belonged  to  Lafayette.  The  scenes  a^<^  fancdfal, 
bnt  give  insight  into  French  consciousness  on  the  subject  of  America. 
It  was  then  pictured  as  a  tropical  paradise,  inhabited  by  planters, 
elegant  ladies,  aud  joyous  negro  slaves,  all  of  whom  Lafayette  and 
his  troops  released  from  British  tyranny. 

How  far  away  In  the  past  seems  a  letter  of  the  Marquis  de  Dreiuc 
Br^zO,  the  Grand  Master  of  the  Ceremonies,  who  drew  down  with 
flippant  levity  the  first  thunderbolt  which  fell  upon  the  monarchy. 
This  document  relates  to  the  ceremonial  to  be  observed  at  the  Assembly 
of  Notables,  held  in  the  Palace  of  Versailles  in  1787  and  in  1788. 
Discontent  was  fast  rising  in  the  provinces  in  those  years..  Side  br 
side  with  Dreux  BrSzS's  letter,  a  seditions  placard  hangs  on  the  wall 
It  was  stuck  on  a  pillar  of  the  wheat-market  at  Pamiers,  on  December 
5,  1787,  to  stir  up  that  burg  to  revolt  against  capitalists  and  high 
officials  accused  of  being  engaged  in  forestalling  operations  in  cereals 
(Apacti)  (h  famine).  Paris  was  in  a  similar  mood,  and  a  mob  burned  tie 
guard-house  of  the  Place  Dauphine.  Ladiea'  fans  in  that  year  wcw 
turned  into  arms  against  the  Court,  and  hinted  at  the  revelations  <d 
Madame  de  la  Motte  which  had  come  out  in  London.  There  is  a  ian 
decorated  with  a  too-transparent  allegory,  making  the  Queen  out  t« 
be  the  associate  of  a  gang  of  knaves  engaged  in  the  diamond-neddaoF 
swindle.  Truth  absolves  Cardinal  de  Rohan  of  complicity  in  robbing 
the  jewellers  Boemer  and  Bossange.  How  tongues  must  have  dealt  in 
»can.  vmg.  when  that  fan  was  flirted !  Pictorial  squibs,  more  or  1«» 
ribald,  are  to  bo  found  in  the  hall  of  the  Precursors  of  the  Hevolutioa 
Some  are  clever,  some  far-fetched,  some  stupid,  and  all  done  on  coars? 
paper.  Voltaire  and  Rousseau  are  exalted,  and  the  episcopacy,  wbow 
members  are  wealthy  and  corrupt,  are  lampooned,  bnt  with  constraint, 
for  fear  of  consequences.  There  is  a  wide  difference  between  the  taigid 
allusions  of  the  lampoons  of  1787  and  the  straight  hits  of  Manl' 
PAini  cIh  Pciiph  of  three  years  later,  or  the  direct  hammering 
U  Ph'e  DticJUsnr,  whoso  editor  had  studied  the  vices  of  the  axisti 
as  a  valet.  In  one  of  the  "  precursor  "  squibs,  "  La  sottise  buroain* 
est  cit^e  an  tribunal  de  D^mocrite  par  Tennemi  dn  sang  et  Tami  d" 
lx)n  sen.s."'  Another  is,  "  Une  -iVllegorie  de  la  liaison  reprfeenf^'f  "' 
grande  guerre  centre  les  areopot  ites  [the  clergy]  ou  les  m; 
de  Tair  qui  sacrifient  le  Dieu  de  la  Nature  an  LHeu  de  rfieolf.  Vul 
et  Roupseau,  grands  £vang6listes  de  la  Religion  tftemelle,  qui. 


iSgo]      MUTE    iriTNBSSES    OF   THE   REVOLUTION,       875 


J^SQS  lui-meme,  consisto  dans  I'amour  de  Dieu  et  des  hommee,  voyant 
rfiglise  bati  sur  la  pointe  d'une  aiguille  la  poussent  de  leura  plumes  et 
la  font  chanc«ler."  Later  on  there  is  a  consultation  between  a  bishop 
and  a  notary  ;  the  bishop,  in  return  for  some  millions  that  ho  want* 
to  enjoy,  ofters  a  mortgage  on  an  estate  in  another  world.  "  C'est  une 
garantie  insufRsante,"  says  the  notary;  "I  must  advise  my  clients  not 
to  lend  the  money." 

Mrs.  Partington  keeping  out  the  tide  with  a  mop  was  hardly 
more  unreasonable  than  the  Lady  Ai'tists  of  Paris,  who,  in  the  hope  of 
covering  the  public  delicit,  carried  their  trinkets  and  silver  spoons  to 
the  Altar  of  the  Country,  or,  in  plain  language,  to  the  Bureau  of  the 
National  Assembly.  Les  Dames  Artistes  are  in  elegant  apparel. 
Some  of  them  njount  the  bureau  with  their  offerings.  Deputies  on 
the  floor  hasten  to  set  armchairs  on  which  the  ladies  may  sit  while 
the  President  harangues  them  :  the  galleries  are  packed  with  spec- 
tators, who  applaud.  The  gifts  are  childish  in  their  slendernesa, 
and  perhaps  merely  an  occasion  for  the  givers  to  win  a  little  pro- 
minence. All  seem  to  play  a  part  in  an  elegant  comedy.  Tho 
Furies  had  not  yet  banished  Thalia  from  the  scene. 

We  mount  the  stairs,  and  find  at  the  top  Mirabean  on  an  "  Altar 
of  the  Country,"  Altars  of  the  country  ."sprang  up  in  the  public 
places  between  1789  and  1794,  when  the  Itevolutioiiary  tide  began 
to  ebb.  ]klirabeau  appears  a&  he  was,  a  blusterer  of  geniha  and  an 
arrant  posturer.  He  was  only  ballasted  by  love  of  money.  His 
clumsily-shaped  body  was  the  incarnation  of  the  tempest.  When  he 
was  popular,  his  roughly  blocked-out  head  was  made  to  serve  for 
decorating  pottery  statuettes,  and  busts  of  him  were  made  in  S<ivTe8 
biscuit,  plaster,  bronze,  marble,  Rouen  delf  and  terra-cotta.  These 
objects  are  displayed  on  the  Altar  of  the  Country,  The  cast  ^^^there  also) 
of  his  seamed  face,  taken  after  death,  was  regarded  as  a  sacred  object, 
but.  on  the  discovery  of  his  "  g^and  treason,*'  was  flung  aside  as 
recalling  one  whose  memory  deserved  to  rot.  I  know  of  nothing  in 
pictorial  art  so  bombastic  as  "  The  Death  of  Aiirabeau,"  which  is  too 
elaborately  engi-aved  not  to  have  bt-en  intended  for  rich  buurrfmis.  I 
BBsame  it  was  for  them,  because  the  aristocracy  did  not  like  bombast. 
There  is  a  perfect  Olympus  of  Allegorical  figures  which  are  not  trusted 
to  explain  themselves.     This  is  what  is  said  for  them  : — 

•*  Lo  France  "  (who  wears  a  royal  crown  and  a  mantle  studded 
with  fleurs  de  lyf<)  "en  pK-urs  tomoigue  ses  regrets,  et  semble  faire  dew 
eflbrts  pour  arraclier  au  tripos  I'homme  celebre  qu'on  voit  represent/^ 
sur  le  lit  de  mort"  (a  flag  on  the  top  of  steps),  "mais  I'heure  fatale  est 

men  ct  la  Par(|ne  olV'it  au  Destin.     Mirabeau  in<1i(|uo  en   mourant 

coupableft  uuteura  des  troubles  qui  agitent  le  royanme,  et  la  veritt;, 
soul<"vant  nn  coin  da  voile  laissc  apercevoir  une  horde  de  factienx  se 
debris  du  TrOne  oo'ils  s'efforcent  de  renverser ;   mais  ' 


876 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


tJnn 


foudre  6clat«  et  vient  frappef  les  perfides  ennemis  des  lois  et  de  la 
f^licitfi  publique."  Death  is  behind  weeping  France  :  Fame  w-ip^s 
sway  a  tear  and  prepares  to  blow  her  trumpet.  Time  crowned  with 
stare  points  to  a  tablet  which  is  as  if  about  to  fall  from  Mirabeau's 
hands.  Thereon  is  written  his  declaration,  made  when  he  had  taken 
ft  bribe  from  the  Court : — "  Je  oombatrai  les  factieux  de  quelqne 
parti  qu'ila  soient,  de  quelque  cote  qu'ils  se  trouvent."  Amoretti 
weep  as  this  resonant  phrase  falls  from  the  orator's  month. 

Mirabeau's  was  the  first  of  a  series  of  political  funerals  carried 
on  through  a  period  of  a  hundred  years.  This  kind  of  apotheosis  was 
unknown  in  France  before  his  death.  Dav-id,  then  struggling  up,  was 
the  initiator  of  the  grand  theatrical  funeral  for  which  the  streets  of 
Paris  have  so  often  ser%''ed  as  a  stage. 

A  triumphant  Liberty,  belonging  to  the  Rheims  museum,  overshadows 
the  Altar  of  the  Country.  The  room  next  to  the  lobby  is  devoted  to 
the  royal,  victims  offered  thereupon — namely,  Louis  X^^.  and  his 
family.  Of  these  royal  personages  there  is  a  variety  of  portraits, 
autographs,  and  other  relics.  Nearly  every  one  has  seen  busts 
of  Marie  Antoinette.  A  particular  one  at  this  Exhibition  betrays 
just  a  touch  of  silliness  which  I  have  not  noticed  in  anj 
other.  Yet,  what  nobility  in  her  mien  !  Her  husband's  bust '  is 
idealised ;  but  one  feels  as  if  really  in  his  presence  when  one 
stands  before  a  portrait  of  him  by  Grenze,  who  makes  him  obese, 
homely,  kindly,  with  pale-blue  eyes  (in  the  comer  of  which  there 
is  the  ghost  of  a  sly  twinkle),  and  gives  him  a  vast  expanse  of  enn- 
burned  fleshy  face.  A  bro\vn  print,  in  which  he  wears  a  red  cap  of 
liberty  and  a  cockade  excites  pity — he  is  so  resigned  and  good-natured. 
"  Monsieui',"  his  brother,  wearing  the  Order  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  is  of  a 
cynical  countenance.  His  sister,  Madame  Elizabeth,  whose  stiffly-erect 
and  slender  neck  is  to  pass  under  the  axe  of  the  guillotine,  has  the 
duck-bill  retrou3s6  nose  of  her  grandmother,  Marie  Leczenska.  and 
generally  resembles  her,  but  on  a  small  pattern.  She  is  upright  in 
carriage,  and  of  an  ordinary  intellect,  but  is  about  the  most  heroic 
characti^r  of  the  Revolution,  and  certainly  the  most  simple  in  her  sab- 
mission  to  duty,  and  to  the  dictates  of  sisterly  affection.  The  hair  of 
this  princess  w  dressed  high.  Madame  Royale,  a  girl  of  nine,  ari'  »'  - 
image  of  her  mother  (who  treated  !ier  with  severity),  is  in  the  i. 
group.  Later  in  life,  her  contour  took  an  expression  of  mascalioa 
harshness,  and  her  voice  became  a  rough  and  deep  bass.  A  tnv- 
house,  built  in  dark-grey  cardboard,  and  having  windows  of  »rir9 
net-work,  stands  nearer,  and  suggests  prison  gloom.  The  King  and 
Dauphin  made  it  for  the  amusement  of  the  latter  when  they  ire 
virtual  prisoners  at  the  Tuilories.  The  ladies  beguiled  the  tediam 
their  captivity  with  needlework.  Elizabeth  was  expert  witli  bef 
needle,  and  taught  her  niece,  of  whose  handiwork  there  is  a  spedmMj 


i89o]      MUTE    WITNESSES    OF   THE   REVOLUTION.        877 


in  a  bit  of  feather-stitch  embroidery.  Yon  miniature  of  the  guillotine, 
which  stands  beside  a  model  of  the  Bastille,  cut  out  of  a  stone  of 
that  State-prison,  is  no  toy,  but  a  model,  by  Schmidtj  submitted  by 
Doctor  Guillotin,  "  physician  in  ordinary  to  the  King,"  to  Louis,  who 
improved  its  mechanism  by  changing  the  shape  of  the  blade. 

Guillotjn  himself,  as  well  as  his  machine,  was  a  good  deal  pictured 
on  cheap  delf.  A  miniature  of  him  has  come  down  with  the  other 
fiotsam  and  jetsam  of  the  Revolution.  It  gives  us  the  idea  of  a 
correct,  jvidicious  practitioner  with  the  half-closed  eye  of  one  who  is 
mentally  thinking  out  some  problem.  He  was  always  improving  his 
surgical  instruments  in  order  to  abridge  pain  by  rapidity  in  operating, 
and  thought  to  minimize  it  at  capital  executions.  The  principle  of 
equality  was  to  be  demonstrated  by  the  guillotine,  since  king,  nobles,  and 
sans  culottes  were  to  lose  their  heads  by  Dr.  Guillotin's  process.  Hia 
small  model  of  his  head-lopping  machine  is  near  hia  miniature,  and  '*  ia 
quite  equal  to  cutting  off  a  man's  finger  " — a  ix)liceman  says  who  works 
it  to  oblige  visitors.  Samson,  the  public  executioner,  we  Und,  took  sniiif. 
His  snuff-box,  of  plain  brass,  is  on  view  also.  Further  on  are 
grusoiue  relics,  such,  for  instance,  as  a  handkerchief  steeped  in  Marie 
Antoinette's  blood.  Instruments  of  torture,  which  fell  into  disuse 
for  ever  at  the  Revolution,  are  grouped  round  the  guillotine,  which 
perhaps  was  used  as  much  as  it  was  by  the  llevulutionists  because  if,  was 
a  novelty.  It  killed  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  Finishing  off  the 
King  and  Queen  gave  it  prestige,  and  made  it  the  rage  as  a  gi'atis 
spectacle.     An  old  evil  is  most  dangerous  in  a  new  form. 

Of  poor  little  Louis  XVII.  there  is  a  heartrending  portrait  taken 
when  he  was  under  Simon's  care  ;  a  blight  has  come  over  him,  making 
hia  features  pinched  and  peaky,  and  sinking  his  eyes,  which  have 
grown  furtive,  in  their  sockets.  The  lids  are  scorbutic.  A  frill,  in 
too  much  need  of  the  laundress,  falls  over  hia  black  jacket,  on  which 
hia  trowsera  are  buttoned.  But  a  short  time  ago  he  was  painted 
fiitting  on  a  mossy  bank  beneath  a  wild-rose  thicket  in  the  Trianon 
'ark,  and  Madame  de  Polignac,  bis  governess,  cutting  roses  to  throw 
lem  into  his  uplifted  hands.  An  artless  fellow- painting  shows  the 
queen,  elegantly  dressed,  with  her  children  and  her  Italian  greyhound,  in 
herTrianon  farm-yard,  watc-hing  a  maid  milk  a  cow,  and  surrounded  by  a 
cock,  hens,  geese,  goslings,  and  milk-pails.  In  no  memoirs  have  w«>  read 
that  the  ill-starred  (^ueen  was  fond  of  dogs,  but  in  tliese  pictorial  relics 
we  Boe  many  testimonies  that  she  was.  A  spaniel  enters  charmingly 
into  a  family  group,  also  in  the  Trianon  Park,  and  is  the  only  being  in 
it  that  is  really  free  from  a  simpering  affectation  of  simplicity.  Her 
]\[aje8ty,  sitting  on  a  knoll  at  the  foot  of  a  gnarled  oak,  holds  with  one 
hand  her  boy  on  her  knee,  and  passes  the  other  round  the  neck  of  the 
king,  who  reclines  beside  her.  An  infant — tlje  child  who  was  doojned 
to  perish  in  the  Temple — casta  bread-crumbs  to  a  flock  of  goslings, 


878 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


ti 


which  may  liave  been  purposely  separated  from  the  parent  goose  aod 
gander,  which  are  not  to  be  seen  ;  and  an  elegant  lady,  with  head  on 
Bhoulder,  looks  on  in  ecstasies.  The  juvenile  princess  royal  dancee 
a  measure,  with  toe  far  pointed  out,  for  the  amusement  of  the  spaniel, 
which  frisks  about  her.  Rousseau,  badly  assimilated,  underlies  the 
composition.  Artists,  to  be  in  fashion,  Rousseaa-ized  the  pictures 
ordered  of  them  by  august  and  illustrious  patrons.  Madame  Vigi8« 
Le  Bruu  was  one  of  the  few  persons  in  relations  with  the  Conrt  who  wa* 
not  bitten  by  the  mania,  and  preferred  la  science  du  chiton  to  sham 
rusticities.  An  engraving,  fine  as  a  vignette,  of  the  fiction-foonded- 
upon-fact  character,  and  dedicated  by  permission  to  the  queen,  giw« 
her  seated  on  a  rock  facing  the  Trianon  gat«*.  She  re«t«  her  ami 
languidly  on  the  stnmp  of  a  tree.  A  gentleman  behind  lier — not  tb*" 
king — h-ans  forward  in  a  sontimental  attitude.  Courtiers  are  grouped 
round  ;  a  few  of  the  ladies  sit  on  the  gi'ass  ;  gentlemen,  fanning  them, 
talk  into  their  ears.  The  queen  is  aitnidri  either  by  what  is  said  to 
her,  or  by  the  performance  of  the  strolling  company  of  Savoyards 
and  their  dogs  and  monkeys  on  the  gravel  sweep  at  the  gate,  Tlie 
realism  of  the  Htrollers  jars  with  the  sentimentality  of  the  Coort. 
Beneath  th*'  varnish  of  Eousseati-ism  one  truth  is  perceptible — ^namely, 
that  flirtatifin  was  thi>  grand  pastime  at  the  Trianon,  where  the  king 
only  camf'  bv  epccial  invitation. 

