Chapter VIII: Appendix (2)

One of the first things that might be attempted in the legislative way is Smoke Prohibition. It is exactly a matter for the interference of the state. The Athenian in the comedy, wearied of war, concludes a separate peace with the enemy for himself, his wife, his children, and his servant; and forthwith raises a jovial stave to Bacchus. Now all sensible people would not only be glad to enter into amicable relations with Smoke, but would even be content to pay a good sum for protection against the incursions from factory chimnies and other nuisances in their neighbourhood. But there is no possibility of making such private treaties. The common undistinguishable air is vitiated: and we ask the State, for the sake of the common weal, to see this matter righted. It has been long before the public; and there is sufficient evidence to legislate at once upon. At any rate, if Mr. Mackinnon's bill is referred to a Committee, it ought to be upon the understanding that the suggestions of the Committee shall be forthwith and earnestly considered, with a view to instant legislation. If the Committee were to make an excursion into the smoke-manufacturing parts of the Metropolis, they would see here and there factory chimnies from which less smoke issues than from private houses. This seems to be conclusive. They will not find, I think, that these smokeless chimnies belong to unimportant factories. Now, if the nuisance can be cured in one case, why not in all? Here we have new and stately public buildings, in the East and the West of the town, which only a few of us, for a short time, will see in their pristine purity. If we cannot appreciate the mischief which this smoke does to ourselves, let us have some regard for the public buildings. Consider, too, at what an immense outlay we purchase this canopy of smoke. Certainly at hundreds of thousands a year in London alone. We have, therefore, made an investment in smoke of some millions of money. If we had but the resources to spend upon public improvements, which have thus been worse than wasted, we should need no other contribution. Moreover, the proposed restrictions in the case of smoke would not only be beneficial to the public, but profitable to the individual: and the more one considers the subject, the more astonished one is, that they should not long ago have been enacted.

But the truth is, we are quite callous to nuisances. A public prosecutor of nuisances is more wanted than a public prosecutor of crime. And this is one of the things that would naturally come under the supervision of a Department of Health. I find, from the Health of Towns Report, that it is proposed to permit the continuance of sundry noxious trades in London for thirty years, and then they are to be carried on under certain restrictions. It cannot be said that this is selfish legislation: the present generation may inhale its fill of gas and vitriol; but our grandchildren will imbibe "under certain restrictions" only that quantity which is requisite to balance the pleasures of a city life. At Lyons there is a long line of huge stumps of trees bordering on the river. The traveller, naturally enough, supposes that this is the record of some civil commotion; but, on inquiry, he finds that the fumes of an adjacent vitriol manufactory have in their silent way levelled these magnificent trees as completely as if it had been done by the most effective cannonade. If we could but see in some such palpable manner how many human beings are stunted by these nuisances, we should proceed in their expulsion with somewhat of the vigour which it deserves. Imagine, if only for one day, we could enjoy a more than lynx-like faculty, and could see, not merely through rocks, but into air, what an impressive sight it would be in this Metropolis. Here, a heavy layer of carbonic acid gas from our chimnies--there, an uprising of sulphuretted hydrogen from our drains--and the noxious breath of many factories visible in all its varieties of emanation. After one such insight, we should need no more Sanitary Reports to stimulate our exertions. But it is only our want of imagination that prevents us from apprehending now the state of the atmosphere. Science demonstrates the presence of all that I have pictured, and far more.

Great resistance might, perhaps, be made, if large measures were to be taken for the removal of noxious trades from great towns. In many cases, where rapid measures would be harsh and unjust, it would be well worth while for the community to buy the absence of these unpleasant neighbours, resolutely shutting the gates against the incoming of any similar nuisances for the future. On the other hand, mere clamour about the rights of property and the injustice of interference must be firmly resisted. This clamour has been made in all times. Indeed, men seldom raise a more indignant outcry than when they are prevented from doing some injury to their neighbours. How the feudal barons must have chafed, when deprived of the right of hanging in their own baronies: how cruel it doubtless seemed to the monopolists of olden times, when some "factious" House of Commons summoned to its bar the Sir Giles Overreaches, and made them disgorge their plunder; how planters in all climes storm, if you but touch the question of loosening the fetters of their slaves. And so, in these minor matters, when the community, at last awake to its interest, forbids some injurious practice to go on any longer, it is natural that those who have profited by it, and who, blinded by self-interest, still share the former inertness of the public, should find it hard to submit quietly and good-naturedly to have any restrictive regulations put upon their callings. And where the public can smooth this in any way, they ought to do so; not grudging even large outlay, so that the nuisances in question be speedily and effectually removed. The money spent by the community on sanitary purposes is likely to be the most reproductive part of its expenditure, and especially beneficial to the poorer classes who, for the most part, live near these nuisances, and have few means of resisting their noxious influence.

