1\: 1, :iJ'! tV .. j: 1 >. . I>> 'J:j .} oj " 1 , 1. '- f*f 'I u:, . 1 lit -G. T t'ý ". d!. / ';li y''' l pr '.. V J'! t . 'J' /.. ,A f (/ ì:1ï 'ft r - f ;';:3 /Î )- f].'VtI - ----- THE v b-tl JON TEMPORARY I REVIEW January, 18 9 1 [. HOME RULE AND HOME RULERS. z. AN AGE OF DISCO TENT. By FRANK H. HILL. By JAMES BRYCE, M.P. 3. THE EARLY LIFE OF CARDINAL NEWMAN. By EDW1N A. ABBOTT, D.D. 4. BEHIND THE SCENES IN PARLIA IENT. By L. J. JENNINGS, M.P. 5. ENGLISHMEN IN AFRICA. By R. BOSWORTH SMITH. 6. MORALITY BY ACT OF PARLIAMENT. By R. ANDERSON, LL.D. j. EURIPIDES AT CAMBRIDGE. By JULIA WEDGWOOD. 8. PUBLIC LANDED ENDO\VMENTS OF THE CHURCH. By the Rev. H. W. CLARKE. 9. KOCH'S TREATMENT OF TUBERCULOSIS. By Sir MORELL MACKENZIE. 10 THE CERTAINTIES OF CHRISTIANITY. By Professor J. AGAR BEET. II. DEAN CHURCH. By CANON MACCOI.L. LONDON ISBISTER AND COMPANY LIMITED I AND 16 TAVISTOCK STREET COVENT GARDEN W.C. EDINBURGH: JOlIN MENZIES & CO. 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(l ambridge U niversity p ress THE ENGRAVED GEMS OF CLASSICAL TIMES, with a Catalogue of the Gems ill thl) Fitzwilliam .:\luscum. By J. Jh: mY hD\lLETOX, :-;lade Professor of Fine Art, Director or the }'itzwilliam Museum, and Fellow of King's College, Cambridge i .\uthor of '- Ancient llome ill 1888." 12s. lid. SOPHOCLES: the Plays and Fragn1ents. \Vith Critical Notes, Commentaryp anti Translation in Engli",h Prose. ny R C. JEBB, Litt.D., LL.D., Regius !'rofessor of (;reek in the l' niversity of Cambrillge. II Of the explanatory and critical notes we can speak ,.ith admiration. Thorough scholarship combined with taste. l'rudition, and boundless industry. . . . . rhe work is made complete by a prose trnnslation, upon pa es alternating with the text, of which we nay S8Y shortly that it displays sound judgment and taste, without sacrificing precision to poetry or expression."-The Time . .. 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Letters and Relics, in great part hitherto (Tnpubli!;hed. Ellited by Hev. V. ('. ToVEY, :\I.A. Crown t3vo, ÛS. A TREATISE ON ANALYTICAL STATICS. By R .J. HOUfH, Sc.D., F.R.S., Fellow of the I' nivcrsity of LQndon, Honorary Fellow of St. Peter's College, Cambridge. ]I.-early 7'carly. PITT PRESS SERIES. VERGIL.-The Complete Works. 'Vi,h Introduction and Xoteg by A. SIDGWICK p M.A., Fell BID EY. Edited, with Illustrations alld a <:Iossarial 11111ex, by E. :-;. SUI.;CKliURlaJ, )LA. The Text is a revision of that of the }'jrBt Edition of 1j 5. ;:13. New Volumes of the Cambridge Bible for Schools and Colleges. MALACHI. Edited by \.rchdeacon PEROWXE. Is. .. Archdeacon Perowne has already edited' J on3h . and' Zechariah' for this erlcs. 'Malachi' prescnts eomparativcl.r f('w difficulties, and the editor's treatm.ent lea,oes nothin to be desired. Hill Introduction is clear and I'cholarly, and his commentary sufficient. We may instance the notcs on ii. 15 and iv. 2 as examples of eareful arrangemcnt, c1car exposition. and graceful e1pression."-.lcllIlf'my. HAGGAI, ZECHARIAH, AND MALACHI. Edited by Archdeacon PEROWKE. 3s. Gd. EPISTLE TO THE GALATIANS. By Rev. E. H. PEROWXE, D.D. Is. Gd. ., Dr. Perowne bnngs to the elucidation of the Epistle a very de out tone, and a minute acquaintance with the principal commentators upon it. . . . . Dr. PG"owne's Introduction is a model of what iuch work ought to be." (;l(1 gofD IIt'rurd. BOOK OF REVELATION. By the late Rev. \V. n. Smcox, l\I.A. 8s. .. The Introduetivn to the Revelation shows the late author to have been fully abrclI.st of the most recent commentary on this admittedly difficult subject. His remarks on the interpretation of tbe book are marked by great judiciousness." Ulu_g0f/7 IÜruld. COMPLE TE LISTS ON APPLIC ATION. LONDO : C. J. CLAY &; 80.88, CAMBRIDGE UXIVERSITY PRESS WAltEliOUSE, A\E :MARIA LA.sE. GLASGOW: iG3 ARGYLE 8ntEET. THE COXTEJIPORARY REVIE\V ADVERT1SER, J4\NUARY 1891. 3 CASSELL & COMPANY'S ANNOUNCEMENTS. "THE BOO.li OF THE S.E ..JSOiV."-TIIE \VORC). A SECOND EDITION OP TIlE LIFE, LETTERS, AND FRIENDSHIPS OF RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES, FIR,,,,'T LORD IIUr(;IIl'úAr, By T. '1ðrEMYSS REID, Is No-w- Ready, in Tvvo Vols., vvith 2 Portpaits, price 2 s. " Truth" says:- .. It certainly is the most entertaining record of the men and manners of the century that 1 ha \'e react .. The " Spectator" says ;- .. These charming volumes are more interesting than most novels, and fuIJer of good sturies than any tc'sl.bouk. llr. Wemyss Reid has done his work admirablv, has inserted nothiuR' he f;hould not, and omitted notiin;r hI' houltl retain: 80 that for once we have piquancy without ill-nature, and go!òsip which will neither rolise scandal nor J:'ivc pain. 'fhe Life is a perfect 1""}ll'doìre of anecdotes, almost invariably of interest, which turn up in the ffi.>st UDUPldcJ1 way. . . . . Every page is full of meat-sweetùread, be it understood, and Dot meat from the juint." .iVEIV VOL[ JIE OF THE ';I..vTER4VATIO VAL SlIAl{E.)'PEARE," OTHELLO. Illustrated with a. erie6 of Exquisite Photogravures from Original Drawir.f's- IJ y F' ItA .3T" 1(' D L C f( S E. ..t.lt..'. No-w-. Ready, price ;ß3 10s. It. A PROSPECT\:I$ WILL JIB HENr OS APPLICATIOY. The Lirel"]!ool Mtrcu '!/ says; -" Ie< rs. C'a"sell's ma!."nifiC'ent edition is worthy alike of tbe reatest ùram tlHt tll(" wurld has yet seen, of the literature of the country in wnich that dramatil!t was born, of the skill of the tbirteen ene- rations of En lish printers who have 10) ally followed in the footstept! of the illustrious Ca'l:ton, and of the i.lt"ruatiollaJ. isution of art which has attended the marvellous developments of nineteenth-century prùgrC's"." ..J Plwlog/'((cure, "Professor Ruskin at Glenfinlas, ,. from tl/Æ PÙ'ture b!J Sir t-; "11' I ' I'r JlJL/..llS, Ba,.t., R..L /UI"1IlS tltr Frouti"piece of THE MAGAZINE OF ART FOR JANUARY (PI' ice 1s.), wllicl, coutains:- The Portraits of John Ruskin. Uy :\1. H. SPIEL- ){.uJy. With Six IlIu trations ;-" John Ruskin :1t the Ag of 3 Years," by JA'[ES XORTHCOTE. R A. ; .. John Ruskin (1814)," by JA '[ES XORTHCOTE, R..-\.; .. John Rúskin (18i2);' by (;EORGE RIcn'[QYD, R.A. ; .. John Ruskin (185,)," by G l.ORGJI: UrcHlIo '\"D, R.A.; .. 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CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE I containing nearly O E 1I1- ml L:) CHOWS E GRAVISGS. :-:elect d frolll their fine-an anù illn.;trated publications, handsomely p!inteJ uu plate paper. The work contains an ETCHING for FrontispiecE', and COLOURED PL.\TJ::. CA SELL & CO.:\IPAXY, LnUIED, LUDGATE HILL, Lmmux. 4 THE COXTE:\IPORARY RE\-lE\V ADVERTISER, JAXUARY 1891. By AuthOl of ., Recreations of a Country Parson," &c. The Best Last. \lld other Paper...:. Crown th-o, ; s. GII. "SI'rnJ()n ahnuntl, hut fl'w are so fret' from clog-matieal h'nùeney, and so full of impre8sive anti heartfelt eouw d, as t.1. h,. f"und in this little \olulUe."- lrlo-r1li1lg Po.t. .. Heal" with livin; 1j"IER:ion:l, snd brings to their examination the large views of II modern mind."-SL'otsman. What Set Him Right. And other Uhapt('rs to Help. New anlI Cheap Edition. ('rown 8\"0, 3s. Ijd. .. Kindl), \\ h,e, alll! j'u,tiea\, Kone of 11113 'Countr Par.mn's' later publil'ations have pleased us better than thiH."- Spectuto,'. Towards the Sunset. Teaching after Thirty Years. Crown vo, :1:0:. Gd. .. " sil1lJllil.ity anI sin 'crity of feelin which silence eritidsm nnd win many Ill'arts and souls."-Duil.!I .lI-ete". By John Brown, D.D. John Bunyan: His Life, 1'ime:-:. UllI ,V Olk " ith Portrait and lllu tration. Fourth Thol1f;3.lIll. J>emy tho, ,s. Ii,;' .. It is a work that \lee,!erl d'lin!!', and :\1r. Drown ha" done it "ell. He deemy b\"(I, 1 s. .. :\1r. Uell ha'! eTit!.'nt!v Rtudied the \\orks ofsl"ipntilk men in their hc rinlr 1111 tbe "trueture and ro\\-tJl ortlte human or1 ing about 10,000 in the year) are 0f Loth sex s anù all age3, from children a !twn/" olol to adults O\'el' I,j. rpwards of 461,IIUU Patients have VCI'Il relievcd since the formation f the Chari'y. Sut)scriptillns atllI Donations will 11c thankfuliy receivl'd hy the SocietJ's Bankers, LLOYU'S D.\XK f L:mitcd), ït LutuLard Stlcd, and by the Sn'REl.'.\Rï, at th Institution. tTOH KORBURY, Trca;mrer. JOHN "-HITTINGTOX, SccnfaJ"!J. N.B.-FUNDS MUCH NEEDED. ]J! of the' Pen and Pencil Series.' "-The QUtM American Pictures. Drawn with Pen and London Pictures. Drawn with Pen and PEncil. Pencil. By the Rev. ðHn:EL iA SI G, LL.D. Pru- IIy the Re\". R LO\"UT, M.A. Prùfusel.v Illustrated. 8s. fusely lllustrat d. 8s. .' Norwegian Pictures. Drawn with Pell a.nd Austr Uan Picture . Drawn WI Pen and Pcncil. With a GlaDle at Sweden anI! the Gotha Canal. PenclI_ By.HowARI? ".ILIOI:GHBY; ,\ Ith )Iap and Xew Edition, revised and partly re-writtpn, by the He...... 107 IllustratIons by E. ,\ HY'\iPER. . HICH,\RD Lo\ HT, M.A. \\ ith UG Enilraving-s by Canadian Pictures. Drawn with Pen and WHDIPER ;md others, trom !:iketch<:!! ant.! Photographs. Pencil. By the :Marquis of LORSE. With numerous . b .. . fine Engravings bv E. WHDIPl.R, from !:iketches by the PIctures from BIble Lands. Drawn with )[alquis of LOB E, SYD:SEY HALL, and others. 8 . Pen and Pencil. Edited by the Rev. . G. (JHEEN. D. D. English Pictures. Drawn with Pen and . With l'ine Engoraving's. 8s. . Pencil. Dy the Rev. S. G. GREES, D. D. Revised and PICtures from Holland. Drawn WI, h Pen Improved Edition. With numerous Wood Engravings. and Pencil. By the Rev. l{ICIiARD Lon:rr, :t.!.A. ,, . With 1:32 Illustration!'. B.. French Pictures. Drawn "ith -Pen and Pictures from the German Fatherland P.t'licil. By the_ Rev. SAMlEL G. GRU.N, D.D. WIth Drawn wilh Pen and Pencil. HI' the Rev. . 1:. GRJ..J;N: 1aO fine Engravmgs. 1:1:. 1\1. \. With Fine Eugravin;! . . 8 . Indian Pictures. D!awn with Pen and Pencil. Russian Pictures. DI'awn with !)en and By the ev. \\ ILLU.:U RWICK. :M.A. Profusely IlIus- Pencil. By THo'us MICHELL C. n. En!!Tavin"s. !'. trated with fine Engravmgs. H . ..' . '" '" Irish Pictures. Drawn with Pen anù Pencil. ScottI h PIctureS. Dr; wn wIth Pen" anl[ By the Rev. R. Lonrr, :M.A. With a lap :mJ 133 PencIl. By the Hev. S. G. URELN, D. D. pro.usely IllustratioI1l'. 88. Illustrated. 8s. Italian Pictures. Drawn with Pen and Pencil. Sea Pictures. Dra\ n with Pen anJ Pencil. By the Re\". :-'. )hYYI:SG, LL. D. Revi..el! with at.!t.!i- B! Dr. )1 \ H7:AY, Author of .. Victoria, R. I.: Her tions by the Rev. ::;. G. GREEY, D,D. Profusely lllu8- 1.lfe and Reum, &.:. 8s. trated. 81'. Swiss Pictures. Drawn with Pen amI Pencil. Land of the Pharaohs. Including a Sketch By the Rev. !' :r.HiEL )h:\'1I'G, LL.D. With uu- of Sinai. Illustrated hy Pen ant.! Peucil. By the Rev. merous Illustrations by ,\ I1YMPFR and otherl<. bs. H..nrun [ ",YI'lG, LL.D. Xew l< dition. revised and "Those Holy Fields." Palestine IlIm:trated partIy re-wrltten by the Hev. RICHAHD LOVETT, Moo-\.. hv Pen and Pencil. l!y the Rev. A:UU}:L lIANYlxt.r, With man) Xcw Engraving... 811. LL.D. s . NE ISTO IES. FOR ALL READERS.-The Religious Tract Sodely has ju t 18øned 40 . :StorIes at prJees frout one Penny 10 l'ive Shilling!'. Interesting Tales hy popu1.1r writers, wdl printed d a rf I: 1 0 rf lea6e ask your Bookseller for them. They are 15pecial1y prepa:-et.! as I..iift 'Books for )outh- THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY, 56 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON. 6 THE COXTE){PORARY REVIEW ADVERTISER, .L-\Xl:_UlY 1891. Jl Y TJI J<: J)l'; 1 OF JrELL8. The Life and Letters of Thomas Ken, Bishop of Bath awl ",.- elk Author of the "::\torning amI E\'enillg H)'mnfl." "ïth Portrait, Fae-similes, anù Numerous Illustrations. Popular Edition. Two V ols. Hemy 8\"0, 12s. .. 1':,,' O.'an has devot<'d great labour to thifl life of' the good bishop: anrl ha,; rxh:lU"ted almo>-t all that i'i to he said of JC'Il 311l11n" writing . Thr seh..me of the work is hroadly comprehensive, embracing lIlúre than a mere biography, amI he hll.'l thornu hly imburd himself with thr spirit of his buhjcct."-Times. The Commedia and Canzoniere of Dante AJighieri. A New '1'ral18latioll. With fliogr.tphical Introduction, otes, &c. Two Vols. )ledium 8vo, 218. each. Yor.. I. Life. Hl'll, Pltrgatory. Yor.. lIe ParatlÙ1e, J/imn' lhems. Studies. " N . b,)ok ahnut Dantr has been puhlifllH'd in Bng-Ian.l that will stand comparhum wfth Hean Plllmptre's . . . . tak,' it rnr ",II in ail. tilt' onl} fitting cpithet "e can find for it i,,' uoble ' ; and \I I' do 1IIO"t heartily" ish it all the "nrrr;;!. whi.'" i rit'hly Ik"I'rvrs."-Spf'cfafor. Spirits in Prison, \nd Other Studies of th\:' Life after' ])I:'ath. Sixth Thou:-;anò, l:eviMed and Enlarged. Large Post vo, IS. tjd. <ay, anlÌ an AppendiA of Hhymed {,horal Odes, Kew and {'heap Edition. ('rown 8vo, 4s. Gel. .. ."an Plulllptre pits hilllself \lith mor.' anll abler rivals than \I hen h.. essa ed ophllcl.,s; and bcrr, too, wo are of opini.1II that h will h., found to hnJd hb 0\1 n."-('onte1llporuJ"yll'l'Ít U'. nr .'UCITI)I<;Af ('O:\ l'---"II(U f R, 1).1). Truths to Live By. \ Comp:ìuioll Yolunll' to "} \.el'y-dayUhri;.,;tia.u Life:' I,'ifth Tlwmiand. Crown :-\\'"0, 38. ,. N., th.'oiligian is 1:rtter qualitird to sprak with lucidity of the ..ardinal Íl'\ll't,; of th.. Christian creed. Canon }o'arrat ha It telllpted to !let forth thos.' lenets in ' I'imple al\ll unt,'elmieallanguag.',' and he has adllliraLI succeeded." nll;f,,! Tel,,_qr/lpTt. ""\\<" may without insinrerity say that anyone whl> \I ill I'arrfull and reverently read the book-in the same earne...t .,pirlt ill whieh it ha" manif{'8tl been \I ritten-rannot fail to be helped and stren/{thrnetl by it<; manly pleadin s. The dl", ul.thou ,f th., book is bonnd to be large; its inllnence and its value are bound tll be great."- ('huJ"ch Bell... Every-day Christian Life; 01', ermOllS hy the 'Ya . ixth Thou-..and. l'rown 8\"(,. ;IS. " \Ito ether a kind])", manly bonk, n1l'cting- a rcal nl'l'Il uf a practieal, earnest age, in an able, refreshing, and undrr- bt n.bhle w;iy." -PIIIl1JIlIll t;"=,,fft-., " -\ buok Vot' ran thoron hl rerommend . . . . I;lipplie an excellrnt model for imitation."-Lite1"(rry Churchmau_ 1:1- Till',; J:I81101. OF' J /... TJ'}I(I:()I:O( r;II. T"'de Gospel and the Age. :-:el'lIlon on Special Uc('asions. Fifth Thousand. I,arge Post K\"l', IS. tjd. .. Thr announccment of this volume awakened great e'\pcdati.m. . . . . Wc InJ} say at ollee that our expectations haT" hN'11 fully rea:ï"ed."-Churcfl Quuril'rly llet'Íeu'. VV L I,";;In:-;TElt, LnuTI:D, 15 & Hi T.\YISrOCK STREET. ('OYEXT GARDEX, W.O. THE CONTEMPORARY REVIEW .ADVERTISER, .TAXüARY 1891. l- t , Our brilliant contemporary.' TIlE ".ORJ.D, ov. HI, 1f!!JO. 'Conducted with brilliancv anù energy:-Tm: OBSERVER (Londoñ I Known to all who care fi,l' literarv workmanship, as the most brilliant of the weeklv re,'iews.' -t]-RArHl{'. I o cleverer, wittier, nor more plain-spoken periodical.' CRITIC (Xew York). , 1"re81l, alert, full of goo!l reading'.' Ml:RIL\Y'S )IAG_ ZIXE. 'The brilliant Y(ltiollal Ob, era1". ". onderfully popular.' -THE ( I.om:. 'Our brilliant contemporary, IIl1dt'r the exceedingly able editorship of 1\11'. " . E. Henley, is doing excellent work in the canse (If good government and good literature.' -ST. .r.\ \IE '8 G -\ZETTJo:. I The cleverest of politico-literary weeklies.' -THE ".OIU.)), Oct. 9, 1890. , The high excellence of its contents.' THE Scor"'MA:\. · The ablest and most fearles!! of the weekl.\' journals.' )l\xCHEHER ClIl:RIFIL , l'ndoubtcdly one of the brightest and cleverest of the weekh' rc\,iews.' THE i:w:; PAI'ÈH. Every Saturday, price 6d. TIlE NATIONAL OBSERVER (FV7.merly tlte SCOTS OBSERVER.) PllUislted Sil1w[taneou. I:ailwHv BookstaIl!'. It is nIsI) un ale at mos"t of the Principal e\\",,- agents', 01. from thfil ()flices, 11,) FLEET f-;TREET, L()SDU : .A D V THISTLE STHEET, EDIXBURGH. TRADE Supplied in London, after 3 a,m, Satnrday Morning, at 115 FLEET ST. R THE CO TE:MPORARY REVIEW ADVERTISER, JAX{-ARY 1891. lJTR. GL.1DSTOXE"S .NE" 'I"OIlK. Now ready, crown 8\"0, 3s. 6J. THE IMPREGNABLE ROCK OF HOLY SCRIPTURE. A Series of Old Testament Studies. Revised and Enlarged from" Good 'Yord ." By THE I IGHT HON. )'-. E. GI..ADSTONE, l\I.P. " We fuHy re ognise the ethical and religious fervour which constitutes the rC3.l strength of :Mr. Gladstone's þosition."-Timcs. .. 'Ye do not think that the story of Creation ha!'l evcr been treated with so lar e a agacity and so full an appreciation of what coulL! and wbat could not Le taught to primitive and, as we may &'1.)', infa9.tine man. . . . [r. Glailstone applie tbese' princ:plcs with whu'. we may call a statcsmadike insight and subtlcty."-: \pcct({tor. .. Tbese admirable papers are learned, thpy are J1Ositivl'-an admirable quality in thest) òays of Dcg-atioll-and they are reverent. Tho e who woulJ see the case for the ScriptUl"e f>tated fairJy and well, shoulJ reaJ with attentive care thid excellent book."-Olutrch Bells. .. .1\fr. Gladstone completely vindicates the principle of intelligent belief in the Revealetl ,V ord."- Li cerpoul Courier. "This little Look does not profess to be exhau"tivc, but few will rpad it without mucb varied interest, and there are arguments in it which critics cannot atllml to DPglect:' J[llnchcsta (JuareZ Ùw. .XEJV "-01:1'- nr TilE /)E LY Uft. GLOCCE,1oi1'ER. Xuw rcady, imperial 8\'0, :!1!'. DREAMLAN 0 IN HISTORY. The Story of the Norman Dukes. By n. D. I. SPEXCE, D.V., DEAN OF GLOGC[STEI-:. "ïth Sixty IIllJstrdtiulIs Ly Jh:IWEUT BAILTOX. " A har'py thought, happily executed."-l'i,ltcs. h j<'inding himself the guardian of a great Norman abbt;>y. the Dean of Gloucester ha,) busied himself in inquiring what manner of men they were who built it, a,nù iu tracing- it::!o history. The result is this beautiful volume. A\ideJ by the ::;kilful pencil of h" Ra.ilton> the Dean brings before us now the mighty dead who Lave passed away, now the mighty buildings that remain. The spirit in which he writes gives an aòditioual grace to a most charming book. Happy will the thoughtful boy or girl be who gets it as a Christma,) JJresent, and not less happy will be the cIders who make it the companion oÍ their next orman tour."-Guardian. "A volume which, alike from the inbrest of its subject, the charm of the narrativp, anl1 the beanty of the illustrations, is one of the most attradive workH i8sued tbis season." l(cco,.d (( Charmingly written, and as charmingly illlBtratcd ; indeed, taken a-; a wholt-" it sl1g est , that writer anJ arti:5t must be regardeù as joint authors. . . . The Look, in short, i:! ill, tvery way deserving of snccess."-JIanchcstCÞ. J..:,({t,ni'll'r. " A book that ought to attract many readcrf':'-Scotsmrm. 'VAl. ISBISTER, LDIITED, 15 & IG TAYISTOCK TREET, Con: T GARDEN, W.C. THE CONTEl\IPORARY REVIE'V ADVEHTTSER, JANUARY 18 )1. 9 MR. WilliAM HEINEMANN'S LIST. T:.J:E CURE OF CONSUM:PTION. COMMUNICATIONS ON ARE M E D Y FOR TUB ERe U L a 8 I 8- B)' Professor ROllERT KOCH. Authorised Trans]ation. 8vo, \Vl'npper Is., Limp Cloth, Is. GJ. At all Booksellers' aud Boostkalls. )f",lC},esfer Guardiflll.-" Intensplv interesting'. Certain to he widely rpaò hy layman and doetor alike." . _-Vafional Ob"e,'ver.-" The only antllOritative Rlat ment af; .et made h) Dc. Koch is l'on!a.incd ill thi<; Iitt1 pamphlet. ßnd it is a cautiou", modest, and {'vidcntly well-eon"lllpced dchveram'e ,!n the pre!<('n positIOn of the.questlon: It hM: {'"citt'd wild enthusiasm, and has induced a rush both of dOl'torl; and patients t.> Berl'D unparalleled III the Illstory 01 medical progress." THE GENESIS OF THE UNITED STATES. A r\arrati,'e of the :\Iovement in England, 160f)-l(j16, which res111tf'd in the Plantation of Xorth .\merica by Engl!shmen, disclo inf the contest Letween EIlO'hm.1 and Spain for the Possession of the :Soil now oecnpIeù by the Ulllted States of America. (, lIected, .\nangeù, aIlI] ffditeù by A. HflOW , F.R.B.S., &c. With WO' Portraits, ::\Iap!1, anù Plans. In:! Y o]s., .f:3 138. Ii I. IBSEN'S NEW HEDDA GABLER: A Drama in Pour Acts. EIHIU!\I> GUSHE. mall 4to. P LAY. By llE J:lK IßSE . Translated by U lFORM WITH THE ABOVE. THE FRUITS OF ENLIGHTENMENT: A I MAHOMET: .\ nrama. CHmedy. By Count TOLsTor. of" The Bonllrnall." 13y H.\J.r. CAIS;':, Authur [I" p""pw'atwil. NEW NOVELS AT ALL LIBRARIES. IN THE VALLEY. By llAuoLD FltEDERU'. :3 \"o]s. I . FANTASY. .1'1'0111 the Italian of :\I,\TILDr. HERAO A MARKED MAN : lIme Episodes in His Life. fly FROTH. From the pani8h of A. I'. V AL\)Ì-:,'1. ADA CAMBRIDGE. 3 Vo!s. [Ill the P"( ". LONnON: WILLL\..){ HEr E L-\. , :! L BIWP'OIW STlUi:.lì:f, w.e. VOL. VI. Now Ready. CHAMBERS'S ENCYGLOPÆOIA. A Dictionary of Univerml Knowledge, with :Maps :md 'Yood En3ravings. In l() Vols., Imperial 8vo. Entirely I\t'w Edition. Vols 1. If. III. I\ . V. finù VI. are- now ready. Price 105. each, Cloth; 155. each Half-Morocco. The IVork is also being issued Ùl }lIon/hi.)' Parts, þrÙ:e J s. eadl. Tm SI'ECTATOn-" The leadillg literary, political, scientifìc, and arlistic subjects have b. ('n in- trustef] to specially qualified writer", whose articles :1\"', as a rule, entirely nc\\-. ]t is already evident that the new eùitiol1 of Clwmúers's EUL'!fclopntlÌlt \\ill l"etJect the highc:.t credit on its editor anù itl'l l'ubli!;l1el's." . D. ll.Y CHRONICLE-" Iany distingnisllPd names" ill be fimnd anlf>ng the list of contributOl'í', and tnI' artIcles throughuut are 11lOÙ<,ls of cOllciscncf's, while 1l1 bracing the 1a test fact s. " .SI EFFlEI.I> hDEI'EXIJEXT-:-" The Lest men in. all departn.('nts are contributors, while the aid ot lipeCIahsts has bl ell Jargely enlisted to lli1.ke the artIcles complete synopses of the I.ltest knowleùge." 'V. & IL eI-L\.'[BER , LmlTEn, -!ï PATERNùSTEI: l ow, LOXDO , A D EDI BURGH. 8vo, clotb, :;5. 6a. A PROTEST AGAINST AGNOSTICISM. .By P. F. FITZGERALD, Author oC"'fhe P.1il ù sophy ofS.M-CJl1sciousn ss'" and" A Treatis& Oil t.llC Principle of ::5ufticieut !{ca8on." .,. As ably reasoned as it is pro ound u t ought.."-Liferary JJ'orltl. .. Ue"le:lth the profusion of philosophical IIDd poct (; l q':.ota JOIII! there II! dlstmct vem of thought."-Mínd. .. ::5uccessful a8 a prote8t ag-tinst the exccssive study o'S IJhJsICISll!. -/SIIt/It'dll!! R(vlew. LOXDO : KEl1 \S PALL & CO., LmlTl:D. 10 THE COSTE)IPORARY REVIE'V ADVERTISER, JA UARY 1891. FRIEND OLIVIA. .\ QL\KETI :--TOHY OF THE 'IDLE OF THE ('01DIOSWEALTH. J:!1 A JT];;1 IA ] ". Jl ' It H. PRICE SIX SHILLINGS. Letter from the Quaker Poet, J. GREENLEAF WHITTIER. " .hrF.SDl"RY, 1IAS'S., -'--YOl'o 12, 1890. c. )[y 1>ear Friend,-Rut for failing health and ight, which make even a brief note a painful effort, I should long ago have told thee Low much I admire thy' FHIEXV OLlYIA.' I read it a it appeared n '11te Cwtury, a:ld marvelled at its admirable portraiture of the early Quakers and their times. _\'1 iL -Quaker, 1 heartily thank thee for it. " I shall read it again in book form, though my e,res do not allow JllP. to use them much. "J et me tell thee that, though I do not read but sparingly any nt'w literary work , I have rea; j':ngineers in and near Bristul. Inlormation with regal'll to the lodging of Students may be o!;-talllcù on tpp1ication. e"eral SClwr..\H"HIl' are tenable at the College. ENGINEERING EDUCATION. L In:I:SITY f'OI.I.EGF, HRI!iTlIl..-Conrses of ('i\'il, )Icch:mical, Electrical, and 11ining Engineering'. \fineralogy and Applied Geology tor Civil and !lIining Engineers. l-'acilitics are oliercd in t.he way of ( 'ollege Scholar!'hips, Engineering ,,- orks' Sdwlarships, and special ar:oang:enwnts tor f'ntrance 1IItO profe - BiDJ\3.llife. ('ah'ntlar containin full information, price Is. (bJ post Is, :3d. . For general Prospl'l'Ì:.Js antI fnrthcr ilÚ,rmation, apply to JAME RAFTER. Secretary" THE <-:OSTE:\lPOIL-\.RY REYIE\V ADVERTISER, J_\STJARY 1891. 11 THE CORPOR_\.TIO OF THE Scottish Provident Institution. HEAD OFFICE: NO, 6 ST. ANDREW SQUARE, EDINBURGH. LONDON OFFICE: 17 KING WILLIAM STREET. E.C. TRUSTEES. SIR RODERT .TARDIXE, ofCastlemiJlr, Eart" :\I.P. I A. II. LEST,IE )[ELVILLE, Esq., Danker, Lineol.. JUHN COWAX, Esq., of l!eeslack, l\Iidlothian. J. A. CA IPUELL, Esq., of Stracathro. LL.D., ::\I.p. THB HIGHT nor.. LORD WAT::iOX. of Thankerton. 1rhe 52nd ANNUAL GEXERAL :MEETI G was held at EDINBURGH, on 6th March, 18 41. The following are the Results reported for the year: The NE'V ASSCRANCES completed were !:1,023,l'iU. Beillg for the 16th year in Succession abotJe a Million. PRE IIU:MS in year, l6l2,192. Total INCO IE, !:893,109. · The Expenses were under 10 per cent. of premiums, or 5i of total income. The CLADIS of year (including Bonus AdditioDs*) were !:312,70 t J. * 'fhese averag-ed 50'7 per cent. on Assurances which participated. THE ACCU::\IULATED FeNDS now exceed L7,2jO,OOO. Their INCREASE, the largest in anyone year, was !-!76,999. THE SCOTTISH PROYIDE T IXBTITUTIOX was instituted in 1837, with the object of giving to the ASSURED the full benefit of the Low PRE IIUMS hitherto confined to a few of the PROPRIETARY OFFICES, while at the same time retaining the ",THOLE PROFITS for the Policyholders. Experience has proved that, with economy and careful management, these premiums will not only secure greatly LARGER ASSURA CES from the first, but by rcstn:ing the surplus for those wbo live to secure the Common Fund from JOSE, may in man.v cases proyide EVENTUAL BJ:NKFITS as large as can be obtained undel' the more usual S) Stl:111 of High Premiums. Tbe RATES OF PREMIU:\[ are so moderate that at most ages an Assurance of !:1200 to ;f:1250 may be secured fOI' the same yearly premium which would generally elsewhere assure (with profits) !:1000 only-the excess being equivalent to AN IMMEDIATE AND CERTAIN BONUS of 20 to 25 PER CENT. Tl-oe WHOLE PROFITS are dÌ\'ided among the ASHured on a system at once safe, equitable, and favourable to good lives-no s\ are being given to tLo:'!e by whose early death there is a loss to tbe Common Fund. The SURPLUS reported at the recent investigation W:\S !:105] ,035, of which two-thirds were divided among 9384 Policies. Policies sharing a first time (with a few unimportant exceptions) were increased, according to duration and class, from 18 or 20 to 31 per cent. Policies which had shared at previous investigatIons were increased in all Ly O to 80 per cent. and upwards. Examples of Premium for .elOO at Death-with Profits. I AGE. 2:J 30 35 I 4.0 I 45 I 60 I 65 I During Lite ....U 18 0 I L2- 1 -; 1:2 .i:2 U --; 1 1::3 -;; 1 - ; 11 I 21 Payments .. 2 12 6 2 15 -I. 3 0 2 I 3 7 st 3 17 6 I -I. 12 1 I 5 10 2 [Tho usual 1Ion-participating Rates differ little from tlM..e Premiums.] · A person of 30 may secure ÆlOOO at death, by a early payment. during life. of J:20 15s. This premium would I!'enerally elsewhere secure 4::800 onl)", instead of 4:: 1 000. OR. he may 6ecure Æl.( W by 21 yearly payments of /;;"1.7 13s. 4d.-being thusfree of payment afte.. age 50. . t At aKe 4<.1, the Premi.uID cl'ai9, \\ith lull Stattment of l'liuc:iples and Tables of Rates, may be had. JANES GRAHA:\[ WATSO , Manager. J. ML'IR T,ETTcn, London SecretarJ/. 1 TIlE CO TE)IPORARY REVIE'V ADVEUTlðER, JAXUARY 18 1. THE SURGIGAL AID SOGIETY, Offìce- Salisbury Square, Fleet Street, E.C. PJ'l:...itlent-THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF ABERDEEN. THIS Society was estahlished in IH6:?, to supply TruRse", Elastic Stocking... Artificial Limbs, etc" and tvery other description of mechanical support to the poor, v.ithout limit as to locality or disease. "'ater Beds and Invalid Carriages Lent to the Afflicted. , It provides aga;nst imposition by supplying the appliance on Subscribers' letters of recommendation and the certificate of a Surgeon. By speci,il grantl:l it ensures that every deserving applicant shall recei ve pr:>mpt assistance. 15,075 APPLIANCES HAVE BEEN GIVEN DURINC THE PAST YEAR. Annual Subscription of Life Subscription of ;f:0 10 5 5 z } EntHles to two recommenda- tions per annum. CONTRIBUTIONS ARE EARNESTLY SOLICITED. jJaul.:el's-]'lu3:,rs. BARCLAY k Cú., Lomùanl Street. 'VILLL\ r TJ{E:-5IDDEH, ...,'eaelul'!I. ROYAL HOSPITAL FOR DISEASES OF THE CHEST, CITY ROAD, E.C. SPECIAL APPEAL FOR. .:E5000. The Secretary has the pleasure to announce that the undermentioncd SUMS have already been COLLECTED:- })er . Hope Iorl('y, E q.. (Tre urcr and Chairman of the Council). Messrs. Haring Bros. Lurd Roth8child So Hupe JIorle}', ESII. .lIIessr8. I. & U. Morley :MC HS, Barclay & Co. II. II. Gibbs, Esq. _.. The Hun. Paticoe Gl}n ._. ::\le8srll. Glrn, 1i1\8, and Co. Lady Woherton ... .tõOO 210 150 ]05 ]I)., 105 }II,') 105 100 o 0 E. H. lIall1l1ro, Esq. ... .tWO 0 0 I T. A. Denny, Ellq. ... o 0 I )le8srll. }'rùhling&Hollchcll 100 0 0 P. du P. Grenfell, Esq. o 0 J. 8. Gilliat, E 4., Jl.P.... 50 0 0 John Ileal-on, Etilj. ... o 0 Messrs. Matheson am1 Co. 50 0 0 Hugh C. mith. Esq. o 0 W. CJ7alet, hq. óO 0 (\ Elic C. mith, Esq. o 0 H. trilliatt, Esq. 26 0 U I .'. C. Hill", E'q. o 0 A. liilliat, ":slj. '" 25 0 0 I mall amounts o 0 George Williams, } sq. ... :5 0 0 o 0 T. K. Tapling, Esq., ::\I.P. 25 0 0 Per T. Andros De La Rue, Esq. (Vice-Chairman). o 0 I )Iessrs. Walker and Co. '" .tto 10 0 1\le rs. Elder and Co. ... o 0 :\lc"5rll. Fry and ons '" 10 10 () Messrs.:-;. Hollgoe and Son _., o () I lL D. Turner, ESIj. '" '" 10 10 0 L. Le Grand, Esq, __. o 0 Jles rs. Hopkinson and Messrs. Jet1rey alld Co. o 0 I Cope... ...... 10 10 0 Mcssrs. Young and Cu. F. C. Debcnham, E q. HI 10 0 10 10 0 I ;\le8..r8. Harry and Co. 5 ;) 0 10 10 0 .Mes,;rs. Guod and Co. 5 5 0 J.;25 0 () 25 0 ()o 25 0 ()o 25 0 0 :!;) 0 0 :!() 0 0 p_ 3 3 6 --- J:2,O:i3 3 6 T. Andros De },3 Rue, Esq. .t 0,) )le8sr8. II.. l,a Hue and Cu. ]0.) :1\Ie8sr8, Whitbread aud Co. 1O;} :Edmund .Jo}llson, Esq. ... 2.5 Àle8srs. }laple an,1 Co. ... 21 :Messrs. Wibor., BristowI.', and Carpmael .:\le88r8. J:'llitau and Co. oC550 330 330 3 3 ()o 2 2 ()o 4;556 6 0 The amount required to plac'e the finances of the Hospital in a satisfactory condition is L50rO, and thc public are very carnestly 38ked to contribute. The annual Subscriptions 11re le8s than 4;) ,500, whereas thc expendilUre exceeds E5,500. 'l'wo Wards, containing ao beds, arc lying idlc lor want of funds, and owing to lac:k of accommodation distressing caEes are almost daily refused admission. Donors of .t1O 103. breome Life Governors, and annually receive six out-patient leUers. Annual Subscribers of .t5 5R. and L:J :is. bave the riR'ht to recommend in-patients, and Subscribers of one I(uinea receive six out-patient letters annnally. DONATION::; and I'L"BSCRIPHOXS are E"RNESTLY SOLICITED, Dnd will be thankfully received by the Secrctary, at the Ho pital; or they IDay be paid direct to Mcssrs. lilyn, Mills, Currie &; Co., 67 Lombard Street, E.C. (Uar.J,.eIII of the H;)spital). THE COKTE)IPORARY REVIE'V ADVERTISER, JANUARY 1891. 13 : i ,: ! Iml! 1,1!1,I!li_!! !i-I!1 n!I mm1j !!Il!lil!lil! Ii . I ' rc-- i. .. ''')' " . ,--" wR::J RESs .. " I _ "':J:) \ .I i - ;: Ii ' f '.I' J. 1>-'-7 111" , \; í\ \ .' I - -: / 1 .i , l\ (c. :'1 $!<- f"_ ) i" :\ 1' ' I: : ð .:r: ,;t - · \ <- ft I J I ' Ii' > I, I = WI:... U.SE n J '}; I "\ , \" .. .II] . . . ! ! <' / ' I' ï ry e- -. ._'].( r 2 = - - ' I . . I IIIIII , . i iii I II (Ii; 'I ', ""J " ." . THE BAR-LOCK TYPE-WRITER =--= Is used by the Government Departments, the Railway Clearing House, and the Leading Railway and Insurance Companies, and Professional and Commercial Firms. VISIBLE WRITING. PERFECT PRINTING. RAPIDITY. J"jIlJÞJÞlied 1'01' ('ash OJ' O1U' E"l! 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I F YUU AHE S-cFFERIXG from any XI-:UVOU or W..-\.:-ìTIXG DISL\SE that threatens Cox:'; \lPTlU or P ARAJ.Yilal'kbnrn. " DE \R SIRS,- Y 011 art' at Jll'rft'd lihl'rt to U"l' 11' tt'.,tiIllUIl rt'spl'C'till!{ n) ",if. ' "carin )onr valuahle . l\lal!'llt'tilll'.' ll'anllut tt.JI YOIl a hlllldn'ùth part ".f till' ood it ha.. donC' fur ht'r.-J. l'. \1i.CBER, llapti:.t )li))i tl'r. OAR LOW & CO" 89 New Oxford Street, LONDON. OSEPHGfiR[ôïy:s ;STEEL PENS t: N bÝ f.>/-'j IF ê. ,Barrel Pens, 225.226,262. .sliP Pens, 332. 909J l, _/ . Cè[ff 287, 166,404. In fine, medium, & broad POi".,,-Io; .1:" HO:\IE RULE AXD HO)IE RULERS. T HE possibility that the future of Ireland and the integrity of th United Kingdom may depend on the issue of a suit in the Divorce Court suggests some curious reflections. The part which accident plays in the determinations of history i::; a favourite branch of speculation with those philosophers who have a fancy for dealing with the ,= might have beens " of the world, erecting themselves into a sort of amateur Providence and constructing a succession of events which never happened. If Eve had not listened to the serpent and eaten the apple the whole course of the world would have been changed. If the Persians had not been defeated at :Jlarathon, Europe might have been another Asia. If Julius Cæsar on the fatal Ides of )Iarch had listened to the soothsayer and to Calpurnia, and had stayed away from the Senate Honse, the Roman Empire might have been built up on more durable foundations than those which the inferior genius of Augustus was able to lay. If Cleopatra had been a plain and unprepossessing person; if, as Pascal puts it, her nose had been an inch shorter than K ature actually made it, Antony would not have taken flight at Actium; rather, there would have been no sea- fight there for him to fly from. If the fates had granted long days to Marcellus, there might have been no Tiberius, no Caligula, no Kero. If the accident which was nearly fatal to Richard Cromwell in the banquet- ing house had actually brought his weak and worthless life to a close, and his brother Henry had succeeded to the Protectorate, there might have been no Stuart restoration in ltiúO. If Queen Anne had lived long enough-a few weeks or months would have sufficed-to give Bolingbroke time to complete his plans, there might have been a Stuart restoration, and all that it implied, in 171 t. If the disreputable Fred, who \\ as ali\?e and then dead, and left nothing more to be aid, vuL. LIX. .A 2 THE COJ.VTEJI,fPORARY REVIEW. had li\ ed to succeed his father on the throne, there might have been no American IN ar and no dismemberment of the British Empire. If George III. had died before Pitt, Catholic Emancipation might have come twenty years .earlier than it did, and the course of Irish history have been other than it was. If, in 1885, Ir. Gladstone had had a majority independent of the Irish vote, we might never have heard of Home Rule from his lips. Finally, if the O'Gorman Iahon had not introduced Captain O'Shea to fr. Parnell, we might be looking for- ward to Home Rule a few years hence. This doctrine that Chance is King, this historic casualism, was the theory of Bolingbroke, who saw in mortal changes and events simply the cruei bantering of a capricious fortune. It was the doctrine which Pope borrowed, as he did many other things, from him- " 'Vhat great effects from trivial causes spring "-though he departed from it when he perceived in chance but invisible direction, and in a Borgia or a Catiline effects as natural as plagues and earthquakes. But here too his philosophy was inconsistent with the recognition that the Providence which bound Nature fast in fate left free tbe human will. The fact is that your" if," though sometimes a very effecti\ e peacemaker, is a very imperfect historic philosopher. It re- quires no great discernment to see that if a thread here and a thread there are plucked from the texture of history, the whole web will be ravelled out and fall in pieces. The particular thread which the attempt is made to disentangle is part of the web, and cannot be severed from it. Instead of holding that the great revolutions of history depend upon shifting and trivial accidents, it is more natural to hold that these apparent accidents are themselves effects of the general causes which they are vainly supposed to originate; bubbles, or at most ripples and eddies, on the great stream of tendency which carries them along with it. If the Duke of Burgundy,- :Mr. Lecky argues, had succeeded Louis XIV., and France had been spared the Regency and the reign of Louis XV. the Uevolution might have been effected peaceably, and without solution of tbe continuity of French society and institutions. But what reason is there to suppose that the social pestilence which cOITupted into moral rottenness the Duke of Orleans and Louis XV. would have left the character of the Duke of Burgundy unassailed, or that the pupil of Fénelon 'would han' turned out better than the pupil of Seneca, of whom even more ex- travagant hopes were at one time, and with apparent reason, enter- tained. The murder of the Duchesse de Praslin by her husband, and 1\1. Teste's conviction of bribery, ostensibly led to that revolution of contempt which overthrew Louis-Philippe; Lut they were simply in- stances of a general deterioration of morals, personal and public. The popular imagination and indignation fastened on them; but, if they had been wanting, other examples of wickedness in high and HOJIE RULE AND HOME RLTLERS. 3 ()fficial places would not have been lacking to supply the individual ()ffences and offenders which are necessary to concentrate and sharpen dissatisfaction and disapproval into indignation and punishment. A saying of :àIirabean's has been recently quoted which, in its general effect, amounts to this: that his private excesses had marred his power of sen"ing his country; but his private excesses were characteristic of his day and his time. It was a particular ins ance ()f a general malady, which probably would have been fatal even though )firabeau had not taken the infection. In the considerations which have been indicated is the true answer to the argument that the personal character of ::\11'. Parnell is entirely irrelevant to the que8tion of Home Rule, and that if Home Rule is l'ight it remains right, no matter how wrong he may be proved to be. A very bad man no doubt may be, let us say, a very good mathe- matician, and the worth of his demonstrations does not depend upon his fidelity to the Ten Commandments. But in matters of government, and especially in creating a new government, the question of institu- tions is scarcely more vital than that of persons. The character of the men into whose hands the conduct of affairs is to be put requires to be as carefully weighed as the powers with which it is pro- posed to invest them. From the time of Alcibiades to that of Charles .James Fox, not to travel beyond the beginning of the present century, great and brilliant statesmen have often pushed profligacy to excess. TIad as ::\11'. Pal'neU's conduct is in itself, it is such as, after the decent interval of retirement which ::\Ir. Gladstone judiciously suggested, and after such atonement as is possible, is usually condoned. "\Vhat has .shocked men was less the sensual offence into which )1r. Parnell has been betrayed, than other qualities, which in one sense magnify his guilt and in anether dwarf it. The cold treachery, the protracted hypocrisy, the sneaking concealment under false names and in constantly shifted resi- dences, the lying responses to the friend whom he deceived and to the political colleagues to whom he solemnly declared his innocence, all the ignoble expedients of fraud and falsehood to which he had recourse, double and treble the iniquity which he has confessed. It is viler in its accidents and attendant circumstances than in its essence. It is these things which fix the deepest brr..nd upon :Mr. Parnell, and render the proposal to hand over to him-for to this Home Rule comes-almost unlimited power in the government of Ireland an act of criminal lunacy. ::\Ir. Parnell's deposition from the leadership, however, by no means gets rid of him. Even if it should be ratified by the opinion ()f the Irish race, as it is called. on both sides of the Atlantic. that judgment is not irreversible. There will be an appeal from Philip sober to Philip drunk. If :\11'. Parnell should be driven from English public life with- ()ut hope of return to it, the matter is not much mendeù. The Irish 4 THE CO VTEJI,IPORAR Y RE FIE IV. Glad::;tonians, to giv{' them the name which beF-t expreE es their poli- tical position, and the tenure by which they hold their political existence, have never said any delibprate word in moral condemnation of .Mr. Parnell's conduct. They are not in the least shocked by it. The outcry of the English Konconformists, which alarmed ::\Ir. Glad- stone, did not in the first instance 111o\"'-e them. They gathered together in Dublin to denonnce what they òescriLed as the rharisaic cant of ELellezer and Little Bethel. They declared that. the spheres of politics and morality were distinct, and they proclaimed their un- abated confidence in their " gallant" leader, and the unchilled fervollr of their devotion to him. They as little dreamt of any political disqualification attaching to 1\11'. Parnell as )11'. Pm'ne]} did himself. }'Ir. ramell perhaps thought that he could Letter defend his leadership as (' lected lead('r than as a candiùate proscribed by l\Ir. (t ladstone. ::\1 r. Parnell, with all his shrewdness and tactical skill, lacks the dexterity which half a c 'ntury's Parliamentary experience has conferred upon his antagonist. His acceptance of )Ir. Gladstone's proposal "Would, in return for tempor:try effacement in the English Parliament, have prac- tically secured him, in the> event of Home Rule being carrÌf'd, the Irish Premiership; it would not be> too much to say, the Irish Dictator- ship. That. indeed. an Irish Parliament would probabl)- in any case confer upon him. Sharp as have been the conflict , and bitter as are the animosities, between the rarnellites and the Irish Gladston.ian , they are not likely to be very long-lived. For a time there will, no doubt, be the strongest mutual denunciations. 1nere may be ri,al Glad- stonian and Parnellite candidates in every vacant Irish constituency. 1\Ir. Parnell, who has of late years been the moderator of his party. will probably, as against his succe sors and rivals, whose business it now will be to temporise with and reassure alarmed English feeling. make appeal to the extreme section, the men of outside action. As he formt'rly incited the tenants against the landlords, he is likely now to address himself to the labouring class as against the tenants, if the tenants rank themselves with his adversaries. The more formidable each section of the party can prove itself to the other, the more anxious each will be for reconciliation with its antagonist -such reconciliation, that is to say, as is the condition of common action. :\11'. Parnell is not a sentimentalist, and is indifferent to the union of hearts, provided only there is a union of hands. The very fury and clamour of the first conflicts between the 11arnellites and the Irish Gladstonians is a sign of a coming understanding. Hatreds may soon burn themselves out. 'fhe sense of a common interest is a very durable feeling. There can be very little doubt, therefore, that after a suitable period of alienation, though the two separate organisations may be maintained, in order to keep up appear- ances with 1\11'. Gladstone, and through Ir. )IcCarthy to keep open HùJIE RULE _-lSn HOJIE RCLERS. j communications with him, the divided Irish party will practically hecome again one party, secretly directed by Ir. Parnell, and working under his astute guidance for the gratification of bis insatiable political ambition. Ir. Parnell may think that H0me TIule may be for the benefit of Ireland, but he i determined that Home Rule shall be bi rule. His feeling, to adopt an illu tration of the late Lord Derby's, iH not that of the father who is anxious for the happiness of his child, through whomsoe,-er it may come, but of the lm-er who cannot bear tbat the object of his pa c;:ion should owe her happiness to anyone but hi mself. Those members of the Rriti h portion of the Gladstonian party who are trying to persuade themselves that Ir. Parnelrs compulsory retirt'ment from the Irish leadership in Parliament, or even the repu- diation of him by Irish organisations in the L nited :Kingdom and in ..\merica, will permanently banish him from public life, do not understand the man and the influences which work for him. Supposing that he were banished for ever, matters would not be sensibly improvpd. Except that they were not. and could not be, co-respondents with him in tht-, dh"orce suit, the Irish Parliamentary party are nearly all of them accomplices in )11'. Parnelrs offences. There are some honourable men among them. notably the distinguished Chairman of the Irish Gladstoniall party, whose character and accom- plishmt'nts partly cover the multitudinous sins of his colleagues. 'Yith these deductions, whatever )11'. Parnell has done they have done. All the offences which hare been prored against him have been brought home to most of them. Ien who would shrink from handing over Ireland to )11'. Parnell, will not mend matters by handing it over instead to the anti-Parnellite Parnellites, even if that should be more than indirectly giving it to bim. It is not to be supposed that thp scruples of Engli h G1adstonians are merely geographical, and that, though they will not tolerate )11'. Parnell as leader of the Irish Par- liamentary party, they think him quite good enongh to be First )rinister of the Crown in reland itself. Horne Hu1e, in the sense which the word has now acquired, is Parnellism, and the character oÍ the thing is not changed by getting rid, if that could be done, of the man. II. )lr. Parnell's position in Irish politics very strikingly illustrates the fact that democracy, in curious contradiction to its name, is practically the "one man power." 