The  l^rincess  He  Lamballe,  «/*•  Princess  de  iSavoy  Corignau.  and 
great-aunt  of  Victor  Emmanuel,  in  a  degree  belongs  to  "  the  Royal 
Family,"'  and  is  the  most  poetized  martyr  of  the  Revolution.  Mari» 
Theresa  objected  to  her  intimate  companionship  with  the  queen,  because 
of  her  hyper-sensibility,  which  made  her  faint  when,  one  day  boating 
at  Choisy  with  Marie  Antoinette,  a  man  fell  out  of  their  boat  into  the 
Seine  and  was  drowned.  Tbt-  German  Empress  (who  be  it  remem- 
bered urged  Marie  Antoinette  to  be-  friendly  to  Madame  du  Barri 
when  the  latter  was  the  Sultana  of  Louis  XV.)  thought  it  disgracr- 
ful  to  faint  when  a  drowning  man  was  to  be  rescued.  P*re3ence  of 
mind  would  have  been  noble,  whereas  the  over-mastery  of  head  br 
nerves  was  contemptible.  We  must  get  rid  of  the  idea  of  the  l*rinorsJ 
de  Lamballo's  beauty,  fostered  by  the  photographs  of  her  sold  is 
Paris  printshops.  A  mute  witness  in  the  form  of  a  largo  oval  poitnit, 
coloured  m  chalks,  establishes  that  she  was  jilain,  and  had  a  com- 
plexion to  match  with  sandy  hair,  and  was  of  the  Savoy  Carignan,  or 
House  of  Italy,  ty]X>.  Though  her  features  are  ordinary,  she  has 
a  vulgar  face.  In  this  portrait  there  is  bitterness  beneath  her 
and  a  spice  of  primness  in  her  bearing.  A  stiffly-garlanded  hat  is  a(* 
on  the  side  of  her  high-dressed,  powdered  hair.  When  she  found 
herself  supplanted  by  the  Duchess  do  Polignac  in  thf  queen's  fattwr. 
she  wept  till  she  thought  the  source  of  her  tears  dried  up.  Hsr 
grievance  might  have  been  fresh  when  those  flowers  were  being  won* 


i8go]      MUTE    WITNESSES    OF  THE    REVOLUTION.        879 


into  tlie  wreath  for  her  hat.  The  wierd  she  had  to  dree  was  one  of 
hearfc-bittemess,  ending  in  grueaome  tragedy.  Married  to  the  heir 
of  the  richest  no])lemaii  in.  France,  she  was  a,  widow  at  the  age  of 
eighteen.  Her  husband,  who  was  not  much  her  senior,  died  of 
debaucherj'.  All  her  affections  were  then  vested  in  the  qneen,  of 
whom  she  became,  during  several  years,  the  confidante  and  daily 
companion.  The  poor  princess,  when  the  royal  faiuily  were  prisoners, 
came  back  from  a  place  of  safety  abroad,  to  see  how  she  could  serve 
them.  Her  head  was  for  the  last  time  seen  by  her  royal  mistress, 
held  np  on  a  pike  before  a  window  in  the  Temple. 

As  a  set-off  against  the  Temple  relics,  comprising  a  model  of 
that  prison-like  castle  made  in  dark  cardboard  by  the  Dauphin, 
there  are  other  objects  which  at  one  time  set  blood  boiling  in 
France.  They  are  the  tools  made  by  Latude,  and  the  ladder, 
manufactured  out  of  his  bedclothes,  by  means  of  which  he  escaped 
from  the  Bastille.  A  deep  window-niche  is  given  up  to  documents 
relating  to  the  taking  of  that  fortress  prison,  to  padlocks  of  cells 
made  by  clumsy  smiths  who  thought  ponderousness  a  guarantee  for 
security.  Turgot's  great-grandson  lent  the  portrait  of  that  eco- 
nomist and  administrator,  who  foresaw  that  a  grinding  _/Wf  would  be 
as  ruinous  to  the  French  Monarchy  as  it  was  to  the  Roman  Empire. 
What  is  80  remarkable  in  Turgot  as  here  portrayed  is  that  he  looks 
not  the  business  man  whom  we  conceive  him,  but  a  man  of  imagina- 
tion. Is  it  iwssible,  without  the  imagination  which  enables  one  to  put 
oneself  in  the  place  of  others,  to  be  an  earnest  and  eager  reformer  ? 

Events  came  and  went  so  fast  between  the  opening  of  the  States- 
General  and  the  seizure  of  the  king  and  queen  in  their  palace,  as  to 
keep  on  the  alert  all  who  wanted  to  chronicle  them  with  pen  or  pencil. 
They  had  to  hit  their  birds  on  the  wing.  Camille  Desmoulins  wrote 
,•  legible  and  even  hand  before  the  Revolution.  But  in  the  hot 
laste  in  which  he  had  later  to  jot  down  his  impres.sions  it  appears  to 
have  got  disjointed,  snaggled,  and  scratchy.  We  are  enabled  to  see 
what  manner  of  countenance  he  had.  Well,  he  was  a  hcau  laid,  sallow, 
Inntern-jawed,  and  wide-mouthed,  but  with  a  glorious  pair  of  black 
eyes,  though  one  of  them  slightly  squinted.  Camille  was  one  of  the 
three  or  four  who,  in  1789.  thought  of  and  hoped  for  a  Republic. 
His  classical  books  which  he  used  at  school  are  scored  with  pen  and 
ink,  in  passages  relating  to  the  grandeur  of  Republican  Rome. 
A  deputy's  order  for  the  sitting  of  the  Assembly  on  Oct/>ber  5,  1780, 
At  Versailles,  is  signed  by  Dr.  Guillotin.  We  see  in  other  wreckage 
thrown  up  by  the  sea  of  oblivion  bow  the  Revolution  struck  those 
who  watched  its  course.  At  the  start,  there  was  much  aiming  at  effect 
and  stAginess,  Tritles  connected  with  point.s  of  etiquette  were 
thought  of  prime  importance  by  the  Court,  which  snubbed  and  tea-ied 
the  deputies  of  the  people  rather  than  oppressed  tlietn.     A  pattern 


880 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


tJvxx 


■mantle,  which  the  Grand  Chamberlain  insisted  on  their  adopting  for 
their  official  costume,  is  in  coarse,  black  serge,  and  resembles  a  pinafore 
worn  behind  instead  of  before.  Qaite  a  gallery  of  likenesses  in  black 
and  white  bring  down  to  us  the  faces  of  the  men  who  were  emerging 
from  obscurity  into  public  life.  **  The  Tennis  Court  Oath,"  depicted 
at  the  time,  does  not  impress  one  with  a  high  idea  of  the  sincerity  of 
those  who  took  it.  They  attitudinise  too  much  to  be  really  in  earnest. 
Did  they  mean  it  to  divert  from  the  palace  the  anger  of  the  crowd 
that  raged  in  the  streets  outside  ?     Probably. 

We  obtain  a  glimpse  of  the  social  condition  of  France,  as  the 
Monarchy  was  toppling,  by  scanning  the  sumptuary  relics.  Gentle- 
jueu  dressed  in  richer  stuffs  and  in  as  bright  colours  as  ladies.  The 
lay  figures  clad  in  the  coats  and  waistcoats  of  men  of  rank  have  to 
onr  eye  a  fancy-ball  character.  One  elfect  of  the  Revolution  was  to 
plunge  the  manhood  of  the  civilised  world  into  black.  Muscadins 
and  Incroyables  react«?d  against  this  in  a  spirit  of  levity,  and  Napoleoa, 
as  Emperor,  in  the  spirit  of  a  snob.  His  Imperial  trappings  are  now 
absurd,  and  in  his  own  time  must  have  excited  the  derision  of  men 
like  Talleyrand. 

Louis  XVI.,  so  long  as  he  was  thought  favourable  to  consLitutioiud 
and  fiscal  reform,  was  simply  adored  by  his  subjects.      Here  he  ia  on 
a  medallion  of  biscuit  porcelain — "  the  father  of  his  people,  the  restorer 
of  French  liberties  "  (when  did  they  ever  exist  ?  ) ;  "  the  protector  of 
trades   and  handicrafts,    tlie  Whit-esmith  King,  and  the  godfather  of 
the  American  Republic."     He  is  lauded  for  having  set  an  example 
of  respect  for  labour  iu  having  the  Dauphin  taught  the   use  of  car- 
penter's tools  and  of  a  turning  lathe.     The  poor  boy's  little  plane  asd 
bench  are  among  the  wreckage  collected  in  this  Exhibition.     I  not*, 
as  I  read  the  time-stained  laudations  of  Louis  XVI.,  that  his  wife's 
name  does  not  appear  in  them.     But   "  Madame  Veto "  is  alwiys 
coupled  with  liim  from   the  moment  loyalty  to  the  king  cools  and 
the  suspicion  arises  of  his  playing  a  double  game.     The  roiling  and 
ribald  spli-it   of  the  eighteenth  century   is  then  especially  dir^itcd 
against  the  queen.    A  Carruthera  Gould,  of  1791,  illustrates  a  popular 
song,  having  for  its  burden  theu'  alleged  plan  to  escape  abroad.    Tin' 
king's  head  is  on  a  cock's  body,  the  queen's  on  a  hen's.     Tlie  nniu 
pair  are  Monsieur  et  Madame  Coco.      She  thus  advises  him  ; 

.4ir— "Oui,  Oni." 

"  Coco  prends  ta  lunette, 
Ne  vois  tn  pas,  dis  moi, 
li'orape  qui  s'apprt'fe. 
Ft  qui  grande  sur  toi. 
AlHuidoiinons  Paris, 
Et  gragiions  du  Pays 
•  Mettons  not  re  mf'nage 

A  I'abri  de  Tor-ige 
iJans  un  petit  village 
Ou  dans  quelque  hameau. 
Coco !  Coco  I 


i«9o3      MUTE    ff'^ITNESSES    OF   THE   REVOLUTION.       881 


"  Sauvons  nous  pluit'it, 
Je  voui.  serre  les  cippes  ; 
Toil  g^re  lo  magot. 
Dca  char||<:es  municipcs 
Laissons  le  tripot. 
Qaittons  not  re  Falaif, 
£t  tous  n'i$  (grands  laqnaU 
Abandonnons  oricore, 
L'6charpe  trioolorc. 
Que  fii  bicn  tc  dt^oore, 
Et  ton  petit  inunteau. 
Coco!  Cooo!" 


Enthusiasm  for  the  States- General  is  felt  chiefly  by  the  bourgeoisie 
in  Paris.  Pictorial  artists  are  quick  to  take  advantage  of  this  feeling. 
They  work  in  the  spirit  wliich  inspired  the  pedantic  engraving  of 
the  death  of  Mirabeau.  Two  of  their  coloured  engravings  depict 
two  cars  four  tiers  in  height.  Representatives  of  the  nobility  of 
Paris  and  of  the  He  de  France  are  seated  on  one  of  the  vehicles,  and 
the  deputies  of  the  commons  on  the  other.  The  nobles,  in  their  gala 
dresses,  which  they  wore  for  the  last  time  in  1780,  are  drawn  by 
a  team  of  lions.  D'Orleans  acts  as  a  coachman.  He  and  his  fellow- 
aristocrats  have  feathered  hats  and  gorgeous  clothing.  Here  the  lions 
are  supposed  to  symbolise  the  warlike  character  of  the  aristocracy, 
who  were  so  soon  to  run  away  from  France,  and  to  be  called  **  emigres '' 
instead  of  poltroons.  Balls  and  Iambs  draw  the  deputies  of  the 
people,  Hope  stands  on  the  footboard  behind.  Fame  tlies  before 
the  car,  blowing  her  trumpet.  Minerva,  looking  like  a  Parisian 
grisette  at  a  fancy-ball,  is  seated  at  a  cloud,  smiling  at  the  deputies. 
The  association  of  the  bulls  and  lambs  has  now  a  funny  effect,  which 
it  was  far  from  producing  a  hundred  years  ago. 

It  is  pretty  certain  that  if  the  deputies  and  the  allegory-and- 
rhetoric-loving  bourgeoisie  had  not  had  behind  them  a  volcanic 
populace,  the  Court  would  have  got  the  better  of  the  National  Assembly. 
There  is  much  in  this  collection  which  speaks  of  the  promptness  of 
the  pleba  to  act  at  critical  turning-points.  Their  intervention  saved  the 
Revolution  from  failure.  A  rude  art  sprang  up  during  the  events  of 
which  Paris  was  the  theatre  between  1789  and  1795.  Its  object  was 
to  do  what  is  now  accomplished  by  the  halfpenny  newspaper.  Few 
plebeians  then  knew  how  to  read.  The  favourite  pictures  of  the 
events  of  the  day  were  typical  in  tJieir  character.  Each  contained  a 
group  of  human  beings,  working  with  furious  ardour  at  some  revo- 
lutionary or  patriotic  task.  The  figures  were  outlined,  next  embossed, 
and  then  coloured.  I  never  saw  more  speaking  picturea.  They  are 
all  inspired  by  the  events  they  seek  to  represent,  very  impressionist, 
and  though  rude  and  cmdo  have  the  spirit  of  an  epic  poem. 
Every  6gure  has  a  distinct  physiognomy.  Gaiety  is  mingled  with 
the  popular  furia.  In  no  case  is  there  a  seeking  after  effect ;  but 
effect  is  never  missed,  because  there  is  such  a  strong  desire  to  picture 

VOL.  Lvir.  3  M 


882 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  IK 


things  as  the  artist  b&w  them.  The  actors  ^ 
are  nearly  all  Bans  culottes  (or  tronsers-wearei 
wearers  of  shorts),  or  fishwomen  and  other  low* 
etching  touched  up  with  colours,  which  I  al 
trnthfal  representation,  gives  the  famous 
Lambeac'a  cavalry  at  the  gate  of  the  Tuileri 
nothing  heroic  on  either  side.  German  (fc] 
nationality)  dragoons  slash  scared  and  rather  ci 
have  come  for  a  Sunday  outing.  There  are  ] 
and  somewhat  vulgar-looking  wife,  their  groi 
they  have  taken  to  the  Promenade,  and  many 
Sunday  clothes.  The  elderly  persons  have  thf 
given  by  good  eating  and  sedentary  habits,  ll 
stricken.  But  an  old  lady  furiously  faces  roam 
give  him  a  piece  of  her  mind.  He  does  not  i 
invective.  We  are  shown  in  other  artless  eml 
took  the  decree  releasing  them  from  their  voA 
convents ;  how  Paris  wrought  for  national 
and  how  its  plebeian  women  behaved  in  thai; 
One  John  Wells  followed  them,  noting  thoil 
quick  and  graphic  pencil.  Who  can  he  have] 
he  made  are  so  good  that  one  is  surprised 
lowed  up  in  oblivion.  He  and  his  fellow-limiu 
favourable  impression  of  the  women  who  went 
to  fetch  the  Royal  family  as  hostages  back 
Compan  remarked,  they  are  neatly  dressed,  bfl 
from  want.  One  woixl  describes  their  msm 
desperation.  We  know  that  they  were  dnTS 
gallows  by  the  cries  of  their  children  for  br 

Wells   and   many  other   artists   quite   ui 
worthy  of  renown,  give  the  triumphant  ret 
Paris  crowd  and  National  Guards  which  foil 
The  episodes  of  the  march  back  are  verj'"  fni 
a  sign  of   respect   is  shown  for  the  Crown.    Ix 
looks  like  a  mirthful  saturnalia,  though  the] 
and  reaping-hooks  is  enough  to  make  the  flea 
plements  suggest  an  influx  of  country  folks 
snburbs  of  which  were  quite  in  the  country. 

Beaumarchais  should  be  among  the  pr«>cai 
the  actors  in  events  which  took  place  after  tl 
Paris.  He  comes  down  to  us,  according  to  I4 
boy,  and  as  an  adult  according  to  Greuze.  *^ 
is  plainly  '*  the  father  of  the  man.*'  In  an  d| 
he  protests  against  the  slanders  of  which  he  is 
Talleyrand  at  the  age  of  twenty,  in  an  abb^s  n 
faced;  fair,  refined,  intriguing,  and  saacr. 


i89o]     MUTE    WITNESSES    OF   THE   REVOLUTIOX. 


883 


Skipping  much  precious  matter,  we  glance  at  a  It^'tler  of  Louis 
XVI.,  dated  August  10,  1792,  and  penned  in  tho  logographs'  (read 
"  reporters' ")  gallery  at  the  Assembly.  This  in  his  last  act  of 
autliority.  The  letter  is  addressed  to  a  Captain  Durier,  whom  the 
king  orders  to  cease  to  defend  the  Tuileries.  As  to  the  handwriting, 
it  is  that  of  a  placid,  painstakinof  schoolboy.  Though  pictorial 
"  interviewers,"  as  we  find  from  sketches  taken  of  the  Royal  prisoners, 
followed  them  into  the  box,  and  a  decisive  step  on  the  road  towards 
the  guillotine  was  being  taken,  one  may  examine  this  State  paper  witli 
a  magnifying  glass  and  find  no  trace  of  nervous  tremor.  Temple 
relics  come  after  the  letters.  A  night-shirt  which  was  made  for  the 
king's  prisoners  has  the  Government  stamp  of  "  Louis  Rex."  Louis 
Capet  slept  in  this  garment  the  night  before  his  execution.  Tho 
Dauphin,  when  he  went  to  the  Temple,  had  on  a  pretty  little  silken 
suit  of  a  quaint  cut :  the  coat  is  green  and  white,  the  waistcoat  pink 
and  white,  and  the  knee-breeches  are  lavender-grey  with  steel  figured 
buttons.  His  stockings  and  shoes  are  elegant,  though  not  particularly 
expensive.  The  stitching  of  the  clothes  betrays  an  inexperienced 
seamstress.  The  Queen  and  her  aister-in-Iaw,  it  is  stated  in  a  letter  of 
Clery,  the  King's  faithful  valet,  made  this  suit,  which  was  not  greatly 
worn  before  the  young  Prince  had  to  change  it  for  a  plainer  one 
given  for  winter  nse  by  the  Commune  of  Paris.  When  he  was  under 
Simon  the  cobbler  bonds  were  issued  in  the  name  of  Louis  XVII.  by 
"  the  Catholic  Army,  payable  when  monarchy  is  restored."  They 
circulated  in  the  west  of  France,  where  the  assignats  of  the  Republic 
did  not  run.  These  debentures  for  the  first  time  are  exhumed. 
Historians  who  plead  extenuating  circumstances  for  the  harsh  usage 
the  ill-starred  Dauphin  met  with  should  not  forget  the  bonds  of  the 
Catholic  Army. 

The  activity  of  the  guillotine  in  the  Reign  of  Terror  and  in  the 
Thermidor  reaction  comes  home  to  one  in  looking  over  quite  a  gallery 
of  black  and  white  portraits  of  men  of  the  Revolution.  The  word 
tUcapiti  is  written  under  the  greater  numbt-r.  Savants  are  among  thi' 
few  exceptions.  Defeated  generals  have  no  choice  between  flight  and 
decapitation.  The  will  of  the  beheaded  king  was  taken  from  the 
Temple  to  the  national  archives,  whence  the  organisers  of  the  Exhibi- 
tion obtained  a  loan  of  it.  There  are  tear  stains  on  tho  yellow  letter 
paper  on  which  it  ia  drawn  up,  and  the  handwriting  is  shaky  where 
the  discrowned  testator  asks  pardon  of  his  wife  for  any  offence  he 
may  have  given  her,  as  he  forgives  her  what  pain  she  ever  caused 
bim.  The  speech  of  his  counsel  Des^ze  lies  with  the  will.  It  was 
published  by  order  of  the  Convention — a  plucky  act.  Belonging  to 
tliif*  set  of  papers  is  a  decree  of  the  Convention  in  the  names  of  Liberty, 
Equality,  and  Justice  (no  fraternity),  decreeing  the  execution  of  I»uis 
Capet.  One  ia  horror-struck  in  glancing  over  the  surrounding  objects. 
•*  Loaii  mounts  the  scatlold,"  "Louis  is  shown  to  the  people,"  "  roo<l 


884 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


Uvn 


I 


for  reflection,  dedicated  to  the  crowned  heads  of  the  world,"  This  **'  food  " 
is  the  holding  up  by  a  coarse  masculine  hand,  which  grasps  a  pigtMl,  of 
the  freshly  decapitated  head.  An  awful  picture  truly  !  How  describe 
it  without  being  a  naturalist  ?  The  ex -sanguine  face  is  the  colour 
of  a  calfs-head  at  the  butcher's.  Infinite  sufifering  and  resignstion 
are  still  expressed,  though  life  has  flod.  in  the  region  of  the  eyea. 
In  all  that  deals  with  civic,  or  republican,  or  revolutionary  senti- 
ment there  is  force.  Whatever  was  done  in  Paris,  so  far  as  we  can 
ascertain  from  the  relics  in  this  Exhibition,  shows  that  Royalist  sit 
was  feeble.  The  artists  at  the  service  of  the  Monarchy  ran  into  poor 
conceits.  Puzzle  pictures  of  an  elegiac  nature  of  king,  queen,  ani 
royal  children  met  the  taste  of  thoir  partisans.  But,  contrasting  wi 
these  affectations,  is  an  intercepted  letter  of  Marie  Antoinette  to  the' 
Comte  de  Provence,  enclosing  him  the  signet-ring  of  her  hashand 
Grief  was  never  expressed  in  more  pathetically  lovely  and  simple 
terms. 

