Chapter VII: Part 7

Yet it is by no means difficult to show that the essential doctrines of Imperialism are incapable of defence either from the rationalist or from the ethical standpoint. They are, in fact, both illogical and immoral. They are illogical, because they are based on the assumption that a wide expanse of territory can be better looked after by a central authority, than can a relatively small district. They ignore the elementary truth that every community is the best judge of its own requirements. The Imperialist is not satisfied to let any one alone. Every race, as far as practicable, must come under the yoke which he himself acknowledges. Every individual must slumber under the form of Government which he himself prescribes. He believes, quite illogically, that his own prestige is in some fashion enhanced whenever his countrymen dethrone another potentate or lay hands on a fresh piece of territory. He is convinced that the welfare of Australia is enhanced by the circumstance that certain gentlemen, living at a very remote distance, can, if they so choose, veto some of our most important pieces of legislation, and overset some of our most intimate concerns.

If it be admitted, as it must be, that the underlying principle of Imperialism is illogical, it will also be admitted that the same principle is decidedly immoral. Every empire is more or less built up by the sword. Every empire is more or less maintained in the same fashion. And it is an elementary truth that the sword and morality have nothing to do with each other. We can judge these things better from a distance. We can see plainly enough that it was wrong and immoral of Xerxes to wish to add to his territories by annexing Greece; that it was grasping of Julius Cæsar to reach out after Gaul and Britain; that it was wicked of Napoleon to covet Egypt; and that it was sinful of Russia to lay hands on Poland and Manchuria. But we are not prepared to speak thus definitely of the moral significance of another nation’s attitude towards Cape Colony and Egypt and India. What we do say in that connection, is that the white man has a burden to shoulder and a duty to accomplish. We are inclined to get angry, and to call the strict moralist--whenever he attempts to dictate the policy of nations--a narrow-minded, insufferable prig. And so, as a matter of fact, he may be. But no harm would be done by admitting, in a general way, that the doctrines of Imperialism and of morality are not precisely identical.

But neither cold reason nor hard rules of conduct can build up and vitalise a nation. There is such a quality as _sentiment_; and it is just this quality that gives the Imperialist his pre-eminent place. For sentiment always has been, and always will be, the most useful and valuable, just as it is the most illogical, faculty that an individual or a nation can possess. When we recollect what it has given us in the domain of poetry, of imaginative prose, of art, of music, of sculpture, we recognise that logic does not deserve to be mentioned with it in the same breath. Sentiment is even greater than morality, because it creates its own morality--a morality very much finer and very much truer than that of any conventional school. The Imperialist, therefore, in spite of his unreason, contains within him a spark of that which illumines and creates. The sentiment of race, the sentiment of religion, the sentiment of patriotism, the sentiment of devotion to an ideal, to a memory, to a national past, to a series of great names, to a battlefield, to a grave--all this is, from the logical point of view, incapable of a moment’s defence. It is fantastic, illusory, absurd. But when one comes to think how unspeakably unlovely would be any existence that was mapped out by reason, and supported by dogma, and guided from infantile beginnings to senile decay, by a cold and brutal calculation of the practical advantages likely to follow on certain acts, one can only feel grateful that the sentimentalist, and not the economist or the calculator, has still the dominating voice in the life of the time.

The Imperialist, therefore, in the sense now being made use of, is a person to be lightly regarded by disciples of Bentham and Bain, and to be warmly admired and applauded by all other sections of the community. This is he who, though he has never been within ten thousand miles of Great Britain, speaks of it as “home,” and incidentally refers to the place of his birth as a land of exile. This is he who, a few years ago, talked often of the necessity of wiping out the memory of Majuba, and who even now does not like to be reminded of Nicholson’s Nek and Magersfontein and the Tugela River. As a member of the human race he might be proud to think that at these places some farmers, his fellow-beings, performed praiseworthy feats in the face of tremendous odds. But the Imperialist assumes that the feats were performed by the wrong people, and is not proud of them. This is he who, by virtue of some curious and unintelligible process, manages to feel himself a larger and more sublime personality because of the fact that, long before he was born, men wearing red uniforms and living at the opposite end of the world purchased with their lives the barren glory of Badajoz, and stood unshaken through the fiery ordeal of Waterloo. And this is he who refers to such and such an action as conceived in the interests of that large and vague thing known as the Empire; who is fond of talking about what “we” ought to do in Afghanistan, and what should be “our” policy in Cochin China; who sublimely ignores the fact that neither he himself, nor the community in which he lives, has any more to do with Afghanistan and Cochin China than it has with the North Pole or the mountains of the Moon.