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After discussing what might be done by legislation, we come naturally to consider what might be done by Associations for benevolent purposes. However inadequate such Associations may be as an equivalent for individual exertion, there are, doubtless, many occasions on which they may come in most effectively; doing that which individuals can hardly undertake. In London, for instance, an association that would give us an elaborate Survey of the town, would accomplish a most benevolent purpose, and not be in any danger of interfering unwisely with social relations. The same may be said of our other towns, for, I believe, there is not one of them possessing a Survey fit to be used for building and sanitary improvements. Again, there are certain fields at Battersea at present unbuilt upon, close to the river, one of those spots near the metropolis that ought to be secured at once for purposes of public health and amusement: if a Society will do that for us, they will accomplish a noble work. Happily, the necessity for public parks is beginning to be appreciated. These are the fortifications which we should make about our towns. Would that, on every side of the Metropolis, we could see such scenes as this so touchingly described by Goethe.

"Turn round, and from this height look back upon
The town: from its black dungeon gate forth pours,
In thousand parties, the gay multitude,
All happy, all indulging in the sunshine!
All celebrating the Lord's resurrection,
And in themselves exhibiting, as 'twere
A resurrection too--so changed are they,
So raised above themselves. From chambers damp
Of poor mean houses--from consuming toil
Laborious--from the work-yard and the shop--
From the imprisonment of walls and roofs,
And the oppression of confining streets,
And from the solemn twilight of dim churches--
All are abroad--all happy in the sun."

_Anster's Faust_.

Many other excellent enterprises might be suggested which societies are peculiarly fitted to undertake. I must own that I think they are best occupied in such matters as will not require perpetual looking after, which when they are once done are wholly done, such as the formation of a park, the making of a survey, the collection of materials for a legislative measure, and the like. These bodies are called in for an exigency, and we should be able to contemplate a time when their functions will cease; or at least when their main work will be done.

Other limits in their choice of objects might be suggested. For instance, it is desirable that they should address themselves, in preference, to such purposes as may benefit people indirectly; or such as concern the public as a body rather than distressed individuals of the public; or that aim at supplying wants which the people benefited are not likely in the first instance to estimate themselves. Such is the supply of air, light, and the means of cleanliness. There is small danger of corrupting industry by giving any extent of facilities for washing. {233}

While we are on this subject, we must not pass over the societies which have started up in connexion with our immediate object. These "Baths and Washhouses for the Poor" are an admirable charity, obvious to very little of the danger which is apt to threaten benevolent undertakings. It would, however, be a most serious drawback on their utility, if they were to render people indifferent to the much greater scheme of giving a constant supply of water at home. With respect to the building associations for the improvement of the houses of the poor, their efforts, as it seems to me, will be most advantageously directed, not in building houses, but in buying and preparing ground, and letting it out to the individual builder upon conditions compelling the desired structural arrangements. In this way they may immensely extend the sphere of their usefulness. It is not by limiting their profit, and so insisting upon proving their benevolence, but by giving birth to the greatest amount of beneficial exertion on the part of individuals, that they may do most good.

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We come now to consider what may be done by individual exertion. Here it is, that by far the largest field is open for endeavour: here, that neglect is most injurious. Many a man who subscribes largely to charities, has created more objects for them, than he has furnished them with means to relieve, if he has neglected but a little his duties as an employer of labour, or an owner of property. This mischief arises from considering charity as something separated from the rest of our transactions; whereas a wise man weaves it in with them, and finds the first exercise for it in matters that grow out of his nearest social relations, as parent, master of a household, employer of labour, and the like.

The more we look into the question, the more weight, I think, we shall attach to individual exertion. Take it in all its branches. Consider the most remarkable impulse ever given to the energies of Europe--the Crusades. It was an aggregate of individual impulses. Every strong and enterprising man felt that it was a matter which concerned his own soul. It was not only that he was to cause something to be done for the great object, but, if possible, he was to do it himself. A Crusade against Misery is called for now; and it will only be carried on successfully by there being many persons who are ready to throw their own life and energy into the enterprise. Mere mercenary aid alone will never do it.

Look, moreover, at what one man can do. A Chatham springs into power, and we are told that down to the lowest depths of office a pulsation is felt which shows that there is a heart once more at the summit of affairs. The distant sentinel walks with a firmer tread on the banks of the Ebro, having heard that the Duke has arrived at head quarters. So, throughout. Every where you find individual energy the sustaining power. See, in public offices, how it is the two or three efficient men who carry on the business. It is when some individuals subscribe largely in time, thought, and energy, to any benevolent association that it is most like to prosper--for then it most resembles one powerful devoted man. The adding up of many men's indolence will not do. You think, perhaps, listless man of rank or wealth, that your order sustains you. Short time would it do so, but for the worthy individuals who belong to it, and who, at the full length of the lever, are able to sustain a weight which would throw the worthless, weightless men into air in a minute.