Robespierre  and  Marat   are  enigmatical  characters.      Their  deeds 
were  horrible  ;  but  the  casts  of  their  heads  taken  after  death  are  of 
ineftkble    sweetness.      In    both    the    cerebral    development    is   poor, 
particularly  in  the  coronal  region.     The  skulls,  each  of  which  goes 
into  a  point,  may  have  pressed  there  on  the  brains.      Phrenologi( 
developments,   or   lack    of    development,    taken    with    facial   trail 
betoken  ill-balanced  raind.s.     Marat's  face,  in  David's  portrait  of  him 
is  in  al!  but  complixi<ja  that  of  a  lied  Indian.      Robespierre's  sister, 
on  the  other  hand,  is  sweet,  serene,  pensive,  and  of  a  lovely  parity 
expression. 

Charlotte  Corday,  according  to  Danloux,  one  of  her  portraiti^l 
■was  a  rather  guod-looking  young  woman,  more  the  peasant  than 
lady.  She  had  a  hard,  quick,  wilful  glance.  Tallien  was  anothi 
ill-balanced  creature.  He  hod  the  profile  of  an  Egyptian  dog-j 
Oamot,  the  one  noble  character  of  the  Directory,  looks  sweet 
shrewd.  His  watch,  a  plain  "  turnip,"  and  bunch  of  seals,  have  lii 
intrinsic  value.  Two  gold  medals  granted  him  by  the  Academy  ^1 
Dijon  belong  to  the  relics,  lent  Viy  his  son's  widow.  His  spectacleii 
have  heavy  steel  rims,  his  inkstand  ia  in  plain  bronze,  and  his  snuff- 
box of  the  sanif'  inrta!  iias  on  the  lid  a  gouache  portrait  of  himself. 
Camot's  Director's  swoid  bears  on  one  side  a  motto  which  he  pro- 
posed as  the  rule  of  conduct  of  the  Directory:  "Unity  to  restorf 
peace." 

But  his  lovL-  of  peace  and  his  contentment  with  a  slender 
income  did  not  suit  the  men  and  women  who  rose  to  the 
in  Thermidor.  To  escape  banishment  to  Cayenne,  he  had  at  tlj» 
Coup  d'Etat  of  Fructidor  to  fly  to  Switzerland,  and  was  oWig«dj 
to  remain  a  long  time  in  exile.  Ilie  principle  of  corruption  whicij 
was    at    work    originated    greatly    in   the    temptations    to  plunderl 


•or   I 


i89o]     MUTE    WITNESSES    OF   THE   REVOLUTION.       885 


which  were  held  out  to  common  jjeople  by  the  sweeping  oon- 
fiscatlons  and  the  guillotinings  of  rich  aristocratB,  and  especially 
by  the  army  of  Itsdy  being  invited  to  plundfr  by  Bonaparte. 
Mechanics  who  were  dishonest  presidents  of  sections,  were  as  if 
fixed  in  amber  by  the  artists  who  did  tlie  embossed  pictures  for  the 
vulgar.  Those  who  got  rich  on  plunder  began  to  fear  the  return  of 
the  Bourbons,  and  went  with  a  ruali  to  Napoleon.  Pleasure  and 
financial  speculation  absorbed  the  newly  enriched  class.  The  streets 
were  as  a  fancy-ball.  Prints  of  the  period  show  women  chanting,  as 
amazons,  war  songs  in  the  streets.  "  Bals  raasqm's  at  Paphos,"  are  now 
subjects  on  ladies'  fans.  Civilians  wearing  corkscrew  curls,  and  haring 
a  mincing  air,  plot  for  monarchy.  Theatrical  costumes  are  invented 
for  old  men,  who  look  like  Druids.  Churches  are  transformed  into 
temples  of  sentiment.  Josephine  Beauharnais  becomes  a  society  queen, 
and  intrigues  with  Barras  for  Ijouis  XVIII.  She  writes  good  English, 
an  accomplishmrat  that  later  served  her  in  wheedling  English  agents, 
when  Bonaparte  wa.s  hemmed  in  at  Acre.  She  was  a  luxurions 
being.  Her  scent-bottles  and  pocket-handkerchiefs  retained  her 
first  husband's  coronet  until  she  became  Empress  of  the  French.  The 
gay  world  of  the  Directory  flocked  to  her  house  in  the  Eue  Chantereine. 
Lucien  Bonaparte  engaged  the  pictorial  journals  to  puff  his  brother. 
He  came  out  in  their  cartoons  as  "  Bonaparte  the  Clemente,"  "Bona- 
parte pointing  on  a  map  of  Germany  at  Ilastadt,"  "  Bonaparte,  Pacifier 
of  Europe,"'  "Bonaparte  contemplating  the  Pyramids,"  "Bonaparte 
braving  the  plague  at  Jaffa."  Nobody  thought  of  the  other  generals. 
Bonaparte  is  made  to  "  question  the  Sphinx  on  his  destiny."  She  says, 
"  Make  haste  to  touch  again  native  soil."  Though  crushed  on  the 
Nile,  he  came  back  as  if  a  victor.  The  Rfvolutionary  Museum  ends 
in  a  show  of  Imperial  frippery  worthy  of  Tussaud's,  and  in  savage 
coricatures  of  Napoleon  and  Josephine  by  Gilray. 

The  caricaturist  had  no  conception  of  the  physical  grace  and  refine- 
ment of  Josephine.  He  heard  of  her  as  a  middle-aged  woman,  the 
mother  of  two  nearly  grown-up  children,  and  as  being  twice  married, 
and  assumed  her  to  be  a  staringly  dressed  blowzy  materfamiljas  who, 
though  good-natured,  is  puffed  up.  In  Marie  Antoinette's  dressing- 
room  she  is  quite  the  handmaid  who  is  heir  to  her  mistress.  In  one 
of  his  caricatures,  Gilray  saw  farther  than  most  men  of  his  day. 
Nelson,  with  a  following  of  Nile  crocodiles,  Prussia,  Russia,  and 
Napoleon  are  busy  carving  at  a  plum-pudding  which  represents  the 
globe.  The  other  Powers  scarcely  count.  John  Bull  is  willing  to 
let  the  three  Continental  Powers  have  a  free  hand  if  he  be  allowed 
right  of  passage  in  the  Mediterranean,  and  fjgypt  as  a  road  to  India 
and  to  undiscovered  lands  in  Africa. 

Emily  Crawford. 


iJzn 


A  PALESTINIAN  UTOPIA, 


A  RIDE  through  Palestine,  though  one  may  go  only  over  the  moBl 
beaten  tracks,  and  though  it  occupy  only  the  sir  weeks  which 
are  all  that  is  generally  allotted  to  this  part  of  the  journey,  can  hardly 
fail  t<j  Bet  the  traveller  thinking.  Thinking,  too,  not  only  about  ths 
Hebrew,  the  Roman,  tlie  Crusading  memories  of  the  Fateful  Land, 
bat  ailso  about  its  present — its  miserable  present — and  its  dark  and 
almost  desperate  future. 

There  is  something  in  the  very  mode  of  travel  which  makes  reflec- 
tions of  this  kind  natural  and  almoet  necessary.  "When  one  is  being 
whirled  across  Europe  in  an  orpress  train,  passing  an  endless  series  of 
exactly  similar  railway  stations,  and  occasionally  bestowitig  a  languid 
glance  at  the  scenery,  one's  mind  is  generally  more  occupied  with  the 
book  that  one  is  reading,  or  at  best  with  the  conversation  of  an  intel- 
ligent fellow-traveller,  than  with  the  phenomena,  physical  or  social, 
of  the  country  through  which  one  is  passing.  But  when  one  speudf 
eight  or  nine  hours  in  the  saddle,  when  reading  is  out  of  the 
question,  and  when  conversation  witJi  the  comrade  in  front  or  behind 
is  almost  equally  impossible,  one  finds  oneself  shut  up  to  the  com- 
panionship of  the  country,  and  the  book  which  one  reads  is  that  the 
pages  of  which  are  the  distant  mountain,  the  waterless  wady,  the 
ruined  khan,  or  the  fellah's  mud  cottage. 

Thus  pondering,  the  traveller  is  compelled  to  ask  himself  the  qnw* 
tioQ,  "  What  must  life  in  Palestine,  which  I  know  only  as  one  long  and 
delightful  picnic,  be  for  those  who  have  to  live  it  always?"  H& 
inquiries  will  naturally  relate  to  the  peasant,  whether  fellah  or  pasterti 
Bedouin,  for  indeed  he  sees  no  other  inhabitant.  He  is  not  probatilj 
— at  least  I  was  not — furnished  with  lettera  of  introduction  to  ttgh«s 
and  pashas  ;  and  a  middle  class,  if  it  ever  existed,  has  been  Babjectoi 


t8903 


A    PALESTINIAN   UTOPIA. 


mi 


to  Buch  ext«>n8ive  denudation — to  ase  a  geological  term — that  it  has 
almost  disappeared  from  the  social  stratification.  In  the  course  of 
our  little  ji^orney  I  met  with  one  effendi,  accompanied  by  hia  servant, 
riding  from  Nablous  to  Jenxsalem,  and  I  believe  he  was  the  only 
person  above  the  rank  of  a  peasant  whom  we  saw  in  the  whole  country 
outside  the  walls  of  the  cities. 

If  the  traveller  forgets  for  a  little  while  his  archaeological  interest 
in  the  land  with  which  he  is,  as  I  liave  said,  silently  communing,  and 
asks  himself,  "  What  is  the  chief  characteristic  of  Palestine  as  com- 
pared with  tlie  European  lands  which  I  have  hithei-to  known,  I  will  not 
say  with  France  or  Germany,  but  even  with  the  more  backward  districts 
of  Italy  ?  "  I  think  the  answer  will  be,  "  Chiefly  its  great  witlwut- 
7U8s"  Here  is  a  country  without  rvads.  The  one  or  two  good  roads 
practicable  for  carriages,  made  by  the  forced  labour  of  tbt-  peasantry, 
between  Jafla  and  Jerusalem,  or  Jerusalem  and  Hebron,  and  the  fine 
road  made  by  French  engineers  between  Damascus  and  Beyrout,  are 
entirely  exceptional.  The  "  Sultauiyeh,"  the  royal  road  between  the 
two  capitals  of  Jerusalem  and  Damascus,  is  generally  a  mere  track 
across  a  moor,  sometimes  only  the  bed  of  a  torrent,  always  hopelessly 
untraversable  by  wheeled  carriages,  and  rendering  needful  the  posses- 
sion of  a  very  sure-footed  horse  if  the  rider  is  to  reach  his  juurney's 
end  in  safety.  Distinction  between  highway  and  byeway  I  can  see 
none,  except  that  sometimes  the  byeway,  as  being  more  grassy,  is 
pleasanter  for  the  traveller,  and  enables  him  to  get  over  his  journey 
more  quickly.  In  short,  let  a  person  who  has  not  yet  \isited  Palestine 
think  of  the  worst  bridle-path  he  remembers  in  Cumberland  or 
Switzerland,  and  he  will  form  a  pretty  just  conception  of  the  Sul- 
taniyeh,  the  royal  high-road  of  Palestine,  at  its  best. 

It  is  a  country  ■iniUiout  shojts.  W  the  commonest  requisite  of  daily 
life  in  civilized  countrifs  bivaks,  or  is  lost,  one  must  wait  till  one  gets 
to  Beyrout  or  Damascus  before  one  can  replace  it. 

It  is  a  country  without  irrfular  j^osts.  The  receiving  of  a  letter  at 
lazareth,  or  its  despatch  from  Tiberias,  is  a  matter  with  which 
the  Government  does  not  concern  itself,  and  which  the  individual 
must  accomplish  by  private  assistance  as  best  ho  can. 

It  is  a  country  without  navsjiapcrs — a  most  tolerable  deficiency  to 
a  European  traveller  gorged  with  too  much  newspaper  reading  at 
home,  but  one  which  umst  b<?  felt  as  an  inconvenience,  at  least,  by  a 
permanent  dweller  in  the  laud.  It  would  be  easy  t«  lengthen  the  list 
of  *'  withouts,"  as,  for  instance,  to  say  that  the  country  is  unthoiU  sc/iooU^ 
^.'Xcept  such  as  foreign  missionaries  provide ;  icithout  doriors  and 
AvspiJals  (again  with  the  same  excej)tion)  ;  without  Justice,  for  universal 
U'stimony  is  b<jme  to  the  venality  of  the  Turkish  cadi.  But  I  will 
only  mention  one    more  which  impresses  a  superficial    observer  like 


899 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIE1F. 


[Jon 


i 


myself  as  vividly  as  anything — it  is  a  country  the  cottages  of  which 
are  tcithont  glazed  tinndows. 

Formerly,  when  I  looked  at  a  picture  of  a  town  or  village  in 
Palestine,  I  used  to  wonder  what  it  was  which  made  it  so  unlike  a 
modem  European  village.  There  might  be  no  ruins  visible,  no  doma 
or  graceful  minaret  to  break  the  skyline,  and  yet  one  felt  that  the  J 
sketch  or  the  photograph  brought  before  one  something  utterly  fl 
difierent  from  a  nineteenth-century  village,  even  in  picturesque  Italy,  " 
and  one  half  suspected  that  the  artist  had  idealised  his  picture.  At 
the  first  village  that  I  came  to — Ya-sur,  on  the  road  from  JaSa  to 
Jerosalem — my  question  was  answered.  I  saw  that  among  all  the 
fifty  or  sixty  houses  before  me  there  was  not  one  that  had  the> 
common  glazed  window  which  adds  so  much  to  the  comfort  and 
detracts  so  much  from  the  picturesqueness  of  an  ordinary  English 
village.  And  so  it  is,  as  a  rule,  throughout  Palestine.  There  is 
an  arched  doorway  below,  sometimes,  but  not  always,  provided  with  a 
door,  and  one  or  two  slits  in  the  wall  above  to  admit  a  little  light  and 
air,  but  no  true  window.  Of  course  in  that  climate  the  comfort,  of  ft 
dwelling-house  is  less  important  than  in  ours.  During  the  greater 
part  of  the  year,  men,  women,  and  children,  if  not  at  their  work,  sit  or 
squat  out  of  dciors  in  the  daytime,  or,  at  the  utmost,  seek  the  shelter 
of  the  house  only  during  the  burning  noonday  hours  for  the  sake  of 
its  shade.  The  nights  are  shorter,  and  fierce  driving  rainstorms  arv» 
unknown  during  a  considerable  part  of  the  year.  Still,  after  all,  th^ 
structure  of  the  house  is  one  of  the  host  measures  of  a  nation's 
civili7.ation,  and  now  that  window-panes  have  been  invented  we  may 
safely  say  that  a  country  in  which  the  majority  of  the  inhabitants 
never  use  tiiem  is  low  down  in  the  scale.  A  striking  confirmation  of 
this  is  afforded  us  by  the  fact  that  in  the  Lebanon,  where  the  peasant'* 
standard  of  comfort  is  without  doubt  higher  than  in  Palestine,  we  s» 
once  find  the  usual  glazed  and  framed  window  reappearing,  to  tha 
delight  of  the  political  economist  and  the  despair  of  the  artist. 

Another  circumstance  to  which  the  absence  of  the  window-pMi» 
bears  evidence  is  that  human  beings  and  cattle  are  generally  living  b 
the  same  room.  The  home  is  also  a  cow-byre,  and  man  Binka 
naturally  to  the  level  of  his  four-footed  fellow-lodger.  Of  course  tho 
presence  of  furniture  such  as  j-ou  would  find  in  the  humblest  lodgings 
house  in  London  becomes  impossible  in  this  companionship.  In 
some  of  the  better-built  houses  a  raised  divan  or  a  gallery  may  be  set 
apart  for  the  carpets  or  matting  which  are  used  as  beds ;  hot  this  ii 
theexception  rather  than  the  rule.*  Ollphant,  in  his  '*  Haifa,''!  giT« 
an  amusing  but  pathetic  picture  of  the  discomfort  I'udured  hy  tiw 
wife  of  a  fellah,  who  has  been   brought  up  in  the  luxury  of  a  wealthy 


i 


•  See  Conder's  "  Teat  Life  in  PiklosUne,"  i.  101.  ii.  237-8. 


t  r.  IIT. 


i89o] 


A    PALESTINIAN   UTOPIA. 


889 


Damascus  homp,  and  who  has  now  to  sleep  in  the  same  room  with  the 
sheep  and  oxen  of  her  husband.  More  pathetic  still  are  the  accounts 
which  I  received  from  a  missionary  at  Raraallali  of  the  condition  of 
the  fever-stricken  sheikh  of  a  neighbouring  village.  The  doctor 
attached  to  the  mission  was  doing  his  ntmosb  for  his  recovery,  but 
felt  that,  lying  as  he  was  there  on  his  wretched  pallet  in  that  noisome 
atmosphere,  with  all  the  operations  of  the  house  and  of  the  cow-house 
going  on  around  him,  and  with  the  door  continually  opening  and 
letting  in  a  stream  of  air — sometimes  cold  air — upon  him,  his  recovery 
was  all  but  impossible.  I  cannot  describe  the  wretchedness  of  some 
of  the  little  mud  huts  which  I  saw  in  the  beautiful  vale  of  Esdraelon, 
the  dwellings  of  the  peasants  who  till  the  plain  for  a  wealthy  financier 
of  Beyrout ;  but  I  can  only  say  that  I  had  to  look  at  them  again 
and  again  before  I  could  believe  that  human  beings  lived  in  such 
styes. 

In  short,  the  whole  impression  left  in  my  mind  by  what  I  saw  of 
the  fellaheen  in  Palestine  was  that  here  was  an  ancient  and  historic 
people — perhaps  I  should  rather  say  the  descendants  of  three  such 
peoples,  the  eons  of  Canaan,  of  Aram,  and  of  Ishmael — sinking  down 
into  a  state  of  mere  savagery,  such  as  that  of  the  least  civilized  of  the 
tribes  whom  Stanley  encountered  in  his  march  across  Africa. 