“Even a Cecil,” observed an Irish member in the House of Commons recently, “will not die for the Meridian of Greenwich.” The remark illustrated a great truth. A man will only die for something that has a history, for something that calls forth an emotion, for something that appeals to his individual or his national pride. He will not die for the Meridian of Greenwich, any more than he will die for the peak of Kosciusko, or for the Sydney Town Hall, or for the Melbourne Parliamentary buildings, or for the Federal tariff. Of what avail is it for a poet to write about the star of Australia? It is likely enough that the star will arise some day, and it is perfectly certain that the event, when it does take place, will be heralded by clouds of war. Every national constellation must rise, if it rises at all, from such a cradle. But in the meantime there is nothing in the history of Australia to awake sentiment of any sort--unless it be a sentiment of disgust at the manner in which the aboriginals were treated, and of shame for the early records of Botany Bay. A nation must have some ties of remembrance and of vanity to hold it together. Australia is still mainly Imperialistic--because of the force of heredity, because of the triumph of unreason, and because of the part that sentiment plays in the life of the people.

Apart from the genuine Imperialist into whose faith the calculation of material advantages does not consciously enter, there is the professing Imperialist of the political type. This individual is to be met with in Parliament, at public meetings, and in the newspapers. Often his opinions are elaborately thought out, and now and again they are adequately expressed. Imagination may have a part, but not the leading part, in his composition. Neither is he a product of any one emotion, or set of emotions. He has usually a large measure of prudence, and always a certain capacity for looking ahead. He talks a great deal about the balance of power in Europe, and the possible shifting of that balance owing to Japanese successes in the Far East. He advocates a larger Australian contribution to the British Navy, and remarks with solemn emphasis that the only guarantee of safety held by this Southern continent--the continent which he inhabits--is afforded by the existence of English ships of war. This political and professing Imperialist will declaim from any number of platforms on the necessity of keeping intact all the existing bonds of Empire, and of manufacturing as many new ones as possible. He foresees a yellow peril, a Russian peril, a German peril, an American peril--in fact any number of perils. He is strenuously alive to the possibility, in fact the imminent probability, of some nation, whether it be white, brown, black, or yellow, casting acquisitive eyes on the new and tempting and half unpeopled continent. Though not imaginative, he can picture the probable result of a conflict between Togo’s vessels and the auxiliary Australian squadron. And he is sincerely desirous that nothing should occur, for the present, to mar existing relations with Great Britain, or to cause the habit of reliance upon the most powerful navy in the world to cease.

The objection to this variety of Imperialist is that he cannot be relied upon. For the motive that animates him is self-interest. And national self-interest is not a whit more dependable, while it is even less admirable, than the self-interest of individuals. It may be that a certain line of conduct appears, for the time being, advantageous. Then the balance of power is shifted, and a diametrically opposite course becomes advisable. The unit may be forgiven for seeking the unit’s good. It is a way that units have. But from the nation, or from the collective spirit of the nation, something more lofty and inspiring might be expected. The political Imperialist reduces everything to a formula. He may deal in high-sounding phrases, but he does not mean them. He may not tell his audience, but he tells himself that a certain course of action pays best. He has no illusions. He is not an idealist. He does not pretend to be heroic. His eye is ever upon the main chance. So far from being a buttress of Imperialism he is in reality its chief danger--the chief danger, that is to say, to its existence as a permanent factor in the life of the world. For undervaluing sentiment as he does, dealing with supposed advantages and disadvantages as he does, he is morally certain to adjust his views to successive changes on the international horizon. The moment Australia becomes, in his opinion, strong enough to protect herself; the moment she can afford to be independent of Downing Street; the moment she is powerful enough to resent interference; that moment becomes, in the view of the political Imperialist, the moment to cast adrift. Manifestly the bonds must be different from those of temporary self-interest if they are to have any holding power.

