NOTES OF THE WEEK . . CURRENT CANT . . FOREIGN AFFAIRS. By S. Verdad . . MILITARY NOTES. By Romney . . EDUCATION THE GUILDS. AND . . LETTERS WAR-11. By (‘A Rifleman” . ON . A PILGRIMAGE TO TURKEY DURING WARTIME-XVI . ’ By Marmaduke Pickthall T H E VATICANAND FOURPENCE. By William Repton * T H E CHILD. By Olaf Cuaran . THEGRAND TOUR AFTER. By HaroldLister . AND A THINKING MAN. By Lionel de Fonseka . PAGE 225 228 228 229 230 232 233 234 235 236 238 . READERS A N D WRITERS. By R. H. c. . COUNTRY MANNERS. By Beatrice Hastings . . BEE-BEE. By Alice Morning . . VIEWS AND REVIEWS. By A. E. R. . . REVIEWS . PASTICHE.By Wilfrid Humphrey, Triboulet, . . Caleb Porter MR. EPSTEIN AND THE CRITICS. By T. E. Hulme A PSYCHOLOGICAL BASIS FOR EDUCATION. By Romney . * LETTERS THE EDITOR from M. J. F. McCarthy, TO R. M., S . Verdad, C . E. Hester, A. H. . PAGE 240 241 242 246 247 249 251 253 254 policy. By this time they should have become obsolete ; in the course of the next ten years theywill, we believe, prove to beobsolete. * * * And why should the ‘( Times ” pretend that the union of the political parties against Labour is a discovery? The suggestion shows a contempt that is warranted for NOTES OF THE WEEK. THE lessons to be learned from the strike of the Leeds Corporation employees accordingthe are, to Press, new as well as numerous.Theresultis a demonstration of the miscalculations of the ((forward” school; it provesthatUnionistsandLiberals will join hands in a n emergency against Labour; also the publicreveals a n unsuspected amount of resource in resistance; and, again, municipal trading has received a set-back.But if we belong tothe“forward” schoolreferred to by the (‘Times’’ no miscalculation of ours has been shown. W e have never promised success to a local strike of any kind,stillless to a strike undertaken by a union that does not contain a monopoly of its labour ; nor have we for wages under cirany advocated a strike higher cumstances. The strikes we look forward to-and then only for the same reasons that a NavyismainJained t,o keep the peace with Germany-are strikes on behalf of status, not of wages ; and, secondly, strikes of a t least whole national trades. Strikes smaller with scale these in the objects or on a lesser than are majority of casesnatural,excusableand even defensible; butthey arenot in our opiniona forwardand offensive policy, but a merely stationary and defensive thegeneral public, butnot surelyin thecase of the union of thetwocapireaders of the((Times.”The talist parties against Labour is oneof the commonplaces of theory and observation ; and nobody outside a creche needs to be taught it by Leeds or any other place. The wholecontemporarycriticism of theparty-system, indeed,is basedupon the commonknowledge thatthe collusion of the two parties, always tacit, becomes explicit in moments of danger common them to both. Again, no it matter is of surprise the that public should show resourcefulness in dealing with conditions Whatmore is surprising is produced by a strike. that the public shows resource little in preventing strikes or making strikes unnecessary. Almost any foolcanaccommodate himself,partially atanyrate, to the temporary absence of essential luxuries ; but the subjection to such circumstances no for with ideas securing themselves against it, is the real humiliation. Finally,nothinker of the“forward” school hasthe least objection to giving municipalisation a set-back or even to killing it altogether. Municipalisation as at presentpractisedis municipalcapitalismandnothing more. Four (‘undertakings” of the kind in Leeds alone have made a (‘profit” in the last ten years of nearly a million pounds in addition to paying interest and providi n g a sinking-fund. What private firm could have done better-or worse? * s * The lessons that we, on the other hand, learn from the Leeds strike are, first, that the public has grown tired o demandsforhigherwagesaloneandhas f no longer much sympathy with them or, vastly more important, much fear of them. The “Times” itself is so 226 good as to say that this is the case. The whole standpoint, says the “Times,” of the ,public towards labour ... demandshaschanged within thelastfewyears. Its attitude to-day is really much more sympathetic in one sense;butit will not yield to coercionwhatit cannot be induced to sanction voluntarily. That is precisely our point. The veryclasses of thepublicthat have beendoinglabourers’workinLeedsduringthe strike are sympathetic in respect of the men’s unspoken demand for a higherstatuswithincreasedresponsibility; but they will resist when this demand is either not formulated orispresented only as a demandfor higher wages with no offer of increased responsibility. Quite rightly too. For an increase o f wages that does notcarrywithit a share of responsibilityleaves the salariat with increased difficulties but with undiminished’ responsibility. Suppose, however, as acmmthat an paniment of thedemandforhigherwagesthemen’s unions were to offer to accept a share of responsibility, involving self-discipline an,d mutual discipline, o r were even to insist upon this with or without the former, the moral resistance of the salariat would be sapped in its they could, no moreresistthan a foundations ; and harassed firm could resist the pushfulness of an aspiring and promising young partner. We certainly derive from the Leeds strike and from €he alacrity with which professional men, full of sympathyforLabour,have sprung to resist it, the lesson that they are thus eager because they believe the men are not making the proper moral ‘(that is, responsible) demand. I t will be interestingtoobserve,indeed,thetemper of thesame men when such a moral demand is made, as it shortly will be. Which of thepioneerstwentyyearsago of municipal trading could have imagined that to-day in a city distinguished for its enterprise the bulk of itsmunicipal employees would need to strike to maintain their wages in a market of rising prices? On the other hand, the fears lately entertained that public employmentwould as also the expectation make men servile are falsified; that the municipal as distinct from the private capitalist ought to inspire a holy obedience. W e admit no rights to the many constituting the public that we deny to the few forming the capitalist class. If, as we believe, the latter are morally and therefore, in the end, economically wrong(formoralityis onlyeconomicswithlong sight) in subjecting men to wage-labour, offence the doesnotbecomelesswhencommitted by the public authority,andconsequentlyisentitledtonoprivilege fromproletariat. the Certainly in striking against public profiteering, wage-earner the has to incur a certain amount of apparently moral odium-which his false friends of the “ New Statesman ” strive to magnify rather than to reason away-but the odium is apparent and not real. When has he once declared that his object is to abolish the wage-system public profiteering will share fate the of private capitalism ; and to this end a few strikes in public services will dono harm. * * * * * * Another lesson, rather more recondite, to be gathered from the Leeds strike is that the real object of a strike maybe accomplishedevenwhen its ostensibleobject is defeated. W e do not mean that the Leeds Corporationemployees will eachreceive thetwoshillings increase in weekly pay ; though this, we are pretty certain, will be the ultimate effect of the strike on mrporation employees generally-for, however immediately successful theLeedsCorporation may appear to ‘be, the victory will be too ‘costly to inspire imitation elsewhere, and other Corporations will compromise before provoking a struggle. But we mean that the real object not andcannotbe of a strike of thesedimensionsis a beggarly question of wages ;not even when every man on strike imagines that this is the case ! It is preposterous to suppose that four or five thousand men would risk their economic lives for the bare chance of a slight economicimprovement. The economic improvement is, in fact, only the shadow of which the hope of freedom is substance. the And this freedom will undoubtedly be ‘brought nearer, both to&e individuals concerned and to Labour generally, by t,he exercise of the will to take risks for it. W e sympathise, itis true, with menwho are defeated in the ostensible object of their strike ; we realise that they must necessarily depressed be temporarily by the disappointment ; ‘but we do not pity them with any contempt, or even regret, merely because they have lost, that they have fought. On the contrary, the struggle itself was the real victory ; and, provided that it canbecontinued,isthecondition of winning the shadowyvictory as well. Insensiblythestatus of the wage-slavewill beraised by strikes,and,whetherhe knows it or not, this and not wages is his real object. W e therefore advise the Leeds and other wage-slaves striking because not to be despondent o r to cease striking so oftenresults in nothingimmediately;but to take a long view and to note, first, that results, even material results, do accrue to their class in the long run of striking from strikes, and, secondly, thattheact is itself an act of emancipation As we anticipated,the politically-minded leaders of the postal unions have proved too slim for the economic rank and file, and the suggestion of a strike has been abandoned’ for the adoption of what the uninitiated call form inpublic o f politicalaction. This is to take the interrogating lobbying and members of parliament when meet they in February,and of runningpostal candidates in threeorfourconstituencies at thenext General Election ; but in private of arranging with Mr. Samuel before parliamentmeetsthatas a condition of calling off the strike, he shall make a sufficient number of concessions to appear justify to it. That thelatterhave beenalreadyarrangedwehave now little doubt; for on the merits of the case it is obvious that the men’s demands are and just, Mr. Samuel could nothave so confidentlyrefused themunlesshe hadassuredtheleaders (and been assured by them) that a modicum, at least, of thedemands would be satisfied. The points, however, of public and union interest respectively are these. Isthe public satisfied that itisfairorhonourabletorefusejustdemands point-blankonlyafterwardstoconcede a measure of them in.returnforpartyadvantage?Arethepostal servants satisfied to have their leaders accept as a mean favour concessionsthey might easily have beenin a position to demand openly and as a right? The answer in both instances is certainly a negative; we and imagine that before long we shall hear more of it. * * * * * * A lessonthe third is powerlessness of municipal collectivism to remedy any of the grievances of Labour. The desperate telegram of Mr. Larkin to the “ Daily Herald ” of last Wednesday suggests that the English trade union leaders who stole their victory over Larkinism at the Memorial Hall are preparing to follow it up by an attack upon his strike in Dublin itself. We have at moment the of writing no confirmation of Mr. Larkin’s charges against the Railwaymen’s and the Sailors’ andFiremen’s officials ; but of bothweare ready to believe almost anything on Mr. Larkin’s apprehensionalone. The men who did nothesitatetorig and pack a jury in a court over which themselves were to presidewouldnotstick at more effective methods of accomplishingtheirpersonal objects. The principle of Trade Unionism maybedestroyed by Mr. Murphy in Dublin, thefuture politicalcapitalcity of Ireland, thestrikersmayreturntoworkontheirhandsand knees and many of them may be compelled to seek the workhouse as a shelter, but Mr. Larkin will be “ downed,” and the satisfaction to his English enemies will be accounted cheap at the price. Such hatred would be a credit to theseleaders if itweredirected 227 against the enemies of their class; but in this direction they breathe nothing but ,brotherly love. * * * excellent and general qualitative production is a national necessity. * * * At the instigation of the International Socialist Bureau the groups three of Socialists, British the Socialist Party, I.L.P., the the and Fabian Society, have undertaken to make a fresh effort towards “ unity.” Thedate of the trial is fixed well ahead, being May of 1915; and in the meantime joint meetings of propaganda are to be held to prepare the way. We do not doubt that in time the “ unity ” of these three bodies will be effected, as the “ unity ” of the Labour Partywas effected ; butsincethe “ unity ” will be equally based upon a mere fancy its value will be equally nothing. Not merely the three groups cannot agree aim of course, among themselves as to their (save, getting themselves into Parliament), but not three members of anyone group could agree among themselves as to theiraim and policy. And itisnotbecausethe differences are fundamental and irreconcilable, but of these groups have never because the members thoughtout a policy on which to differ so radically. a policy Theorder of development,however,isfrom and a programme to a party ; men crystallise about an idea. To form a party first and then to devise a policy and a programme is putting the cart before the horse. * * * A t the moment very that Mr. Bonar was Law announcing a t Caernavon that Mr. Asquith’s latest speech hadmadeconferencebetweenthetwoparties on thesubject of HomeRulemore difficult, the conference had actually begun. Being a truthful man, Mr. Law is not open to the charge of wilful lying, but he mustcertainlybecommiseratedonhisignorance. The Conference of 1910 has, in fact, beenrenewed at much the same point at which it broke off ; and not all the rubbish of Mr. Garvin will be able to conceal much longer the fact that the Home Rule question is as good as settled. W e d o notagreewithourcontributors of last week, Mr. Redmond Howard and Mr. Henry Carson, that the “ compromise ” of which they wrote is necessary toavert civil waror even toensure a peaceful opening of theIrishParliament.The “ comon the promise ” will be effected on quite other lines, lines of Federalism and the reconstitution of the House in 1910;for of Lords, as practically agreed upon nothing,eitherinIreland or in England, has occurred to demonstrate that in respect of the main issue public opinion has changed. wretched The journalists, even of the “ Times,” had to pretend that the South Lanark by-election was “ significant ” as a hint to the Government that Home Rule was unpopular, but anybody who can work a simple sum can arrive at the fact that the Unionist poll hadactuallydecreasedbyonepercent. If this result justifies a civil war supported by the official Unioniststheymust be thirsting for it. But the Conferenceis proceeding. *** Only spring educational last the fancies o Lord f o “ things f Haldane were lightly turning to thoughts of the spirit,” but at the National Liberal Club on Monday he found reality in a system of educationbluntly To elevate commerce not our was it commercial. necessary to have a revolution in industrial organisation. On the contrary, menshould be made for it, and not it for men ; and the process of manufacture could not start too early. Germany America, and those homes of culture and business, prepared their youths from an early age for their commercial “vocation,” and England place. The must follow suit if she desired to keep her German philistinism of Lord Haldane’s assumptions anddogmasisapparent,wehope,tomereEnglishmen. I t is not the fact that education can do for our proletariat what can be done by a social reorganisation alone ; it is not the fact thata predominantly commercial education is necessary or still less desirable for England Germany; it is not a s a competitorwithAmericaand the fact that for our English genius we have at this momenttoolittlecommercialor“vocational”education in our schools ; and it is not the fact that this training cannot too Lord start early. Haldane, indeed, would; not dream of applying these assumptions or the proposals based on them to the class to which he now belongs. are They only to be applied to class the destined, as he thinks, to draw water andhew wood for profiteers. It is this last assumption of his, indeed, that condemns him to mediocrity as a philosopher and to a nationalcalamity a s a statesman. For it turns on his acceptance of the view that it is moral for one set of men to use another set as means and not as each an end inthemselves. From this it naturally follows that an education that fits the latter to be a more efficient means of theformerissuperiortoaneducationthat assumes the subservience and instrumentality of man to Hence his advocacy of more comman to be immoral. mercial education for the poor by vocation. * * * Mr. McKenna is not, as he no doubt fancies,severely just, he is simply a bloodthirsty savage with a lust for disguised murder. The execution of theyouth Kelly because he was two years older than his accomplice is a crime against public conscience. I t was not the case on this occasion that “ romance ” inspired the petition for the reprieve of one with the other. There were no pyjamas and no pregnancy to appeal to the public. The petition was inspired by the commonest sense of common justice, and was not only signed but presented by the Corporation authorities of Oldham. Mr. McKenna’s treatment of theirdeputationwas a stinkingdisgrace to his office. The brute had discovered or been told that a in his anxiety to hang another wretch he had made blunder ; but he had neither the pluck to confess nor to excuse it. Our forecast some of months that ago the new American tariff would encouragequalitativeand discourage quantitative imports has been confirmed by the investigator commissioned by the “ Times ” to report on English industry. Everywhere among he went English manufacturers he heard the same story,namely, that in the superior qualities of their manufactures the tariff was likely to prove beneficial, but in the cheap an& nasty it was likely to prove in the long run fatal. “ Times,” has The grievance of America, the says never been mainly one of prices (of well-to-do America, that is), but of quality ; and under the new tariff, while at home, the imcheaparticles in bulkcanbemade portation of superior and individual articles will now be encouraged. But bears our this out contention that in theworld-market of the future England will stand the maker of articles of quality, rather than or fall of quantity ; and our further contention that a change in our industrial system to admit of and to ensure * * * as The hideous law of the land may require one murder for another, but the privilege of reprieve is placed with the Crownfornootherpurposethantoreducethe brutality of the written law by just so much as public opinion will allow. Inotherwords,theCrown’sduty is to follow the national feeling in the direction of mercy and to resist it in the direction of vengeance. But Mr. McKenna’s procedureistoreversefor his own delectation (there is no other explanation) this salutary and civilised intention ; and to hunt with thp hounds when they are out for blood and by himself when they a r e not. We ask anybody to name any publicservice Mr. McKenna discharged in executing Kelly while reprieving Kelly’s companion. The selection of eighteen for a hanging limit is arbitrary and of an arbitrariness stamped the withmark of a pettifogger. It is characteristic of Mr.McKenna to pettifog even in his murders. 228 Current Cant. “Does anybody, I wonder, read Byron to-day ?”-E BERESFORD CHANCELLOR. “And what about Germaay and its Socialism ?”-“The Scotsman.” “The honesty 01 theEnglish IRVINS. COBB. menace of people is appalling.”THE Foreign Affairs. By S. Verdad. finalphase oi theBalkanwar includes the final phase of the Tripoli war, and involves the settlement of the most difficult question which has arisen in connection with either campaign,viz.,the allocation tothe various combatants of the Islands in the Eastern Mediterranean. Thisquestionhas been intermittently considered by the Ambassadors for several months, and if thediscussionsengageduponithave occasionally lapsed,orhave beendefinitelysuspendedfor a short time, that was simply because the question was so complex as to drive the negotiators to distraction. “In these dark days of Storm and Stress. Of ‘bunkum,’ trickery and mess With Demos helpless to redress The Nation’s troubles. I hail with joy each morn th’ ‘Express,’ It never wobbles.” HENRY EGBY the “Daily Express.” in “It would be folly to assume Chat there is not a great ideal in the Labour movement; which aims at the ultimate control by the workers of the country. The existence of a Labour Party in Parliament as distinct from both of the other parties is proof of this.”- J. H. THOMAS, M.P. “ A number of Parisian hostesses are now providing bathsandmassagebyskilledpersons €or maledancers exhausted by the Tango.”--“Daily Sketch.’’ * * * “Mr. Austen Chamberlain plenty with of time still before him, becomes more and more worthy of the name he bears.”--“Pall Mall Gazette.” c^ “The Labour Party is equally independent of Liberals and Tories . . . the Labour Party will continue to claim its place in the sun.”-“Daily Citizen.” “The exiled King Manoel doesnot look well . . . his suede gloves mere soiled and far from new.”-“Daily Mirror.” “The Drama cannot TREE. be over-praised. ”--Sir HERBERT in When we speak o this Islands question as difficult and f complex, we necessarily use these words in a strategic and diplomatic sense. From an administrative point of view, there is hardly any question which a body of Ambassadors could not solve in a couple of days. Most oftheinhabitants of most of theIslandsareeither Greek or of Greek descent or of Greek sympathies. Their formal annexation by Greece, the appointment of governors,theestablishment of safeguardsforOttoman rights, and perhaps some special form of administration for those of the Islands in which the proportion of Moslems to Greeks is almost equal, and the thing is done. Unfortunately, as readers of this journal realise, the Ambassadors are called upon to consider more than merely questions of administration and the feelings of the inhabitants. * * * “I a m interested to hear that there is asmartset ‘Manchester.”-iUiss HORNIMAN. “Guild Socialism, aiming to bring workers together in mechanical relations, is the apotheosis of the Machine Age.”-Huntly CARTER. “There is hope o a futurefor ‘The Academy’ under f its present auspices.”-“The Academy.” superiority “We have no disposition to use our every desire to soften Unionist tyrannously; we have defeat.”--“Daily Chronicle.” “Theidea that existence is getting hum-drum is an illusion of theliterary. . . . There will always be ‘big deals’ for the revelation of big dreams.”-“Pall Mall Gazette.” “One of the greatest filmsever produced in Norway, entitled ‘Atlantis’ was shown privately to-day atthe West-End Cinema. The play is adapted from the famous novel by Gerhart Hauptman, a Nobel Prize winner. . . . The frenzied efforts of the terrified passengers to obtain seats in the boats, and the gradual sinking o the vessel f stir one as no printed words can. . . . Into theplay a delightful love interest is woven.”-“St. James’s Gazette.” “M. Anatole France, the most distinguished o French f authors, who visits us during the week of Carpentier’s triumph.”-“Daily Mirror.” Of the islands concerned, Greece at present occupies Thasos, Samothrace, Imbros, Lemnos, Mytilene, Psara, Chios, Nikaria and Samos. Italy holds Patmos, Leros, Calymnos, Cos, Nisyros, Stampaglia, Symi, Tilos, Rhodes, Carpathos, Casos. and Greece has all along laid claim to every one of these Islands, including those of in the occupation of Italy. Italy, by the treaty Lausanne, whichconcluded thewarbetweenherand Turkey, is entitled to keep hertroops in the Islands she occupies until the last remnants of the Turkish garrisons have been removed fromTripoli,andthenthose particular Islands are to be handed over to the ‘Powers for disposal. Italy,however, a s I have already stated, has established herself with apparent firmnessin Rhodes and Stampaglia; on latter and the Island has she erectedwireless a telegraph station. There thereis, fore, some justificationfor the general belief that she will finally insist on being allowed to retain possession o these two islands. f * * * That was the position at the beginning of last week, when the British Government sent a note to the Powers respecting not only the Islands, but also the southern Albanian frontier. The British proposal was that Greeceshouldbeallowed to retainpossession of the Islandsalready in theoccupation of hertroops,with as they theexception of TenedosandImbros.These, lie neartheDardanelles,should,itwassuggested,be handed back to Turkey. On the other hand, the British Government went on to propose that the Islands now in the possession of Italy should be given to Turkey and not to Greece; for it has beenobvious for some time that if Greece got alltheIslandsTurkey would have had no hesitation in attacking her by land with the large Ottoman forces which are still concentrated in Thrace. 229 The countries four most directly affected by this arrangementareEngland,Italy, Greece, andTurkey. The questions now at issue are whether Italy will peacefully evacuate Rhodes and Stampaglia, whether Turkey can be induced to let Greece take over nine important Islands without at once declaring war, and whether the Greeks can be induced to keep their heads cool and permit the Islands in the occupation o Italy to be handed f Ausback to Turkey.Russia,France,Germany,and tria are not particularly concerned with the disposal of the Islands. Itis much more totheir immediate interests to have peace established in the Balkans and in the Mediterranean as soon as possible, and the inquiries I have made have shown me that those countries are, left to themselves, quite willing to assent to any solution that will satisfy the parties concerned. Military Notes. THAT * * * Unfortunately,just a t this moment-the exigencies of the season compel me to write several days before publication-it seems hopeless to expect that any solution which is generallysatisfactorycanbereached ; and we are accordingly confronted with the question of “interests.” On point, we one at least, find two Powersagreeing.FranceandEnglandare firmly resolved that Italy shall not be allowed to retain perma; andthe nentpossession of RhodesandStampaglia joint visit of the French and English fleets to eastern of Mediterranean ports was arranged as an indication this attitude. W e have France England, and then, to Italy opposed to Italy. W h o is prepared support by diplomaticforceand suggestion? Not Austria, certainly,her partner in that boojum,theallegedTriple Alliance ; for Austrian and Italian naval ambitions conflict, and Austria does not wish to see her rival stronger. Still, there are joint Austro-Italian “interests”-really, the matter is becoming complicated. Servia, having takenover ‘most of Macedonia, hasmadeher annoying influence felt in a heavy increase in the Macedonian railway rates, a matter which affects both Austria and Italy. “Representations” have resulted in a temporary withdrawal of the additional charges ; and the Belgrade Government is now considering the possibility of expropriating the railways and paying the shareholders, who a purely nominal sum are for the most part Austrians, in compensation. * * * Thus we see that the problem of the Aegean Islands takes u s a long way from the Islands themselves. Perhaps the delicacy of the situation will be better appreciated when I add thatthe Servian Government has of been acting all along chiefly under direction the M. de Hartwig,theRussianMinistertoBelgrade. * * * And, by the way, the harmony of the Triple Entente isnotassured so long as M. Caillauxremains in the French Ministry. Therehave been notices, obviously inspired, in one or two of our dailies, to the effect that M. Caillaux has always thought highly of England, that he has always supported the Entente Cordiale, and will continue to do so; and so on. N o t h i n g - o u t withthe cliche !