'Vhere it does not take this form, as in France for the moment, and in the United States. it is not because the tendency is lacking, but because the man is wanting. There does not seem to be in those countries any one p3sse sing the qualities necessary even for a sham hero. There is no one whom, by much making-belie'\e. his fellow-countrymen can dre s TIP into an 6 THE CONTE]jIPORARr REVIE1V. object of admiration and devotion. The" boss," the wire-puller, and the log-roller have it all their own way. Politics exhibit often a meanness and a squalor, and almost always a paltriness, which is in- compatible with a lofty national temper. Sentiment cannot be ex- cluded from public affairs without lowering them to the lerel of the counting-house and the Stock Exchange. Perhaps political sentiment i5 most natural1y and healthily expressed when it fixes itself upon the- representative of a long line of kings, whose history embodies the whole course of the national life, with its long series of struggles anc1 defeats and final triumphs, the traditions of the past and the hopes of the future. In the ab ence, through permanent causes or temporary accident,. of this steady and steadying national feeling, the personal element in politics is apt to give itself up to vagaries of admiration and execration, which are full of political danger. To a statesman who has taken the popular fancy, so long as he keeps it, nothing is denied. The insti- tutions of the country are given him to do what he likes with, making or marring them at his caprice. There is no need that his qualities should be admirable in themselves. When Lord Byron wanted a hero for his most unheroic poem, he pitched upon Don Juan; and it would appear, from recent events, that a nation is capable of making a some- what similar choice. It does not seem to matter much what a man's characteristics are, so long as they are striking. Charles II. was popular through his gay vices; George III. through his domestic virtues. The contrast was not confined to kings. It was exhibited in the careers of Charles J allies Fox and the younger Pitt, and contemporary parallels might be found without difficulty. Thc popular imagination is impressed by courage and coolness, by variety and promptitude of re- source, by the power of fighting a long battle against great odds. It admires the skill of the sworùsman without taking much account of the cause in which he draws the sword. This feeling explains the reprehensible indulgence shown to }'Ir. Parnell after the exposure before the Special Commission of offences on his part which makes th repudiation of his companionship and leadership which has followed on the Divorce Court candal a gross moral inconsistency. The character of the man, as it wa shown in the later proceedings, wonld probably have justified those who think that personal honour and good faith are essential in a politician in withdrawing from personal and public relations with him. But not one quality was there displayed which was not equally manifest when the Town Council of Edinburgh be- stowed on him that freedom of the city which they have now with- ùrawn, and when Ir. John :Morley sounded him as to his willingness to take office under any new Administration which Nr.Gladstone might be called on to form. His admission that he had made deliberately in the I-Iol1se of Commons a stah'ment which, at the time of making it, HOJIE RFLE A VD HUZIIE RúLERS. 7 he believed to be untrue, with a view of deceiving the House, was known to the statesmen who were cultivating his friendship, and courting his alliance, and offering him office-for Ir. John l\lorley, who was authorised to make the inquiry, was not, it may be presumed, empowered to say" Ko," if )11'. Parnell had happened to say " Yes." A lie by which a public man, supposed to be speaking as a gentle- man in an assembly of gentlemen, abuses the good faith of the House of Commons is, perhaps, as black a lie as can be. Ir. Gladstone has said as much; and his casuistry is sound. Yet a falsehood of this order was not merely brought home to )11'. Parnell, and admitted re- luctantly by him under pressure, it was spontaneously confessed by him in easy and incidental explanation of a statement which he could not otherwise account for. The Commissioners reported that allegations by the dozen against )11'. Parnell were fü.lly established, the truth of which he denied on oath. In France, the term of unpardonable insult is, we believe, Láche; JIcntev1" may be overlooked; but in England to can a man a liar is a more deadly affront even than to call him a con'ard; and a man who calls himself a liar leaves other people nothing worse to call him. They can only, if he be a politician, decline future relations with him, and this until now they have done. But the ethics of public life have undergone a change since the year 1885. The proof and confession of mendacity, conviction of criminal conspiracy for the dismem ber- ment of the Empire, and for the e),.--pulsion of a class of the com- munity from its homes, property, and countr)-, have not been thought to deprive the men who practise them of their title to be con- sidered a Parliamentary party pursuing constitutional ends by legal means. The solemnly recorded verdict of three Judges of the land that :\11'. Parnell and his followers, including some of the most prominent of the men who have now revolted from him, were guilty of these things, has been greeted as a triumphant acquittal, because a particular letter attributed to lr. Parnell "as found not to havo been written by him. In everything except the one private injury of which !Ill'. Parnen has by his silence made confession, the followers are as their leader, and even in that particular they ridicule the prudery and Puritanism to which they.tave been obliged to submit in practice, and deny that morality has anything to do with politics. They are perfectly consistent. The whole action of the Parnellite party from its formation to the prebent day has been based on the systematic extrusion of morality from politics. " hat distinguishes the period before from the period after 1886 is simply this: that English statesmen have palliated and excused these practices, and, by associ- ating themselves with the ends sought, have made themselves accom- pìices in the means used for the attainment of those ends. Theirs J we are inclined to think, is the greatest guilt of all. The bulk of the 8 THE CO YTEJIPORARr RErIETV. Irish party, though not )[1'. Parnell himself, are of a race a!ld a religion which as yet has had only two generations of complete enfranchise- ment. The faults of a people debased by centuries of servitude are not to be effaced by threescore years of freedom. If it be true that the day on which a man becomes a slave takes half his worth away, it is unfortunately not true that the day on which he is invesh'd with freeùom invests him with the virtues of a citi7.cn. The servile vices survive the servile condition. The freedman and his descendants bear the marks of the degradation from which thpy have escaped, rather than those of the condition into which they have been lifted. Between the freeman and the frt'edman there is more than the difference of the letter d. The wordo;; ., libertine" and " libertinism " are terms which, in their moral censure. express a social and political truth which has the closest bearing, if not upon the Home llult' Question in itself, yet upon the demand for the immediate concession Ilf Home Rule. The Irish people require a longer training than tlte:>j have yet had in association with the law-aùiding and orderly people of Great Britain before they can safely be trusted to themselves. It may bl' that we have them as we have made:> them; that is possible. But that they are what they are is certain; and, being what they are:>, it would be an imprudence verging on criminality to confide not merely the Home Rule majority to itself, but the li,es and property of the dissf'ntient minor- ity to it. History may make many excuse's for them; it will have only condemnation for the English statesmen and gentlemen who, differ- ently trained, have countenanced and profited by the crimes which they ought to have rebuked and which their rebuke would have checked. Re:>nunciation of boycotting and the Plan of Campaign would have been a price cheerfully paid for the Gladstonian alliance, if it could not have been had upon any other terms. The men who have sold their leader to purchase it"would more readily have made this lesser sacri- :flee if it had been exacted. English statesmen art' responsible for the crimes which they could have hindered and did not hinder. The blind confidence which has allowed pu hlic men to take this course has been abetted by a strange apathy. The indifference of the British people to the Home Rule Question is shown by the fact that the majority of those who vote for it are quite con- tent to remain in ignorance of what they art' voting for. They are satisfied that it hould remain locked up in the bosom of Ir. Gladstone. This brings us to another point which marks the political management of the present time. The ostentatious publicity which is its most striking characteristic is a sham publicity. It disguises a secrecy more absolute than was ever before practised. Orators are effusive at public meetings, and at the windows of railway carriages, and simple people believe that they are taking the country into their confidence, and that the business of the nation is HOJIE RULE A YD HOJIE RULEU::;. 9 being dODP in thf' light of day. In reality, it is settled in empty houses in Belgravia, or in confidential walks and talks at Hawarden. The only people who are kept out of the secret of Home Hule are the British nation and the Irish party. Xo doubt, they will be told it some time or other, but only when, without having had sntHcient time for deliberation. they are called upon to say " Yes - or "X 0." The objection that to announc,' a scheme prematurely would be to expose it to a long pf'riod of adverse criticism, is a practical confession that the scheme will not bear adverse criticism. If it is good. the better it is known, the better it will be liked. .If it is bad it may need to be carried by a surprise, in which the heats of party fight will make real deliberation impossible, and in which, perhaps, a contlict between the two Houses of Parliament may blend a revolutionary struggle in England with a revolutionary struggle in Ireland. It i:5 a rule of the College of Physicians not to give their sanction to any remedy in ignorance of the ingredients of which it is composed. The principle is as sound in politics as in medicine. The probability is that a secret remedy is a quack remedy. Until Ir. Gladstone declares what he means by Home Hule, he might as reasonably go to the country with the cry of Abracadabra. Perhaps it would rally to him many supporters. If the English nation by clear premonitions during the next year or two, and by a decisive majority at the general election, stamps out the Home Rule project, or adjourns it to an indefinite future, a great danger will be averted. But great difficulties will remain. It is possible that a settlement of the land question, on the lines of )1r. Balfour's scheme, if that is happily carried through. will indispose the tenant farmers, on their way towards fnIl ownership, to further agitation. Beati possidcllleS. Political change with them has always been means to agrarian ends-Church and State mean t.he land. The end being gained, the means may be dropped. After a Land Bill, they would probably welcome a stringf'nt measure of Coercion to secure their tenure of life and property. For this settlement, it is too probable, would be the beginning of a fierce struggle on the part of the politicians and adventurers who li\-e by Irish disturbance, or seek notoriety and power in it. ::\11'. ParneIl threatens an agitation among tbe labouring classes, appeals to the hill-side men. and talks of being forced into modes of action other than Parliamentary or constitutional. )11'. Davitt is as much opposed to peasant proprietorship as to any other form of private property in land. 11r. Patrick Egan. whose suspected connection with the Phænix Park murders has never been disproved, has given in his adhesion to 1r. Justin )[cCarthy's party. In the event of the Home Rule move- ment collapsing in Great Britain there would probably be a triple alliance of crime and rebellion. But against it there might be in 10 TilE CONTEJIPORARY REr7E1V. Ireland not only all the forces which have hithprto stood at the side- of law and freedom, but also in the case of the purchasing tenants the most important of the forces which have hitherto covertly or openly f'ustained disorder. It is possible that, in the case supposed, the clergy, as a body, may permanently renounce the Jacobin alliance into which they have been drawn. The priests, both as peasants and as dependents for their dues on the Irish farming class, would, in the main, rank themselves on the side of order. The influence primarily exercised by their flocks on them would be reflected back by them on their- Hocks, who would be glad to find a pretext in the injunctions of the Church for taking the course to which their interest inclines them. In the event of Romp Rule being decisively negatived, pverything at present points to the conclusion that; in the future, the struggle in Ireland will be between law and naked and unabashed law lessness, and that in it the tenal1t-pl1rchasers of the land, the. trading classes, to whom the repudiation of debts is of bad augury, and the Homan Catholic clergy, pecuniarily dependent on the farmer and the shopkeeper, \, ill be found on the same side with the landed gentry. the merchants, and the clergy of the Protestant churches, against agrarian spoliation and the breaking of the last link. HI. The remarks which go before were written and in the hands of the- printer before the elections at Bassetlaw and Korth Kilkenny had taken place. Interesting as those e\-ents are, a man must be a very convinced bdieyer in the new science of political meteorology to regard them as decisive of anything beyond themselves. The science of which this is the parody and. the burlesque, is selected by writers on method as the type of an imperfect science, in which prediction is impossible, and in which speculation, even when limited within the narrowest condition of time and space, has (118 value only of mm'e or less plausible guesses. A forecast of twenty-four hours, when con- fined within a specifically indicated district, is perhaps more often appro).:i- mately right than positively wrong. Forecasts, whicb, like those of the old almanacs. f:;hollld affect to foretell the weather for all England twely ' months hence, would bear tbe brand of quackery on their face. rrhe same remark is true of political weather forecasts. To argue from the state of the social atmosphere in England, E., or in Ireland, S., in December 1800, to its condition over the United Kingdom a year or two hence is egregiously to tritle with common-sense, if not with good faith. The elections at Bassetlaw and North Kilkenny do. not necessarily indicate more than the momentary impressions and impub:es predominant in these constituencies a few weeks ago._ HOJIE RFLE A..Vn HO.JIE RULERS. 11 1'fl'rium et 'mutf1bilL. is a human, and especially a political, charac- teristic. Keeping this caution in mind, it may be well to inquire what the two elections mean. They have one feature in common. They sug- ge t, at least, that the tactics which in 18BG broke up the Liberal party are gradually crumbling away its Home Rule successor, while they have shattered, as by dynamite, Irish Kationalism into two unequal fragments. The Home Rule minority in Bassetlaw in 1890 fell short by 41!) votes of the Liberal minority in 188,j. It is not doubted or deniel1 that Nonconformist abstentions account for this difference. The seceders could not see that :Mr. Gladstone.s friendly suggestion to Ir. Parnell to withdraw for a moment from the chair- manship of his party was equivalent to a solemn excommunication of him, as permanently disabled, on moral grounds. from the Irish leadership in 'Vestminster, and for the future Premiership of Ireland. On the contrary, the proposed. arrangement was a pledge of speedy reinstatement in his leadership, and ultimate gratification of hiB ambition. It is possible that the defeat of thf' Home Rule candidate in Bassetlaw may have meant something more than this. It may have indicated an awakening to the fact that ]\11'. Parnelrs political character and conduct typify in a marked individual instance the character and conduct of his party as a whole, and of its leading members on either side of the present line of division. The laws enacting " Xc quis fur e,.;set, neu latro, nen qnis adulter," cannot, in any English reading of them, be f::uspended as regards ofÌenders of the two former classes-rent-stealers, for example-and enforced against the third only. That the men who have found out )11'. Parnell, or, rather, to whom 1\11'. Parnell has shamelessly discov- ered himself, should straightway become the ùupes of his associates, would argue a degree of fatuity incompatible, if it were general, with the national safety. 1\1r. Chamberlain has recently said that many Home Rulers of 1886 have approached him with overtnres for a reconciliation with the -c nionist party, anù a return to the Liberal policy as it was in 188;), the question of Home Rule being abandoned or indefinitely adjourned. If 1r. Chamberlain does not exaggerate the number and weight of these expressions of opinion, it would seem that there is a revulsion, in the light of recent disclosures, from the Home Rule surprise of 1886, and that the author of the Liberal rupture of that year may see the gradual melting away of the Home Rule party in the coming months and years. The :Xorth Kilkenny election is valuable as disclosing what the real Ireland is of which so many fancy pictures have been drawn. Any one who would understand what Home Rule in present circumstances 12 THE COlVTEJIPORARY REVIEIV. would mean has only to imagine the control of t ht:> police and the nomination to anll tenure of magisterial and j ullicial oRicf's, dependent on the .Administration of the day at Dublin. Yet this authority, and t.he liberty of dealing on the principh s of lr. Dillon with the rents and rights of landlords, are the two points on which Parnellites and Allti- Parnellites join in insisting as vital to any future measure of Home Hule. In the technical language of ] rish turbulence and turmoil. a party-fight and a faction-fight are distinguished. \ party- fight is a figbt between llll>mbers of opposite parties. Orangemen, say, and Hibhonmen. .L\.. faction-fight is a fight between" members of the same party, and has something of a family character. Beside:::; the party-fight h_ tween Unionists aull Home Ruler:-;. we have now very literally, and in the streets, faction-fight::; amongst Home Rulers them- selves, between Parnellitcs and Anti-Parnellites, between bishops' men and hill-side men. The necessity of opposing a sin le front to the enemy-the Pax Anglica is the enemy-had brought irreconcilable antagonists into the same camp, the just.ification of whose mutual hatreds was only postponed to the sati;;;faction of their common hatred. Sot for the first time in Irish history is there now an alliance between Romanism and J acobinism. It. began with talks and projects of a United lrelanù in lï91, and ended in rebellion and civil war in 1798, the reconciled sects and factions flying at t:>ach other's throats. The party of the bishops, if we may argue from Sorth Kilkenny, is for the moment in the ascendant in Ireland. A majority of two to one ha.., returned their nominee. Probabìy a eneral appeal to the country would show tbat J[r. Parnell divides it more eqnally with his opponent:-: than the votes recorded for Hir ,John Pope Hennessy and 1[1'. Yincent Scully indicated. But taking the lowest estimate, he is master of a third of the IIome Hule party in the constituencies and in Parliament, to say nothing of the turbulent masses of the towns; and with much smaller forces than these a protracted conÌl'st can he waged. [f the bishops were as conclusi\'ely victorious as they hope to be, the pû::,ition of affairs would still, assumir.g the Home Rule con- troversy to continue, be difficult and dangerous. The enemy is within as well as outside their camp; their present allies are their future foes. A victory to which )fr. Davitt should contribute would be a victory for the predatory t;ocialism of lr. Henry George, which I r. Davitt has adopted, and which the Church has condemned. :\11'. Yilliam O'Brien and :Mr. Dillon are for the moment as docile to the bishops as they are indocile to the POlJP, because the bishop, are on their side and the I )ope is against them. But on tbe first difference arising the bishops will be told, as the Pope has been told, to attend to the interests of religion, and not to meddle with politics. \n accommodation may be patchell up between Parnellites and Anti- Parnellites, but tht:> irreconcilable divergence between tht:> Home Uule HOJJE RULE A_YD HOJ1E RULERS. 1:3 which i Rome Hule, and the Home Rule which is the rule of the Americanised Irish, mUf't sooner or later break forth. There may be, for a time, a division of temporal and spiritual functions. If Ir. Davitt, )11'. Di1lon, and lr. O'Brien are allowed to deal at their pleasure- with the property of the Protestant minority. the Catholic bishops and clergy will be satisfied with the guardianship of the Protestant religion. That the faith of Ireland should be divorced from the property of Ireland is to their minds a crying grievance. The earth is the Lord's, and the land is the people's, and therefore, on the combined principles of the Bible and "r. Henry George, the Catholic people of Ireland should be the owners of the soil. It is well known that the Roman Catholic bishops and clergy discourage in every way thp s0cial intercourse between I )rotestants and Catholics as involving, m--en when the in and scandal of a mixed marriage are avoided, a seriou.:; danger, through the influence of Protestant ideas, to strictness of faith and fen'"our of devotion. Penal laws and open persecution would no doubt be impossihle even in a Home Rule Ireland; but small and vexatious interference , intolerably oppressive in their cllIDulati\ye force, yet singly insufficient to justify the inter- ference of the Imperial authority, are more than probable. Romp Rule granted to Ireland in the present condition of the country wonld be accompanied by the danger of a combined priestly and Jacobin assault on the religion and property of the })rotestant owners of the land, to be followed by a war between these confederate foes when they had driven away the common enemy. The defeat of Rome Rule and the settlement of the land question would probably bring the clergy and the farmers of Ireland to the side of law and order, besides securing those guarantees of religious liberty and equality which, apart from the rnion, have hut illusory safeguard:-;. FR.-\.XK H. HILL. A AGE OF DISCO TENT.. 'THOEVER, reaching middle life, sees twenty or thirty years of \ \ manhood lie behind him, is apt, if he be of a thoughtful temper, to ask himself in what respects the world as he sees it now differs from the world as he knew it at twenty years of age. He per- ceives that he is not thinking the ame thoughts as he did then, nor are others round him. He feels that his ideals and his hopes. his fears and his aversions. have undergone a change. He notes a dif- ference in the moral and intellectual atmosphere he breathes. He pauses often to mnse on the question what the difference is and how it has come about. I propose to-night to inquire what is in the main the bent and outcome of the reflections of those who in England look back over the last twenty or thirty years, and what they takp to be the distinctive note of the present temper of Europe. To address our- selves to this inquiry is to undertake a study in contemporary history, and in that difficult kind of contemporary history which deals, not with patent facts, but with underlying principles and tendencies. Observers in Europe are struck by the prm-alence of the spirit of discontent. I do not mean despondency, still less despair, but merely discontent, that is to say, disquiet, restlessness, dissatisfactioll wiLh the world a this generation finds it. Some one may think that such dis- content is the natural and normal habit of mind of middle age as compared with youth; and others will add that in all the centuries there has been discontent, chiefly manifesting itself among those who have passed their first youth. Yon will hardly suppose, howe\-er, that I have overlooked such a trite remark, or failed to allow for EO obvious a cause. It would be absurd to compare the men who were twenty in 18GO with the men who are fifty in 1890. We must compare the men who were fifty in 1860 with those who are fifty now, the men who were twenty then with those who are twenty now. .And the discontent I * An address delivered before the members of the Brooklyn Library, U.S.A., on No,cmber 3, 1890. A1Y AGE OF DISCO TTEJ\-T. 15 discover is in the more anxious and less buoyant tone of society and literature as a whole, of political speakers, of private conversation, of books, of newspapers, of sermons. In the years from 1850 to 18GO men in V\T estern Europe were far enough from being satisfied with things as they were. England, indeed, was prosperous and peaceful; but France was darkened by the degrading tyranny of Louis Napoleon anll the sordid group that surrounded him. \ll the best spirits of Italy were silencell appointments often come upon nations no less than upon men. Let mf" illustrate what I mean by two or threE" familiar examples. There are epochs in history when gI'('at 1llo,ements are in progress, when they excite men's minds, and stim111at them to unusual exertion; when hope and effort are concen- tratC'd. on 01Ue great object, and measureless blessingi'; are expected from it. Such a movement was seen, such a swelling tide of hope had begun to cover the world, in the first centuries of Christianity. 'Vith the triumph of the still youthful religion, with the submission of the imperial power, and the disappearance as well of heathenism as of th.. vices it had fostered, a new age seemed to be dawning, in which the sins and miseries of the past would soon be forgotten. In the days of Constantine: Christianity did triumph, and soon came to be mistress of A...Y AGE OF DIS Co.S TENT. 17 that civil and military power which had theretofore been exercised aaainst her. 'Vhat had been striven for had been won; for heathenism o shrank into corners, and by degrees vanished away. But the desired results did not follow. X ew dangers appeared within, for the now dominant Church wac;; more and more distracted by heresies and schisms. Xew dangers appeared without, as strange tribes poured in over the frontiers. The Church after a time absorbed these tribes, and in 'Vestern and )Iiddle Europe extinguished heresies and schisms. Her power grew till it covered the earth, as the waters cover the sea. Yet the condition of the world did not grow better, and religion itself grew less and less reasonable, less and less like that which had been first delivered to the saints. )loral purity and public peace, happiness and contentment and serenity were as far off as ever, further off, perhaps, than in the days of persecution. New evils, which no one had fore- seen, had appeared) and the gains that had been won had not borne the fruits that were expected from them. Something like this, though on a smaller scale and within a shorter period-for the process of disenchantment I have just described extended Q\"Ter five or six centuries-happened in the age of the Reformation. Then, too, although m nch was attained, and certain benefits secured for the countries that remained subject to the Roman Church as well as for those that rejected her authority, the results fell immeasurably below what had been hoped by the contemporaries and helpers of Luther and hwingli. Or let us come nearer our own times and take our instances from the political instead of the religious sphere. The first generation of men in this American TIepublic expected from the principles of liberty they proclaimed in 1776, and from the independence they finally secured in 17b:J, a peace and unity, a good government and prosperity, which democratic institutions and independence, things excellent in themselves. were not found capable of bestowing. In 1787, many of the best men in the country, such men as 'Vashington, Franklin, and Hamilton, had almost begun to despair of the new Confederation. They applied the remedy for which the times called and drew closer the union of your States. Yet soon thereafter the fire of party spirit blazed out as fiercely as it had done before democracy and independence had been supplemented by the creation of a national government. Coercive laws were passed of that very kind which it had been meant to make obsolete, and the diHuption of the swiftly growing commonwealth was more than once with difficulty 8\'erted. The example of the great French Revolution, with its contrast between the hopes of 1789 and the realities of 17{'3, is so striking and so obvious that we need not dwell upon it. It exactly illustrates what I desire to conve\Y. )Ianyof the great and necessary reforms in government which tbp opinion of the wise demanded in 1789 were secured, and have been, since 1815. or at least since 1830, enjoJed in France, and in those VOL. LIX. u 18 THE CO.J.YTE.l..1JPORARY REVIE1V. other parts of the Continent over which the wave of the I evolution spread. They have conferred solid benefits on those countries. But the benefits fen so far short of what was expected in 1730, and went so short a way towards bringing back the Golden Age which men then dreamed of, that the disappointment wa bitter and the reaction severe. So has it been in our own time in Europe. During the decade from 1850 to 1860, men were fun of earnestness and hope, having their- eyes fixed on certain objects, and expecting from those objects, when they had been won, if not a millennium of concord and happiness, yet assuredly a condition of things far better than the world had yet seen. Among these objects four were specially desired-viz. : Politicallibe ty. Freedom of thought, speech, and wor hip. The so-called principle of Nationalities-i.e., the right of every Nation to constitute a separate IJolitiral community. International peace. Of these four objects the :first three have been in large measure at- tained in Europe. Political liberty has made great advances in France; the t)Tranny of Louis Kapoleon has been overthrown, and the Republic which, in 1871, replaced that tyranny bas weathered all the storms that have broken on it. In the German Empire, and the States which make it up, constitutional principles are far more fully recognised than they were forty years ago, and though the monarch sometimes preyails against the Chamber, and the people submit to repressive legislation. these things happen by the will of the people itself, which does not complain of the bit and reins, so long as it is driven in the direçtion it wishes to take. Italy has rid herself of the swarm of petty despots that vexed her, and basks in the sunlight of representative government. Spain hag tried a republic and come back willingly to a monarchy, under which the nation has as much freedom as it seeliS to desire. Greece- has shaken off her Otho, and shown herself capable of an orderly par- liamentary system. In England the Constitution has become much more popular by successive extensions of the franchise, and there is no\\ no country in which the power of the numerical majority is more firmly established, and where the laws interfere less with individual freedom. Politic!!.l liberty has indeed gone so far that many of our Transatlantic visitors tell us that the time has come when we ought to borrow some of their " checks and balances." So, too, the doctrine of Nationalities has been not only recognised, but applied on a great scale. Italy, which llsed to be described as a " geographical expression," has become a united and compact State. The Germans have gathered themselves into an Empire whose parts are coming to cohere more and more perfectly as the sentiment of the people attaches itself to the Emperor and the Reichstag, and cares less for the old divisions. Hungary has won back her national A.LV AGE OF DISCOiVTENT. 19 existence with her liberties. Servia and Bulgaria have been delivered from their Turkish oppressors, whose ba.rbarous rule is evidently destined soon to vanish from the regions it has so long desolated. There remains in Europe scarcely a people, scarcely even a tribe, which has now reason to complain of being subjected to the dominion of aliens. As respects the other kinds of freedom-freedom of speech, writing, and worship, the deliverance from priestly influence of places of education and learning-wonderful progress has been made. Except in Russia, and to some extent in Spain and parts of the Austrian dominions, a man may say, write, and teach whatever he pleases, provided that he does not outrage the religions feelings of his neighbours, or incite to violence. In :France and Italy, indeed, this liberty goes so far as sometimes to become a cloak for licentiousness. The freedom of press, school, and pulpit, has wrought upon the conditions of politics and society on the Continent of Europe a transformation more ex- tensive and profound than Americans can well realise, because Ameri- cans have never known what it was to want such freedom. Ànd even in England there is a change. The latitude which the law permitted was, until lately, circumscribed by custom and opinion. These checks have been now removed, and English opinion is as indulgent to those who flout it as opinion is in the United States. In estimating what has been gained and what might have been gained during the period we are considering, let us not forget those developments of physical science which have made popular government easier and more effective, as well as expanded the productive powers of man. Railroads and steam vessels have pro- moted intercourse between nations, and have gone far to fuse into one homogeneous body the different elements in each nation; they have lessened class-distinctions, and enabled each people to know its neigh- hours better; they bave given an enormous stimulus to trade, have mad!" most of the necessaries of life cheaper, and have brought not a few of its luxuries within the reach of the less opulent. The telegraph has given to the largest countries advantages formerly confined to a small community in enabling nearly every citizen to know each day what is passing in every other part of the country, and, in particular, what is being done by his Legislature and the officers of his Government. Ko such means of gathering, diffusing, and concentrating public opinion, of quickening its formation and strengthening its action, had even been dreamt of before our own time. Here, then, we find forces and organs of enormous potency which have been at work over the whole world, and which have co- operated with an enlarged freedom and a more widely spread know- ledge, in providing for men an improved machinery for self-govern- ment, and many other means whereby they may become wÜ:er, happier, and more contented. 20 THE CO,;,VTEftIPORARY REVIE1V. . This brief examination has shown us how much of what was sought and hoped for in Europe thirty or forty years ago has been won. Popular government, civil and religious liberty, the unity of each people under a national government, have advanced all along the line. H u sia must be excepted, yet even in Russia the extinction of serfdom myel' an area equal to the half of Europe marks an enormous gain to liberty. And we may now therefore ask what have been the ulterior consequences of this advance. The patriots and philosophers of forty year::) ago sought free government and national independence, not as ends in themselves, but as means to larger and higher ends. How stands it then with these higher ends? Has there been a quickened intellectual growth, a finer type of civilisation, a warmer and more earnest moral sentiment? Have Goyernments grown wiser and more stable? Has the spirit of faction withered and been replaced by a stronger sense of national patriotism? Is the condition of the lllasses better, and their temper more contented? Do the upper classes spend their leisure in a more graceful way? are their manners nobler, their morality purer? Is there less of hatred between nations, fewer provocations to war and preparations for war? Has thf' world be- come, as everyone trusted that with fuller liberty and more diffused knowledge it would become, a more serene anù happy wQrld? These are questions which men wiìl answer differently, according to their temperaments, their political and moral standards, even their forms of religion. Some will admit no progress. Others will see progress in all directions. But everyone must agree that the progress has been less than was expected, and expected not by enthusiasts only, but by reasonable and cool-headed men thirty or forty years ago. Let us take a rapid survey of the great European nations, and see how each has fared. That France is better circumstanced under her Republic than she was under the Second Empire must be the judgment of lovers of liberty, both in America and in England. Yet the Republic has dis- appointed both Frenchmen and strangers. Public virtue, which is the life-breath of a free Government, does not seem to have been re- vivified as we had expected. There is, one is told, at least as much jobbery, at least as much that deserves the harsh name of corruption, as there was under Louis Philippe. Citizens who came so near as the French voters lately did to throwing themselves into the hands of an unscrupulous charlatan, now happily discredited, cannot be well satisfied with their existing institutions. France has always influ- enced Europe powerfully through her literature. Her science, and the graver branches of learning, maintain a level of solid excellence. Her criticism retain8 its old subtlety and fineness. But her imagi- native literature and her art, though they abound with brilliant cleverness, do not seem to be directed to high aims or inspired by high feeling. And the influence of her fiction on the rest of AJ.V AGE OF DISCOÞlTEJ.VT. 21 Europe, and espf'cially on those parts of Europe which produce little literature of their own, is far from wholesome. In Italy the machinery of government works smoothly, and the dangers appehended from the Clerical part.y on the one side, and the Uevolutionary party on the otber, seem year by year to decline. Yet there is a visible despondency among the best minds of tbe country. The great generation, tbey tell one, tbe generation to which ::JIazzini, ( aribaldi, Cavour, Ianin, Ð'A.zeglio, Ricasoli, 1Iamiani, Saffi belonged-the generation wbich gave to Italy not only the work of tbeir livps, but the inspiration of their heroism and devotion-this generation is gone and has left no successors behind of equal moral power. It is a day of small men, though the problems are not small, for the material condition of the peasantry in large parts of tbe country is deplorable, and yields to none of tbe remedies that have hitherto been applied. Germany, like Italy, has attained tbat unity for which h r patriots sighed so long. She is a grea.t military and commercial State, proud of her position in Europe, and willing to forego a measure of civil liberty in order to maintain her efficiency against attack. But she is menaced by far graver internal maladies tban in the old days when she be ",ailed her political disunion. Socialistic organisations grow steadily, anù contemplate nothing less than the overthrow of the whole existing fabric of institutions. There is a general unrest and fear of what may come, a sense of danger in the air. There is also, as it strikes some of us, who were students in German Universities' nearly thirty YE'ars ago, less elevation of aim and purpose now than there was then, less delight in philosophy and learning. Nowadays, when Germans meet even at a university celebration, their pride seems to be less in those intellectual labours and triumphs t.o which all Europe owes so much than in their military prowess and tbe expansion of their trade. They have certainly shown talents for pursuing material success which the world had scarcely credited them with. Yet it is not the best sign of a nation, when material prosperity seems to be taking the first place in its thougbts, especially as that prosperity has not greatly improved the condition of the masses, or made them more attached to the institutions under which they live. I may be wrong in the impression I am giving you, YE't it is prompted by no carping spirit, but by tbe admiration which I felt as a youtb for the ardour with which the leading spirits' of Germany pursued their ideal aims, and by the gratitude which I feel now for tbe splendid results which German learning produced in the first half of this century. Of England it is hard to speak without entering on matters which I might be suspected of treating in a partisan spirit. This much, however, may be said ;-that the process of change which has now made England, under the form of a monarcb)-. an almost pure democracy, has brougbt no sense of finality, no political repose and satisfaction 22 THE CO YTEJIPORARr RET7E1V. with it. There is hardly a limb or joint, so to speak, of our Consti- tution which is not threatened. Thirty years ago the praises of the Constitution were in every speaker's mouth, and although reforms were discussed, they were cautious and slight reforms compared to those we haar advocated now. In England, as in France and Belgium, and indeed everywhere in Europe, there is now an impatience of, I lllight almost say, a disgust at, what is called Parliamentarism. :àIen complain that legislative bodies are dilatory, undecided, distracted by factions, wanting in the power to frame large schemes of policy, or carry them consistently through; and there seems to be a growing desire to sub- stitute for Parliamentary methods the authority of Do man or small group, controlled by public opinion, or perhaps by some direct popular vote. And in England, no less than in France and Italy, instead of finding that wider freedom has stimulated intellectual effort, we lament the disappearance in swift succession of illustrious figures in statesmanship and literature, and see no worthy successors arise to inherit their fame. In the moral temIJer of the country there is some gain and some lo!'s. Literature is accused of being more frivolous; amusements are certainly more generally and eagerly pursued. But there is also a greater volumf' of active philanthropic work than was ever seen before, and a more active and intelligent curiosity. It is not, however, only in the unrest and internal discord of the chief European States that alarming symptoms are to be discerned. There was nothing which the idealists of forty years ago more ardently desired and felt more sanguine of attaining than international peace. It waß believed that wars sprang from two sources: the selfish ambition of monarchs and the ignorant prejudices of their subjects. So soon, therefore, as the issues of peace and war had been transferred from princes to peoples, so soon as peoples had gained by freedom the sense of responsibility, and by enlightenment a knowledge of their neighbours, together with a rational view of their own interests, wars would come to an end. Freedom has now arrived, and princes count for little. The conditions of responsibility are present; nations mix far more with, and know far more of, one another, than ever before. Yet the Euro- pean Continent is to-day a \ ast camp, in which the :five Great Powers are beginning to count their armies by millions rather than by hundreds of thousands, ftnd the slightest incident may produce a panic of immediate war. The hatred which exists between France and Germany, and between Germany and TIussia; the reciprocal jealousy of Italy and France, and the sm:picion which forces Austria and Russia to watch every movement of frontier troops, are Dot the passions of rulers only, or of ruling classes, but to a large extent of the peoples them- sel ves; and they are therefore abiding sources of peril. l\ ot: is war the only form which national antagonisms take. Cobden and Bright belie'\ed and prE-ached forty-five )-ears ago, in the famous campaign which de- stroyed the corn laws in England, that the commercial interests of A AGE OF DISCO YTE YT. 23 -diffE'rent countries were not opposed but identical, and that a system of unrestricted exchange of commodities would make for the prosperity of every country alike. rfhey thought that this view would so Iwon prevail that not only would custom-bouses fall, but States be linked together in perpetual peace and friendship by the bond of a common interest. 