In the above cases it has been one man wielding much power; but in the efforts that are wanted to arrest the evils which we have been considering, the humblest amongst us has a large sphere of action. A provident labouring man, for example, is a blessing to his family and to his neighbours; and is thus doing what he best can, to relieve even national distress.

It is a total mistake to bring, as it were, all the misery and misfortune together, and say, now find me a remedy large as the evil, to meet it. Resolve the evil into its original component parts. Imagine that there had been no such thing as the squandering, drinking, absentee Irish landlords we read of in the last generation--do you suppose that we should have as many inhabitants in St. Giles's, and the Liverpool cellars, to look after now? So, with the English landlords and manufacturers of that time, see what a subtraction from the general mass of difficult material there would have been, if those men had done their duty. But you will say we are still talking of bodies. Imagine, then, that during the last generation there had been the energetic efforts of individuals in these bodies, that there are now, directed to the welfare of the people under them. It would, no doubt, have been a great easement of the present difficulty. Any body who does his duty to his dependents keeps a certain number out of the vortex; and his example is nearly sure to be followed, if he acts in an inoffensive, modest fashion. Dr. Arnott has shown what great things may be done in the way of ventilation by individual employers. See what benefit would arise if only some few builders, taking to heart the present miserable accommodation for the poor, which few know better than they do, would, in their building enterprises, speculate also in houses of the smaller kind, and take a pride in doing the utmost for them.

One might easily multiply instances where individual exertion would come in; but each man must in some measure find out the fit sphere of action for him. "The Statesman" tells us that the real wealth of a state is the number of "serviceable" minds in it. The object of a good citizen should be to make himself part of this wealth. Let him aid where he can in benevolent associations, if well assured of their utility, and at the same time mindful of the duty of private endeavour; but do not let him think that he is to wait for the State's interference, or for co-operation of any kind. I do not say that such aids are to be despised, but that they are not to be waited for, and that the means of social improvement are in every body's hands. For warfare, men are formed in masses, and scientific arrangement is the soul of their proceedings. But industrial conquests and, especially, the conquests of benevolence, are often made, here somewhat and there somewhat, individual effort struggling up in a thousand free ways.

* * * * *

The individual freedom which we possess is a great reason for individual exertion. How large that freedom is, it needs but a slight acquaintance with the past to estimate. Through what ages have we not toiled to the conviction that people should not be burnt for their opinions. The lightest word about dignities, the slightest claim to freedom of thought or speech upon those matters which, perhaps, angelic natures would hardly venture to pronounce upon, even the wayward play of morbid imagination, were not unlikely in former times to lead to signal punishments. A man might almost in his sleep commit treason, or heresy, or witchcraft. The most cautious, official-spoken man amongst us, if carried back on a sudden to the days of Henry the Eighth, would, at the end of the first week, be pursued by a general hue and cry from the authorities, civil and ecclesiastical, for his high and heinous words against King, Church, and State. While now, Alfred Tennyson justly describes our country as

"The land, where girt with friends or foes,
A man may say the thing he will."

There is danger of our losing this freedom if we neglect the duties which it imposes. But I have resolved to avoid dwelling upon dangers, and would rather appeal to other motives. The triumph for a nation so individually free as ours, would be to show that the possible benefits of despotism belonged to it--that there should be paternal government without injurious control--that those things should ultimately be attained by the exertions of many which a despot can devise and execute at once, but which his successor may, with like facility, efface. Whereas what is gained for many by many, is not easily got back. It must be vast embankments indeed which could compel that sea to give up its conquests.