For  this  long-continued  and  still  continuing  decline  of  Palestine 
we  must  hold  the  natives  of  Palestine  partly  responsible.  Their 
weakness  may  bo  to  some  extent  the  result  of  that  enervating  climate 
of  theirs,  where  Baal,  the  mighty  sun-god,  still  shows  himself  as  of 
old  a  terrible  potentate,  withering  up  the  greenness  of  the  earth  and 
the  vital  forces  of  men.  But,  whatever  the  cause,  I  think  we  must 
admit  the  fact  that  there  is  a  grievous  lack  of  energy  and  self- 
reliance  among  the  Syrian  peasants.  Accustomed  from  childhood  to 
stretch  out  the  hand  for  bacL-shfesJi,  and  following  in  stolid  ignorance 
the  same  round  of  agricultural  labours  which  their  forefathers  have 
trodden  for  centuries,  the  very  features  in  their  character  which  make 
iem  80  interesting  a  study  to  the  student  of  Biblical  archaeology, 

am  to  mako  it  almost  a  hopeless  task  to  form  them  into  an  enter- 
prising, progressive,  self-governing  community.  As  a  little  illustra- 
tion of  the  hplplessness  of  the  modern  fellah,  and  his  want  of  power  of 
adapting  himself  to  new  conditions,  I  may  mention  that  the  landlord 
of  tJie  new  (and  excellent)  "  Jordan  Hotel  "  at  Jericho  complained  to 
me  that  he  could  hardly  get  any  one  to  give  a  good  solid  day'.s  work 
for  good  wages.  Every  requisite  for  his  hotel  had  to  bo  brought 
down  from  Jenisalem.  He  thought  when  he  started  the  hotel  he 
should  at  least  get  fruit  and  garden-stuff  supplied  him  by  the 
peasantry,  but  in  practice  he  had  found  this  quite  impossible. 

But,  while  admitting  that  the  bosetting  sin  of  the  Syrian  peasant 
ill  indolence,  a  traveller  who  has  had  occasion  dailv  to  admire  the 


890 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[JnrB 


patient,  persevering,  efficient  toil  of  his  camp-followers  ^some  of  tile 
best  of  them,  it  is  trae,  natives  of  Lebanon)  may  cherish  the  hope 
that  iinder  good  guidance  even  the  "  soft  Syrian  "  could  do  much  tor 
the  redemption  of  his  country.  This  good  gxiidance,  however,  he  liAs 
not  had  for  centuries,  nor — the  prediction  may  be  safely  ventured- 
"will  he  ever  get  from  the  Ottoman.  I  am  not  going  to  draw  a  Ic 
indictment  agaiost  the  Turk,  whom  I  profoundly  pity.  A  parxam 
amoug  uations,  elevated  by  what  we  call  chance,  and  by  the  folly  of 
mediaeval  Europe,  into  a  position  of  command  for  which  he  was 
utterly  unfitted,  having  inherited  the  bad  old  traditiona  of  the 
centralized  Byzantine  despotism  without  its  redeeming  culture,  and 
then  for  centuries  having  muddled  away  his  strength  of  body  and 
mind  in  the  sensual  indidgencea  of  the  Mussulman  harem,  he  is  of 
course,  by  the  necessity  of  his  nature  and  position,  a  hopelessly  bad 
governor,  and  never  worse  than  when  he  is  playing  at  Reform  in 
order  to  throw  a  little  dust — dust  of  which  he  has  an  unlimited 
supply  in  the  fruitful  provinces  that  have  become  deserts  under  his 
rule — in  the  eyes  of  European  ambassadors,  I  might  quote  many  a 
little  incident  of  travel  to  show  how  at  every  point  where  one  comes 
in  contact  witJi  the  Turkish  Government,  at  the  custom-house,  at  the 
post-oflBce,  at  the  police-bureau,  one  is  made  to  feel  its  utter  corrup- 
tion and  inefficiency.  But  there  is  no  need  to  do  this.  Everj'lxjdy 
■who  is  not  writing  to  prove  a  prescribed  and  foregone  conclusion, 
Layard  as  much  as  Pears,  and  Conder  as  much  as  Bryce,  admits — nay. 
urges — that  Ottoman  rule  is  a  curso  to  the  countries  over  which  it 
extends.  Many  doubt  whether  this  or  that  substitute  for  it  will  not 
be  worse,  but  I  think  not  one  impartial  observer  doubts  that  it  is  in 
itself  bad. 

Notwithstanding  these  observations,  I  am  not  going  to  ask  my 
readers  to  enter  with  me  into  the  labyrinth  of  the  Eastern  Questiou. 
I  confine  my  attention  to  the  land  whose  desolation  I  have  btTsn 
endeavouring  to  describe,  and  which  is,  it  may  be  said,  the  spintusl 
fatherland  of  the  Christian  and  the  Jew,  part  of  the  rehgious  Le-fj- 
tage  of  Europe  and  America.  Can  nothing  be  done,  even  now.  and 
without  waiting  for  some  far-ofiF  miJlennial  change,  to  relieve  its  misery 
and  arrest  its  decline  ? 

The  word  "  millennial"  will  at  once  remind  the  reader  that  then*  i» 
a  large  school  of  Biblical  students  who  hope  to  see  the  difficulty 
solved,  and  that  Eoon,  by  the  retui-n  of  the  Jews  to  their  own  land.  A* 
it  is  calculated  that  there  are  altogether  about  6,000,000  Jews  in  tbf 
world,  and  as  the  whole  extent  of  Palestine  is  only  one-sixth  that  of 
England,  it  is  obvious  that,  except  under  utterly  altei-ed  oonditious. 
the  land  which  now  barely  supports  a  population  of  half  a  millioa 
could  not  possibly  furnish  subsistence  for  the  whole  existing  Jewish 
people.     But  let  that  pass.     Can  we  hope  that  by  the  return,  eay,  ni 


«89o] 


A    PALESTINIAN   UTOPIA. 


891 


one  or  two  millions  of  Jews,  and  their  formation  into  an  independent 
State,  the  economic  condition  of  Palestine  will  be  improved,  and  a 
proper  use  be  made  of  its  resources  ? 

I  confess  that  for  long  I  cherished  the  hope  ('quite  independently 
of  the  interpretation  which  may  be  put  on  particular  paasages  in  the 
prophetical  Scriptures)  that  this  would  be  the  solution,  perhaps  the 
early  solution,  of  so  much  of  the  Eastern  enigma  as  relates  to  Pales- 
tine, There  is  something  fascinating  to  the  historical  imagination 
in  the  idea  of  a  nation,  after  nearly  two  thousand  years  of  exUe, 
returning  to  the  land  of  its  fathers :  and  the  enormous  wealth  of 
the  great  Jewish  financiers — wealth  which  has  given  them  a  semi-royal 
position  in  European  society — seems  as  if  it  might  furnish  the  lever 
by  which  this  territorial  revolution  would  be  accomplished.  And  so  it 
may  still  be.  No  one  who  has  studied  the  romances,  written  and  acted, 
of  Benjamin  Disraeli,  will  dare  to  speak  lightly  of  what  the  race-idea 
fructifying  in  the  Jewish  mind  may  yet  accomplish.  But  speaking 
merely  from  my  own  observation,  and  finom  the  testimony  of  all  with 
whom  I  could  converse  on  the  subject,  I  see  no  probability  that  the 
return  of  a  million  or  two  of  Jews  to  Palestine  would  in  any  way 
assist  the  economic  development  of  the  country.  The  Jews  whom  one 
now  seea  at  Jerusalem  and  Tiberias  are  probably  imfavonrable  speci- 
mens of  the  race,  chiefly  paupers  attracted  by  the  bountiful  almsgiving 
of  the  Rothschilds  and  Montefiores,  or  the  children  of  elderly  people 
who  have  come  to  the  Holy  Land  to  die.  Whatever  be  the  cause, 
they  look  aa  little  fitted,  physically,  to  undertake  the  redemption  of 
the  country  and  to  turn  the  wilderness  into  a  fruitful  field,  as  the 
flame  number  of  tailors  from  the  sweating  shops  of  London.  Seeing 
some  of  these  weak,  anaemic  Jews,  in  yellow  gabei-dine,  and  with 
spiral  curls  hauging  down  on  their  shoulders,  lounging  inside  the 
Jaffa  Gate  of  Jerusalem,  and  then  seeing  a  company  of  sturdy  Hua- 
sian  vioujiks,  with  fur  caps  and  bushy  beards,  emerging  from  it  and 
tramping  stoutly  along,  regardless  of  the  heat,  one  could  not  help 
wishing,  "  Oh  that  Uu-sc  were  thoscy  to  come  and  win  back,  by  their 
own  strong  arms,  and  not  with  the  swoi'd,  but  with  the  spade,  the 
wasted  inheritance  of  their  fathers  !  "  I  trust  I  shall  not  be  supposed 
to  write  in  any  vulgar  spirit  of  Juden-hHzc.  I  see  the  great  gifts  of  the 
Jewish  race;  I  can  almost  accept  all  that  Disraeli  has  said,  in  the  person 
of  Sidonia,  as  to  their  position  among  the  nations  of  the  world,  and  I 
feel  that  there  must  be  strength  of  brain  where  tbere  is  such  immenee 
tenacity  of  life.  But  tbe  question  now  before  us  is  one,  not  so  much 
of  brain,  as  of  hicepa.  The  need  is  of  patient,  steady,  persevering 
workers,  to  struggle  with  the  climate  and  tht*  soil.  And  the  phrase 
which  one  often  hears  repeated,  and  which,  after  all.  tallies  with  our 
own  experience  of  the  Hebrew  in  Western  lands,  "The  Jew  will  do 
□ything  rather  than  take  his  coat  ofl'  and  work,"  seems  to  show  that 


893 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[Jcyi 


it  is  not  to  a  ^eat  Jewish  immigration  that  we  hare  to  look  for  the 
deliverance  of  Palestine. 

But  if  there  is  not  to  be  any  great  change  in  the  population  of  the 
country,  it  would  fipem  that  the  hoped-for  improvement  must  come 
from  a  change  in  the  political  conditions  under  which  that  population 
lives.  To  assert  this  is  not  to  deny  what  was  said  a  little  while  back 
as  to  the  defects  in  the  national  character  of  the  Syrian,  for  it  is  one  of 
the  commonplaces  of  politics  that  the  characters  of  the  ruler  and 
the  ruled  react  upon  one  another,  and  that  while  some  natives  lose 
freedom  bocanso  they  are  not  worthy  to  retain  it,  others  which  have 
been  long  treated  as  slaves  do  for  that  very  reason  develop  slavish 
vices.  And  while  it  might  safely  be  assumed  ns  an  axiom  that  if 
Palestine  is  to  prosper  it  must  be  freed  from  the  miserable  misgovem- 
ment  of  Turkish  pashas,  axiom  the  second  in  our  political  Euclid 
must  bo  that  at  present  there  is  no  material  out  of  which  to  form  an 
organized  self-governed  community.  How  soon  under  good  govern- 
ment, and  with  systematic  education,  such  a  community  might  be 
formed,  is  a  matter  on  which  opinions  will  greatly  ditt'er,  but  he 
would  be  a  sanguine  man  who  would  predict  that  in  one  generation 
the  Syrian.s  of  Palestine  will  be  ready  for  self-government,  and  it  is 
probable  that  fifty  years  may  prove  none  too  long  for  the  process  of 
preparation. 

If  then  the  Turk  as  practical  ruler  and  administrator  of  Palestine 
has  to  go,  and  if  the  sovf'reign  people  is  not  yet  ready  to  take  his 
place,  to  whom  shall  we  look  to  *"  occupy  and  administer  "  Palestine 
during  the  years,  be  they  few  or  many,  that  must  intervene?  To 
England  ?  to  France  ?  to  Russia  ?  I  will  say  at  once  that  I  beUeve 
the  government  of  the  country  by  any  one  of  these  Powers  would  in- 
calculably increase  its  material  wealth  and  the  happiness  of  ita 
people  ;  that  any  one  of  them  would,  by  the  mere  habits  of  civilized 
government  which  it  has  acquired,  be  impelled  to  construct  roads, 
to  excavate  harbours,  to  plant  forests,  to  improve  agriculture,  to 
administer  something  like  justice.  And  of  all  these  nations  I  doubt 
not  that  England  would  do  her  work  the  most  efficiently  and  the  most 
unselfishly.  And  yet  no  such  solution  of  the  problem  is  to  be  thought 
of,  for  the  simple  reason  that  it  could  only  be  achieved  at  the  coet  of 
a  terrible  European  war.  Least  of  all  is  it  to  be  thought  of  in  the 
case  of  our  own  country,  the  "  weary  Titan,"  which  has  already  on  it« 
shoulders  a  load  of  world-wide  responsibilities  almost  heavier  than  it 
can  bear. 

The  peculiar  spiritual  ties  which  bind  all  the  European  nations 
more  or  less  strongly  to  the  Holy  Land,  and  the  joalouaiea  of  th« 
various  Christian  Churches  that  are  planted  there,  are  also  reasons  for 
deprecating  the  exclusive  assumption  by  any  European  Power  of  die 
tutelage  of  the  people  of  Palestine.     It   is  only  neoeaaaiy  to  pajj 


i89o] 


A   PALESTINIAN    UTOPIA. 


visit  to  any  of  the  "  Holy  Places,"  to  observe  the  Greeks'  jealous  clutch 
at  their  inheritaacti  in  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  or  to  hear  the  Franciscan 
friars  chuckling  over  the  points  which  they  have  won  at  the  Grotto  of 
the  Nativity,  to  feel  how  little  chance  there  would  be  of  fair  play 
stweea  the  rival  Churches  if  either  an  Orthodox  or  a  Catholic  Power 
bore  sole  sway  in  the  land. 

But  in  this  very  jealousy  between  the  Greek  and  the  Latin  Churches 
lies  perhaps  one  hope,  if  a  faint  one,  of  a  peaceful  settlement  of  the 
entangled  controversy.  By  their  political  antipathies  France  and 
''Kuasiaare  being  drawn  more  and  more  strongly  into  mutual  sympathy, 
and  all  Europe  is  expecting  in  the  next  great  war  to  see  them  fighting 
shoulder  to  shoulder.  Bat  by  their  religious  traditions  they  are  bound 
to  take  opposite  sides  in  every  question  tending  to  the  future  of  Pales- 
tine. Ilussia  is,  of  course,  the  champion  of  every  Greek  church  and 
monastery  throughout  the  East,  but  not  less  is  France,  Voltairian  and 
Materialist  though  she  may  be  at  home,  so  traditionally  connected 
with  the  defence  of  the  interests  of  the  Latin  Church  in  those  regions, 
that  she  cannot  now  shake  herself  loose  from  the  obligation.  The 
Jesuit  fathers  at  Beyrout  teach  all  their  pupils  French.  Your  attendant 
in  the  camp,  if  he  speak  no  other  European  language  than  French,  is 
almost  to  a  certainty  a  Catholic.  And  in  that  land,  where  religion  is 
nationality,  the  chain  thus  forged  is  almost  impossible  to  break. 
Franco  as  a  nation  caniwt  sacrifice  the  interests  of  the  Latin  Church  in 
Palestine. 

We  shall  probably  be  safe  in  asserting  that  not  more  certainly  do 
the  lines  representing  the  aspirations  of  Russia  and  Austria  intersect 
one  another  before  they  reach  Constantinople,  than  the  similar  lines 
drawn  for  Kussia  and  France  intersect  before  Jerusalem.  Since  this 
ia  BO,  and  since  it  is  for  the  interests  of  France  and  Russia  at  present 
to  remain  friends,  and  probably  to  become  allies,  it  is  possible  thai 
both  might  acquiesce  in  an  arrangement  that  should  put  supremacy  in 
the  Holy  Land  out  of  the  reach  of  either. 

I.  One  such  arran^^'ement,  which  would  I  believe,  work  admirably, 
though  the  very  suggestion  of  it  excites  a  smile,  is  that  tlio  Unitfd 
States  of  America  should  undertake  to  •*  occupy  and  administer  "  Pales- 
tine. Here  is  a  Power,  strong,  neutral,  tolerant,  one  which  by  its 
very  nature  is  bound  to  think  constantly  of  the  material  prosperity  of 
the  territory  over  which  it  rules,  yet  which  also  feels,  and  has  testified 
in  various  ways,  that  interest — call  it  sentimental  or  religious,  tis  you 
please — without  which  no  nation  would  undertake  the  irksome  and  diffi- 
cult task  which  we  are  considering.  The  expedition  fitted  out  by  the 
United  Stiites  Government  to  exriniioL'  the  physiography  of  I  he  Jordati 
valley  ;  the.  fact  that  some  of  the  chief  authorities  on  the  topography  of 
Palestine,  notably  Robinson  and  Thompson,  have  been  Americans  ;  the 
Buccesaful    oollego  and  schools  which    American    missionariefi  have 


894 


THE   CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


[Jvn 


established  at  Beyrout  and  Jerusalem — all  testify  to  the  interest  taken 
by  the  citizens  of  the  Unitt'd  States  in  the  land  of  Canaan.  But  notwith- 
standing the  strength  of  this  spiritual  tie,  so  thoroughly  has  the  principle 
of  religious  equality  penetrated  into  every  part  of  their  political  organ- 
ization, that  they  might  be  safely  trusted  to  treat  the  Moslem  and 
the  Christian,  the  Druse  aud  the  Maronite,  the  Orthodox  Greek  and 
the  Protestant  missionary,  with  perfect  impartiality  as  far  as  religious 
questions  were  concerned.  Then,  again,  tliey  occupy  an  admirably 
central  jKisition  towards  the  three  chief  Powers  tiiat  may  be  thought 
to  have  opposing  interests  at  the  Eastern  end  of  the  Mediterranean. 
Sprung  from  the  loins  of  England,  aided  by  France  in  their  struggle 
for  nationality,  and  for  at  least  half  a  century  firm  friends  with  Russia, 
America  would,  as  I  conceive,  be  not  even  tempted  to  violate  the 
neutrality  to  which  she  would,  on  our  hypothesis,  be  pledged,  in  favour 
of  one  or  other  of  these  three  Powers. 

Bat  I  fear  that  all  these  arguments  in  favour  of  that  which  seems 
to  me  the  most  satisfactory  solution  of  our  problem  are  in  vain.  The 
United  States  have  determined — wisely,  no  doubt,  as  a  general  rule — 
to  ''  keep  clear  of  European  complications,*'  and  probably  not  even  the 
unanimous  request  of  Europe,  founded  upon  a  confidence  in  their 
honourable  neutrality,  would  induce  them  to  undertake  a  charge 
which  might  conceivably  entangle  them  in  European  politics. 

II.  Another  and  much  less  ambitious  solution  of  the  problem  would 
be  to  apply  to  Palestine  a  similar  arrangement  to  that  now  adopted  for 
tlio  Lebanon.  By  this  arrangement,  which  was  forced  on  the  Porto 
aft«r  the  terrible  massacre  of  the  Christians  in  1840,  the  Lebanon  is 
placed  under  the  government  of  a  Christian  unconnected  with  the 
country,  appointed  for  not  loss  than  five  years,  whose  nomination  mu.st 
be  approved  by  the  Five  Great  European  Powers  (Italy  hod  not  then 
asserted  her  claim  to  convert  the  pentarchy  into  a  hexarchy).  The 
most  superficial  observer  cannot  fail  to  Ix'  struck  with  the  gootl 
results  of  this  arrangement.  Partly,  no  doubt,  owing  to  the  greater 
enei^  of  the  Lebanon  mountaineer,  wliether  Druse  or  Marom'te,  but 
also  and  more  largely  because  he  is  freed  from  extortionate  tax-gathenrs, 
unjust  judges,  and  the  general  system  of  compulsory  haekshtesk  which 
is  facetiously  called  the  Turkish  Government,  the  villages  of  Lebanon 
are  a  joy  to  the  heart  of  the  travc-Uer  who  is  Interested  in  the  welfare 
of  the  people. 