-nothing could be further from the truth. More than two years ago I gave in these verycolumns M. Caillaux’ opinion of the Triple Entente when he spoke of it to Sir Francis Bertie. M. Caillaux’ celebrated phraseon that occasion was,“L’EntenteCordiale, je m e n fiche !” I t is disingenuous of our newspapers to try rehabilitate to M. Caillaux. OurForeign Office, with SirFrancisBertie’sAmbassadorialreportbefore its eyes, does like not M. Caillaux. In short, as a Foreign Office official remarked to me a dayortwo ago (and hespokewith calorificemphasis) : “Damn Caillaux. If he ever is made Prime Minister again there won’t be an Entente Cordiale left.” I reserve my furtherremarks for a subsequent occasion. 1 By Romney. extended knowledge upon which we are so given to congratulate ourselves, and which certainly has as togladdentheheart of attainedproportionssuch megalomania, if not of wisdom, will be found upon analysis to fall under one or other of two great heads, that expose limitations the of its character. It is either (a) simply wordswithoutreality behind themthat is to say rubbish ; (b)knowledge of processes as opposed to knowledgeof ends. I do not hesitateto say that nine-tenths of such modern knowledge as does notfallwithinthefirst-class,falls within the second. Indeedthismustbe so, foreverythingmaterialthat there is to be known about the ends of man was known to ourancestors as well as to ourselves, and in all probability better. I t is therefore upon How the of our journey thatthe modern mind has concentrated itself-upon the manner of the road, its metalling, the means of lodging, food, and the surrounding scenery. But upon its Why and Whither the learning Bergson of is as the learning of Ecclesiastes, the son of David, the Preacher. Suchwere myreflectionsupon readingthe first of “Rifleman’s” “Letters upon War.”Theywerenot, indeed,the first of my reflections. Those consiSted in surprise alarm and that a disease reached had our soldiers which I had hitherto imagined to be the exclusiveproperty of our intellectuals. The sometimesfortunate imperviousness of the English mind to ideas has saved us till recently from the worst consequences of a philosophy which would already have destroyed us if it had permeated the mass of citizens a s thoroughly as it has permeated the so-called “ aristocracy of intellect. ” But how long will thiscontinue? I confess to alarm when I find a man upon whom I may have to rely for Lhe honour and security of my country and my home, telling us in as many words that “ ethical sentiment is not itself a motive power.” And while a man who reallybelieves and acts uponsuch sentiments must be a rascal, my confidence in the sureness of ourdefence is not increased by the consideration that a man who believes such sentiments and does not act upon them is a fool. The whole of “Rifleman’s’’ essay is permeated with this ridiculous error of endeavouring to consider means apart ends, from processes from apart aims. Thus of certain “Rifleman”bothered is by the assertion evilly disposed persons that war is destructive, destruction being apparently synonymous him to with evil, A man who and! construction good. with Videlicet. constructsan obscene statuette isgood,andanother who smashes it to pieces with a hammer, evil. T such O impasses are reduced that feeble folk which endeavours So here is to erect the processes of life into its aims. “Rifleman”attempting toprovethatwar isnotdestructive. H e might as well attempt to prove that the sun is not warm or that the sea is not salt. If I explode a common shelf at an effective angle underneath “Riflea work of man’s’’ house have I shall accomplished destruction,and I hereby defy anyfourandtwenty Whether we judge the act of deFabians to denyit. struction to have been justified, will be determined by o “Riflef our conception of good and what we know man.” And beingloathtoexpress averdictafterno more than one instalment of what is possibly a lengthy series, I will do .no more than say that I am seeing t o the renewal of my stock of common shells. Of course you canno .morefound anethic of war upon .a consideration of its processes than you can lift yourself to heaven by tugging at your own bootstraps. War isviolenceand destruction both of men so far as it is a ,destruction of wrong, and things. In it is right, and in so far as it is a destruction of right So much for the ethics o war. They are f it is wrong. exceedingly simple and can almost be explained in 230 words of one letter. I t is theevolutionistswho have sought out many inventions. Butthemightybrains whichdiscovered thatthose survive who survive and founded an ethic ,on it, remain unsatisfied with their achievement. They must found a “ Riflehistory too. Accordingly readingfurtherinto man’s’’essay I find set down as undisputedhistorical be facts a series of statements which can scarcely advanced as probable conjectures without the exercise o a quality that can only be described as damned imf pudence. “Turning to the earliest organisation of society,” “Rifleman” says, “we find ourselves in a community dependent upon the chase and the gathering of rootsandberriesforitssubsistence.”The devil we do ! W h a t evidence has “Rifleman” for that?The earliest societies of which we possess any definite knowledge arethesocieties of Chaldaea and Egypt, which were in many faculties more highly developed than the f societies o to-day. If wepossessremains whichlead u s to suspect the existence of savage communities at an evenearlierperiod, that provesnothing,forsavages are existing still. BarbarisminFrance B.C. 10,000 no more proves the co-existence of barbarism in Mesopotamia than barbarism in the Congo A.D. 1913 proves the co-existence of barbarism in Brussels. T h e main thing in regard to prehistoric times is that they were prehistoric -that istosay,thatweknownothingabout them. How can considerations based upon events which we do not know reasonably affect our conduct in other events which we do? W e have thus discovered in “Rifleman’s” first letter the traces of the two great heresies which account for so muchoftheapparentachievement of modern times. To return our to original distinction, have we seen class (b) (examination of processes as opposed to ends) amplyrepresented in his attempt to showwar (which is onIy justifiable a s a means to an end) as an end in itself ; and class (a) (words without reality behind them) is not behind-hand in a n article which contains a complete history of early man with all the facts left out. It only remains to deal with the immediate military effect of the dissemination of suchideas as have muddled “Rifleman.” Which method the is more effective in persuading troops to fight-to appeal to men’s honour, theirpatriotism,theirloyalty,their religion andtheir sense of right : or to say something as follows : “The mainspring of allyouractionshas been and must be the gratification of animalinstincts.Yoursentiments are neither lofty nor sublime. Even when you are least aware of it you are simply engaged upon the gratification of yourbaseranimalinstincts.Youare at best dogs, and at worst swine”? It is my shrewd suspicion that the reply of troops nurtured upon such sentiments would be togratifythe first andstrongestofanimal instincts-that of self-preservation-by runningaway. If they followed outtheir own ridiculousmaximsthe evolutionists would not survive. even By their own test let u s judge them. Education and the Guilds. NOBODY acquainted with the system of educationprevailingto-daycandoubteither that wehavereason to be profoundly dissatisfied with it or thatforthe present no one appears to be able to make a constructive suggestion. blame both The for conditions has been laid upon now theteachers,then upon the department, nowupon thesystemandthenuponthe curriculum. But in truth, while in a measure everyliesin the same error body is to blame, the real fault to be underlyingour political system we have found generally, association the of economic with political ends,the and confusion of civic industrial with functions. More clearly in our educational system, perhaps, o this evilrelation f thananywhereelsearethefruits visible; for even while we write, the controversy, first begun in the persons of Herbert Spencer on the one side and Matthew Arnold on the other, still rages with v a r y ing fortunes in thedirection at one period andfor a little while of a humane and civic ideal, and a t another in the direction of thetechnicaland scientific. What, we are asked for six months of the year, can the end of educationbebut to producethe well-balancedmind, the all-round citizen, the man of the world? And what, for the other six months we are asked, is the value to himself ortotheState of a citizenuntrained in any craftandunabletherefore to employthecomplex instrument whichmodernsociety putsintohishands? in judgment must Itis indeed a controversy which necessarily sit suspended, side for each not only defends itself with complete reasonbutdestroysthe other with equal reason. To the plea that education is for life in general,the technical instructorcan reply that life in general is impossible without technical skill ; andtohisown plea that technicalinstruction tobe effective must be begun early in life the humanist can reply that, societybeingno longer a stable system of castes and crafts, an early instruction in any technique whatever may actually unfit our youth for the occupation to which they may be called. Thus envisaged, controversy theoretically the both and practically is seen to be endless ; and since, for the present, no way out has been suggested, we appear to be doomed to oscillate in our national education between the humanistic and the technique, between the civic and the industrial, between the literary and the commercial ; with small satisfaction to either party, and with disaster in the end to the nation as a whole. In the proposals we have been outlining in our former chapters, we have, however, come upon a principle, the application of which to educationpromises to be as fruitful as its application to politics and industry in general. It will be seen that aim our has been to separate subordinate the function of industry (subordinate indispensable) the general but from more functions of the body politic ; and we this have suggested might be best effected by the State delegating by Charter to the producing Guilds the power and therewith the responsibility of national industry. But if thisapportionment of the duties as between the State as a whole and the Guilds as autonomous but limited functions of itself is possible, the same principle carried into the sphere of education would equally well determine the relative provinces of civic and technical education. For it is plain that as dulyauthorisedand charged with the responsibility of skilled industry, the Guilds at the same time would become responsible for the technical training necessary in each of their crafts. And while they would thus be responsible for technical training as such, the State as a whole would have the duty of civic education in general. This, then, is our solution of the existing difficulty. To each of the Guilds we would give the duty of providing, not only for its existing but for its future members, the means of technical training necessary to the welfare of the craft ; while to the State we would leave the duty of providing for its future citizens by means of national education the training necessary for citizenship. Thatthisplanis a t once practical, desirable, and desired, we do think not that much reflection is necessary to prove. Proofs of the fact that it is desired are to be found in the evidences already existing, of a profound and irreconcilable difference opinion of between the supporters of thetwocontendingschools ofthought.Thehumanistic, we maysay, will never be content to be subordinated in their ideals to the technical ; and on the other hand, less and less as time goes on will the technical consent to be subordinated to the humanistic. Thus the elimination from of eachthe otherisdesiredanddesiredequally by bothparties. Onothergroundsalsotheseparationwespeak of is 231 desired as may be seen in theattempts,ontheone side, torestoreapprenticeshipand,ontheother,to extend the age of the purely literary education. What, in effect,dictatesthesecontrarypurposesbutthe instinctive recognition that each is right in its own place and that only together are they incompatible? Still moreclearly the revival of theidea of apprenticeship demonstrates the desire existing in the practical mind to recover for the crafts of to-day the traditional skill the individual apprenticeship secured for a previous generation. We conclude,without furtherexamination,that the independence of each of the two areas of education is desired by all men. That it would be proved desirable and a wise national coursetopursue follows, we think,fromthegeneral principles we havealreadyexamined. It is impossible to doubt the duty of the State to itsindividual members and its future citizens. I t is equally impossible to doubt the that humane education postulated thus is incompatible with the ideal pursued b y the same authority of a technicaleducation as well. We speak from a long and wide experience when we declare that with two ends in view no authority, State or private, can fulfil one the or other any with satisfaction of either. Isitthecasethat undertheprevailingcompromise of contraryideals,theeducation provided by theStateissatisfactorytothehumanist?Itis not. But then it must be satisfactory to the technical manufacturerandthecommercialman?But equally itis not. On the contrary, both parties complain, and each withexcellent reason;andthecauseistobefound, thoughneither knows it, in the double object pursued by an administration competent in one but not in two. Remains now the practicability of the course we have suggested. In the firstplace,let us sayexplicitly that for the present we have no designs upon the system of education beyond the existing elementary and secondary limits. It may be, and it probably will bethecase, thatasthebases of society arechangedthesuperstructure(the whole beingorganic) will changewith it. Fromelementarytosecondaryandfromsecondary to university the stages will notbe divided by almost impassable barriers, each to be surmounted only by favour fortune. and The formation of the Teachers’ Register,thecreation of a singleprofession, that includes the don the with pupil teacher in is, fact, a recent symbol of the future unity of education we must needs have mind. all in But our modest purpose at this stageistothrow upon theStatetheduty of a minimum of civic education only, such as must necessarily be supposed to qualify a youth to become in the full sense a citizen of thenation. And thisminimum, we are disposed to think, might be best assured by the StatechargingtheNationalUnion, of Teachers with the powers necessary and the consequent responsibility to society forcarryingitout. I t will beseen that in this respect, our suggestions are at onceconservative andrevolutionary. Theyareconservative in the sense that they would restore the intention of national education to itsoriginal definition whenpopulareducation of educating children for was first introduced-that worthy citizenship. And itrevolutionary is in these tworespects,thatit would abolish fromournational schools all the technical elements that have pushed theirway in ; and vest in the teachers as abody the delegated duties now entrusted to the State Department andtheteachers individually. Surely this,wesay,is neither impossible to imagine nor difficult to carry out. Whoever speculates on the future of the as it grows in Teachers’ Union realise must that, power by its numbers, it will also grow in experience and in the ambitions experience brings. It may not be the fact to-day that the Teachers’ Union is equal to the task of demandingoreven of acceptingtheposition of a Chartered Guild for the training of young citizens ; buthe would belackinginthehistoric as well a s in the contemporary sense of values who denied that this future is most probable. And what is there practically againstit?Itisthe business of the Army tomake warandoftheNavy to defend our coastsand seaborne commerce. These commissions necessarily carry with them the delegation of vast powers and almost of autonomous authority. they discharged Yet are by and with the authority of the State and to instructions generally,butnotparticularlygiven. I f in a panicridden age like ours, such terrible powers may be given totheseprofessionsandwithoutfear,thegifttothe teaching profession of the powercarry the to out nationalinstructions inthematter of educationisno less possibleandpracticable. W e believe, indeed, that no body of people in the State are betterfitted to be entrustedwiththeduties of a minimum civic education the than Teachers’ Union. Certainly no State Department, though even co-operating with local authorities hand in glove, is equal to the task as the Teachers’ Union is equal to it. For at best the authoritiesaretworemovesfromtheactual problem o the f child ; while theTeachers’Unionis immediatelyand daily in contact with it. On the principle that they are best fitted to control their services who discharge them, the Teachers’ Union is plainly marked out as the subordinate partner of the State to preside over the whole field of national civic education. Turning now to consider the practicability of delegating technical education to the Guilds, we must observe at once thatthe questionhas in principlebeen long settled. Despairing of ever securing through the civic authoritiesthe specialschoolsnecessary to their trade (and especially in the absence of the old apprenticeship system), the skilled trades, mainly by means of their masters, have almost without exception each established for themselves technical schools ranging from technical skill simply to the highest training inapplied science. I t is true that, owing partly to lack of collective foresight, partly to hope the still entertained that, after all, the civic authorities may do it for them, none of the skilled trades has yet organised systematicallyitsowntrainingoverthe whole of the country and industry ; and, what is more, the present obstacles to systematisation insurmountable this are since, under a competitive system, all the employers in any industry cannot equally profit by a collective system of endowed technical training ; and, again, civic authorities will never, a s we say, provide it wholly for them. But the on hypothesis we have advanced each that monopoly, responsible for its industryis a collective craft, wherever whenever and practised, interest its inestablishing asystem of trainingforitsrecruitsis the more obvious ; and the necessity would become all urgentprovided, as wesuggest,thatthecurricula of the nationalschoolsbecleared of technical and commercialinstruction.And,pursuingourprinciple,who, in fact, would be better fitted to provide and to direct the craft schools than the guilds practising the crafts and responsible for them? If profiteeringmasters, a t warwitheachotherandwiththeir employees, have nevertheless been able to supply thought and funds for the establishment of technical schools, even though only here and there, what might we not expect from a Guild, including in a single group the scientific, the technical, and the skilled men all in co-operation, and collectively responsible their for crafts present future? and We imagine, indeed, with and confidence that time will prove us right, that the technical schools of the future Guilds will be one of the chief prides of the craftsmen of the future. W e shall see them devoting their funds, their intelligence,andtheiremulation to the creation of a system of special schools, designed at once to attract recruits as they leave the civicschools, and to train them to the greater glory of the craft they have chosen. For inno penuriousorcompromisingfashion will a Guild setaboutthework of transformingits occupationinto a craftanditscraftintoanart.On the contrary,Morris as foresaw, spiritthe the of Guild will make of workmanship a sacrificialservice ; and all themore readily if theState supplies toits hand the youths trained in the humanities in the civic schools. 232 Letters on War. By “ A Rifleman,” II WE have seen that success in war carries with it the of economicdeveloppotentiality of thehighestform ment,and that alsosimilar success carries with it the potentiality of the highest form of physical and mental development : thisphysicaland.mentaldevelopment, itself the reaction of the most favourable environment for the developmentof such qualities, is obviously essent i d for the evolution o any degreeof civilisation superior f to a baresubsistence-level; ablind strugglewiththe forces of nature. It is in accordance with this law then : that success in war is essential to thedevelopment of any standard of economic life superior to a bare subsistencelevel ; that when we turn to the phenomena of history we note that every civilisation worthy of mention has been evolved by the entry of a vigorous war-like race into the environment most suitable for the development o its national qualities. The Greeks, the Romans, the f Egyptians,theAssyrians, even theChinese, all alike were descended from vigorous the war-like peoples that had foughttheir way to the most favourable enrichinreadilyvironments : to the environments most accessible economic resources, to the environments most favourablysituatedforthe development of commerce and thefostering of physicalandmentalqualities. It remains for us to considerthe war-likepeopleswhen settleddowninthemostfavourableenvironmentand to determine how far the arts of war, as distinguished from the arts of peace, are responsible for the evolution of the civilisation o the war-like peoples. f Turning to the Saxon invasion of England we have an instance familiar to all Englishmen, of the colonisation of an environment favourable to the development of civilisation by awar-like people. This invasion was not the clearly defined, carefully planned, act of military conquest by an organised state such as the subjugation of England by Norman William many centuries later, but the wild surging waves of successive invasions by peoples driven to expand by irresistible economic forces. The Saxons, arrived at much the same stage of evolution as that portrayed in our last letter as the basis of by a our modern social institutions,driventoexpand populationoverflowing their economic resources, burst upon the fairer, more fertile lands: with fire and sword, wild forayandpitilesslust of blood and women. In confused, irregular warfare, in savage, ill-knit warbands led by kinglets and ealdormen, they fought and theyslew,they burntandtheyravished;thegloomy primeval forests were lighted by the depths of the flickering of flaming homesteads ; resoundedwiththe shrieks of outraged,torturedwomen;andtheSaxon ships bore away for the homeland laden with the spoil of many a British home; withmanya cowering halfo spoil f and crazed woman slave. the As rumours women to begainedfromthefair,fertile isle to the s o therebegan West spread through the Saxon land a general movement o the Saxon peoples West. Jutes f and Angles, Frisians and many a Saxon tribe long lost to memory, launched their ships sailed and in great fleets to ravage the British shore; for generations the sea-shore villages of the distant north resounded to the clang o hammers felling f and of treesasarmsand ships were prepared for successive forays on the British coasts.Atfirst the expeditionswere purelymilitary, with no other object but to gain spoil and women, but as theexpeditionsassumed a largerscale, asit became necessary to penetrate farther and farther inland from the ravaged sea-share, base camps would become necesa consary t.0 provide a refugeagainststormsand venient “point d’appui” for attack. These base-camps, situated no doubt a t convenient harbours, and probably at the mouths of navigable streams, would soon develop into permanent settlements as the landless element among the invaders settled upon the vacant lands, whilst as the rumour of fertile lands to be won by the sword spread through the homeland the general movement of invasionwoulddevelop into a movement of colonisaconquest. ’The navigable tion as well as of military streams would provide natural highways of attack, pressing up which the invaders would fight their way up to the very heart of the country. Thus in the course of a‘century or more of fightingand colonisation the whole of England would pass into the dominion of the Angles. The invaders thus settled down would form a multitude of small tribal kingdoms : the land would be held in common and divided by lot among the various families with each sowing, but private property in women, in cattle, in weapons, and in ornaments, would be recognised. There had developed the double-moral code sentiment of property-morality within and a general the clan-village, andvariouspainsandpenaltieswere imposed to reinforcevaguelyrecognisedmoralsentiof physical ment by the stronger, more poignant, fear punishment; womenunfaithful to their husbands were publicly stripped naked, and flogged, or violated by the men of the village, driven forth into the forest t,o perish from wolves and beasts of prey, or visited with kindred punishments;younggirlsknowntohavelapsedfrom current codes of moralitysufferedsimilarpublic chastisements, whilst maiming mutilation and in various fashions was a recognised punishment theft for and adultery. The student of historywhodispassionatelyanalyses the development of our moral codes is forcedto the conclusion that it was by no divinely inspired moral sentiment that the social and political phenomena of history and present-day the world originated, from but the workings of the animal instincts of mankind crudely and blindly aiming atsecuringthegratificationofsensual f appetites. In the earliest, most crudely organised o the social groupingsofmankind,theinstinct of the property-right, the cravings animal of sexuality and hunger,wereexpressed solely byphysicalforce. Just as lower in the animal scale the seasonal period of rut is aperiod of fierce fightingamongtheyoungmales f o r possession of the females so in the lowest organisano sentiment of tions of mankind,whilstthereexists sexual jealousy save when immediately under influence of the copulative instinct, it yet is the physically f strongest men who enjoy the right o prior possession of thefemales by reason of sheersuperiorforce,and the law o governing social relations alike in regard to f sexual and property morality is the simple law of brute strength. The fairest women, the choicestfood-stuffs, thefirst choice of all that comes to hand, go to the physically strong. Yet also in the very rudest social there exists sentiment the of groupings of mankind co-operation.ElsewhereIhaveanalysedindetailthe evolution of the earliest form of organised society, the semi-nomadic horde* : suffice it here to say that the earliest groupings of mankind occurred anterior to the full development of the human faculties. The primitive ape-like ancestors of mantravelledinherdsdrawnto mutual association by community of instinct, by desire etc. Theherdsorpacks forkindredfoodstuffs,ete., ‘centred pack-leaders, around experienced powerful males whose finer instincts reinforced by experience and physical power enabled them to dominate the herd. They were the first to scent danger, the foremost in attack : the first to discover new food resources. And the f general instinct of the pack followed the instinct o the as pack-leaders, causing certain objects to be regarded necessary by the instinct of the whole pack : creating the most rudimentary form of public opinion : and leadat the ming to an unconscious and instinctive effort ordination of effort to obtain the objectives desired by the general instinct of the pack : such a co-operation of activities as enables the beaver to build his dam. o evolution, the f with Duringcountlesscenturies * See “The Gathering Storm,” chapter I. 233 passage of the highest forms of these ape-like progeni.tors of man into the regions calling for a mental as well as physicaldevelopment,therebegantheevolution of man qua man. The herd became the