'heir predictions were over sanguine, but their view was in the main (subject to some qualifications in the case of tates exception- ally situated) a sound one. Yet we :find that to-day most nations are still deluded by the notion that their gain is necessarily another's loss. and another's 105::; their own gain, so that to show that a tariff will damage the trade of some other country is accepted as proof that it will benefit the country which imposes the tariff. Liberty and reason have as yet failed to dispel an error which is a fertile source of national animosities, as well as, in nearly every case, inj urious to national prosperity. The progress of physical science, and the amazing extension of man's command over nature which that progress brings with it, were among the signs of the future which forty years ago most rejoiced forecasting minds. How much they have contributed to make popular government, and especially representative government, more Eimple and effective; how much they have added to the national wealth and to the comfort of t he humbler classes, has been remarked already. But they have also had formidable consequences then quite unforeseen. ThE'Y have made engines of war infinitely more costly, and also infinitely more dE'- strllctive. They have increased the ability of a single man, or a small knot of men, to inflict tremendous injury on their fellow creatures, whether from a selfish and sordid motive, or with a view to a supposed public benefit. And they have raised up a new and formidable foe to Democratic government by enabling men to amass stupendous fortunes, which, unlike the great fortunes of earliE'l' centuries, may have no rdation to the land and thost' that dwell upon it, and are therefore, so to speak, detached and irresponsible fortunes, which may be swiftly and secretly emploYE-d to ovt'rcome the virtue of legislators, or to effect operations oppressive and pernicious to the whole community. Xo kind of power, short of that of a Greek tyrant holding a city by his mercenaries, has been ereI' more free from the ordinary checks of opinion and law which ought to surround all power, than we see rested tu-day in the commercial, or financial, or industrial, or communication- controlling millionaires. Hel'P the sanguine prophets erred by omitting to notice incidental evils that were likely to accompany the good results they dwelt on. lt might have been foreseen, for instance, that the vast increase of scale on which modern science permits enterprises to be carried on, would tend to vast accumulations of wealth, and that the owners of this w('alth would have strong motÌ\'"es for bringing it to bear upon politics. In other cases, the error lay in attributing to ascertained 21 THE CONTEJ..[PORARY REVIEIV. causes an undue and a too rapid efficacy. Political liberty and free- .lorn of discn sion have been attended by comparatively few incidt'ntal evils. Their action has been almost \\ holly for good. But they have not transformed and softened human nature, as many hoped they would. 'Yhen men have constitutional means of agitation open to them, insurrection becomes criminal, ana political a sassinatioll doubly culpable. But the examples of tht, Parisian communarcls in 1 öïl, and the horrible callousness of the dynamiters who, in later years, and on both sides of the Atlantic, have not recoilt:'d from thf' laughter of innocent private pf'rsons. show that, even in the freest countries, the educational power of freeùom works but slowly. Passion and cruelty, and tht:' Imbits of violence, ar3 not to be at once exorcised. [en do not, as th followers of )1ill have bt'en apt to aSSU'lW, become fit for their duties a:-; citizens merely by being entrusted with those duties. Reason i rppulsed over and m-er again from strongholds of prejudice which she lllight have hoped to carry at the first a ault. r will venture to give you two illustrations w]}ich naturally rise to the mind of [I EUl'opean ,isitor to _\merica. 'Vhoever travelR in the United States, or in Canada, must be struck by the perfect Eatisfilction which everyone expresses with the total separation of the Church from the State. Here, llleUtlJers of all Sf'cts are agreed that this is incom- parably the best arrangement for both the Church and the State, and find it hard to umkrstand how there can be perf-:ons in Europe who think differently. This American view is confirmed by the experience of contemporary Europe. It if' strongly snpported by history. It is still more clearly in accordance with the spirit of the Xew Testament. "r ere it not for the re:,pl'ct due to some emin('ut men who are otherwist", minded, I would ,-ent ure to ay that the argu- ment again t State E:-:tablishments of rf'ligion is ab olutely conclusive. Yet this argument wins its way yery slowly in European countriE's. Jlistory and e:\.perience. and the example, not only of yourselves but of all the British Colonies, effect but little against prepossession and habit. The other illustration is suggested to me by a visit which I recently paid to the Constitutional Convention now sitting in Kentucky. In that State I askeù many of the leading men. including several mem- bers of th!" Convention. whether the unfortunate change efiected by the Constitution of 1830, which made all judgeships elective instead of (as formerly) appointive offices. would not now be reversed, and the ::-election of the higher posts in the judiciary again entrusted to the (iovernor. These eminent persons, without an exception, answered that tbis ought to he done; but they declared, with equal unanimity, that there was not the least use in proposing such a reform, because the sentiment of the vast bulk of the people was strongly in favour of choosing juùges by popnlar vote, deeming this to be the more derno- c atic arrangement. There is I suppose: scarcely a point in which the constitutional arrangements of one State vary from those of LY AGE OF DISCOSTEST. ')... ....a another on which the ample experience of the working of both methods is more decisive than this. The example of th Federal judici ry and of the judiciary in States which have retained the appointive plan and a life tenure, as contrasted with the example of States which elect judges at the polls for short terms, shows incontestably the evils of the latter method. Xevertheless. in Kentucky-a flourishing com- monwealth, with a striking and brilliant history-a commonwealth full of able and thoughtful men whose opinions oug-ht to carry weight, a commonwealth whose Bench has confessedly suffered from the change made in lS::>O-the great majority of thf' voters seem to prefer their own prepossessions to the voice of reason and the plainest teachings of experience. 'Ve may now, after this somewhat rambling survey of what was p"-pected and what has been attained in the Old "r orId. proceed to answer the question from "hich we started. The discontent of con- tpmporary Europe is due not so much to a failure to secure objects which we're the direct and primary objects of dp ire three or four dl'cadt,s ago-Îor those objects have mostly been !'f'curpd-as to a disappointment with the fruit they have hitherto borne. It is a scantier crop than we had hoped for. and, if I may pursue the metaphor, while some of it is still unripe some of it is already rotten. Heformers are in every age apt to make the old mistake of expecting too much from the destruction of bad institutions. becausE'they forget that the evils they suffer from are caused not solely by thost' im titu- tions, but by permanent faults of human nature, which. when they have been driven out in one shape. will reappear in some other. Better institutions are worth fighting for. since they may gi\e these faults le!'s !'cope for mischief. But the faults are not expunged. or is it superfluous to add that this di appointment at the result of our reforming efforts has come ju::;t at the moment when therf' is a natural reaction of fatigue after effort. 'The sense that labour put forth has been, not indeed wasted, yet inade(luately requited, coincides with the listlessness which follows on ardour and excitement. There is also another cause for unrest and discontent. The world during these forty years has been spinning swiftly onward, and new problern , faintly foreseen by our fathers. have come to the front. Thpy are not really new, for most of them are as old as civilisation itself, but they haye taken new forms and acquired a new nrgency. The admission to political power of the masses of the people has given a stern significance to every question that affects their material condition. The relations of labour and capital, the methods of relieving want. the readjustment of pnblic burdens, the possibility of using State agencies more largely for the benefit of the community-these are all forms of the great problem how far that measure of comfort which is now enjoyed in Europe by the less wealthy section of the so-caned middle or educated classes can be extended to the whole population, so that none, save 2Q THE CO]{TEMPORARr REVIETV. the vicious and idle, need have absolute penury to fear. Xow that the masses ha'"e become, in two of the grC'atest European countries, masters of the situation. it is natmal that they should desire to use their power to improve their prospects. Rocial reformers and econo- mists are much concerned-wIDe to find the best way in which the masses can accomplish this, others to dissuade them from ways which can lead only, like the two paths that in the "Pilgrim's Progress ., diverged to right and left of the traight track, either into the thick wood of Danger, or among the dark precipices of Destruction. But. dissuasion is not enough. SOllie positive measures are demanded. And whereas the work of thirty years ago was largely that of clearing away old things that needed to be removed, our work in Europo to-day is to devise new means for checking the mischief.<.; and the waste of unrestrained competition and for moderating the pressure of thf' strong upon the wf'ak. It is constructi, e work. anll therefore far more difficult than that of expelling tyrants and abolishing rf'strictions. ,rrhe path is not clear before us, and we feel the pains of perplexity. So far of Europe. If you ask whether the yi itor from Europe discovers here in \merica any phenomena imilar to those he has left behind, I hesitate to answer, because one doec; not catch in a few weeks or months thl:" true tell1pt r of a people, but must observe them long and carefully before he pronounces on a matter o subtle. Your citizens are at an times more buoyant and sanguine than either the English or any continental nation. A few weeks ago an English Socialist wa reported to have ob erved, as be sailed for l.iverpool, that he left the :Kew 'Yorld profoundly depressed by the cheerfulness of the masses of its people. "Xothing," he said, "can be done for them till they begin to resent their lot. "That they need is a 'di\ ine di content.'" :K evertheleEs it }Jas struck me that your people are at present some- what less jubilant, less thoroughly satisfied with their circumstances and their prospects, than they were in 1870, when I first visited this 'country. or even than in 1 tibJ, when I came for the second time. The kind of pressure we are familiar with in Eurone, the pressure of over- -crowded cities. of an over-stocked labour market, of a mass of ignorance which makes men the easy prt Y of demagogues, is begin- ning to be felt here, though as yet only in a few spots, where the flood of new immigrants bas swept in with a fun f'tream. Some among you doubt whether you have not bestowed the activ rights of citizen hip upon those immigrants with too generous a hand. Others are alarmed by thf' cry which has arisen for State intf'rference in matters hitherto left to individual action, and fear that the characteristic self-helpfulness -and enterprise of Americans may suffer. Others lament the con- tinuance of misgovernment in your greate:,t citie ; nor can the visitor who recollects Tammany as it tlourished in 1870 and sees Tammany to-day tlourishing like a grf'en bay-tree, fail to perceive that municipal reform does not advance at lightning speed. rrravelling in the "T est A-,-V AGE OF DISCOJ.YTENT. 27 .and South, through those regions where the Farmers' \.lliallce is rampant, there is abundant evidence of dissatisfaction with the existing conditions of production and transportation and commerce, a dis- satisfaction not unlike that of older communities in Europe. The Xew "\V orld is, in many points, economic and industrial, growing more like the Old 'V OI'ld. Twenty years ago one felt the likeness a far west as Buflàlo or Cleveland. Xow, when the trayeller, rl>tracing his steps from the Pacific, reaches :Minlleal)oli and St. Paul, he is inclined to say, varying the famous ilwt of Alexandre Dumas, "Europe begins at the :Mississippi:' Our experience, therefore, has its value for you; nor is Europe so remote as you sometimes think. It used to be said that in political matters the l- nited States were what Europe would be. 'Yith equal truth it may now be said that the economic problems of "\Vestern and Central Europe at this moment are what the problems of the United States will be before many decades have passed. Happily the United States have many advantages for confronting the problems of population and pauperism which we in Europe want. Happily. -also, you are still but little depressed by them or by any other diffi- culties. Our English Socialist was right in the main. The vexations which flit across your minds are no more like the anxions broodings of Europeans than the light mists that hang on autumn mornings over your harbour resemble the murky gloom of a London December. One question remains on which you will expect something to be said. Does this discontent, which pre\ails so widely in Europe, show the marks of permanence? Is it a deep-seatpd despondency or a passing depression of spirits? There are two kinds of discontent. One is that of those who wish to be as they once were, or, in the case of nations, as their ancestors were. The other is that of those who would fain he what they lwxe never been, neither they nor their predecessors. There were long centuries, during which the state of perfect happiness and peace, the Golden Age of the poets, wa;;; depmed to ha\e lain in thf" distant past. This was the belief or fancy of the ancient "orld; and a somewhat similar helief filled the minds of mediæval poets and churchmen, who looked back to the earl)- centuries of Christianity, after she had been delivered from persecution and ignorance, but befort. the barbarians had descended upon her, as a time from which the world had degenerated, and to which it must strive to return. Thp discontent of those ages was regret, a melancholy sense that things had worsened and were worsening, a sense of inability to dim b again to a height whence one has fallen. You ma)- find it to-day among the rohammeaans, and notably among the sluggish and surly Turkf-:. Very diflèrent is the discontent whose signs we have noted in Europe. It looks forward, not backward. It is due, partly indeed to disappointment ,,-ith the results of past efforts, hut partly also to the belief that many evils exist which we ought not to tolerate. It is a 28 THE CO VTEJIPORARY RE VIE TV. revolt against the mass of pow'rty and misery that still exists among us, a helief that man "-as mad!" tor something more than to !'pend his days in incpssant toil, winnillf! from nature nothing more than food and raiment. Pov('rty, and mispry, and toil are, hmve'\er, no more general or scverL' no\\ than they lut'\c nsuaJly been in the world. In England, at least, they art'. relatÏ\ ely to the increasl' of the population, kss w'neral and less seyerr'. I t is we that ha'\e grown morE' sensi- tive. The chords of sympathy vibrate to a lighter touch. Sufferings which fifty years ago would have been accepted by the philosopher a a necessary part of the world's economy, and ju tified by the di,-ine as e sential to gi, e scope for th(' pxercise of Christian virtne, are now felt to be a slur upon ci\ ili:,ation to which remedies must be promptly applied. This kind of discont pnt. though it::; sentimentalism Las some- timps a mischie'\ol1s F-itlp, is, on the whole, a laudable state of mind, a necessary condition of progress. It is turning many people in England, especially the j ounger sort, to ideas which savour of ocialism and even of Communism. Thf'rl' i:-; eviùelltlr a similar tendency among yourselves, which in the East take thl' form of what are called "Nationalist" societies, and in the "rest seem5 to ha,e prompted the oup-tax agita- tion, and a good deal of the paÌt'rnalism of State Legislatures. In 1< Dgland, the adherents oftht' olJ economic doctrines-now sadly reduced in numbers-are distre sed hy this tendency, being less accustomed than you are to take things lightiy, and to rely on the ultimatp good ::-;cnse of the people. TIl('Y swell the volume of our disconh'nt, pro- pht'sying nothing Lut e,il from the new dt'parture which the more che('rfhl disquietuch' of the youngpr generation insist.; on taking. One nt'cd not, howe'\er. bo a Sociali t, or ha,-e much faith in sweeping remedies. in order t(l f-:YUlpathise with thp spirit which propounds this new departure. It is a protest against hide-bound acquiescence in thp ('xisting arrangempnts of industry and the e:xi ting distribution of wealth. It is a Yt-,hement expression of the same desire to improve the condition of the great toiling and enduring lower strata of mankind which has given birth to all our modern philanthropic schemes. The language held ùy our young Socialists is sometimes not only \ ehe- ment but acrid and intolerant. Yet their scoldings stir us up, they dispel the apathy that steals oyer most of us aR liff' goes on, they forcc us to e:>..amine our assumptions, they impel us to try experiments by reminding us that the world is constantly changing, and that nations can keep abreast of it only hy opt'n-mindedness and resourcefulness. ations and individuals, we all of us need to be continually roused and kept moving, perhap even threat('ued, by the preachers of new doctrines, and even by that personage who is so often the butt of your newspapers, the personage for whom we, among whom he is less actively '\italised, have no name, but whom you call a Crank. It is one of the merits of a democracy that it produces the Crank, and deals leniently with him. He is one of tbe yoices of dissent and dissatisfaction, not useless even when A...V AGE OF' DISCo.,VTE.YT. 2H hI" preaches some oId fallacy, for he oùliges us to refute him, but eminently useful when he has got hold of a fragment of a for- gotten or only half-discovered truth. :Many merits and many faults have been untruly ascribed to Democracy, but one merit, at least, may safely bf' claimed for it. It disposes men to listen, and to listen peaceably, even to an unwelcome voice. lr. Lowell has happily said that the greatest discovery in politics was made when men took to counting heads instead of breaking them. The counting, however, does not always give the right result. To-morrow you hold your biennial elections. Of the half million of men who will cast their ballots within the next t\"Çenty-four hours in this and tbe adjoining cities, how large is the percenta?e who will merely follow a party name or a plausible leader. But where there i voting, there must be publicity, and publicity means a fair opportunity for everyone to speak, a duty recognised on everyone to listen. l eason and justice have in a democracy advantages which no other government secures in like measure: and when men have learnt, as even the citizens whom you import from Poland or Roumania will at last learn, to listen :md retiect, reason and justice are apt to pre,'ail. I return from this c1igre8sion to say one last word as to the temper of Europe which I have sought to describe. Do not suppose that it is a despondent temper. The bpst pr,)of to the contrary is the zeal with which many uggestions are put forward. many plan canvasðed. Everywhere there i activity, because everywhere there is eagerness, unrestful, but not unhopeful. 'l'he rno\-ement of humanity is not, as the ancients fancied, in cycles, but shows a sustained, though often interrupted, progress. It is not like the movement of the earth per- forming its annual journey round the sun, but like that of the whole solar system towards some point, as yet undiscQ\-ered, far remote in the heavens. ()f the ultimate destin)? of human society here we know as little as we do of that point among the distant constellations. But history entitles us to believe t.hat though depression and dis- couragements frequently overshadow its path, its general progress is upwards, that in each age it gains more than it loses and retains most of what it has eyer gained. :Nor is this progress clearer in anything than in the fact that evils which men once accepted a<:; inevitable have nOK become intolerable. Of America also, since I have ventured to advert to the circum- stance of America, a concluding wQI.d may be said. Confidence in progress is a great element of strength; and although your European visitors observe that anxieties they are familiar with are beginning to show themselves here, they do not cease to fed how great is the strength which the hopeful spirit of America bestows. You have the honour of being among ciyilised peoples that which has the fullest fait. in the future of humanity as well as in the t1estinies of your own republic. Long may this honour be yours. JAMFS BRYCE. THE EARLY LIFE OF CARDINAL NE'V.i\IAN. T HERE is always a probability that a leader of thought may be himself unconsciously impelled by forces which, while not apparent to those who look upon the surface of his life, nevertheless deserve the closest consideration of all-and especially of his most sincere admirers-because they may have justified, or excused, or necessitated, his doing what common-place imitators could not do without loss of self-respect. \Ve are all of us, so Bacon tells us, dwdlers in the caves of our several temperaments, tastes, trainings, and circumstances; but a man of genius is often the most inveterate of troglodytes. The following sketch of the early life of Cardinal Newman is an attempt to ascertain how far he was subject to that fate which makes many distinguished men very profitable to contem- plate, and in many respects delightful to admire, but the most dan- gerous people in the world- to follow. According to the" Apologia," Newman was a dogmatist from his youth. To many, reverence for parents may seem the earliest basis for real religious thought; but with Newmall it was dogma pure and simple and he tha.nks God for it years afterwards. The mother-who plays so important a part in the lives of A.ugustine and \Vesley-is not mentioned in the "Apologia," and the father only incidentally, in an amusing passage which shows how the boy took a delight in religious controversy from the first, and thought it a thing to be proud of : " \Vhen I was fourteen, I read Paine's 'Tracts against the Old Testa- ment,' and found pleasure in thinking of the objections which were contained in them. Also, I read some of llume's · Essays'; and perhaps that on ' Iiracles.' So, at least, I gave my father to under- stand; but perhaps it was a brag (3).". " From the age of fifteen," 'k This and similarly bracketed numbers in the text refer to the pages of the las' edition of the" Apologia," 1890. Newman was born on Feb. 21, 1801. His father died .. S0011 after his son's election" to his Oriel Fellowship in 18:?3, see p. 8 of "Short Life of Cardinal ewman," by J. S. Fletcher, 18 O. TIlE EARLY LIFE OF CARDLVAL SE1VJIA r. 31 he adds (40), (( dogma has been the fundamental principle of my religion. . . . . "\Vbat I held in 1811), 1 held in 183 , and I hold in 1804. Pleage God, I shall hold it to the end." lIe justifies this in the" Grammar of Assent" (pp.113-1 ì) by saying that" 'Vithout a pro- po:::;ition or thesis, there can be no assent, no belief at all," and that ,. Knowledge must precede the exercise of the affections"; but it never seems to occur to him that, just as a child may love and trust its mother without a formal'" proposition or thesis" as to her exist- ence, so we may grow up into the first stage of that knowledge of God which consists in loving Him and trusting Him, with ut con- sciously passing through the phase of any assent to propositions about Him, except that which is implied in the first six words of the Lord's Prayer. 'Yhen, therefore, he experienced that "great change of thought" which is called " conversion," it was not apparently (so far as we can gather from the " Apologia") towards Christ as the Friend, or Helper, or as the great Captain of Righteousness, that he was attracted. It was towards "dogma," towards the completeness of a well-rounded and demonstrable Creed. (( 'Yhen I was fifteen," he says (4), "in the autumn of 181ö, a great change of thought took place in me. I fell under the injlllCiwes of a defin'Ue Creed, and received into my intel- lect illlprcssiuns of dogJJla, which, through God"s mercy, have never been effaced or obscured." This is strong, but perhaps not too strong, perhaps hardly strong enough to express the fact; for the truth seems to be thåt he received these "impressions" not into his "intellect," but into his imagination, heart, and inmost being; and that these (( impressions ., consisted not mf'rely of definite and particular dogmas, but also of the conviction, henceforth ineradicable, that the knowledge of God is based upon dogma, and that the exercise of human thought upon dogma is unlawful.. In the earliest edition of the " lpologia," Kewman speaks about his attempts to make the doctrine of Eternal Punishment ,( less terrible to the RW.!3on." In later editions he sub- stituted " Imagination , for c, Reason ., (G). 'Vas it that what, even in 18til, he had thought to be "Reason;" he afterwards found to be "Imagination"? Or did he feel that he had been guilty here-he, after twenty years of practice in the Homan vocabulary-of a little slip back into Anglican, or even into Liberal, language, in spt?aking of c'making less terrible to 'Reason,''' one of those "truths of Revela- * See I, Apologia," p. 288, where he defìnp , as .. Libera1i m," II the exercise of thought upon matters in which . . . . thought cannot be brought to any successful i sue. . . . . Among such matter are fir t principles of whatever kind; and of these, t he most !o.acred and momentous arp especially to be reckoned tbe trutbs oi Revelation." This dbtinctly states that ,. the truths of Revelation" are included in those" matters," upon which .1 the exercise of thought cannot be brought to any successful issue" ; and against this" exercisf'," uneler the name of .. false libert)-," or .. Liberalism," it was the business of Ke\\lllan's life to do battle. In the next sentence, he gives a narrower de- finition of .1 Liberalism"; but, as the whole of Newman's theology appears to be per- ,'nded by the pirit of the former definition, it deserves to be stated thus early. 32 THE CO..YTE..1IPORARY RE VIE JV. tion," upon which the'" Henson ., ought not to be so mur;h as exercised In any case, this is a Vt'ry characteristic change, useful to bear in mind as a clue to the labyrinth of his long wandering-s after Truth. For indeed, with Newman, Imagination often stood for H.ea on; and bis was not the mere poet's imagination, which reflects and shifts like the surface of a pool; it was stubborn clay, which, when once impressed, hardens and preserves the imprint for ages. Rousseau said about himself a.s a mere child, H I had no idf>O, about real things. though all the sentiments WE're familiar to me." Substi- tute .. do ruas ,. for" sentiments," and what Rousseau says about hiR childhood holds true for Npwman's youth: ,. I had no idea about real things "-he might have added "nor about real persons" without being guilty of much exaggeration-" though dogmas were familial' to me." " Reading," he says (:!), " in the spring of 181ö a sentencE' from Dr. vVatts's ' Remnants of Time; entitled, 'The Saints unknown to the 'Vorld; to the etlpct that' there is nothing in their figure 01' countenance to distinguish them,' . . . . I supposed he 8poke of .Angels who lived in the world, as it were disguised." At this time, he had passed his fifteE'nth YE'ar; and he is not yet emancipated from the fanciful dreams of his boyhood, which he thus describes (2): .. I thought life m- ght be a dream, or I an Angel, and all this world a deception, my fellow-angel by a playful deyice concealing themselves from me, and deceiving me with the semblance of a material world." We shall presently find that, at this very time, he was ,. resting in the thought of two, and two only, absolute and luminously self-e\ident beings," himself and his Creator. But what rE.ality could attach to the conceptions either about himself or about God, formeù by a mind so isolated? Here was a youth-just at that critical age when trainers of boys know well that whatever (t stuff" they have in them will begin to show itself-committing himself to solemn dogmas about such profound and awful subjects as sin, the flesh, the world, faith and righteousness, eternal life and eh>rnal punishment, and the destinies of man, and the will of the SupremE' God, and yet all the while so self-absorbed that-however, ht> m y have borne himself in the superficial stream of outer life-he finds no room in his religion for the influence of human love, and has no fit conception of the reality of righteousness in the world around him, which he is half disposed to consider " a deception." His mind being, at sixteen, a vacuum as regards spiritual realities, Newman had necessarily no other basis for his dogmatic superstructure except words; and this ba is was being early supplied by a constant perusal of the Bible, in the reading of which IH' (1) "]lad been brought up, from a child, to take great delight," f.f) that be is said to have almost known it by heart. Concerning hj attitude towarù the Bible in his old age, we have interesting testimony from one who li,ed " for TilE EARLY LIFE OF CARDllVAL lVE1V,..1fA,.:V. 33 more than seven years as a member of his community, under the same roof, and for the greater part of his time in the closest communion with him;". he teUs us t that, "in regard to the Bible, or rather to Scripture, as he almost invariably styled it, his position was pretty much that of the old Evangelical school; . . . . of recent criticism of the Greek Testament he knew nothing," and he adds that, whereas the Vatican Council declared that the whole Bible " has God for its Author," Newman's belief was practically that" God was its Editor,"or. in other words, that the whole of the text of the Bible received the direct superásion of God and is "inspired" in every detail. In Newman's voluminous works a passage or two might perhaps be alleged where, while demonstrating the inability of the Bible to do the work of the Church, he may appear to controvert the theory of total inspiration; but there is considerable evidence in support of his pupil's testimony. No child in a family of "Evangelical" tendencies could well believe otherwise in the first quarter of this century; and Newman's tendency to take things as a whole and to "throw himself into a system," would of itself impel him to take every word of the Bibl as exactly true and every precept as having an exact application to himself. His leve of dogma a d his sense of the delusive unreality of all that lay outside the Scriptures, would also. throw him (in early life) on the Scriptures, and the Scriptures alone, as the ground for his religious faith. Thus Newman's nature com- bined with bis circumstances to impel bim to take the Bible as an exact law for the guidance of bis life, and to derive from isolated texts of it the dogmas which formed the basis of the religion of his youth. His mother was of Huguenot descent, and the religious atmosphere in the household was Calvinistic. The religious books, therefore, first placed in his hands, were naturally of that type; and to them, " over and beyond conversations and sermons," Newman attribntes his " great change of thought," although, of course, he verified his conclusions by references to Scripture and logical deductions therefrom. From Romaine he received the doctrine of "Final Perseverance," which had the effect of still further severing him-so far, at least, as' con- cerned his inward and religious life-from his family, his friends, and the surrounding world (4.): "I rpceived it at once, and believed that the inward conversion of which I was conscious .. . . would last into tbe next life, and that I was elected to eternal glory. I be- Heve that it had some influence on my opinions, in isolating me from the objects which surrounded me, in confirming me in my mistrust in the reality of material phenomena, and making me rest in the tbought of two and t'lt'O only absolute and luminously self-e'l'ident beings, myself and my C1'( ato1'-for, while I considered myself pre- · See an article by Ir. A. W. Hutton in E',rpositor. Sept. 1890, p. 224. t lb. p, 227-8. V .UX. C 34 THE CO YTEJIPORARY REVIE1V. destined to salvation, my mirul did not dwdl1 l p01è. other!;-as foncyin:J them sill/ply passed over, not predestined to eternal death." About the same time he read Law's "Serious Call," and henceforth (G) "held with a full inward as:-.ent and belief the doctrine of eternal punishment," though he adds that he ha<; " tried in tarious ways to make that truth le<::g terrible to the imagination." * This " terrible" doctrine of " eternal punishment " appears to ha\"e exerted on X ewman'ë theological development an influence that can hardly be exaggerated. If it had been associated with a passionate and, so to speak, unreasoning devotion to Christ, as to a divine Friend, he might have repelled its terrors with an " All things are possible"; and then he might have gone about the business of life in peace, content to trust his own and other people's destinies to Christ, in spite of this dogmatic spectre. But from a very early period he seems to have associated the thought of Christ with the image rather of the awful Judge or Doomster than of the Saviour. In his" Poems" (p. 1':}3) he tells us that, " from a child," he was "full of unlovely thoughts and rebel aims, and scorn of judgment flames;" that (lb. p. 301), "ere boyhood yet was gone," his "rebel spirit fell; " and that he was " scared" back by" judgmentc;;." Even after he had received the other truths of the gospel without ùifficulty, he was "startled," he says, by the dogma of Eternal Punishment, almost refusing to credit it till his "mother oped the Book" anù showed him that the Lord Himself had enunciated it, and even, as it were, reserved it for Himself :- "The Fount of Love His servants sends to tell Love's deeginning of the Christian course, but also to bt> never cast out by love; "In the beginning of Christian life, fear is the prominent evangelical grace, and love is but latent in fear. . . " . Love is added, not fear removed." * Kow, if " fear" means awe and reverence, this statement is trul'; but if it means terror of hell. and dread about one's own ultimate destiny, it is assuredly not true. Yet it is in this almost servile sense that he appears to accept the word; and, so accepted, the emotion appears to him to dictate his "duty." Thus, at least, he writes in 1815, a few months before he joined the Roman Church ( 31): "This I am sure of, that nothing but a simple, direct call of dilty is a warrant for anyone leaving our Church: no prefer- ence of another ChUl'ch, no delight in its services, no hope of greater 1"eligious adva1lf'e1n{'nt in it. . . . . The simple question is, Can I (it is pCl'soilal, 1Wt 'Whether another, but ran I) be saved in the English Church? Am I in safety, wen I to dir. to-night 1 I:; it n 1rtm'tal sin in me, not joining another communion? " Now, it may be fairly urged that, in this matter, Newman is not to be judged in the light of modern anti-gehennic notions. "The attack," it may be said, "should be made directly npon the doctrine, not on Newman for holding sincerely what everybody else professed to hold, in times when gehenna had not gone out and philanthropy had not come in. Reverence for a God who threatens Hell, mu t include terror of Hell; and St. Paul himself speaks about' working out our own salvation with fear and t.rembling.' Moreover, the fact that Newman describes 'love' as 'latent in fear,' shows that his , fear' was not abject terror of mere arbitrary punishment." But I am not attacking Newman; I am only attempting to explain him. I can hardly believe that he at any time-even in the worst paroxysms of his religious agony-stooped so low as to feel " abject terror of mere arbitrary punishment." I admit that the too easy, self-complacent, and fleshly spirit of our times may learn some- thing from Newman's anxious piety and blind indiscriminate hOlTor of sin-perhaps even from his poetic consciousness of it as a foul bodily though invisible Presence, as a Being, or Beings, with "flapping wing," or ,. deep hideous purrings," panting to spring on and worry the soul of man and kept off only by Divine interference. But, for all that, I maintain that there was a want of Christian balance in his belief. Others-logical enough in dealing with facts-have been * "Cardinal Newman," by R. H. Hutton, p. 183. THE EARLY LIFE OF CARDLVAL .J.VETV.J.1IA...Y. 37 illogical enough to believe in an eternity of IIpll and yet in an eternity of predominant Love. ewman-illogical in dealing with facts amI history-was not allowed by his nature and training to be illogical lwre. His fe r of Hell does not appear to have been balanced by any passionate love of Christ, nor by any passionate admiration of righteousness and justice, nor by any spiritual and discriminative appreciation of the real meaning of sin. The" fear" which he describes-wrongly. I think, if he means it as a universal rule-as " the prominent evangelical grace in the bl'!JZ,lJlÙl!J of Christian life," seems to me "prominent" even to the end of his course in the Anglican Church, and not sufficiently subordinated even under the protection of Rome and Authority. Else why-when he was in all honesty and in passionate earnestne s thinking out, and praying out, the difficult qupstion of his" duty," and testiJ;Jg his own heart. and beseeching God for light and guidance-why should he talk about " safety" and "mortal sin? ., .... s if he needed to be protected against the Lord J l'SUS Christ! Or as if the Saviour would "to-night" doom him to Eterna1 Fire, because he was a few hours late in arriving at the olution of the problem of the locality of the Church! It may be Baid in explanation of Xewman's anxiety that he was always reluctant to trust "his own feelings"; and in truth, where the stake is so stupendously vast as this, who would be content to trust "his own feelings," or rather "his own feelings about his feel- ings "? For this kind of feeling one's own feelings may become, in a subtle mind, a very complicated affair. Take the fol1owing instance. Three months [ Iarch 30, 1845J before Kewman joined the Church of Rome. he writes ( 31): ")Iy own convictions are as strong as I suppose they can become.'! ome might suppose, then, that he at once would act on his convictions by joining the Church of Rome. But no: "It is so difficult," he adds, "to know whether it is a call of reason or conscience 'J; and consequently he lingers on, half-disposed to wait for some "sign." On the very da:r [Octobpr 9. 181:)] on which ht' was reconciled to the Homan Church, he writes: "I do not suppose anyone can have had such combined reasons pouring in upon him that he is doing right"; and yet he adds; "I have been quite frightened that I should not have faith and contrition enough to gain the benefit of the Sacraments." And then comes the con- elusion of the whole matter: "Perhaps faith aud reason are incom- patible in one person, or nearly so.". This was indeed the right conclusion-under the circumstances. It was fit and natural for one who had forn1f'd the habit of trusting logic where he ought to have trusted his feeling:.:, and of trusting his feelings where he ought to have trusted logic, that he hould become incapable of distinguishing between the two, and should end by * ., A Short Life of Cardinal Ke\\man," by J. S. Fletcher, p. 8,. 38 THE CO...VTEJIPORARY RE 7ETr. distrusting both. In the state to which his mind had reduced itself by self-distrust and by distrust of self-distrust; Ly the fear of reason, and by the fear lest what he called reason might prove to be con- science; by fears of sin and sin's punishment, and yet by fpar of being guided by the feelings of fear-the best decision, the only deci- sion, was to give up all appearance of deciding, and to yield to the passionate longing for rest at any price. But this timorous disposition is fatal to historical accuracy as well as to historical judgment. It inevitably leads a man to say that he believes, and even, after a fashion, to believe that he believes, all sorts of propositions which he asserts, not freely and spontaneously, but at the bidding of a false sort of conscience, which may be described as the "dogmatic conscience," and which constrains its slayes to believe or half-believe, not what is true, but what is "safe," or "necessary." Accordingly, we find Xewman explaining on the basis of this doctrine-which we may call the Doctrine of Safety-the accusations that he had brought (up to the year 1811) against the Church of Rome (201): "I said to myself, 'I am not speaking my own words, I am but following almost a conSenS'llS of the divines of my own Church. . . . I l1'i,<.:h to thr01" mysclf into their syston. IVltilc I say what thcy sa!J, I am safc. Such views, too, are nl'ccssary for oUl' position.' " And again (1 :2): ,,; I think I did it (i.e., spoke too strongly against Rome) in a kind of faith, being dcteT1nincr! to p'ltt myselfinto the Bnglish system, and to sa!} all that our dirincs said, v;hctha- I had fully weighcd it m"not." He seems to assume that whatever was "necessary" for the Anglican position must be true (53): ":l\loreover, such a protest was 1leCeSSa'l'Y as an integral portion of her controversial basis; for I adopted the argument of Bernard Galpin that Protestants were not able to give any firm or solid reason of their separation be- sides this, tø wit, that the Pope is .Antichrist." But what security is there that one who swallows an Anglican " system , whole to-day, will not swallow a Roman " system" whole to-morrow, if it seems" safe;" or " necessary"? Or how can we believe anyone, if he is to be allowed- and he too a teacher of youth, one on whom the young Oxonians used to, fasten their faith in the words "Credo in KewmannulU "-to excuse himself for having said what he afterwards finds to be false, on the plea that he "wished to throw himself into a system," and to say wI]at is " safe," or what is "nl'cessary for a controversial basis," and to "speak in a kind of faith," and to "determine to say" what others say, " whether one bas fully weighed it or not" ? From this digression-essential for the comprehension of Xewman's career as a whole-we must return to Newman at the age of sixteen, elaborating bis religion of dogma. Before that age he had (-1) made a collection of Scripture texts in proof of the doctrine of the Trinity 7- and soon afterwards a similar collection in su pport of each verse of the THE EARLY LIFE OF CARDLVAL .J.VEJVAIA:V. 39 Athanasian Creed. About this time he ,yas also possessed with a " deep imagination ., -and with him deep imaginations were always long- lasting and mostly life-long-that it would be the will of God that he should lead a single life; and further, with the notion that " his calling in life would require such a sacrifice as celibacy involved, as, for in- stance, missionary work among the heathen." This still more strengthened his ,. feeling of separation from the ,isible world"; and thus, detached from one of the most powerful illfluences of human life, he was at leisure to proceed uninterruptedly in his dogmatic develop- ment. The religious writer from whom he learned most, and to whom, as he tells us, " humanly speaking," he " owed his soul)" was Thomas Scott of Aston-Sandford, and from him he derived in par- ticular, two truths, which, for years, he used" almost as proverbs" : (i.) "Holiness rather than peace," and (ii.) "Growth the only evidence of life." 