There remains the important problem of improving the position--assuming that it can be improved--from the Imperialist point of view. We want, first of all, to know where we are. Our relations to Great Britain are of two kinds, the one definite and precise, the other indefinite and somewhat vague. The political relationship is the definite one, the one that exists on paper, the one that is subject at any moment to constitutional readjustment. It implies a certain amount of formalism, a certain hint of subserviency, even a certain suggestion of force. It means that we cannot legislate on all subjects exactly as we like. It means, also, the payment of a certain sum of money in the upkeep of Vice-regal establishments, and in the contributions to the British Navy. As a set off to this political dependence, and to this necessity for paying away occasional sums of money, there are a number of material gains. There is the commercial gain represented by the protection of the British flag. This is a consideration that runs throughout the whole domain of trade and industry, and gives to every transaction a security and confidence that would otherwise be absent. Then there is the financial saving on the defence vote. Instead of spending less than £900,000 a year on defence we should have to spend several millions if there were no reliance on the Imperial forces. Further, there is the social advantage--a great advantage in the eyes of some people, a negative advantage in the eyes of others--implied in the presence of a number of titled personages who represent the Crown in Australia, and add greatly to the importance of a number of socially ambitious individuals. Looking at the constitutional problem as a whole, and weighing material gains against certain definite losses, it may fairly be agreed that the former much preponderate.

Yet the political tie as such is never binding. “A fig for these paper agreements!” exclaimed Mr C. C. Kingston in the Federal House of Representatives a year or two ago. The accompanying snap of the fingers meant a great deal. The first Australian Minister for Customs was, and at the time of writing is, a democrat of the democrats. No one knows better than he that it is not only useless, but criminally foolish to attempt to hold together peoples living on opposite sides of the globe, if their hearts are not in the bond. Australia is mainly Imperialist to-day, because of certain considerations that lie outside the track of any huxtering politician, or of any self-important statesman residing either north or south of the Equator. It is Imperialist because it is susceptible to the breath of impulse, and of memory, and of something finer and more intangible still. It is loyal not so much to a dynasty, or to an individual, or to a parchment bond, as to the tie of race, the idea of kinship, the value of tradition, the glamour of history, the pride that springs from the knowledge of certain achievements--achievements that have helped to make the country and its people what they are.

This Imperialism, which is the result of sentiment, and not of any political arrangement, is to be met with in the street, in the train, in the tram-car, in the hotel, in the private house, in the social circle. The writer was in King Street, Sydney, when the news of the surrender of Cronje was posted outside a newspaper office. And he was in Collins Street, Melbourne, when the announcement of the relief of Mafeking came to hand. The demonstration that took place in either city was instructive from any point of view. When a crowd, and more especially an Anglo-Saxon crowd, becomes fervid with excitement and metaphorically stands on its head, and turns itself into one vast menagerie, it is safe to assume that the motive power is a fairly strong one. It is no explanation to say that the people were merely anxious to create a disturbance--that they were devoid of political convictions and had no definite idea on the subject of international or pan-Britannic relations. The splendid foolishness that everywhere manifested itself on account of the improved fortunes of the defenders of Mafeking--on account, if you will, of the avoidance of whatever national dishonour would have been caused by the fall of the place--was, and is, the most eloquent testimony to the existence of Imperialism as a vital force in Australia. What did it matter to the people in the streets? What was Mafeking to them, or what were they to Mafeking? And yet they mafficked--and in the folly of the moment demonstrated more than a whole tribe of philosophers could disprove in a life-time.

But there are people--anxious, untiring, well-meaning people--who are not satisfied. It is not enough that Australia should have shewn its feelings in the only way in which they can be shewn. It is not enough that the country should have sent soldiers to the war, should have yelled itself hoarse for the cause in which they went, and should have rioted with frantic enthusiasm when they came back. It is not enough that the streets of Melbourne and Sydney should have been converted into Pandemonium. The statement is being made that the bonds of union must be drawn tighter. The necessity is being urged for the taking of steps to prevent any drifting apart. Somebody imagines that constitutional relationships can be improved. The political wheel is asked to be set in motion. There is declared to be danger to the Empire because of possible commercial friction. One Parliament sits at Westminster, and on its own responsibility takes steps that may not only imperil the trade and commercial interests, but place at stake the national honour, and the life of men residing at Brisbane and Ballarat. The political Imperialists say the position is alarming. They are certain that something ought to be done. But what is it to be?