horde, the packleader the tribal chieftain. And with this development, the primitive law of sheer brute strength underwent a modification. In such a society governed solely by sheer physical power obviously only the physically strong could possess form any of wealth whatever. And for obvious reasons interference with the property of the physicaIIy strong was likely to bring down swift .and condign punishment. There thus developed slowly of the throughout course the of ages a sentiment sanctity of private property within the clan-village simply because thepropertyholders formed themost physically powerful element in the community : because a breach of the laws of meum and tuum meant prompt and certain punishment with all the violence of a savage primitive society. And similarly yith entry the of captured women into the tribe as slaves there developed the double moral code. The captured slave-woman was recognised as the special property ,of her captor, who was alone possessed of rights over her person and who was logicallyentitled to resent any breach of hisown special privileges. ‘The development o marriage by capture into “marf riage by purchase” and of the settled agriculturalvillage from the primitive semi-nomadic hunting tribe has already been briefly traced. It is, however, important to clearly realise that all sentiment regarding property and sexual morality is the reaction of animal instinct coupled with : that moralsentiment of all superiorphysicalpower kinds is born simply and solely of physical strength. ’The adulterer stoned death was to because he committedabreach of theproperty-right of thehusband andthelatterhadthegeneralsentiment of the community on hissidebecausethe physically dominating element in thiscommunitywerealsohusbandsdetermined tosafeguardtheirmaritalrights.Puttingthe matter in itssimplestform,property in all ageshas been developed simply and solely by the desire to gratify animalinstincts.,Thehunterfabricatedhisweapons, slew the deer, or other animal of the chase, engaged in warfare,orravished women, impelled thereto by the imperious need of gratifyinganimalinstincts. And as we have seen, for obvious reasons only the physically strong could possess property of any kind whatsoever. Thus property originating in the desire to gratify animal appetites been has, throughout ages the safeguarded by sheersuperiorityinphysical.power.Ever since the evolution of man a intodistinct the type .property-owners have in all human societies, the highly organised modern state equally with the most primitive communities, formed the most physically powerful element in society. And from this superiority in physi.tal strength on theside of the property-owners there has ensuedadevelopment of moralsentiment a s dictated by the interests of the physically dominating order of society. The community of instincts which led to the evolution of the earliest social groupings. of man‘kind, same the community (of instinct which leads wolves and wild dogs to travel in packs, imposed upon the property-owners of the most primitive communities, the skilful hunters and bold warriors who had accumulated wealth in pelts and other spoils of the chase, and in captured women, measures of co-operation to secure theirpropertyfromthefts.Theinstinctofthe physically dominant element of the community would fiercely resentanyattackupontheirpropertyrightswhether aver their women ortheir various other goods and chattels, the feebler elements in the community would inevitably take their from stronger, cue the savage punishments would be meted out to theft and adultery which w o u l meet with thegeneralapprovalofthe tribe, and in time those laws evolved from animal appetites and imposed upon the feebler elements of the community by the strongerwould be attributed to divine revelation, erected into the “eternal truths” of religion, of moralsentiand developed into an immense weight ment, the reaction of the economic circumstances of the physically dominatingorder ,of society. W e have traced evolution the of moral sentiment withinthe tribal communitiesandhaveseen that all such moral sentiment takes its basis in animal appetites and in physical force : we have seen how shallow and superficial is that reasoning which would deny the predominating influence lof sheer physical in force the evolution of our present-day society : it remains for us to consider the evolution of moralsentimentand of social organisation beyond thelimits of theprimitive semi-nomadic community. And in so doing we shall be led to ‘consider the influence of War in moulding our social codes the and economic fabric of our society. W e shall trace how the savage strife of primitive ,community .with primitive community developed an into elaboratescience whose reactionspermeate everysection of modern society., W e shall trace the reactions of the arts of war upon the arts of peace, the influence o f the moral codes of war upon the moral codes of peace, the seldom realised, but in reality immensely important, reactions of the industries directly dependent upon the art of war upon theindustrial life of the community. W e shall be led in fact to consider war from a hitherto : as a necessary almost entirely neglected standpoint and supremely important factor in the evolution of society. A Pilgrimage Turkey During Wartime. to Pickthall. B y Marmaduke ONE afternoon, upon theterracedground in front of Misket Hanum’s house, shaded and: screened from observation by thedeodars, a Turkishladywhowas sitting with u s all a t once exclaimed, “ W h a t noise is that ?” turned deathly pale, and seemed about to faint. The noise that she referred to was a shout or roar such as one hears in England at a football match, but so far distant that it had escaped the notice of the rest o’f us. It was repeated, when we knew it for the “ Padishahim chok yasha !” (Long live theSultan), which Turkish troopsupraiseongreat occasions. We had! heardit often in the last few days. “ Oh, horrible !” whispered our visitor, stopping her ears. “ I t isthe Army of theWest ! Poorsouls ! I cannot bear it. Forgive my weakness. us Let go indoors. ” She was thestill youthful widow of a Turkish General (by birth Arab), had an who been assassinated in Albania, the land from which the Army of the Westall that remained of it-had just returned. W e went indoors, when recovered she quickly, begging u s to She wouldnothave us,for overlookherfoolishness. the world, imagine that Turkish women had no fortitude. her had revived But grief been that day by tidingsthattheGovernmentintendedtobring home her husband’s body from the distant land where it was buried for re-interment the with heroes of the Constitution upon the Hill of Everlasting Liberty. And theshoutjust now had come so suddenly,reminding her of that Albania which had caused so much disaster to the Turks, that it had penetrated like a bullet to her heart.Thecondition of the Army of theWest,she said, was terrible beyond conceiving. Onthe following daytwostudents from the Army Medical School took luncheon with us, and in the afterfamous poet and a noon a fine white-bearded Turk-a Senator-surprised us with a visit. Theyoung men toldwithglee thestory of akind of mutiny or riot, which had riot happened at their school the upon previous day. XVI. The Army o the West. f 234 When the first instalment of the Army of the West was disembarked atHaidarPasha,thegarden near the Medical School was used for a camp hospital, and thestudents wererequired to go and helpinit. Our two informants clenched their teeth, their eyes flashed fiercely, as they spoke of the condition of the soldiers. Manyweredemented orhadlosttheirmemory;but those who could speakhadrelated uncomplaininglya tale of such cold-blooded cruelty from so-called Muslims to their Muslim brothers as sent the blood of allthe studentstothe head. Albanians could longer no be By ten o’clock that night, not accounted Muslims. oneAlbanian studentwasleft in the MedicalSchool. No violence was done to those expelled,; they were told simply that their race had forfeited all part in Turkey, that they should no longer receive Turkish Government instruction, thrust Misket and out. Hanum she said thoughtithard upon thelads,whowerethemselves crime. She looked tothe old quite innocent of any poet to confirm her view of theproceeding ; but he failed her there, exclaiming, with a placid smile : “ Hy Allah they did well, ourTurkish boys ! I blame them not. Would to God that everyone of that accursed race were out of Turkey ! God knows how they have made me suffer ! They deserve all punishment.” He then a told story of hisownexperienceswith Albanians,which, though it smacked of bathos in the context, threw vivid light on Turkish life in Hamidian days-days which seem now remoteasthose of the Byzantine Empire, SQ perfectly every has cause o f their unhappiness been swept away. You must picture thenarratorasathin-nosed, blue-eyed gentleman of seventy-three, with small thin hands, a little tremulous, crossed the on silver handle his of walking-stick, a white beard reaching almost to his waist, the fez worn low upon a noble forehead-in brief, the living image of all that is most delicate, refined and studious in man. “ I had a garden once, ’ ’ he said, “-a garden which I loved-almost as beautiful asyours ” (he bowed to Misket Hanum). “ It at was Buyuk-dereh, the on Bosphorus. I hadsomebeautiful old treesandmany I wasaccustomed flowering andsweet-scentedshrubs. to the place,and I could thinkdeepthoughtsthere, looking from shade the across to Anatolia. I hoped to end my daysthere ; Iwas veryhappy. ButIwas driven from it by an enemy-yes, by an enemy in time of peace-I was driven from it by Albanians.” In an evil hour, it seemed? our friend had hired two young Albanians a s hisgardeners.Theydroveaway anotherman employed-a Turkishpeasant whom he liked-and wished him toengage a friend of theirs. They did not work well, they were lazy and impertinent. The poet, after consultation with his friends, felt it to be his duty to dismiss them both. The rogues laughed impudently refused and to They began go. then to tease torture and him in various ways, spoiling the garden they hired were to tend. Heputup with a great deal-a very great deal, he assured us-but when theytook to cutting down his beautiful old trees, his pride, andusingthemfor firewood, hefelt at length that he could stand no more. “ It is very troublesome to me to make a scene,” the old man told us in hisgentle voice, “ I havealways beenalover of tranquillityand;meditation.Angeris very difficult for me. However, a suchspectacle of I toldthem wickedness wasmorethanI couldbear. Ishould haverecoursetothe police, and did so. On that theydid at lengthdepart,butwithanoath of vengeance. With the assistance of some more Albanians, hired bravoes of a great man in the Government, who covered all their exploits with his high protection, they laid such terror on my house that I could keep no servant. They spoilt my garden, ruined all my flowering shrubs,andmade myfriendsafraidto come and’seeme without escort. They sent me word place. that they would kill me if I did not leave that I sold my house land, and and Well, the in end, emigratedtotheplaceI now inhabit. Butthis new house has never seemed like home to me, though I have lived therenowfortwentyyearsand more. The disturbance to my life was too severe. I am very glad--most truly glad-that they have out turnedthe an Albanians.” The old manrubbedhishandswith ecstatic smile as heconcluded.Hisstorysheds some lighton a disputedpoint,fortheYoungTurkshave been blamed for their severity towards Albanians. The Albanians were the Janissaries of the Hamidian age. They openly defied the respecting law, nothing savethepurse whichpaidthem. N o weakman’s life or property was safe in those days. When the revolution came, the problem of disposing of them was one of the most crucial which theYoungTurkshadto face. They faced it, as some too say, squarely. Not onlywere thebravoesbanishedfromConstantinople, butthewarwas evencarriedintofar Albania. The campaign which Javid Pasha fought in order to enforce the law for the disarming of Albanians was ruthless ; therefore the Albanians turned on Turkey in her hour of need, betrayed Janina, murdered Turkish many officers, andstarvedthebrokenandretreating Army of the West, commanded by the same Javid Pasha who had been their scourge, until its soldiers were reduced to eating grass-in sight of food.Albanianshave great qualities,theyshouldmakeavaliantnation. It is the demand for them as mercenaries which has been their bane till now. They deserve and will maintaintheir independence. But, thank God, Turkey is now quit of them ! Going into town one day, my wife and I, on landing atthe Bridge, got mixed in up a crowd of ragged soldiers. She clutched my arm in sudden terror and’ whispered in my ear : “ I am afraid ! What troops are these ? I have seen nothing like these men before in Turkey.” (We had gone up to the camp at Scutari the day before and she had taken snapshots of the groups of well-fed,well-dressedmen, who won herheart by theirdelight at beingphotographed.) “Look a t their eyes ! Oh, it is horrible ! Poor men ! What have they seen to make them look like that?” Ragged, unkempt, bandaged and and here there, they walked as men but half awake, and’ often stumbled. Their faces bore stamp the of awfulsuffering.The presence of a gay and splendid Turkish officer on horseback,with a dappersergeant in attendance,engaged’ in marshalling them in the roadway for their march to But, quarters made their wretchedness more apparent. as my wife had said, it was their eyes which made one of’ shudder-eyes fixed and partly glazed, like those men who die in horror ; or else merely mad. ‘‘ I t is only the Army of the West,’’ I said, “ homefrom Albania. ’’ The Vatican and Fourpence. How shall I sing, in Epic, Lay, or Verse? Or shall I spur my Pegasus with an Ode, In accents mild,or in amannerterse, Or in it stately vein-the kingly mode? Like some gay prelude to a dreamy waltz These thoughts flit through my mind and lightly goI cannot find the theme, the method halts, I do not know if i t is fast or slow. Now fickle Muse! I think I’ve got thee quite And never wilt thou wander from my sight Until a strain to Heavenhath beenblown About nine coppers, four of them my own. Welshman bawl Stillmust I hear the bilkng On hustings,platforms,and in sacred hall. I think that’s jolly fine. What price the second line? TOQ mild, too sweet, too sweetly mild vou say It’s like a southern breeze on summer day. Ah, well ! I’ll strike a louder, shriller tune That makes men weep or blisters half the moon. ‘When the fair skirts of Freedom clothed with fire Wereshortenedbyfourpennyworth o cloth f 23 5 And hired spouters with t h e zeal perspire Then hovered round the candle like a’ moth A workman in his corduroys. O fickle Muse ! fair virgin of men’s hopes Who steals with fleet feet o’er the slopes Of Hills Parnassian, hon7 long, how long Shall I thy inspiration w o o ? This song Comes like the wine out of a miser’s bottle, Blank is my mind and dry my throttle. By Heavens, yes ! a roundel let me try ; Foxes have holes, and every pig his stye, And I in leaden-eyed despair will find A medium for thisburning song of mine To tickle stars, or scourge the muddy mind A roundel shall lift me out of this mess. By Heavens yes ! Away, ye tinkling twanging thing. Roundels shall swerve when on the wing Of inspiration speeds my theme About a dewdrop or a fly Or old dun cow with blinking eye Or of a wooden soldier’s dream. O clouds with sombre mien,give me yourtears ; Full is my cup and darkened all my years ; Unfit to live, unfit to die I flee For solace to the mournful elegy. Why should I weep, when knaves are in this fight; When sore-eyed England, in her hefty might Grabs threepence from a servant girl ? Up, up a,nd at them, Puritan and Jew: Until they in their own foul juice shall stew. And wigs and gowns in stockpot swirl, Through grabbing threepence from a servant girl. This is no time for tears, fair Muse good-bye, I’d thought to use thee but it cannot be. Good-bye! Farewell ! and with a choking sigh I part from thee and my plain course I see. Good-bye toEpic,Elegyand Verse And every reed thewanton poet blows Whilst I my soul in simple words immerse And speak of weighty things in simple prose. All this pother is summed up in a few words. The Church of Rome, like any other business establishment, can see that the Insurance Act is a good investment. The f girls, Pope approves of the legal robbery o servant navvies and poets. With less money to spend our chances of Heaven are enhanced ; therefore, anyone may see with half an eye the profound spiritual motive underlying the action of the Vatican. If the poor can successfully be robbed of all their wages they will instinctively as aTrade turnto Religion. The idea. isasentrancing Union for prostitutes. For the benefit of Chiozza Money 1 append the following statistics. The Act has been working for eighteen months. I regret I have no data for the Unemployed Trades; doubtless, if their contributions not had been taken, they would have spent them in the usual manner : a t the Ritz, or motoring in France. s. d. Six Quarters = .............................. 26 o THE POET(Legally Robbed). Devotions at“Pigand Whistle” ...... 25 0 I Pair of Socks ................................ Io THE NAVVY Legally Robbed). 3 Weeks’ Rent ................................ 24 0 48 x Copies of “The Star” ............ 2 o SERVANT (LegallyRobbed). GIRL 5 x New Hats ................................. I5 0 9 x Visits to Cinemas ..................... 46 It is, therefore, the Christian duty of all people to see that this Act is made to work smoothly; in time it may be incorporated in religious services. With this delightful prospect in view, I thank “P. F.” for the information in hJs letter of November 20 in THE New AGE. The “Official” Catholic view of this Act will lend ‘ a lustreto it hithertolacking. I have said before, and I repeat it now, that thg world is going to be regenerated for fourpence, and Rome will be atthe head of this institution is becoming scramble for coppers. Every democratic ; music-hallshave lowered theirprices, and f the Vatican approves of the price of a pint o milk and a small loaf being withheld from a worker’s wages. Starve their bodies and save their souls. The patient reader will now see why I broke down in my flight on the wings of the Muse; the material I had to usewas of such base worth that she forsook me, and rightly, too. To each ‘andall I tendermy thanksand bid “au revoir” to this Act, the creation of neither beast, fish, nor fowl, nor anything that ever dwelt in the bowels William REPTON. of Hell. The Child. MOST work on this subject bears the burden of a palpably ridiculous psychology, and of worsepowers of observation, especially the in thing going under the name of “child-story.” Mainly written in the barbarous dialect that Defoe used for Man Friday, and which the is author vainly imagines is child-language because it misspelt,disconnected,andcomposedwithartful simplicity, such studies aim principally at the pathetic. Ignominious failure is inevitably the result, whether the subject be that of the death of a child, or its gradual growthinto adolescence. Inherent in the subject are pathos and matter for the artist, though they are beyond the grasp of the idiot who has unfortunately learned to read and write, showing not one-fourth of the powers of observation of the average individual, having no knowledge of the use of language, no strength of mind, thoughcertainlyable as if by instincttodiscriminate and appreciate all that lies between the feebly pathetic andcompletebathos. Of suchamental build isthe writer of the average story about the child ; of the type that would shed rivers of tears over the penny weeklies for girlsif it had the pluck to read them despite opinion ; having the half-wit’s point of view. T o a child I once remarked in a moment of inertia that I should put her into a book. Her quick response flattened me. She said : “ W h a t bla-a-a-asted a book !” Queer sort of child,with the quickest insight and greatest the curiosity that I think I ever have known inanyone ! Yet she was a dreamer of a sort. Shehad acomrade-in-adventure, an “ invisible playmate,” oneViolet by name,andtogetherthey would sail seas, the cross mountains, explore the and the deserts, and even, she insisted, they flew up into the air, nor ever hung on to the telegraph or telephone wires. Ofthelaughings,talkings,andgames they had together I cannot tell. The point is this : that here ready to hand are all thematerialsfor a fewbeautifuland pathetic stories-how Gretchen went into air up the till she came to the gold and ivory gate of the House of God, and how- Violet beguiled her through the gate for ever; the how sophisticated Gretchen slew her playmate ; how this,that,andtheother. All this, if we forget Gretchen’s remark to me on my projections, and if weignorethefactthatGretchen’s folk were spiritualist. A child is themostserious,matter-of-fact, unconscientious, unfeeling thing in the world. There is none of the “ simple child, dear brother Jim,” about it. If a child were otherwise I thanhave adjectived it, then there is strange sophistication. If we are to read of children, for God’s love let’s have children, and not sentimental, tender-hearted widows in masquerade. Not the clean, white-collared little hypocrite who sails his boats in a tub for the delectation of a baby girl who is so sweet, childish, and careless that she gets drowned inthetub. I t isdubiously pretty,thiskindofthing, but it’s not art-it’s not even truthful, but only plain, ugly, easy lying. The wholefault of thesewriters, beyonddeplorable lack of knowledge and an overplus of blurred recollectionsoftheirown hypocritical and evil childhood, is that they do not take pains to discover that the child is of Gretchen you find mainly anadapter.Inthecase the effects of the adaptation of the elaborate grotesque of the dead. But none of the sheeted dead for Gretchen ! Gretchenis a child, and noinfantilehalf-wit.Ionce knew a boy who was devout in the sight of his parents, utterly pagan in my own, and from him I got his conception of God. When I first mentioned the subject h e did hesitate. not God, he explained, was a very old man with a huge grey beard, watery eyes, and a trickly mouth ; very bald; and he always wore a bluecalico nightgownwithnobuttonson it. Moreover, he had weakknees,and,alas, a sort of slouchinhiswalk ; therefore he carried a ragged staff as high as himself to help him along. Probablyamiable an sort, but 236 certainly “ too childish-foolish for world.” this I recognised “ God ” in a moment, “ God ” was a very father of the slight adaptation of a picture of the Prodigal hung Son, in the sunday-school that he attended or did not attend as the fittook him. When a child reads geography, he overlooks the kingdoms of the earth and they are his ; he sails the oceans of the globe as they come to him from the map ; he explores the dark places of the earth from pole to tropic. When historyis revealed to him, he becomes participant in all the pantomimes of the past ; but this is not imagination, only adaptation, and the child is no more like the idiot writer’stype of infantthanhe is likethe Holy Ghost. I myself neverdreamed that my doings could be so chronicled a s to make a pink and paleblueberibbonedbook, dainty, “pathetic” ; andIshould have been both enraged and bored, if folk had thus written of me, for I knew myself serious, sensible, and thoughtsort of devil, and a Foiler to ful ; an unscrupulous boot.never I played; I alwaysworked,and when 1 took soundings of the Bay of Panama, or explored the jungles of Annam, I was as fatigued at the end as any Livingstone. When children are imaginative, a s a rulethey are maudlin. The exceptionis a rarity. Studies of child-life of any type shouIdavoid death as they would avoid the “ hidden plague. ” T o read a pseudo-pathetic account in baby-language of how someone was “ deaded ” is my constant amusement in pessimistic moods. There is really nothing more enlivening if you are of sufficient intelligence toappreciatethe ; of if lower intelligence, you roaring humour it of sneer; if o lowerstill, you weep. I showeda tale of f that kind to a boy of about eleven, and, as I expected, hesneered. W h a t else could he do? The child knows. not much of death, and never sorrows over it, except as it affects his physical comfort, andprincipallyhis belly. Whobutthe half-witweepsover thedeath of little Nell? W h o sneers the but intelligent child? I like to see a youngster gloat over thiscarefully-wrought incident, and wonder what the devil all the is fuss about.Think of anysuch scene-the palewhite lilyfaceinitsframework of bright flaxen curls,propped peacefully and painfully on the snowy-white pillow ; the smile still cleaving to the rosebud mouth, and no frown of pain upon the marble tablet of the brows. The curtains of those bright eyes are drawn for ever, yet it seems asthoughthedead child werebutdreaming happier things ; butthe chubbyfingers lie limpand idle on the white counterpane, to move in busy play no more. The room is darkened ; kneeling by the bedside istheweepingplaymate ; big,clean, shiny tears fall from his large eyes, ‘staining the clothes with moisture ; heispraying dolefully to God. The room ishushed silently while heprays ; only theneatnursemoves about the room, deftly adjusting arranging. and At the foot o the little bed stands the big doctor choking E down his emotion, and sitting at the head of the child is the mother, weeping silentlyandcopiously into her lace-edged handkerchief. The father is out in the stormy most night, likely drunk. front The door bangs ; he staggers into the room with wild oaths and bloodshot eyes, disarranged and hair dirty clothes. He looks upon the bed. One second of silence, and t-hen he sober. is H e falls his on knees prays. and Curtain. How well we couldall doit ! Thenthe funeralsorrowingplaymate a s chief mourner-his deathone month later--inquest-found drowned-interment by his playmate’s side. Finis. Magnificent ! For God’s sake come out and play brigands. Everything ugly in child-life is passed over, but there are many ugly things. gradual The stifling the of power of adaptation is the grimmest and most sorrowful phase o a life. The ‘‘ W h a t a young boy ought to f know ” method is even preferable to the way in which children up knowledge pick their of sex. Knowledge comesveryoften at the age of five and six, as soon as the child has the vocabulary of the streets at his disposal,and its idealsandlanguageareatonce degraded. The resultisthe psychological medley with the refinement of which we are so familiar in the popular child-story of the day-the motive of child-love, and death of both parties-a tragedy of the mature in immaturity. It is dreadful. is very One tempted to suggest that those who write on this theme, and they are many,might well have beenfoundguilty of immoral relations long before they were into their teens. to suggest to the immoral persons who I do not mean write such stuff that they should endeavour to write of sane childhood in i t s naked uglinesses ; I do not think such a task could be achieved by any human being, for thedeliberatesoul-stripping of a child is tooterrible ever to be written. But the writer who can succeed in giving, by careful selection of incident, correct psychological studies of children, would be doing work more artistic, more pathetic, f a r more tragic than the idiotic stuff at present thrownintothehands of the reading public. Perhaps, however, the final result would bc toopathetic,tootragic ; thatremains for experiment to disprove. Any deviation fromthismethod,andthe result can only be a “ bla-a-asted book ” according to Gretchen bothand myself. OLAF CUARAN. The Grand Tour and After. By Harold Lister. IN this paper my main concern is tradition in education, not the education of the schools but of life, and which formerly was known as the grand tour. How little the middle classes have been able to profit by theireducationalfacilitiesis to beseen