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We have now gone through the principal means by which social remedies may be effected: there comes the consideration within what limits these means should be applied. The subject of interference is a most difficult one. We are greatly mistaken, however, if we suppose that the difficulty is confined to Government interference. Who does not know of extreme mischief arising from over-guidance in social relations as well as in state affairs? The inherent difficulty with respect to any interference, is a matter which we have to get over in innumerable transactions throughout our lives. The way in which, as before said, it appears to me it should be met, is principally by enlightenment as to the purposes of interference. Look at the causes which are so often found to render interference mischievous. The governing power is anxious to exalt itself; instead of giving life and energy, wishes only to absorb them. Or it is bent upon having some outward thing done, careless of the principles on which it is done, or of the mode and spirit of doing it. Hence, in public affairs, things may be carried which have only a show of goodness, but in reality are full of danger; and in private life, there arise formality, hypocrisy, and all kinds of surface actions. Or, again, the governing power is fond of much and minute interference, instead of, as Burke advises, employing means "few, unfrequent, and strong." There may also be another error, when from over-tenderness, or want of knowledge, the authority in question suffers those under its influence to lean on it, when they are strong enough to walk by themselves. All these errors are general ones, which require to be guarded against in the education of a child, as well as in the government of a state. All of them, too, have their root in an insufficient appreciation of the value of free effort. But when this is once attained, the interfering party will see that his efforts should mainly be enabling ones: that he may come as an ally to those engaged in a contest too great for their ability; but that he is not to weaken prowess by unneeded meddling. It may be said that this is vague. I am content to be vague upon a point where, I believe, the greatest thinkers will be very cautious of laying down precise rules. Look at what Burke says with regard to state interference--that it should confine itself to what is "truly and properly publick, to the publick peace, to the publick safety, to the publick order, to the publick prosperity." How large a scope do those words "publick prosperity" afford. Besides, the transactions, in which we want to ascertain just limits for our interference, are so numerous, and so various, that they are not to be met but by an inconceivable multiplicity of rules. Such rules may embody much experience, but they seldom exhaust the subject which they treat of; and there is the danger of our suffering them to enslave, instead of merely to guide, our judgments. And then, on some critical occasion, when the exception, and not the rule, is in accordance with the principle on which the rule has been formed, we may commit the greatest folly in keeping to what we fancy the landmarks of sagacity and experience. Instead, therefore, of laying down any abstract rules, I will only observe that a prima facie reluctance to all interference is most reasonable, and perhaps as necessary in the social world, as friction is in the physical world, in order to prevent every unguided impulse from having its full mechanical effect: that, nevertheless, interference must often be resorted to: and that the best security for acting wisely in any particular case, is not to suffer ourselves to be narrowly circumscribed by rules, but at the same time to be very cautious of attempting any mere present good, of getting notions of our own rapidly carried into action, at the expense of that freedom and moral effort which are the surest foundations of all progress.

* * * * *

We were considering, above, the claim which our individual freedom makes on our individual exertion for the good of others. But this freedom must in some degree be limited in order to produce its best results; and amongst them, to secure the greatest amount of such individual exertion. We know the restraint that must exist upon all, if all are to enjoy equal freedom. The freedom of one is not to be a terror to another. Law is based upon this obvious principle. But there are other circumstances also, in which individuals will find support and comfort in the general freedom being circumscribed by some interference on the part of the state or other bodies. Such a case occurs when the great majority of some class of private individuals would willingly submit to wise regulations for the general good, but cannot do so without great sacrifice, because of the selfish recusancy of some few amongst them. Here is a juncture at which the State might interfere to enable individuals to carry out their benevolent intentions. But one of the main reasons for some degree of interference from the State or other authorized bodies, in matters connected with our present subject, is that, otherwise, the responsibilities of individuals would be left overwhelming. It is to be remembered by those who would restrain such interference within the narrowest possible bounds, that they by so much increase individual responsibility. Responsibility can, happily, by no scheme, be made to vanish. Wherever a signal evil exists, a duty lies somewhere to attack it. Suppose a district, for instance, in which the state of mortality is excessive, a mortality clearly traceable to the want of sanitary regulations. In a despotic government it may be enough to mention this to the central body. In a free state, where the duties of a citizen come in, more is required from the individual; and if there is no fit body of any kind to appeal to in such a case, the burden lies upon all men acquainted with the facts, to endeavour conjointly, or separately, to remove the evil. While, on the one hand, we must beware of introducing such interference, whether coming from the State or other bodies, as might paralyse individual exertion, we must at the same time remember that the weight to be removed may be left overwhelmingly disproportionate to individual effort, or even to conjoint effort, if unauthorized, both of which may thus be stiffened by despair into inaction.

In the instance we have just been considering, we must not say that the people immediately interested in removing the evil will do so themselves. It is part of the hypothesis that they will not. Ages have passed by, and they have not. They do not know what is evil. It has been observed that savages are rarely civilized by efforts of their own. A vessel from civilized parts comes and finds them savages. A generation passes away. Another vessel comes, how differently propelled, how differently constructed; manned by sailors who have different costume, food, ways of speech and habits from the former ones; but they are able to recognize at once the savages described by their forefathers. These have not changed. The account of them is as exact as if it were written yesterday. In such a land, we must not look for the germ of improvement amongst the miserable inhabitants themselves. It must come from without, brought thither by hopeful, all-sympathizing enterprize.

CHAP. IV. IN WHAT SPIRIT THE REMEDIES ARE TO BE EFFECTED.