'Ye may trace these maxims throughout his career. "Holiness" means separation from things common and unclean, and has generally a negative tendency, except so far as ecclesiastical formularies may prescribe positive means of attaining it. In the poems of 1833 (p. 104) Kewman asks by what means" a child of God" may" fulfil his vow to cleanse his soul from ill;" and the answer is, not that he is to receive into his heart the love of Christ, and loyally endeavour to serve Him, but, "first, let him shun the haunts of vice," and next, he must "lift his witness when a sin is spoke." Open conflict with a hostile world being thus the very essence, as well as the sign, of "holiness," it followed that the aspirant for it must accept strife as a necessity, and perhaps not an unwelcome one. " I)eace ., was to be regarded with suspicion if it suggested the least interference with "holiness"; and piety was always to be anxious) always on the alert to detect a worldly self-complacency, and to cast out any })article of leaven that might have lain unnoticed defiling the chamber of the soul. The second maxim-" Growth the only evidence of life "-is an excellent maxim in itself; but much depends upon the interpretation put upon" growth." Xewman, we shall find, ultimately referred to this head the doctrinal developments of the Roman from the Apostolic Church. The maxim would naturally recur to him when, from the inquiry into his own feelings as the test of his salvation, he turned towards the inquiry into the :Sotes or Signs of the Church; or, in other words, from the question, "Is my spirit growing and develop- ing:-" to the question, "The Church) in which alone I can :find salva- tion,-is the Church growing? And what are the signs of its growth?" Even as early as 1832, in his "History of the Arians of the Fourth Century," there may be discerned the germ of this doctrine of develop- ment. In "Home Thoughts Abroad ", (1836), a controversial dialogue, the doctrine is expressly used as a defensive argument by the Roman 40 THE CO...VTEJfPORARY REVIE1V. disputant; and finally it was made the subject of a special treatise (written in 1815), "The Development of Christian Doctrine," by which Newman supplied himself with a logical basis for bis intention to enter the Church of Rome. Two other beliefs had fastened upon his imagination. The first, to some extent, conflicted with the doctrine of growth by substituting a doctrine of antiquity; and Newman's career shows signs of the con- flict in his oscillation between the Primitive and the Roman Church. rhis belief was, that some extracts from St. Augustine, St. Ambrose, and other Fathers, which had fascinated him, as a youth, in :Milner's " Church History," represented the religion of the primitive Christians, and that this religion was the ideal one. rfhe second, derived from "Newton on the Prophecies," was that the Pope was the Antichrist predicted by Daniel, St. Paul, and St. John. It is characteristic of the stubborn tenacity of the mental soil within him-called by what- ever name - which received these youthful impressions, that his " imagination," as he tells us (7), "was stained by the effects of this doctrine up to the year 1843." Newman was" sensible," so his brother-in-law tells us, " of having lost something by not being a public schoolman." He rose" almost at a bound," to the head of the very large and successful preparatory school to which he was sent at an early age. This gave him leisure to make many sallies into thought, politics, fancy, and taste, concern- ing which the "Apologia" is silent. He was passionately fond of music, composed an opera at twelve, wrote verses, improvised masques and idyls, and probably read everything that came in his way. Going straight from this private school to Trinity College, Oxford, at an un- usually early.age, he was not yet twenty when he took his degree [1820J. He must have had, somewhere about him, knowledge enough for a First, and style and taste enough for a dozen Firsts; but he was pro- bably immature, and possibly inaccurate, and he failed to gain more than a Third Class, although in 18:!3 he was elected to a fellowship at Oriel. He was rather proud of his new college than at home in it, and he appears for some time to have found no companionship to in- duce him to break his reserved and solitary habits. It was 'Vhately first, he says (384), " who gave me heart to look about me after my election, and taught me to think correctly, and-strange office for an instructor-to rely -upon myself." So he writes in 182li, two years after he had been ordained, when he was still grateful for what Oriel had done for him in the way of mental improvement--Oriel, whose Common Room, according to the saying of one of X ewman's friends, "stank of logic." At this time he had begun to feel a certain disdain for antiquity, which (14) "showed itself in some flippant language against the Fathers"; his old Calvinistic theology had given way, and he was "beginning to prefer intellectual excellence to mora]," THE EARLY LIFE OF CARDI1VAL NEW1JIAN. 41 and "drifting in the direction of the Liberalism of the day." But all this was merely superficial-the transient self-confidence in- spired by Whately, and by his newly-attained conviction of the mis- takes of the so-called Evangelical system-the temporary result of the logical atmosphere of Oriel, and of the influence of Dr. Hawkins, who had taught him "the finer use of words and to discriminate ideas':' and of Butler's ".L\.nalogy," from which he learned (besides another lesson to be speedily mentioned) that Probability is the guide of life. It could not be that these merely transient ripplings of the mental sur- face could touch the fundamental beliefs, that " Holiness is to b/3 pre- ferred to peace," and that "Growth "-but what sort of growth was not yet deterruined-" is the only evidence of life"; and the fundamental dread of the eternal punishment of sin. And, indeed, what was there in such merely intellectual convictions that could fill up the vacuum left by the di appearance of the old doctrine of Imputed Righteousness (in its Calvinistic shape), and by thp flight of that calm confidence in :Final Perseverance, 'which bad now at last quite" faded away" ? It was perhaps in the early part of this period [1823-ï] that he experienced that sad sense of moral relapse which clouds most of the poems of 1833, drawing from him the complaint that the pleasures of this world had dulled the love of home (" Poems," p. 73) : " Her pleasures quaff'ò, I sought awhile The scenes I prized before; But parent's praise and "ister's Illi1e tirr'd my cold heart no more." In such a mood Newman needed nothing but a few c:1ays of solitary trial to call him back again to the old deep-cut lines of thought upon which his mind must needs move, although it 'was destined to pass through different regions from the old. The recall soon carne. At the end of 1827, " under two great blow , illness and bereavement," he was rudely awakened from his intel- lectual dream, and the mists of reason began to clear away. :Uort' than one cause prepared the way for the new period. Keble's" Christian Year" appeared in 1827, and Kl!wman-a poet, and one who, had he not developed as an ecclesia tic, might have been a poet of a high order-was profoundly impressed with the tenderness and warmth of ùevotion exhibited in those poems, and above all perhaps with some of the graceful little analogies which it traced between the surface of Nature and the rites of the Church, and which fell in with t.he second of the two great lessons that he had succeeded in deducing for himself from Butler's "Analogy," This was, that " the system which is of less importance;' i,e., thp material world, "is economically or sacramentally connected with the more momentous system," i.e., the spiritual world. Analogies in religion are ,arious; they may extend from the " Sun of our souls "-which binds together 42 THE CO.J.VTE...1JPORARY REV/ETr. and lig\Its mul warms the f;piritual Universe-to the weeping willow which teaches patience and modesty, or even to Bunyan's chickens. lifting their heads as they drink in order to teach mankind a lesson of thankful adoration. The danger is, and Xewman fell into this danger, that a poet shuuld sei7.e on the outside likenesses of things to supply him with his analogies, and altogether neglect those deeper likenesses which lie hidden in human nature, and from which the theologian too often turns sconlfully away, finding sermons in stones, but not in the heart of man. Another powerful influence on Kl'wman at this time was the friend- ship of Hurrell Froude-" a pupil of Keble's, formed by him and reacting upon him "-which b reap in joy: yet afterwards still they are 'sorroll:ful' though a1"ays 'rejoÜ.ing.'" In other words. in order to prove that the" fear" with which a Christian begins his course, remains with him til1 the end, he quotes a text which states that" sorrow II remain:::, thereby identifying the two. Here I may Dote that in the many typical extracts given by )lr. R. H. Hutton from Newman's works, I have not noticed one that ('o tains a !"ine:1e exhortation tothat biO"h Christian virtue so often inculcated, and c, en more often l'ractised. lrç St. Paul-tIle virtue of " thankfulness." . VOL. LIX. D 50 THE CO VTEJIPORARl REVIE1V. describes Chri6tians, under persecutions and trials, as " sorrowful yet always rejoicing"; but he is referring to earthly" sorrows," wherea the preacher apparently has in his mind a spiritual anà anxious " sorrow" about one's own salvation. It is hard to understand how Newman could have felt justified in thus addressing a mixed assembly of Christians, and in denying their" right" to "rejoice in the Lord," unless he already felt a really morbid fear of the universal hollowness of the religion of the Church of England which he is denouncing under the title of" The Religion of the dny." But the poems of the follow- ing year [1833J indicate that he was also racked by a sense that he him- self had not" got to the bott{)m of his own heart," and mu'St himself pass many years in " careful obedience" before he could" have any l'igbt to rejoice in the Lord." 'Veakened in health by hard study, and gnawing his soul in fury at the successes of "Liberalism," both in France and England, K ewman was persuaded at the close of 1832 to go on a voyage to the south of Europe in company with Hurrell Froude. But he was not the man to change his stubborn spirit, because he changed his climate. Go where he would, England and anger were ever in his heart (33): " I had fierce thoughts against the Liberals. It was the success of the Liberal cause which fretted me inwardly." He would not even look at the tricolour at \lgiers; be kppt indoors for twenty-four hours during a forced stay at Paris, that he might see nothing of the city; the I les of Greece-even to him, a poet, and a scholar-sug- ge5t few recollections of antiquity; when they do, he rejects, and bewails, the fascinations exerted over his heart by "these scenes of ancient fame" ;. off Zante, he muses on "the Greek }'athers "; off" Ithaca, he writes poetry, not about Ulysses, but about :Moses and Canaan; in quarantine, at Ialta, his subject is David; when he gets to Rome, his main thought is to get back home again; when l\Ion- ignore "-'Iseman courteously expresses a wish that he may .pay a second visit to that city, he replies, "with great gravity, 'vV e have a work to do in England.''' /';eal for holiness, hatred of sin, fear of temptation, sad thoughts of " defilement dimming life's memory's springs," dread of divine j udg- ments, self-stimulations to action, self-encouragements to endure the pangs of enforced delay to act-these are the prominent tones in the poems of 1833; but, clear above them all, there sounds forth the tone of hatred. The poet was being consumed by a hunger to return,. and smite those faithless Liberals, who were adventuring (no doubt, too sanguinely, and sometimes in a really worldly spirit) to do for the poor by means of Free Trade, Education, and general philanthropy - what the Church had left undone, and had scarcely tried to do; and who were putting out impious hands to shake the Ark of God by '* "Cardinal Newman, " by R. H. HuttoD, p. 42. THE EARLY LIFE OF CARDL.YAL JtlEIV.J.JA.J.V. 51 suppressing in Ireland Bishops whose raison d't!tre was little more than the receipt of episcopal salaries. In times like these, it seemed his duty-as he expressed it in the following lines (" Poems," p. 6t) -to put peace and goodwill and love far-off, as being distant and barely possible future luxuries:- " And wouldst thou reach, rash scholar mine, Love's high unmilled state? A wake, tby easy dreams resign, First learn tbee how to bate; Hatred of sin, and zeal, and fear, Lead up tbe Holy Hill ; Track tbem till Charity appear A self-denial still." " Hatred of sin " meant, of course, not the same thing as hatred of sinners. But still ewman seems to have gone not a little way with the Psalmist-who cried: "Do not I hate them, 0 Lord, that hate Thee ? Yea, I hate them as though they were mine own enemies." Turn to a passage, written in the Roman period of his life, in which he describes Demas-who " loved this present world" -receiving his irrevocable doom in the Day of Judgment. " ImpolD- sible! "-he supposes the lost one to exclaim on hearing the Judge's sentence: "I, a lost soul! I separated from hope and from 11eace for ever! It is not I of whom the Judge so spake! There is a mistake some\vhere; Christ, Saviour, hold Thy hand. One minute, to explain it! ::\Iy name is Demas; I am but Demas; not Judas, or :Kicholas, or Alexander, or Philetus, or Diotrephes. \Vhat! eternal pain for me! Impossible! It shall not be." And then the preacher goes on to describe how all this time, above the dead man's tomb- stone, his friends are saying, and continuing to say-for years after Demas has been consigned to eternal fire-" So comprehensive a mind! such a power of throwing lights on a perplexed subject!" or, "It was the f:;aying of a very sensible man," or, "A great personage whom some of us knew," or, "It was a rule with a very worthy and excellent friend of mine, now no more," or, "So great a benefactor to his country and to his kind!"" There is a spiritual truth concealed under this fierce and almost savage irony; he has a passionate purpose in his cutting sarcasm, and means it as a kind detf'rrent. And yet we can hardly help feeling that this elaborate picture of H The Surprises in Store for Demas at the Day of Judgment" represents a feeling in the preacher not only that a bene- volent lukewarm Christian, and a generous, upright, self-sufficient, tranquil "Liberal," are infinitely more hateful to God than tbe most fierce, gloomy, superstitious, and bigoted persecutors; but also that what is hateful to God must be, in some sense, hateful to those who love God. Hurrell Froude was not the man to quench the :fir2s that were * "Cardinal Newman," by R, H. Hutton, p. 1 8. 52 THE COþ,lTEltfPORARr REf'JEJr. burning so furiously in Newman's heart: on the contrary, he was as Euryalus to Nisus, stimulating his older friend to the conflict against the Liberal camp. The motto of the "Lyra Apostolica "-a work which the two friends began at this time in Rome-shows their thirst for the combat and their passionate desire to l'eturn to England in order to engage in it. "'Ve borrowed a Homer," he says (34), "and Froude chose from it the words in which Achilles, return- ing after long delay to the battle, says: You shall know the difference now that I am back again.'" A strange, and, at the first sound, an almost blasphemous motto, to prefix to a collection of Christian poems, consecrated to the Apostles of Christ! But in reality it wa'S not a mere schoolboy love of fighting, nor was it personal and egotistical inflation that dictated the choice; it was the feeling that they were two warriors taking Ul) the Lord's quarrel-a feeling wrought up to feverous height by their enforced position as idlE' Hpectators of the distant battle. Still, it was an ill-chosen and ill-ornened war-cry. It professed to announce a Holy 'Val', but it savoured not of the things that were of God, but of the things that were of men. Like Nisus and Euryalus, they were entering upon an enterprise far above their strength and destined to end in disaster; but there is no trace that, when the young Euryalus, urging his friend to the conflict, selected this sinister battle-cry, the elder warrior checked his rash ardour with the warning question which Yirgil puts into the mouth of Nisus: '-' Dine hune ardorem mentibn addnm. Enryale? .An sua cui'llle DCu8fit eli/'a C1'l)ido f" This furious sense of mission and of impending conflict, com- bined with that unresting search after spiritual security which had now become with Kewman a second nature, may well have been too much for his physical strength; and things culminated in a fever when he was left alone in the centre of Sicily. 1.Iore strongly than ever there had been borne in upon his mind, during his solitude, the feeling that deli,-erances are wrougþt not by bodies of men but by men singly; and when his servant gave him over, he repeated, unconscious of his exact meaning, "I shall not die, for I have not sinned against the light:' He adds (31) "I have never been able quite to make out what I meant;" but surely those who follow his life from the beginning can hardly doubt that the words point to that habitual and insuppressiblE' f('ar of being guided by" his own feelings "--that suspicion lest, though the Light had not revealed to him that he was inning, yet he 1night be sinning-which nt'ver altogether left him till he found peace in the Homan Church. For the present, however, he seemed far enough from Rome, though, in reality perhaps, the main, if not the only, barrier between him and the peaceful Haven of THE E..JRLY LIFE OF CARDINAL _VEWA}IAN. 53 Authority was the "imagination" of his youth about Antichrist. 'Vhile waiting at Palermo for three weeks for a vessel to take him home, he visited the churches there; and his sense of their soothing influence is expressed (" Poems;' p. 133) in the lines :- '.0 that thy creed were sound! For thou dost soothe the heart, thou Church of Rome, By thy unwearieti watch and varied round Of scnicc, in thy Saviour's holy home,'" But, although these lines are of interest as an indication of his already inclining towards some of the Roman methods by which he afterwards (166) proposed to impart colour and warmth to the Church of England, they afford no basis at all for thinking that he had the least suspicion that he himself was moving towards R must relentless party discipline, turns out to be any- thing but a bpndit to the nation. How many years ago is it since we were told that" dual ownership" in Irf'land was the only solution of the land difficulty? X ow we are assured that the true and final solution is to make a certain portion of the tenantry owners of the land, on condition of their paying a reduced judicial rent for a limited period. How many more years will pass before we are informed by the :Ministry of the day that this plan will not work at all, and that it has become absolutely indispensable for the Governmf'nt to take all the land of Ireland into its own hands? There is to be a " buffer" now between the State and the occupier, but the buffer cannot l)ossibly be constructed of permanent materials. It must go to pieces. and the- State will be face to face with its tremendous re ponsibilities. In these days of sudden changes of policy, who can say that the measure which he is ordered to vote for to-day may not, a short time hence, be regarded as fraught with dire mischief to the whole country? These swift conversions are not confined to any party. A competition is going on to see which can double the political " Cape Horn" the fastest. No doubt :Mr. Gladstone once declared that the Irish demands would be fatal to the country, and then surrendered to them. But which party was it that protested with might and main in 188ö. against any more concessions to Irish agitation, especially in the direction of State interference with Irish land purchase? \Vho was it that pointed out how dangerous it would be to have the State placed in the position-however remotely-of a landlord? "\Yhat about all those solemn pledges at th(' Alexandra Palace and elsewhere, that the judicial rents never should be revised, and that it would not be " honest" to attempt anything of the kind, followed within a week by tbe Bill for revising them? 'Vhat about the vehement protestations that the sanctity of contracts must be maintained at all costs, followed by the ever-memoraLle Act of 1887, setting aside statutory contracts, and enabling a man to walk into a County Court and break his lease without the consent of his landlord? Is not a lea e a contract?' Few bargains are more deliberately made on both sides. Kow, a man of any independent thought and convictions must be very easily pleased if he takes any delight in sllch rapid revolutions as these.- Decidedly it is a great disadvantage in our whirligig times for 8f. member of Parliament to have too many fixed opinions, even though those opinions may have been instilled into his mind by his own leaders. He may not always be able to throw the cargo overboard with the silence and expedition which he is expected to show. That was the difficulty ill which Lord Hartington and hi:::, friends found themselves in 1883-6. :\Iay not some Conservatives feel that they have lost all their ancient bearings when they contemp1att' the revision of judicial rents, the Lease-annulling Act of 1887, and the Land j8 TilE CO_YTE.J.l1PORARY REVIE1V. Purchase Act of ] bDO, to say nothing of a measure for Free Education which will wind up the banquet t These, however, are serious questions, and my present object is to touch only upon the surface of Parliamentary life. '''hat one often reads in the papers is that the work of the House of Commons is a mere bagatelle 80 far as the private member ic;; concerned, and that if anyone is to be pitied it is the :\finister. \Yhy the :Minister, to begin with? He holds a position which confers upon him great advantages, ocial and political; influences of all kinds are within reach of his arm, and probably he is not slow to turn some of them to account. lIe enjoys opportunities of being exceedingly u eful to his friends; the larger part of his work is done for him by the permanent officials of his department; he has a very long holiday every year-practically as long as he chooses to make it-and his advance from post to post is absolutely certain, unless he voluntarily throws his chance away, a thing of rare occurrence. There are two or three positions in the Government-those of Foreign Secretary, lrish Secretary, and perhaps the Secretary of StatE" for 'Y ar-w hich are held under altogether difièrent conditions. Ðut of most of the others, in ordinary times, what I have just said holds good. The road to ofiice is usually somewhat tortuous, but those who have oncp found it never want to go back. Yet they like the public to think tbat they suffer martyrdom for their country's good, and hence the condolences upon their hard fate which appear in the papers from time to time, to the great surprise of the ::\Iinister who is the subject of the article. How can such things get printed, as rr. Yillcent Crummles u ed to ask? As for the private member, his work is from first to la t fatiguing', monotonous, and thal1kle s. He has to wait about for hours and hours in order that he may a:ssist in " keeping a House," or in exppctation of a division which perhaps does not take place. He must not go home to dinner without spl'cial permission; he must be prepared to do twelve hours' hard work at a stretch; he must take his orders :'lS to when he shall come and when he shall go, without reference to his business or other engagements. All this is, no doubt, \ery right and proper; but why call it easy? "Thy underrate the duties which the unofficial member has to discharge? The work done in the com- mittep-rooms is something of which tbe general public has no knowledge whatever. It i often very se\"-ere, and in the end it seems to be utterly thrown away. It begins at eleven or twelve, goes on till the House meets, and involves a good deal of labour at home in order that the subject in hand may be properly understood. It is in the committee-rooms that the capacity of members, their power of grasping facts and intricate problems, their readiness of resource, are most severely tested. It is there, also, that members bf'come thoroughly acquainted with each other. )lany 8 bitter political animosity has been BEHLVD TIlE SCE_YES LV PARLIAJIE.YT. 59 oftened or altogether removed by the judgmerlt formed in the com- mittee-room. The Conservative finds that the Radical whom he fancied to be a mere empty dema ogue is, in reality, an exceedingly shrewd and sensible man; and, what is .even more, that he is thoroughly con- scientious, and animated by an evident desire to do that which is right. Or the Radical discovers the same qualities in the Conser- vative whom he hated. The true measure of a man can be taken on committee work. The fine feathers and the tinsel disappear. Even the new member, the man who is almost unknown, will be apprai-:;ed at his right value, whatever it may be. The House of Commons is, indeed, always just in its estimates of men. There is no fairer body in the world before which anyone could go. If it has stamped a man as a bore or as a humbug. it is because he thoroughly deserves it. Xo matter what a man's politics may be, he may always be sure of a fair hearing, at least once. Anything like bumptiousness, or affectation of superiority. or a disposition to trade upon a reputation made out of doors, the House will not stand; and a good thing too. I once heard a member exclaim with a peculiarly sanctimoniou;:; air, ,. I stand here as á Christian," as if he were a missionary addressing a set of pagans. There was a roar of laughter which for a few minutes silenced our only Christian. Tartuffe is not a popular character at 'Vestminster. "'Whether or not there are any bores in the House, and on which side most of them sit. it would be a very ungraciou:; thing for any member to attempt to decide. But it may safely be said that if there are bore , they are not all on the back benches. Some of the worst of the species are those who proudly de:-:cribe themselves as ,. Front Bench men." They talk at any length they like, and that is inva- riably a good long length. ..l private member is but an interloper, to be tolerated only at division time, when neither party can get on very well without him. The superior beings expect him to ::stop and listen to them, to receive with meekness the words of wi:::;dom which fall from their lips, and never to question what they say. Perhaps it happens that two or three of the outsiders get up in the hope of attracting the attention of )11'. Speaker. One of them is on the point of being successful, when suddenly there is seen at the table a gentle- man who has held, or who now holds. some kind of office. He straightens himself out, and seems to say to the House: ,. Look at me; you will find it worth while. I am a Front Bench man. I am spoken of in the papers as a statesman, though between ourselves I have never performed an administrative act which was not more or less a failure. Here, howe,er, I am, within the magic Circlé. X ow prick up your dull ears, and listen to me." He then pulls a written essay out of his pocket, aIT:tnges it on the box. and proceeds to read it out leisurely. He can take his own time, for who would presume to 60 THE CO VTE.L-"[PORARl" REVIEW. interfere with a Front Bencher? These are the people, if the plain truth must be told, who waste the larger part of the time eVf'ry Session. They have something to say on every subject, for it is part of their milier to be always on their feet, except during the dinner- hour, which they leave to be scrambled for by the common herd. The real causes of the block of the Parliamentary machine will never be understood by the public until they are afforded the means of judging for themselves, by a full and explicit time-table, the number of hours occupied every Session by the mi:mbers who have no better claim to -the public ath>ntion than that they are, or have been, office-holders. Th(>re is another characteristic of these dignitaries which, when we are looking at the show from the front of the house, we do not per- ceive. It is that, somehow or other, they acquire the habit of presenting facts in a light which is calculated to confuse the common mind. An official contradiction or explanation seems quite decisive 7 and it is generally so regarded by the press and the public. This is another of the illusions which will not survive even a brief Parliamen- tary experience. After studying the performance a few times, a ghastly doubt steals over the mind whether there is not one standard of truth and fair dealing for official and another for private life. It is impossible, of course, to suppose that a Iinister or an ex-:Ministel' would intentionally deceive. But there are times when he takes an exceedingly wide range in search of the truth, and does not always bring it back with him at last. It is possible to give an explanation which fo;hall avoid or obscurf' the real point at issue. It would be easy to cite examples in illustration of this, but who would be so ill-natured as to do it ? It might, however, be well for the outside public to understand that an official " yes" or "DO" is not necessarily the last word that is to be said on the subject. As for speeches, it is to be borne in mind that the House of Com- mons is rather blasé of these productions of the human intellect, and does not listen to one out of a score with any satisfaction, or even with willingness. }'Iost speeches are an old story, which has been told over and over again, and which gets dull r each time it is repeated. Sometimes a new vein is struck, usually by a new man, and then the most jaJed of assemblies is all attention. But, as a rule, members do not go to the House from their dinners or their cigars for the purpos of hearing a speech. They go because they are waiting for a division r and they may as well \\:ait there as anywhere else. Suppose a member has been serving on a committee for three or four hours; he has to go straight into the House, and is kept there till neady one o'clock in the morning doing nothing, which to most active-minded men is the hardest of all work. Before midnight arrives, his brain is in a state of torpor. Dnlness has been king. To a mere looker-on, it does not seem that many persons really try to make what they have to say in any way REHLVD THE SCE.XES LY P ARLIA..."JJE1\?T. GI interesting. They have loaded themselves with so many hundredweight ()r tons of raw material which they regard as of priceless value, they bring it into the House of Commons in a mixed up state, and dump t down on the floor. There it is, and you can take it or leave it as you like. )lost people leave it. The masters of method and arrange- ment are few, and they are not likely to become more numerous, for the tendency of the age is towards the hurried and slap-dash. That is one reason why it is always well worth '\-vhile to hear Mr. Gladstone. 'There is a finish about his style, a dignity in his manner, which no ()ne else can even imitate with success. Whether he has to make a speech of compliment, or of denunciation, or of criticism, or of keen J'emonstrance, it is dom> with the air of a man who is a complete !naster of the subject, and with a variety of language and tone never exhibited by any of his contemporaries. Circumstances may be all :.1gainst him, but they never spoil his speech. On the first day of the O"\, ember Session of 1890, it was known that he had received a great and bitter shock of disappointment and mortification. The Parnell Bcandal was uppermost in everybody's thoughts; there was a certainty of a great disruption in the Home Rule party if the Irish leader per- sisted in remaining at the front. fr. Gladstone had brought all his influence to bear for the purpose of inducing 1r. Parnell to re::;ign, }'Ir. Parnell took no notice whatever of his menaces or letter. He entered the House as if nothing had happened, or as if such a person as 111'. Gladstone did not exist. It was known to every ()ne that )11'. Parnell had decided to "hold on," and at the first meeting of his party, at which they agreed to his continued leadership, 311'. Gladstone and his communications did not receive the slight com- pliment of a passing notice. Such an insult has rarely been inflicted upon an eminent public man. That Mr. Glad tone felt it, and felt it deeply, was evident from his dejected look, his bowed head, and the silence in which he enshrouded himself. The cause for which he had .sacrificed so much and worked so hard was in the greatest peril. Yet. when his time came to reply to the mover and econder of the Address, he was perfectly ready for what must have been an inexpressibly irksome task. He was not for a moment at a loss, not even in paying . graceful compliment to the two Conservatives who had preceded him. "\Yith a feeling which must have been near akin to despair in his heart, .he spoke with cheerfulness of the work which lay before himself and .his party. But his weary air when he sat down, and his drooping gait .as he left the House shortly afterwards, told a tale. An occasion of a different kind, and one long to be remembered by those who were present, was that on which certain tributes were paid to the memory of the Emperor Frederick. )11'. Gladstone soared into regions far beyond the reach of ordinary men. The fact is that J18 alone of all that are left among us represents the nobler and 62 THE CO...YTEJIPORARY REVIEIV. loftier traditions of })arliamentary oratory. That, of course, is a matter totally apart froli. his opinions, about which there must neces- sarily be great diversities of judgment. As for his immense Bupe- riority over all comers in debate, and his mastery of the House of Commons, that surely cannot be the subject of any dispute. I have, indeed. heard it remarked that his style is somewhat old-fashioned. It is a pity that a good many members of Parliament cannot get a touch of the same old fashion into them. His sway over his own followers need not be wondered at, since it is felt in some degree by those who are most bitterly opposed to him. His lieutenants woulù,. of course, be the first to disclaim the idea of being put into compa- rison with him. Still, they have merits of their own. )11'. :1\Iorley always impresses one with a sense of his sincerity. :1\11'. Henry Fowler is a master of all subjects connected with finance, and he is undoubtedly one of the most effectiye speakers in the House. Sir "\Villiam Harcourt is often abused, but, after all, he is nearly always amusing. and the House of Commons never objects to being amused. The ordinary course of proceedings is tedious and monotonous beyond the power of words to describe. Opposition attacks sometimes go. very wide 01 the mark, and official harangnes are, as often as not, halting, tedious, and slow. If it were not for the kindly care of the' reporters in the - gallery, both sides would frequently cut a SOITY figure. The judicious reporter has made the reputation of many a public man. He condenses the rambling sentences, suppresses the repetitions, substitutes the right word for the wrong, and pieces to- gether the cumbrous and disjointed fabric. It is always amusing to see the indignation with which a speaker rebukes a reporter who has fallen into some error in transcribing his notes. "\Yhat is such a mistake at the worst compared with the blunders in grammar, the dodging backwards and forwards, the helpless stumbling from one illaccurate_ or foolish expression to another which stud the speeches of some of the public men whose names are always before the public r Now, amid all this botching and bungling, it is something to have to do with a man who goes straight to the mark, who knows what he wants to say, and who sometimes says it in a manner to raise a smile, or even a hearty laugh. ..A, fighting man who can stand fire, and is not toppled over easily, is essential to a party, and the Gladstonians, have no one else to be compared with Sir 'Villiam Harcourt in that field. He hits out with dexterity, plants his blows firmly, and thoroughly understands the a8semhly which he is addressing. The best man on the Irish side for a clashing raid is ::\11'. T. Healy. The Liberal l-:-nionists have l\lr. Chamberlain, who of late has been fall- ing a good deal out of sight-a dangerous thing for any public man to do in these days. Sir William Harcourt is ever ready when he is, wanted. No doubt his fireworks are sometimes a little damp, and BEI-JLYD THE SCE YES LY PARLIAJIE YT. 63 refuse to go off properly. perhaps because they have been kept too long. That will happen in the be t firework establishment. But they usually serve the purpose for which they were intended, and some úf them are of first-rate quality. 'Yhen it comes to a tussle at close quarters, ir 'Villiam makes the "fur fly," as the Americans say. The person he is attacking pretends not to mind it, but he is not r ally happy while under the operation. I have heard some Radicals say that they like "more earnestness" in their leaders. Iore earnestness, with 1\11'. Labouchere in the background? Of the mere cut-and-thrust business, a Parliament in its fourth or fifth year has generally had enough. The everlasting ding-dong of personal attack and recrimination becomes a weary business. 'Ve know quite well what Brown thinks of Jones, and what Robinson thinks of both. In the first Session of a Parliament these mock battles cause a little excitement, but after that they are apt to remind the observer of the French clowns in a ring who go to and fro belabouring each other with bladders. There is a great deal of noise, but nobody is hurt. The tricks and mannerisms of the combatants become too well understood; nothing surprises one any more. "r e see that a good deal of the warmth and passion are only put on for the purpose of impressing the spectator. The rank and file get a little tired of acting as supernumeraries in a stale farce. Even a daring foray from the Irish quarter is welcomed as a relief from the tediousness of hearing the pot calling the kettle black. 10st of the Irishmen whose names are well known to the public are extremely good at these sudden raids. Colonel Saunderson, on the Conservative side, is full of rollicking fun and good humour. Charles Lever would have delighted in making a study from him. Some of his sallies of genuine Irish wit are quite irresistible. I have seen every one in the House laughing over them, from the Speaker to the attendants in the galleries. Among the Sationalists, few are stronger than )1r. Sexton. That acute critic of Parliamentary men and manners, the celebrated Toby of Pnnch, always speaks of }Ir. Sexton with contem.[.1t as a "windbag." He may sometimes be rather long, but his power, his quickness, his fund of humour, are not to be denied. He marshals his arguments 'With great skill 1 and his shafts of satire dart across the House with the rapidity and brilliancy of a flash of lightning. Ir. T. Healy is another formidable antagonist, though in a wholly different way. Iembers on the Conservative side of the House are uS'Ially very wroth with him, and no doubt his language is sometimes rough and hard to bear. But when his passions are not roused he is scrupulously fair, and there is an immense deal of shrewdness and common sense in his criticisms of measures before the Hou e. It was his skill which finally threw off the track the unlucky licensing proposals of last Session. The whole forces of the Opposition had .ß4 THE CO-NTE2JJPORARY RET'JEfr. been directed to that end for any number of nights. )11'. Healy came down one afternoon and submitted a simple question to the Speaker on a question of Parliamentary proceùure. It was utterly fatal. In a moment, the elaborate superstructure erected hy )11'. Goschen came toppling to the ground. }'or a scieutific knowledge of aU the tricks on the taùle, under the table, and up the sleeves of officials .and ex-officials, there is nobody to equal Tim Healy. _\.ny man who regards that kind of knowledge with contempt must be very imperfectly acquainted with the real way in which the House of Commons is managed. An official who does not know how to steal a march upon an opponent, or even upon a friend, is never likely to be in,ited to join a :Ministry a second time. The great thing is to win; the un- pardonable crime is to be beaten. The" Plain Dealer ' is not a character suited to the Parliamentary stage. The article in demand is what is called finesse, and that is a word with a very wide meaning in the classic precincts of St. Stephen's. Considering the enormous power which has been wielded for thf' last ten years by the Irish party, the earthquake which shook it to pieces in November and December last may well be described as one of the most memorable events in Irish history. That party was absolutely under the çontrol of one man, and its discipline was so pE'rfect that it wa scarcely ever disturbed. \ny one who studied it diligently and closely must have arrived at the conclusion that its influence was not acquired by mere accident, but that it was the fruit of much patient work, and of the laborious adaptation of means to ends. Throughollt the greater part of the present Parliament, )11'. Parnell has been almo t an invisible chief. Sometimes his own whips did not know where to find him. His appearances were sudden and unexpected. He would come down to the House and deliver some momentous statement affecting the whole policy of the party without the slightest consultation with his followers. He did so in reference to the Irish Land Purchase Bill towards the close of last Session. lie always ignored or covertly repudiated the labours of :Mr. Dillon and lr. O'Brien in connection with the Plan of Campaign. He has told the '\Vorld that he did not inform any of his colleagues of the negotia- tions with reference to another Home Hule Bill which he carried on with J\Ir. Gladstone at Hawarden in Nov"ember 1889. Xever was any such obedience given to a political leader as that which Jr. Parnell l'eceiyed, It was rendered all the more remarkable by the character of the other foremost men in the party-a set of fiery spirits, little disposed to brook control. rntil the recent great disruption, they never gave the outside world reason to suppose that. their loyalty had been subjected to tests which threatened to break it down. Sir Robert Peel was cold and austere towards his political associates, but he was the embodiment of geniality compared with Ir. Parnell. BEHLVD THE dCE YES L\T PARLIAJIENT. 65 That method of government seemed to answer well enough for a time, hut it doubtless helped to store up against the Irish leader the resentment and thf' bitternes5 which were revealed last month, when his troops flew into rebellion and turned their weapons against him. He saw then how he had been secretly regarded. The Parnellite party, the true "In,-illcibles " of Parliamentary liff', may never more be what it was, and it will be long before another . party as compact and powerful can be brought to the same pitch of perfection. Almost every man in it had his proper place. An opportunity was provided for the display of any kind of ability. rfhere was room even for the bore and the buffoon. It did not matter what was the nature of the business to be done, the right person was always there to do it. In everything but the direction of policy, the Parnellites were left pretty much to themselves. Their drill had been so complete that they knew exactly where to go and what to do at any moment. In the Conservative party especially, it is the rule to keep down the" outsiders;' to give them no chance of im- proving themselves in Parliamentary practice, and to teach them that their duty begins and ends in turning themselves into voting machines. It is a discipline eminently calculated to crush out all aspirations, and to suppress all ability. No thought is given to the question, " " ho is to carryon the work of the party when the present leaders are gone?" )11'. Parnell, whatever may have been his other mistakes, was too wise to fall into that one. His army had to be useful, and therefore he gave it every chance of learning its duties, and of coming into conflict with the enemy. As an obstructive machine, nothing (->qual to it was ever deviEeà. And it is worthy of observation that it found itself unable to deal with obstruction when that weapon was turned against a part of its own body. The minority in the great split kept the majority from arriving at a vote for nearly a fortnight, and would have kept them till now if the majority had not hit upon the somewhat inglorious expedient of running from the field, and conducting a separate meeting on their own account. Obstruction, when scientifically carried on, is not so easily dealt with as many persons, including Ir. Chamberlain, appear to suppose. )11'. Chamberlain has, indeed, recently òiscovered the existence of a rule of the American Honse of Representatives, which, he tells us, has given the" death-blow to obstruction." This rule has been in existence since 1789. He seems to think that there has been no obstruction in the American Legislature since then. But the "fillibustering" pro- ceedings of the very last Session might have taught him better. There are other obstructionists in the House of Commons besides the members of the Irish party, but compared with them they are all bunglers. For work of a more serious kind, plenty of hands were always to be found. )lr. Dillon imparted earnestness as well as spirit VOL LIX. E . 