mostconspicuously in their idea of evolution. There is no such thing apparently as a good in itself, everything is made of to yield a tangibleresult,theimmediateoutcome which-in education above all, considering that at one time education implied character building-is that you i t works. And the get your system right enough, and mill grinds exceedinglysmallindeedallinitiative, the ; the graces, in creativefaculty,andartisticfeeling fact, without which man is but half a man, with an ego that, unrestrained by these canons, runs wildly to seed in an aggressive individualism. Education in the spirit of the grand tour the middle ; mainly becausetended it to classes always hated develop a type of man popularly known as aristocratic, with an outlook on life more catholic than that of the average shop-keeper. Thoroughly effeminate, the of the middleclasseshatedthegrandtourbecause suspicion of immorality attached to it. Again, any secrecy, orrather reticence, wasandisanathemato them. Witness everynowandthentheshop-keeping snarl at the diplomatic service. The great fear of the prosperous middle-class of to-day is of course their dread of the possibility of war. !) Probably the last man (and he not an Englishman todothegrandtour in theold,traditional, if giltedged manner, the King was late Edward. Without at least know how to having any great abilityhedid “ divinity,” it is true, did the move among men, and rest. A Latin people having such a man in their midst to in his would have compelled a woman abdicate so a non-conformist people. These were favour. Not scarified to death at his profligacy and regarded their “ good old queen ” a s a steadying influence. Result, a prolonged debauch, inimical to art and life, of stodge, (I do not think I need and sentimonious hypocrisy. apologise to readers of THENEW AGE for a new word, nor point out its derivatives.) T h e middle-class misconception of evolution and its implicationswouldbereallylaughable if itwerenot that, coming when it did, the catch phrase the survival of the fittest (which was supposed to mean “ Perpetual Progress”) came in so aptly with the increasing prosperity o f industry that it seemed to give divine sanction to the oncomingphase of materialism. The idea,and it still prevails, is that you make the conditions of exist- 237 ence as hard as possible, thereby setting up incentive, and thus creating ,a more vigorous and enduring type. This was done, but the burden was placed on the wrong back. For whatshouldhave been anera of psychic expansion,the new avenues o wealthopeningout f to a vista of more leisure and culture, in which alone the arts can flourish, we had instead the era of competition for abare subsistence. This was thought to be good forthesoul of a people. (Mention thewordpsychic to the average man, and he thinks of fortune-telling ; such is the degradation of education !) W e English are ditheringlyinconsistent. Thecashgauge, while it is immediately applicable, saves thought, and can be used by all, is nocriterion o'f realvalues. We have now become a people utterly destitute of spiritual values. The middle-classes want more money, theworkerswantmore money, andafterthat,more money. Just like children all for the world ! While every man jack of our public men. is doing lip-service to education, at hearttheydistrust, if they donot actually despise, education the of the schools. This is consistentinconsistency,it is true, since the doubt is organic ; it is, at heart, a protest against cohersiona characteristicweappeartohavelost, by the way. (It is true enough that a few of our public men are prepared to admit, in a humming and hawing manner, that elementary education is not all that it might be.) Even in secondary education it is the youth with the rat-trap memory-mind without character-who scrapes through the fine wire gauge of a competitive examination, and who, ultimately occupying a bureaucratic post, recuperates onred-tape in the reactionary afterwards. The masses luckily are unaffected. by the travesty of an education picked up in a class of sardine dimensions. develops (It is true that a more or lessbrightinfant intoayounghooligan in such a dehumanisingclass. It is this that makes bishops, and other boggats bleat, and parents pessimistic; but it will all go the moment theclassesare reduced to humane propositions.) The masseshavethis incommonwith thearistocracy of other days-they get their education from experience, though the superstructure would be none the worse for alittlemoreunderpinning. In sum, while weallprofess to believe in the education of the schools, we instinctively distrust compulsion on this pre-eminently of psychicplane. Think of it. Thetotalachievement all our educational intentions is an outcrop of scientific toys such as gramophones, calculating machines, aeroplanes, and so on ; but of discovery in the arts, of discovery in the greatest of the arts, the art of living, ,just nothing a t all. The great God Pan isdeadindeed. The people who know most about education but are not allowed anysay in thematteraretheteachers. They alone can savetheyouth of thenation in the coming struggle for the spirituallife, tiow long overdue; The teacher has every opportunity of gauging the daily to deal capacity of the psychic materialhehas with,andhealoneknows which of themonkeysto kick out of theeducationalcart.Grantedthispower, theteacher in theelementary school would instantly cease to instrument be the of a soul-destroying ordinance. However, we are to have education from indifferent pap the " cradle to the university "-from in effect. And w e have always tothepedant'sstool, with us timid who the souls prefer apparent the tranquillity of the machine to the freedom of the idea. Little as the great mass of the workers realise it the prevailing discontent is a n organic fight for spirituality. to them, and if And unless this point is brought home they do not make this the guiding factor in alltheir efforts, they will be for ever at the mercy of a material standard of value, and what is as bad, they will be for ever at the mercy of the eternal demagogue in manthe undisciplined, brute ego. Let us never forget that the greatest of the demagogues sold the French lock, stack, barrel superstition. and to By means of the Concordat, Napoleon hoped to entice the Pope into his net. The Pope did step in, but the spider it was that wastrapped. Napoleon hadoverlookedthepower of tradition, and by allying himself with Pope the he allied) himself withallthatwasbase, " undeveloped, of theablest,andbest,part of andignorant,instead the nation. " The grand tour seen through the eyes of the prosperous merchantprinces of our grandfathers' days was not merely expensive, it would have taken their sons away from business. These men thought themselves very practical, no doubt, but if we go a little further back we shall what hard-headedness see their really did was a amount to. Prior to RousseauourEnglishman lover of order;that is, hewas a trueconservative. Our old-time Englishman was also a lover of gardens. His garden was a place of retreat, a place in which to do a bit of quiet thinking, or reading. His garden was not the horticultural show. with which we of this generation are familiar. Rather suggested it a cloistral seclusion ; and it represented a type of mind that was reserved, sensitive, but not sentimental. Given a field in which there no was adventitious interference, the old-time Englishman would have kept faith with himself, and the traditions of his class, with a Roman's sense of purpose. But, the industrial revolution apart, Rousseau altered' Rousseau's all that. doctrine of the return to nature turned the descendants of many a sturdy stock into effeminate, sentimental boobies,whowere anythingbutsensitive.Thereturn to nature, indeed, in the face of the fact that the very word civilisation, in the best sense, implies a deliberate a rude, attempt at a constructive breaking away from untrammelled, The barbaric state. seventeenth century Englishman loved order, his and spick-andspan garden showed a type of mind averse to unmanliness, slovenliness and in the social organism. (This love of gardens still persists in all three classes, by the way.) I t would never have occurred to such a man to packawayhis work-peopleinBournevilles andSunlights. He not was above having workmen his sit at his board. own The squeamy down him with modern,his mind sand-bitten by the social reforming jape, imagines he forestalls a possible enmity by building model cottages-the status of hisworkpeople defined and damned by the very act. ButmarkaboveallthatafterRousseau,andthe cult of the return to nature, the land of Swiss milk and chocolate became the prosperous, middle-class Englishman'sparadise.Inexchangeforthegrandtour,the continental picnic. The industrial system is but a phase, an unrestrained muddle, and our muddling through capacity dates from its inception. W e are all waiting.not A very intelligent attitude towards life this, yet the waiting game isthegamethatuntutoredignoranceplaysbestthe world over. Naturally enoughthisdoesnotsuitthe noisy element, who are never slow to bring forth their CaiusTerentiusVarrotoput a spoke in theFabian wheel. Thus, after a propaganding furore, the Labour Party.Hadtheworker beenleft to hisowndevices he would have gone on sending gentlemen to represent him in Parliament. And even your when gentleman gaily deceived him, what then? Prior the to advent of the Labour Party the worker did mind his own business,histrades union, andbutforinterfering busybodies,opportunists,andorscum,histradesunions would now have been all-powerful, and certainly blackleg proof. This, youmayobject, is to prophesy after the event. That is the historian's privilege. Social reformers, as Li Hung Chang-said, never give other people credit having for brains. Nevertheless, and in spite of himself, the real education of the worker He is being is, thank God, going on all the time. driven, willy-nilly, in the direction of co-management, and the guild, and it is only when he shall have a voice in the management of his own affairs that he will be sure. of going manfully forward instead of being blindly led, with chance a and the of side-slip. The shortsighted employer will howl, but damn this stupid person, 238 the world was not madeforsuchas he. It is in the natureofthingsthattheuntrained employer cannot dispensewiththetout. The tout is to industry what generally, the and feeling the C . O . S . is to society against him in thebigworkshopsislittlelessthan fanatical. The intelligentemployerknowsthis,andhe deplores this constant source of friction ; but what can he do?He is out-numbered by theamateur.Again, the intelligentemployerdeploresthescampingconsequent upon the Yankee-doodle, speeding-up insanity, yet here again he has to face competition from the employer who prefers quantity to quality. T o return a moment to the Parliamentary question. I t should not be forgotten that the average man is bred in the traditional belief that a gentleman, no matter the circumstances, will alwaysact like a gentleman.The worker has enough of the real gentleman in him to feel himself incapable, in a similar position, of an ungentlemanly action, and that is whyagoodmany so-called gentlemen still profit by the fact of being judged from the gentlemanlystandpoint.Buttheaveragemanis pointed out to him that also a sportsman. When it is he is being deceived his reflection is simply that he supposesitis only natural that a gentlemanshouldlook after his owninterests. As a matter of strict fact the worker afford laugh. can to Machiavelli would have applauded this (unconscious) policy of putting doubtful starters out of harm’s way what time the worker is at last coolly proposing to dispensewithparliamentary action. The very fact of a man putting up for Parliament should be warning enough to the workers-to send himthere. The waiting game irritates the agitating rif-raf, and in revenge, such is the irony of intention, they fill the mouths of their followingwith tags, therebyputting them in the way of dissipatingtheirenergies in gas. So much so that we have a frothy type of gas-bag who can spout like a Russian revolutionary, and accomplish about as much.Another great enemy is the socialreforming ape whosincerely believes-they a11 sincerely believe, spiritually being illiterate-that the worker shouldhavemoremoney,and thatheis justifiedin strikingformore money. The people who believein t h e more money palliative should be sternly put down. of the decreasing value of the purEspeciallyinface chasing power of the sovereign. The cream of the joke isthatitisthe middle-classsocialreformingelement thatstands to profit most by strikes. Of course,the didn’t-know-it-was-loaded who idiot, is so sincere, would be most indignant, that is, if you could bring this point home to his peculiar intelligence. W e English are past-masters in unconscious Machiavellianism ; though really a shorter word would be nearer the mark. The positionto-dayisprobably themostunique in the history of mankind, and the prospects never better. Not only does the National Guild idea offer the worker .a chance of a genuinely democratic control in the one thing he does understand, his trade, but it also releases him from the thraldom of leadership as we have it a t present. In the Guild idea, even long before the Guilds are in action, the worker has a weapon that gives him thepowersummarily to curbanymanwhoseeksto make“capitalout of capitalism”-a humanenough failing, nevertheless a weakness in the face of an everwatchful enemy. And if the position is unique the need for constant vigil was never more necessary. Remember that an impoverished nobility threw in its lot with the merchant princes during the Reformation, .enriching themselves in a raid on the Church, and that timeandagainthecommon people were in left the lurch. Again, in theFrench Revolution the common people were cruelly buffeted between the bourgeoisie jealous of the nobility, and the rif-raf jealous of anybody and anything, and who destroyed for the hellish us more delightindestruction.Moreover,itbehoves than evernot to lose sight of the fact that “the fear -of genius and intellectual superiority” is bound to ,become more accentuated if democracy continues to be guided by materialinterests alone. The position, I say,isunique in thatthespiritual revolution beginningwithRousseau,andbaulked by Napoleon, is now (by its effects) perceptibly in evidence, so much so that it enables us to envisage a more static conditionin the social organisation. And thespiritual revolution is irreparably bound up with the best traditions of the people. (And only a spiritual revolution can save the people from being crushed by the middleclasses, or from being pulled through the mire by the destruction-bent scum that hang on the fringe of all revolutions whatsoever.) progress Material an is anomaly. You cannothaveprogress by quantity. In the Guild idea then we have a qualitative step to a preof apeoplefrom destined end, the freeing of the soul the thraldom of wage-slavery. A Thinking Man. RATHBONE believes in thinking its sake. forown Thoughts as such,” he once remarked, “as the product of thinking,are really of no importance. After all, is there anything in the world more fortuitous, and thereforemoreinevitable,thanwhat is called a ‘considered judgment’? No-it is important that we should think-what we think does not matter; in any case, a to be happy a man cannot his help thoughts. But manmustthink,forhappiness, as was observedlong ago, lies in the performance of function, and reason is the highest function of man.” If this is really so Rathbone must be a happy man. I rememberoncehewasabouttohire a furnished cottage in Surrey from an old lady, and he was most particular that he should be able to walk from room to roomwithouthaving to open a door,“because,”he said, “ I like to walk while I think, and it breaks the thread of my thought if I have to openadoor.” The old lady, it is true, remarked somewhat tartly that the I knew thread of his thought must be rather thin, but so much that what really concerned Rathbone was not f the thread of his thought the as continuity o his happiness as realised in the energy of thinking. TheothereveningRathboneandSimpsondropped in on their way home from theatre. the They had been to seeone o the newpseudo-Orientalromantic f to Rathbone,wereevenmore plays,which,according futile the than old-fashioned problem-plays. “The problem-playwrights,” heobserved,“had all a single idea in common-the violation of the so-called duty of conjugalfidelity by one half of mankind. They shared thisideabetweenthem,andeventuallyexhaustedit. No more ideas came to them until it occurred to one of them to present the old idea in a new light-the fulfilment of the duty of conjugal fidelity by the other half of mankind. This fact is now offered to the public as an ideal. Thedramaticcriticscallthislatest moveo not without reason, ment a return t romanticism-and for from the fact they infer the principles of morality, first faith, hope, and charity; then a sense of honour; finally Quixotism whenweareinthe region of high romance. A romantic play is merely anassertion by theplaywrightthathisaudienceis soberly virtuous, which confirmswhat I have long maintained, that an ideal is only a statement of actualfactthoughyour a liar.”“But why ishe a idealist is nonetheless liar,” asked Simpson, “when he tells the truth?” “ H e is a liar because, though he tells the truth he hopes you won’t believe him. H e wilfully places the truth in circumstanceswhereheknowsitscharacter will beseriouslycompromised-onthestage,for instance, which is generally accepted as the region of the improbable, and in the idealist’s future, which is as the region of the impossible. generally accepted As I say, he wilfully places the truth, the actual present 239 truth, in these shady surroundings, where the average man is least likely to look for it, and even looking on it is not likely to remgnise it, so that the truth passes forfalsehood. Andin other ways,too, the idealist is a malefactor who retards the progress of mankind.’’ “You are hard on theidealist,”said Simpson. “In what other wayis he a malefactor?” “Always,”answeredRathbone,“bytradingonhis reputationfor lying. First,as I remarked, by seizing the actual present good and placing it in his unlikely future, s that men fail to recognise the good that is o withthemanddespaireven of finding it anywhere at any time; secondly, by annexing a certain and inevitable future to his realm of the ideal, knowing that men believe his realm ,of the ideal to be too good to be true. And when this future, ‘being inevitable, in turn becomespresent, men greet it as good, whether it be good or evil, on the strength of the idealist’s introduction. For the here idealist calculates what on is, reckons thence what shall be, and hails the approaching future as what should be, hiding always the basis of his calculation. He grovels before inevitable the by acclaiming that as good in reason which he sees to begood in logic. H e is, in fact,themostthoroughgoing opportunist imaginable, and a despicable fatalist, for he worships Fate from fear, seeking fondly to propitiate Fate the unprofitable by giving it the name of ‘ Providence’ o r ‘human endeavour,’ just as the ancientsfromfearsoughttopropitiatetheavenging Furies by fatuously calling them the Eumenides.” “ I t iscurious,”continuedRathbone,“thatwords, as fo:r instancethiswordidealist,shouldthusswing round ton their moorings, and in the tide of the world’s business veer about until in time they point in a sense contrary to their original intention. This is the genesis of cant-the common acceptance of words on their face value. I think everyintelligentpeopleshouldappoint an official Inspector of Words and Phrases who should testcurrentexpressionsonce every five yearsor so and rejectthose thathavedegeneratedintocant, imposing penalties their on use. Only so can a nation truly progress. What we need is a Futurist lexicographerwhosescorchinghumourshouldridthe language of itsrubbish.Johnsonmighthave accomplished the task had his humour been less fanaticalbut think what the English language might have been to-day if Swifthadwritten adictionary. Thematter isnot merely of a pedanticinterest,wordsbeingthe final arbiters the on conduct o our daily life. f You smile, but did not Diderot with a dictionary change the one at morals of France? I can cite instance least where the meaning of a word affect may our life’s happiness. me, Tell Simpson, is meaning whatthe popularly attached to the word thoughtfulnessorthe word thoughtlessness-or what is commonly meant by a thoughtful o r a thoughtless man?” “I suppose,” Simpson, said “athoughtfulmanis onewhoisconsiderate, one who hasregardforthe feelings and comfort of others, and a thoughtless man is one who is inconsiderate, wbh, perhaps, causes pain to others though without intending to do so.” “Quite so,’’ said Rathbone, is “that exactly the in popular meaning of thosewords.Thoughtfulness, the popular sense, is that quality which results in those ‘little acts of kindness, little deeds of love,’ which are said to‘makethisearth a paradise the like heaven that a great deal of unabove.’ Now, I maintain necessary pain is caused on this earth by the interpretation of thoughtfulness in this sense. Strictly, you will agree, thoughtfulness means a disposition to take thought, to think, no matter what be the result of that thinking. Now, isthereanyauthorityforthe use of thisword to denote that thinking alone which results In altruistic conduct T” “None,”answeredSimpson,“excepttheauthority ot usage.” for holding that the “And is thereanyjustification altruistic conduct results this which from kind of ’ thoughtfulness the takes form of trivial acts of kindness ?” “None,”answeredSimpson,“exceptthatthe cornmonly observed ‘conduct of mankind is such.” accept“Here you see,”saidRathbone,”howthe in itscantmeaningbinds you to a ance of a word certain line of conduct. People ignore that a thoughtful man may be brutal, and that he may be brutal to be kind ; also that in certain circumstances true thoughtfulnessshouldresult in brutality,andthat people are often kind from mere thoughtlessness (in the strict sense), this and conventional that superficial or thoughtfulness (which isthesame as thestrictmere thoughtlessness) often adds to the sum of the world’s misery. ” “ I dare say you are right,” said Simpson, “but it is slightlyconfusing.” “Let us consider a particular case,)’ said Rathbone ; “take me and my wife. As you know, Ethel and I are absolutely devoted to each Suppose other. I die. Now you know that as soon as people are dead, those who love them instantly forget their bad qualities and rememberonly the good that was in them-and that is why epitaphs among few are the really sincere human documents. unkind The acts and bad the qualities of the dead are forgotten, and conversely our own unkind acts towards the dead assume the foremost placein our consciousness,until, to usethe common expression, are we ‘painfully aware’ of our unkindness $0 the dead ; and this pain, whichis the pain of remorse,becomesthemoreacute a s weignoremore andmoretheunkindness of thedeadtowards us. Is not remorse our for conduct the to dead most the painful o all human suffering, the one pain from which f we may find no relief,because the dead are departed, and we may nowise express our contrition to them, or in any way atone for our wrong?” “That is so,’’ saidSimpson. “Andyet,”resumedRathbone, ‘#our wrongis only imagined, because it exists only ,by virtue of the absence from our consciousness of the wrongs done by the dead; and were wrongs the done by the dead presentour in consciousness, pain the of remorse which we feel would thereby lessened, be would it not, being relieved as it were by a sense of equityin wrong-doing ?” “Itwould,” said Simpson. “And should we !remember only the wrong-doing of the dead, completely forgetting their goodness, we shouldbanishcompletely the pain of remorse-should we not ?-which we agreed to be the most painful of human suffering. ” “ Y o u areright,” said Simpson, “we should completelybanish the pain of remorse, as you say.” “Now tell me, Simpson,” said Rathbone, “what kind of actions linger longest in our memory. Are they the not actions which make strongest the impression on us atthetime they are done-in other wards,themost violent actions? So if I do aviolent wrong to Ethel, she is likely to remember i t when I am dead. If I ambrutaltoher,she will remember m y brutality. Don’t you agree that if I were truly thoughtful I should be occasionally brutal to Ethel to ensure her not ,remembering my goodness alone when I am dead? If I were persistently kind to her, Ethel’s remorse my on death would terrible. being be But sometimes brutal. I may strictly thoughtful, I am cause her some pain for the time being, butby so doing I save her from that far greater and prolonged painthe anguish of remorse; whereas if I were superficially thoughtful I should add to her future remorse, and SO increase the sum of the world’s misery.” “There is much truth, Rathbone,” said Simpson, “ in what you But say. suppose were Ethel so thoughtless(Iusetheword in thestrictsense) as to die before you-what then?” LIONEL FONSEKA. DE 240 Readers and Writers. OMAR KHAYYAM not now the vogue he had in Enghas land twenty years ago. In those days most of us knew our Fitzgerald by heart and wallowed in the sentimental self-pity induced by hisrhythms. I am told andcan well believe thatwhateverthesentimentalcontentof the original, spirit the as expressed in theform, is translated by Fitzgerald only in Bottom’s sense, that is, itismetamorphosed. I t came,however, as an opportune reaction to the discovery that Science, even Tennysonian science, was bankrupt. Spencer Darwin and had mechanised theworldandcarriedtheindustrial revolution into thought. Tennyson on lawn his had prettified it hungwith and it paper garlands. But nothing could conceal the fact that the new world was repellant that and nothing wasbetterthanthe only certaintypromised by it. Inthis nihilisticreboundwe were carried all away, Fitzgerald’s and ‘‘Omar” led us. Butourcouragehaslong since returned, and the spectres of SpencerandTennysonare now no more than historic. turnip-heads. I do believe thatatthis momentSpencerandTennyson aretwo of themost despised of the great English writers. They are proved to have frightened u s without or cause to have attemptedtosootheuswithoutreality ; andforthe double offence thepaircannot be forgiven this century. With our courage returned also our good sense, and in the light of good sense Omar Khayyam ceased to be the refuge of despair. W e can, I hope, all laugh at him now; not, of course, with contempt, for we do not know that we may not have to fly to h i m again ; but with good humour. * * + The new edition of the “Rubaiyat” published by Messrs. Methuen (15s. net) has two justifications : the drawings and the introduction by Mr. Edmund J. SUIiivan. Mr. Sullivan isjust old enoughtohavepassed through the very noon of the cult of Omar ; but he is justnotyoungenoughtobe able to recoverfromit. In his introduction the only trace of the new spirit, the post-Omarian spirit as I may call it, is a certain sprightliness which comes from a suspicion that his seriousness is no longer taken seriously ; but, for the rest, the drip of melancholy andagnosticdespairhassaturated his, pages. is This particularly observed to be in the Dedicatory verses “M. to A. S.,” the sentiment of which is pure Omarian without even a hint of blue sky. as Theillustrations,each of a page,andnumbering many as there are quatrains in the poem, are for the most part excellent. Being so much at one with his author, Mr.Sullivanfound no difficulty in accompanying him in his own proper medium of black and white ; andtheillustrations are, in fact,thesamethemeexpressed by a draughtsman instead of by a poet. Though strong both and delicate, the drawings are seldom robust for all their attempts to picture the gay sensual life. Despair and apprehension hang over them too, andmakethe linesquiverorsometimes tofade awayintothebackground.Look, for example, at the illustration to Stanza XLVII. It is clear, it butis then the nevertheless uncertain ; and read Quatrain itself and see exactly how thedrawingexpresses it. I cannot forbear to note that also the end is foreshadowed in the last drawing to the concluding stanza. Except for one little touch of imagination, it might be an illustration forTennysonappearing in the“Girl’s Own Paper.” Thus Sullivan Mr. proves Omar that and Tennyson are related. * * * gested by Mr. Shawthatreasonisgiven us merely. to justify we already what have done; but on the ground that, if true, they had been well considered a n d deliberately adopted as a policy. But they are not true,, and Mr. Cole has onlysuperficial appearancesinhis. support. Regarding the first charge, is it absurd to say that we are “indiscriminate” in denunciation when, in fact, are we discriminate. Nobody has ever been “denounced” except evidence upon given ; nobody, above all, has been “denounced” one day for doing one thing another for and day doing the opposite. . I n short, our victims know very well what they are being “denounced” and for, could anticipateourjudgment on any matterwithpracticalcertainty. To be“indiscriminate” in criticism is to be capricious and arbitrary : it is to allow one’s judgments to be determined by mood and whim. In suchacasethe“victims”neverknow wheretheyare,beingpraised to-day anddamnedtomorrow, and without undergoing, as far as they know, anychange in themselvestojustifyit.CanMr.Cole name anybody whom we have criticised or “denounced” in thisfashion?Then why indiscriminate? And that we are “apt to resent criticism of any sort” is equally baseless. Resentment is a peculiar but well-known : its specific character feature of morbid psychology is repression of expression. Psycho-analysts are now engaged in endeavouring to discover means of bringing to light, and so of relieving by expression, the hidden “ resentments” of their patients in whom the unspoken “resentments” have worked mental havoc. But where in THENEW AGE hasthere been a trace of “resentment”properly so called? So far as I know,notthe obscurest writerin the obscurest journal who has spoken of THE NEW AGE has failed of a reply. W e have been to reply told,indeed, that it was beneath our dignity to many of our critics ; we did them too much honour by answering them. But the rudest word, as Nietzsche said,ismore friendly than silence ; andwearenot always even rude ! Look at this reply to Mr. Cole ! * * * America, where the advertisement agents come from, has now a classic, which the same you may learn from the New York “Argosy.” Here is passage first the quoted in the notice, and afterwards follows the comment. (English papers please copy.) You remember thatstory in Texas-where he tells“Santa was lyin’ in bed pretty sick.” “I’ve heard YOU ridin’ across the grass for hours. Well,” she says, ‘‘ you saw the sign?” she whispers. “The minute I hit c a m p bag of potatoes and says I. “’Twas marked on the onions.” “They’re always together In life,” says, she soft-like. “They go well together,” I says, “in a stew.” “I meanheartsandcrosses,”saysSanta. “Our sign-to love and to suffer-that’s what they mean.” And thecommentis : “It is work like this that has caused the world to place 0. Henry first in American letters-a classic already-peer of Dickens and Balzac, Hugo and Maupassant, Kipling Thackeray.” and 0 . Henry ! * * + In Mr. Cole’s “World of Labour” (Bell, 5s.) there are two references to THE NEW A G E thatcannot I understand.Oneis that THENEW AGE has a “somewhat indlscriminatepropensitytodenunciation” ; and the other is that “it is apt to resent criticism of every sort.” If these statements were true, I shouldbeprepared to defend them ; not upon the silly ground sug- Somefurther reviews of the“Caricatures” of Mr, Rosciszewski have now appeared. The “Manchester Guardian”describeshim as “a realcaricaturist,and that is one of the rarest birds in England.” The “Publishers’ Circular” calls him “a new master of caricature.’’ The “Daily Telegraph” “heeven says is more savagethan Mr. MaxBeerbohm,”and“in his. mildest moments he is a cynic.” “Bernard Lintot” in “T.P.’s Weekly,” on the other hand, says “he is on the whole a genial and amiable fellow, disposed to laughterratherthantosarcasm.” All these .opinions canfortunatelybe checked by myreaders,since the caricatures in the volume haveallappeared,inthese pages. Well, what is the conclusion, and who is right .-“T. P. ’s” orthe “DailyTelegraph’’ ? Frommy favouredposition of personalacquaintancewith Mr. Rosciszewski I .am disposed t think the “Daily Teleo of Tom-titt, graph” nearer the truth about the genius 24 I and “T. P. ’s” nearer on the subject of his personality ; and the interesting speculation for me is which of the two qualitiesin Mr. Rosciszewski will survive at the expense of the other-his geniusorhisgeniality. of genialitywehaveenough in the world. By theway, the “Publishers’ Circular” announces the that first edition of the“Caricatures”has beensold. Would it were so-but of the 250 copies printed more than half are still unsold. only a trifle less ridiculous than Mr. Shaw’s recent reference to Brieux as the Moliere of the twentieth century. I can name off-hand half a dozen profoundgifts which are as apparent inMoliere as they are lacking inShawgenuine wit and humour which bubble over at every line ; a magnificent style in the highesttradition o French f verse and prose; the ability to create, not merely one or two, buttwenty characters, each of whom is a distinct dramaticpersonality (Tartuffe, Georges Dandin,Sganarelle, M. Jourdain, and so on), and not only characters but whole groups of people such as the “prkcieuses ridicules.” This is but saying that Moliere was one of the geniuses who will last for ever and that Mr. Shaw is not; a fact which is as well known to M. Anatole France as anyone. R. H. C. * * * Mr. G. K. Chesterton will never write a better book than his “Charles Dickens” ; and as it is now published by Messrs. Methuen at a shilling, I may presume it is a popular classic. Butwhatonearththepublic will in the feast make of it I cannot guess. Without being sophistical, Mr. Chesterton appears as a master of sophistry. Without wishing to confuse any issues Mr. Chesterton confuses all issues. Wishing to say nothing butthe simple andthetrue,heisthemostcomplex and paradoxical writer our language has produced. In some ways, indeed, Mr. Chesterton, though a critic of our days,isitsmostcompleteincarnation;allstyles are to be foundin him save any style ; all ideas save any idea ;all points of ‘view save any point of view. A study of AVr. G. K. Chesterton would, dispense u s fromthe necessity of considering any of his contemporaries. But his age has nearly passed. Country Manners. By Beatrice Hastings. M R S . M A R S H had returned from the North Country and was calling her on old friend and neighbour, Sary Spray-Coppard that was. “ Ye’ve still the same carner cupboard ye had on yer murrige Sary. do day, Wael a remamber ye ad naught alse i’ the place. But things is altered now, an’ ye’ve as nice a home an babbies as woman would aver begin to wish f’r.” “ A’rn so pleased to think Gard pertected ye to coom ome agen, Mrs. Marsh,” said Anne Coppard, who was passing on a n errand for Miss Atinoaks-“ A’ve only drarped in,’’ she explained-‘ ‘But aint she thin, Sary ? My, a thart ye was thin afore ye went, but now ye’re Wad, it’senough to mak yethincoomin’ ariulthin. arl that way.” Mrs. Marsh, who was decidedly (and regretfully, as everybody knew) “ a fine woman,” smiled at the welcome compliment. Shesat a littlemore delicately on the horse-hair and sofa, arranged a new brass keeper-ring on her wedding-finger. “ Wael, a be a bit deckered out this marning,” remarked. she “A 11a.d this dress new nart a year gone. Who’s yer last, Anne?’’ she added, by way of returning the compliment. Anne giggled twisted and about in an excess of flattered amusement. “ Oh, a haint no’un in pertickler. They’re allays hangin’ round though. it Isn’t funny they arl cooms arter Sary? me, An a naver say nothin’ to’m. they out An’ farl an’ fight over me. Lots of ’em do as a don’knowthenames of. Why, the first noight a warlked out wi’ Charley Crouch we met a lot of ’em an’ they swore a t ’im an’ arl manner. I axed what they ’ad to do wi’ me nor ’im other. They stripped over that they did. A wouldn’t be in their company a’ inch. No fear a should,nuther ! A don’t mak’ Parish tarlk about it, Mrs. Marsh, but a tal ye fer truth little Sady’s arter me now. Ever so many people in Crowhurst knows about Sady little an’ me. But ?’ e s a real gentleman ye know, business man. An’ lat therebeasmany as therewascoom, ’e would’n git away fr’m me. A used to think he oh, is a pritty so to’m down at the ‘ Grapes.’ lit’l’ chap.said A H e clouted into me, he did, true as a’m ’ere alse a’m nart ’ere aloive. A dunno if ’e loikes me, but ’e allays Foller me anywheer, ’e sims as though ’e does. wouldn’ caer 00 see ’im. ’E naver’adannythingbad fr’m me. ’E wouldn’ coom fer though. nought “ Look ’ere, Anne,” her said sister in a whining oi ’ave to tone, “ justye coom ’erean’seearlwhat put up wi’. Bill ain’t bin ’ome sence yesterday marnin’ an’ ’ere am oi wi’out a crust to eat or drink. What’s the good of a home if ye haint nuthin’ to eat in it ?” An old m a n who sat in the corner broke in-“ Ay, it’ll wear out ye wi’ yer famly ! A brart oop my famly vurry respactable, tart ’em arI good to be It’s about me wore out. Now they’re scharlers. murriedtheirsalves,an’ it’ll wear ’em out saem as it has me.” * * * A correspondent who attended the receptions of M. Anatole France in London sends me the following notes of his impressions : M. Anatole Francetold somebody that hehad never made a public speech until he rose to do so at the Savoy dinner. I thought so when he got up to reply. He was obviously not at his ease, and paused two or three times even in the reading of his manuscript. One cause of his nervousness may well have been the audience ; for a more dreadfulentourage for a man of letterscanhardly be conceived. Of the 300 odd guests at leasthalf consisted o women, allexcept a dozen or so having,apparently f been carefully selected for their ugliness. Powdered, painted, greasy-looking creatures, they waddled ungracefully to their places, made desperate efforts to’ understand the scraps of French they heard round them, and always laughed and applauded punctiliously when they saw the people who knew French laughing and applauding. Not that the men were much better. They were mostly Mr. Grimwig’s “beef-faced boys” grown up ; and his “mealy” kind were unfavourable specimens. Sir Thomas Barclay, who hadnothing to say,said it very well in French; and Lord Redesdale, who should have had someand said it rather badly in thing say, little, to said English. He spoke better in French at the end, and made an occasional hit; but his speech wasmuch too lengthy and we were bored, most of us, long before he had finished. Beyond his thumb-nail reference tothe warmthand cordiality of the English character, mentioned in THE NEWAGElast week, 35. Anatole France said nothing. It may be that what he really thinks abouthis reception will duly appear in a novel; for it was quiteclear to anyone who hadeyes that M. France is notarticulate except upon paper. The views he expressed on the English novel, ana so forth, are not to be taken seriously, for they do not represent him-they sound like something hurriedly put together after he had been informed that l,ord Redesdale would refer to the matter in speech of his was dragged from one welcome. M. France suddenly medium of expression into another which was not suited to him, and the result was a well-meant hut futile attempt Similarly, I amnotfora to do somethingimpossible. seriously the views on moment prepared to consider economics which M. France put forward at the Fabian idealistic of Socialists, and reception. He is the most when he attempted to explain his justification for holding Socialist views he did so ethically and not economically. Collectivism as a means of attaining universal peace, takes US back twenty years or so, and has nothing to do with the wage system. Like every other Frenchman, M. France is prepared, on ceremonial occasions, to sacrifice truth to politeness. His reference to Mr. Shaw as the MoliPre of England is 242 Anne Coppard laughed. “ Ye be downsome this marnin’,Toddy. Loife ain’t that bad yet, nart wi’ me noways. ” Toddy retorted-:‘ Ah ! Arl yer famly was the saem, allays ready to Yer grin. brother grinned ’isself into ’sylum. My, don’ta’call ow ’eused to stand in frontof awoman an lift ’is liptill sheneardrarped wi’ froight into faints an’ wantin’ water.’’ “ Still, if ye naver spoke to a man, ye’d naver “ Though some’s murry,” said Anne, irrelevantly. murried as better ’adn’t be.” “ Ach-ahum,” Toddy’s old wife coughed-“ Naver ye believe-ach-a man-ach-until he’s on the gallers -ahm, ahm ! ’E’II say ’e wants-ach-’e wants to coom down.’’ Sary Spray called Anne ’upstairs to draw her sister’s attention more productively tothestate of herown “ Oi were naver a Gard-blessed woman, poverty. Anne. Ye see oi’ve scarce a drink to offer ye.” When Annehadpromised topartwith half of hermonth’s wages, which would be due the on morrow, they descended.sprightly A young woman now sat next to Mrs. Marsh,talkingvery vivaciously. “ ’Ullo, ” said Anne, “ you ’ere, Mrs. Jack Spray ?” “ Looksloike me,” replied the newly-married Mrs. Spray, “ ’taintmeshaddy.” “ ’Ow’s Jack?’’ Anne asked. “ ’E’s arl roight. A were gooin’ tal just to Mrs. Marsh ’ere, the day Jack an’ me w’s murried, we w’s coomin’ alang ’ome, an’atthe police station a man cooms out an’ mak’s f’r follerin of us. Ho, says Jack, stappin’quoit’sudden, ‘ whomoightyebe an’what moight ye warnt ?’ ” A nod of approvalshookfromeachheadpresent, though some had heard the tale before. “Themansays, ‘A warntyernaem, please.’ Jack gives it. ‘ An yer feyther’s address, please.’ Jack givesthat, ‘ an now,’ says ’ee ‘ ye’ve bin arstin’ me questings, maybe a’ve me roight to arst ye some.’ ” “ Coorse,” exclaimed everybody. “ Coorse. An’ s o Jackupsan’says ‘ Now what ‘ Wael,’ moight ye be a warntin’ to know about me?’ says the man, ’ee was ready to mak’ an’ seem cheerful now ’e’d got his answers, ‘ Ye see,’ ’ee says, ‘ theer’s a young gent run away from the college a t Lewes wi’ a young woman, an’ a thart ye moight be ’im.’ ” A burst of laughtergreetedthis,Mrs.Jack,Spray laughing as loudly a s anyone. Mrs. Marsh rolled back into inelegant her former position. Sary Spray sniggered.Anne flopped acrosstheroom,hoarseand “ Haaow,” .she bawled, “ if in averthe helpless. warld a did hearit. ’Ee must ’ave binlove-begartten alse ’ee’d naver ’ave stud theer aloive an’ thart it.” “ It’s Mrs. JackSpraythumpedher in the back. vurry loike ’e wars,but adidn’ ask ’im.” Shewent on-“ Jack says ‘ A doan’t look loike a college gent !’ ” ‘‘ Did ye tal man the ye be’d cousints just an’ murried?”asked Mrs.Marsh. “ A didn’ tal ’un who a wars or what a wars,” retorted young the woman. “A knowed done a’d nought but proper that day, an’ so we fatched oor laigs ’omeward, f’r theer w’s a ’ot dinner awaitin’ of us.” “ Wael, a must be doin’ the saem,” said Anne. “ A A loikes that riband ye’ve gart, Mrs. Jack can’t stap. of Spray,” she said, perhaps to ease the awkwardness parting, “ It’s loike lovers’ what them knots the Queen’s darterswears, wi’ a larngstrimmer’angin’ down. S’pose oi gart It one?kips on flib-flabbin’ about. Haaow ! wouldn’ that be a Parish say? Though a doant caer about the say.” She passed slowly, and grotesque with gesticulations into the stone-laid kitchen that led into the patch of garden.Here,sheturnedround,grinning, “ Lor, the sun’s ’ot. My ’ead w’s clear as crystal sea when a coom out an’ now it’s muddy loike mops an’ brooms as a say. Haaow ! Good marnin’ arl.” Bee-bee. By Alice Morning. CHAPTER I. BEE-BEE, dressed company, swinging the for was on front gate when she saw the old Witch with the Bag over her arm. A t sight of the Witch, Bee-bee ran intothegarden and banged the gate fast. And the Wit,ch stopped right in front and said, just like the one Susan had described : “Little girl, will you come and open the gate for me?’’ “ N o fear.” “Oh, oh ! Come, and I’ll give you a sweetie.” The Witch smiled : but Susan said all witches smiled at the little girls they wanted to put in the Bag. Bee-bee plantedherfoot firmly. “No, I can’topen zegate. My mamawon’tlet me.’’ a “Oh ou canfos‘me,” replied theWitch,“I’m visitor. :,y ‘W o , you’s ze ole witch.” “Open the gate at once, you naughty child !” And as she fumbled at the latch and grumbled in a terrible voice, Bee-bee shrieked and pulled up some grasshurl to at her. “Ole wi-itch ! Steals lickle gi-irls !” Aunt Louisa came running out of the house. “Mind ze witch, Auntie,” Bee-bee yelkd, and ran to defend her, gathering her in around the knees. But Aunt Louisa said : “Nonsense ! That’sdear go andopenthegateforher. Mrs. French.Letme Dear Mrs. French, I am so sorry. This ‘child has such a strange imagination. ” “Very,” said the old lady, tartly. “ I am quite upset.” Bee-bee edged away into the house and bolted up to Susan’s bedroom. Susan just was pinningher on afternooncap.‘‘Lor, MissBee !” “00, Susan, ze witch trying put is to Auntluisa in her bag !” A bell rang from the drawing-room. “Now I spose I’ll catch it forb,eing late,” said Susan. CHAPTERI. I I t was a wonderful find. Ever so many little tiny round sweets in a bottle ! Bee-bee found it in Mama’s bedroom.A nice bigbox in a cupboardhad a lot of little bottles all standing in holes which just fitted them. All thebottlesexceptonehad scent-nasty scent-in them and the last one had the sweets. Bee-bee crunched up thesweetsandsprinkledthe scent all over the room. Then she went out to play. Presently thesun seemed very cold and then it got very hot and Bee-bee’s head began to hate everything. So shetookitupstairsand laid it downonMama’s bed. To have a game, she madle a nice little tent under thecounterpaneandthenshe felt sick very and lay down in a hurry, calling for Aunt Louisa. Aunt rushed Louisa upstairs. T h e ,counterpane wriggled about and Aunt Louisa thought she guessed thegameat once. “Mygoodnessgracious,there’s a bear in the bed,” she exclaimed. And Bee-bee said bravely : “Grumph-grumph !” “Why., it’s Bee-bee,” cried Aunt Louisa, finding our. “ I t isn’t me, it’s a bear,” growled a heroic voice. Then Aunt Louise peeped under the counterpane. And it wus Blee-bee. But her face was full o tears. f ‘‘00 Auntluisa I yam sick. ” “My precious angel, what’s the matter?” “My tummick a n my feets !” “What have you been eating, darling?” “Lickle sweets in ze bockle. ” “0-oh ! Baby ! Lie down, sweetheart. Auntie’ll run and be back in a minute.” She flew downstairs. Susan for Wilson. ran Dr. Kate brought hot water. And Mama was called out of herroom, “ thestudy, ” where Bee-bee wasalways asked not to go. Bee-bee was crying loudly when 243 Mama came up. She held out hertiny hands covered with perspiration, and Mama took her. “&me on, my lambie, and let us put her in mummy’s bed. ” “Oh dear, oh dear !” saidAunt Louisa. “Why did 1 leave t.he cupboardunlocked?Shemusthaveeaten thebelladonna,Marion.”Susan flew backbreathless. The Doctor would be here directly. “ Let’s have some hot flannels, Louisa,” said Mama. She laying was Bee-bee down among the blankets and now she passed her soft warm hands over the poor little tummy. Beebee wailed. “Ole ugly pain, mama. I’ll give him a bigfmack prently when I catch him.” “The doctor will catch him and take him right away, darling. ” “Ou-ee ! Ou-ee !” The Doctorfelt Bee-bee’s pulse and coveredherall overwithhot flannelsever so manytimes,andgave her something to drink. “Want to go to bye-bye,” she murmured; and she went. a child,” said the Doctor, “There’s no sham about taking up ‘his hat. “When it’s better, it’s better.’’ Aunt Louisa went away and soon the tea tray came UP. Bee-bee squealed with joy. “00i’nt Antluisa a welly girl !” she exclaimed. Thuswas expressed the ‘highest approbation. “welly” For means the very, very thing, the real thing, so to say. Bee-bee sat up on Susan’s bed and tucked into the bread and strawberry jam for ten minutes. At last she. sighed : “ N o more, sank you !” and she gazed at the window all pattering with the rain. “I’nt it comfible?” she said to Susan, hugging herself and laughing. “What about the tale, Miss Bee-bee? Will it be the Three Pigs?” “Ess. Onceupon a timezere was free pigs an zay all was wantin to buildemhouses to live in. An the a man wiv a cart full of first pig goed out an he seed traw. (Susan knew meant this straw.) An he sayed Gmornin Mister Man would y0.u kindly give me a lickle traw to build my house wiv? An ze man sayed Oh certny. So ze pig builded a nice housie. An one ze day Wolf came he an sayed Gmornin Mister Pig an ze pig sayed Gmornin. An ze Wolf sayed Won’t you vitemein to have alickle breakwast. An ze pig sayed Oh no you’d eat me all up. An ze Wolf sayedNonsints.Letme yin or I’ll blow a n I’llblow a n I’ll blow your house down. An he blowed anhe blowed an he blowed ze house down an gobbled ze pore Pig UPNen ze next pig goed out an he seed a man wiva cart full of sand he an sayed Gmornin Mister Man would you kindly giveme a lickle sandto build my housewiv? An ze man sayed Oh certny. So ze pig builded a nice housie. An one ze day Wolf came anhe sayed Gmornin Mister Pig an ze pig sayed Gmornin. An ze wolf sayed won’t you vite me in to have a lickle breakwast an ze pig sayed Oh no you’d eat me all up. An ze wolf sayed Nonsints.Letme yin or I’llblow a n I’ll blow a n I’ll blow your house down. An he blowed an he blowed an he blowed ze house down and gobbled ze pore pig up. Nenze next pig goed out an he seed a man wiv a cart full of bricks anhe sayedGmorninMisterMan would you kindly give me a licklebricks to build my house wiv? An ze man sayed Oh certny. So ze pig builded a nice housie. An one ze day Wolf came anhe sayed Gmornin Mister Pig an ze pig sayed Gmornin. An ze wolf sayed Won’t you vite me in to have a lickle breakwast an ze pig sayed Oh no you’d eat me all up an ze wolf sayed Nonsints. Let me yin or I’ll blow a n I’llblow an I’ll blow your house down. An he blowed an he blowed an h e Couldn’t blowed zehousedown COS itwasmade of bricks you see, Susan ! So he goed away an he corned back next day an he Pig I know where’s zere’s some sayed Mister Oh apples an ze pig sayed Where? In a field free miles away up down ze left. An ze pig sayed I’ll come to-mollow mornin a t seven o’clock. Buthegettedup at six o’clock a n went a n picked ze apples. And whenze wolf comed hesayedAre youready Mister Pig ? An ze pig sayed Oh I been an back again. So ze wolf sayed quitely Well we’ll go to-mollow at Six o’clock. An ze next mornin ze pig gettedup at seven o’clockno leven o’clock-no--“Five. o’clock !” suggested Susan. “Ess. Five o’clock. An-er-oh ! An when ze wolf comed sayed he Are you ready Mister and Pig pig sayed Been an back again. So ze wolf sayed quitely Well we’ll g o to-mollow a t five o’clock. An ze molly mornin ze piggettedupat flee o’clock (Susan kept quiet) an ze wolf getted up a t CHAPTERI I. I That Flea gave Bee-bee an awful lot of trouble. First he bit her under her foot. “00, leave off !” she cried out, and she took off her sock and looked right inside. But the Flea wasn’t there ! so she took off ,her other sock and looked right inside that one. But the Flea wasn’t there either. Suddenly, he ran up her knee and when she tore her panties of she him f saw jump. And shegot such a fright that she threw him out of the window, panties and all. “00 she called after them.“Comeback.”She !” climbed up and peeped out of the window. There they were in the front garden. “I’ll come down and bling you back !” she assured them.ButjustassheturnedroundtheFleabither again-up the backthis time. H e wasn’tgoneafter all ! And she could notgetthestring t f her flannel o petticoat undone for ever so long. But at last it broke. She rolled the petty up tight in a bundle and put it on $he bed. you,’’ she “Now I’ll just pe-ee-eep in and catch announced to the Flea. And suddenly she saw himand stuck in he,r fingers and caught him. “Don’t wiggle about in my yan,d,” she ,commanded. But he would wiggle and she did not know ‘what to do with him because she wanted to save ,him up to show to Mama. The door of thewardrobewas open. Insidewas a pretty basket. Ithadcome once, full of apples,but there were only Mamma’s stockings in it now. “1’11 put you in ze bastick,” said Bee-bee to the Flea. She Stuck him well downamongthedockingsand banged the door tight. And then ran she downstairs to tell Louisa Aunt where he was. CHAPTER IV. Susan had been ill and Bee-bee had .not seen her ,for a week. At last, one very wet day, Aunt Louisa thought Bee-bee might g o upstairs and have tea with Susan to cheer her up. Bee-bee arrived with every curl in place and a spotless lace pinafore on. Her blue tie-ups were new ones in honour of the visit. She hesitated a moment in the doorway,seemingstartledtoseeSusan so whiteand tired. when But Susan smiled Bee-bee ran forward and began patting herall over. “Welly Susan,” pore s,he crooned. “Oh, welly p‘G shantfeel poor very long, Miss. be makes me better already.” “Ess. !- The sight of you An I’ll tell you a nice tale prently.” 244 flee o’clock too an just when ze pig was comindown ze tree he seed ze wolf. An he sayed Oh whatever shall I do So he finked of somesing an he frowed down a apple into a barrel an to ze wolf was so hungly he creeped inside ze barrel eat ze apple an nenze pig jumpeddown an rolled ze barrel down ze hill an runnedhomequick and locked ze door. An prently ze wolf comed an he shouted aut I ’I1 come down your chimbley an eat you. An zepigput on a big pot of boilin water on ze fire an ze wolf fell in an ze pig cooked him up for breakwast ! Zere !” “’That’s a lovely story,”saidSusan.“Thar I< you very much. ” CHAPTER V. Bee-bee had beenabad girl and nobody loved her. So shewentuptothedrawing-room window to pull faces at all the people going by. And she pulled a terrible face at a certain gentleman. He turned in at the front gate and rang the door-bell ! Bee-bee bolted intothebath-room and hid away in the cupboard. Ever such a long timewent by. And thecupboard grew so hard and small. Bee-bee was just fearing she could notstopthereanother minute when sheheard Aunt Louisa calling her name. Anything seemed better So Bee-bee stretched than tostop in the cupboard. herself out and answered meekly. “ESS Antluisa !” “Come and get a clean pinafore on, darling.” All was well, then. “There’s somebody coming to tea-a gentleman-so my babamust look a .nice lovely girl.” AuntLouisa said this sweetlyonpurpose. Not that she had really forgotten Bee-bee’s) wickedness, she but believed it better bo pretend to forget. On ordinary days Bee-bee would have forgotten it too, but the awful hat of the gentleman was haunting ,her. She was most good and obliging while her curls were being brushed. “There, she’s a bonny girl now,” said Aunt Louisa, layingdownthebrush. “ I don’t sink I want any tea to-day, Antluisa. ” “What? Kate making Why is hot cakes. Can’t you smell them?” “Oof ! Ess.” 6 6 Have you got a pain anywhere, darling?” “Oof ! No, ! I sinkI’ll oome.’’ As theywent downstairsthe tea-bell rang. So Beebee slid straight into the dining room and sat up, very small and unoffendingly on her chair. Mama came first, then Louisa, Aunt and thenHim ! ‘‘00-er !” said Bee-bee to herself. Mama said :“This is Bee-bee. Shake hands with Mr. Turnbull, pet. ” “ I spose he’ll tell now,”thought Bee-bee, andshe looked imploringly at him while he shook her hand. He did not tell ! H e s a t down and ate the cakes and talked a lot-but he never told ! But Bee-bee and smiled he at each other several times and he gave her the cake with pink on the top. So afterwards Bee-bee told Susan this :‘‘I goed an getted my orange which I’d ony tooked o u t one bite and my Santaclaus tockin an I putted em inhispocketwherehiscoatwashangingup,for a sprise packet.” CHAPTER VI. It was just about church time when Bee-bee slipped out of the house. She went towards the sound of the bells and was soon in the nice little garden where the graves were. Presently the people began to come to church. Nobody bothered ,about Bee-bee where she sat quietly downona stoneandwatchedtheprocession.But at last, whenalmosteveryonehadgonein,Miss Frost and hernephew, the cobbler’s boy, came along. They both frowned hard. “00my !” said Bee-bee, shuddering. “Just look a t them drefful ole-uglies trampin all over ze sunshine.” off thegraves, Miss Frost hobbled up fast. “Get Child !” she called out. “ I can g o on em if I like,” retorted Child. “William,” Miss Frost commanded red-faced her nephew, “ g o and remove that child.” The big boy came forward to catch her, so Bee-bee dashed into the open church dloor. “Hush ! Ssh !” said everybody. Bee-bee climbed up on a seat and looked good. T h e seatwas very cold underherbarelegs.Shehadno gaiters on because, of course, Aunt Louisa not had dressed her to go out. In a fewminutes,Mr.Brownhurriedinandfound Bee-bee sitting inhis pew. “Move up, littlegirl,”he said sharply. “I shant,” Bee-bee cried in great indignation. “I’ve only just warmed this part of the seat.” The boy in Miss Frost’s pew burst out laughing and she boxed his ears. And Mr. Brown, was who a churchwarden, picked Bee-bee up andcarriedhertowards the door. She kicked screamed and for Aunt Louisa. When Mr. Brown heard her loud‘cry,he shook her. So she bit him as hard as she could. And Mr. Brownsaidsomethingvery peculiar. Bee-bee rushedhomeandtoldAuntLouisa. “Did say he words to my darling?” said Aunt “We’llhave Louisa,who could notbear Mr.Brown. himpiflikated.” Bee-bee thoughtthisoverandatlastshewent off to Susan to get her opinion. “DO you like dam or piflikated, Susan?” she asked. CHAPTER I. VI “Comeoutandplay,”saidthelittlegirl over the front gate. So Bee-bee and went she off together. They walked a very long way and presently they saw a fruit shop. 64 I want an apple,” said Bee-bee. “So do I, ” said the little girl. “That man lets you take them. You go over and get one for you and one for me.” So Bee-bee went over and picked out two nice apples. But directly the little girl got hers, she ran away fast and Bee-bee couldnot find heranywhere. She took a bite of apple and found an ole-ugly worm inside. The man came out and stood by his fruit-shop. Bee-bee went over. “This apple’s bad,” she said, and she showed where the worm was wriggling. “Where did you getit?” askedtheman. Bee-bee showed him the exact place. Then the man took her inside and sat her up orl the counter. “Yor a korf-drorp ain’t yer ?” he asked. “Ess. ” ‘“Ere,missis !” theman called outand a woman came running in. “ ’Ere ! This young un pinched a apple, selp me, and now she wants me to change it cos it’s bad.” Then the man and the woman looked at each other and they laughed until it seemed as if they never would stop. But suddenly another woman came in, so they toldherthestoryandallthreelaughedagain, while Bee-bee sat up on the counter and wondered and kicked her toes together. “It’s a lady’s child,” said the second woman. “Look a t her silk socks. ’* Bee-bee said, “ I want to go home. ” “DO yerknowwhereyer live, duckie?”theshopwoman asked. Ess-up zere. ” “I’llsetheracrosstheroad,’ ’ saidtheman. And he gave Bee-bee a big red apple. “Sank you welly much. ” “My ! ow sweet,” cried Jane. Bee-bee did not find herwayhome until she was nearly tired to death and Aunt Louisa was awfully glad to see her come in. 66 245 “My girlie, where have you been? Oh, and how hot you are. You must drink some nice milk and lie down for awhile. ” And Bee-bee went right off to sleep on Mama’s bed:. When she woke up she saw a big glass bottle nearly full of something on the table. She took out the stopper and smelled in. Itwas beautiful scent ! Bee-bee sprinkledsome over the garden to make a nice smell out there. But she poured out too much by accident and there was not very much left for Mama. So she filled the bottle right up to the top with water andmade a lot more scent. Thewaterwent a fine milky colour and Bee-bee was delighted. “Oof ! how lovely it fmells,” she murmured. CHAPTER VIII. Thisis a veryawfulstory, in factit is aperfectly awful story. Wearenotsurewhether we shallever be forgiven telling But for it. what we can do?It happened ! Thoughitcouldnothavehappenedhad Bee-bee always chosen plutocratic companions. Uncle C h a r l e s ’ come had tostay fior the week-end. He hadbeengiven thesleeping roomon the second landing. At the top of the door was a glass fanlight, ‘but nobody could see unless, in indeed, swung they overthe box-room stairsand perched upon the tiny shelf where Mama sometimes stowed away a bag. And that was exactly what Bee-bee did. Sheswungoverthestairs, perched upon the shelf underneath and was just going to bang on the pane of glass as a surprise for Uncle Charles when something interested her very much. ‘‘I never knowed !” she murmured ; and she went on watching. First Uncle Charles twisted about with his arms and at last he got hold of it. Then he whipped it round to the front and it had two little loops, and he put each loopover a button ; and that side was done. Then he twisted about again and caught the other one, brought it round easily and then the other side was done. H e seemed pleased then and Bee-bee heaved a sympathetic sigh. Nest momentshe nearlyscreamed. Uncle Charles. seized a little,long, flat black box, drew out aknifeand began slashing away at a thing That looked like a leather belt. And now he grasps a brush with a white handle and dabs it on some soap in a little case and then he washes all over his chin with the brush and he looks just like The clown in the circus. Bee-bee, breathless, waits to see him turn head over heels. But instead, Uncle Charles gazes very solemnly in the glass and takes up the knife and pretends to cut himself all over the chin. It’s a great game, and Bee-bee shrieksoutlaughing. UncleCharlesglances,towards the door as if he expects the laughing is just outside, buthe doesnotthink of looking up ! And Bee-bee thinks it a good beginning of a game of hide-and-seek. She is just goingto call out “Cookoo !” when another thing begins. Uncle Charles takes up a tiny comb and very, ‘very carefully combs away at afew short hairs upon his top lip. Hegoeson combingforever. Beebee comes more and more absorbed in his mission. He does leave hair not one unturned. Every single hair is lifted this way and that way and the other way. At last Bee-bee sees the quest is useless. “It’s no good, Uncle Charles,” she sings out loudly. “You won’t find any !” Uncle Charles finds her a minutelaterandhelifts her down with great ‘care and forgets to tell Mama the adventure. But Bee-bee rushed up to tell Susan all about it. CHAPTER X. I There was a merry-go-round in the town. One morning it was there ! When Bee-bee woke up, she saw it far away on the green. Presently, began it to play musicandallthehorseswentroundandroundand round. Bee-bee was playing in the garden when she heard the music. She ran towards it and several times one of her little black slippers came off because a button had given way in the garden. Everybody was climbing upon the horses, so Bee-bee climbed up too. ThentheMan came. “Where’s your penny?” he demanded. In my money-box,” replied Bee-bee. “Well, run home and get it,” said the naughty man, and he lifted her off the lovely horse. Bee-bee stuck her fist in her eye. A girlsat on a horseclose by. She pulled out a penny. “Ow ! Don’t be mean,’’ she said scornfully. “’Ere ! I’ll pay. ” Not only did she pay ; but, when the brown-faced Man said Bee-bee was too little to ride on a horse, the nice girl took her up on her own horse and held her quite safe. Roundandroundtheywent intime to the music.” Theywentfast, the-e-en they went slower, the-e-e-en they stopped. “Where d’o yer live?” asked girl, the looking at Bee-bee’s blue-silk tie-ups. “Zere.” Bee-bee pointed towards the house. “Well say thank yer and run ’ome, there’s a de-ear !” “Sank you welly much !” “Oh, yerlittleblessin’ !” The girl hugged Bee-bee and Bee-bee waved “Ta-ta !” AuntLousiawaswaiting atthegate.Shehadon her face sad and Bee-bee felt sorry somehow. Aunt Louisa said a t once : “Have you been to the Circus?’’ Bee-bee decided thatthis was thesorrowfulthing. ‘‘Nlo,’ ’ she replied considerately. said Louisa. “Oh, Bee-bee, that’s a story,” Aunt “Come in.” She led Bee-bee up to aroom and began to talk to her. . . . . Bee-bee listened patiently. suddenly, saw But, she three little birds fly by the window. They sat on a tree and called to to her come They out. whistled, and Bee-bee whistledback. “Don’t be naughty,”saidAunt Louisa. And then she went on talking. . . . And all therosesonthe wall-paper hadlittle men inside them with funny faces. One laughed at Bee-bee and Bee-bee laughed back. have to put you in the “If you laugh at me, I shall corner,” said Louisa. Aunt And then she went on talking. . . . And Bee-bee could not remember about those horses. Were they blue or were-they-red? “NOW you understandwhat I’ve AuntLouisasaid, been saying to you?” “Ess. Auntluisa, was zose circushorses.red or was zey blue?” AuntLouisasawher folly. But still shesaid, “ S o you did go to the circus. ” Bee-bee considered bargained and : “If you don’t tell me any more sings, I’ll tell you ess I did go.’’ “Well next time you want to go, just you ask m e first, and I’ll take you. ” “ I want to go now.” To-morrow,” said Aunt Louisa. “ <& VARIATIONS ON A SINGLE THEME. Faint echoes of past glories ! Still the Jew Answers with curses when the Christian rails; God’s darlings both, if what they say be true. What umpire sits aloof and holds the scales ? They fight with bloody spurs, and each can hear God’s private and particular word of cheer. God’s “chosen” are they both ? Picked for the fight, To give the cockpit’s cunning lord delight? “Sour cause is mine.” So God the oneassures. And to the other says : “My cause is yours.’’ Where’s Doctor Prince? This God must surely be A case of Dual Personality. A. E. WATTS. 246 Views and Reviews. I SUPPOSE that literature (what is usually called “pure” literature) has ceased to be published in England; certainly duringthelastyear,Ihave been confined the in hell of the social reformers. is It only a b u t two years since that I heard one of the novelists who had turned biographer speculate on what would be the “line” literature. next in Biography was played out; practically everybody had been “done” ; and authors, or ‘‘serious students,” as they describe themselves at the Museum, were at their wits’ end to know what next to write about. I suggested that they should write books, and received an uncomprehending stare in reply. Really, when one comes to think of it, an author should write books ; and books are not merely sheets of printedmatter enclosed within covers. The collection and recital of facts is, at its best, the work of science; at its worst, it is the work o,f hacks. l h e best of the novelist-biographers are gradually becoming historians, they are widening the terms of reference from a person to a period ;but the others remain what th4ey were at the beginning, publishers’ hacks, still looking for something to do. Theliteraryresult of theirlabourshas been nil ; practically, the result has been so many books published, which have found their way into the circulating libraries and the second-hand booksellers’ shops in Charing CrossRoad,aningloriousendto so much industry. But if once begins to speculate oa the probable causes of this result, it is not difficult, I think, to demonstrate the first greatcause of this futility. Biography was certainly sown in corruption, but it was not raised in incorruption ; our biographers, the like spiritualists, werecapable only of resurrectingthedead. I t isan unfortunate consequence of the English lack of ‘culture that a person ‘has onlyto break one of the ten commandmentsforget (I which one) to become notorious a person.Swinburne’sexclamationin“Dolores,” which a correspondent quoted last week :Come down and redeem us from vlrtue, Our Lady of Pain : is an example of what I mean. I t is not a literary utterance, for Swinburne has used the corrupted meaning o f the word “virtue” ; if we were to say : “Come down and redeem us frommanliness” ; we should makeSwinburne look silly. Butbecause“virtue”has beencorrupted to ‘mean obedience to whatever commandment it is that enjoins monogamy, because “virtue” has become the profession of every Englishwoman, Swinburne’s exclamationseemed to have the heroic quality. He was defying Convention, Morality, and all sorts of other abstractions ; the English public was shocked to read such phrases(butit did them), Swinburne read and passed ‘into thle ranks of our great poets, in the opinion of some people. The biographers had a similar predilection for shockingtheEnglish public. If it could shown be that a man had more than one wife at a time, or that a woman a had more than oae husband, there was a subject for biography. biography Modern was born of the chroniquescandaleuse,andnever rose above the level of its origin; for about seven years, we weredeluged with the biography of adulterers. Now the simple fact about adultery is that, much more truly than adversity, it acquaints a manwith strange bedfellows ; and that isall that we canlearnfrom it. Yetthesubjectwas the staple of biography, just as it is the staple of most novels andplaysproduced atthepresent time. Itis as though all literary had men amended Gibbon’s dictum, and had declared that “virtuous people have no history. ” Butitarguesasingularlack of imagination(and without imagination there can b e no art) to accept such adictum. I t may have been a mereepigramto Mr. Wilfrid Jackson, but when he said : “Vice is its own reward, but virtue needs a biographer’’ : he said some- thing worth saying. One of Matthew Arnold’s bishops. said : “If it wene not for the practical difficulties attenda ingit,virtue wouldhardlybedistinguishablefrom kind of sensuality.” Such dicta show us how little our literary men know of life. They aim at singularity, and think to shock us by a commonplace; while all the time thesingularthing, manlyexcellence,isignored. I t is, simply not true that happy o r virtuous people have no history; the truth is that they have no historians. When Tolstoy in the “Kreutzer Sonata,” tried to tell us how admirable chastity was, hie did not write a commentary on Bishop Butler’s saying : “Self-love, methinks, should be alarmed ! May she not pass over greater pleasures than those she is so wholly taken up with?” He could donothingbutemphasisethe“awfulconsequences” argument, show us the unhappiness that accompanied sensuality. Like most moralists, he tried tofrighten u s intochastity;thesuddenpopularity of the word o thesamemethod f ; “syphilis”isanotherexample while, a11 thetime,thepower,thebeauty,eventhe sensual pleasure, of the state remainedunrecorded. If we invoke powers,the must other in Swinburnian fashion, let us call upon the Muse to comedown and allure us to virtue. Thatthereshouldbethislamentable necessity for invoking the Muse is due, I think, to the fallacy underlyingtheartisticconvention. Shelley’s twaddle about poets learning in suffering what they teach in song o,nlp summarises the fallacy. I am denying value not the of sensibilitywhen I say that suchadictum expresses a morbid preference ; the truth is that the man who can suffer can also rejoice. Ibsen, in “The Pretenders,” was much more comprehensive and accurate ; certainly, hisskaldsaid : “The gift of sorrow came to me, and became I a skald” : but he also said : “ I needed sorrow; others there may be who need faith, or joy, or doubt.” Shelley’s fallacy isthe fallacy that supposes thattragedyisthehighestform of art,althoughits utilitarian function was well described by Aristotle ; and it is due to ignorance of the nature of man. The artist knows that, without passion, there can be no art; but suffering is not reallypassion,itispathos. I t is passive, not active, feeling-it is derivative, and not executive ; and it reduces the artist to’ being the perceiver of his ownpain. “ I havehad a woeto-day ; therefore, I must write a poem about it,” is not the most beneficia1 idea for an artist or his public. For, as Barney Doran saidin“John Bull’s OtherIsland” : “Och, I’m tired of your sufferins. We’ve been hearin’ nothin’ else ever sincewewas childher but sufferins. Hwenitwasn’t yours it was somebody else’s ; and hwen it was nobody else’sitwas ouldIrelan’s.Howthe divil areweto live on wan anodher’s sufferins?” ButthisabsurdlyChristianlimitation of passion to suffering is responsible for the misdirection both of art and life in England at least ; for it was linked with the equallyabsurdChristianexaggeration of the wickedness of sex. Thenatural re-action againstthetragic treatment of sexual irregularity was the comedic treatment of the same subject; and latterly, as I have shown, wehavehadthebiographicaltreatment of thesame same plane of subject. Action and reaction on the experience,themoralistwarning u s by theawfulexample of sinners, immoralist the trying to, shock u s by his admiration of the same sinners ; that is practicallyall that literature means to us. The moralistsin all ages agreed sexual have that irregularity was common ; the artists, who should have been looking for significanttypes,andthought they were looking for singular ones, really have only confirmed the moralists. But that passion should have become entirely associated withvice, andnot equallywithvirtue,is thefault of the artists. For the practical difficulties attending virtue are no less true of the literary expression of it. I t is admitted that praise is the most difficult thing to write ; the biography of virtueis of thesamenature. If wemust reverse the usual English method, and: use generalities, 247 we mustsaythat if virtueisfeatureless, so isvice; there is really no more variety in pain than there is in pleasure.I grant that virtue, in England, is notbeautiful ; nor is vice ; but we cannot be for ever re-acting againstSmiles’“Self-Help,”or“Sandfordand Merton.” classic A literature the is literature of experience;onecannotwrite a 23rd psalm unless one has learnt something and digested it ; and really, there are other things in life besides women withwhich to become acquainted. W h a t we call virtueisaninterior life ; externally, it is only a discipline ; and we need a biography of theinterior life. I t isalso a life of joy, and joy is a rarity ; but our artists have preferred the commonplaces of pain. Literary art, positively or negatively,isstillintensifying the sense of sin ; while the world, awaits a book that does fall not within this vicious circle. A. E. R. Feelings of thesortGraycontrolled would not have beensatisfied witmh that inhuman word “remotest” ;a search of theheartwasnecessary to havemadethis line alive. The verse entitled “A Rhyme” is in the tradition of the “Strong School,” slavishly Masefeldian-where shamelessness pretends to be shame. A n excellent work is“,Napoleon’sLastJourney,”thetheme of whichis the return to France of the insulted dust of the hero. Well achieved,also,is “The West Countree,” by the his o the Hills f and My same author : and “Song Friend”temptsonetotalk of genius.Itis impracti’cable tu write about all these verses. W e should like to mention “Ganymede,” “The Coming,” “Sic Transit,” this aesthetic lament with its opposite, “Sloane Square,” a thing of stagey melancholy-and a score of others : but we must reserve a space for the wits ! Professor Murray’s comment on the “ super-ingenioustricks of versification” would certainlyhavebeen ourown.Realding “Tbe Visitors’Book,” by Mr. R. A. Knox, with its too astonishing cleverness, one began to fancy that everyline of English verse ever written is capable of being punned upon with unbroken sense. CORYDON HQWshall I reach (for wind and wave are : fickle) Those fields untouched by harrow or by sickle ? ECHO. Bicycle. This echo iskept up until a belief in neo-mysticism clutches the soul-one feels that one vast, comprehensive pun might exhibit Universal Meaning. CORYDON I pet untired, I’d cool the heated limb, :f Can m y panacea. heal this whim? ECHO. A healthy swim. “Absolute and Abitophell” is by the same diabolical author, ,by whom we hope that not Oxford satire alone but less the secluded world profit. may This clever piece somewhat overshines the rest of the parodies, but previously to reading it, we had been sufficiently amused by Mr. Guedalla’s intricate Spanish, and Mr. Herbert’s ingenious “Fish Out of Water,” an allegory of education, and half a dozen others. To sum up, the writers of this volume are rarely false except where some of them attempt very novel versifications. There one are or two pieces so determinedly new as to irritate even the best-humoured critic in the world ; and we are not so plaguilyurbane. Without vigour, but indeed pitiably feeble, these ‘concocted rhythms contain a no asrule matter worth even a stereotype. But on the whole, herein is practice of Professor Murray’s dictum which we take pleasure in reiterating : “To keep your thoughts sincere and your form exact is a self-discipline of the highest kind.” REVIEWS. Oxford Poetry 1910-1913. (Blackwell. 3s. 6d.) InthePrefacetothis volume,Mr.Gilbert Murray proves that he can write for a critical public. I t seems incredible that so sound a style should permit the writer ever to descend tothe undignifiedslop andslangof Some ofMr. Murray’sjournalisticarticles.Butatmosphere counts; andawritercannotexpect to address thesupporters of a Yellow press without temporary loss of intellectual caste. Perhaps, at first thought one no would envy Mr. Murray’s ordeal of introducingtheseOxfordpoets,imaginative,talented and witty ; as wits, some o them seem to have little left f t of e a r - o n e cannot imagine them at a loss;but a better stimulus to power than band a ,of clever and gifted young men is not to be had. Mr. Murray is very fortunate inhisposition,and in this instance he uses good fortune nobly and like a man of his world. With some of his opinions we may disagree, we mayfind, hereandthere,a slip into untimely,colloquialism, we may find assertions which seem to be contradictory to his own former not very severe practice of verse; but what we shall not find is any word likely to mislead the As anexample ,of soundpreceptorship youngerpoets. we quote : “To keep, amid all temptations, your thought sincereandyourform exactisa self-disclpline of the highestkind.”Hereinisone half of themystery of Art, the thus for poets practise self-discipline. Mr. Murray remarks on these “well-read” p e t s of Oxford. Theirmethod of reading is scarcely short of amarvel in such an age as ours, when men read for commercial reasons,(butnotnaturallyandforthesake of tthemselves. Inthis volumeyoumayonlynotice latethat the writers are well-read, for they have made their reading serve reading as should-as an aid to thought. Theygivetheir own thoughtsharmoniously allied to thebestthought of theworld,and,unostentatiously, they weave into their work the whole world’s treasure of history,mythandfable.Forinstance, who will too easily note the so many classical allusions in ‘‘The Ballad of My Friend” ? Yet, there they are-memories in every second line : but the idea is the poet’s own, and this idea makes all reading serve.Again, in “Winter in Ireland,” simple the religious idea conquers a heritage of intricatetheology. W e welcome every one of the poems by the author of “A Song of the Little City,” though there appears someslackness of discipline. The “inevitable”wordisnotalwayshere ; one wonders,whetherhaste o r timidity a is vice ofthis writer, wherever for there occurs a poor line there, precisely, is the “lead” for a fine and original phrase. In “ Dream-Cotswold, ” whichone can scarcely avoid comparingwithGray’s“Elegy,” different though the moods be, this failure of the phrase particularly is frequent. The facilewordinvariablybreakstheexact form. The greens of remotest villages with glad songs. Cambridge Poets 1900-1913. (Heffer. 3s. 6d.) I t would be accepting too much to accept this volume a s typical of Cambridge. To beginwith,the compiler isaladyandonewhomightbeaccusedwithevery appearance of reason of having rather too great personal interest in a bookwhich contains no fewer than poems, as eleven of her own hitherto, unpublished againstlessthan eleven for all theotherthirty-seven authors. W e begin, expectation then, with of partiality, and it is, a t any rate, to be hoped that this collection need be taken as no more the than expression of ‘‘ Aefrida Tillyard’s ” likes. . Secondly, SirArthur Quiller-Couchisnottypical of Cambridge butleaguesfrombeing so ; andthisis a refreshing reflection, for Introduction his is discreditable. The present writer, reading carelessly, supposed through five pages the that lady-compiler was writing. It should not have been a shock, but it was one, to discover the truth. W e put it to any reader whether the femininepenfollowing hasnot all thecharacter of a precieuse. “ I shall take it to be conceded 2 t thic time of day v- ... I t only that good poetry is worth writing, but that, our 248 .language has a capacity and our nation a rather special aptitude for i t ; and these admissions-if the reader will be good enough to make them before starting upon the poems here collected-will excuse together the authors,theanthologist,andthecontributor of this short ‘ Introduction. ’ ” Why “ at this time of day?” Shakespeare has been Chaucer longer still. When, dead a long while and and by whom, was “good” poetry ever considered not worth writing? “ Q . ” is certainly thinking of his “‘Daily Mail.” And this “rather special” aptitudewhat a coy littleway of gettingthenationtothink well of itself, if thereader will only begoodenough -to admitfirst that fine poetrymay be worthwriting, and to excuse our troubling him with our anthology ! Windy silliness is all there is to that, and it is no excuse for a writer “ a t this time of day ” when all is ‘‘ co11ceded ” of whatever there mayhave been unconceded by the ignorant public-it is no avail to a Professor of English Literature that one or two wounded poets have tilted at the bourgeoisie of their times. But Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch will make you five pages of colloquialism and archaism over this conceded point and drag in the naked evidences of his studies, a dozen or so of famous names. “ Ittakes(Isay), ” he says, “ a great and brave man to perceive this [the permanence of poetry]. ” O u r Professor is, then, a great and brave man, for he of his perceives. We get a littlefemininedescription exact surroundings at instant the of writing, which description serves t o introduce an image of waves that owetheirimpetus to the whole sea behind them, this ‘image illustrating the truism (Arnold formulated it for the EarlyVictorians) that a poetoweshisimpetus to the currents behindhim.Once again we are told that the writer is rusticating, then and how young men kindly tell him that hisenthusiasmkeepsremarkably green,and finally, witha firm votefor the’ continued existence of dramatic and epic poetry which have recently been considereddead by a young poet of Sir Arthur’s acquaintance-we are quit of this disgraceful performance. I t may,indeed, have been difficult tosayanything original about these “ Cambridge Poets.” Most of them have been uproariously patronised by Fleet Street, which seems not t o have had any terror or doubts regarding this sort of poetry. And most have been rebukedorlaughed at in THE NEWAGE. .. . Messrs. Crowley, Brooke, Buxton, Neuberg, Flecker, Freyer, a few GirtonandNewnham stars are these “ poets,” with some others among whom are one or we two mention withrespect. It is achangeforthegoodto turnfrom Mr. Crowley’s dusty, rusty-we wouldlike t o say razzly-dazzly-mystagogery the to manly ‘‘ Anima Vagula,” by Archibald T. Campbell, orto t.he admirable descriptive piece by Michaelides, Mr. “‘ The Forests of Massachusetts,” and the poem “ T o my Father,” by thesameauthor.Two of Mr. J. C. ‘Squire’s bestpieces are included. The Rev. R. Keable writes two sincere if somewhat fanciful effusions. Mr. Munroe has a few lines good in his play. But,fortherest,whatistherebutperspirationand vocabulary? or phrase A pretty ’cute drives them repeatingitforeverand a day ; andthe influence of GirtonandNewnhamisapparently deplorable. “ Kiss me dearest ” might easily be taken by theaverage reader as a synonymforCambridge. I t is as well to ‘know thatthere is a permanentCambridge which is not the city of these versifiers. Nowonder,though, that the Perse boy sneered of poets “they droop about in such a tedious row One of them implores his fellow-students :For God’s sake,, let us laugha little‘but himself appears to be mostconcerned with a certain “Thora1is”-“my sword-like Thoralis,’’hecalls her. Butnone of themlaugh,except in a cynical, tired fashion Mr. like Rupert Brooke, who curses a like cavalier t o be back in Grantchester, CambridgeshireTheshire for men who understand. Men like Mr. Brooke,youunderstand ! Butimagine a man of understandingranting i n such a fashion of his’shire. These much approved lines on Grantchester are offensivewithinfantilism. And is there money still for tea? A man might say it with a covering laugh-but write it, publish i t ? There is not a specimen of wit in the whole volumebut remember it is compiled from one of the parasitical colleges. Except poems have the we distinguished, here is nothing but feebleness, sentimentality, and morbidity-decadence. Christmas Cards. Hillsand Co. (Prices from Id. to 5s.) W e are not particularly interested in Christmas cards, hut calendars almanacs the and issued by Messrs. Hills intrigue us. There is a gorgeous set of sheets for daily engagements (IS.) which must be pleasing alike to man, dandy o r housewife. There ‘calendars are for ; for artists, musicians, stored with curious information for sportsmen, for nature lovers and for the pious, and also handy little pocket calendars. Many cards have illustrations of old-world costumes-a calendar of the full subject strikes us a s likely to be profitable. Fancies, Fashions Fads. and By Ralph Nevill (Methuen. 