Whenever the condition of the labouring people becomes a general topic, some erroneous modes of discussing it arise which deserve notice. In the first place, there is a matter which, in all our friendly efforts for the working classes, we must not forget, and that is, to make these efforts with kindliness to other classes. The abuse of other people is an easy mode of showing our own benevolence, more easy than profitable. To alleviate the distress of the poor may be no gain, if, in the process, we aggravate the envies and jealousies which may be their especial temptation. The spirit to be wished for is sympathy; and that will not be produced by needless reproaches. Besides, it is such foolish injustice to lay the blame of the present state of things on any one class. It is unpractical, unphilosophical, and inconsistent with history. If we must select any class, do not let us turn to the wealthy, whom, perhaps, we think of first. They have, in no time that I am aware of, been the pre-eminent rulers of the world. The thinkers and writers, they are the governing class. There is no doubt that the rich and great have in most cases a large sphere of usefulness open to them; and they are fatally blind, if they neglect it. That is, however, rather a matter for them to think of, than for those who are under them. And I feel quite certain that the evils we are now, as a nation, beginning to be sensitive to, are such as may be more fairly attributed to the nation, in its collective capacity, than to any one class, or even to any one generation. I notice the error of the opposite opinion, believing it to be a signal hindrance to improvement. Let us not begin a great work with bitterness. I am not, however, for the slightest concealment of the truth, and can well understand the righteous indignation that will break out at witnessing the instances of careless cruelty to be seen daily. Still, this is not to be done by a systematic and undistinguishing attack upon any one class: if it requires a bold hand, it requires a just one also, under a reasonable restraint of humility. I suspect that those men, if any, who have a right to cast the first stone at their neighbour in this matter will be among the last persons to do so.

It is a grievous thing to see literature made a vehicle for encouraging the enmity of class to class. Yet this, unhappily, is not unfrequent now. Some great man summed up the nature of French novels by calling them the Literature of Despair: the kind of writing that I deprecate may be called the Literature of Envy. It would be extreme injustice to say that the writers themselves are actuated by an envious or malignant spirit. It is often mere carelessness on their part, or ignorance of the subject, or a want of skill in representing what they do know. You would never imagine from their writings that some of the most self-denying persons, and of those who exert themselves most for the poor, are to be found amongst the rich and the well-born, including of course the great Employers of labour. Such writers like to throw their influence, as they might say, into the weaker scale. But that is not the proper way of looking at the matter. Their business is not to balance class against class, but to unite all classes into one harmonious whole. I think if they saw the ungenerous nature of their proceedings, that alone would stop them. They should recollect that literature may fawn upon the masses as well as on the aristocracy: and in these days the temptation is in the former direction. But what is most grievous in this kind of writing, is the mischief it may do to the working people themselves. If you have their true welfare at heart, you will not only care for their being fed and clothed; but you will be anxious not to encourage unreasonable expectations in them, not to make them ungrateful or greedy-minded. Above all, you will be solicitous to preserve some self-reliance in them. You will be careful not to let them think that their condition can be wholly changed without exertion of their own. You would not desire to have it so changed. Once elevate your ideal of what you wish to happen amongst the labouring population; and you will not easily admit anything in your writings that may injure their moral or their mental character, even if you thought it might hasten some physical benefit for them. That is the way to make your genius most serviceable to mankind. Depend upon it, honest and bold things require to be said to the lower as well as to the higher classes; and the former are in these times much less likely to have such things addressed to them.

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In the same way that we are fond of laying the neglect, and the duty, of exertion upon some class, even on our own, rather than on our especial selves, we are much given to look for something new which, in a magical manner, is to settle the whole difficulty. But when people look for a novelty of this kind, what do they mean? Some moral novelty? The Christian religion has been eighteen hundred years before the world, and have we exhausted the morality in that? Some political novelty? We are surely the nation, whose constitution, whatever may be said against it, has been most wrought and tempered by diverse thought and action. Some novelty in art or science? Where has man attained to a greater mastery over matter than in this iron-shearing country? The utmost that one age can be expected to do in the way of discovery is but little; and that little by few men. Let us sit down and make use of what we have. The stock out of which national welfare might be formed lies in huge, unworked-up masses before us. Social improvement depends upon general moral improvement. Moral improvement mostly comes, and at least is most safely looked for, not in the way of acquisition but of development. Now, as regards the conduct of the various classes of the state to each other, we do not want any new theory about it, but only to develop that kindly feeling which is already in the world between like and like, which makes a parent, for instance, so kind even to the faults of his children. We want that feeling carried over all the obstructions of imperfect sympathy which hedge it in now. This will be done by both classes knowing more of each other. One of the great reasons for the education of the people is, that even educating them a little enables rich and poor to understand each other better--in fact, to live more harmoniously together. If our sympathies were duly enlightened and enlarged, we should find that we did not need one doctrine for our conduct to friends, another for our conduct to dependents, and another for our conduct to neighbours. One spirit would suffice to guide us rightly in all these relations. The uninstructed man looking around him on the universe, and seeing a wonderful variety of appearances, is inclined to imagine that there are numberless laws and substances essentially different, little knowing from how few of either the profusion of beauty in the world is formed. But the creative energy of what we call Nature, dealing with few substances, breaks out into every form and colour of loveliness. Here, we have the dainty floweret which I would compare to the graceful kindnesses passing among equals; there, the rich corn-field like the substantial benefits which the wise master-worker confers on those around him; here again, the far-spreading oak which, with its welcome depth of shade, may remind us of the duties of protection and favour due from the great to the humble; and there, the marriage of the vine to the elm, a similitude for social and domestic affection. The kindnesses to which I have compared these various products of Nature, are also of one spirit, and may be worked out with few materials. Indeed, one man may in his life manifest them all. No new discovery, no separate teaching, for each branch of this divine knowledge, is needed.