Nowhere,  perhaps,  is  the  contrast  between  the  "  Lt'ljanon  "  and 
•'Syria  "more  striking  thtin  at  Znkhleh,  a  village  just  within  the 
Lebanon  frontier,  lying  near  to  the  high  road  from  Beyrout  to 
Damascus.  It  is  cn!hxl  a  village,  but  should  mther  be  styled  a  town, 
for  it  has  20,000  inhabitants,  whose  neat,  prosperous-looking  houses 
are  scattered  over  the  hill-side.  Near  the  top  of  the  hill  is  a  large 
and  commodious  (unfortunately  not  picturesque)  court-bouse,  erect/iH 


i89o] 


A    PALESTINIAN   UTOPIA. 


895 


"by  tlie  inhabitants  of  Zaklileb  at  their  own  expense,  and  presented  to 
the  Grovemment.  They  are  also  constructing,  on  their  own  initiative, 
a  road  practicable  for  carriages,  which  will  connect  them  directly  with 
Beyrout.  But  not  only  here:  in  many  other  parts  of  the  Lebanon  one 
feels  that  one  i8  in  presence  of  a  spirit  of  energy,  Belf-reliance,  pro- 
gress, quit«  unlike  what  one  sees  anywhere  else  between  Hennon  and 
the  wilderness  of  the  South.  In  fact,  as  I  said  to  myself  over  aud 
over  again,  '*  the  Lebanon  is  the  Piedmont  of  Syria" 

Elven  the  Lebanon  arrangement,  however,  with  all  its  many 
advantages,  has  its  weak  points.  Though  the  Porte  cannot  appoint 
without  the  assent  of  the  Great  Powers,  it  may  refuse  to  appoint  or 
to  re-appoint  the  man  whom  they  deem  the  most  suitable.  Only 
lately  it  exercised  this  right  by  the  recall  of  Rustem  Pasha,  who,  by 
all  accounts,  is  the  best  governor  Lebanon  has  had,  bat  who  was 
sacrificed,  it  is  said,  to  some  Palace  intrigue,  and  whose  term  of 
office  was  accordingly  not  renewed. 

In  Palestine,  also,  where  the  Moslems  form  the  majority  of  the 
people,  the  provision  that  the  governor  should  always  be  a  Christian 
has  less  appaa-ent  justice  than  in  the  Lebanon,  where  so  large  apart  of 
the  population  is  Christian,  and  where  even  the  Dmses  are  dissenters 
from  tlie  strict  creed  of  Lslam. 

ni  Even  for  the  maintenance  of  th©  Lebanon  scheme  a  certain  amoant 
of  concerted  action  between  the  great  European  Powers,  and  of  trust 
in  each  other's  good  faith,  is  needful.  If  this  could  be  more  strongly 
relied  on,  a  yet  better  scheme,  as  it  seems  to  mo,  might  be  devised. 
Here  we  take  the  step  out  from  the  disheartening  world  of  suspicion 
and  distrust,  in  which  our  European  statesmen  move,  and  into  Utopia. 
As  is  the  manner  with  the  describers  of  that  delightful  countrj-,  we 
will  put  OUT  speculations  on  what  might  be  into  the  shape  of  a  record 
of  that  which  has  been,  and  will  write  the  future  history  of  a  regene- 
rated Palestine  as  if  it  were  past. 

"  Weary  of  strife,  and  smitten  with  shame  for  the  calamities  which 
their  mutual  jealousies  had  brought  upon  the  land  which  gave  birth 
to  their  n^ligion,  the  nations  of  Europe  came  to  a  solomn  agreement 
that  the  land  of  Palestine  should  be  the  possession  of  none,  but  that 
ita  improvement  should  be  the  common  concern  of  all.  Leaving, 
thorefore,  to  the  Ottoman  Sultan  the  mere  name  and  fiction  of 
sovereign  power,  and  allowing  to  him  so  much  revenue  as  he  had 
hitherto  by  lawful  means  extracted  from  the  country,  they  established 
an  International  Commission,  to  whom  the  government  was  to  be 
thereafter  entrusted.  To  this  Commission  each  one  of  the  Sovereign 
Powers  of  Europe,  whetiier  great  or  small  (I  mean  not  such  pigmy 
Stat(?s  as  Monaco,  Andorre,  and  San  Marino),  elected  one  member, 
the  Commissioners  being  chosen  not  so  much  on  account  of  eminent 
services  in  war  or  diplomacy  as  on  aooount  of  their  experieace  as 


THE   COSTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


iJ^t 


t&fltr  AttamoMBts  as  men  of  aeienoe,  or  their 
IbaArapnta.  Tbe  CnMimiiwioo  thus  formeU 
deei  ifei  dne^  wiMte  onlj  Beoaaauy  qomlification  was 
•af  W  ft  cifcbak  of  one  of  the  six  great  Earopeaa  StAtee. 
Htod  m  fhtar  lAnict^  tko  CommisstoDers  generally  elected 
or  *  8vi«,  who  wm  foand  to  hold  a  more  eveo 
Whaca  WUreoi  ^  Gre^  aad  Latin  Chordies  than  either  a  Spaniard 
or  a  Hirllfe  vooU  hsra  done.  Hie  gofefnor  was  elected  for  t«o 
yean;  baft  id  oidw  to  tkfoar  tke  bias  in  Caroar  of  tJie  permaneooe 
«€  hia  dfeo^  Ua  re  eJecHoa  for  aabaeqiieiii  decades  did  not  retjaire,  as 
tbe  ahctSnn  of  an  eottrelf  fineah  candidate  did,  the  nnanimous  consent 
of  tkFbvenL 

**  TW  adaniatratirB  poarer  of  the  governor  was  nearly  equivalent 
to  tkat  of  a  TariDaik  pasha,  bat  the  judges,  who  werF«  carefally 
apfecttd  £roa  aaoi^st  the  most  learned  legists  of  Europe,  and 
adniaiateRd  jnstioe  in  a  similar  manner  to  the  English  judj^  in 
India  (onlj  taking  the  Civil  Law  instead  of  the  English  Common  Lav 
far  tke  baaia  of  their  procedure  where  the  Koran  was  wholly  inappli- 
cableX  wete  quite  independent  of  the  governor,  and  irremovable  bv 
him.  Li  all  financial  matters  it  was  necessary  for  the  governor 
to  obtain  the  consent  of  a  majority  of  the  council  composed  of  hia 
brother  CommisaioDers,  and  without  such  consent  no  new  taxes  couM 
be  imposed. 

"The  now  State  had  no  army  nor  navj',  its  viitual  indcpendenop 
being  guaranteed  by  all  the  Powers  of  Europe.  A  etrong  force  of 
police  was  organized  in  order  to  repress  the  incursions  of  the  liedouiiis, 
and  to  keep  the  peace  between  the  followers  of  diftorent  relijyioni 
But  the  maintenance  of  internal  order,  as  well  as  the  administration  of 
justice  in  small  cases,  was  left  then  as  under  the  previous  government, 
chiefly  in  the  hands  of  the  local  authorities,  especially  of  the  village 
sheikhs. 

"  All  the  energies  of  the  new  government  wero  directed  to  ti« 
development  of  the  material  resources  of  the  country.  Th*i  premise 
made  by  each  Connnissionor  on  taking  office  bound  him  *  to  seek  by 
every  means  in  his  power  the  prosperity  of  the  people  of  Palestine,  In 
forget  hLs  own  country  and  his  father's  house,  to  use  the  power  whick 
had  been  entrusted  to  him,  neither  for  his  own  private  advantage,  nor 
yet  to  promote  the  interests  real  or  supposed  of  the  Cborcb  txt  the 
nation  to  which  he  belonged.'  This  promise  was  better  kept  thm 
ofTicial  oaths  often  are.  Placed  beyond  the  temptation  to  pMty  bribei 
by  a  handsome  salary,  the  Commissioners  did,  as  a  rale,  take  a  f^vis» 
interest  in  the  great  work  in  which  they  were  engaged,  and  davo4i» 
to  the  advancement  of  the  internal  prosp^i-rity  of  Palestaaa  becaflw  a 
passion,  almost  a  religion,  in  the  hearts  of  many  of  the  couotX  Tb« 
different  departments  of  administration  were  portioned  oat  anoafit 


iSgo] 


PALESTINIAN   UTOPIA. 


897 


them  according  to  their  relative  fitness.  Thus,  at  the  tinie  when  the 
writer  of  this  retrospect  happened  to  visit  the  country,  a  Frenchman 
was  makinp;  the  roads,  an  Englishman  was  building  the  piers  at  Jaffa 
and  Haifa,  a  German  professor  of  forestry  was  covering  the  hills  with 
pine-woods,  an  Italian  was  in  command  of  the  police,  and  a  Russian 
had  charge  of  the  postal  and  telegraphic  service. 

*'  For  the  carrying  into  execution  of  some  of  these  projects  for  the 
improvement  of  the  country  it  was  needful  to  raise  money  by  loan. 
But  as  all  the  suqilus  of  the  rapidly  increasing  revenue  of  the  country 
above  th6  snra  payable  to  the  Porte  (which  had  been  exorbitant  when 
exacted  from  a  poverty-stricken  peasantry,  but  was  trifling  in  com- 
parison to  the  increased  produce  of  the  soil)  was  strictly  applied  to 
the  redemption  of  this  deVit,  it  soon  disappeared,  and  all  the  remaining 
improvements — the  roads,  the  canals  for  irrigation,  the  forests,  the 
harbour  works — were  easily  provided  for  out  of  revenue.  The  one 
fundamental  principle  of  the  Palestinian  finance  was  that  (save  for 
the  before-mentioned  fixed  tribute  to  the  Sultan)  all  the  money 
raised  by  taxation  from  the  people  went  back  in  one  shape  or  another 
into  the  land. 

"  The  rival  claims  of  Christian  Churches  to  the  possession  of  the 
Holy  Places  were  settled  on  the  principle  of  uti  possidetis.  If  the 
Latins  had  established  theinst-lves  in  thi.s  grotto,  theirs  it  rfmained. 
If  the  Greeks  liad  secured  themselves  from  intrusion  by  walling  up 
the  chancel  of  that  church,  their  wall  was  untouched,  even  though 
it  spoilt  the  church  architectarally.  But  as  betwi^en  Moslfm  and 
Christian,  and  as  between  one  Christian  Church  and  another,  absolute 
freedom  to  choose  his  religion  was  left  to  oyery  man.  thi«  old  pro- 
hibition to  th«*  .Mussulman  to  change  his  creed  excejH  undpr  pain  of 
death  being,  of  course,  utterly  abrogated.  Herein  the  laws  of  the 
State   corresponded   almost  exactly   with    those   expounded    by 

3ter  Raphael  Hythlotlayt^  to  Sir  Thomas  More*  in  tlu>  pleasant 
garden  of  Peter  Giles,  in  the  city  of  Antwerp. 

"  'For  KjTig  Utopns,  even  at  the  first  beginning,  hearing  that  the 
inhabitants  of  the  land  were,  before  his  coming  thither,  at  continual 
diasention  and  strife  among  themselves  for  their  religions,  ... 
made  a  decn-e  that  it  should  be  lawfull  for  everie  man  to  favoure 
and  folow  what  religion  he  would,  and  that  he  mighte  do  thp  best 
he  conld  to  bring  others  to  his  opinion,  so  that  he  did  it,  peaceablie, 
gentelie,  quietly  without  hastie  and  content iouH  rebuking  and  invehing 
against  each  other.  If  he  could  not  by  faire  and  genth'  specbe 
induce  them  unto  his  opinion,  yet  he  should  ase  no  kinde  of  violence, 
and  rpfraine  from  diapleasaunte  and  seditious  worries.  To  him  that 
woulil  vehemently  and  fer\'etitlie  in  this  cause  strive  and  contende 
was  decreed  banishment  or   Iwndage.     This  law  did   Kynge  Utopus 


VOL.  LVII. 


"  Utopia,"  book  ii.,  last  section. 
3n 


1890] 


A    PALESTINIAN   UTOPIA. 


the  rainoas  budgets,  the  national  conscriptions,  the  grinding  taxation 
which  were  thp  despair  of  enlightened  stateBmeu  and  the  hope  of 
social  anarchists,  came  to  an  end,  and,  as  in  Palestine,  so  also  all 
over  Europe,  the  rulers  consulted  the  oracle  of  Science,  in  order  to  ascer- 
tain not  how  they  might  kill  in  a  few  moraentB  of  time  the  greatest 
number  of  their  foes,  but  how  they  might  support  for  a  lifetime  the 
greatest  number  of  their  friends,  by  which  word  they  meant  their 
subjects. 

•'  Gradually,  too,  by  similar,  yet  not  identical,  methods  to  those 
adopted  in  Palestine,  the  condition  of  the  various  nationalities  between 
the  Adriatic  and  the  Euphrates  was  improved,  not  at  tho  cost  of  a 
European  war,  and  one  leaf  after  another  of  the  thorny  Eastern 
Question  was  firmly  plucked,  and  finally  disposed  of. 

"  Other  causes,  doubtlfss,  have  been  at  work,  but  one  of  the  chief 
causes  of  the  happier  outlook  for  the  world  now,  as  compared  with  the 
closing  years  of  the  nineteenth  centurj",  has  certainly  been  the  estab- 
lishment of  the  International  Commission  for  Palestine." 

"  And  I  awoke,  and  behold  it  was  n  dream." 

Yet  it  is  conceivable  that  the  dream  might  be  a  reality,  if  states- 
men and  diplomatists  woiild  admit  into  thi-ir  minds  the  possibility 
that  there  may  be  a  few  germs  of  practical  truth  in  the  Christianity 
which  they  profess,  and  if  the  nations  of  Europe  could,  in  their  conduct 
towards  one  another,  rise  to  the  level  of  the  ordinary  English  gentle- 
man, instead  of  borrowing  their  code  of  morals  from  the  revolver- 
armed  bullies  of  a  Califomian  gambling-house. 

Thomas  Hodgkin. 

r.S. — Since  the  foregoing  article  was  written,  I  have  been  made 

aware  of  some  facts  (especially  those  contained  in  an  interesting  paper 

on  Jewish  Settlements  in  Palestine,  contributed  to  the  Spcdalor  of 

February  8,  1890),  which  make  me  doubt  whether  I  have  not  formed 

too  low  an  estimate  of  Jewish  stttlers  in  Palestine  as  tillers  of  the  soil. 

The  main  argument  of  the  paper,  however,  would  not  be  much  affected 

,  by  an  error  on  this  jwint.     It  will  be  generally  admitted  that  a  largo 

inllux  of  Polish   Jews  (and  such  are   the  majority   of  the   present 

Hebrew  immigrants)  would  not  at  once  solve  the  problem  before  us, 

■  Slid  that  they  would  want  much  help  and  guidance  before  they  could 

[develop  into  a  progressive,  self-governed  community. 

T.  H. 


[JCSK 


THE   BROAD   CHURCH;   OR,  WHATS 
COMING? 


HERE  are  two  facts : 
I.  Intelligent  men  refuse  to  take  Holy  Orders. 

II.  Intelligent  men  refuse  to  attend  church. 

The  reasons  are  obvious  and  related.  They  stare  one  in  the  face 
and  they  dovetail.  Intelligent  men  won't  sit  in  the  pew  because 
intelligent  men  won't  stand  in  the  pulpit. 

"  I  will  not  take  Holy  Orders,"  says  the  clever,  conscientious,  even 
religious-minded  man,  "  because  the  formularies  as  they  stand  do  not 
express  my  religious  convictions.  I  doubt  my  power  of  being  able  to 
bring  them  into  any  kind  of  harmony  with  those  convictions.  If  I 
could,  I  doubt  whether  I  should  be  allowed  to  do  so  in  the  Church  of 
England  ;  meanwhile,  I  should  have  to  say  what  I  don't  believe,  and 
therefore  I  won't  go  into  the  Church," 

"  I  don't  sit  in  the  pow,"  says  the  intelligent  layman,  ''  because 
what  I  hear  in  church  is  obsolete,  trivial — often  to  my  mind  senseless ; 
the  pulpit  is  frequently  occupied  by  a  man  who  would  not  get  sixpence 
a  day  in  any  other  profession,  and  whom  no  one  would  think  of  lis- 
tening to  out  of  church,  although,  by  the  way,  he  often  talks  more 
sense  on  his  own  hearthrug  than  in  the  pulpit ;  the  prayers  sound, 
some  of  them,  antiquated  and  exaggerated ;  the  expression  of  doc- 
trines unreal  or  unintelligible  ;  the  Bible  reading  is  ill- chosen  or  in- 
audible ;  therefore,  on  the  whole,  I  don't  go  to  church."  If,  now, 
some  men  still  go  to  church,  it  is  in  spite  of  the  obsolete  doctrine  and 
the  incompetent  clergy.  The  greatest  tribute  to  the  necessity  of  reli- 
gion is,  that  it  survives  its  outworn  forms ;  the  greatest  proof  of  the 
essential  truth  of  Christianity  is,  that  in  spite  of  the  twaddle  talked 
every  Sunday  throughout  England  in  the  name  of  Christ,  Christianity 
is  still  alive.     Pithily  said  the  old  verger,  "  I've  been  listening  to 


i89o] 


THE   BROAD    CHURCH. 


001 


sermons  twice  eveiy  Sunday  for  nigh  forty  year  come  Michaelmas, 
and,  thank  God,  I'm  a  Christian  still."  Alas!  the  faith  of  all  sermon 
hearers  is  not  so  robust. 

Will  intellect  and  eloquence  over  return  to  the  pulpits  of  the  Church 
of  England  ?  Will  intelligent  men  ever  to  any  noticeable  extent  re- 
occupy  her  pews  ? 

That  will  entirely  depend  upon  whether  the  Liberal  or  Broad  Church 
party  can  reorganise  the  religious  thought  of  the  Church  as  fearlessly 
and  successfully  as  the  Low  Church  reorganised  its  emotional  piety 
and  the  High  Church  reorganised  its  dramatic  ritual.  It  is  the  thought 
of  the  age  far  more  than  the  feeUng  or  the  taste  of  tbe  age  that  is  alien- 
ated from  the  Church.  FeeUng  is  still  tbere,  and  form  is  still  there — 
an  occasional  orator,  like  Liddon,  or  the  Bishop  of  Peterborough,  is  the 
result — but  both  feeling  and  form  are  in  danger  of  paralysis,  because 
Church  feeling  is  without  reason,  and  Church  form  is  without  congrnity 
to  the  age. 

The  Low  Church  have  done  well,  but  they  have  had  their  day  ;  they 
have  leavened  the  laity. 

The  High  Church  have  done  well ;  they  have  made  religion  fashion- 
able, but  they  have  not  leavened  the  laity.  Pusey  never  got  hold  of 
the  masses  Uke  Wesley.  The  reason  of  that  is  that  Puseyism  was 
Italian,  Wesleyanism  was  EngUsh ;  but  neither  was  intellectual,  and 
the  reform  now  needed  in  the  Church  is  essentially  an  inteUcctual  reform. 

In  this  respect  the  age  is  more  like  the  age  of  Constantine  and 
Athanasius  than  the  age  of  Luther  and  Henry  VIII.  We  want  a  form 
of  sound  words  which  will  ring  true  in  nineteenth-century  ears.  The 
creeds  and  articles  are  now  *'  like  sweet  bells  jangled  out  of  tune." 