10s. 6d. net.) Exactly why this volume was published, the only authorandpublisher know. Mr. Nevill’s opinionson such subjects a s anti-vivisection or anti-vaccination, for example,haveno value forthepublic,for Mr.Nevill has no expert knowledge of these subjects ; nor is it a real contribution to the subject of hygiene to tell us that “ a charming friend of mine, poor fellow ! undoubtedly owed his to death exercise.” subject On the of vegetarianism,hemakestheusualmistake.Hetells a story of a man who thought that he was a vegetarian, but whose wife put strong meat juice in everyoneof his vegetable courses ; and he concludes : “ This pious fraud, I believe, still continues, with evident benefit to my friend’shealth.”Yet we know that meat juice is only a condiment, thatanimals fed on beef extract, forexample,die of starvation as quickly asanimals not fed at all. Yet Mr. Nevill ranges in this style over every subject that is so much as mentioned in the daily Press ; he tells us that “ the tracts of Buddhism in its highestandpureststatearevery fine ” ; that “ a relative of mine, who died in theforties of thelast century, for instance, had a love for putting bank-notes in books ” ; speaking of Sam Lewis, he says : “ There is an aristocracy among usurers as in other professions ” ; hedenouncesLordNewton€orhisAntiTraffic, and Betting Bill ; talks of theWhiteSlave sociallegislation,allinthesamechapterandin the same style. To’ those want who to know what Mr. Ralph Nevill (who he?) is thinks about khaki, Mr. Lloyd George, English French and c a f ea n d hotels, Art and Architecture, Democracy, et hoc genus omne, may be recommended to read this book. But to those whohappen to haveopinions of theirown,and some knowledge, Mr. Nevill’s book is useless. Turkey in Agony. By Pierre Loti (“African Times and Orient Review.” 3s. 6d. net.) worst This series of letters, written in M. Loti’s only prove the fact, style, are 01 little value; for they now well known generally and admitted, the that Balkan Christians are a barbarous lot, whose treatment of the Turks is in agreement with the best traditions OF Christianwarfare.However, as they are published by theOttomanCommittee, which apparentlyintends to champion in Englandthecause of the Turks, and is willing to enrolmembersandacceptsubscriptions for this purpose ; we acknowledge their value for purposes of propaganda, although cannot we recognise either their political or literary value. From this latter point of view, they need all the apologies that M. Loti has made for them. 249 Pastiche. ODE On A NEWSBOY. STROPHE. None spake, enamoured, of transcendent things, Mirthfully blending argument ; none breathed Warm words as Phoebus stung By the sweet darts of fawn-like Hyacinth. For neither tuneful speech nor gracious looks Could gain beyond the constant answer, earned By coarse and fine dikeA blind unsubtle witless monody; As though it were some magic utterance Redeeming from old charms his haunted swain, In shrill quicktreble tones Calling the headlines of a sordid sheet. A callous sacrifice of innocence, Perfection prostituted to lewd trade, He symbolised who stood A desecration of the art of God. No iris-bordered river or clear well His beauty needed to betray itself, For it had been ensnared By the fell mirror o a printing-press. f He stood at even on the crowded kerb, And watched the smitten day die gorgeously And amorous night appear, Folding his Greek limbs in her velvet cloak. About whattime the vesper bells grew loud Above the traffic’s choral dissonance And the street-organ’s grind. He stood upon the kerb and called the news. His red lips moved as though Thessalian reeds They sounded, and his yellow curls were gay And the lamp’s wanton gleam Touched with deluding wealth his threadbare coat. His siren wares, spring-green and winter-white, He held with nervous hands before the throng. And called their common names Like rare Italian names of dulcet girls. Like martial chords summoned from trump and drum In paean or threnody the carts rolled past; Like a sick lullaby The weary steps of west-bound toilers stirred ; Harlots tripped by with mincing gait, and thieves Crept to their twilight tasks, while howling dogs Fought over filthy heaps And a gross beggar sung a vulgar air. f Amid the thinner ranks o opulence I passed the jaded and the vagrant crowd, And scarcely should have deigned To scan the pavement’s ragged acolyte ; But as the dusk fell deeper and the moon, Swathed in long ravelled clouds, arose and gleamed Above the monstrous east, Pity awoke-the servitor of love. f For when the heavy Theban hand o Time, Falling,hascrushed the sableand the pearls, When the rich tapestry Is dark with damask stains of woe; when bright Coronal vestments clothe an outcastLear. And to the sand-parched bleeding mouth is raised The sponge of vinegar; Men recollect the sorrows of the poor. I wondered meeting him so strangely placed, As when Amphitryon’s dauntless heir perceived In the deep gloom o Hell f Fairest Meleager, slain at Calydon; And heard the woful tale of kinsmen’s swords And the death-bearing brand, and wept and said : “It were the best for men Not to be born nor look upon the sun.” 1 * * * * ANTISTROPHE. We might havemet beside a woodland stream Upon the pleasantmorning of the year, WherP‘ branched harbours fling Long olive shades across the verdant slopes; When the narcissus andthe violet Sweetened each hollow and the hawthorn broke In fragrance on theair, I might have seen his fresh unspotted youth. We might have stood within the quiet pale Of greyscholastic walls, andheardafar The gay boys shoutalong The cricket field or plash the silver oar; And in some ivy-shelteredGothic nook Stormed the enchantedrealm of poesy, And drank at Homer’s fount Or watched while Dante climbed the golden stair. And I-whom for a season pain had made Her vassal and those potent anodynes, Anguish and bitterness, Had bred withinmybrain unwonted dreamsMeeting that minion of the Satyr hour, Although my formal dress was vainly hid Beneath asilkcymar, Was roused to passion by his foreign wrong. His features seemed to wear an actor’s mask, As like a messenger whose words invoked Thespell of Nemesis He bade me heed the transient blatancies ; He came,. amid a sudden pause that hushed The tumult o the ribald theatre, f Towards me, waiting on The tragic threshold of the house o thought. f I might have found him in a noble home, With pillaredAtticfront that overlooked A square of garden trees, And close-mown lawns where mating sparrows curped ; And in a chamber lavishly adorned With woven broideries and precious cloths, And Hermes shod withwings Or shy Selene beaten into bronze. Comely and arrogant, he might have led The stately waltzers through a saraband ; And shone a banquetings t Above the laughter and the flowers and wine; Or on a silken couch in wilful mood Languidly sinking into reverie Or drowsingwitha lute The sentry fan that kept a lady’s fort. Where the soft breezes wake in sylvan dells The faery whisperings of Italy, And lusciousorangegroves Flank the white vineyards with their pregnant flames, A little song-crowned valley had beheld Our heart’s encounter, nighthecarvengate Of some old tower or town Between the Ocean and the Apennine. Or starlight ruins had belayed our paths In far-off shrines of Beauty, where the seas Wail to the mountainwinds The silence o their cold eternity; f Or where lone plains lie strewn with monuments And steadfastpyramids, or obelisks Fringe like great granite palms The slow green Nile and all its desert shores. His deep rose blush that caused no pulse to throb In the dull horde captured my wandering glance, And the weird fitful light That showed the ebon lilies o his brow ; f The ardent wonder of his boyhood was As if Adonis had awaked and left His frozen tomb of months To grace and to make marvellous the world. Had he stood naked i n a marble hall Among fair Doric athletes and young gods Wrought in bewitchingstone, Men would have bought him at a royal price ; Or hadhelain in sensuous attire On a divan of odourous luxury, No Syrian boy had been By dark-skinned Moorish lords more hotly wooed. But on the mud-splashed kerb where life was held No costlier than the splashes, and alone His clamorous load won coin. No mortal love dared to be manifest; 250 Alas, the elfinland of Paradise Is but a rainbow phantom glimmering In the blind tears of life, And no man views the summit of his hopes. About theeveninghour of prayer and sin, Seeking forgetfulness in company And straying pleasurewards, Upon the noisome kerb I found my friend. IS found interred among most evil things; With shame and rotting vice And soul-devouringpoverty it dwells. And men would seek its treasure in the past, In antique books and unremembered faiths; But they must speak who know And pierce the foul disguise of verity. Wherefore the fleet Olympian boys evade My cunning. And the smooth-limbed wrestlers flee ; Nor can I sing those glades Where Daphnis laughed and hid from love-sick Pan; Where the Sicilian shepherd moaned in strains Like murmurous summer brooks the quenchless grief Of sad Persephone ; Torn from her bowers to wed the King of Night. He did not come whence daylike Cyrus swept Unto a dawn of blood his Orient van, But from that east where, veiled By cloudy sleaves, the amber moon was swung; That east whose drear uncharted maze conceals The tomb of loveliness, made monstrous with The spectralshapes of want And magic with the crystal ball of crime. He had been sold, and from his vile abode Hunger had brought him forth To cry fools’ records of fhe lives of knaves. That men might read to mar their minds, a pall . Of futile ignorance enveloped him; He starved that they might feed; His soul was slain to glut a city’s lust. But not in vain was death appointed him; And not in vain,statuesque machine, He stood and called and lied, His fairness fouled by charnel wizardry. For swifter than anarrow, poison-tipped, Pity had sped and smitten one who watched With mounded memory ; And sorrow’s strange communion healed remorse. The purple sky began to bum with stars; Thebuildingsslept likegiantsafterwine; The white electric globe Swayed gentlylikeapendentnenuphar. Harsh tuneless horns dismayed the ear; gaunt chains Creaked a weird tenor through the rumbling base; Ani3 a low woman jeered At a crass item from his rosebud mouth. For in our darker day the beautiful And for the copper worth of idle print 1 understand their holy ire ; The wrath of God was in their frown ; But here are men destroyed by fire TO keep the price of Bacon down. The Norseman shook his noisy shield, And swore to slit the southern throats. He would not till h i s native field, But strided seas in cockle boats. I understand his restless soul, His thirst for swelling war’s renown ; But here are men crushed under coal To keep the price of Bacon down. The cruel Spaniard set his heel Upon the Royal Inca’s head. He could no milkpity feel. ’Tvvas gold and &ht his fury bred. I understand his bloody greed. His lust for strife and wealth unknown And here are men to die and bleed f To keep the price o Racon down. Within the Afric cauldron broiled A lonely man, who made a quest And for strange love, mid terrors toiled To make a map of what men guessed. I understand his wondrous zeal, Thatall misfortunes would not drown. But here are men split on a wheel To keep the price of Bacon down. Icarus tried to stem the air, But down he fell with broken wings. He would not stay a t home and share The safety of the fixed things. I understand his folly vain He longed to make the skies his own, But here are men in thousands slain To keep the price of Bacon down. Prince, Men are mad, but then, again, Some seem to win a noble crown. But what are those in thousands slain To keep the price o Bacon down. f TRIBOULET. EPODE. ‘ I SOLUTIS ZONIS.” Place me on a shell some sunnyday, In some carved panel of the B’dolach gate, And let me see your plotted wonder-play : The plain amd coloured eggs of Love and Hate, Your scribbled notes of Life, morelovely far Thanthesternprintinginthe published book. Your firstidea of Bread, andWatertoo, And at the birth of Blood I’r? like to look. Show me the models, pasteboard, stringand wood, Scattered about the studio, and rough sketches Of Iron and Aether, Thunderclouds, and Bees. I’m not (you knowfull well) one of thosewretches Whosay, “How good ! IVho’s it supposed to be?” I’ll sit quite still if you’ll just show them me. God I It might have been a pompouscarnival Symbolic of thetriumph of despair, When God hadhid His face And the sweet sun were utterlyobscured; It might have been a ghostly drama played By madmen in the mirage of a dream; It might have been a joke; It might have been that Christ had never died. He stood a t even on the crowded kerb And called, asthough it were aserenade Waking the Tuscan moon, The daily epic of a dreary age. About what time the vesper bells grew loud Above the traffic’s choral dissonance And the street-organ’s grind, He stood upon the kerb and called the news. WILFRIDHUMPHREY. BALLADS. The antique Christian took his sword And broke it on the Pagan’s crown. his Lord The Pagan prayed unto And burned the Christian’s wretched town. I want to see the primal germ of Gates, And Sproutage-vide Genesis-and also Roses. Whatmade you think of Stoppagesand Weights? Where’s the first draft of Suns, and Swords, and Moses? How did Man grow ? And what’s GiltGingerbread? And Motion must have been a heap of trouble. How do the Morals of Melchizedek Differ at all from those oE a soap-bubble? And what’s Kinesis any more thanjam? This is the Moral’s model ? W e l l ! well ! ! w e l l ! I ! What made you first resolve that you would Damn? And did you really draw those plans of Hell? Have you a greater wonder t h m thesea, Or Paul,orPatchwork, or aPot 0’ Tea? Why do the heathenfuriously wage Their bloody Wars,imaginingvain things? And what are Heathen ? And please what is Rage? Whatreally made you think of Wedding-Rings, Soap, Puns, and Pan, Whistler, Phthisis, and Pears’ And Votes for Women, and the Sack of Troy, Churchesand Cheese, Bananas andSedan, Cloy? Colloids and Cucumbers, and Tramps and Theremust be models, too, for Wartsand Wives, Pancakes and Neckties, and the Calculus. And Heavy Ordnance and LiqueursandKnives, And PearlsandPumpkins and theBrixton ’bus. One thing I know you’ll always keep at x Right to the nth power, that’s the female sex. CALEB PORTER. 25 I Mr. Epstein and the Critics. By T. E. Hulme. I BEGIN with an apology. All through article this I which I write about Mr. Epstein’s work in a: way recognise to be wrong, in that it is what an artistwould call literary. The appreciation of awork of artmust myself in this way, be plastic or nothing. But I defend that I not am so much writing directly about Mr. Epstein’s work, as engaged in the more negative and quitejustifiablebusiness of attemptingtoprotectthe spectator fromcertainprejudiceswhich are inthemso muchon selvesliterary. This is an article then not Epstein as on critics. his When see critics I the attemptingtocorruptthe mind of thespectatorand trying to hinder their appreciation of a great artist, I feel an indignation which must be ‘my excuse for these clumsy, hurriedly-written and unrevised notes. An attack on critics could not have a better subjectmatter than the Press notices on Mr. Epstein’sshow. They exhibit a range and variety of ,fatuousness seldom equalled. I t is notnecessary to spendanytimeover notices which, like that of “C. B.” in the “Athenaeum,” are merely spiteful, or that in the “Illustrated London News,” which compared ‘him unfavourably with the Exhibition of Humorous Artists.propose I rather to deal with those which, in appearance at any rate, profess to deal seriously with his work. Take first the merely nervous. Their method is continually to refer to Mr. Epstein as a great artist and a t the time same to deplore everything he does. It reminds one of the old philosophical disputes about subif all stance. Would anything remain of a “thing” its qualities weretakenaway?Whatisthemetaphyartist’s excellence that seems to sical nature of an manifest itself in no particular thing does? he The truthis, of course, that they dare not say what they really think. The particular kind of gift which enables a man to be an art critic isnotthepossessionofan instinct whkh tells them what pictures are good or bad, but of a different kind of instinct which leads them to recognise the people who do know. This is, of course, in itself a comparatively rare instinct. Once they have obtaineda“direction” .in this way, their own literary capacity enables them to expand it to any desired length. YOU can, however, alwaystell this from a certain emptiness in their rhetoric (c.f. Arthur Symons’ article on Rodin). There is no one to give them a “direction” about Mr. Epstein’s drawings, and they are a t a loss. They seek refuge in praise of the “Romilly John,”which has been universallyadmitted to be one of thefinest bronzes since the Renaissance. I t shows how incapable the critics are of judging even Epstein’s Mr. earlier work,thatone‘ critic has beenfound to couple this superb head with Mr. John’s and thin unconvincing painting of a child, at present exhibited in theNew English Art Club. I come now to most the frequent the and most reasonable criticism : that directed against the “ Carvings in Flenite.” is It generally stated in a rather confused way, but I think that it can be analysed out two into separate prejudices’. The first is that anartisthasnobusinessto use formulae takenfrom another civilisation. The second is that, even if theformulatheartistusesisthenaturalmeans of expressing certain of his emotions, yet these emotions must be unnatural in him, a modern Western. I shall attempt to show that the firstobjection really has its rootinthe second, andthatthis secondprejudice is one which runsthroughalmosteveryactivity at the present time. These “ Carvings in Flenite,”weare told, are “deliberateimitations of EasterIslandcarvings.” This seems to me to depend on a misconception of the nature of formulae. Man remaining constant, there are certain broad ways in which certain emotions must, and will always naturally be expressed, and these we must call formulae. They constitute a constant and permanentalphabet.Thethingtonotice is thatthe use of these broad formulae has nothing to do with the possession of or lack of individuality in the artist. That comesout in the way the formulae are used. If I ortheKing oftheZuluswanttowalk, we both putone leg before other; is universal the that the formula, there resemblance but the ends. To take another illustration, which I don’t want to put forward a s literally true, but whichIonlyuseforpurposes of illustration. A certain kind of nostalgie and attenuated melancholy is expressed in Watteau by a formula of tall treesandminute people, and a certain use of colour (I am also aware that he got this feeling, in the I Gilles, for example, by a quite other formula, but repeat I am only giving a sort of hypothetical illustration). I t would be quite possible at thepresentday for a painter, wishing to express same the kind of emotion, to use the same broad formula quite naturally and withoutanyimitation of Watteau.The pointis, that given the same emotion, the same broad formula comes naturally to the hands of any people in any century. I maysaythatIhavenot,asamatter of fact, any great admirationfortheparticularpainters whousethisparticularformula,butIamtryingto give an illustration of a formula which the critics who attack Mr. Epstein would nothaveattacked. T o be legitimate, course, formula must of the used be a natural expression of the feeling you are getting at and not a mere imitation of an exotic or a romantic past. The form follows the need in eachcase. I t may quite easily be the same need divided by many civilisations. I think that in thiswaywecanforcethese people back on to the real root of their objection, the second prejudiceImentioned, the feeling that it is unnatural for a modern to have the kind of emotion which these formulae naturally express.getting In at one this, is gettingatsomething t h a t is really fundamental in modern life. I do that certain think there is a general state of mind which has lasted the from Renaissance till now, with what is, in reality, very little variation. I t isimpossible tocharacteriseithere,but itisperhapsenoughtosaythat,takingat first the form of the “ humanities,”ithas in its degeneracy taken the form of a belief in “ Progress ” and the rest consistent system, of it. Itwas in its way a fairly butisprobably atthepresent momentbreaking up. In this state of break-up, I think that it is quite natural for individuals here and there to hold a philosophy and to be moved by emotionswhichwouldhavebeenunnatural in the period itself. To illustrate things big by small ones I feel, myself, a repugnance towards the Weltanshauung (as distinct from the technical part) of all philosophy since the Renaissance. comparison In withwhatIcanvaguely call thereligiousattitude, it seems tometobe trivial.I am moved by Byzantine mosaic, not because it is quaint or exotic, but because itexpressesanattitudeIagreewith.Butthefateof the people who hold these views is to be found incomprehensible by the “ progressives ” and to be labelled reactionary ; that is, while we arrive at such a Weltanshauung quite naturally, we are thought to be imitating the past. I have wandered this into by-path merely to find therein an illustration which will help up to understand the repugnanceof the critic to the “Carvings Flenite. ” in I t is, says the critic, “rudesavagery,flouting respectable tradition-vague memories of dark ages as distant from modern feeling as the loves of the Martians.’’ Modern feeling be damned ! As if it was not the business of everyhonestman atthepresentmomentto cleanthe world of these sloppy dregs of theRenaissance. carving, This by an extreme abstraction, by the selection of certain lines, gives an effect of tragic 252 greatness.Theimportantpointaboutthisisthatthe tragedy is of an order more intense than any conception of tragedy which could fit easily into the modern progressiveconception o life. This, I think,isthereal f root of the objection to these statues, that they express emotions which are, as a matter of fact, entirely alien and unnatural to the critic. But that is a very different thing from being their unnatural the to artist. My justification of these statues would be then ( I ) that an alien formula justifiable is when it the is necessary expression of a certainattitude;and ( 2 ) that in the peculiar conditions in whichwefindourselves, which are really the breaking up of anera,ithasagain become quite possible for people hereandthereto have the attitude expressed by these formulae. a literary way, I dealt these rather have with in because I think that in this case it is necessary to get semi-literary prejudices out of the way, before the carvings be can seen as they should be seen, Le., plastically. To turn now to the drawings which have been even moremisunderstood by the critics than the carvings. I only want to make a few necessary notes about these, as I dealing them am with atgreaterlength in an essay elsewhere. need I say very about little the magnificent drawingreproduced in thispaper,forit stands slightly apart from the others and seems to have been found intelligible by even the critics. I might, perhaps, say something the about representative element in it-a man is working a Rock Drill mounted on atripod,the lines o which, in thedrawing,conf f Thetwo lines converging tinuethe lines o hislegs. of arocky on the centre of the design are indications other drawings which seem to landscape. I t is the have caused the most bewildered criticism; they have been called prosaic representations of anatomical details, “medical drawings,” and so on. I t is perfectly obvious that they are that. not What prevents them being understood as expressions of ideas quite is a simple matter.People will admirethe“RockDrill,”because they have no preconceived notion as to how the thing expressed by it should be expressed. But with the other drawings concerned with birth the case is different. Take for example the drawing called “Creation,” ababyseeninsidemanyfolds.I might veryroughly say that this was a non-sentimental restatement of an idea which, presented sentimentally and in thetraditional manner, they would admire-an ideasomething akin to “Christmas the crib” idea. If a traditional symbol had been used they would have been quite prepared to admireit.Theycannotunderstandthatthe genius and sincerity of an artist lies in extracting afresh, from outside reality, .a new means of expression. I t seems curious the that people who in poetry abominate clichh andknowthatNature,asitwere, presses in on the poet to be used as metaphor, cannot understandthesamething when itoccurs plastically. They seem unable to understand that an artist who has “extract” from something t o say will continually reality new methods of expression, and that these being personallyfelt will inevitablylack ,prettinessand will differ from traditional cliches. It must also be pointed out that the critics have probably themselves not been accustomed to think about generation, and so naturally find the drawings notunderstandable.I come now to thestupidest criticism of all, that of Mr.Ludovici. It would probably occur to anyonewho read Mr. Ludovici’s article thathewas a charlatan,but I thinkitworth while confirming thisimpression by further evidence. His activities are not confined to art. I remember coming across ‘his name some years ago as the author of a very comical little book on Nietszche, which was sent me for ,review. I shall devote some space to him here then, not because I consider him of the slightest importance, but because I consider it a duty, a very pleasant duty and one very much neglected. in thiscountry,toexpose charlatans when one sees Apart this them. from generalground,thebook onNietszcheis worth considering, for it displays the same type of mind at work as in the article on art. of What, very briefly then, the is particular type charlatan