I do not say that there may not be physical discoveries, or legislative measures, which may greatly aid in improving the condition of the labouring classes. But, if we observe how new things come, in our own life for instance, or in the course of history, we shall find that they seldom come in the direction in which we are looking out for them. They fall behind us; and, while we are gazing about for the novelty, it has come down and has mingled with the crowd of old things, and we did not know it. Let us begin working on the old and obvious foundations, and we shall be most ready to make use of what new aid may come, if we do not find an almost inexhaustible novelty in what we deemed so commonplace. There is no way of burnishing up old truths like acting upon them.

You may rely upon it that it is one of the most unwholesome and unworkmanlike states of mind to be looking about for, and relying upon, some great change which is all of a sudden to put you into a position to do your duty in a signal manner. Duty is done upon truisms.

But let discoveries in morals or in physics have come; suppose any extent of political amelioration you please; and grant that the more outward evils have been conquered by combined effort. Let our drains flow like rivulets, and imagine that light and air permeate those dwellings which now moulder in a loathsome obscurity. Let the poor be cared for in their health, their amusements, their education, and their labour. Still the great work for an employer of labour remains for ever to be renewed; that which consists in the daily intercourse of life, in that perpetual exercise of care and kindness concerning those small things which, small as they may be, are nevertheless the chief part of men's lives. Perhaps the greatest possible amelioration of the human lot is to be found in the improvement of our notions of the duties of master to man. It were hard to say what could be named as an equivalent for even a slight improvement in that respect, seeing that there is no day in which millions upon millions of transactions do not come within its limits. If this relation were but a little improved, with what a different mind would the great mass of men go to their work in the morning, from the slave who toils amid rice fields in Georgia to the serf in Lithuanian forests. Nor would those far above the extremes of serfdom fail to reap a large part of the benefit. It cannot be argued that civilization renders men independent: it often fastens but more firmly the fetters of servitude--at least it binds them upon limbs more easy to be galled. Its tendency is to give harsh words the power of blows. Consider what a thing it is to be master. To have the king-like privilege of addressing others first, to comment for ever on their conduct, while you are free from any reciprocal animadversion. Think what an immeasurable difference it must make, whether your subordinate feels that all he does is sure to be taken for the best, that he will meet with continual graciousness, that he has a master who is good lord and brother to him: or whether he lives in constant doubt, timidity, and discomfort, with a restless desire of escape ever uppermost in his mind. I do not apply this only to the ordinary relation of master and servant. You sometimes see the most cruel use made even of a slight social superiority, where the cruelty is enhanced by the education and other advantages of the suffering party. To say nothing of Christianity, there is the greatest want of chivalry in such proceedings, in whatever rank they take place, whether from masters to servants, employers to employed, or in those more delicately constituted relationships just alluded to. In all our intercourse with those who have not a full power of replying to us, instead of being the less restrained on this account, which is the case with most of us, the weakness on the other side ought to be an irresistible claim to gentleness on ours. The same applies when what is naturally the weaker, being guarded by social conventionalities on its side, is in reality the stronger, and is tempted into insolence, thus abusing the humanity of the world. But, let us turn from the abuse of power, and see what it is when wielded by discerning hands. It is like a healthful atmosphere to all within its boundaries. Other benefits come and go, but this is inhaled at every breath, and forms the life of the man who lives under it. It is a perpetual harmony to him, "songs without words," while he is at his work. One of the most striking instances we have had in modern times of this just temperament of a master was to be noted in Sir Walter Scott. The people dependent upon him were happier, I imagine, than you could have made them, if you had made them independent. If you could have distributed, as it were, Scott's worldly prosperity, you cannot easily conceive that it would have produced more good than when it fell full on him, and was forthwith radiated to all around him. You may say that this was partly the result of genius. Be it so. Genius is, by the definition of it, one of the highest gifts. If, with humble means, we can produce some of its effects, it is great gain. Without, however, wishing to depreciate the attaching influence of genius, we must, I think, attribute much of this admirable bearing in Scott to an essential kindliness of nature and a deep sense of humanity. If he had possessed no peculiar gifts of expression or imagination, and quietly followed the vocation of his father, a writer to the Signet, he would have been loved in his office as he was on his estate; and old clerks would have been Laidlaws and Tom Purdies to him. Scott would under any circumstances have insisted on being loved: he would have been "a good lord and brother" to any man or set of men over whom he had the least control. You cannot make out that true graciousness of his to be a mere love of feudal usages. It is the best thing that remains of him, better than all his writings, if, indeed, it were not visible throughout them.