Neither  Low  Church  nor  High  Chiu'ch  have  any  remedy  to  propose 
for  this.  When  the  Low  Church  are  asked  what's  to  be  done,  they  quote 
texts ;  when  the  High  Cburch  are  asked  for  a  remedy,  they  say  the 
Catechism  or  mutter  the  Mass.  But  this  won't  do  for  ever.  That  is 
why  the  Broad  Church  who  can  supply  a  new  intellectual  basis  should 
not  be  slow  to  come  in  at  this  crisis  and  make  their  contributiuu  to 
tlie  National  Church.  Whether  under  the  strain  of  this  reform  the 
►Anglic-an  church  as  such  will  go  to  pieces,  as  the  Jewish  church  went 
to  pieces  before  Christianity,  depends  upon  whether  the  Church  knows 
or  does  not  know  in  this  her  day  the  things  which  belong  to  her 
peace  ;  but  nothing  short  of  a  frank  and  radical  re-formulation  of 
doctrine — at  least  as  radical  as  the  English  Reformation — is  required  ; 
and  neither  High  Church  (witness  the  "  Lu.x  Mundi  "  apologetics  !) 
nor  the  Evangelical  Prophets  (witness  Mr.  Spurgeon  on  the  ''Apostacy 
of  these  Latter  Days  '')  seem  to  be  alive  to  that  obvious  fact.  They 
hear  tbe  shouting  of  the  foe,  and  they  bury  their  heads  deeper  in 
the  sand  :  but  in  polemics  the  ostrich  policy  never  answers. 

And  now  to  the  point,  or  rather  the  four  points. 


902 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


[Jcu 


I.  What  are  the  Broad  Church  ? 

II.  What  is  their  method  ? 
m.  Is  that  method  possible  ? 
IV.   I8  that  method  honest  ? 
Answer   these    questions    etraightforwatdly,    and    not    after 

fashion  of  "  Lnx  Mundi,"  and  a  New  Reformation  will  have  dawned. 
Intellect  will  no  longer  shun  the  church  pulpit.  Thinking  men  will 
no  longer  shim  the  church  pew. 

I.  Wliat  are  the  Broad  Church  ?  I  will  give  a  descriptive  analysis 
rather  than  a  definition  of  Broad  Churchism.  1st.  The  Broad  Church 
are  those  who  love  the  High  Church,  because  they  perceive  that  High 
Churchism  bears  witness  to  the  sacramental  character  of  forms  and 
ceremonies.  We  need  such  outward  and  visible  signs  of  inward  aad 
spiritual  graces. 

The  Broad  Church  are  those  who  love  the  Low  Church,  because  they 
perceive  that  Low  Churchism  bears  witness  to  spiritual  freedom.  The 
soul  must  have  this  too ;  it  will  not  be  bound  by  that  it  uses ;  we 
need  forms  and  ceremonies ;  we  need  spiritual  freedom.  The  Higb 
Church  would  cast  out  the  Low  Church,  and  the  Low  Church  the  High, 
and  both  would  cast  out  the  Broad  ;  but  the  Broad  desires  to  retain 
both, — it  is  Comprchcnuivc. 

( 2)  The  Broad  Church  feels  the  need  of  bringing  the  praying  and  the 
preaching  of  the  Anglican  Church  into  harmony  with  nineteenth- 
century  thought  and  feeling.  It  does  not  believe  that  the  theology 
of  Constantino  in  the  fourth  century  was  any  more  final  than  the 
settlement  of  Henry  VIII.  in  the  sixteenth  century.  It  desires  to 
bring  doctrine  to  the  test  of  living  thought,  re-stating  its  sul 
in  terms  of  present  knowledge, — it  is  liadical. 

(3)  It  uses  Dogmatic  Theology  as  a  Basis  of  Action,  and  th»« 
Formularies  of  the  National  Church  as  a  Mechanism  of  Ritual. — ti  i« 
Conservalivc.  The  three  descriptive  adjectives  of  the  Broad  Church 
are  these — Comprehensive,  Madlcaly  Conserrutivc. 

II.  Ifniai  is  the  Broad.  Church  Method  ? — Reform  from  within. 
There  are  two  ways  of  reforming  a  system  or  a  person.  Yon  can  go 
outside  and  attack — that  means  Revolution,  it  is  the  Destroctiw 
Method.  It  tramples  upon  good  and  bad  together,  like  the  silly 
Christian  missionary  who  began  the  conversion  of  the  Mohammedan 
by  sitting  on  the  Koran.  Tlie  other  way  Ls  to  mould  and  mothfy 
from  within,  getting  gradually  rid  of  the  false  or  the  obsolete  ami 
developing  new  life  around  all  such  true  and  living  germs  as  can  be 
found  in  every  dogma  and  in  every  creed.  That  is  Reform — it  is  thf 
Constructive  Method ;  it  is  the  Way  of  Life ;  it  is  the  Secret  «•? 
Nature.  It  is  suitable  to  religion  because  religion  is  a  living,  grow- 
ing thing.  Religion  is  not  mechanical  but  organic.  It  is  not  like  a 
building  which  can  be  patched  and  altered  and  tinkered  up  at  will ; 


iSgo] 


THE   BROAD    CHURCH. 


903 


it  must  grow ;  it  must  live  or  die,  but  whilst  it  lives  it  must  grow, 
and  growing  change.  Learn  a  parable  from  the  acorn :  You  plant 
it,  the  husk  rots  slowly,  you  don't  strip  it  off',  it  surrounds  and 
protects  the  new  living  germ  to  the  last,  and  only  sinks  into  the 
mould  when  its  work  is  done.  Every  dogmatic  expression,  every 
form  of  ceremony  becomes  even  as  the  husk  of  the  acorn  in  time  ; 
but  you  must  not  strip  it  off  too  soon  -  it  is  tliere  to  protect  the 
living  germ  of  the  new  oak ;  it  will  drop  away  of  itself,  it  has  its 
use  ;  let  it  alone. 

Over  every  creed  and  formulary  is  written  this  motto :  '^  It  was 
true — It  is  true — It  is  no  longer  tnte,"  which  being  interpreted  is, 
"  Once  snch  and  such  a  dogma — The  Trinity,  or  the  Incarnation,  an 
Inspired  Bible,  an  Infallible  Church — once  such  dogmas  were  the  best 
attainable  expressions  of  certain  truths."  "  If.  was  true."  Now  we 
can  disceni  the  essential  truth  that  lies  at  the  root  of  each  one  of  the 
old  puzzling  statements ;  that  essential  something  is  destined  to  last 
on  in  a  changed  form — transformed — ''  //  is  true." 

But  we  can  find  many  better  ways  of  expressing  it — the  expres- 
sional  form  once  so  helpful  and  adequate  is  now  obsolete  or  seen  to  be 
erroneous,  as  who  should  say  "  the  sun  rises,"  a  perfectly  correct  state- 
ment of  what  appears  to  take  place — but — "  iv/.  it  i.<i  no  lo7if/er 
true." 

The  true  reformer  is  tender  with  the  Past,  patient  with  Dogma, 
respectful  to  Forms.  He  knows  their  value.  The  greatest  reform ers 
have  always  tried  to  retain  and  use  what  they  found.  They  have 
usually  been  defeated  and  driven  into  opposition,  but  resistance  to 
reform  from  within  has  compelled  revolution  or  attack  from  without. 
Revolution  has  brought  disaster,  and  the  destruction  of  much  that  was 
valuable,  and  which  might  have  been  kept,  and  has  got  to  be  painfully 
brought  back. 

The  policy  of  the  Broad  Church,  the  policy  of  reform  from  within,  is 
called  dishonest,  but  it  was  nevertheless  the  policy  of  Je^us.  He  was 
the  greatest  spiritual  Reformer  whom  the  world  had  ever  seen  :  but 
He  usod  the  synagogue — it  was  "  His  custom  "  to  go  there  on  the 
Sabbath.  He  did  not  approve  of  everything  there,  but  He  used 
what  He  found.  He  said  :  Moses  says  this,  but  I  tell  you  something 
different,  yet  I  come  not  to  destroy  but  to  fulfil.  He  foretold  the 
results  of  putting  the  new  wine  into  the  old  bottles,  but  He  poured 
it  in  himself  till  they  burst.  He  used  the  old  rites  with  new  mean- 
ings. To  Nicodemus,  his  view  of  baptism  seemed  quitp  non-natural, 
and  BO  strained  that  that  ruler  of  the  Jews  could  not  nnderetand  it. 

Paul  was  also  for  carrj'ing  reform  from  within.  He  did  not  believe 
in  circumcision,  but  he  circumcised  Timothy  ;  nor  in  meats  offered  to 
idols,  but  he  was  willing  to  abstain ;  nor  in  vows,  but  he  shaved  his 
head,  •'  having  a  vow  at  Cenchrea  " ;  and  so  eager  was  he  not  to  break 


904  THE    CONTEMPORARY  Rl 

with  the  old  established  Church  of  his  brethri 
whole   of  the  old   sacrificial   language   until 
through  his  epistles  became  quite  intolerably  v 
logy  of  the  Jewish  shambles,  and  through 
weighted  down  to  the  present  day. 

Luther  tried  hard  to  reform  from  within, 
worlds  not  to  break  with  the  Pope.  He  stret* 
did  not  even  quite  destroy  Transubstantiatioi 
stantiation;  he  was  even  for  retaining  the  < 
and  half  the  old  ceremonies  intact.  "  Alter 
externals  of  religion,"  was  his  constant  advi 
became  desperate.  The  policy  of  the  Broad 
Divine  authority,  for  it  is  the  policy  of  J( 
precedent,  for  it  is  the  policy  of  Paul,  Luther, 
others. 

And  why  are  we  thus  Conservative?  B 
better  than  revolution.  We  ought  to  learn  this 
surely  the  evils  of  Revolution  have  been  writte 
in  characters  of  blood  and  fire  for  oar  instruct 

Christianity  became  a  Revolution  when  the 
tion — and  the  consequence  ?  Art,  letters,  ar 
centuries ;  slowly  something  was  recovered,  1 
rediscovered,  but  a  good  deal  was  lost  for  evei 
that  those  old  books  of  magic  were  also  burnt  ( 
accumulations  of  occult  science  were  destroyec 
statues  and  the  classic  MSS. 

The  Luther  movement  became  a  Revoluti 
from  Rome,  because  Rome  would  not  allow  a 
the  consequences  ?  External  decencies  of  w 
numberless  aids  to  religion,  helps,  manuals,  o 
ruthlessly  swept  away,  stained-glass  smashed,  i 
the  belief  in  a  Divine  Presence  with  the  Churi 
by  blows  dealt  at  the  supernatural,  which  is,  fen 
religion  in  all  its  various  forms;  and  only  just  no 
back  Art  to  the  Sanctuaiy,  and  the  sense  of  su; 
and  Powers  to  the  world.  The  High  Church  si 
and  modern  spiritualism  in  its  many  and  mix 
cloudy  but  constant,  to  the  Supernatural ;  but 
midst  of  all  its  corruption  conserved  both  Ar 
might  have  done  without  a  Revolution,  had  it  fa 
from  within,  mended  its  ]\Iorals,  restated  its  D 
Supernaturalism  up  to  date  :  but  it  would  not 
rate  it  did  not,  and  one-half  of  Roman  Catho 
The  Broad  Church  see  all  this.  For  them  histo 
in  vain. 


1890] 


THE   BROAD    CHURCH. 


905 


The  principle  of  Reform  from  within  is  immense  and  far  reaching ; 
that  is  why  the  Broad  Church  assume  dogmatic  Christianity  as  a  basis, 
and  the  formularies  of  the  National  Church  as  a  mechanism,  and  propose 
to  mould  the  one  and  to  modify  the  other,,  as  dogmas  and  fonnularies 
have  been  moulded  and  modified  before,  until  the  Church  prayers  and 
the  Church  preaching  get  into  living  touch  with  nineteenth-century 
thought  and  feeling. 

III. .  Can  it  be  done  t — la  it  possible  ?  To  the  Church  of  the 
Reformation  everything  is  possible.  Colani  said  years  ago  at 
Strasburg ;  "  Protestantism  is  not  the  last  note  of  the  Reformed 
Church,  it  is  the  first  note — it  shows  the  direction  in  which  the 
Church  intends  to  travel."  Articles  IX.  and  XXXFV.  (cide  Thirty- 
Nine  Articles)  are  the  two  famous  Broad  Church  Articles,  since  they 
iprovide  for  every  conceivable  kind  of  reform  from  within.  Article  IX. 
proclaims  that  all  churches  up  to  the  Reformation  had  erred — so  why 
not  all  churches  after  it  ? — and  Article  XXXIY.  declares  that  national 
churches  have  power  to  alter  or  ordain  rites  and  ceremonies  ;  and 
therefore  doctrines,  for  what  are  rites  but  embodied  doctrines  fat  least 
according  to  the  Ritualists)  ?  At  all  events  the  Church  of  the  Reforma- 
tion dealt  with  both  Doctrine  and  Ritual  once,  and  is  capable  of 
dealing  with  both  again. 

But  why  beat  about  the  bush,  when  this  possibility  of  internal 
reform  is  no  longer  a  dream  but  an  accomplished  fact,  and  within  the 
memory  of  man,  too.  In  my  time  the  Gunpowder  Plot  and  Charles 
the  Martyr  services  have  been  dropped  out  of  the  I'rayer-buok.  lu  my 
grandfather's  time,  the  Restoration  of  Charles  II.  was  swept  away, 

A  few  years  ago  a  revised  translation  of  the  Bible  was  authorised 
by  the  bishops,  striking  a  death-blow  at  that  idolatry  of  the  English 
letter  at  one  time  in  favour  with  the  Bible  Christian. 

In  18(j.j,  what  Dean  Stanley  used  to  call  a  rag-and-tatter  subscrip- 
tion for  the  clergy  was  substituted  for  the  old  hard-and-fast  document. 
We,  the  clergy  of  the  Anglican  Church,  have  now  a  liberty  in  doctrine 
and  ritual  unknown  to  any  other  Church  in  Christendom.  Is  it  too 
much  to  expect  that  a  Church  that  can  do  so  much  out  of  deference 

modem  opinions,  and  carry  so  rapidly  such  reforms  from  within, 
will  some  day  follow  Dr.  Heasey's  suggestion  (Bampton  Lectures 
on  "  iSunday  '),  and  give  us  simple  alternative  forma  for  the  Sacra- 
ments,— may  I  add,  an  expurgated  Bible,  selected  Psalms,  one  Creedal 
statement,  simpler  and  briefer,  additional  qualifying  and  liberating 
rubrics,  sanctioning  a  more  elastic  conduct  of  the  services,  and,  lastly, 
a  total  repeal  of  the  Act  of  Uniformity,  an  oppressive  document  un- 
known to  the  early  Church,  and  already,  under  the  Act  of  18G5, 
become  almost  a  dead  letter. 

The  answer  to  this  thii*d  question,  Is  reform  inside  the  Church  of 
England  possible?  amounts  simply  to  this.     Such  reform  is  provided 


906 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[JCNI 


for  by  two  of  the  Thirty- nine  Articles,  and  it  is  already  an  aooom- 
pUshed  fact  in  half  a  dozen  crucial  cases.     Let  as  go  on  and  prosper. 

IV.  And  lastly,  Is  the  metluxt  of  the  Broad  Church  honest/ — a 
questioJi  which  presses  heavily  on  good  Mr.  Spargeon,  who  thinks  us 
all  "  villains'^ ;  but  then  that  excellent  man  admits  that  he  'ufot's  not 
undrrsfMiul  Broad  Chiirdi  dkieji,"  Why,  of  course  not ;  what  wonid 
his  sheep  say  if  he  did  ?  To  stay  in  a  Church  which  yon  see  needs 
reform,  to  use  formularies  and  start  with  statements  of  doctrine  which 
you  cannot  agree  with  as  they  stand,  btit  desire  to  amend — is  this 
honest  ?  Well,  every  living  party  in  the  Church  has  been  charged 
with  dishonesty  just  so  long  as  it  was  a  rc/ormin<i  party.  The  Low 
Church  were  called  dishonest  because  they  leaned  to  Nonconformity 
and  its  irregular  ways  ;  but  the  Low  Church  got  itself  accepted,  and 
has  long  since  been  dubbed  orthodox.  Indeed,  Lord  Palmerston. 
under  J>ord  Shafteaburj-'s  dictation,  would  have  nothing  but  liow 
Church  bishops. 

The  High  Charch  was  called  dishonest  because  it  leaned  towards 
Home,  but  that,  too.  got  itself  accepted,  and  now  it  is  better  to  bo 
rather  High  Church  than  otherwise  (whether  Gladstone  or  Salisbury 
be  in  power)  if  you  want  to  be  a  bishop ;  and  so  the  Broad  Church ,  who 
are  the  latest  reformers,  are  naturally  denounced  as  dishonest  because 
they  want  to  remould  the  doctrine  and  the  ritual  of  the  Church  into 
accord  with  nineteenth-century  thought  and  feeling. 

When  people  attack  the  Broad  Church  with — "  Do  you  believe  the 
doctrines  of  the  Church  ?  Do  you  approve  of  the  formularies  of  the 
Church  ?  "  it  is  suflScient  answer  to  say : — The  Church  of  England 
doctrine  is  believed,  and  the  Church  liturgy  is  used  and  preached  in 
the  High  and  Low  Churches,  but  it  does  not  sound  quite  the  same  in 
both,  and  it  certainly  does  not  look  at  all  the  same ;  why  expect  more 
from  the  Broad  Church  ?  We  believe  and  preach  the  doctrines  and 
we  use  the  forms  in  our  way.  they  in  theirs ;  condemn  us  all,  or 
acquit  U8  all ;  we  are  all  guilty,  or  we  are  all  innocent. 

The  Low  Church  had  at  one  time  such  a  contempt  for  ecclesiastical 
form  that  they  could  hardly  abide  the  bishops,  or  bear  the  trammels  of 
the  liturgy  at  all.  Wesley  arrogated  to  himself  episcopal  f  unctious ; 
and  the  Lady  Huntingdon  connection  fairly  stept  across  the  border : 
yet  Lady  Huntingdon's  first  chaphiiri  and  tnistee,  Dr.  Thomas  Haweis, 
lived  and  died  Rector  of  Aldwinkle  in  the  Church  of  England. 

The  High  Church  openly  detest  the  word  Protestant,  and  donoance 
the  Reformation  as  a  curse.  Their  doctrine  of  the  Real  Presence  in  the 
Sacraments  is  closely  akin  to  the  gross  materialism  of  the  Mass,  but 
the  High  Church  have  stood  their  ground  as  honest  men  for  a'  that. 

The  Broad  Church  call  for  Ue-statement.     They  are  for  dropping 
rliftt  is  obsolete,  but  not  all  at  once.     They  would  go  on  printing  the 
payer-book  with  tdtrrnndrr  formn  and  additions.     They  are  for  ro 


THE   BROAD   CHURCH. 


907 


covering  and  re-setting  the  essential  truth  which  lies  at  tho  bottom  of 
every  dogma,  correlating  the  new  knowledge  with  current  religious 
thoug^ht,  and  re-adapting  the  Church  functions  to  the  needs  and  the 
intellectual,  social,  and  ajsthetic  instincts  of  the  age ;  and  the  Broad 
Church  presume  to  call  themselves  honest  men  for  a'  that. 