66 THE CO...VTElJ;IPORAR:r RE VIE TV. to any debat , and 1\11'. O'Brien, though somewhat too highly strnng and melodramatic for fastidious tastes, was often exceedingly effecti,ye. nne of the best speakers of the party, seldom hean1 in the House, is )Ir. .John Hedmond. l\Ir. Parnell had the good fortune to take- :l\Ir. Redmond ,vith him when so many of his ablest lieutenants with- drew from his ::;il1e. If offen::ii,-e tactics were to be employed, and nnplea ant missiles thrown about, inferior detachments of the squadron were always lying in wait. (;reat experience and great knowleclge of the House were requisite to bring into existence snch an urganisation as thi . \.nd it could not have been kept in a high state of efficiency unle::-s the seats of the men who composed it had been fairly per- manent. :Jf r. Parnell was able to secure this indi pensaùle element of stability. ,\Yhile his followers satisfied him, they had no occasion to think of their constituents. He put them in or turned them out at hi pleasure. There were bOlllf' who were beyond hi::; reach, owing to their personal popularity in Ireland; but the rank and file were at his mercy. The sule conJition of their being in Parliament was 1 hat they should do what he told them. Thus, there was a solid body uf eighty-six Inen who would vote fllr or against any Government at a sign from .:\Ir. ] \11'11 ell, and they were a fixed quantity in the Honse. \Vho could tell how lllany of the' Conservatives or Liberals, or which of them, woula corne back from the ordeal of a general ell'ction? But those t-'ighty-six men below the gangway on the left of the Speaker were sure to come back. It lllay be doubted whether party Goverll- TIll'nt of tll(' kind knoTI"n in former times could have gone on much longer had thi di:,integrating force remained unbroken. Each party a it came into power was obliged to study its demands. It was so ill thl' brief administration of Lord alisbury, until the beginning of 1 8G. when other influences began to pl'evail. The second administra- tion of :ßlr. Gladstone was based upon the support of the Irish party. The same party has modified the policy, in some very essential par- ticulars, of the existing Governnlf'nt, although some Conservatives may not yet be aware of it. There was no onc who did not see that it was easier to get on with the friendship of the Irish party than with their animosity. I am not dealing with the political side of the ques- tion, but merely with the construction and action of the Nationalist in reference to the working of the House of Commons. :From tha.t point of view, it is undeniable that nothing so complete and so powerful as the' Parnellite party had ever been seen in Parliament lJefore, and it may be long indeed before an) thing to be compared with it is seen again. Those who watch with observant eyes all that takes place on the great Pa.rliamentary stage will soon perceive that a good deal of it is only ading after all, anJ that the actors, 'while professing intense- devotion to their country, are keeping a very sharp look out on the . BEHLVD TilE SCE_YES LV P ARLIAJIENT. 67 audience "hose applau e they are straining every nerve to gain. Theil' }mrts are frequently marked out for them by the omnipotent news- parer, and when they take a fancy to these parts, they soon become highly proficient in them. \. newspaper editor or writer forms his own idea of a public man, and although it may not bear the least re- semblance to the man himself, it soon becomes the sole conception which the public have of him. The newspaper artist is proud of his portrait, and keeps adding touches to it which make it more and more acceptable to the multitude. After a time, the original of the picture begins to model himself on this fancy sketch, always provided, of course, that it be sufficiently favourable. Perhaps he is told every morning that he is a prodigy of coolness and self-possession, and that the attacks of opponents pass over him like the idle wind. H(> works up to these cues; his manner becomes decidedly cool; he laughs openly in the faces of his opponents. The newspapers paint a figure on the looking-glass which they hand to him, and he takes it for his own ,isage. Several well-known men in the HouEe of Commons have effected this sort of change in their identity "ithin my short recollection. One of the anti- Parnellites was recently summing up the merits and failings of his late chief, and he said: "When Ir. Parnell did not appear in the House of Commons, and the Tory press got out stories of his mysterious disappearances, and refened to him as the one soli- tary man wrapping his cloak around him like X apoleon at St. Helena. or as the one strong man defying and despising everybody else, he of course read these things, and lived up to the level of his blue china." There is a great deal of truth in this. Few men in the House of Commons trulyan::;wer to the popular ideal, which is formed, as a rule by the newspape!'s. :Most of them ought to acknowledge, if they paid tribute where it was due, that they have been made largely by public writers. It is perhaps just as well that the public should see theÌ1 idols through a veil. The hardest of all places to fill in the l)resent day, and the one which the press rarely idealises over-much, is that of leader of the IIouse. In the brief Session before Christmas there was scarcely anything for the leader or anyone else to do. If Parliamentary work were always like that, it would be nothing more than an agrepable and slightly ornamental addition to life. But this interval of peace arose from exceptional circumstances. As a rule, the leader lives the life or a slave. Order, method, the proper arrangement of bnsiness, have become almost unattainable. In former days, it was generally pos- sible for the Government to come to an understanding with the leader of the Opposition as to the disposition of business, or the time at which a division should be taken. But now there are so many leaders to be consulted that no one knows exactly where he is. A bargain may be made with }Ir. Gladstone, but that will 68 THE COJ.VTE1JIPORARY REVIE1V. not prevent a certain section of his party from taking any courhH they think proper, without regard to what he has done. No great leader of a party would have submitted to such treatment as that in former times. It is hard to see what any leader can do to prevent it now. Respect for authority has gone with many other things be- longing to the past. The difficulties in the path of 1r. 'V. H. Smith have probably been more complicated and unmanageable than those which any of his predecessors have had to encounter. It may be that they have not always proceeded from without. He has had to consult the wishes or the demands of a large ç;ection of the Libpral party, who, until recently, have always acted against the Conser'\'"atives, and who only act with them now upon the condition that they shall be allowed to direct Conservative policy on some intricate issues. The consequence is, as I hinted at the outset of this paper, that the Conservative party itself has undergone a vast change during the last five eventful years. It is still being" educated," and when the pro- cess is completed it is a pity that Ir. Disraeli cannot be brought back to look at it. He could not fail to be immensely tickled with the transformations and developments which have been witnessed since he departed from the scene. The fine old Tories who looked upon him as an adventurer-where are they standing now? 'Vhat do they think of 'confiscation" and" revolution" at the beginning of the new year? Have they had no hand in precipitating either, or both? Disraeli on his dear old friends and colleagues, and on some of his illustrious and brilliant snccessors, would have been well worth hearing. 'Ve are deprived of the pleasure of hearing him. But we see that many of his predictions are slowly being realised, and among them is that which concerns the management of the House of Commons. 'Vhenever the time comes for )11'. ,Yo H. Smith to close his career in that stormy arena: the judgment of every fair man will be that he Ims done well. He smoothed away many a difficulty, and never wan- tonly created one. His successor, whoever he may be, will do well to take note of the fact that the work required of him will call for a con- stitution of steel and the temper of an angel. Patriotism, indifference to self-interest, a love of fair-play, superiority to the meaner passions of mankind-these are the characteristics, as we know, of all our })ublic men. 'Ve may assume that every leader of the House of Commons will possess them, or "live up to the blue china," however nature may ha'\'"e made him. But the good temper, the invariable tact, and the consummate patience displayed by :ßfr. 'Y. H. Smith during the last five trying years are not at the command of everybody. They are not among the" actions that a man might play." 1.,. J. J EXXISG::,. E GLISH IEN IN AFRICA. 'THATEYER may be the conclusions with regard to Ir. Stanlüy's "V expedition at which the nation may ultimately arrive, after a patient study of the sombre and gruesome documents recently sub- mitted to it, in such bewildering and sometimes in such contradictory instalments, tbere is one conclusion so obvious, yet, for that very reason, so likely to escape notice; so demonstrably true, yet certain to be so fiercely contested, and, hitherto, so rarely acted on; so humiliating to confess, yet so incalculably important for the fair fame, alike in the present and immediate future, of our vast and ever extending Empire, that I am anxious, while the interest in the question is, or ought to be still at something like fever heat, to call pointed attention to it. The conclusion I would draw is this. The commonplaces which one has heard a thousand times before, and never more frequently than during the last few weeks, such as tbat patriotism justifies and requires the" busbing up" of disagreeable truths; that it is the first duty of an Englishman when his countrymen are accused of evil deeds-not, to suspend his judgment, to hope as long as it is possible to hope, and to condemn them '" hen proved-but, at all hazards, to t1eny or explain them away; that acts of violence and wrong which everyone would condemn, if we were dealing with the stronger races of Europe and in the full light of day, are not so discreditable when we are thrown amongst the weaker and darker races of Asia and of Africa; finally, tbat the death of an English officer, especially if it be bravely met among striking aud stirring incidents, wipes out, in the judgment of his countrymen, all the crimes that may have pre ceded it, and that he who brings them, however unwillingly, to the light, is at once ungenerous and unjust-these and other commonplaces of the kind are, I would submit, only not truisms because, as Coleridge 70 THE CONTE.J.1IPORARY RETTIETV. would have said, they are "falsi;3l1lS;' and they involve the deteriora- tion, slow but sure, of all those qualities on which Englishmen, as an Imperial nation dealing with weaker race , have hitherto had most reason to pride themselves. How deeply rooted and how widely spread such doctrines are, is apparent from the very circumstances under v. hich the story that is now riyeting the attention of the world, has been first revealed to it by 1\11'. Stanley. )11'. Stanley was aware ;:,n11l(' t'lf'O yeaTs ago, in out- line at least, of all the doings which he has oilly now flashed across the Atlantic. As leader of the expedition, he was inferentially and, in a secondary degree, respon ible for all that was done during it. If crimes were committed by his subordinates, when he was hundreds of miles away, crimes such as one would fain hope few Englishmen in a position of responsibility have ever committed before; if tortures wero inflicted by English gentlemen on the weak and the half-starved, and indignï'ties offered even to the dead, such as it might have required the imagination of ::t Dante to shadow forth, and the pencil of a Doré to delineate, surely it "as his duty, remembering that it was England which he represented, and her hononr of which he was the guardian, to denounce them publicly, the moment he had satisfied himself of their reality and their extent, and to cut himself adrift--however gravely such a step might reflect on his original selection of hi:::; companions, and on the general conduct of the exp( - dit!on-from aI Y Englishman who had looked calmly on at the .atrocities, or had contented himself with a mere verbal prote t against them. Yet, there is good reason to suppose, had it not been for the publication of the personal attacks on him by :J1ajor Barttelot's brother, that neither he, nor any member of his chosen subordinates of the rear-guard would have e\ er thought it their duty to inform even their employers-the Emin Relief Committee-of the facts in full; much 1e5M, to reveal a syllable of what had happened to the world at large. ''''hat do they say themselves? Lieutenant Troup admits that "" l\lajor Barttelot was cruel, terribly cruel; ' "there is," he adds, "no doubt of that." Yet he plumes himself on not having said a word against him, " until someboùy first made charges." lr. Bonny with the candour which apparently marks eyerything he has written throughout, admits that, as regards a certain terrible accusation, he "thou?ht it best to keep quiet," and that he "did not wish to mix "himself up with it." " hile 1\11'. Herbert 'Yard speaks of" a generous conspiracy of silence," as regards Barttelot's atrocities. Generous indeed! Generous to whom ? 1\11'. Stanley's attitude speaks for itself; and I would submit that the leader who, first, denies the exi:;:tence of certain atrocities, having in his possession at the time, orerwhelming evidence that they are, in part at least J true; who carries about with him the fateful secret for El\TGL18HJIE_Y LV AFRICA. 71 two years; and then, finally, discloses them, not so much in righteou and overwhelming indignation at the devilries that }]ave been com- mitted, a5; because the war has been transferred into his own country, and he is himself attacked on widely different grounds, has made himself, to a very serious extent, particeps c1"iminis. Saddening and humiliating as are the disclosures themselves, they are, in my opinion, made more saddening and more humiliating still by the condition'1 under which they have at la t been made. Xor hm-e there been wanting men in high stations at home-men who, in their private capacity, may be humane and kindly enougl], but ,,-ho have shown by their utterances that it is not the depds of violence, but their dptection, that they most resent. Officers of the army, partly, from a feeling of C.p7 it de l'01"}JS, "hich is honourable enough if kept within definite limits, and, partly, from the tendency to forget that professional zeal does not atone for the lack of the more essential moral qualities, are naturally inclin-(>d to take a similar view. Sir Rec1,erg Buller, Y.C., for instance, in a h--tter publi hed in :JIajor Barttelot's correspondence, and therl:'fore presumably well weighed before it was pnblished"'::::after dwelling on )Iajor Barttelot's focial qualities and professional energy, concludes by the terribly suggestive sentence: c_ If I could have had fi\Te minutes alone with Assad Farran, or whatever his name is, I should be glad:' In other words, the poor Syrian interpreter, whose misfortune it was to be present at repeated scene of foul cruelty, which he was unable to prevent, and whose crime it is to have given an only too truthful account of them to outsiders, would he treated by this distinguished officer, if only he had him in his power for fivE' minutes, in a manner which is perhaps best expressed by-an aposiopesis. And here I would guard against a possible misconception. In the heat of the controversy which has raged round the story of the Rear Column, it is little wonder if many persons, stung to the quick by the repOl:t of horrors committed by members of an expedition which wa.;:; started for philanthropic purposes, and was supported by men whose philanthropy is beyond suspicion, have asked indignantly-as if the question needed only to be asked to answer itself-what right bad )11'. :::;tanley and his followers to carry martial law across \frica at all? Did they receive the right to flog and slay from the English Government or the Government of the Khedive; or, thinking them- seh-es outside of all European law, did they act as legislators and policemen, judges and executioners, all in one? 'Yith such a line of argument I cannot sympathise. It proves either too little or too much; and, to make it hold good, we must go much further back, and condemn not )Ir. Stanley's expedition alone, but all expeditions into barbarous and unknown countries, which are prepared, in the last resort. to have recourse to force. There is much to be said for and -C) ,,.., THE CO..YTEJJPOU lRl RErIE1V. against the abstract right of civilised men to force their way into un. eivilisec1 countries, to ., discover" aborigines who knew well enough where they were all the tillie, and had no wish to be "discovered" by anyone else; but it would take me too far away from my present object, if I attempted to weigh the goud against the eyil, and to show, what I believe to be the case, that, on the whole, if proper precautions are taken, the evil is outweighed hy the good. But what I would insist 011 is this, that, if it i<:; right to go on such an expedition at all, it is not only right, it is absolutely necessary, to entrust its leader with exceptional powers. ...\U expeùi- tion like that for the relief of Emin ra ha-whatpver other object there may have been in tllf' background, and some of these a e now gradually oozing uut-must have a large following, natin' and nglish. )11'. Stanley took with him some û30 souls-English, ZanÚbaris, Somalis, Soudanese-not to speak of the GUO "carriers" or slaves to be supplied by Tippoo Tib; and such a following neces:5arily bpcomes a mob, unless its leader ba extraordinary powers committed to him. He could not take with him, even if he would, aHd he onght not to take with him, even if he could, all the bulky aHd the clumsy para- phernalia of English law-a panel of twelve Brit ish jurYllwn, a bevy of clerks, solicitors. and judges, a library of English law books; and, even if hl' did, it would be exactly as illegal to administer English as any other law, in tht'se wild and unknown countries. Any law. whether martial or, if the expression may bp coined, .. jungle," or merely" personal" law, is better than no law at all, and is absolutely essential to the safety and well-being of both natives and Europeans. The range of possible offences is unlimited. while the range of possible punishments is only tou sharply defined by the conditions of the case. There are 1:0 gaols. no treadmills, no appliances for enforcing sulitary confinement. One act of desertion, on the other hand, one act of wholesale theft, the example of one bold anJ intluential mutineer, lllay imperil the existence of the whole force, and the only punish- ments possible are those which are sure, swift, and sp,?ere. In other words, there arc two deterrents only, corporal punishment and death. To deny this, while we defend the policy and morality of such expe- ditions, is the part of a well-meaning but an illogical humanitarianism which defeats its own object. \Vhen, therefore, )11'. Stanley or Najor Barttelot flogged men, or eyen put them to death, they did what. a: hypothesi they had a :-:,trict right to do, and their action can be properly condemned only as being too severe, or not severe enough, for the particular case. But severity may amount to cruelty, and cruelty may amount to demoniacal barbarity, if personal malice, or race hatred, or indifference to human suffering, or positive delight in speing it intlicted, and, E,till more, in inflicting it oneself, accompanies the judicial act. And it is E_YGLISIIJIE-LY IX Af1UCA. 73 becaus there is only too much reason to believe that snch feelings did actuate Iajor Barttelot in his df'eds of wild and almost incredible brutality, in the kickings, and the cluLbing-s, and the floggings to dt:'ath. or to what was almost "or::;e than death, whereof it "as not \fricans alont', but English gentlemen who were the eye-witnesses, that the conscience of the English nation ha;; bf'f'n stirred to its inmost depths, and that it feels that it would gladly give up all the fruits of ::\[1'. Stanley's expedition, if only what ha,; been done upon it by indi,idual Englishmen could thereby be undone. And it is because )(1'. Stanley, knowing well what kind of man ::\Iajor Barttelot was, knowing "hat he had done in Egypt, knowing his hatred to the natives of Africa, and being warned against him by those "ho had the best right to do so, selected him for his expedition, when he might have had the pick of all England from "hich to choose; becam"e he put arms into his hands, and, when he was removed from all the restraints of civilisation, inve!.;ted him with a vast responsibility, and then, when the natural result followed, abstained from condemning what had been done. and, two years afterwards. revealed it, not on pnblic, but on purely personal grounds :-that the English people will always consider that there i a dark spot upon f',pn his most splendid achievements. Iartial law is in itself so terrible a necessity, it is liable to such grave abuse: the ight of means to do ill deeds, among a people 80 ,,"idely diflerent from our own, so often makps ill deeds to be done by all but those who are restrained by the highest moral and religious principles, that it is hardly too much to say that the first, second, and third requisite for him who shou1d ever be allowed to wield such a ""eapon at aU is a keenly sensitive humanity. Iore valuable this than the patience and the prudence, than the courage and the address, than the strength of body and the strength of mind, than the firm faith anJ the indomitable hope, which go to make up the ideal-an ideal which ha . happily, been so often all but realised-of a gore at English f'xplorer ! In all Imperial races, especially in those which have also strong colonising and commercial instincts, there is an element of the wild beast. . The Phænicians, in llciellt times-the Portuguese, the Spaniards, and the nutch in modern times-are conspicuous instances of this. It :-:eem:-; almost like a law of Sature that CÏ"vilised men. when thrown amongst uncivilisec1, should assimilate therm:elves to their surronnding's. and should catch Eomething, and at times-as in the case of the Spaniards in America and the \Vest Indies-a double measure of their ferocity and their barbarism. Great Britain is no exception to the rule. Indeed, in some respects, she is exposed to even greater temptation than any other nation. Onr empire is so wodd-wide; we are brought into such close contact with nati,-es of every stage and of 74 THE CO.J.YTEJIPORAR1- REVIE1V. no stage of civili ation; our colonists are () hardy and so energetic; ()ur traders o restless and so aggressiye; our explorers so fearless and 80 resourceful; as a nation, we are so self-reliant, so self-con- tained, so conscious of our own superiority; the chances of detection and of punishment, in case of wanton cruelty in the outlying portions of our Ya t dependencies-the very portions, I would remark, to which the most enterprising and the least scrupulous lUem bpI's of the com- l11unity tend to g-rayitate-are so infinitesimal, that we need to he saved from .Jur baser, and recalled to our nobler selves, by every engine at our command. ,And" hat engine can bp compared, with this end in view, with Public Opinion? .Anel how can Public Opinion ever bp brought to bear in such remote corn rs of the earth, unless we lay it down as a fundamental axiom that, throwing all such maxims of false esprit (it' {:'OJ-pS a I have enumerated above, to tlIP wind , we should denounce and punish wherever it is possible-of course. with all allowance for attendant circumstances, but with all seriousness, and all severity- any and every act of greed, of injustice, of oppression? The atro- cities committed by certain members of the Rear Column might have been all, or almost all of them, prevented, had this principle been frankly recognised. If the accounts which reach us may be relipd ()n-and some of them, I would remark, notably those of )11'. Bonny and Assad }'arran, bear evpry internal mark of truthfulness and ac- curacy-)[ajor Barttelot himself, whether criminal or madman. was, once and again, restrailied from a violent outbreak by tbe pertinent uggestion that ,. the Engli!'-h newspapers might get hold of it." ,Yhen he heard of the cannibal orgies on the Lpper Congo, he seems to have been thrilled by a spasm of emotion-not, at the horror of the deeds done, bat at the thought t bat they might " cost him his com- mission," and 1h.. Jameson, when he had seen and done his worst at Riba Riba, was certainly recalled to his better self-and it is clear that he, like )lajor Barttelot, had a better self-by the discovery that what he had seen and done was known and was condemned by the Belgian officers of the Congo. But if the temptations to which we are exposec1 are greater than those of any other nation, ,so also, happily, on the other hand, is our experience wider, and the sa{egnards which a sensitive and enlightened public opinion at home may be made to lend us, are immL'asurablygreater also. For it may be said of England, withoùt fear of contradiction, that, of all the Imperial races which have ever existed, there is not one-as the history of our Indian Empire, rightly viewed, will pro\e- which is more disinterested, more merciful, more just, more anxious to serve those whom she rules, and to rule by serving them. Panic, indeed, is always cruel; and. in times of great excitement and great danger, as in the Indian Mutiny, or the Jamaica Insurrection, it is E.YGLISHJIE.Y LY AFRICA. 73 little wonder if some who were on the spot did deeùs of which they were afterwards ashamed, and if many also, at home, clamoured for an all too sweeping and indiscriminate revenge. TIut the reaction is neyer long in coming; and it is found, when the conflict is over, . that it is not those who have iuterpreted, perhaps only too faith- fully, the passing popular pa sion; but it is the Canniuf!s, the Outrams, the Lawrences-men 'Vho, in the prolonged life and death struggle, lost neithf'r head nor heart, who haye planted their memories most c1e ply in the affections of the English people. It is a mere calumny to say, in face of our recent history, alike in Africa, in India, and in other parts of the world, that new countrif's cannot be explored, new trade routes opened ont, immemorial rivers traced to their fountain-head, barbarous tribes influenced, controlled, civilised, assimilated, by men who have a conscience which is keenly 'Sensitive to right and wrong, and who, to the robuster qualities which we usually associate with the pioneer and the discoverer, add thf' gentler and th more distinctively Christian virtues which we expect to find in the philanthropist and the missionary. l\Iungo Park discovered and explored the Xiger; Denham and Cln.pperton reached Lake Tchad ann the 'Yestern Sondan; Hajah Brooke acquired and civiliseù part of Borneo; ( ordon ruled the Egyptian Soudan, and led and moderated a great 'Varin China; Speke and Grant discovered the Yictoria :Kyanza and "settled" the Nile; Cameron crossed Africa for the first time; )f oHat spent a lifetime among the Bechuanas; Hannington faced torture and death in Uganda; missionary bishop after missionary bishop has thrown him- self in a forlorn but cheerful hope on work and no uncertain death in Kyassa land; Livingstone exhibited in his own person, through a long lifetime, the very highest qualities alike of the explorer and the missiúnary; and all of them, so far as I am aware, without haying done a single deed of violence at which any Englishman need blush. Tn the days, at all events of the earlier of thE'se explorers, there were no Telegraphs, no giant commercial compn,nies, no "spheres;' imaginary or otherwise, of European" influence" in a continent which was, almost as yet, undiscovered; there were no unlimited resource!i; of men and money placed at the disposal of the intrepid explorer. Other African expeditions have in these later days been heroically undertaken, and carried through with marvellous, I would almost say with miraculous energy, tenacity and address, amidst the plaudits, the well-deservpd plaudits, of an admiring world, and with results more striking, though hardly more important to geography and science. nut they have been at an enormously greater expense, and they have left behind in their track too many burned or ruined villages. and too many bleach- ing human bones. It was on a modest f.20ÜI) that the" Nile was settled," by Speke and Grant, and the two men left behind them in 76 THE CO..VTE.J.1fPORARY REV/E1Y. their " walk across Africa," a streak, as it were, of kindly light, and an example which future explorers, warned by the accompaniments, perhaps the inevitable accompaniments of semi-military expeditions, like )[1'. t:mlt'Y' , win do weH to foHow. ever, since, by a stroke of the pen, PO}Je _\lexander the Sixth divided the undiscovered world into two portions. and, with true Pon- tifical liberality, gave all to the west of his imaginary line to the Spaniard!--. and all to th east of it to the Portuguese, calling forth t.he shrewd remark of the .French king that .. he should like to see the will of Father _\darn before he assented to the arrangement;' and. in the process, handill over whole continents to the treachery and ferocity of men like ('ortes and Pizarro, has a large portion of the earth's surface been appropriated, and carved up with such splendid audacity, as has Africa been lately portioned out, among the jealous and scrambling nation:.; of Europe, at the instance and under the auspice's of Lord Salisbury. Perplexing queBtion may, no doubt, occur to u , as to tllt' Hight Divine of Lord Salisbury, or of anybody (' lse, so to parcel out what does not belong to them; but, rightly or wrongly, for good or for evil, the "spherf' of English influence" is. henceforward, to extend over something like an eighth of \frica; and it is the most pertinent, as it is one of the most burning of all Imperial question . in view of recent revelations, whether Africa if-' once more, as she has heen for centuries, though in a rather different pnse, to be the prey of European nations, an:xiouE only for their own enrichment. devastating her by their fire-arms, and decimating her hy their flood of ardent and poisonous spirits; ,y hether the" influence" at. work is to be that of men like Barttelot and like Tameson, or of men like G orl16n anù like Livingstone; whether Africa is to be h exploited " by grt:>at commercial companies chiefly for their own benefit, or whether she is to be helped forward-Africa for the Africans-to a natura} devt'lopmt'ut of her own, redolent alike of the people and t,he soil. R. BOSWORTH S nTH. }\IOR \. LITY BY ACT OF P ARLIA IENT. L ORD HERSCHELL'S motion in Parliament Ia:jt Se sion on the subject of Judicial Sentences in Criminal Comts raised a question of no small importance. The matter is generaUy treated, as the House of Lords treated it on the occasion referred to, a though it concerned only the criminals and the judges. But it is the public who are most deeply interested, and until this is recogni:.;ed there is little chance of a reform. A case was cited by the ex-Chancellor, where two prisoners convicted of similar crimes, and equally guilty, were sentenced, one to a long term of penal sen-itude, and the other to two months' imprisonment. Instances of thi<:ì kind are not uncommon; but it is only an ex-Chancellor who would venture to assert that such inequalities are proof of error on the part of the judges. Humb]er in- dividuals, however intimate their acquaintance with the subject, must suppose that every judicial sentence is right. This, morem-er. although they should happen to have a knowledge of the cl'i inal and the crime more thorough and detailed than even the judge can reasonably pOf'sess. But though never presuming to question the decision of the judicial bench, they cannot fail to wonder at the amazing waste of time and labour and money devoted to attain results which might be reached so easily and so cheaply. Crimes of special gravity would always need the cumbersome and costly procedure of a trial; but in all ordinary cases the accused, on admitting his guilt, might be allowed at once to draw his sentence out of a lottery bag! The actual result would not be to any startling degree different from that which now perplexes the experts. The length of a sentence not infrequently depends rather upon the character of the Court, and the idiosyncrasies of the judge before whom the case is tried, than upon the" record" of the accused and the nature of his crime. There can be no objection, therefore. on prac- 78 TIlE CO-,-VTEJIPOR...IRY RET7E11: tical grounds, to a proposal that the element of chance should be rec()O'- o nisec1 and adopted in the mode I have suggested. But behiRd the question of the inequality of sentences, there are other problems still greater and of more practical importance. 'Ye are' a long way from having settled even the principles on which criminal legislation should proceed, and it is not surprising, therefore. if no settled principles govern the administration of the law. There are certain axioms, no doubt, which have gained general acceptance, but on examination they will be found entirely faulty. One such maxim finds expression in the familial' formula, " 'Ye deal with crime, not with vice:' rrhe e words may fitly define the duties of a policð lllap:i trate, but when adopted by legislators, they are either extremelijr silly or utterly false. Tho duty of a legiRlature is to make vice criminal, in so far as public policy permits. or requires it. And the neg-Iect of this duty is responsible for many anomalies which are a disf!'race to English law. Take .one flagrant instance. A man may commit upon his daughter an outrage so monstrous that the calendar of crime contains but little that is more heinous-an outrage which is a capital felony by the common law of Scotland; but this is only .. yice." and not .. crime." Pa cUJ tr(l" if he buys or sells less than 11 lhs. weight of old lead he commits a criminal offence. An instance of a wholly different kind will exemplify how entirf'ly it is public policy, and not tIlt-' di:::òtinction betwepn vice and crimp, which regulates our criminal leg-i lation. A man may get as drunk as gin can make him, in any house in Blank Street, except Nù. 1, and this is only" vice." But if he gets drunk in Xo. 1, he is guilty of an offence, and may find himself in the lock-up forthwith. And the distinction is that Ko. 1 is a house specially provided by the State to supply him with tllt' gin to get drunk u pOll. But another great maxim of universal acceptance demanùs a fuller notice. "Y ou cannot make men moral by Act of Parliament," is an axiom which set'll1S to control both the Legislature and the Courts. On all occasions it is hailed as "making an end of controversy." 'Vhat, then. is the meaning of thi:::ò vaunted aphorism t It cannot be taken as asserting merely that statutes cannot change men's hearts. That woulù be a sententious platitude of no practical force whatever. Hearts are outside the jurisdiction of IE'gislatures and magistrates. Thl'!/ have to do only with men's 3>ctions. It must therefore be taken to mean that a man's conduct is unaffected by outward restraints. But if there Le one thing absolutely certain, it is that conduct is largely controBed by circumstances; that a man's acts are governed, and his character is moulded, by incentives to virtue, and the checks which hold him back from vice. There are numberless people now leading hone:::òt lives who wonld fall away to crime if a criminal career were made easy and safe. Children trained in the midst of vicious or criminal sur- ][ORALITr Br ACT OF PARLIAJIE-LYT. 79 roundings almost inevitably become criminal or yicious, whilst the wholesome intluences of a well-ordered home produce good citizens. X or is this true ouly of the wicked and the weak. " Lead us not into temptation ., i:-5 a prayer which the best of men may not with impunity despise; and the petition implies on the part of him who offtjrs it the acknowledgment that strong inducements to evil would be fraught with danger which he shrinks from. In a word, it is one of the most certain truths in practical ethics that men can be made moral ".by Act of Parliament," that statutory morality involves a principle which no one can aflord to neglect, and that the morality of most men is to a large extent of this character. It i::; of course an obt'iouE corollary from this that severe sentenceb. will deter men frOID entering on a criminal career, and the whole position will at once be challenged by appealing to the experience of the old dgime, when sentences were of drastic and brutal severity. But the received argument based on that appeal is wholly fallacious. In the first place, it ,vas not the hardened criminal that ordinal'ily fell a victim to the gallows. Poverty and the inability of weak natures of a certain type to resist a sudden temptation "ill always account for a number of petty crimes. Such persons are criminals in spite of their better instincts, and to thi day the penalties .imposed on them are too often of excessive 5cverity. Offenders üf this class seldom escape detection, 'while organi;:;ed anL1 ystematic crime eludes the vigilance even of a highly trained p,)]ice. Anù b9 it remembered, that in the days when the gallows claimed every felon as its due, a well-organised detective police force did not exist. The clever and e),.periencec11aw-breaker incurred no greater risk of death than is faced Ly every man who goes tiger-hunting in India, or who follows any other perilous pursuit. Ioreover, et'en in the improbable event of his heing caught, the chances of a criminal trial under the old system were so entirel.y in his favour, that no one in whom the instinct of sport wa:-5 strong-and it is only such men who make "good criminals "-was detecred by its L1angers from a career so full of aùventure and so fascinating to the social Ishmaelite. If the gallows had been reserved for criminals of this character the death sentence would probably haye remained as the punishment of those who outlawed themselves b)- deliberately following a life of crime. But the public sentiment was shocked by the fate of poor wretches who, in clays of general poverty such as this gene- ration can scarcely rf'alise, were ùrit'en to crime as tho only escape from hunger, anù the death penalty was abrogated for all alike. Transportation as a substitute \\ as a success, only because it ensured the perpetual banishment of habitual law-breakers. The present day substitute for transport tion would be equally efficacious as a deterrent if only the sentences imposed on professional criminals were adequate, 80 THE CU..YTEJIPORARY RErIElr. instead of being, as is too often the case, so utterly inadequa.te as tù become a direct enonragement to crime. Take burglary as an illustration. Thf> burglar is as really a ,: professional man ., as the doctor or the engineer. His training is a<..; special. The qualities ess('ntial to his success are as definite. There are scores of burglars who are tempted to try their hands at thf' business by the lightness of the penalties usually imposeù when noto- rious criminals are caught; but common men go to the wall in every profession. The genuine burglar must be a man of courage. and of resource and skill, and a real enthusiast at his busint'ss. A man who ,. works" only for what he can get would have a Letter chance in any other line of life. The burglar, like the angler. has a soul for sport, and the "catch" is with him a secondary consideration, albeit an important one. Suppose, then, the case of a son, or nephew, or friend, or admirer of some successful burglar. Being" an aùvanceù thinker," he is not emùarrassed by religious scruples. He has a thirst for adventure, moreover, and a soul above working for his li,-ing. Just out of his teens, he contemplates fifty years of life, and even if he has to spend fifteen or twenty of these in gaol, the gain seems well worth the cost. But, like every gambler, he expects to win and not to lose, as the most expert of his heroes have done, and his intervals of prison labour will be more than balanced by long years of idlene s and pleasure and plenty. The picture is not a fanciful one. It is thus that many are tempted to a career of crime. A life sentence, like that impo ed on the "l\Iuswell Hill burglars ,. last year, of course upsets all such reckoning. But that is regarded by the fraternity as a scandalous outrage on fair-play. They look on it as a soldier would regard the use of poisoned bullets, or the massacre of wounded men. As a matter of fact, that sentenCf\ produced a profound impression on the criminals of London, and its eflect continued until confidence 'was restored by public proofs that it might safely be regarded as an instance of judicial eccentricity. But this is a digression. The inveterate crin'inal would not be detened. from crime by the fear of the Sf'verest sentence. The life is so fascinating, and he has such a fitting sense of the degradation of having to work for his living, that the gallows would not hold him back. It is wholly t1ifferent, howm"er, with the beginner. Crime is an inevitable blot on our civilisation; it can never be eradicated. But after q. somewhat varied and not very brief experience, I am as certain as anyone can be in regard to a question of this character, that organised and syste- lllatic crime might be stamped out in a single generation. If statistics can prove anything, it is clear that crime is on the de- crease: witness the annual reports of the Prison Commissioners and the Directors of Convict Prisons. This result, no doubt, is due to the com- bination of many causes. Four principal ones may be here specified. J IORALITr BY ACT OF PARLIA111E,NT. 81 First, it may be assumed that the many agencies at work to educate and help t,he poorer classes of the population in our large cities are bearing fruit. Secondly may be cited the temperance move- ment, and the growth of public opinion against drunkenness, that fruitful source of crime. Thirdly, the high standard of prison ad- ministration now attained under the Boards presided over by Sir Edmund Du Cane, claims full and generous acknowledgment. And lastly, increasing police efficiency is so obviously a prominent factor that no one thinks it necessary to call attention to it. But the proofs afforded by the statistics of recent years that crime is steadily dimin- ishing, ought only to stimulate well-directed efforts to check it still more effectually. Unfortunately, however, the strife of political parties at present leaves but little leisure for the consideration of measures beneficial t the people. Political life in England is fast becoming a mere trade, as it has long been in America; but we are without the wise and beneficent checks which the American Constitution provides. 'Ve have no Supreme Court, like that at Washington, to control the demands of the electorate by vetoing every measure of unconstitu- tional change. The result is that such measures are likely to engross the time and attention of English politicians for years to come; and in the general screaming it will be increasingly difficult to get a hearing for questions of vital importance to the commonwealth. 'Yhat hope is there, for example, of securing attention to the pressing need of legislation on behalf of the waifs and strays of our streets, and the children of our criminals and paupers ? Yet here it is that we can reach the very roots of the tree which produces such a fruitful crop of criminals. And, surely, the conscience of the nation cannot slumber much longer over this great question. 'V e ar , nowadays, too enlightened to recognise "the right divine of kings to govern wrong," but the divine right of vicious and brutal parents to make their children brutal and vicious like themselves is still guarded with scrupulous care. Here, for example, is an instance. A vicious and drunken woman lately sold her child to an organ-grinder, "and neither knew nor cared what became of him. As long as the organ-grinder could make use of the child by getting charity through him, by making it appear to be his own, he kept it, ,nd then, when it became burden- some to him, he abandoned it in the street at Folkcstone. Then the poor child, neglected and betrayed by its mother, is found by a clergy- man and sent by him to Dr. Barnardo. Dr. Barnardo was not bound to take the child, but he does it in the fulfilment of his benevolent work to feed, nourish, teach, and clothe it, and finally to place it out in life." The quotation is from the recent judgment of the :1Iaster of the Rolls in the Gossage case. The Court of Appeal there decided that, by the law of England, this mother is now entitled to resume possession of her boy. "She was a bad woman," Lord Esher declared., VOL. LIK F 82 THE CO STEJ.