revealedin this bookonNietszche. It gave onetheimpression of a little Cockneyintellectwhich would have been moresuitably employedindexing or in a lawyer’s office, drawn by a curious kind of vanity into a region realities the of which for must ever !remain incomprehensible to him. Mr. Ludovici, writing on Nietszche, might be compared to a child of four in a theatre watching a tragedy based on adultery. The child would observecertainexternalphenomena, but as to the real structure the tragedy, its real moving of forces, it would naturally be rather hazy.You picture then a spruce little mind that has crept into the complicated rafters o philosophy-you f imaginehimperplexed, confused-you would be quite wrong, the a stencil, it blots out all apperceptive system acts like the complexity which forms the reality of the subject, so that heissimply unaware of its existence. He sees only what is akin to his mind’s manner of working, as dogs out for a walk only scent otherdogs,and as a Red Indian in a great town for the first time sees only the horses. While thus in reality remaining entirely outside the subject, he can manage to produce a shoddy imitation which may pass here in England, where there is no organised criticism by experts, but which in other countries, less happily democratic these in matters, would at oncehavebeencharacterised as a piece of fudge.have drawn I only attention this to in order to indicate the particular type of charlatan we have to deal with, so that you may know what to expect when you come to consider him as an art critic. I want to insist on the fact that you must expect to find a man dealing with a subject which is in reality alien to him, ignorant of the aims of the actors in that subject and yetmaintaininganappearance of adequatetreatment with the help of a few tags. That a man should write stupid and childish things about Nietzsche does not perhaps matter very much ; afterall, we canread him forourselves.But when a little bantam of this kind has the impertinence to refer to Mr. Epstein a s a “minor personality-of no interest tohim,”thenthematter becomes so disgustingthat ithastobedealtwith.Themostappropriatemeans of dealing with him would be a little personal violence. By that method one removes a nuisance without, drawing more attention to it than its .insignificance deserves. But the unworthy sentiment of pity for the weak, which, in spite of Nietzsche,stillmoves us, prevents us dealing ,drastically, with this rather light-weight superman. To deal definitely then with criticism. his H e dismissedMr.Epsteinwith the general principle “Great art can only appear when the artist is animated by the spirit of some great order or scheme of life.” I agree with Experience this. confirms it. W e find thatthe of more serious kind of art that one likes sprang out organic societies like the Indian, Egyptian, and Byzantine. The modernobviouslyimposestoo great a strain on an artist, the double burden of not only expressing something, but o finding somethingin himself to be f expressed. The organic more society effects an economy in this. Moreover, you might go so f a r as to f say that the imposition o definite forms does not confine the artist but rather has the effect of intensifying the individuality of hiswork (of Egyptianportraits). I agree then with his general principle : we all agree. It is one of those obvious platitudes which all educated people take for granted, inconversationand in print. Itseems almost too comic for belief, but Ibegin to suspect from Mr. Ludovici’s continued use of the word “I” in connection with this principle, that he is under theextraordinary hallucination that the principle is a personaldiscovery of his own. Really, Mr. Ludo,you musn’tteachyourgrandmother to suck eggs ‘in this way. That you should haveread of these truths ina book and have seen that they ‘were true is so much to the good. It is a fact of great interest to your father 253 and mother, it shows that you are growing up ; but I can assure you it is a matter of no public interest. Admittingthen, a s I do,thatthe principle istrue, I fail to see how it enables Mr. Ludovici to dismiss Mr. Epstein in the way he does, on a priori grounds. The same general principle would enable us to dismiss every artist since the Renaissance. Take two very definite examples, MichelangeloBlake, and neither of whom expressed any general “ scheme of life ” imposed on them by society, but “ exalted the individual angle of vision of minorpersonalities.” The whole thing entirely is beside thepoint.The business of an art critic is not to repeat tags, but to applythemtoindividualworks of art. But of course that is precisely what a charlatan of thekind I have just describedcannotdo. I t isquite possible for him in each galleryhegoesto,to find someopportunity of repeating his tags, but when (as he was in his book on Nietzsche) he is entirely outside the subject, when he is really unaware of thenatureofthething whicl, artists are trying to do, when he gets no real fun out of thepicturesthemselves,then,whenheis pinned down before one actual picture not and allowed to wriggle away, he must either be dumb or make an ass o himself. I t is f quite easy to learn torepeattags about “ balance,” but put the man before one picture and make him follow withhisfinger,thelines which constitute that “ balance ” and he can only shuffle and bring out more tags. Now apply this test to Mr.Ludovici. W e have seen him dismiss Mr. Epstein with a tag. When he makes individual judgmentsaboutindividualpictures in The o judgmentsare f New EnglishArtClub,whatkind Here thinks he they? Westart off with Mr. John. he may befairlysafe ; here is a reputation ten years old which has at last reached him. But, alas ! we are notdealingwith Mr. John as a painter, but with one painting by Mr. John. Mr. Ludovici falls. H e picks out for extravagant praise Mr. John’s cartoon “The Flute of Pan,” a thing universallyadmitted to be the worst thing John has ever exhibited, a macedoine of BotticelliMantegnadrapery,Rossettifaces, rocky backgrounds from Leonardo, and a ridiculous girl on the right pretending to bedancing in order that she may show a on the left a sort of crapulous Botticelli legandfoot, Michelangelo and the little Peter Pan boy so much admired by Mr. Ludovici, the wholemessy,smudged and in parts badly drawn, the design itself so clumsy that the right third of the picture is left so empty that one feels a girder should be run up from the corner t,o prop the up rest, which seems in imminent danger of toppling over. The whole thing expresses, with the impotence of old age, the kind of dream appropriate to puberty. It lacks precisely that quality of virility which Mr. Ludovici finds in it,andisadmired byprecisely those “spinsterly, ” sloppy and romantic people whom, he imagines,. dislike it. I t is the result of no personal creative idea, but is entirely a derivative conglomeration o already f existing pretty ideas. emphasise I this pointbecauseyour critic insists so muchonapicture being the expression of a definite “scheme of life.” I am not dealing with this picture as Mr. Ludov4ci did with Mr.Epstein,contemptuously,butpointingout that it marks a degeneration,temporaryperhaps, o a great f talent. Of the other pictures that he praises, it is only necessary to mention Von Glehn’s No. 2 , which is merely a bad, fake,and Mr. D. G . Well’shackneyedVictorian cliche, and Mr. Steer’s “ Sunset,” which expresses nothing but a romantic nostalgia. Are these the feeble derivativethingsthe“creators of new values” admire ? That a critic of this calibre should attempt to patronise Mr. Epstein is disgusting. I make this very hurried protest in the hope that I may induce those people who haveperhapsbeenprejudicedbyignorantandbiased criticism to go and, judge for themselves. A Psychological Basis for Sir,-It isthe misfortune of the modern world that whereas the Sum of OUf recorded knowledge has increased beyond all Precedent, the means of digesting that knowledge diminished. have This i s especially s~ in that department of digestion which we calleducation.With all Our knowledge we probably possessed--at anyrate, untilthedate of this discovery I a n describing-less practical skill in education than our mediaeval ancestors. While, therefore, modern conditions demand that a large mass of unorganisedanduncorrelatedinformation shall be poured into the child’s mind within a limited period, we are Still comparatively ignorant as to what the child’s mind is, and how it may be approached. We do not know what particular kind of food the developing luincl of the chilid requires at all thevaryingstages of the development. The usual practice has accordingly been to disregard development entirely and to treat the infant as a miniature man, complete in everything save knowledge, which must,therefore, be crammed intohim as quick as possible. AS a result, we have a cramming process analogous to forcible feeding. For t i m e to time, however, various more enlightened persons have perceived that the mind does not come into the world complete xt birth, but that the faculties develop i n a certain order, to which or.der the educative process should confirm. Even in the XVIIIth Century a famous Frenchphysician, named Seguin, following up Pereira’s discovery thatthe senses of smell, taste,hearing, etc., are all rooted in the tactile sense, concluded that education would be more effective if the more primitive senses were approached first,butthe absence of any clue to which of those senses actually mere the more primitive, prevented him from puttinghis idea to practical use. Spencer arrived at the same conclusion, apparently independently, for it does not seem that he had my acquaintance Pereira with and Seguin’s conclusions. “There is,” he said, “a certain order in which the faculties of themind spontaneously develop, andacertain kind iof knowledge which each requires during Its development. It is for us to ascertain this sequence, and to supply this knowledge. . . Of course, this fundamental principle has never been wholly disregarded, for thc simple reason that education is only possible on that condition. The error of the old methods consists in this, that they do not recognise in detail n7hat they are obliged to recognise in general.” In other words, however well prepared we might be to educate upon the lines of the successive development and of tEe faculties, until we know pretty exactly in what those order faculties develop, we cannot carryprinciples those into practice. The of such intuition and the empirical experiments philosophers as RouSSeau, Pestalozzi, Froebel, etc. , might result i n a partialscrappy and knowledge which is better than none, but the obvious lop-sidedness of their methods prevented their general adoption. so that the old methods are generallyretained in practice, and we are all more or lesssatisfied to pt1t a boy of seven down tostudyLatingrammar. In other words, a map of the mind is required, Showing clearly how the faculties hang together,and d l i c h develop first. This map has been supplied, at any rate, in outline, as a by-product of the activities of the Organisation Mr. Bruce Williams.reThe Society, founded by searchesof this Society intotheanalogy which exists between Man and the Universe, ended in the conclusion that manis literally, a’s well asanalogically, a miniature cosmos, and t h a t the various stmta which ore discoverable in the organic life of the universe are reproduced in the mind of man. Classified according to their f mental development the denizens o the animal kingdom f fall into a number o easily recopisable and well-defined classes, starting fromthosewho are conscious only of undifferentiated tactile senses, passing upwards through those who recognise form, colour, etc., and rising by a series of ever widening powers to the class which enjoys the possession of the intellect-that is tosay, MAN. It is further found that the child’s mind grows as it were be throughthese classes or stages, so thatwhatmay called the evolutionary scale o life f in ttie animal kingdom affords a clue to the order of the development f of the faculties o man. TO the Editor of THE NEW AGE. Education, 254 “his idea, of course, is not new in itself. It has been frequently suggested, and as frequently ridiculed. But those who suggested it were notable to do more than so far as to suggest.They have certainly never gone which we have draw the outlines of thementalmap postulated at the starting point. This, however, has o the Organisation f now been done by the students Society, and will be explained in detail in a forthcoming book. For present, the since the amplification of the an extension of time discoveries alreadymaderequires ;the “ 0 . s. and personnel, there has been founded Educational Research Society,” headquarters with at 15, Buckingham Street, Adelphi, to carry on experimental work. One of the first tasks of the new body 4 1 be to examine, correct, and co-ordinate in the light of the new knowledge theexistingsystems of Montessori, Froebel, Dal Croze, etc. These, it is interesting to note, are, generally speaking, on correct lines, SO far 0s they go. The defective character of the knowledge on which theyare founded, however, causedomissionand general lop-sidedness, which hasgone far to spoil their partially excellent results. The new discovery should have the same amplifying and proportioning effect upon thesesystemsas the discovery of perspective hadupon painting. It will be noted that all this comes-or should comewith peculiar appropriateness at a time when aLiberal Government is planning or professing to plan, a reform of OUT educational system. It has been stated almost in as many words by the egregiousPease that the Board of Education is throwing away heaven knows how many on unsystematic experiments in the annual millions shape of grantsto schools inthe hope, and, need we about enough, say’, the vain hope, that if we muddle something will turn up. But it won’t. Valuable discoveries in philosophy don’t turn up. They are disthought covered. Only Endowed reseach on carefully lines out will solve the problem. ROMNEY. the secular claims of the bishops priests and as MI-.. Redmond o Mr. Devlin. Wild horses would not draw r even the mildest criticism of the recent N e Temere decree from Mr. Redmond, Mr. Devlin, Mr. Swift MacNeill, 01Mr. Gwynn. They dare not assent now to the exemption of the north-&stern four counties, beqause Cardinal Logue resides in one of these counties, namely, ID. Armagh, the ecclesiastical capital of Ireland, and will not be excluded from the benefits of Nationalist rule a t Dublin Castle. It was Cardinal Logue who caused hlr. Redmond to reject the Irish Councils Rill of 1907. I t is CardinalLogue to-day who resiststhe exemption of. Ulster. Withoutthepriests at the present moment the so-called “Nationalist”movement in Ireland would not. be worth noticing. I ceased on conviction to believe in the alleged miraculous powers of those of my fellow-Irishmen who are bishops andpriests by profession. Therefore I am therefore also, I am a not a Roman Catholic, and, Unionist. I believe that the Protestant corrective applied t priestly o pretensions in Ireland is greatlythe to benefit of my Roman Catholic fellow-countrymen, under I believe that that cheek the Union withGreatBritain. were estabwould be destroyed if aDublinParliament lished; that and Ireland, under Home Rule, would become a hidebound and decadent place, like Quebec, or the Roman. Catholic districts of the Continent, a prey to political intrigues by Rome and foreign countries against England-a miserable place inhabited by superProtesstitious Romanists time-serving, and nominal tants. I amaUnionist, like 999 out of 1,000 Unionists in the British Isles, because I am not a Roman Catholic, a Roman and I havegiven my reasons fornotbeing Catholic. M. J. F MCCARTHY. * * * PARLIAMENT AND TRADEUNIONS. LETTERS TO THE EDITOR. IRISH HOMERULE. Sir,-In your issue of December 4 Mr. Redmond Howard described me as “a profound Catholic’ Ashe brackets me with Mr. F. H. O’Donnell and Mr. Michael Davitt, he clearlymeans that I am a believing Roman Catholic. That is a mis-statement which I must ask you to allow meto correct. I was born a Roman Catholic and remained a Roman Catholic until after the appearance of my book, “Priestsand People in Ireland. ” I was vainlyhoping that it wouldbe possible for aman to work €or the liberation of his fellow-Roman Catholics and continuehis belief (I) inthe power of the priests to transubstantiate bread and wine into“the body and blood, soul, and divinity’’ of the Lord Jesus Christ; and ( 2 ) to forgive sins by absolution auricular after confession. I found that a’s long as I believed in a man’s power to to pay him perform these two miracles and agreed money, as his due, for the performance o these miracles f I could notdenyhisright for assumed my salvation, to control me in everysecular m a t t e rincluding education, the administration of justice, the election of Members of Parliament, the choice of what I should read and in a what I should leave unread,and everyotheritem free man’s programme of life. The Roman Catholic bishops priests and in Ireland are a body of men organised on strictlybusinesslines. They get hold of the Roman Catholic children, and inculcate in their minds a belief in the miraculous powers of the bishops and priests. They certain take selected Roman Catholic young men in infancy putting and, them into the diocesan seminaries, imbue them with the belief that are they a class apart, capable of being endowed withthesemiraculous powers hy transmission from the existing bishops priests. and That is the process which is going on i n Ireland. That is the cause of all the discontent and unhappiness of the Roman Catholic laity. I desire to tell you, Sir, that I donot believe in the claims of the Roman Catholic priesthood. I believe them to be men just like myself, and nothing more. As Pauland Barnabas said of themselves a t Lystra,they are ‘ m e n of like passions with US,” and have no right to be. considered either gods or demigods. Mr. Redmond axd his entire party admit this claim of the priesthood ; and the few show Protestants whom they maintain in their ranks are just as Subservient to Sir,-Lately reading Mr. R. H. Gretton’s work on “The King’s Government,” and knowing you desire to make a collection in THENEWAGE of passages bearing on your propaganda, I observed and have copied out the following extract. It will be seen that the Commons were as slow to realise their power as the Unions now appear to be. Nevertheless, the realisation came as also it will come : “It hasfrequently been remarked that the Bill o Rights and the Act of Succession are almost entirely f negative in their provisions. It had, in fact, never they should govern. occurred to the Commons that Government resided inthe Sovereign, assisted at first by an advisory body of nobles andhigh officials, and later an by administrative machine of ever-increasing af complexity. To see thatthepurseandtheliberty the subject were nottooheavily weighed upon by the Crown was the ideal of the Commons.” Paraphrasing this as it applies to the Unions we have the following : “It had never occurred to the Trade Unions that they should govern their own industry. Control resided in the Employers, assisted at first by an advisory body of nobles and the Press, and later by a Government administrative machine of ever-increasingcomplexity. To see that the wages and the conditions of their employment were not too unsatisfactory was the ideal o the Unions.’’ f R . M~ -E** Sir,-On looking through my NEWAGES 1 find a letter in your issue of November 27 from “Qs” to which I regret I have had not an opportunity of replying sooner. I cannot quite agree with your correspondent thdt the cost of an administrative system, operating through taxation, is necessarily “relevant to the upkeep or breakdown of the social order’’ under charge. our Theoretically, no doubt, the better the upkeep o the social order under our f charge, the less the administration should cost; but we may be trying to re-establisha social order, as we are doing; w2th the Egyptian peasants, and, in consequence, although we may be carrying out very good work,and thereis no breakdown, we are put to considerable expense. On the otherhand, as in India, we mayincur expense through carelessness in letting a social order, or a fraction of it, break down, as in the case of the Indian village community. The number of our Indian administrators does not necessarily bear any relation to the volume of capital, especially when, as “Q” does, we speak of them as being in an inverse ritio-the larger the volume of capital, the Tf India,asthe evidence indicates, is fewerEuropeans. going to be developed op the bad lines of western industrialism, so far as western industrialism can be a plied in India, then more European administrators will \e re- INDIANADMINISTRATION. 255 @red. “Q’’ will not forget that the tendency of legislation in the last six or seven years has been in thedirection of the appointment of numerous officials ; and India offers good material prospects for the more adventurous. Since the Government has definitely fixed the value of the rupee, the question of a gold standard has not arisen. TheIndiansthemselvesare more accustomed to silver than to gold; and the fact that London financiers (not all of them born in England) can make money by speculating in Indian silver proves nothing against the rupee. Russia‘ has not yet all the positions she wants on the north-west frontier ; and the Trans-Persian railway project is still being considered very seriously in St. Petersburg. Even if Russia werenow ready to attack India, diplomatic considerations in Mongolia and Europe render the present an inopportune moment. I agreewith “Q,” of course, in saying that the support of the Indian people is vital to us Our immediate Indian problem is to secure a continuance of the influentialsupport we alreadyhave, 2nd to placate the influential support ranged against us. If we act lin a statesmanlike way, we can do both. S. VERDAD. Lord Devonport. I understand they use this system down at the docks. The signs are that the matter will not rest with mere resolutions. C. E. HESTER. * * * * * * THE NATIONAL UNION OF CLERKS. Sir,-1 think the critics of Mr. Reginald Cloake have missed two weak points in his case against the N.U.C. Thefirst is that most clerks are attached to business not related toan actual industry,and which are only necessary toprivateownership. I do not know one reason why these clerks should ignore the principle of collective bargaining while their occupations exist, and I therefore submit they that should be inthe N.U.C. The fact that the N.U.C. cannot become anindustrial union, and subsequently :.t guild, does not prove that such an organisation has no sphere of utility. The second point is that a printer’s clerk is not manentlyaprinter’sclerk,nor is a soapmaker’s clerk permanently a soapmaker’s clerk-and so on. A clerk may change from industry to industry, or to no industry atall, whenever hechangeshis job. To me the only immediately practical way of forming a connection between the clerk and artisan the or labourer in the same industry is by developing the N.U.C. policy of “Like-office Fraternities,’’ within the N.U.C., constitutedwithsufficientelasticityto allow a clerk to change from “Fraternity”to“Fraternity”as his job takes him from industry to industry. That is all I wish to state regarding the N.U.C. as an organisation, and now, with your permission, I wish to attack the administration of it. In your last issue “Remus” made a statement inferring that the head office conditions were equal to those of any other office conditions -in€hecountry. I would like your readersto compare thatstatement with the following resolution passed unanimously by the St. Pancras branch a few days ago :“That this branch havinglistened to the explanation of the secretary and the assistant secretary regarding is o the f the treatment of their deceased member opinion that the head office conditions are, in one respect at least, namely, the employment of day to day labour, on a level with the worst offices in London.” The member in question(hisnamecan be left. out) was given temporary employment for one month, and then dismissed atthe end of one day, w i t h one day’s pay, less fourpence jor Insurance, for alleged incompetency. Later, he was found dead. I do not say the N.U.C. is directly responsible, but I do say that if its officials hard acted up to the standard of mere commercial morality it was notlikely to have happened. Any man who employs another takes a risk-the risk that his judgment is wrong, and that the employee does not possess the qualifications the employer thought h e had. When an ordinary man of business makes this mistake he pays for it himself by keeping the man for a week, or giving him a week’s money before dismissing him. mistake; it did not for pay The N.U.C. made this it, and to explain away its failure to do so the officials stated it was their policy to employ men from dayto day in order to avoid the remotepossibility of paying for ? few hours’ assistance which they did not urgently require. quite Mr. Elvin is Ruch an able talkerthat it was impossible. to get a definite statement from him as to who firstsuggested thisdegrading system-himself or the executive 3 Whoever it is would be more a t home by the side of ’ Sir,-As aworking man, labelled by wage, card, and lodger’s vote, I ask you to cause to be written and print ideas. Men like articles, or an article, on plutocratic me have a sufficient notion of the poor man’s psychology aad some knowledge of middle class creeds, but no means o knowing f the genuine thoughts of the or plutocrats. Suppose we read the “Morning Post” the “Quarterly Review,” we cannot be certain of ability to read between thelinesandgetthetruth. We have some knowledge concerning the larger nlillionariesMorgan, Carnegie, Rockefeller, Rothschild. Beyond this it is a blank to us except for the two hierarchies, Anglicanand Catholic. You alone, as Tar as I see, are us. Of course, plutocrats bothable andwillingtotell discuss matters freely in their London clubs, but nothing f can be divulged,especially to us, without a breach o confidence. So I ask you to gather the information front ideas, other, unprivileged sources. Let us know the social and economic, o f those rich people who have a personal opinion;their ideas to-day, and indication o f the change, if any, during the last twenty years. Without I see thisour view is partialandwithoutorbicularity. three possibilities. First, they that have no opinions worthy of mention,being absorbed i n social ambition, getting more money, and perpetual motion to escape thought. Secondly, their ideas may be obsoleteThirdly, they may have liberal theories which they think it would be unsafe to publish now and probably always. T hope you see the idea better than I express it. Please tell us how much vitality remains in the creed that the rich are a precious and divinely privileged race, professional people exist as ministrants, workers bein necessary l i k e wheat and coal, but without rights. Teif us how many would say : “AS long as the workers are quietundersuchas we they deserve to be plundered.” The highly educatedlady who spendstwentythousand her yearly, more than half of it on dress : what is mentaljustification?Surelyshenolongerthinksherselfa benefactor. An averageworking-man, if suddenly made Minister installed Prime and at number ten (stranger things willhappen) would be surprised if his wife gave such occasion for disgust as Mrs. Asquith did not long ago. The poles of vulgarity and refinement position. Tell us how much seem to be changing f stupidity is a consequence o the false position of these I people. Most men whom ‘ have seen fallintothe employing class seem ipso facto to lose all their intelligence. The inore these distant ones conceal their ideas from US the more it is your duty to tell us what they aye. ‘A. H. ORBICULARITY. miscellaneous advertisements 256 THE ROCK-DRILL. BY EPSTEIN.