You  don't  call  your  il.P.'s,  Mr.  John  Morley  or  Mr.  Bryce,  dis- 
honest, because  they  admire  Republican  opinions,  and  yet  take  the 
oath  of  allegiance  to  Her  Majesty.  People  have  almost  left  off  calling 
3'arnell  dishonest  because  he,  like  many  others,  continues  to  be  an 
M.P.  and  a  Homo  Ruler  as  well. 

Our  judges  are  not  thought  dishonest  because  they  take  the  oaths, 
and  are  content  to  preside  over  a  mass  of  laws,  some  obsolete,  some 
contradictory,  some  sorely  in  need  of  re-statement,  and  not  a  few  which 
call  for  interpretation  in  strained  and  non-natural  senses.  But  what 
are  the  difficulties  of  the  British  Constitution,  and  what  is  the  con- 
fused and  heterogeneous  mass  of  the  ICnglish  law — what  is  the  mixed 
position  of  the  M.P.  or  the  judge  compared  to  the  confusion,  the 
jumble  of  things  old  and  new  in  religion  with  which  the  clerg)'- 
man  of  the  Church  of  England  has  got  to  deal  ?  And  what  should 
he  do  under  the  circumstances  ?  Why  should  his  principle  bo  other 
than  that  which  governs  judge  or  M.P.  ?  Put  the  question,  what 
becomes  of  the  country  if  the  House  never  passes  a  Reform  Bill 
(reform  from  within) ;  what  becomes  of  justice  if  there  is  never  a  Law 
Amendment  Act,  never  an  attempt  to  reconcile  law  and  equity,  and 
write  law  up  to  date  (all  reforms  from,  tcithiv) ;  and  what  becomes  of 
the  rehgion  of  tho  National  Church  if  every  attempt  to  reform,  re- 
state, and  write  up  to  date  is  burked,  is  denounced  as  treachery  and 
dishonour  ? 

We  declare  then  that  tlie  Broad  Church  clergy,  adopting  the  method 
of  Jesus,  and  maintaining  historic  continuity  with  St.  Paul  and  Luther, 
are  justified  in  stopping  where  they  are;  in  pleading  for," and  in 
working  for,  and  in  lioping  for  Reform  instead  of  Revolution  ;  and 
they  may  fairly  charge  those  with  ignorance  who  accuse  them  of  ilis- 
honesty. 

In  fact,  the  Broad  Church  clergyman  has  only  to  satisfy  himself  on 
three  points,  and  the  argument  for  his  defence  against  all  the  Robert 
Elsmeres,  Stopford  Brookes,  and  Voyseys,  and  even  Spurgeons,  is 
practically  close^l : — 

(1)  He  owes  fealty  to  tho  terms  of  subscription. 

(2)  To  the  administration, 

Qi)  To  the  ensential  truths  underlying  the  dogmas  of  the  Church. 

1.  FeaUi/  to  the  Ttrms  of  Subscription.— T\\e  Broad  Church  clergy- 
man is  of  tern  asked  :  Does  not  your  teaching  violate  the  tenns  of  your 
clerical  subscription  ?  Vou  undertook  to  believe  and  teach  certain 
doctrines  which  you  now  call  in  question.     The    answer  to   this    i* 


x89o] 


THE   BROAD  CHURCH. 


909 


how  many  illegally  curtail  the  church  services  in  all  sorts  of  ways  and 
don't  keep  the  saints*  days ;  how  often  is  the  long  exhortation  to 
attend  the  Lord's  Supper  read ;  how  seldom  is  the  denunciatory  one 
ever  heard,  although  in  many  churches  the  number  of  communicants 
is  notoriously  small  ? 

All  parties,  therefore,  freely  and  unrebukedly  neglect  or  break  the 
law  of  the  Church.      Fealty  to  that  is  no  longer  possible. 

The  rule,  therefore,  must  now  be — Fealty  to  the  Administrntiim. 
Not  what  is  illegal,  but  what  is  enforced  or  authoritatively  enjoined  in 
each  particular  case — that  we  are  bound  to  obey — and  only  that. 
In  a  word,  we  how  to  the  administration  of  the  Church.  If  we  csui  do 
this  conscieittiously,  we,  as  Broad  Church  clergy,  remain  in  the 
Church  ;  if  we  cannot,  we  must  go,  But,  in  all  cases,  we  lay  the 
onus  of  turning  us  out  upon  the  administration;  we  are  not  going 
oat  as  long  as  we  are  allowed  to  work  for  church  reform  from  within. 
If  we  are  tolerated,  why  the  High  and  the  Low  are  no  more  and  no 
less,  and  we  claim  our  common  Uberties  along  with  them.  And  we 
propose  to  stay  in  the  Church  and  work  out  our  policy  till  the  times 
change  and  we  come  into  power,  even  as  they  have  stayed  in  and 
successfully  worked  out  theirs,  until  they  camo  into  power  and  got 
themselves  general!}'  accepted.     And  our  time  is  not  far  off  now. 

3.  But  when  we  como  to  h\.alfii  to  Truth,  the  Broad  Church  can 
triumph  easily  over  both  High  and  Low.  The  High  Church  do  not 
like  the  Low  Church  dogma,  and  the  Low  Church  object  to  the  High 
ritual  and  dogma;  but  the  Jiroad  Church  declare,  with  one  for-reach- 
ing  and  sweeping  acceptance,  the  value  and  necessity  of  holding  tight 
every  dogma  that  the  Church  has  ever  taught.  They  are,  indeed, 
for  turning  it  out  of  dead  dogma  into  living  doctrine.  They  wrestle 
with  it  as  Jacob  wrestled  with  the  angel.  They  will  know  its  name 
and  nature,  nor  will  they  lot  it  depart  until  it  has  jdelded  up  its 
secret  and  blessed  them.  They  are  for  re-stating— in  other  words, 
rescuing  and  resetting — the  truth  which  any  special  dogma  once  held ; 
truth  which  tho  dogma  is  now  in  danger  of  wounding,  even  as  the 
angel  touched  the  sinew  of  the  Patriarch's  thigh,  and  it  shrank.  But 
nothing  in  the  way  of  dogma  comes  amiss  to  the  Broad  Church ;  they 
are  positively  hungry  for  it.  Tliey  delight  in  it ;  they  use  it  as  a 
very  Siloam  pool  of  suggestion  and  healing.  Dogma  is  to  them  the 
only  secure  basis  upon  which  every  new  and  living  truth  has  to  be 
built  up.  At  worst,  dogma  is  but  as  an  over-faithful,  weather-beaten 
sentinel,  from  whose  iron  and  icy  grip  some  time-woru  treasure  has 
to  be  delivered. 

Give  a  Broad  Churchman  even  the  dogma  of  the  Infallibility  of  the 
Pope,  and  he  will  be  delighted  to  handle  it  sympathetically  and  ten- 
derly. He  will  tell  you  that  this  apparently  monstrous  dogma  was  aa 
neaily  true  aa  any  oould  be  when  the  most  enlightened  Christian- Church 


910 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


WBfi  the  Romani  Cburcb,  and  the  Pope  m  Coimcilt  aa  its  representAtire, 
sammed  np  the  verdict  of  the  most  ealightened  Christijui  coi^cieDce. 
The  ideal  verdict  of  the  enlightened  Christian  oouscience  in  eTreiy 
age  ia  the  nearest  approach  to  InfalUbility  we  shall  ever  get  on  this 
earth,  and  the  assnmption  and  widely  undisputed  assumption  of 
that  glory  once  belonged  to  Rome;  the  dogma  iras  true.  It  is  Iriu 
(in  BO  far  as  it  setreB  to  remind  as  of  an  almost  self-evident  tmtb}. 
It  u  no  longer  Inn;. 

And  if  the  Broad  Chnrcliman  can  do  so  much,  and  glories  in  doing 
so  nmeh  for  an  exploded  Homan  dogma,  gathering  np  the  fragmeute 
that  nothing  be  lost,  it  will  be  a  light  thing  for  him  to  take  up  the 
dogmas  of  the  Reformed  Church,  Inspiration  of  the  Bible,  Jastificatioti 
by  faith,  Sacramental  Grace,  Original  Sin,  the  Trinity  and  the  Divinity 
of  the  Ijord  Jesna,  and  show  his  fealty  to  the  essential  truths  which 
lie  embedded  in  every  one  of  these  dogmas. 

When  it  beconaes  perfectly  clear  to  otherSj  as  it  is  perfectly  clear  to 
m<\  that  this  can  be  done,  and  bonestly  done,  in  the  Chnrch  of 
England,  intelligent  raen  will  no  longer  refase  to  take  Holy  Orders, 
und  intelligent  men  will  no  longer  refuse  to  attend  Church. 


I 


I 


H.  R.  Haweis. 


i89o] 


THE  BETTERMENT  TAX. 


I  HAVE  read  with  mucli  interest  Mr.  Bae's  article  in  tiie  last 
numbt^r  of  this  Review  upon  what  ho  calls  ''  the  Betterment 
Tax/'  as  proposed  by  the  London  County  Council,  against  which  I 
had  presented  some  arguments  in  a  letter  to  the  Tinus.  I  am 
struck  by  the  fact  that  when  any  definition  is  given  of  the  principle 
of  that  proposal,  this  definition  is  almost  always  so  vaguely  worded 
that  the  essence  of  it,  and  the  effect  of  it,  are  kept  out  of  sight ; 
whilst  very  different  proposals  both  in  essence  and  effect  are  sug- 
gested. The  whole  plaosibility  of  the  definition,  and  the  whole 
apparent  justice  of  the  principle  laid  down,  depend  on  this  ambiguity. 
Without,  I  feel  sure,  the  smallest  intention  to  deceive,  Mr.  Rae  almost 
inveigles  us  into  assent  by  a  form  of  words  which  presents  hardly 
any  roughness  to  the  touch  or  shadow  to  the  eye.  It  seems  a  perfect 
example  of  the  virtue  so  much  extolled  by  Matthew  Arnold  under  the 
title  of  "  sweet  reasonableness."  It  is,  however,  also  a  perfect 
.illustration  of  the  old  proverb,  JJohis  latet  in  gcneralibu^ — that  abstract 
ipropositions  are  dangerous  things  in  practical  affairs,  as  much  as,  or 
even  more  than,  in  philosophy  or  in  science. 

There  could  not  be  a  better  example  of  this  than  the  form  in  which 
Mr.  line  puts  his  case  in  the  last  page  of  hia  article.  He  refers  to 
the  Strand  improvement  as  one  which  will  give  a  new  frontage  to 
houses  now  in  a  back  street,  and  will  make  them  "  more  worthy  of 
demand."  Ho  points  out  that  this  benefit  is  conferred  by  a  definite 
piece  of  labour  in  tlio  clearing  away  of  other  houses  that  stood 
before  them  ;  and  then  he  proceeds  to  state  the  question  in  dispute 
as  follows: — *'  The  only  question  is  whether  the  proprietor  of  a  house 
oaght  not  to  contribute  to  the  expense  of  that  labour  in  some 
proportion  to  the  special  benefit  he  appropriates  from  it,  or  at  least  in 


912  TIIIC    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEfr. 

Koinc  liif^lKT  ini'asure  than  his  fellow-citizens  who   do  not 
ill  tliut  Ix'iicfit." 

NdW,  loiulinj?  lliis  sentence  in  perfect  simplicitv  of  mint 
on  tlic  walch  for  any  verbal  fallacy,  I  should  at  once  hear 
tlio  allirniutive  answer  to  the  question  so  put.  The  owner 
lioust'  ouf^ht  to  contribute  to  the  expense  of  the  openi 
ou^ht,  nunvover,  to  contribute  *' in  some  proportion  ''  to  i 
In-nt'lit,  and  c»'rtainly  in  '•  some  hiirher  measure "'  than  I 
citizens  who  do  not  participate  in  that  benedr.  All  die 
propositions  I  should  accept  without  a  raummr  >?f  •lissent. 
one  of  them  is  fullilled  and  satistied  by  the  u-saul  and  rime 
pnu'tice  of  Knglish  niunicipalities — tiie  practice,  namely. 
asj^>.«5!5monts  on  the  rental  or  lottinir  value  of  h'^n.?*^*.  -o  tj 
that  value  rises,  there  is  a  corre.-p-->nii:n|?  rise  in  tii-^  iaccc 
fi\>m  the  assessments  thereupon.  Thu?.  i:"l::rises  in  a.  narrow 
U't  at  or  alvut  ilO'.'  a  year  each,  ar..;  ::"  ly  ■*4:cie  manic:'; 
they  obtain  ;i,  new  frontaire.  an'.!  rise  :>;  a  d:a';ie  v-il-ie.  so 
;it  LJ'.'O  instrvul  of  '.lOO.  t:;e::  th-"  d.  i'.'.^  :im<:unc  on  -ralue 
double  a:'.vv:::r  or"  ta\.  This  is  ^---triirnriz:?  z^:  "lie  Clonic:: 
"  in  p'.i'j'.^ •:(.>::  r.»  :!•..»  sv.vi.ii  "rr.-":  I  ri~r<i."    This  ia  r!t-rf>-'cri 


.e.  :i 

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v:--  '*Ta::t: '. 

THE   BETTERMENT   TAX. 


913 


it,  for  tHe  present,  and  just  to  appease  excessive  discontent,  this 
ia  to  ba  abated  to  50  per  cent,  on  the  new  rent,  or  to  on©- 
ly,  of  the  whole.  This  abatement,  however,  is  a  mere  con- 
of  the  principle,  made  partly  with  a  view  to  avoid  or  discount 
|e  valuations  j  but  the  householder  must  distinctly  understand 
lat  has  been,  all  along  meant,  and  intended,  by  the  words 
proportion  to  the  Hp(?cial  benefit,"  was  that  proportion  which 
in  the  whole  of  it — the  whole  £100  which  had  been  added  to 
pious  value  of  £100.  Mr,  llae  in  another  part  of  his  article 
J  correct  phraseology  as  applicable  to  this  proposal  and  this 
t — phraseology  which  would  have  quite  undeceived  the  house- 
if  it  had  been  used  in  the  course  of  our  supposed  negotiation  : 
Bftl  practice  there  is  no  disposition  to  deal  harshly  with  the 
IX  " — (what  ? — not  taxing  or  assessing — but)  '*  in  appropriating 
I©  of  the  improvement  his  estate  receives."  * 
t  then  be  clearly  understood  that  the  plausible  and  apparently 
lerality  which  Mr.  Rae  represents  as  "  the  only  question,  "f  ia  a 
fcy  which  completely  conceals  that  question,  and  suppresses  all 
expression  of  the  principle  asserted  and  of  the  intention 
bed. 

this  is  my  answer  to  the  criticism  of  Mr.  Rae  that  in  my 
I  the  TiiM^  I  had  erroneously  confounded  the  "  betterment  " 
5  with  the  principle  of  appropriating  what  has  been  nick- 
;'  unearned  increments."  I  was  not  wrong,  but  right,  in  this 
ition.  It  would  have  been  a  wrong  identification  if  Mr. 
I  his  friends  intended  simply  to  apply  the  principle  of  taxing 
d  values  as  they  arise — if,  in  short,  they  meant  nothing  more 
ley  express  when  they  ivish  to  conciliate  support  by  stating 
iucipio  in  stioh  forms  as  that  which  I  Iiave  quoted.  But  the 
Btion  of  which  Mr.  llao  coriiplaius  was  strictly  correct  when 
^lied  to  his  actual  proposals,  and  still  more  to  the  assumption 
h  those  proposals  are  defended.  That  principle  is  correctly 
d  by  himself  as  "  appropriating  the  value  of  the  improvement 
b  estate  receives  " — which  is  totally  distinct  from  the  principle 
|y  taxing  increased  values  in  the  same  prop>ortion  in  which  the 
lines  were  taxed  before.  The  whole  idea  on  which  this  new 
I  rests  is  the  idea  that  the  owner  of  an  article,  such  as  a  house, 
Ight  to  any  increase  in  its  valae  of  which  he  himself  is  not 
I  cause  and  author.  If  he  has  caused  the  increase  by  any 
let  or  outlay  of  his  own,  then  the  idea  is  that  he  has  "  earned  " 
!if  it  has  arisen  from  other  causes,  from  acts  or  from  conditions 
ly  which  are  wholly  independent  of  anything  he  has  done, 
I  increased  value  is  dabbed  as  "  unearned/'  and,  to  use  Mr. 


»  p.  6M. 


t  P.  660. 


LVU. 


~^u 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


rjtrsni 


Rae's  expression,  may  be  **  appropriated  by  the  community,  either 
Trholly.  or  in  such  part  as  convenience  may  decide." 

I'his  is  the  idea  which  I  have  represented  as  one  resting  on  an 
intellectaal  confusion,  and  aa  one  which,  in  proportion  as  it  is  applied, 
would  dissolve  all  civilised  society.  Values  are  never  determined 
either  wholly,  or  even  in  greatest  measure,  by  the  owners  or  makers 
of  any  article.  Values  are  determined  in  all  cases  by  the  market. 
And  "  market  "  means  the  aggregate  of  all  the  conditions  which 
constitute  demand.  And  these  conditions  are,  for  the  most  part, 
entirely  independent  of  those  who  have  marketable  articles  to  sell  or 
to  let.  This  law  applies  to  all  kinds  of  property — including,  even 
before  all  others,  that  most  original,  and  most  sacred  of  all  property, 
which  consists  in  what  is  popularly  called  ''  labour  "—or  the  muscular 
powers  of  the  human  body.  The  wages  of  labour  must  ultimately  be 
determined  by  the  demand  for  it.  And  the  demand  for  it  is  continually 
increased  by  the  genius,  the  enterprise,  and  the  capital  of  individual 
men,  whose  thoughts  and  whose  intellectual  speculations  are  as  much 
outside  of,  and  as  much  independent  of,  those  who  are  called  the 
working  classes,  as  any  of  the  causes  which  raise  the  value  of  houses, 
or  of  lands,  or  of  any  other  article. 

^Ir.  Rae  seems  to  think  that  there  is  some  great  difference  in 
principle  established  in  all  cases  in  which  increased  values  have  arisen 
out  of  some  extexnal  cause  which  is  definite  and  tangible,  such  as  a 
specific  sum  of  money  liiid  out  on  some  special  improvement.  But  if  a 
principle  be  unsound  when  it  is  applied  to  a  number  of  causes  too 
numerous  and  too  complex  to  be  traced,  it  does  not  cease  to  bp  unsound 
when  it  is  applied  to  some  one  cause  which  happens  to  be  more  than 
usually  definite  and  visible.  The  definiteness  and  visibility  of  the 
cause  of  increased  values,  in  some  particular  case,  may  Ije  a  temptation 
to  us  to  adopt  a  principle  which  cannot  be  applied  generally,  and 
which,  therefore,  cannot  be  applied  with  equality  and  justice.  But  to 
make  this  very  obvious  source  of  temptation  the  avowed  ground  of 
exceptional,  and  therefore  unequal  and  unjust,  action,  is  surely  a  very 
open  rebe.lliou  against  our  own  mora!  and  intellectual  integrity.  The 
definiteness  of  any  piece  of  labour,  or  of  any  outlay  upon  labour,  do<»  { 
not  stand  in  any  logical  c-onnection  with  the  principles  on  which  we 
ought  to  deal  with  increments  of  value  which  may  arise  therefrom. 
The  outlay  on  a  railway  line,  or  on  such  a  special  work  as  the  Forth 
Bridge,  is  perfectly  definite  in  amount.  It  may,  and  it  must,  affect 
values  to  an  enormous  amount — first  in  the  rise  of  wages,  and  next  in 
the  selling  and  letting  values  of  innumerable  fields  and  houses,  down 
to  the  produce  of  every  cottager's  garden  within  a  certain  area.  But 
this  definiteness  of  cause  in  particular  cases  does  not  differentiate 
them  in  any  way  as  regards  the  fundamental  principles  on  which  we 


1890] 


THE   BETTERMENT   TAX. 