-'fPORARY REVIETV. " and is now no better than she was before." But this is of no account. All the far-reaching power of the law must be used to restore to her the wretched child she has thus."neglected and betrayed." It is true that, in the particular case in question, the mother's ostensible object was to transfer the child from a Protestant to a Roman Catholic Home. But this is an accidental eìement of which the law takes no cognisance. The case merely confirmed the undoubted right of a parent, no matter how brutal, to resume possession of a child, no matter how shameful may have been the neglect and ill-treatment to which it has been exposed. I can picture some such victim of the law standing in the dock at the Old Bailey, convicted of serious crime, and I can hear him saying words like these: " Yes, I am a criminal, but at whose door is the real guilt of my crimes? I am just what th State has made me. I was innocent and happy once, and a career of usefulness was open to me, but your infamous laws stepped in and dragged me back to the want and misery and vice from which kind friends had rescued me. Those who are responsible for such laws ought now to be in the dock beside me." It is a shameful admission to have to make, that the State does nothing to help, and something to hinder, philanthropic efforts for the rescue of poor hapless waifs like Harry Gossage. It recognises no asylums for them save the workhouse and the reformatory, and the result is the production of an amount of " statutory imm01"ality" which is likely to become a great social danger. If some share of the money spent on judges and gaols were devoted to promoting in- stitutions which really rescue and reform such children, fewer judges and smaller gaols would suffice. It is only persons who are acquainted with the work accomplished by institutions of this kind "ho can realise how thoroughly practical is this suggestion, or can estimate what a large proportion of the neglected child life of the metropolis, from which the great army of crime is now recruited, might be won over for honest industry. The .Ltct of 1889 for tbø protection of children was a bold step in the right direction, and it affords an answer to any objection on doc- trinaire lines to furtber interference with parental rights. But that measure, while it goes very far indeed in some respects, avails little or nothing in cases such as I have indicated. It would be an in- sufferable check upon philanthropic effort on behalf of the young to require that no child shall be rescued unless its parent or guardian has been prosecuted to conviction for cruelty or neglect. In many of the worst cases, moreover, there is neither ill treatment nor aban- donment in the statutory sense. Take a recent case as an example. A boy of nine years of age is brought to a police-station, and charged with stealing twopence from his own father. As the law now stands, the child is locked up for the night, and solemnly brought up at a JIORALITY BY ACT OF PARLIAJIE.\rT. 83 police-court next morning, there to be either returned to the care of the scoundrel who begat him, or else packed off to an industrial school as a criminal. 1Vhy should not the magistrate have power to remit tha poor little waif to the charge of some approved institution that would save · it at once from the father and from the reformatory? But the law ignores the philanthropist, and refuses to permit him to intervene. :Next to the young in years, the young in crime have the largest claims upon our compassion. Our gaols are no longer what they used to be-nnrseries and hotbeds of crime. The Prison Acts of 1865 and 1877 changed all that. But notwithstanding the great reforms of recent years, there is urgent need of further changes in the interests of the class which I may describe as apprentices to crime; not neces- sarily first offenders, but persons who have not yet been merged in the criminal classes. There is no practical distinction at present between the prison treatment of the most hardened gaol-bird, and of the poor wretch who has been betrayed into an offence in circum- -stances, possibly, which call for pity rather than for punishment. It is a popular blunder to suppose that the addition of "hard labour" implies a dreadful aggravation of the severity of prison discipline. The difference is scarcely appreciabl9 in many cases, and, in the case of female prisoners, for example, it is merely nominal. Certain prisons should be set aside in the principal centres of population, where offenders who are novices in crime should be treated mainly, if not altogether, with a view to their reformation. 'V orkshops should be provided in .connection with such prisons, to which prisoners might pass at once on their discharge, there to find employment until they can be again merged in the wage-earning classes of the community. The success of efforts in this direction by one earnest and practical philanthropist in London, with whose work I am specially acquainted, gi es proof how much more might be done for the help and reclamation of offenders than has yet been seriously attempted. I refer to the work of rr. 'Vheatley, of the St. Giles' Christian rission. The objection is often urged that putting the results of prison labour openly upon the market would be frauIlht with prejudice to the honest and industrious working classes. This objection is based on ignorance and selfishness; and the effect now given to it naturally produces the very mischief it seeks to obviate. Under the present system, prison labour must be "jobbed" secrE'tly, and the traders who contract for its products are thus able to buy more cheaply than their neighbours, and of course to undersell them in the market. The real injury to labour is not that a carpenter or a cobbler should work at his trade when a prisoner in gaol, but that the furniture or boots he makes in prison should be sold at such a price that non-criminal labour cannot compete with him. 81< THE C01VTEMPORARY REVIETV. But no amount of prison reform will alter the fact that a first imprisonment is a crisis in the life of everyone who suffers it. )[1'. Howard Yincent's Probation of First Offenders' Bill was a natural result of his experience as head of the detective police of the metro- polis. 1\0 one could hold such a position without being lmpressed by the need of legislation in that direction. Imprisonment should be the exception rather than, as it is at present, tbe rule, in the case of first offenders. But the Act of 1887 is too little used, even in cases to which it applies, and there 1J-re numberless cases which do not come within its provisions, which might with propriety and adyantage be dealt with on similar lines. Even under the existing law a Court sometimes allows a conncted prisoner to enter into his own recognisances to come up for judgment if caned upon, opportunity being given him to compensate the person aggrieved by his crime. Why should not such an arrangement be recognised by law? The award of compensation might be part of the penalty imposed, security being required to enforce the payment of it. The theoretical objections to such a, pro- posal might, perhaps, be formidable, but the practical objections to it would be slight, and the advantages resulting from it would be very great. Scarcely a day passes that our gaols do not receive victims of the present law, who might be otherwise dealt with in the interests of prosecutors and to the great benefit of the community. Young servants, for example, who are tempted to pilfer or steal by the almost criminal carelessness or neglect of their employers, are hustled off to prison, to come out in a few weeks or months with ruined characters and hopes, and then to drift helplessly to the workhouse or the streets. In such cases, if convicted persons can find solvent householders willing to give security for their good behaviour, no difficulty need arise. And others might be handed over to the care of some suitable Institution, empowerf'd by order of the Court to enforce residence and work for a specified term. This is now done in an informal way in a few exceptional instances; it might be sanctioned by legislation, and carried out on a scale as extensive as the most sanguine of philanthropists could wish. If " General" Booth proceeds with adequate resources to bring the pauperism of London within his" cab-horse charter," as he describes the duty of raising the fallen, he will attract the paupers of the world to the metropolis of the world in increasing hordes. If he wastes his energies in trying to reclaim the irreclaimable, he will find that the only cab-horse instinct they possess is the dangerous propensity t kick out at those who try to raise them. For such there is no hope, save in the Divine philanthropy of Redemption. But in the floating prison population of our towns he will find a sphere in which the philanthropy of the "cab-horse charter" will reap a rich and early .J1JORALITY BIT ACT OF PAULIAJJE,ST. 85 harvest. The only danger is lest the popularity of the scheme with which his name has now become connected should ùraw away support from those who have long laboured with devotion and success in this very field. .These are public benefactors and deserve the gratitude of the nation, and it is earnestly to be hoped that tbe interest excited hy "In Darkest England;' instead of diverting the supply of needed funds, will bring them increased support in their beneficent and holy work. Each of the topics I have thus touched upon, and others which I might introduce in this connection, would supply matter for a separate article. There are other questions also, of a wholly different kind, which mllst be dealt with in any general crusade against crime. I will only allude to two. First, the facility with which stolen goods can be disposed of in London and the chief provincial towns, is a principal incentive to offences against property. The problem this suggests is too large and too difficlùt for incidental treatment. I will dismiss it with the remark that while the pawnbrokers as a body are the best allies the police possess in detecting thieves and recovering their plunder, and without their co-operation police action would be ineffec- tual in cases too numerous to mention, on the other hand there is a dishonest minority in the trade who are no better than licensed receivers of stolen property. And, secondly, the haphazard system on which the criminal law is administered in England encourages law- breakers by affording them immunity from punishment. The duty of prosecuting, which in Scotland and in Ireland is undertaken by the State, rests in this country upon the unfortunate citizen who is aggrieved by the crime. The result is that systematic crime goes unpunished year after year because no one will come forward to put the law in motion. This is specially noticeable in frauds of a certain kind where, though the gains of the criminal are considerable, the victims are so numerous that the loss incurred by each is comparatively small. But even in regard to crimes of the most commonplace character, such, for example, as picking pockets, the thief is sometimes not more eager to escape than is the person he has robbed. Instances are not uncommon where, after a thief has been secured, police vigilance is baffled in the effort to find the" prosecutor." Sometimes, indeed, even where valuable property is recovered, the owner is content to lose it rather than incur the dreaded penalty of having to undertake a prosecution. All classes will be agreed in assigning the highest importance to preventive measures, aimed at checking the current that ever sets strongly from the direction of mere poverty and vice towards open and systematic crime. But measures of repression must by no means be neglected. At this point, however, unanimity ceases, and persons "of light snd leading" will be found who ha\ e nothing but weak- I had almost Eaid morbid-sympathy for hardened crimina.ls. One 8G THE CO...VTEJl.fPORARY RE VIE 1r. result is that certain important enactments for dealing with crime are practically inoperative. Some of the most valuable provisions of the Prevention of Crimes Act are almost a dead letter. 'Vere I to explain why this has been hitherto so largely the case in the metropolis I should be trenching on delicate ground, and it 'Would be specially invidious to criticise the adminiRtration of the law in other parts of England. I content myself, therefore, with noticing the public fact I have recorded, and pleading for a due administration of the existing law respecting police supervision and the punishment of habitual offenders. And, lastly, it is absolutely essential that sentences should be adequate. I deprecate the suggestion that I desire a return to merci- less penalties for ordinary criminals. On the contrary, I contend that the sentences too often passed on such offenders are scandalously excessive. I have already urged a radical change in the interest of " beginners," and I recall 'With pleasure my having framed the proict de loi which took shape in the Summary Jurisdiction Act, ] 87!), a measure which has done not a little to mitigate the severity of the criminal law. But all this leads me to say with the greater emphasis that the weakness now shown to hardened and inveterate criminals tends to encourage crime and to bring the administration of the criminal law into contempt. 'Vhen a man who boasts of having committed a hundred crimes escapes with a sentence which turns him loose on society again after a few months' or years' imprisonment, is not the whole proceeding an utter farce? Such a man is far more .{1eserving of the gallows than is many a wretch whom we hang for murder; and, as hanging is no longer possible, and banishment beyond the seas is obsolete, a term should be put to his career in the way the existing law provides. Or if public opinion be not yet ripe for life sentences in cases such as I have indicated, these outlaws ought at least to be placed perma- nently under police supervision; and this, not merely in the interests of the public, but in pity for the criminals themselves. The outcry in some quarters against the system is based entirely on ignorance of its incidents and its effects. It is altogether beneficial to those who really desire to live reputable and honest lives. At this moment, in London at all events, a discharged prisoner under police surveillance has a better prospect of work and wages than the poor wretch who, with no brand of crime upon him whatsoever, passes from the workhouse to the streets to seek employment. Supervision, I repeat, is a distinct and signal benefit to those who desire the help and guidance and restraint without which the " habitual criminal" returns, almost inevitably, to a course of crime. It works, in a sense, automatically. To those who give proof that they may be trusted, its restraints become almost nominal, while it is },[ORALITY BrACT OF P ARLIAJJIE.Nr. 87 a powerful engine for the Pilnishment of the hopelessly depraved. If y in the words of the American "Declaration of Independence;' liberty be one of the "inalienable rights" with which "all men have been endowed by their Creator," then a prison is an outrage upon humanity and an offence against heaven. But there is no country in the world where the policeman's" club" makes shorter work of these " inalien- able rights" than the United States. In civilised communities the righb of the individual must be held in subjection to the good of the commonwealth; and if, by persisting in a career of crime, a man gives proof that his liberty is incompatible with the public weal, he should be placed in a state of social tutelage, for his own good, as well as for the welfare of the community. Under the present system, it would often be better for the unfor- tunate victims of crime, and equally good for the public at large, if the police were allowed to compound with the criminal, and let him go free at once on the terms of his making restitution. But the victims are forgotten altogether. 'Vhen I..ady Blank loses her diamonds there is fuss enough, no doubt, though Lady Blank may deserve but little pity; for her own folly probably gave the thief his opportunity, and her husband's balance can supply the means to refill her jewel case. But what shall be said of humble homes robbed of all the owner's little household gods, cherished gifts, sometimes, from parents dead and gone or valued friends? The generous and bitter sorrow which these losses cause-and such cases are of daily occurrence-is well fitted to excite compassion. A burglary at Lady Blank's is a com- paratively rare event, and, if the burglar be caught, he is pretty certain to get penal servitude. But there are scores of habitual house-breakers in London, men who never did an honest week's work in their lives, who prey upon the homes of humble folk, causing an incalculable amount of loss and bitterness and grief to respectable and worthy citizens. These criminals, however, are the pmtegés and pets of doctrinr.ire philanthropists, who seem to haye no compassion left to bestow upon the numberless victims of their crimes. If it be certain that men can be made "moral by Act of Parlia- ment," it is no less certain that they can be made iri1/JJwral " by Act of Parliament," and that this is the natural and immediate result of bringing the law into çontempt. .And the law is always deserving of contempt when it ceases to be "a terror to evil-doers," and tends rather, as in fact it now does, to encourage the evil-doer in a career of crime. For the young and the weak and the unfortunate, I appeal for consideration and compassion now denied them. But for those who deliberately and openly declare war upon society and the State, I claim the penalties of outlawry. And I make this claim, not only in the interest of society in general, and of the immediate sufferers by their crimes; I urge it also in the name of that large class óf criminals 88 THE CO VTEJ.1IPORARY REV/Elr. who are ever gravitating towards the circle of habitual crime, and who are now drawn in by the comparative immunity which habitual crime enjoys. So far as human influence can avail, the hardened criminal is hopeless; and if influences of a higher kind seem equally powerless in Christian England, it is the fault of England, and not of Chris- tianity. In one sense, the conversion of a criminal must always be a miracle, but in many of our prisons it would be a miracle of the same kind as was the feeding of the Hebrew prophet in the days of Ahab, king of Israel. This, however, opens out questions far too large and too important for discussion here. They will force themselves to the front hereafter, when public opinion becomes educated on this subject, and refuses any longer to tolerate the misplaced leniency now extended to inveterate professional criminals. R. AXDERSON. EURIPI DES AT CA)IBRIDGE. T HE great epochs of history change for the eyes of succes::;ive generations their colouring, but not their brightness; and that life of the ancient world which centres in Athens, and which our fathers chose as the type of human culture, gleams on us from some new vista in every pathway. ",-t materialistic age, inclined to cast on classic lore something of the shadow that has fallen on its ancient ally, theology, finds, even in the very headquarters of the new learn- ing, that in some sense" the old is better," and while the student (it may be) pores less earnestly over the ancient page, a crowd of idler hurry to the representation in which our University enables us to realise through eye and ear what our fathers knew through the medium of laborious scholarship. In truth, the charm of Greek literature can no more wear out or grow stale than that of Nature itself, for it is the one absolutely original literature accessibl to us, and although this very originality, to those who are nourished on the literatures which have sprung from it, may appear as commonplace, yet in the long run it keeps its place. t;-reece remains, in some sense, the model for those who know not her tongue or her history, and the means whereby her spF'll is brought home to these latter, as their number increase, is a new evidence of her power. Euripides belongs to the autumn of Greek glory. But the age when that glory began and ended is to the history of the modern world as a mountain that soars through the seasons of half a year to a continent which can know these seasons only in slow suc- cession.' 'Ve watch the changes of Greek history as the traveller snatched up by the St. Gothard rail way from the Italian land- scape to the snowy peaks looks out on the magic-seeming transform- ation; the outlook changes with every interval of averted attention, 90 THE CONTEJIPORARY RE VIE lV. and after a short slumber one seems to wake in another world. A nation suddenly made conscioTIS of its unity by the presence of t he common foe, the glow of a rush towards a common centre, the- sudden blossoming of poetry, art, genius, into forms tbat have re- mained the types of beauty for all ages-aU this fills the half century that began with :Marathon and Salamis, and makes that age unique in the history of the world. And if we imagine that Englishmen who could remember the Armada, and had witnessed the first per- formance of Shakespeare's" Henry V.," had lived to see a deadly war between England and Scotland, leaving our exhausted island ready to be the prey of some premature Napoleon-that we, in this nineteenth f'entury after Christ, were looking back to a gleam of national life whose brightness was set off' by intervening night--we put ourselves in the right attitude to understand the half century which succeeded that glorious age, and which includes the chief activity of our poet. His works may be marked by his country's progress towards dissen- sion and decay. His first drama, which is lost, was brought out B.C. -103, about the time that Athens transferred to her own soil the :Federal treasury of Greece, thus formally, as it were, setting a keystone- to the claims which had roused Greek hatred and produced the resist- ance which shattered her power; his " Iedea "appeared in the year of the first invasion of Attica by the Peleponnesia s (n.c. 131), and the play with which we are now concerned can be dated only by an allusion in its concluding lines to the promontory of Rhium, which was the- scene of an Athenian victory (B.c. 129). He is he poet of the Peleponnesian war, but we must not remember that fact without also remem bering that he is said to bave been born on the day of Salamis. One whose life is thus measured has seen an amount of :national vicissitude impossible at any other period of the worlù's history, and reflects in his works the emotions which belong to both the rise a.nd the close of a national life. Euripides was only forty years younger than LEschylus, a poet who embodies perhaps more than any other that ever lived, if wOe except Dante, the sense of the supe.rnatural-a poet who seems to breathe the atmosphere of religious a e, and who, when he records the literal narrative history of his country's triumph over Persia, does not lose that atmosphere. Two writers separated by less than half a century would in any review of English literature appear as contemporaries. But Euripides is as remote from LEschylus as Byron is from :1\[ilton. Indeed, the late seventeenth century is much less remote in spirit from the early nineteenth than the years of onr poet's birth from those of his death. The day of Salamis takes its place beside the passage of the Red Sea. X 0 event of history testifies more clearly to a righteous government of this world; a decision that orùer shall prevail against disorder, that a handful of men,.. EURIPIDES ,AT CA..lfBRIDGE. 91 when they represent the cause of freedom, shall be victorious over myriads. It makes us feel that the Hellene, no less than the Hebrew, belongs to a chosen race. But if the trust in that dominion can be shaken by anything that happens. the spectacle of the twin powers of Greece tearing each other to pieces on the morrow of their common salvation may well shatter it to dust. 'Ye see that it did so for the contemporaries of Euripides. " The course of events," said Pericles-whom our poet survived for twenty-three sad years-" is as capricious as that of human fancy,. so that oe asc'l'ibe to fortu'lll' 'lduttercr !loes a!lainst nasonable antici- präion." - The historian who records the speech never utters a sin le- word which betrays the belief in any Divine power whatever. Yet he may have known a brother historian whose page opens to us the dim, dewy dawn of a nation's life, where unfamiliar forms fail to startle us, and the visions of the night seem to linge!'. If we- remember that Euripides might have known both the religious, imaginative, credulous Herodotus, and the cold, sceptical Thucydides, we hold a clue to all that is most characteristic of him, and to much that is common to him and the thought of our own day. The utter- ance of a writer who belonged to such a time wiJI give rise to many contradictions, and perhaps contain some. Euripides wrote the "Ion,''- we are told, to pour scorn on the gods of his country; he is also- said to embody that strain of Greek thought and feeling which was taken up into Christianity, so that an able and candid opponent of Christianity pI. Ernest Havet) claims for him a place far nearer St. Pa.ul than that of any prophet of the Old Testament. It is not by scoffing at one form of faith that we prepare the way for another, and no poet could speak, as Euripides does, of "the One, Himself unseen, who f:eeth all," t in a merely dramatic sense, But the ages of faith and of doubt were in Greece contained in the space of an individual lifetime, and a single mind, if sympathetic to various impulses, could not but mirror both. If we turn to those fragments of our poet which, as is natural to passages preserved by quotation, contain what is of most interest to the general reader, we find him almost ready to echo the scoff of Pericles, and eager to repudiate it. " Oft is m ' heart of bitter doubt tbe prey, If God, or cbance, o'er mortal lot bolds sway,"::: says some personage in a lost play, and we may find a direct answer by only a slight adaptation of two other Fragments, and an indirect answer In many: " Hear me, all ye no Sacred Power wbo know. God is. He looks from Heaven on mortal woe." -'(- Tbucyd. A.!., 1-10. t Frag., Gû. t Ibid" 1013. Ibid., S 5 and !)j9. 92 THE CO.i.VTEltlPORARY RE VIE rv. liYe cannot, of course, decide with entire certainty on the relation to the views of the writer in the case of any dramatic fragment, yet we may feel oursplves tolerably safe in saying that in both these we hear the voice of the poet himself. The" Ion" was produced at a time of national discord, and that invasion of doubt which is its shadow on the inner world. But doubt means yearning in Euripides. He longs for a reign of righteousness on earth; he hopes fo}' "some other form of life," .. where this ideal shall be realised. "'Vho kno\Vs if what we c.all dea.th be in truth life, and life in truth death?" asks another personage in a lost play, t whom we may accept as expressing hi:;; own deepest thought, and all the more because Aristophanes twice picks out; this passage for a jeer. It is a characteristic fact CODc rn- ing Euripides and one ",hich recalls his strong attraction for his contem- -POl'ary Socrates, that the name of Conscience is said to appear for the :first time on his page. He who first named that faculty which speaks of a duality at the root of our being where there should be a unity, Jllay well have been a favourite of the teacher who taught men that through doubt lies the road to knowledge, who has always helped them to keep hoW of the belief that beyond doubt and knowledge alike lies the realm of Faith. ' 'Ve gather up all that is most characteristic of our poet when WE' say that among his countrymen he is in an especial sense the singer of woman. :Man and woman, in all ages, stand opposite to each other as symbolising the great antithese::; of all thought and life. It is not only as strength opposed to weakness that we must contemplate their opposition: in the inward world that opposition is often inverted, and it is the inwanl world, the individual world, that opens on us in the page of Euripides. But the sympathy with woman will always mean sympathy with the weak; the woman, in the ancient world, stands near the slave, and we find sympathy in Euripides for both. ,. The name of slave," says in this play one who bears it,ll " may be a shadow on the truest of men," and the war in which Greek enslaved Greek must have given a new meaning to a sentiment doubtless as old as slavery itself. And it is on this side that we feel his sympathy with woman. A modern poet has put in the mouth of a heroine whom he has adopted from Euripides a lament which might be taken directly from his model. " Against the gods J !'tri\"e not-but I know The woman's destiny is to endure," says Goethe'ð Iphigenia, and the play before us vividly echoes the feeling there expressed. * "Ion," 1067. t The " Polyidu ," also in the " Phryxu ." t Ran, 107 an(1 14.;. By )1. Havet, " Le Christianisme et ùes Origines." II "Ion," 854, 855. The sentiment is almost repeated in more than one of the Fragments. EURIPIDES AT CAJIBRIDGE. 93 '\Ve may take as its motto the lines which have made the name of Euripidps familiar to those who know nothing of him but his name-lines which it is significant to remember are written by a woman: .. Our Euripiðes the human, ,nth his droppings of warm tears, And his touches on things common, Till they rose to touch the spheres." Few dramas contain more of the }Jathos suggested by those lines. In Creusa, the mothpr of Ion, we have a representation of the sufferings of woman as a symbol of the doubts and struggles of humanity. A mother before she was a wife, the victim of the yiolence of a god, her infant lost to her, and, as she supposes, devoured by wild beasts in the cavern where her maiden shame has forced her to leave him (a combination of ideas which is of itself a curious jumble of old aDcl new, possible only to such an age). Here at once stands a type of the anguish of countless generations of deceived and forsaken mothers, and also of all who, finding their hard lot the appointment of irresist- ible Power, look up to Heaven." and find no comfort there. 'Ve see her first on the threshold of the god who has wronged her-the temple of Apollo at Delphi-come with her husband to inquire for their waning hope of some infant that shall still the fierce craving in her hungry heart, and satisfy her husband's desire for an heir". Through the "droppings of warm tears" that well up from this inexhaustible spring, she first sees her son, the devout young sacristan, who finds it blessed to be a doorkeeper in the house of his god. If Euripides could have read the Book of Samuel in his own tongue, we should have seen in Creusa a Greek adaptation of the part of Hannah, the " woman of a sorrowful spirit drunken, but not," as Eli had imagined, "with wine." The dates forbid us to trace the common features of the narrative to the Septuagint, but we need no documents to trace it to a common ideal. Here, in Hannah and Creusa, are the Hebrew and the Greek mother, side by side, the one consf'crating her son to the temple service as the offering of a glad and grateful heart; the other yielding- hi to that service unconsciously and reluctantly, and when she meets him on the temple steps, not knowing that he is her son. The compariso opens out a vista which the critic of a Greek poet has no excuse for following, but we cannot pass it without a rapid glance. He who learns to appreciate the anta- gonism and sympathy in the Greek and the Hebrew has a clue to all the deepest problems of the past, and surely to many of the future also. A more superficial reflection, but one which is less superficial than it appears, forces itself on the reader of the "Ion" in the scene which introduces the mother and son. No modern writer wishing to defer their recognition would reveal their kinship so plainly to the 9-t THE CONTEJ.IPORARY REVIErr. spectator. Greek poetry knows nothing of that spirit of curiosity, to stimulate and satisfy which is a principal object of modern fiction. It is possible that the same mental development which has led on the intellectual side to the world of physical science has, in th9 world of imagination, taken this line, which demands in all that we can call a story some exercise of the faculty which discoreJ"s. The Greek, on the other hand, as little wanted to be gaessing riddles in the world of the imagination as to be solving problems in the world of the senses. It is only Euripides, the modern among the tragedians, whose dramas possess anything that Wé can call a plot, and even they have not that quality which almost belongs to the idea of a plot in modern fiction-some doubt in the mind of the reader or spectator as to the actual facts of the case before him. The story of a Greek play was meant to be like a statue seen at the end of a corridor, as in former days the Venus of 1ilo in the Louvre; the general design was to be apparent fi'om the first, details were to bA gradually added, but surpr c was never to mingle with admiration. It is a curious illustration of this difference, that in this play Hermes appears to supply, in a quite unnecessary Prologue, the explanation which a modern writer would keep for the last page. If we take the modern point of view, we shall see nothing but stupidity in the hero and heroine (as Y oltaire did in a similar situation in the " CEdipus" of Sophocles) in not recog- nising that thE"Y are mother and son. The pathos of their uncon- sciousness is as much deeper, as in truth, if we forget the world of the novelist, it is more natural. rphe unconscious approach of the mother and son, well separated by the Cambridge text into the first act, has all the distinctness of a movement in music. L'on nc connctft Jamais pwfaítcmcnt, says :Madame Swetchine, que celui qlle ['on dC'Cine. How slender may be the ex- perience which leads one human being to say, or to be ready to say, to another, " I want you"! .A few minutes' interview between the son who yearns for his mother, and the mother who yearns for her Ron, make them almost one; and the outburst of wrath which intervenes betwE"en their first mutual yearning and the satisfied embrace on which the curtain falls, presents us with that relation of fierce antagonism which is in truth but love inverted. The husband of Creusa has learnt from the Oracle that the first person who meets him on quitting the temple is his son, and he greets the young sacristan on the temple steps with a delight as perplexing as unwelcome to its object. Ion is as much repelled by the man he falsely supposes to be his father as he is attracted by the woman he does not know to be his mother, and though mingled argument and entreaty compel his consent, we see that his repugnance to a home in the palace, whÍch opens to receive him, is in no respect overcome, and that it is with a heavy heart he accepts his brilliant future. Creusa, on learning that EURIPIDES AT CAJIBRIDGE. 95 her husband, instead of receiving, as she had hoped a promise of their common parentage to a child yet to be born, has found a son of ills own, is filled with burning wrath at the contrasted fates of the lost babe, whom she believes the prey of wild beasts, and the good fortune of this interloper; she rushes to thoughts of veugeance and attempts the life of the youth lately so very near her heart. But the god watches 'over his son, and preserves him alike from death and from murder. His ritual piety saves him from tasting, at a solemn banquet, the cup from which, it being sullied by an inauspicious omen, he can make no libation to the god; and the sudden death of a tame pigeon who dips its beak into the spilt wine, reveals the plot which has threatened his life, and leads to the discovery of the Athenian princess as his murderess, and her condemnation by the Delphic judges. After this tbe whole play seems to us to go wrong. No modern hero intended to retain his hold on the sympathies of the spectators would be allowed to show any part of the fierce rage with which this votary of Apollo hunts to the altar a woman who was indeed, in intent, his murderess, but whom he knew to be maddened by temptations he had himself foreseen and described, and who was at any rate a defenceless creature at his mercy, such as in any modern fiction would have been made an object of magnanimous pardon, or of reluctant and dispassionate con- demnation; and though perhaps the ancient view is more natural in some sense, it is further from the world of poetic truth. The appearance of the Pythoness on the scene with his cradle and tokens (jf his parentage, clumsy as is the device by which their long concealment is accounted for, is the occasion of a tender protest against his fierce, revengeful spirit, full of Christian feeling and that peculiar spirit of Greek temperance which is, at times, so closely allied with it. \Ye know, indeed, nothing in classic poetry, unless perhaps in Yirgil, where the approach is so near. Still, on the whole, we feel the end both careless and commonplace. 'fhe recognition and reconciliation of the mother and son, the bundle of perplexities which seem, as it ,-,..ere, suddenly flung .at us, and the sense of impatience produced by the appearance of Athena as flea ex ,}iwchinâ on the scene are all so disappointing that (to express at once our reverence for and dissatisfaction with our poet) they affect us .gmch as the conclusion of " Hamlet." Or let us rather express our criticism through a reminiscence. Ân authoress, whom it does not seem to us unnatural to llame beside Euripides-Charlotte Brontë, to gh-e her the name she lost so short a time béfore she died-ended her last novel with an ambiguous sentence, to veil from her father, 'Who had au old man's shrinking from a tragic ending, her real meaning in finishing "Villette." "Lea,e sunny imagi- nations hope," she wrote, " let them imagine the rapture of rescue from peril, the wondrous reprieve from dread, the fruition of return." .A friend, present at one of the innumerable discussions to which 96 THE CO NTE.J.1-1PORARY REVIE1V. that sentence gave r1se thirty-seven years ago, reported the debate to her and asked for her decision. "'Vhich side did you take?" asked Charlotte Brontë before answering the question. "I thought," said her friend, "that the whole story would have been in a wrong key if it was to lead up to a happy ending." The words, which were heard with a pleasure which showed that the world's homage had not deadened a welcome for any trup appreciation, recur now as the criticism of a tragedy in which, after e\-eryelement of disaster has been given, we suddenly find that everybody is to live happy ever after. Surely there is a more harmonious issue somewhere hid away in Fableland! Creusa, we have no doubt, wa in fact successful in the attempt to poison her unknown son; the tokens of his parentage, brought on the scene to interrupt an outburst of her triumphant \engeance, first revealed to his murderess his relation to her. changed triumph to remorse, and proved a surer death- blow than that decreed by the Delphic judges. Surely the death of an innocent son, at the hand of guilty mother, would teach that lesson which lies at the heart of the play-the essential blindness of hatred -far more forcibly than the sudden transition from fierce mutual invective to that oblivious embrace which throws back a shade of un- reality on the attempt at mutual destruction so readily forgotten. \nd with this change, so we cannot but think, we should keep a stronger hold on the historic clue to the play-that parable of the mutual ignorance of kindred which was set forth for all time with such deadly significance in the Peloponnesian war. The mutual efforts of destruction of a mother and son who are each hungering for the other at heart, reveal to us the secret anguish of a divided Hellas, smitten and smiting, but feeling at every blow the severed bond. They, who had together repelled the barbarian-they, who shared a common tongue, a common faith, a common inheritance of glorious memories-were now spending all their energies in a rivalry of malig- nant effort. Yet all the while, so we may translate our poet, the hostile kinsmen were pining for a day when Judah should no more vex Ephraim, nor Ephraim Judah, and the secret desires of their noblest men are symbolised by the yearnings of a mother and the son so hungrily craving for each other, that they only need to know their kindred to rush into each other's arms. The play will bring home tbe description we have quoted from our greatest poetess, more vividly to those who know the "Ion" in the closet than to those who watched the representation at Cambridge. Beautiful and attractive as it was, it touched no spring of tears. '\Ve owe much to the }-oung actors who, as it were, illuminate for our eyes the page tbat frowned on their fathers, and we can hardly wish that they should be able to suggest the throb of yearning and tbe sigh of regret that mingle in the music of the poet they have inter- preted for us. They bring us his grace and loveliness; it would EURIPiDES AT CAMBRIDGE. !)7 be a capacity dearly bought if they were able to reproùuce his pathos. If they had done so, perhaps some suggestions of the play would have been too importunate to leave room for enjoyment. In after-years the actors of 1890 will know that "serrement du cmur " which some lines of this play almost reproduce in the hearer who has ever felt it. )Iay they then recall this tale of women's wrong- with a sympathy untainted by compunction! )Iay Creu a, the for8aken and unwedded mother, hurrying from the babe to whom she dare not give more than a parting embrace, stand for ever between the men who reproduced her story in their youth in this mimic guise and all weak womanhood. 'The desire may seem too solemn to as ociate itself with 1he grace and music of the Cambridge spectacle. but it could have been remote from no spectator who had entered into the spirit of the play, and only the sense of those aspirations which it may suggest from this point of view could make possible sympa- thetic attention to such a story set forth by such actors. Let us t.rust that it may be to some among them the warning which our poet elsewhere expresses in the awful words: oÌi h.tJ'rrptS' P.ÚIIOIl 'AÀÀ' fun 7rOÀÀWII ûllop.åTWII È7rc.Jl/vp.oS" "ElTTLII P.ÈII S1]S', fun (j' (1 (}tTOS' {Jia, "EuTLII Sf À Íiuua p.atJlåS'. * J CLId. 'Y EDG WOOrP.. '* Fmg. 145, in the GIa gow edition of 1821. It is quoted by Plutarch, who is t1::(, authority fOI' many of tbeEe }'ragments. VOL, LVm. G PUBLIC LANDED EKDO"T IENTS OF THE CHURCH. \ 1 Y object in this paper is to show that a very large proportion 1\ of the landed estates of the archbishops, bishops, and c.1pitular bodies was given to them out of national property by Anglo- axon kings and their respective \ Vitenagemóts. Certain writers boast that the Church of England never received any of her pndowments from national sources, and that no part of her present pndowments is national property. I contend that these state- ments are opposed to facts which appear in Anglo-Saxon charters. l'bese instruments conveyed large portions of folcland, or national :n'opc rt.'l, to the abm"e corporations. And the charters changed the t )lcland into bocland. To get a correct knowledge of this very im- portant subject, I shall subsequently give a brief sketch of the nature uf fvlcland. anù its transference into [)(Icla lid, or charter land. Kone of these charter-grants seem to have been given to parishes. I3ut the parochial incumbents and curates receive over .E800,OOO per .a.nnum from the Commo!l Fund of the Ecclesiastical Commissioners in augmentation of incomes, &c. Xow the (iommon Fund is annually re- plenished from the revenues of the episcopal and capitular properties, 1\ part of which was granteù out of national property, and which since J ä-tO bave been vested in the COlUmissioners by various Acts of Parliament, fur the special purpose of making provision for parochial spiritual destitution. The Common Fund is made up of five-sevenths of capitular and two-sevenths of episcopal endowments-a fact which indicates that the capitular estates have furnished very sub- stantial parochial endowments. The episcopal estates have furnished le s than one-half of what the capitular estates have done, partly owing to the high incames granted by Parliament in 1836 to the E.YDU1f/JJE VTS OF THE CHFRCH. 