The duties of master to man are the more important, because, however much the relation may vary in its outward form, it will not be mapped down as in this or that latitude, but remains as pervading as the air. We may have brought down the word charity to its most abject sense, considering what is but the husk of it to be the innermost kernel. Mere symbols of it may go on. In times, when few things were further apart than charity and papal sway, the popes still went through the form of washing poor men's feet. But that symbol has a wondrous significance--the depth of service which is due from all masters, the humble charity which should ever accompany true lordship and dominion.

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When considering in what spirit our remedies should be attempted, one of the most important things to be urged is, that it should be in a spirit of hopefulness.

In one of Dr. Arnold's letters there is the following passage. "'Too late,' however, are the words which I should be inclined to affix to every plan for reforming society in England; we are ingulfed, I believe, inevitably, and must go down the cataract; although ourselves, i.e. you and I, may be in Hezekiah's case, and not live to see the catastrophe." Similar forebodings were uttered on other occasions by this eminently good man in the latter years of his life. I quote the passage to show how deep must have been the apprehension of danger and distress which could so depress him; and, more especially, for the purpose of protesting against any similar despondency which I fear to be very prevalent in these times. It mainly arises, as it seems to me, from a confusion between the term of our own life and that of the state. We see a cloud which overshadows our own generation, and we exclaim that the heavens and earth are coming together. How often, in reading history, does a similar feeling occur to us. We think, how can the people we are reading of revive after this whirlwind of destruction! Imagine how much more they themselves must have felt despondency. A Northumbrian looking upon William the Conqueror's devastations--a monk considering the state of things around him in the exterminating contest of Stephen and Matilda, or the wars of the Roses--the remaining one of a family swept off by some of those giant epidemics which desolated our towns in the fourteenth century--a member of the defeated party in the struggles of the Reformation, the Rebellion, or the Revolution--what would any such person have prophesied as to the fate of his country? How little would he have foreseen the present plethoric, steam-driving, world-conquering England! So with us. We too have evils, perhaps of as large dimension, though in some respects of a totally different character from those which our forefathers endured--and did not sink under. Nothing is to be shunned more than Despair. How profound is the wisdom which has placed Hope in the front rank of Christian virtues. For is it not the parent of endeavour? And in this particular matter, the improvement of our social condition, the more we examine it, the more we shall discover cause for hope. The evils are so linked together that a shock given to any one would electrify the whole mass of evil. Take an instance. Suppose that those who have the means bestir themselves to improve the houses of the poor. See what good will flow from that. Physical suffering is diminished; but that is, perhaps, the least thing. Cleanly and economical habits are formed; domestic occupations are increased; more persons live through the working period of life; and a class is formed low down in the body politic who are attached to something, for a man who has the tenancy of a good house to lose, is not altogether destitute. And under what circumstances is all this done? By the more influential classes taking a kindly concern in a matter in which all are deeply interested. This is not the least part of the good. Indeed, without it, all the rest, however excellent in itself, would lack its most engaging features. Seeing then in one instance how much good may be done even with slight efforts, we may determine to resist despondency. To yield to it, even but a little, is to help in building up the trophy for the other side.

Although we must not listen to despondency, we must not, on the other hand, attempt to conceal from ourselves that this subject, the "condition of England question" as it has been called, is oppressively large; or suppose that it can be dealt with otherwise than by ever-growing vigour. At the present moment public attention is unusually fixed upon it. But this may be of brief duration. The public soon becomes satiated with any subject. Some foreign war, or political contest, may all at once turn its looks in far other directions. But the social remedies that we have been talking of, are not things to be finished by a single stroke. We cannot expect to complete them just while the daylight of public opinion is with us. The evil to be struggled against is a thing entwined with every fibre of the body politic. It is enough to occupy the whole mind of the age; and demands the best energies of the best minds. It should be a "Thirty years' war" against sloth and neglect. It requires men who will persevere through public favour or disfavour, who can subdue their own fastidiousness, be indifferent to ingratitude, tolerant of folly, who can endure the extreme vexation of seeing their most highly prized endeavours thwarted by well intentioned friends, and who are not dependent for reward upon those things which are addressed to vanity or to ambition.