915 


can  alone  justly  deal  with  all  increments  of  value,  whether  due  to 
many  causes  or  to  one. 

It  is  not,  therefore,  the  mere  defitiiteness  of  any  outlay,  nor  the 
mere  visibility  of  the  connection  between  it  and  its  effects  on  value, 
that  can  possibly  alter  the  principles  on  which  it  is  just  to  deal  with 
them.  What  may  possibly  alter  the  question  in  some  cases  is — not 
the  definiteness  of  the  outlay,  but  its  nature.  It  is  possible  that,  in 
making  some  improvement,  a  public  body  may  execute  some  work  as 
an  incidental  operation,  which  affects  almost  exclusively  one  street,  or 
even  one  house.  Such,  for  example,  might  be  the  case  of  opening  or 
extending  a  main  drain  into  spots  which  are  apart  from  general 
operations,  or  the  case  of  extending  a  pavement  under  like  conditions. 
It  is  even  conceivable  that  such  incidental  works  might  affect  the 
actual  structure  of  a  single  house,  as  in  building  or  strengthening  a 
wall,  &c.  It  might  involve  no  departure  from  general  principles  to 
charge  specially  for  such  special  benefits.  Mr.  Ra©  alludes  to  such 
Cftses  as  affording  facilities  for  the  use  of  wat«r,  or  of  gas.  But  these 
are  generally  paid  for  under  the  existing  system  by  special  rates,  and 
any  reference  to  thorn  serves  no  purpose  except  to  confuse  the  question 
at  issue.  Such  cases  do  not  really  touch  the  principle  of  appro- 
priating increased  values  arising  out  of  public  outlays,  on  the  plea  that 
these  values  are  due  to  other  causes  than  auy  action  of  the  owners. 

In  the  particular  case  of  the  Strand  improvement,  the  violence  of 
the  proposal  is  rendered  more  conspicuous  by  every  possible  surround- 
ing circumstance.  It  is  an  improvement  loudly  demanded  by  the 
convenience  of  the  whole  public  of  London,  and,  it  may  almost  be  said, 
of  the  United  Kingdom.  The  Strand  is  the  main  artery  of  traffic  in 
a  city  which  is  not  only  the  metropolis  of  London,  but  the  metropolis  of 
the  commercial  world.  It  is  through  the  Strand  that  every  man  must 
go  who  wishes  to  reach  the  Bank  of  England,  or  the  Stock  Exclumge, 
or  the  Docks,  or  St.  Paul's  Cathedral.  The  proposed  widening  of 
this  great  artery  of  imperial  traffic  is  specially  connected  with  a  better 
access  to  the  Courts  of  Justice.  In  this,  every  subject  of  the  Queen 
is,  or  may  be,  personally  interested.  There  never  was  a  case  in  which 
any  work  or  outlay  was  more  specially  connected  with  the  service  of 
^'normous  multitudes  of  men,  Mr.  Rae  himself,  in  quoting  Americnn 
precedents,  admits  that  it  is  "  wrong  to  impose  a  local  assessment  for 
a  general  benefit."*  Even  this  dictum  understates  the  case,  because, 
as  usual,  it  hides  the  violence  of  the  new  doctrine  under  old,  soothing, 
and  familiar  words,  "  Assessment "  is  a  chai'ming  veil  under  which 
to  hide  an  impost  which  is  not,  in  principle,  a  percentage  rate  at  all, 
but  an  "  uppropriaiion  "  of  the  whole,  with  only  a  temporary  abate- 
ment in  order  to  abate  alarm. 


•  I'.  659. 


b^e 


THE    COXTEilFORARY   REVIEW. 


[JrxB 


Then,  when  we  look  at  the  map  of  the  area  over  which  this  prm- 
ciple  of  "appropriation  "  is  to  be  applied,  we  meet  with  anomalies  which 
are  significant.  The  pnblic,  in  its  capacitj  of  trafficken^  is  to  h«vf 
the  whole  benefit  of  the  improvement,  and  is  to  oontribate  nothing  to 
the  cost  of  it  in  its  capacity  of  property-owner.  The  State  is  an 
extensive  hoaae-owner  in  the  Strand.  Bat  all  its  great  bnildings 
and  premises  are  carefally  excladed  from  the  area  on  which  the 
incre-ased  value  is  to  be  "appropriated"  by  the  London  County 
Gooncil.  Somerset  House  and  the  Courts  of  Justice  are  most  judi- 
ciously, but  hardly  judicially,  left  out  of  the  "  betterment  area." 
Of  course  the  object  of  tljis  was  to  conciliate  opposition.  But  it  is 
hard  to  see  its  equity,  as  regards  the  novel  and  most  embarrassing 
burden  thrown  on  comparatively  a  small  number  of  house-owners 
within  an  area  which  is  purely  arbitrary. 

The  provision  that  the  County  Council  may  appropriate  the  whole 
or  some  arbitrary  part  of  all  increased  values  in  this  area  is  rendered 
Htill  more  oppressive  by  the  power  of  sale  which  is  asked  for  in  the 
Bill.  The  position  of  a  house-owner  may  be  conceived  who  is  saddled 
with  aa  appropriated  rent-charge  amounting  perhaps  to  one-half  of  his 
whole  value,  even  when  that  impost  is  to  be  paid  to  a  responsible  public 
body.  But  what  that  position  will  be  when  the  impost  becomes  payable 
to  mortgagees  of  every  kind  and  class  it  is  hardly  possible  to  imagine. 

A  great  part  of  Mr.  Rae's  paper  consists  of  alleged  precedents  from 
the  United  States.  Even  as  he  represents  them,  concealing  much 
that  is  notorious,  they  are  not  reassuring.  There  are,  however,  a  few 
facts  to  be  remembered  about  America  which  establish  some  wide 
differences  between  towns  there  and  towns  in  Great  Britain.  A  very 
largo  n amber  of  the  towna  and  cities  of  America  have  been  built 
within  the  memory  of  living  men.  A  hundred  years  ago  tJiev  were 
forest,  or  swamp,  or  prairie.  There  are  many  considerations  of  equity 
which  are  eliminated  under  such  conditions.  Men  who  have  bought 
or  settled  upon  vacant  land  under  customs,  and  powers,  and  usages  in 
respect  to  the  mode  of  providing  for  the  costs  of  such  settlement, 
which  were  well  understood,  or  were  in  course  of  development  from 
the  beginning,  can  hardly  be  said  to  be  treated  unjustly  when  these 
usages  come  to  be  practically  applied.  This  is  one  of  the  conditions 
of  a  new  country.  Every  man  buys  or  builds  knowing  what  his  enter- 
prise is  exposed  to.  Under  such  circumstances  the  system  adopted 
may  be  wise  or  foolish.  But  it  can  hardly  be  unjust.  It  is  a  very 
different  thing  when  doctrines  and  practices  absolutely  new  are  apphed 
to  an  old  society  in  which  for  hundreds  of  generations  property  has 
been  acquired  and  iramenso  expenditure  has  been  incurred  on  the 
assumed  permanence  of  fundamental  principles  of  taxation  which  are 
wholly  different. 

It  may  well  be  the  practice,  for  example,  in  beginning  the  settle- 


i89o] 


THE   BETTERMENT    TAX. 


917 


ment  of  a  new  American  txjwn,  to  require  each  lioaaeliolder  to  form  or 
to  pave  the  street  in  front  of  hia  swn  house.  This  is  perfectly 
natural,  and  may  be  perfectly  just.  It  13  an  archaic  practice,  suitable 
to  archaic  conditions.  The  next  step,  which  represents  the  same 
idea,  may  be  to  assess  rates  according  to  frontage.  This  also  may  be 
perfectly  natural  and  just  so  long  as  mere  frontage  represents  fairly 
the  relative  value  of  house  property  in  a  town.  But  this  can  only  last 
so  long  as  back  premises  are  mere  appendices  of  fronts.  In  all  old 
eitiea,  and  especially  in  London,  back  areas  of  lajid  are  of  enormous, 
and  of  wholly  separate  value  ;  and  under  these  conditions,  and  under 
all  approaches  to  them,  the  assessment  of  improvements  according  to 
mere  frontages  would  become  absurdly  unequal,  oppressive,  and 
mijust.  This  is  only  one  illustration  of  the  differences  which  show 
that  any  application  of  American  precedents  to  our  own  old  society 
are  to  be  examined  with  the  greatest  caution,  and  with  the  certainty 
that  they  will  work  oat  wholly  different  results  both  in  respect  to 
policy  and  to  justice. 

Then,  further,  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  municipal  taxation  in 
America  has  been,  and  I  believe  still  is,  the  very  hotbed  of  the  most 
enormous  jobbery  and  corruption.  I  have  heard  from  high  American 
authorities,  both  here  and  in  the  States  themselves,  anecdotes  on 
this  subject  which  seemed  to  me  hardly  credible.  But  we  have  only  to 
look  at  tlie  authentic  Report  of  the  Committee  of  the  Legislature  of 
New  York  on  the  municipBl  corrnptions  of  that  great  city  to  be 
convinced  that  on  this  subject  it  would  be  diflScult  to  exaggerate  the 
evils  which  the  system  has  naturally  developed.  The  array  of 
American  legal  decisions  quoted  by  Mr,  Rae  are  not  encouraging. 
They  are  confused  and  inconsistent,  not  laying  down  any  clear 
or  intelligible  principle.  It  is  probable,  indeed,  that  much  of  that 
inconsistency  might  be  explained  if  all  the  special  circumstances  of 
each  case  were  before  us,  since  we  need  not  go  farther  than  Mr.  Rae's 
own  paper  to  see  that  cases  of  the  most  diverse  kind  may  be  easily  con- 
founded under  the  terms  of  some  vague  general  definition.  The  dis- 
tinction, for  example,  between  an  impost  which  is  a  "  tax,"  and 
another  which  is  not  a  **  tax,"  may  be  a  valid  distinction  in  some 
cases,  sach  aa  must  have  been  common  in  America,  between  struc- 
tural outlays  in  founding  a  settlement  and  the  ordinary  cost  of  main- 
tenance, or  of  mere  improvements  executed  from  time  to  time  to  meet 
the  wants  or  convenience  of  a  great  growing  population.  But,  although 
this  distinction  may  be  valid  in  such  cases,  it  is  obviously  one  lending 
itself  very  easily  to  the  most  unjust  and  invidious  misapplications. 
No  handier  weapon  could  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  a  corrupt  and 
jobbing  municipal  constituency  such  as  that  of  New  York  than  the 
power  to  say,  ''  We  want  some  great  public  work  executed  for  our  own 
public  convenience.  The  Constitution  says  that  taxation  must  be  equal. 


918 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


[ivsm 


But  we  don't  choose  to  call  thU  oatlay  a  tax  at  all.  We  call  k  a 
betterment,  and  under  that  name  we  can  lay  the  impost  on  a  imaQ 
section  of  the  community,  which  we  can  sj^lect  on  some  defini- 
tion  suitable  for  our  purpose."  Accordingly,  Mr.  Rae  himself 
mentions  a  case  in  which  such  s]>ecial  "  betterment  imposts 
practically  amounted  to  confiscation.""  Mr.  Rae  also  refers  to  the 
objection  that  betterment  taxes  "  might,  in  hands  unguided  by  ideas  of 
fairness,  be  cuuvertftd  into  gross  oppression. "f  But  it  is  unfortunately 
tlie  fact  that  "  ideas  of  fairness"  may  be  wholly  perverted  by  doctrines 
of  abstract  principle  which  are  themselves  deceptive.  The  practical 
unfairnysH  may  be  the  outcome  of  a  mere  confusion  of  thought— of  a 
purely  ink'Uectual  fallacy.  Some  forty  years  ago  I  attended  one  of 
tihe  meetings  for  the  discussion  of  social  questions  which  were  then 
being  held  uuder  the  inBuence  of  Frederick  Maurice  and  Charles 
Kingsley.  At  that  meeting  an  artisan,  speaking  evidently  with  the 
most  perfect  desire  to  bo  reasonable  and  to  get  at  the  truth,  said,  "I 
never  could  see  why  an}'  other  man  is  entitled  to  derive  a  pro6t  out 
of  my  work."  It  required  a  long  and  elaborate  argument  to  convince 
him  that  what  he  called  '^  his  work  "  was  work  due  to  the  co-operation 
with  him  of  a  whole  host  of  agencies  other  than  his  own,  and  that, 
if  no  other  men  were  to  be  allowed  to  profit  by  his  work,  the  onfv 
result  would  be  that  he  would  get  no  work  to  do.  This  is  prwisely 
the  fallacy  which  underlies  the  whole  argument  of  !Mr.  Rae  on  the 
subject  of  betleru^ent.  No  private  owner  is  to  be  allowed  to  derive 
any  profit  out  of  work  done  by  others ;  whereas  the  fact  is  that  oU 
profit,  and  all  value,  is  due  to  work  done  by  others,  in  co-operatinn 
only  with  elements  which  are  the  special  contribution  of  the  indiviilnal. 
Strange  to  say,  there  is  one  paragraph  of  his  paper  in  which  Mr.  Bae 
liimself  points  out  this  general  law  of  all  values,  and  dwells  upon  it, 
in  reference  to  a  special  case.  It  is  always  a  matter  of  great  interest 
when  we  can  detect  ourselves,  or  observe  others,  stumbling  accidentally, 
lis  it  were,  on  some  great  fundamental  truth  when  we  are  in  the 
pursuit  of  some  narrow,  and  possibly  erroneous,  contention.  The 
obvious  impossibility  of  applying,  with  any  equality  or  justice,  the 
doctrine  of  appropriating  augmented  values  due  to  agencies  other  than 
those  of  individual  owners,  compels  him  to  deal  witli  a  case  which  is 
constant  and  familiar.  That  case  is  the  great  enhancement  of  value 
which  accrues  to  land  lying  round,  and  near  to,  a  growing  town,  but 
outside  its  boundaiy  of  assessments  The  grote-sque  doctrine  is  now 
commonly  asseiied  that  those  who  raise  values  in  such  oases,  by 
desiring  and  competing  for  such  land,  ai'e  the  *'  creators "  of  that , 
value,  and  as  such  are  entitled  to  appropriate  it;  so  that  we  have 
only  to  covet  any  possession  in  company  with  others,  and  then  of 
right  it  becomes  our  own.  Not  even  the  absurdity  of  such  oouclo- 
•  P.  669.  t  P.  657 


i89o] 


THE   BETTERMENT    TAX. 


919 


sions  IB  broad  enough  to  scare  men  who  trust  their  opinions  to  the 
mercy  of  abstract  verbal  propositions.  Mr.  Rae  does  not  wish  his  case 
to  be  confounded  with  such  doctrines.  He  points  out,  most  justly, 
that  such  land  "  manifestly  "  profits  only  because,  and  in  the  measure 
in  which,  the  toMrn,  on  its  part,  receives  accommodation  and  advantage 
from  the  land.  Exactly  so  ;  and  this  result  of  analysis  applies  equally 
to  all  values,  and  to  all  enhancements  of  value  on  all  articles  whatso- 
ever and  wherever  situated.  Value  is  not  a  "  thing  "  in  itself.  It 
is  a  relation  between  many  things.  And,  as  Mi".  Kae  points  out  Ln  this 
sentence,  the  things  which  are  related,  and  in  whose  relation  all  value  con- 
sists, are  essentially  those  equal  and  reciprocal  advantages  between  men 
who  hire  or  purchase,  and  men  who  let  or  sell,  which  constitute  market 
values.  The  jealous  and  begrudging  doctrine  which  would  deprive  a 
householder  of  any  profit  arising  out  of  work  don©  by  other  men  is  a  doc- 
trine which  would  dissolve  society.  It  would  have  deprived  him  of 
his  old  and  smaller  rent  quite  as  logically  as  it  would  deprive  him  of 
his  new  and  augmented  rent.  The  old  rent,  not  more  than  the 
new  rent,  arose  out  of  many  elements,  of  which  the  housf^-owner  was  not 
the  sole  author.  His  house  stood  in  the  same  relation  to  the  old  street, 
M  regards  its  old  value,  in  which  it  will  stand  to  the  new  street  as 
regards  its  increment  of  value.  If  he  gets  an  increa.sed  value  for  his 
house  it  can  only  be  because  the  article  which  he  owns  is  one  which 
serves  the  public  better  than  it  did  before.  The  same  general  law 
applies  etiually  to  the  acre  which  supplies  the  town  with  its  own  con- 
tribution  of  garden  produce,  and  to  the  few  square  yards  which  supplies 
the  town  with  its  own  contribution  of  house  accommodation.  As 
the  vast  population  of  London  is  fed  from  day  to  day  by  the  sole 
agency  of  individual  enterprise,  so  also  it  has  been  housed  by  the  same 
agency.  Rents  are  higher  than  elsewhere  only  because  those  who  hire 
or  buy  houses  tlu're  are  furnished  with  accommodation,  which  is  the 
precise  equivalent  in  value.  To  attempt  to  distinguish  between  one  case 
of  enhanced  value  and  other  cases  of  it  is  both  a  bungle  and  an  injustice. 
The  doctrine  which,  under  the  guise  of  a  tax,  would  "  appropriate  "  the 
whole  incrt*ased  value  of  the  house  due  to  operations  of  public  con- 
venience is  a  doctrine  which  would  equally  appropriate  every  other 
conceivable  enhancement  of  value  upon  labour,  or  upon  the  results  of 
labour,  of  foresight,  and  of  capital.  By  all  means  let  increased  values 
be  taxed.  But  don't  let  them  be  confiscated,  or  *'  appropriated."  All 
the  formulas  of  language  which  are  invented  to  make  the  fallacy 
plausible  are  formulas  which  owe  their  plausibility,  and  their  decep- 
tiveneas,  to  their  capacity  of  leaving  a  totally  different  interpretation. 
Those  who  will  receive  the  benefit  of  a  great  improvement  in  the 
Strand  are,  in  the  first  place,  the  public.  The  benefit  to  them  will  be 
enormous.  If  individuals  also  benefit  incidentally,  as  must  always  be 
the  case  in  all  public  improvements,  by  all  means  let  those  individuals 


f 


820  THB    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW.  [Juki 

be  taxed  npon  tbe  higher  valae  of  their  property,  jast  as  they  wero 
taxed  before  on  the  lower  value.  This  is  taxing  "  according  to  benefit 
derived."  But  the  total  appropriation  of  new  valaes  is  as  much  con- 
fiscation as  the  appropriation  of  former  yalnes  wonld  have  been. 
Injustice  is  not  consciously  intended  only  because  a  logical  fallacy 
is  not  perceived.  None  the  less,  the  injustice  wonld  be  violent  in 
principle,  and  most  oppressive  in  effect,  just  as  the  intellectual  con- 
fusion is  very  deeply  seated,  and  reaches  very  far. 

Argyll. 


END    OF   VOL.    LVII. 


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