99 archbishops and bishops, and partly owing to the comparatively sma l episcopal revenues of ten of the Sees, the result of Reformation plunder and episcopal mismanagement and misappropriation of trnst property. The chapters were free from these blemishes. At the time of the Reformation, the Church lost a large part of the national property, as well as of the private endowments. In other countries, the property taken from the Church and monasteries furnished funds to support the poor. In England it was transferred to private indi",ic1uals, and a POOl'-Law .A.ct was passed in the reign of (lueen Elizabeth placing the support of the poor on the ratepayers. If the Church property thus taken away at the Reformation had been utilisec1 for the support of the poor in England and 'Vales, an annual incomt' would have been produced quite sufficient for this purpose even up to the present time. FOLCLA D. Folcland wa the property of the commnn y, or national property, -terra jìscalÙ5. o long as it remained foleland, it could not be alien- ated in perpetuity. It was subject to many burdens from which boc- land was exempt. Its possessors, who had only a life interest in it, were bound to assist in repairing ro} al vi11s. had travellers quartererl upon them for suhsistence, extended hospitality to kings and great men in their progress through the country, furnished them with carriages and relays of horses, and extended the same assistance to their messengers and servants. For breach of these conditions the possessor of folcland was liable to forfeiture or fine. On his death the king could dispose of it to another. Freemen of all ranks and conditions held folcland, and every possessor of folcland was desirous of converting as mnch as possible of it into bocland. BOCLA D. Eoeland was free from the above burdens. It was land held bv book or charter. It had been severed from tbe foleland by an .Act ;1' the Government, and was thus cOll'\erted into an estate of perpetual inheritance by a written instrument, attested by the king and the mem bel's of his 'Vitenagemót. Any grant of folcland b:r the king without the consent of his 'Vitan was void. The fol1owing case proves this statement. Baldred, King of Kent, had gi,-en to Christ Church, Canterbury, the )Ianor of )Ialling, in Sussex: but the king having offended his nobles, thpy declined to ratify his grant, and therefore the grant did not take effect llntil King Egbert, in ft.. II. 838, restored, with the consent of his 'Vitan, the manor to the churcl1. There is hardly a Saxon charter creating bocland which is not said 100 THE CONTEMPORARY REVIE1V. to have been granted by the king with the consent and leave of his nobles and great men-" cum consilio, consensu et licentia procerum," or with some similar expression. Even when the king himself receivedJ agrant of folclam1, he had first to receive the consent of his "Titan. EthelwuH booked twenty hides of folcland to himself in his privat capacity, but he had to obtain the consent of his \Vitan. Offa did the samp. The grants of bocIand to the Church were gi\"en by thð vVitenagem6ts to thp recipients as trustees of national property with usufructuary rights. The word bocIand is mentioned but once in the Domesday Survey, and in this sense. It may be said that the lands granted to the Church by the Anglo- Saxon kings had been Ii. part of the ,. Terra Hpgis" of DomeEda -. To this I reply that a great part of the Terra. Regis was folcland, or public property of the State, and the king was only the usufructuary possessor. But he had distributed this State property with the licenst' and consent of his \Vitan. \Ve have an important definition of Ternl- R gis at p. 75 of the " Exon Domesday," viz" "The demesne lan(} of the king belo72gin[f to the J.:iJ fJdom." And we find a similar defini- tion in the" Exchequer Domesday." \Vith regard to the Anglo-Saxon charters by which the Jands wen' transferred to the Church, I am indpbted for my information to tW() valuable volumes, and a part of 3 third, published under the tith "Cartulariüm Saxonicum " (1883-18!:10), by 1\11'. \Valter De Gray Birch, of the )Ianuscript Dppartment of the British :Museum. T})I-' work is in course of progress. The first charter is dated A.D. <13ü, ana the last published is A.D. !)ï . In order to complete the collectio"!l to A.D. 1066, I collected my materials, from 972 to 10G7, from Kemble's ,. Codex Diplomaticus," in six volumes (1839-18.18). As rpgards the number of manors, hidage, and annual rentals in the Exchequer Survey, I lmve carefully collected my statistics from the two folio volumes, copies of the original survey, printed by the- king's command, A.D. 1816.- The episcopal and capitular incomes stated in the general summary arA taken from the Parliamentary Returns. I have given in detail, as specimens. the national property grantrd to the Sees and Chapter of Canterbury, York, \Vinchester, and :-:-it. Paul's, London. \Vith regard to the other SeeEl anù Chapters, 1 have given a summary of each. At the end will be found a gpnera.J summary, useful for reference. "* The countje of Xorthumberland, Cumberland, \Vestmore1and, and Durham arc not described in the survey, neither is Lancashire under its proper title. But Furne s and the northern part of the county. as well as the south of \Yestmoreland, with pal t of Cumberland, are included within the 'Vest Riding of Yorkshire. The lands betweerll the Ribble and l\Ierseyare placed in Cheshire, and part of Rutlamhhire is de5crihetl. as in the counties of Korthampton and Lincoln. Y ('ar in .xumbcr which I of Jal\l.lwa Hides. ranted.1 4j16 80 11"i bides 70 hides 1; 7 íi'-t J'i'-t ,,91 "791 , Il ; Il [) 3 8 2 1 15 (;0 I O t I :;!13 -; ì!1 :m 111 -1 ';!I I Ol 12 II:; : (15 . II lJ9 I :'o.llf,:! I :l.il I H I-t I : O f;l-t n :B I.j f:2 s"') ( :>(2:J - t :s::1 r-.:{3 3:{ , I,H I-H 119 1[)7 15!1 !16-1 !Þ (I 11101 IOO:J -1 -l ') ian'll .. hides 5 jugera 2 8 " Lands 5 Lands E..YD01VltlE.YTS OP THE CHCRCH. Pl'BUC G RAYf:-i TO C.\ TERnrRY. Fl:1cc. " Adisharn / Pageham, with I -\ 8 appenda es I (Geddin ge and' t Wdetun ) Higham Lydd Otford Sandhurst Orgarswick Ickham Linga Heyes Twickenham on right bank of Thames ) County. Kpnt JIiddle5ex Kent By whom graDfeù. K. Earl bald Caedwalla OfTa Cenulf l'utlIreent, the grant did not take effect. 102 THE CO.J.YTE.J.1IPORARIT REV/EIV. The public property here described amounted to :5 t G hides, with jugera=21 hides-total, 5G'ï-and with the village of Sandwich and otllf'r lands not measured. In Domesday the See and chapter had together 8:5(Î hides or solines in ten counties, viz., Kent 312, Suffolk 20, Sussex 180, Surrey .J,Ð, :Middlesex 1G1, IIertfordshire G, Buck- ingbamshire 73, Ox:ford hire 13, Hampshire t, and Essex :a.. ThE'" private endowments therefore amounted to 280 hides. 'Verehard, a priest, gave, A.n. 832, f)0 hides of his own private property to Christ Church, Canterbury. Henry YIlI. gave the \rchbishop all the property of the dissolved Priory of St. )[artin's, ] )over, with a gro s rental of f :;2 per annum. Pr13LIC GHA TS TO YOHK. Xumber nate. of I1idep. 1'13('(' . L"OUl\t . By whom rantl ll. Number of \\ïtll('s es. !1(13 I and,; .At .\gemundcrnc,; La cashir(' I Athebtan, Kg. of ""f'st axons ,j!1 80 Sherburn "1orks " ,. I).) Be,'crll"- '-'- 30 Bishop \\"ilton lifi Ripnn .. !I.-) 24 :--outhwel1 Xotts E(lwig or Eflwy ,II (:::;utton between) .5H 10 Blyth and thc Ed6'ar 41{ I Ri'"er Ielle , 30 Xewhold . I Yorks tft: 20 Sherburn ,. 27 lCI; 3 43 Partington ('nut 31 35 In Domesday the \rchbishop and Catheùral Church hold 11:3, hides, viz., the former, !H3, the latter, 1Ð . In Y Olkshire there were 8,2, of which 3:!3 were waste; Lincolnshire, 82; Gloucestersbire. O ; Notts, ,,9 ; Leicestershire, 32. Annual rentals, f.J58. I can trace only 333 hides in the charters as public property. Drake and other bistorians of Yorkshire state that the Korthumbrian princes bestowed considerable revenues on the church of York. :Many valuable Anglo-Saxon charters were destroyed during tbe Danish in\asions. The city of York was burnt by order of 'Villi am the Conqueror, and the lands ravaged from the Humber to the Tees; hence so many hides described in Domesday as WllS!,'. After carefully considering this matter, I am of opinion that some 1000 hides of the] 13ï came from puhlic property, and that tbe rest came from private sources, of which Prince L'lphus's donation of 3D hides of land in the city and suburbs of York became the most valuable. :;, Of t he c the c(' Lad 646, with an annual rental of J;:130í 198, tjd. The Cathcrlra] Church had :?Hi, "ith a rental of !:ti45 4. . 6cl. E YDOlrJIE_YT."'" OF THE CHURC1J. 103 PCßLIC GR.\ TS TU ST. PACL'S CATHEDRAL. - - -- -- ",umber -By whom I umber of I Title in Date. of Place. County. granted. Witnesses in I Charter. Hides the harter, I 20 Tillingham Essex Ethelbert Xone :King of :Kent 8 -Darling :Kg. Earlweard 5 Chingford ., I G Yardley Kg. .Athelstan 2 LuffncH The ("harter ,;, {Belcbam or l has no date, 10 Beauchamp \ and ::-tates with Witcham J that :King r;j e Heybritlge .\thelstan 0 Z 12 Hunwell , r I cÚlIfirmed 30 Aduh-csna a )'Iid(iicsex tbè p lW 10 Drayton hide!' to the 10 ( eosd une with) lllona,;terv I Wille::,alonc ) of t.Pauh:, 8 Barnes :-; urrey J..o 11(1 011 10 ::::andon withRho(le Herts i"ÐG 15 Xastock E"sex King Edgal' :!4 Total 154 BbHOPRIC OF LO:'\DO:X. In A.D. 704, l1eabreacl, King of Essex, granted to the bishop 30 hides of land at Twickenham, co. )liddlesex; 30 witnessed the charter. In 942, King Edmund granted the bishop lands in the island of Suthereye; 30 witnessed the charter. In Domesday the bishop possessed 1 7 hides in Essex, 16 in Herts, 0'ï in )1iddlesex; total, 270. St. Paul's had 83 hides in Essex (in charter 116), ï-t in )IiddleEex (in charter 20), 38 in Herts (in charter 10), 8 in Surrey, ;) in Beds; total, 210. The communa, 139! hides; prebendal estates, ïOt. The communa = 25,080 acres = J 157 138. 4tl. rental per annum = ltd. per acre in A.D. 1086. Fifty-six: hides of the prebendal estates came from private sources. . I have traced only 30 hides of the biEhop's property, and 1.34 hides of St. Paul's, to public sources. I am unable to find out where the island ?f Suthereye is. DCRHA.:\I. In Domesday the Bishop of Durham held, in six counties, 60 manors and 24 sokes, a1ll1 36!) hides of land, 130 of which were waste. Bnt :Xorthumberland and Durham were not included in the survey. - Guthrum, King of Korthumberland, granted to the bishop. with King Alfred's approval, all the territory between the rivers Tyne and ".,. ere, and this was subsequently extended to the Tees. The whole territory between the Tyne and Tees. granted to the bishop and Church bv Guthrum, Alfred, Ecfrid, King of Xort1mmbria, and others, was called lOt THE CO...VTElr/PORARY REV/Elf. St. Cuthbert's patrimony, and all was national property, or folcland. '1'he valuable minerals of St. Cuthbert's patrimony have been and are still the gold mines of the Ecclesiastical Commissioners, with which they replenish annually their Common Fund. The net income which thp Episcopal and capitular estates of Durham bring in to tlw Common Fund is about f iO,OOO per annum after paying the annual incomes to the Bishop and Chapter and all expenses, or about une- fourth of the net income of the Common Fund. The parochial clergy of the diocese have been immf'nsely benefited f1'Offi the Common Fund. Their incomes are not less than f300 a year each, and all have parsonage houses; anù the curates in the mining districts are partly paid out of the same fund. The endowmeuts of the See and Church were not separated until Carilepho became bishop, in lObO. The lands which he gave to the Church turneù out to be the mest "\aluable, from thf' minerals they produced. Before 1836, the great wealth of this church was squan- dered in golden canonries, each worth f3000 per annum, given away to bishops and other fa' ourites who did no duty for this money. All that is now changed for the better through the Ecclesiastical Commis- SlOners. 1'he property of the See and Church of Durham, as stated in Domesday, was but small compared with the actual amount possessed, ùecause Durham and Xorthumberland were not surveyed. In Lincoln- fih ire the See had 75 hides ; Yorkshire, 2:3G (130 were waste); Beds, 13; Essex, 40; Xorthampton, 2; and Berks, 3. Total, 369. Pt:BLIC GRA TS TO 'V I CnESTEn. Yeaf in Number I which S'umber, Dr whom of I the Land of P:ace. County. I;;'rauted. Witllp,,!!!.'!; 'Tille in Charter. was Hldc.. t.J the I A"fanlcd. 1 Charter. I f"" 100 ('hilcombe Hants Cynegils I King of W csscx 1.,_ t fi:m 4:' Alrc ford &.W ortln .. C,yne\\ ale liït 100 I>owntoll '1 Wilts fj 8 GO ( Farnham 50. and) Surrey Ccd walla j Bentley I (I f I <.- ( i 100 Taunton } I I < -1 Withiglea omerset Ethelheard Ii l : ('earn 74:. 10 Cleran or Clerc I IIants Cuthred Ij .. -t . .') I Thmhbam } ( King of the'" cst 7-tV I 1 Epl!clhyMe row}'o,e., G 74:. 1 HWltanleage l axons :!,-) 15 Alton [Priors] Hants Egbert 11 H:!G :;.) .r Calbourn in hIe 1 1 !I I of Wight J H:!,j û Droxford :n H':ð 40 ( Shalfleet in Isle) !I l of Wight J' 8;",4 :;0 I Brightwell I Derks Athulf (or I Ethelwulf) 8.14 1!J Wanborough Wilts ,. E.YDOIVJ.11EJ.VTS OF THE CHU/iCII. 10:; ".. [xcn ES rE -conl in lluT. : II Xurnbel I I Xumber r:ace. t:o::nty. Dy ",hn-n WiLne' !B landw3I' H,Of ('rail tcd. tothe TICs i I Ch1.rter. rallt d ,dn. I- e ':trter --- ( 8 Rushton o merset " í! I (Stoke t. )Iary,) Athulf 8 King of the '" ..:st l 8 t near Orchard I Devon ) :-;axons Portman ) K,.! I :!o I Hinton Ampr.er I Hant 1 I 1:{3 Taunton ) ! Somerset Alfreù :-,j-l - 10 I Bruna ) I I O R ( Rimpton, near I H- I t 1'auntJn jl \. Thcse \\ï're ( '{- changerl for In I o ( I ,íO Chisí'ldon Wilts II hides of lanrl at ..late I;U Hllrstbournc Ban ts 3 "t Cholsey, Hag- I b 0 r n e, anI} Basilsleigh, co. Berks j I 50 Hl1rsthonrne P::ior} (IOO . 5U :\Ierchamme Ed ward I None t I , I ! Stoke by Hurst- \ I ( In ('xchangc' for -- F onU.m I Wi ts Earl Or!3f 3" The Hp.anrlPriory ,J I I of St. Swithuu 20 r (Stokí', near Shal-1 granted these 60 hides of land tfl bourne I K:ng Edward in -!'!- I04 10 ' At C'rawancumbe j The Bishop 3tj ( I 10 l AtB'"ta"pCornpton J I exchange for lib- :!tI ertics which the , At Banwell King granted. t() I 1'aunton )IOllas I04 40 Bi,.hop's Waltham Hallts Edward 33 I tery I 1 Stoke Athelstan 3 f; ;) 10 ewton Wilts 2-1 ( King of the West ( axons ';-:-l 30 Enford Hants .,- .H 4 10 Chilbolton I Kane '3-1 10 Asbmansworth H' nts { 13R :!5 Titchbourne 39 15 ! Overton [Ea t I ( O,'erton J i I -lO : O Pewsev Wilts Edmund ?,/j King of EnJland !,I.) . . Heato '3'thampt'n Edwig None 15V 10 Brighton I 42 ),:;O 10 J Bi:>bops oke on ). ) Eùgar I-J I the R Hchen ) I ., 't)') . Harwell I Derks I. t.a 3 A \"ington 1'\ %1 7 f Easton on Hi ,oer) 3:! Itchen, near f I l Winchester fJI)3 2-1 Wasinp: Son':erset :.!O 9i5 13 Bleadon 1-l 9ï5 3 1IadcHngley Cambridge Eth lred 27 tli ' 5 Sutton Hants ri '80 7 Ha'"ant 4:! 191 10 Stockton Wilts 4. ' '-l 10 Fobbafuntan 7 1033 3 Hille Dorsets. Cnut ï 10-13 Portland 1044 15 I Pitminster ( Edward tbe :1-! r Confessor 1044 30 Witne\" Oxfords. 3-1 IN5 8 I Southàmpton Rants no 104ü 6 Haunington 10 Total 14:!:! 'II: Land exchanged lOG THE Co.XTEAfPORARY REVIElr. The See and Church of 'Vinchester received tJll' largest amount of vu1lic property, amounting to 1122 hides. The grants are contained in 1 t extant. charters. In Domesday the amount is 1200 hides, viz., liG4! to bishop and 535! to church. 1'wo hundred and twenty- two hiùes seem to have been lost or taken from the church before 1 U6G. In discussing the matter of public or national property, it is very im- portant to note that we have lost a large number of valuable .Anglo- Saxon charters which contained particulars of the conveyance of this property. Therefore we must regard as a minimum the fluantity of land conveyed in extant charters. 1'he rec01'ds of Winchester have been the most complete of all the dioceses in England. In Hampshire the bishop had 287! hides, church 388; "'Ilts, 110 bishop. church 1t7t; the bishop had in Cambridge, 15t; SOlllersetshire, n ; Berks, 31; Bucks, m; O ford, 1 H; Sussex, to; Herts, ,). Total yearly rental Æ:117li, for the 1200 hides in Domesday. Chilcombe was rated in Domesday for only one hiùe, whereas the estate was 100 hides, which number I adopt here. Tht' annual rental was fJ 00. The general average rental for one hide in Domesday was one pound per annum. ",y ELL . 'Vhen King Ina founded, about A.D. 704, the Collegiate Church of "\Yells, he endowed it with 50 hides in and arounù the village of 'VeIls. In 7G7 King Cenulf granted 11 hides by charter. But Edward the Confe3sor was its best benefactor. 'Vhen Earl Harold and his father Godwin were banished by the Confessor, he bestowed on the Church of ""ells, in A.D. 10G5, Harold's estates in Somersetshire, amounting to 210 hides. 1'he church thus receiv ù 271 hides of public pro- perty. In Domesday the Bisbop of 'Vells possessed 2t;2 hides in 18 manors in Somersetshire. The first Bisho1) of ",Vens was con- secrated A.D. 909, and he and his successors enjoyed the ndowments of the church. I have no hesitation in saying tbat tbe 282 hides of Domesday w\:'re public property. According to :Mr. EytOll, the Somersetshire hide=250 modern acres; therefore 282 hit1es=70,,jOn acres, which would be worth f70,000 net rental per annum at least, at the pÍ'esent time, for bishop and catheùral church. But what are the actuaJ annnal rentals? .t30,000, including tithes. Iore tlJan .t-l0,000 per annum of pulIic endowments must have actually been taken from this church in the reigns of Ed"ard YI. and Elizaheth. CARLISLE. Four of our kings after the Norman COl1fluest granted manors, Eù\"'owmns, and tithes to the priory of Carlisle, which was the cathedral EJ.VDOTrJIE1YTS UF THE CHURCH. IOi church. In 11:33, Henry I. created the bishopric of Carlisle; Henry III. gave the manor of Dalston. The church had already the manors of Carlton and Dris-caihe. Edward I. gave the tithes of extra- parochial lands within the forest of Englewood, and several churches with their tithes. At the dissolution, the priory's revenues were valued at gross .f 182, net tU8; the bishop's at gross f3iï, net f:33L But Henry YIII. incorporated a Df'an and Chapter in place of the priory, and granted them all the manors they possessed-viz., :fifteen manors in Cumberland and one in Xorthumberland, with possessions in 12G other places, and the rectories and advowsons of 2 churches. Henry YIII. also granted them all the revenues of tbe priory of 'Vetherall, they paying certain a counts. This was aU public property. CHESTER. In Domesday Survey, the church of St. 'Yerburgh has 28 bides in 21 manors. In A.D. 938 King Edgar granted by charter 17 hides in four places. Hugh Lupus, Earl of Chester, and some of his llccessors richly endowed the church with extensive estates. This was not national property. In 1341 the See and Chapter were founded and endowed out of the revenues of the dissolved monastery. I can trace only 17 hides of national property. CHICHESTER. In A.D. 683, Caedwalla, King of 1,Yessex, gave 'd7 hides of land to Bishop 'Yilfrid in various ,illages in the peninsula, to found an abbey at Splsey. King Xunna in 714 granted 11 hides, and in 725, 20; Osmund in 770 granted 15; Offa in 'ì72 granted 8; Cenulf in 801 granted 23; Athelstan in 930 granted 4; Edmund in 910 granted G; and Edwig in 95G granted GO; total, 236. About 60 hides of Caeel walla's grant have been covered by the inroads of the sea. In 1075 the See of Selsey was remDved to Chichester, and the endow- ments followed the bishopric. In Domesday the bishop and canons of Chichester possessed in Sussex 173 hides. I consider that all this land c me from public property. EL1'. 1,Yhen Queen Ethelreda founded the monastery of Ely, in A.D. 673, she endowed it with lands in the island which were her own private property and amounted to GOO hides. Two hundred years after, Burrhed, King of Iercia, having defeated the Danes, seized tbe island of Ely, and annexed it to the crown of ":Mercia. But Saxon kings could not have disposed of such property as modern English king, 108 THE CO YTElJIPORARY REr'"IE1V. bave done. The former beld the property as trustees, and were only usufructuary possessors. It is important to note this fact, because when Bishop Ethelwold, of \Vorcester, was commanded by King Edgar to rebuild the monastery, the king endowed it with 5;) hides ':lnd several villages in Ely, as public property held by the Crown, and also granted the manor of Hatfield, in Herts, of 40 hides in extent, and 50 hides in Suffolk. The bishop himself purchased, partly with the king's money, about 100 hides as additional endowment. Owing to numerous private benefactions the monastery became very -wealthy, as is known from the Domesday Survey, where 5a3 hides are recorded in 128 manors an d 70 other places in six counties, viz., Cambridge, 210; t;uffolk, IUD; HuntiDgdon 38 ; orfolk, 73}; Herts, tV; and Essex, !) 1, ; total, G3,1 . I bave traced 10 of these hides as public property. EXETER. King Athelstan granted to tbis church, in A.D. 038, 8 hides in four manors in Devonshire, and each of the four charters was witnessed by fìfte n of the 'Yitan. In A.D. };J2 he endowed St. l)eter's at Exeter with twenty-six villages. King Edward the Elder gave the Bishop ()f Crediton three manors. It is important to note the union of bishoprics with that of Exeter. In VU5 King Edward the Elder .erected two sees, (1) St. Peter's, Bodmin, for Cornwall, (2) Taunton, for Devonshire. In Hi8 the see at Bodmin was transferred to St. German's, and Taunton was removeù to Crediton. I 1010 the see of St. German's was transferreù to Crediton, and thus the two were united into one bishopric. In 1030 Bishop Leofric removed the see from Crediton to Exeter. This will give an ide how the piscopal property of Exeter increased. King Edward the Elder ndowed with manors of folcland the two sees which he created in A.D. '905. And these endowments, with others, followed the bishoprics to Exeter, so that at the time of the Domesday Survey, tbe Bishop of Exeter was possessed of 343 hides, in 52 manors, in nine counties.- The Confessor had largely endowed the bishapric. I have no besitation in saying that the 313 hides came from national property. But matter for serious consideration is contained in the facts that the average annual income of the see in 1830 was only f1508, and that ()f the church ill, 183! The episcopal estates were shipwrecked after the Reformation. The capitular estates were not touched. GLOUCESTER. Ethelred, King of the lercians, in A.D. 671 granted by his charter 300 tributarii or hides of land at Gloucester, and 300 cassati or hides * In Devomhire, 12tj hides; Cornwall, 101 ; Sussex, .9 ; Surrey, 4! ; Gloucester, 7 ; rerk hÌ1e, 9; Oxfcrd, ü; Hampsbire, 5; Norfolk, 4 ; total,343. E.l.VD01VJIE1VTS OF THE CHURCH. 109 at Pershoram to Osric, his nephew, then his viceroy of the Vviccii, for the purpose of founding and endowing a monastery at Gloucester. In Domesday, St. Peter's, Gloucester, possessed only lOOk hides in sixteen manors anù three counties, viz.) Gloucestershire 97, Hereford 3, 'Vorcester 1, total, loOt. Of these lOOk hides I can trace only 41 to- public sources: the remainder no doubt come from private donors. I cannot state what became of Ethelred's foundation grants, which certainly were very extensive, I think none of the 11 hides belonged to the original grant, which doubtless 'was all lost, that is, assuming Ethelred's charter to have been genuine. In 1311 tbe new Bishop, Dean and Chapter were partly endowe out of the revcnue" of the dissolved monastery. BmSTOL. In 1110, tbe first Lorù Berkeley founded and endowed St_ Augustine's Abbey, Bri tol. Several of his successors added to tbe- endowments, which 'Were all private property. The gross annual revenue at the dissolution was Æ767. In 13 l the bishopric anÒl chapter of Bristol were founded and partly endowcrl out of the- revenues of the dissolved monastery. Henry YIII., in his new bishoprics and chapters, haù, when necessary, supplemented their- endowments from the revenues of other dissolved monasteries through- out the country. All that was public property. These were Bristol Gloucester, Pderborough, Chester, and Ox:fOl'd. I omit 'Vestminster_ Peterborough alone was not supplemented, as the revenues of her dissolved monastery were more than sufficient to endow the new bishopric and chapter. Therefore, the present revenues derived from the estates of the above bishoprics and chapters have, to a large- extent come fl'Qm the public property of the Statp. SEE AXD CHAPTER OF OXFORD. The See was created in 151-1, and Henry VIII. endowed it out or monastic property with six manors in Oxfordshire and two in BuckF, with other lands, rents, rectories, and advowsons. The gross annud value was f38:!, net .f312. As regards the revenues of the Cathedral Church of Oxford, we must go back to 1323, ,",hen the king transferred the endowments of twenty-one suppressed monasteries, amounting then to f.2uOO per- annum, to rardinal 'V 01sey, who founded" Cardinal College" for a dean, 100 canons, 13 chaplains, professors, and 186 other persons. "\Volsey endowed it from the above and other public revenues. Tho endowment of the chapter in 131 was f..72;3 net per annum. AU the revenues of See and Chapter came fro:n puùEc property; cer- tainly not from prÜ'ate property. 110 THE CONTE lPORARl REVIE1V. The chapter property is now so much mixed up with the collegiate property, that no return of revenues had been given in 18;)2. But the rack-rented value of cE7 3 in 1;)-! was f.17, 332 in 18;) -i.c., twenty- four times its value; twenty-four is always my factor in such calculations. This agrees with the value stated in 30 & 31 Yict. c. 7G, under which Act the governing body of Christ Church set apart every year L17,OOO to be under the exclusive control of the Dean and Chapter, in order to pay the salaries of the dean, canons, chaplains, &c., except the fabric fund. This f.l ï, 000 a year is from the public or national endowments of I;) I:!. The bishop's endowment in 1312 of .f38:! then should in 1852 produce .nHG8 per annum, but the average was only .E17.33, a loss of f.7-tl3 per annum! How was this? Queen Elizabeth, through the influence of her unprincipled courtiers, stripped the see in 1;)5U of almost all its property, and so great was the poverty in which the queen left the see that Charles I. granted Bishop Bancroft and his successors .flOO per annum out of his forest at Shatover and Stow ,V ood, with licells(' to unite the vicarage of Cuddesden to the rectory. But the chapter property was not touched by the queen. HEHEFORD. In A.D. ö80 the See of Hereford was founded. The endowments were small until Ethelbert, King of the East Angles, had been cruelly murdered when on a friendly visit at King Offa's Court. l\lilifred, King of the )Iercians, erected, in 8 .\ the Cathedral Church in which Ethelbert's remains were deposited. The church was then richly endowed with landed estates by King l\Iilifred, and some of his successors, out of the public property of the )Iercian State. These endowments are recorded in Domesday as t07 hides in sixty manors and in five counties, viz., bishop !)8, church 30!). The original endowments were held in common by the bishop and church; then they were graduallj? divided, a:::. in other old bishoprics, between bishop and chapter. In Herefordshire they held :!!)3 hides, Shropshire 5G (of ,,-hich 3:3 were waste), Gloucestershire 30, 'Vorcestershire 2.) , Essex , total 107. All this was public property. LICHFIELD. The bishopric of Lichfield was created and endowed by Oswy, King of :L\Iercia, in A.D. 65G, and in 680 the bishopric ,vas divided into five dioceses. In 789 Lichfield was made an Archiepiscopal ee, but the title ceased in A.D. 802. In 107;) the See was transferred to Chester, and in 1102 it was again changed to Coventry, where there was a ESD01VJIESTS OF THE CHURCI-l. III wealthy church. During these various changes, the bishopric received from the several kings endowments of lands from State property. In Domesday the See possessed 1!J2 hiùes, in forty-one manors and twenty- fonr other places, and in six counties, viz., Staffordshire I 09 (of which twenty were waste), Derbyshire !J, Cheshire I4t, Shropshire I3!!, 'Varwickshire 12, Herts 11; total,1!J2. All this waR public property. LIXCOLN. Kynegils, King of the 'Vest Saxons, gave Dorchester, now a village about seven miles from Oxford, to Birinus, where, in 633, he fixed his t;ee, and built a church. The bishopric extended over the two large kingdoms of "\Vest f.;axony and :Mercia. In course of time eight bishoprics were formed ont of this bishopric. In 683 the bishopric ()f Dorchester was transferred to vVinchester. But the bishoprics of Leicester and Lindsey (called Sidnacester) were transferred to Dor- chester in 871 and!) La respectively, and were there united under tlH> title of the See of Dorchester. In 1085 Remigius, Bishop of Dor- chester, transferred his See to Lincoln. I have eXplained these changes, in order to show that Lincoln possessed the endowments of the bishopric:::; of Leicester and Lindsey, which were given them by the Anglo-Saxon kings \"ho created them in A.D. 680, in addition to the en<10TI'lllents which were given afler their union. Domesday tells the tale where the bishop's endowments were. Here are th.e eight counties. The bishop held for himself and Cathedral Church :>64 hides in Oxfordshire, 39! in Bucks, 744 in Leicest('rshire. Huntingdonshire 55, Cambridge 30, Beds lOt, Notting- hamshire b, N orthamptonshire 81;, Lincolnshire 187; total, 7061. in 106 manors, 3 I sokes, and 3 inland. All this was public property ()r foleland in the kingdoms of :Mercia and East Anglia, which was granted b)T various kings with the consent of their 'Vitans. L :XCHESTER. The bi:-5hopric of :l\Ianchester waR founded in 1847, and the bishop has since then received his income of .fk üO per annum out of the Common Fund of the Ecclesia.stical Commissioners. But the pro- perty of the Dean ana Chapter, amounting to gross .f30,000 per annum, net .f ì/)OO, is parochial property. In 1889, Æ19,07 L L was distributed in ((Uf/menlal-ion of inC01nf.') to 109 rectors in :.Manchester parish in which this property arises, making their net total &-10,000, or an average of f3GG net per annum each. The Dean and Chapter recein> Æ.5ïOO per annum out of the same property. It is probable that this property will realise gross cE60,000 per annum as a maximum, net 55,000. The result is that some of the :Manchester rectors have over 112 THE CO...YTEJ.1JPORARY REVIEJV. L1000 net per annum, and a very large number from !GOO to !800 a Jear net. NORWICH. }'elix, having converted the East Angles, was consecrated their first bishop in A,D. G;JO, and placed his See at Dunwich in Suffolk. Elmham r called Xorth Elmham in contradistinction to South Elmham in t;nffolk r was given to Bishop Felix by King Sigebert. In G73 the diocese was divided into two; one bishop resided at Dunwich for Sutlülk, anù the- other at Xorth Elmham for Xorfolk. In 8iO they were united, with North Elmham as the bishop's residence. In LOï;' the See wa removed to Thet ford, and in 10Ð--t to K orwich. In Domesåay the bishop possessed 178 hides, in G8 manors (;. Berewicks and .J-G other places, in the counties of Norfolk and Sutlûlk_ The reatest, benefactor to the bishopric was 'Vil1iam Galsagu [Belfagus or Beaufo], Bishop of Thetford (lU8;'-1091), who possesseCÐ immense private property. He was the Conqueror's chaplain and chancellor, with whom he was in such great favour that he gave and, confirmeù to him and his heirs above 30 manors in fee in the county of Norfolk, besides lands and rents in about 40 other towns, most 01 which he left to the ;-.\ee at his death. Half de ReIIafago, sheriff of :Xorfolk and SuffcJlk in Henry L's time, seems to have been his son. In Domesday, the actual property which belonged tu the See in 108G, and which was national property, was, in Norfulk, ;'3 hides in ] 9' manors and G Berewicks, yearly value Æ.1G;) 12s. .ld.; in Suffolk,9G. hides in j manors, yearly value .f3G 8s. The Conqueror gave Bishop Galsagus in fee [DE FErnü] in Norfolk r !)() hides, yearly rental or valet, .fIll 38. lOd.; in Suffolk, 1.t hide .. yearly rental or valet, f:2:] 10s. 6d. ; total, 110 hides, yearly rentd or ,,;,alet, .tHH 1 Gs. 'td. It was the greater part of this, his private property, which be left to the See at his death. Therefore only Gt- hides can be claimed as national property, with a yearly rental in 10ëG of .f 02. On the death of Galsagub, the See posEessed 178, hides, with a yearly rental of f396 1Gs. 8el. Out of this property,. Bishop Herbert Losinga, in 1101, endowed the new Cathedral Church with land, about 25 hides, amounting to about .f90 per annum, and ï churches. This property was increased by subsequent grants of bishops and other benefactors. PETERBOROCG II. In A.D. G61-, Wulphere, King of the 1>.Iercians, founded and endowed the monastery of 1>.Iedeshamstede, subsequently changed to Peter- borough. He endowed the abbey with lands of 42 villages and lands in 25 END01VJ.l1Ej.VTS OF THE CHCRCH. 113 Gther places. The charter is dated 664, and was witnessed by 4 kings, the brother and 2 sisters of King 'Vulphere, ;S bishops, 2 presbyters) ] abbot, 3 princes, 5 thanes, and others. His brother Ethelred, whG. succeeded him in 670) completed the endowment by granting, A.D. 680) 30 hides at Leugttricdun. The endowment then included all the Nassaburgh Hundred of orthampton which now bears the name. It was then all folcland or public property. In Domesday the abbey possessed 328! hides in 71 manors, 11 sokes, and 9 Berewicks in six counties, viz., Northamptonshire OO hides, Lincolnshire 87, Leicestershire ID, Hunts 15, Notts 5, and Beds 21. At the dissolution Henry VIII. divided the revenue into three parts. The first he reserved to himself, amounting to .E700 1)er annum; tht> second part he assigned to the new bishop, and the third to the new cathedral body. Therefore these two corporations l'eceived two-thirds of the revenues arising out of the 3 81 hide8. Their endowments have therefore come from public property. ROCHESTER. There are twenty charters granting 109 hides of public property to the Bishop and Cathedral Church of Hochester. King Ethelbert ranted land in the city of Rochester in 604) Eadbert 10 hides, igired 20, Offa 27, Egbert 1-1, Ethelbert 1, Cenulf 3, Ethelwulf 6, Alfred 10, Edmund 3, and Ethelred 13; total, lOa. In Domesday the bishop possessed only 3.) hides in 17 manors in three counties-viz., Kent 41, Suffolk 10, and Cambridge 1 à. The bishopric lost 53 hides. Here was a poor bishopric and church, and yet alllong the principal plunderers of the 53} hides was the Conqueror's .own brother, Bishop Odo, the wealthy Earl of Kent. RIPOX. 'he bishopric was founded in 1836. '1'he Bishop of Durham trans- felTed towards its endowment landed property producing fJ 800 net per annum. The Archbishop of York transferred land producing Æ,jOO net a year. The Ecclesiastical Commissioners gave .t2200 out {)f the episcopal fund. His i.ùcome of .f t300 has thus come from public property, because the episcopal properties transferred were, to a great extent, portions of folclalld originally given to the Sees, and the Commissioners' grant comes now from the episcopal and capitular properties vested in them by Parliament. 'Vith regard to the revenues of the Cathedral Church of Ripon ; at the dissolution all the lands of the monastery of Ripon fell into lay hands. In 1604 King James refounded the church, ana enùowed it with .f,2ï4 per annum out of the Crown lands or the public property of VOl.. LIK. H 1]4 THE CO.LVTE1 IPORARY REVIE1V. the State. This property produced a gross annual rental of ëE1910 for the seven years ending 1852. The revenues of the bishopric and church have therefore come from public property. S.-\LISRCRY. In A.D. 705 Sherborne was made an episcopal see which comprised the following six counties, viz., Dorset, Berks, \Vilts, Somerset, Devon, and Cornwall. In 004 this diocese was subdivided, and only included afterwards the first three counties. A few years after, the See of \Viltshire was formed, with its seat at Ramesbury. In 1060 \Vilton was united to Sherborne, and in 1076 Bishop Herman trans- lated the united Sees to old Sarulli. It is absolutely necessary to give this brief sketch in order to understand the direction and source of the endowments which followed the Bishop of Salisbury. The bishops and monks of Sherborne received the following endowments out of foleland or the public property of the State, with the consent and approval of the respective \Vitans. King Kenewal granted 100 hides, Edgar 5, Ethelwulf 36, Athertus 8 hides a1 Tavistock and 12 at Up-Cernel, 20 at Stalbridge and 8 at CUlliton; Kenulf G, Cuth- reù 17, Kenefulf 80; Offa granted 52 hides at Poterne and 90 hides at Hamsbury, Egbert 08, Sigibert 12, Ina 5, Geroncius 5, Edred í; total, ûl1 hides given by 12 kings. These grants are found in the Cottonian Library, British :l\Iuseum; Faustin A. 2, fo!. 2J. Let us com- pare these endowments with those in Domesday. There the Bishop of Salisbury held 163 hides, and the monks of Sberborne 100 hides in 9 manors-total, 563. The difference is 48 hides between those recorded in the charters and in Domesday, and these possibly were lost between í03 and 1086. In Dorsetshire the bishop held 138! hides in 12 manors; \Vilts, 267 in 5; Berks, 25! in j; Oxford, 20 in 1; t;omersetshire, 8 in 2; Lincolnshire, 3! - in 3; total, 46:2 in 26 manors. The revenues of the monastery of Sherborne were confiscated at the dissolution. \V ORCESTER. The bishopric was founded A.D. G70, and the Cathedral Church was erected in the same year. The first endowment of this church on record was in G00, when Ethelred, King of the l\Iercians, granted 84 hides in \V orcestershire; Ethelweard, viceroy of the 'Viccii, granted 12, and Eanberht, another viceroy, 40; Ethelbald, King of South Saxons, 3; Ethelred in 73û, 20 hides; ORa, King of the Mercians, granted 304 hides in 27 places; King Cenulf, 81 in 'Y orcestershire ; King Bertwulf, 20 in 'V orcestershire; King Burgred, 30 in Glouces- tel' shire ; King Ceolwulf, 6; Athelstan, O; and Enwig, 5; total, GJ2. All this was public property granted by these kings with the consent and approval of their respective \Vitenagem6ts. E4YDOTV11-fEJ.VTS OF THE CHCRCH. 115 In Domesday the See and Cathedral Church possE'ssed 6ì6 hides, or 3it more than I have stated. But three places named in the charters have not had the area of the lands stated. The bishop had 54 hides in G manors in 'Yarwickshire, and 81: hides in 5 manors in Gloucestershire. The Cathedral Church held 180 hides in 64 manors in 'V orcestershire; 38 hides in 2 manors in Gloucestershire. There were many hides of land waste in 'V orcestershire. The 6ï7 hides were public property. 'V EST)llSSTER ABBEY. Sebert, King of the East Saxons, built a church, about A..D. GO 1, on Thorney Island, on the ruins of an old temple of Apollo. "Tidmore fixes the Îoundation between 7BO and 7-10; but ICing Sebert was buried in the church, which is a strong fact to show that he was the founder. King Sebert endowed the church with 3 hides around the monastery, and 19 hides at Stanes. Ethelred, King of the Iercians, granted G8 hides in Surrey, including 28 at Battersea; King Offa, 10 hides in fiddlesex, including 5 hides between Tyburn and St. Anùrew's Church; Alfred, 2! hides; King Edgar granted 85 in Rerts, l\iiddlesex, and Surrey; Edward the l\Iartyr, 22 in :Uiddlesex, Ethelred II., 29 ; Edward the Confessor, 32 in Berks, Rerts, and :L\Iiddlesex; he also confirmed 17 hides about the monastery, which include the 3! granted by Sebert. The total hidage which I can trace as public property is 285 hides. In Domesday the abbey possesses 365 hides in 51 manors in 15 counties, viz., Essex L!3, :Middlesex 90t, Rerts 44, Surrey 32t, Northampton 5!, Bucks 18, 'Yorcestershire 200, Staffordshire 3, Lincolnshire 12, Sussex 3, Hampshire -1, Berks 3, Gloucestershire 69, Beds Gt; total, 565; of these, SO hides werE' given from private property. WIXDSOR CHAPEL. Edward III. in 13;)1 refounded the old Royal Free Chapel in 'Yindsor Castle, in connection with the Order of the Garter, and granted to it two manors and âght advowsons. I-Ienry IV. granted nine manors, three priories, four advowsons, and parcels of lands in three counties. Edward lY. granted two manors. Toml given by these three kings, thirteen manors, twelve advowfions, three priories, and parcels of land. John, Duke of Suffolk, gave a manor or advowson, and certain yearly rentals. There is no doubt that the lands, &c., granted above by the three kings were a part of the Terra Regis, common or }Jublic property, of which they were only usufructuary possessors. This property pro- duced in 1534 a llet revenue of .f1602 per annum, and in 1852, f 17,091 a year, on beneficial leases. lIG THE CO.LVTEJIPORAR} REVIEl1: U-E ER.AL SC:\DIARY. The following table shows the landed estates which were in posses- sion of tbe Archbishops, Bishops, Cathedral, and other Churches at the time when the Domesday Survey was taken, and also the total \Talues of their annual rentals in 108G. It also shows the hidage of the public or national property hek1 l J y these respective corporations as embodied in Anglo-Saxon charters, and finally it shows the average annual rentals of all the episcopal, capitular, anù collegiate church estates in 1850 and 183 . Domesday Survey. Total Dishops. Churches. Hidage ---- Total Total of A verage A "'''rage Hidage Annual Puùlie Annual Anllu:&1 III Rentals or ?let gross Total. I Dome\>- 'n State Rrvenue Hevenue Churches. d 1 80. propert)" for the tor the 3)". gran led seven )"r8. seven yrs. I in ending enlling l\Ianors. Hidage' l )Ianors. Hidage. Charter- 1 50. 18) . CanterlJU-;:;---:- ----m-- I C2,071 lí67 .t2:J,8tiO ,E;2u,1l5 -ë15,:J:H York { i 4 o s } 113i- Included in Dp:s 1137 358 1,0:>0 1:!,859 3,611 16,li3 London (St. Paul's) 51 I 2iO 32 210 'SO 583 18" 16,513 12.500 29,01::1 Durham . { !." O o les'} 3G81 Included in Up.'s 3613 198 3()8 :!(),i8() 51-1,33i 85,123 Winehesler -15 li05 39 530 1,201 1,4ili 1,!!.2 12,215 111,4:;i 2'1,672 (Bath\ and \\ ells 18 2S Included in Bp.'!; 28J :320 2 J 5,676 4,650::: I f1 ,:i2li C:ulisle - - - - - - - 3,1:n 5.529 8,6611 'hester - - 21 28 28 Ii 17 36311 5,6ö4 {J,:iCI() Chichester {) 159 I 16 lïã u lïõ 3:i õ 4,039 ,::j{H { 128 11 :Iy . - - ,9 lither 631- 531i 80a 109 7,791 11,i60 W,.j':;i places 3-1-3 Included ill np.'s 3-t! - 16 IOU lUO Bishops. Exeter Gloucester Bristol Oxford Hereford . 4i8 9" 343 41 52 3JJ 30" DS 407 11 ( 41 11 ) - !.j, other í l place. 1 f 10())1 J 1 I, sokes f - I os 4.9 40i 192 Lichfield . 192 192 Lincoln )1anchester i9i Included ID Up '.. . -'1 } 1;' Includ"'", Dp.', { 71 1 , - to other ;j29 1)laces I 329 291 200 79i 700 79i Norwich. ( 106)1 6 bere- 1 wicl.s 16 other places li8 397 68 l'eterborough . Ripon Rochester Salis bur)" . Worcester 'Vestminster Windsor . Include(l in Up.'s Included in Hp:s ß6 5&i! 51 5ti5 199 4fj 441 519 55l .1-63 l'i7 2bã 55\ 463 13 1 55\ 4m fjï7 565 17 26 11 1,508 4,591 11, t"3 i,9'16 \ ",It/Sf li,::I5 6,:!i8 12, 1 11 21,Oi5 19,1');, It', 11j 1,753 4,540 3,108 3.167 (;,5i5 4.057 4,200 9,01 i 13,Oi" 4,200 5,6 3 9,28U 14,933 3,::;09 6,()22 9,531 4,-1-14 1,511:1 5,09" 8, i3 4,910 10,1>91; 5,3'11- 9.530 31,'10" li,rol 93H 12,IU 1l,2!18 1 ,-1,,:j 31 ')U4 li:Ü!Jl * 323 wU8te. t 130 wuste. Wells church. T olals - -I - 332.') 9,168 E9,952 7,ti53 -- --- E-1-65,233 33 waste. REMARKS OX THE G-EXERAL Sn nL\RY. In Domesday, the bishops and cathedral churches possessed D1üt; hides of laud in England, of which 76;)3, or more than four-fifths, were given by Anglo-Saxon kings out of foldand, or the l)ublic propt'rty of the community. The total rentals in 1086 were f9D52 per annum. E-LYD01VJIE1VTS OF THE CHURCH. 117 -L\bont 3IJü hides ,,-ere wasttJ which then paid no rent. 'Yhen culti- vated, their rental was about -Lj 8, making total rentals .L10,-!80. To get the, r(lc7.; rentals at the present time of a rf>ntal of cßl 0, 180 in 108ô, we multiply by 21 ô, and the amonnt is f , ô3,ôblJ net. The factor 21G is thus found. I have careflllJy calculated that the ra k rental of land in 103 t, when the Church property was valued, wa nine times the rental of l08ô; and in 183G, twenty-four times the rental of 1;):31.. I say rack rents, in contradistinction to rents on beneficial leases. The former were three times more than the latter as regards Church leases. 'Vhen the monasteries were dissolved, a large number of advowsons and rectorial tithes was handed over by }>arliament to Henry YIlI. Bishops and chapters were compelled to surrender some of their best landed estates to the Sovereign, especially to Elizabeth, in exchange for the rectorial tithes. In 80me cases there was no quid pro qllO. Still, what was given to the bi hops and chapters in exchange was national property. The gross annual rentals of all the episcopal and capitular properties for the year 1889 were .f1,-t84,OOO, llet !1,130,OOO. Of this amount, 28 archbishops and bishops received cS13 ,:WO, anù 30 cathedrals fl;)4,OOO.- Five thousand six hundred and forty beneficed clergy received in augmentation of their incomes out of these revenues f81G,OOO. Add to this the millions of capital paid since 1810 out of the revenues of the Common FUlld towards the erection of some thousands of new parsonages and the repairing of others. Fully four-fifths of all this property originally callie from national sources. nd yet we are told that the Church of England is not indebted to the State for any of her endowments! }'rom the same national property for the year 1889, archdeacons received, quâ archdeacons, f12,20.1; f:33,2DO was paid for the Estab- blishment expenses of the Commission; solicitors, who a few years ago had .f20,OOO a year, received ÆI0,684; surveyors, .fìG40 ; archi- tects, Æ:1341 ; and .f181,310 was paid for e-x:penses connected with tbe management, &c., of the estates vested in the Commissioners, including the episcopal estates placed by the bishops under their management. Lord Hartington, in a speech delivered 3t Derby on July 1 last, said : "Our ancestors had devoted a considerable share of public pro- perty to provide for the spirituai and moral instruction of the people," and also spoke of "State endowment for moral and religious instruc- tion:' The ClzlI'J"ch Times, referring to this speech, accuses his lordship of "ignorant or mendacious claptrap." This accusation is in truth and fact more applicable to those who assert the contrary. Lord Hartington 'was correct, and the Church Timcs wrong. HEXRY ,y ILLIA I CLARKE. * The cathedral and collegiate churches also received !:I4G,OOO additional from otber sonrce s , including the landed estates with which tbey are re-endowed, and which now form no part of tbe Common Yund. KOCH'S TREATl\IENT OF TUBERCULOSIS. N TO'V that the smoke of the tremendous salvo of journalistic I artillery with which the announcement of Professor Koch's dis- covery was received is clearing away, it is becoming possible, in the words of J\Iatthew Arnold, to "see things as they really are," and to form some kind of forecast as to the issue of this latest phase in the war of medical science against disease. Notwithstanding the carefully guarded terms in which Dr. Koch himself spoke of the results of his investigations, it was inevitable that exaggerated hopes should have been excited in the minds of persons untrained in the judicial weigh- ing of scientific evidence, and only too willing, for their own sake or that of others dear to them, to be convinced that an effectual remedy had at last been found for consumption. And, indeed, the enthusiasm of the medical profession itself, especially in Germany, seemed to justify this belief. Never, so far as I know, has anything like it been seen in the history of medicine; in this, as in other :fields of human activity, discoverers and inventors have generally been the victims of ridicule and neglect, when they have not been taken out and stoned. In the present instance, however, we have the extraordinary spectacle of whole colleges of learned punditi!, " so prudent held and wise And wary, that they scarce received As gospel what the Church believed," not merely accepting the Berlin professor's own words, but building fabrics upon them which the foundation by no meansjustified. This may seem strange to those who do not know that there are medical as well as theological superstitions. It is especially in the province of treat- ment that" weak-hinged fancy" is apt to manifest itself. ..c:t few days seldom pass without an infallible remedy for something or other being discovered, and the praises of the new catholicon are sung in the medical papers by all the 8uperior young men to whom a new name is the Shibboleth of scientific progress. After a time a "dying fall" KOCH'S TREATJIE.LVT OF TUBERCULOSIS. 