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After a long fit of distress which, for the poorer classes, may almost be called a seven years' famine, we are now apparently entering upon one of our periodic times of prosperity. You hear of thousands of additional "hands" being wanted, of new mills rising up, and at last of a revival of the home trade. It is one of those "breathing spaces" in which we can look back with less despondency, and forward with some deliberation. Each man's apprehensions for his own fortunes need no longer absorb his whole attention. Yet one cannot observe all this clashing and whizzing of machinery, this crowding on our quays, this contention of railway projects, and the general life and hum of renewed activity, without a profound fear and sadness lest such things should pass on, as their predecessors have passed, leaving only an increased bulk of unhandy materials to be dealt with. It is one of those periods upon which the historian, armed with all that wisdom which a knowledge of the result can furnish him, may thus dilate in measured sentences. "A time of nearly seven years of steady distress had now elapsed; nor can it be said, that this distress had been lightly regarded by thoughtful minds, or that its salutary process had not commenced. The question of the condition of the labouring classes had in a measure become prominent. The Essayist moralized about it after his fashion; the lover of statistics arrayed his fearful lists of figures to show its nature and extent; the writer of fiction wove it into his tale; the journalist found it a topic not easily to be exhausted: old men shook their heads over it; and the young, to the astonishment of the world, began to talk of it as a matter of pressing interest to them. Now was the time when Great Britain might have looked into this question. But a return of prosperity, which we must almost call insidious, lulled attention. Sickness and adversity are soon forgotten. And this nation awoke as from a bad dream which it was by no means desirous of recalling in its daylight reminiscences." My friends, let us not give an opportunity to the historian to moralize upon us in this manner. If we are employers of labour, let us bethink ourselves that now is the time for persuading our men to do something for themselves; now is the time for getting improvements made in our town and neighbourhood, the public being in a cheerful mood; now, too, we can ourselves adventure something for the good of those around us. Do not let us be anxious to drain the cup of prosperity to its last drop, holding it up so that we see nothing but it. Let us carry ourselves forward in imagination, and then look backward on what we are doing now. That is the way to master the present, for the best part of foresight is in the reflex. What matter is it how many thousands of pounds we make, compared to how we make them?

"Yes," some one will reply, "the imaginary historian deserves to be heard. This is the time for the nation to do something. Really a Government with a surplus should put all things to rights." Oh, these unhappy collective nouns, what have they not to answer for! This word "nation," for instance: we substitute it instead of writing down some millions of names, a convenience not altogether to be despised. But yours, my friend, is there. The word nation is not an abstract idea; but means an aggregate of human beings. No individual man is eliminated by this process of abbreviation. Your being one of a nation is to enrich you with duties, not to deprive you of them. But these large words often soothe us into obliviousness. It puts one in mind of long algebraical operations in which the student has wholly lost sight of reality, and is driving on his symbols, quite unable to grasp their significance. This may be well enough for him, for eventually some result comes out which can be verified. But if we, in active life, play with general terms, we do not come to such distinct results, but only get into profound confusion, as it will be in this case, if we expect great things to happen from some combined effort in their corporate capacity of those who, as individuals, are looking on.

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Before we leave off, let us look at the subject in its full scope. A large portion of our fellow countrymen are living, not in a passive state of distress, but in one which manufactures rapidly disease, and poverty, and crime. I think it has been shown that it is in the power of other classes to raise this condition. At any rate it is in their power to make the attempt. There is no occasion for waiting--each of us can do something to-day in this matter. Now consider what would be the effect of success in these endeavours. Let us not take the other result as probable; or, even in hypothesis, draw any picture that might make despondency plausible. Suppose, then, the success of individual, or united efforts, in raising the condition of the labouring classes. What an undivided good it is. Has any man some particular reform at heart, some especial hopes for his race? Where can he look for such a basis to rest upon as in the improved condition of the largest layer of the people? What a field it opens for science, literature, and art. What freedom may it not give to the highest ranges of thought.

I cannot think the destinies of our race an unimproving matter of contemplation, and that it savours of presumption, or of needless forelooking, to reflect on these things. A notable portion of the great human family utters every day a prayer in which the individual supplicant asks, not for himself alone, even those blessings which he can individually enjoy, but also, and first, implores those general blessings which include the welfare of his own race at least. What is the meaning of this, if we are to take no interest in the general welfare, or not, by every means in our power, to aid in it?

In the better order of men there is a desire for social improvement totally independent of all thought of personal gain. Bishop Butler saw in the fact, that there were persons who devoted themselves to a pursuit so remote from worldly ends as astronomy, a wonderful instance of the innate consciousness in man of his high origin and destiny. But an earnest and unselfish love of social progress, is a far more satisfying sign that the impress of good is not altogether effaced, and that men are not wholly isolated by worldliness from the future and the past.