119 becomes perceptible in the chorus; discordant notes make themselves heard, and, before long, the ex-panacea has none RO poor to do it reverence. 'Vhen Dr. Koch's discovery was welcomed with such exaggerated enthusiasm it was evident to many practitioners who, like myself, had lost their therapeutical illusions, that disenchantment would speedily follow. The pendulum has begun to swing to a corresponding length in the opposite direction, and Dr. Koch may be temporarily deposed from the pedestal which he has lately occupied. After a time, how- ever, public opinion will recover its equilibrium, and the world, in Rt. ..Augustine's famous phrase, will judge the whole question with cer- tainty. 'Vhen the details of the method have been perfected by ex- perience, and when the capabilities and limitations of the remedy and the conditions of its use are accurately known, it will no doubt take its place among the most effective instruments at our disposal for the suppression of disease. It is safe to predict, however, that even when it is accepted by the majority of civilised men as a remedy of sovereign virtue, there will still be not a few fanatics who will see in it nothing but a "leprous ùistilment" which corrupts the blood and breeds disease instead of curing it. In justice to Dr. Koch, it should be pointed out that he is in no way responsible either for the unfounded expectations to which his discovery has given rise, or for the sensational manner in which it was revealed to the world. All who know him agree in describing him as a man of the strictest intellectual honesty, who is careful to avoid rash deductions and hasty generalisations to a degree that is very rare even among scientific inquirers. Instead of rushing off to the nearest medical society, to deliver himself of every half-formed embryo of a new idea, as is the fashion nowadays, Koch would apply the Horatian precept to scientific, as well as to literary, work. In the present instance, he has dOile so almost literally, for it is more than eight years since he began to seek for a means of checking the ravages of the tubercle bacilli, and there is no doubt that he would have held his peace till his researches were completed, had he been allowed to do so. It is no secret that he was driven into premature publicity by pressure from his official superiors; b t I hear from a friend who has just returned from Berlin that he hås voweù that nothing shall induce him to say anything more till he has put the last touches to his work, be that a few weeks, or a few months, or many years hence. The irresponsible eloquence of " Our Own .Correspondent ., (who in medical matters too often rushes in where angels fear to tread) helped largely to bewilder the public mind; the consequence is that much bitter disappointment has been caused. and many ,ictims of consumption have had their sufferings needlessly aggravated by a fruitless journey in the depth of winter to one of the worst climates in the world. Kor is the medicaJ profession altogether blameless in the matter. The remedy ]20 THE CO...YTE.J.1IPORARY REVIE1V. has more than oncE' been tried in utterly unsuitable cases-whether from misguided enthusiasm or scientific curiosity, I do not presume to say-and alrE'ady some" calamitiE's of surgery," to use an euphemism of Sir James Paget's, have occurred, ancl tÌ1e lymph has killed the patient, as well as the bacillus which preyed on him. 'Vhat is stiU worse, there seems to have been an inclination to hush up these un- toward effects of the new treatment. But the discovery has not everywhere lllet with an enthusiastiC' reception-in some places not even "ith common fairness; because Koch thought it advisable to withhold for a time the dE'tails of his process 1 a few cynical pedants have endeavoured to place the remedy on the same- level as Cockle's pills or Honoway's ointment. In France, indeed, thero- appears to be a tendency in some quarters to look at the "hole question from a national, rather than a scientific point of view, and there is a disposition to treat Koch's elixir as if it were a German spy. From a consideration of these various circumstances, it is to be feared that the reaction" hich has already SE't in may possibly prevent mankind from reaping the full bE'nefit of Professor Koch's labours for a long time to come. The only way to prevent so serious a misfortune is to educate public opinion on the subject. For this purposE', I have thought it might be useful to endeavour to put the matter in its true light, by stating in plain language the nature of the problem which Dr. Koch set himself to solve. and showing how far he has succeeded. rrhis will, at any rate, give readE'rs the matE'rials for forming a correct judgment in the matter, and will help to di pE'1 thp misleading halt!> of the miraculous "ith which popular enthusiasm has surrounded the question. It is unfortunate that the nE'W treatment should generally be spoken of in this country as the "Consumption Cure," for that is just what it is not. The benE'ficial effects of the remedy have, so far at any rate,. been much Jess marked in consumption than in other forms of tuber- culous affection; and, indeed, it is difficult to concE'ive that it could tlisplay its full activity i!1 a lung riddled with abscesses, without destroying the patient as well as the disea e. Before attE'mpting to estimate thE' potency of the new remeùy, however, it is necessary tÛ' have a clear notion of the evil which it is intended to combat. For this purposE', some explanation of the origin, naturE', and effects of tubercle "ill be required, and I will enùE'a\-our to present the principal results of modern research on this subjE'ct without perplexing th reader with needless technical details. Consumption is one of a group of diseases which, differing widely- from each other in their outward and visible signs, have this one point in common, that tllE'Y are all of tuberculous origin. Tubercle is a pE'culiar formation, different from anything that is found in th(' body in a condition of health. It is in fact a nE'W growth which first becomes visible to the naked eye as a tiny nodulE', grE'Y in colour, ana KOCII'S TREATj.1JE1\ r T OF TUBERCULOSIS. 121 of a cartilaginous hardness. This slowly increases in size, but in the very act of doing so undergoes a curions degeneration into a yellow cheese-like material. In course of time the natural structure of the part attacked may be actually transformed into a large mass of this substance. The further life-history of the individual tubercle varies according to the nature of the tissue on which it has quartered itself, and other circumstances. It may solicìify into a hard, dry, sometimes even chalky, mass, or it may disintegrate, melting away into a thick, curdy fluid, and leaving a chronic abscess where there was a tumour. The last-mentioned process is the ordinary course of tubercle in the lungs. There is first the deposit, as it is often called- more strictly the first sprouting of new growth-in the lung, usually at the upper part of the organ. This increases in size till a solid accumulation of greater or less size is formed; this is the stage of consolirlat'l on. Finally, the tuberculous mass breaks down, and a ca'L"Íty is formed. The internal surface of this cavity is an active ulcer, by which the lung is still further excavated, the destruction of tissue that is going on being fairly represented by the amount of purulent material -expectorated. Any blood-vessels that happen to be in the way are laid open, as a leaden pipe is nibbled by rats; hence the blood-spitting, which is so alarming a feature of the disease. This may be called the typical course of tuberculous disease. It would be impossible within the limits of a magazine article to give anything' like a detailed description of the ravages wrought by tubercle in the different organs and tissues which it may attack. In some cases it is less actively destructive and less rapid in its course than in others, and, of course, the symptoms vary great1y, according to the part affècted. So much is this the case, that it was long before many diseases of undoubtedly tuberculous nature were recognised as having anything in common. It is only within the last few years that the inflammations of joints, so painfully familiar in children's hospitals, ha\ye been traced to their true source, and it is only the other day that lupus (which gnaws the parts it fixes on like a 'wolf) was identified as "consumption" of the integument. )Iany of the manifestations of that constitutional taint, designated by the vague term scro(ula, are now knO\vn to be really tuberculous, and, indeed, probably the best definition of scrofula that coulJ be given would be that it is a con- dition of the tissues which makes them fall an easy prey to tubercle if they are exposed to its attack. But although the pathological features of all these maladies are identical, some of them do not appear absolutely the same in their nature, lupus of the larynx being a disease which differs from throat consumption both in its appearance and in the course it runs. To Koch belongs the c edit of having solved the mystery in which the origin of tubercle was involved. In 1882 he proved that it is caused by the action of a microscopic organism, the ùacillus tuberculosis, 122 THE CONTE--.llPORARr REVIE1V. whose name is at present in all men's mouths. This tiny para- site, which measures about one ten-thousandth of an inch in length, is in shape like a little rod; it burrows in the tissues like a mole, throw- ing up its mound of "grey granulations " wherever it is at work. 'Vhen it finds food to its liking it multiplies with great rapidity. }'ortunately for the human race, however, it can only flourish in a suitable soil; in a perf ctly healthy body it finds itself in the position of Polonius at supper, "not where he eats, but where he is eaten." For among the living elements of the body there are cells called "phagocytes," which play the part of sentinels; these arrest sus- picious germs and "mak' sicker" that they shall ive no further trouble by devouring them. Koch showed conclusively, with regard to the bacillus tuberculosis, (1) that it is present in every case of tuberculous disease, and can always be found if 10olu'd for in the proper way and with sufficient perseverance; (2) that it is never found except in association with such disease; and (3) that if cultivated outside the body and grown pure, that is to say, free from admixture with other organisms, it in- variably engenders the disease in any anim3.1 (not by nature insuscep- tible of tuberculous infection) into whose blood it is, so to speak, sown. The proof that the bacillus in question is the actual exciting cause of tubercle must therefore be held to be complete, and it is now accepted as such by nearly all scientific men. The cause of the disease having been ascertained, it was natural to expect that the discovery of a remedy would follow as a matter of course. Iodern chemistry has placed at our disposal a number of substances which have undoubtedly the power of killing germs, and the only difiìculty seemed to be how to bring the bane within reach of the antidote. All manner of antiseptic agents, warranted to "smash, shatter, anù pulverise" the most ferocious microbes, were tried in vain; like Toinette, in the" Bourgeois Gentilhomme," they ought, according to all the rules of art, to have been killed, but they persisted in refusing to acknowledge themselves beaten. The reason of the failure of these attempts to discover a remedy for tuberculosis was, as Koch pointed out,. that tbe problem was attacked from the wrong end. The experiments were made from the outset on man, whereas they should first have been made on the bacillus, by seeking for some- thing that would check its growth outside the body. This is what Koch did, and, as he tells us, he found that a large number of substances, such as various ethereal oils, and compounds of cyanogen and gold, arrest the growth of tubercle bacilli. But it is not enough to be able to kill or scotch the parasite in a test-tube; the li\Ïng body is the real field of battle, and accordingly Koch followed up his success against what we may call th e abstract baci1lus by attacking it * Address on "Bacteriological Research," delivered at the International Medical Congress held at n rlin last August. KOCH'S TREATJ.1IEJ.VT OF TUBERCULOSIS. 123 in the concrete, that is, in tuberculous animals. Here, however, the substa.nces referred to seemed to ha.ve altogether lost their power. At last his perseverance was rewarded by the discovery of an agent by means of which the growth of the bacilli within the body could be prevented. So potent is tbis remedy, that, to quote Koch's own words, .., guinea-pigs which, as is well known, are extraordinarily sllsceptible to tuberculosis, if exposed to the influence of this substance, cease to react to the inoculation of tuberculous virus, and in guinea-pigs suffering from general tuberculosis even to a high degree, the morbid process can be brought completely to a standstill without the body being in any way injuriously affected.". The next step was to try the effect of this powerful substance on man; and I, for one, think it is a pity that Dr. Koch was not allowed to carry his experiments on the human subject to the same degree of completeness as those on guinea-pigs before the results were made public. vVe should then, in all probability, have had a carefully tested and perfected method of dealing with tuberculosis placed at our disposal, and much of the disappointment that is beginning to find expression on all sides would have been avoided. At present, nearly everything connected with the new treatment is more or less uncer- tain and tentative, and there is reason to fear that a good many lives will be sacrificed on the alt,ar of clinical experiment before the limits of its usefulness are definitively established. Before discussing the results of the treatment, as they have so far been observed by various medical practitioners who have tried it, it will be well to consider carefully K:och's own statements as to the effects of his remedy on human beings. He says t that while the in- jection of an average dose (1 centigramme) of the fluid under the skin of a healthy person produces no particular effect, in a patient suffering from allY form of tuberculosis it causes fever of greater or less inten- sity, with the uSlial accompaniments of such systemic disturbances. In addition to this, the remedy has a specific action on tuberculous processes of every kind, which shows itself in the form of what is practically an attack of acute inflammation of the affected parts. This effect is most marked in lupus, where the whole process is visible to the naked eye, and is also distinctly seen in diseased glands, bones, and joints, but is less obvious in the internal organs, especiaHy the lungs. In the last-mentioned cases the general reaction predominates, but " we are justified in assuming that here, too, changes take place similar to those seen in lupus cases."; The fluid is, therefore, accord- ing to Koch, in the first place H an indispensable aid to diagnosis." To put his teaching into the form of an aphorism, No reaction, no tubercle. '\Vith regard to the remedial effect of the fluid, he says that it does not destro:r the bacilli, but only the tissue in which they are embedded. In some parts the diseased tissue" becomes necrotic;' * Loc. cit. t reutsclie meá.. H oclleJlsc7U"1ff, Xovembcr H. t ibid. 121, THE CO..YTE,JJPORARY RET7E1Jt': ana is "thrown off as a dead mass"; in other parts it seems to "melt away." But it must be clearly understood that in these masses of dead tissue living bacilli may remain, and "may possibly enter the neighbouring still living tissue." This, especially when taken in conjunction with the fact that it is, as a rule, only when the disease is situated on the surface of the body that the dead mass can be "thrown off" without the ait1 of surgery, in itself constitutes a very serious limitation of the- curative power of the new remedy. The results of the treatment in Koch's own hands-or, to speak more accurately, unùer his eye-were as foHows :-In two cases of lupns of the face the spots became completely cicatrised after three or four injections: other cases improved in proportion to the duration of the treatment. 111 cases of tuberculosis of glands, bones, and joints, there was" speeòy cure in recent and slight cases, slow improvement in severe cases." 'Vith regard to pulmonary consumption, patients in the first stage were "all free from every symptom of disease, and might be pronounced cured," within a period of from four to six weeks. Other cases of greater severity" were- almost cured"; in the last stage of phthisis no real improvement took place. Dr. Koch concludes by saying that incipient phthisis can be certainly cured by his remeòy, though even here he i" careful not to guarantee that the cure will be lasting. ::\Ioreover, he does not seem inclined to trust exclusively to t he new treatment, even in the early stagf's of consumption, for he attaches considerable importance to such "adjuvants," to use a medical term, as mountain climate, fresh air, diet, nursing, &c. I have thought it right to set forth Koch's views as far as possible in his own words, for he is a man who well weighs every syllable before he utters it, and is not likely to be carried away by enthusiasm into making any statement which he is not prepared to substantiate. It will be noticed that though he speaks with a good deal of reserve as to the effect of the remedy in bad cases, and as to the permanE'nce of the result in all, he yet uses the word " cure" with regard to several conditions in which other methods of treatment have up to the present heen but indifferE'ntly succpssful. On the whole, coming from so cautious a man, his statements must bp pronounced to be highly encouraging, and it is not to be wonc1erE'd at if to the public they seemed to herald the dawn of a new era in medicine. The treatment has now been tried by many of the leading physicians and surgeons of Germany, and by sevl'ral well-known practitioners in England, France, Italy, and Spain. Koch's description of the imme- diate effects of the injections has been confirmed by everyone who has witnessed them. It is of course far too soon yet for a final judgment to be pronounced as to the curative value of the new remedy, but materials are accumulating day by day, and with respect to some elements of the question, professional opinion has already taken definite shape. There can be no sbadow of doubt that in Koch's fluid KOCH'S TREATJJE...YT OF TeBERCULOSIS. 125 we have an agent of tremendous power. Only those who have seen the effect of the injection of a minute quantity of it can have any conception of the physiological earthquake which it causes. It seems to run through the system, searching out every nook and corner for tubercle, which it drags from its hiding-place into the light of day. A young physician-assistant to Professor Ewald, of Berlin, who supposed himself to be quitt:> healthy, injected some of the fluid into his own body, out of scientific curiosity; the tell-tale reaction followed, and on examination he was found to have slight, but unmistakable, disease of one lung. The fluid has a true elective affinity for tubercle; neither on cancer nor any other disease has it any effect at alL Dr. Koch informed Sir Joseph Lister that the undiluted fluid probably contains only about a thousandth part of the really active ingredient. If, therefore, one milligramme of the fluid is injected-and this is the dose which is not unfrequently given to begin with-only one millionth of a gramme of the active principle enters tbe system. From the effects of this inconceivably minute quantity some idea may be formed of the almost" uncanny" energy which the substance would display if let loose, so to speak, in the fulness of its untamed strength. The state- ment attributed to I. Pasteur that no venom from a snake, if admin- istered in such slllall doses, could produce such effects, is no exaggera- tion. The power of the Dew remedy for evil, if raF-hly used, is, therefore, undeniable; and from what I ha\'e already seen of its effects, when given in properly regulated doses, I am disposed to tbink that its potency for good, within certain limits, is not less conclusively proved. It is premature, however, to speak of Clf J'C, even in cases of lupus, which, by universal consent, is the afHiction in which the beneficial effect of the remedy has been most clearly displayed. In lupus of the larynx, I have already seen marked benefit result from two or three injections, and in laryngeal tuberculosis (" consump- tion of the throat "), the improvement has also been pronounced, but the enemy is still within the gates. In pulmonary phthisis, again, there has been alleviation of symptoms, such as cough, expectoration, night sweat8, and so forth, Lut it is impossible to speak yet of positive cures. It is necessary to repeat that Koch's own statement as to the curahility of consumption amounts only to this, that it can be cured " in the begin- ning." This, howe\yer, is nothing more than rational medical treatment and hygiene are able in most cases to effect if the disease be not too far advanced. Indeed, unassisted X ature often does it by herself, as is often proved yearÐ afterwards by the unimpeachable evidence of the post-mortem room. In many of the reports with which the medical journals are at present inundated, it is stated that the patients express themselves as "feeling better." This I do not attach much importance to, as most patients feel bðtter \\ hen their hopes are 126 THE CO l\lTE.J.1IPORARr REVIEIV. excited by the prospect of cure, and consumptive persons are notoriously sanguine as to the results of treatment of any kind. Of thE' dangers of the treatment it is unnecessary to say much. The fatalities which have occurred have sometimes been due to the fact that patients in the last stage of consumption have, with the prover- bb.l tenacity to life of dying men, urgently requested to be injected, and in this way those who might have lived a few weeks have died in a few days. In one case reported from Innsbruck, a young woman only slightly affected with phthisis is said to have rapidly succumbed to a small dose of the fluid. In dealing with so potent a remedy, es- pe ially in the early stage of its employment, such results must be occasionally met with, and E'ven at a later period may be expectE'd as the result of idiosyncrasy. Such a remedy should always be used with the utmost circumspection, and only when the conditions offE'r a dis- tinct prospect of improvement. \Vhen the patient is in the last stage of consumption, when he is worn out by his long suffering, when there is organic mischief of the heart or kidneys, or when the tuberculous disease is in a closed cavity (like thE' skull, for instance), I agree with Professor Senator that Koch's treatment should on no account be used. To sum up: I believe that Koch's fluid is an agent of the highE'st })ossible value for the detection of tubercle, a remedy of great potency for certain of the slighter manifestations of tuLerculosis, a palliative for some of the distressing symptoms of the severer forms of the diseasE', and a deadly poison in advanced or unsuitable cases. Probably when more is known as to its mode of action it will be possible to do more good by its means, with less risk of harm, than is the case at present. .Å wider sphere of usefulness will no doubt be opened up to it when practitioners have learnt how to combine other methods of treatment with it to the best advantage. .....\. few months ago, Professor Tillmanns, of Leipzig, performed the unique surgical feat of removing a lung which had become hopE'lessly diseased. The patient recovered, not only from the operation, but from the disease, and in a few months had lost the appearance of an invalid to such don extent that Dr. Till- manns failed to recognise him when he called. This case seems to me to open up great possibilities for the combination of Koch's treatment with surgery, but speculation on this tempting subject would take us too far afield. One obvious defect in the treatment is that, whether or not it cures the disease actually present at a given time, it leaves the patient just as susceptible to tubE'rculosis as he was before. Hence there are end- less possibilities of relapse either from the bacilli which are left behind, like the eagle renewing their youth, or by fresh infection taking place from without. The patient may therefore have to spend his life in almost constant subjection to treatment. It must be remembered that in the case of Pasteur's wonderful discovery, by which he rE'nders cattle and sheep insusceptible to malignant pustule, the immunity only ](OCH'S TREATJIE1VT OF TUBERCULOSIS. 127 lasts for about a year. This period is amply sufficient for fattening animals, but would be of little use in the case of human beings: it is impossible to say what the effects on the system might be if the poison had to be administered every year. Possibilities of the utmost benefit to humanity are, however, in view, for after a time we may not only be able to cure consnmption, but to prevent it in the way vaccination protects against small-pox. Dr. Koch has succeeded in making guinea-pigs invulnerable to tubercle, and this happy result may yet be attained by him in the case of man. I L Charles Richet and J. Hericourt, who have lately been working at the subject in France, claim to have solved the problem o far as rabbits are concerned, and perhaps they also will be able to confer the same immunity on the human subject. There is a grand race going on between the French and German savants, but, com- paring records, I och is undoubtedly first favourite. I have said nothing as to the probable nature of the remedy, and, in accordance with the advice of the wise man who observed that ,. you should never prophesy unless you know," it might be well to leave the matter alone. But 'from what has been ascertained of the effect on bacilli of the chemical substances which they themselves produce, I think it likely that Koch's fluid contains one or more of those poisons. Dr. I och will no doubt reveal his secret when he is satisfied that the proper time has come for doing so; and that will no doubt be when the arrangements for producing it of uniform strength and perfectly pnre quality are completed. I cannot bring these remarks to a close without a feeling of sadness, almost of shame-that of the many important discoveries which have been made in the domain of medical science in recent years, so few are associated with the names of Englishmen. This country, which once stood in the forefront of scientific medicine, is now slowly following in the wake of both France and Germany. This is due in part to the oppof'ition which well-meaning but mistaken persons have offered to biological research in England, but still more to the apathy and indifference to anything but their own material interests which have characterised the policy of our two leading medical corporations for many years back. The College of Surgeons, which is by far the richest body of the kind in the world, does hardly anything to encourage scientific investigation, but divides the bulk of its large revenues among the members of its governing boùy anJ their satellites. A representative form of government for this institution would at once put an end to the misapplication of funds, and would ensure a considerable portion of its income being spent in promoting original research. English medical science would in this way be soon restored to the proud position it once occupied. )luHELL l\I.1CKE ZIE. THE CERTAI:NTIES OF CHRISTIANITY. ' T1ITH very much in Dr. Abbott's article on" Illusion in Religion ,.. , 1 heartily agree. Looking back from our own intellec- tual standpoint upon the religious tliought of past ages, and even upon that of our own day, we cannot doubt that with the highest truth error has frequently been associated. And since this error has often been confidently accepted as truth, we are compelled to aùmit that with knowledge of the truth has often been mixed a large element of illusion. l\Ioreover, in view of this prevalent illusion, unless we are very wise or very foolish, we shall be slow to say that all the illusion is with others, and that our own conceptions of religion are absolute trutL. Par more probable is the suggestion that into all human thought about the Unseen illusion enters. Yet, though probably universal, it is none the less dangerous. To reduce within the narrowest limits possible this element of illusion is one chief task of religious thought, and especially of scientific theology. I also agree with Dr. Abbott that, in order to eliminate illusion as far as possihle from our own conceptions of religion, each one is bound to sift with utmost care his own most cherished conviction, even when the search may" compel the eeker to reject traditions sacred to the majority of those around him, and perhaps to incur some social dis- esteem in so doing." Illusion in a matter so important as religion is excusable only when it lingers with 11S in spite of honest and reso- lute effort to dislodge it. Even with regard to themcthod of disillusion I agree with Dr. Abbott so far as he goes. Nothing can be better or more beautiful than his wise words on page 738: "'Ve must move in that direction in which, as we go forward, we gradually discern an increase of moral and spiritual sunshine for our souls, and in which-while true to ourselves, * CO TDl\IPOnAnY UEYlEW, r\'O\'ernber 1890, p. 721. THE CERT ALVT1ES OF CHRISTIA)"'7TY. ] 29 and to our sense of intellectual as well as moral truth-we can find stimulus and encouragement in righteousness, power to ontrol our pas- sions, freedom from base and servile terrors." The moral sense is the supreme arbiter of human life. That which appeals to, and elevates, our inborn sense of right cannot but be true, at least in its main out- lines; and that which is morally hurtful cannot be other than false. In this paper I shall endeavour to supplement Dr. Abbott's article by showing tha.t, inasmuch as Christianity claims to rest on historical facts, the methods of historical criticism afford us another means, in addition to the great criterion just noted, of testing the truth of reli- gious opinion. This addit.ional test is the more needful because the judgments of the moral sense are pronounced in that secret chamber in which the man dwells alone, and in which therefore personal pre- judice is apt to rule. Onr only safeguard in matters of religion, as in all others, is the coincidence of testimony of different kinds. Our faith in the Unseen can rest securely only upon objective his- torical evidence, confirmed by the approval of thé Judge enthroned within. Only such beliefs as bring with them external credentials, and are also verified by their influence on our moral life, can we accept with confidence as true. The most conspicuous objective evidence for religious opinions is their manifest effect on those who hold them. Dr. Abbott represents some one as asking, "If Buddhism or :Mohammedauism is found to convert the majority of mankind, is Christianity to be counted false?" But his reply to this question is not the most effective. What are the facts of the case? Every Ioslem and every Buddhist nation is. and for centuries has been, sinking into helple:::s and hopeless decay. The only progressive nations in the world are Christian nations. And it is hardly too much to say that of these everyone bears marks of progress. Even the non-Aryan nations which have accepted Chris- tianity-e.g., the Hungarians-have left far behind the Aryan Persians and Hindoos. This monopoly of progress, during long ages, by the Christian nations is a fact as wide as humanity, and demands explana- tion. And it sets aside at once as needless the question suggested by Dr. Abbott. As to numbE'rs, a good authority on the religions of the world makes the Hindoos and Buddhists and :Mohammedans, added to- gether, to be fewer than the Christians.- For an explanation of the immense superiority of all Christian nations to all others, we turn to the story of the rise of Christianity. It arose suddenly, in the first century, out of an obscure national reli ion. That century wiinessp.d a religious impulse unique in the history of the world, an impulse which turned back the whole course of human society from the corruption to which it was hopelessJy drifting * )Ionbr 'YiJliams on .. Bud bi5m," Preface, p. xvL VOL. LIX. I 130 THE CO.lVTE11IPORARr REr7ETV. into a new path of progress-moral, intellectual, and material. This unique impulse is attributed by all who recognise it to one unique personality. Indisputably, it is due to a Syrian artisan, who was' laid in Ilis grave bèfore He had reached His prime. To this unique personality, the position of the Christian nations to-day and the influence of Christianity upon the world written in unmistakable characters on the records of the centuries, give im- mense importance. \Ve ask, \Vho and what was Jesus of Nazareth; what did He teach, and what is the secret of the effect of His teach- ing upon the world? Fortunately, materials are at hand which enable us to give, with considèrable confidence, an answer to this question. \Ve turn at once to the Christian documents. "N e hate thirteen letters beD,ring the nalUe of Paul, the most conspicuous of the early missionaries who carried the Gospel of Christ to foreign lands. All these were accepted long before the close of the second century, in places so far apart as Egypt, Gaul, Carthage, without a shadow of doubt as written by the great Apostle. Tbey were accepted as in the main genuine, in the middle of that century, as we infer from replies Ly early Christian writers, even by opponents of the traditional teaching of the Church. And these external testimonies are confirmed by abundant internal evidence. So complete is this proof that at least four Epistles, those to the Romans, Corinthians, and Galatians, are accepted by all modern scholars, even by some who reject his teaching about Christ, as written by the Apostle Paul. Consequently, in these four Epistles, we shall see reflected the opinions about Christ of the most conspicuous and effective of the early Christian teachers. \Vith the Epistles of Paul may be com- pared other documents differing widely from them both in phraseology and modes of thought, and thus revealing an independent origin, yet of extreme antiquity. \Ve have four memoirs of Christ which were accepted by Irenæus (A.D. 180) and all subsequent Christian writers with complete confidence as written by Apostles of Christ or by their -companions, and standing apart from all similar writings as authentic, and in some sense official, accounts of the life and teaching of Christ. He speaks of the First Gospel as written by" :\Iattbew the Apostle";- of the Third, as written by "Luke, a follower and disciple of the Apostles" ;t -of the Second, as written by " Iark, an interpreter and follower of Petèr" t and of the Fourth, as by John, a disciple of the Lord." o\nd his numerous quotations leave no doubt that the Gospels as he had them were in the main identical with our present copies. He adds, " So great is the certainty about the Gospels that even heretics themselves bear testimony to them; and from them each one endea- vours to confirm his own teaching."11 IoreoverJ Irem-eus is follo,:ed by "'" Against. Heresic:;." book iii. 9. 1. t Ibid. cb. 10. t. Ibid. ch. 11. 1. !I Ibid. 7. ::: Ibid. g 6. THE CERTAllVTIES OF CHRISTIANITr. 131 the unanimous and confident testimony of all later Christian writers. This unbroken unanimity in the latter part of the second century, in accepting these four memoirs and no others, is complete proof that our Gospels were then old, tha.t they cannot have been written later than the beginning of that century. In the Fourth Gospel, the external -evidence that it was written by an intimate associate of Jesus is sup- ported by strong internal evidence. 'Ye have also a narrative of the founding of the early Christian Churches universally attributed to the .author of the Third Gospel. That it contains no mention of thE' Epistles of Paul, is complete proof that it was written before those Epistles had become famous. The First Epistle to the Corinthians is quoted expressly by Clement of Rome at the beginning of the second century. That the Epistles of Paul and the Gospels as we now have them .are practically the same as when they left the hand of their writers, is placed beyond doubt by the great number and the marvellous agree- ment of the manuscripts in various languages which have come down to us, some of them from the fourth century. It is true that thesp manuscripts, numbering many hundreds, present numberless variations, .and that some of these variations are important. But let anyone take the most corrupt manuscript he can find and compare it with a modern critical edition, or with the Revised English Version.. For the pur- pose we have in view he will detect no difference whate\rer. The eomparison ,,,ill assure him that in the extant copies he has before him substantially the very words of the Apostle and the Evangelists. On this point I may quote 'Vestcott and Hort, whose" New Testa- ment in Greek" differs frum the traditional text more than does any other critical edition. On page 361 of vol. i. they say: "If com- parative trivialities, such as changes of order, the insertion or omission of the article with proper names, and the like, are set aside, the words in our opinion still subject to doubt can hardly amount to more than a thousandth part of the whole Xew Testament." 'Vith the abundant materials available for determining the text of the New Testament, we may compare the scantiness of the materials for correcting our copies of the masterpieces of classical Greek litera- ture. Our text of the plays of Sophocles is based chiefly on 011e manuscript not so early as A.D. 1vOO, and on some nine or ten other of much later date and less value. Yet even this scanty apparatus leaves us in no doubt that we have before us the work and thought of the great dramatist. Such are the materials for our historical reEearch touching the actual teaching of the Author of the great religious impulse which changed the whole cnrrent of human life and history. 1\'" e have four lett.:'rs * This comparison is rendered eas} by a collation of fift. cur Ì\'c manuscripts puu- lished by Scrivener in his edition of the" Codex Augieu i:5. " 132 THE CONTEJIPORARY REV1E1V. written undoubtedly by the founder of the Churches of Europe, and four memoirs of Christ written not much later than the beginning of the second century. And our copies are practically identical with the original documents. To these letters and memoirs we now turn, in order to reproduce the impression made by Jesus upon His earliest followers. Every page of the Epistles of Paul reflects the writer's profound reverence for Christ. In speaking of Him there is no trace of that sense of equality which no human distinctions can altogether efface. To speak of himself as "a servant of Christ" is felt to be high honour, and makes it impossible for Paul to seek the favour of men.. He glories t in being led captive in the train of so mighty a conqueror. Xot unfrequpntly Paul speaks of Christ as "the Son of God." He says::: thåt God" spared not His own Son, but gave Him up for us all "; suggesting a father who gives up his own son to save others who are 110t his sons. \Ve read of " God sending His own Son in the likeness of the flesh of sin." This can only refer to the birth of Christ; and, if so, implies His pre-existence as Own Son of God. Similarly, pre-existence is implied in the phrases, "He emptied Him- self," II and " He became poor." In a document closely related to the Epistles of Paul, Christ is called the " Son" of God in contrast to )[oses, who is only a " faithful servant.".. In an epistlett written probably by Paul, Christ is said to be earlier than angels and the uni- verse, and we are told that by His agency these were created. .A.nd before His tribunal:::::: Paul and all other men must in tbe Great Day stand and be judged. Cbrist will raise the dead. These quotations }Jrove beyond a shadow of doubt that Paul looked upon Christ as im- measurably greater than the greatest of men, and as occupying a close relation to God shared by no other. That Paul held this belief our evidence compels us to accept as assured historical fact. In 'Order to eliminate from this conception of Christ the Pauline element, we turn now to other documents which manifestly were not written by Paul, and apparently not under his influence. The teaching attributed to Christ in the First Gospel differs widely, in spite of subtle links of inner contact, from the teaching of Paul. Instead of" j usti- fied by faith apart from works of law,"II'1 Christ is reported to say, " If thou desirest to enter into life, keep the commandments." 1 The conspicuous teaching of Paul is absent: other teaching has taken its place. In the First Gospel we have an independent witness about the teaching of Christ. "'t- Gal. i. 10. t 2 Cor. ii. 14. t Horn. viii. 32. Ibid. v. 3. II Phil. ii. 7. · 2 Cor. viii. 9. ** Heb. iii. 5. tt Co]. i. lü. The genuineness of the Epistles to the Philippians and the Colossians I have discu:,sed at some len th in my reccntly published Commentary on them. :t:t Rom. ii. 16; 2 COl.. v. 10. Phil. iii. 21. 1111 Rom. iii. 28, 30; Gal. ii. 16. . Matt. xix. 17. THE CERTAI.NTIES OF CHRISTIA1Y1Tl . 133 This new witness represents Christ as claiming expressly and fre- CHLORODYNE 2: II T!IE GRE'-T Cholera I EVERY KIND 1 RfI'Ordl a calm, retrelh- SPECIFIC FOR ,in Ile!!p W THOUT HEADACHE. C O UG H 8, I D IA RR H rt }!l:t'sLiIHä. tern when exhaulted. , S T H ]I A, CHARM, one dOle enerally lufflcient. K. J. 00 L LIS B BOW N B II A B RONC HIT IS Dr,GIBBuN Army Medical StafT CAlcuttl\ I D CHLORODYNE rap1d17 But. . t t . ,I T "'. O DO . E 'J-. LE E ...' short all attack8 of _ I 81\ eø. OJ S S COM.t;. T L.. E PILEPSY SPASMS, COLIO _C URED ME of DIA RRH 81\1 it had been CHLOROVYNE 18 " II ,!!. OLB )1'\11"1'1'. TUK.1L .Worn to _SPFI ". .. t" "Ig,.' , .-11....- - U'},' () II: to iCI ! ; III . . EETHAM'S -., --. ' GlYcerIne \: &0 ucumber I IS THE BEST REMEDY EVER DISCOVERED I It aot.8 like magic in relieving all pain and throbblDB. and Boon cures the most obstinatE corns or bunion.. .. It 18 especiaUy uaerul for reducini enlarged Great Toe Joints, which 80 spoil the lIymmetry 0 otherwise beautiful feet. Tltoulland. have ðeen Cltrt'd. '01ll/! III ..hom haD/! .ulfwedfor jift!llleur.. lOåtAout ðei7lg abù to gel f'eliif from any otAn' remedy:' ([t Is a thin pl"ster, and take. up no room In the boot,) A tria of" Box 18 earnestly soltclted, I\nd immediate rellert8 sure. Boxe. : 1,:!fJ h: : Ct I I 8 'ITJf\fNo:At Proprietors Is n;TALl'Am.E tor preserving THE SKIN und COMPLEXION from the effects or FROST and COLD WINDS. It will keep the SKIN SOFT. SMOOTH. and WHITE during the coldest \Veather. ßotfle . l ., 2i.6d. 111. BEURA)( It RoS", Chemi8t , Cht'1tpnJ.o -'11 '- A DELICIOUS BEVERAGE , PURE' CONCENTRATED .' ('" , COCOA Absolutely Pure therefore Bes fiuolia FACE SPOTS FACE SPOTS FACE SPOTS FACE SPOTS t FACE SPOTS FACE SPOTS II For acne spots on the face, and pal'ticuJal"Zy fOI" Eczen a, it is llndoltbtedly cfJicacioli s, j'l"eq uently healing El'nptions, and re1J ol'illg pi1nples in a fczo clays."-THE BABY. Price 19. ECZEM.. ECZEMA ECZEMA ECZEMA ECZEMA ECZEMA . VUlTOCK 8TREET, cr -"'1iT (U P r ONDON ' "t ' Ri- , 1f{ ", . 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