It has been contended by very respectable authorities that there should be representation of Australia at Westminster. And it has been contended, just as ably, that there should be preferential trade. Both contentions can be strongly supported on a logical basis. It is unreasonable to expect educated and civilised people to submit to interference from bodies whom they have no share in calling into existence. It is unreasonable--and yet the submission takes place. No doubt there are advantages by way of compensation. But the broad, and self-evident, and theoretically objectionable circumstance is that the people who have left England to build up Greater Britain agree to be governed without representation on their part by the people who have stayed at home. Then, again, the fact has been rediscovered that competing tariffs make the commercial relationships of the United Kingdom and Australia increasingly difficult, and tend to drive the two countries further apart. The brilliant idea has occurred to one statesman that it is possible to unite Britain and Greater Britain more closely together, and to keep the foreign gentleman at a more respectful distance, by the simple process of manipulating the customs duties. From one point of view--in fact, from many points of view--he is quite correct. Preferential trade implies a bond of mutual self-interest. And there is no reasoner in the world who would not say unhesitatingly that nations and individuals are more likely to hang together when there exists a tie of self-interest between them.

Every man or woman possessed of rudimentary intelligence would say this. But he or she would almost certainly be in error in applying the abstract principle to the union between England and Australia. Let it be said again that the bond is not one that has grown strong by reason of political adjustments, or of commercial necessities. Its virtue consists in the fact that it has not been manufactured in the mills of diplomacy. The more it is tampered with, the weaker it becomes. It is made of impalpable materials--of such materials as memory, sentiment, self-abnegation, heredity, pride. To attempt to trim it in one place or to buttress it in another is to attempt to alter its character, and thus bring about its decay. The Imperialist, if he is a genuine Imperialist, requires only to be let alone. He should not be irritated and thwarted, but he does not need to be artificially fed and pampered. Whether he will last for many more generations is an open question. But for the present he must be considered as a survival of a splendid age--the age of unreason and of chivalry and of people wisely unwise.

XIV

THE LITTLE AUSTRALIAN

Masters of the Seven Seas,
Oh, love and understand!

The little Australian, despite his name, is not a product of the soil. He is manufactured abroad. In the main, he is the outcome of English criticism and of English public opinion. He is the result of influences at work outside Australia. Very often he is born with an Imperialistic, or it may be a jingoistic, temperament. But circumstances tend to drive him in upon himself; to dwarf his incipient ideas of Imperial greatness and of pan-Britannic confederation; to limit his vision and his sympathies to the country in which he lives; to substitute for his racial affinities a narrower feeling of kinship and a more local point of view.

“Forgive them,” exclaimed the first Christian martyr, “lay not this sin to their charge.” The tragedy of Stephen, though terrible and heart-breaking, was yet a tragedy in purple. The victim was, and is, a sublime figure. It is comparatively easy to ask forgiveness for those who, in putting a period to your material existence, lift you at once to a pinnacle of undying fame. But it is not easy to forgive a series of acts, or even an attitude of mind, that is a continual source of belittlement, annoyance, and exasperation. This task is difficult, whether for the nation or for the individual. It may be unwillingly undertaken for a while, but in the long run it is usually abandoned.

There is much in England’s attitude to Australia that is calculated either to put a strain on sympathy, or to sow the seeds of active discontent. This attitude cannot be brought within the four corners of one generalisation. And anything said about it in a comprehensive way must be subject to numerous exceptions. It is necessary to be fair to the people in England who know Australia personally; to those who, without knowing it personally, have taken the trouble to learn about it; and to those rare souls who appear to have an instinctive, undefinable sympathy with all efforts and achievements of their countrymen either at home or beyond the seas. Yet the fact remains, after all the circumstances have been considered, and after the last exception has been allowed for, that the Englishman’s conscious or unconscious bearing towards the man who lives outside of England is the best reason and excuse for the growth of the product that has come to be dubbed “little Australian.”

In the political relationships of the two countries a certain amount of aloofness, a certain spirit of alienation, has always been noticeable. It is about half a century, or more, since a British Prime Minister was in the habit of making allusions to “these wretched Colonies.” This member of the privileged classes was candid enough to think aloud. Other statesmen have thought as much, but have said less. The House of Commons represents Great Britain and misrepresents Ireland. It has no wish to add to its aims of representation and misrepresentation the maladministration of the affairs of Australia. It does not desire closer union with that country. Colonial politicians are not wanted at Westminster. Downing Street does not love them, although it tolerates them, and on great occasions invites them to call. It sends them an occasional Governor-General, and a more frequent State Governor. It sometimes leaves the impression that the choice has been hastily made, and that the people responsible regarded the matter as of no great importance. Such an opinion, it may be said in passing, is the greatest mistake possible. An era of _perfect_ Vice-regal representatives might mean an era of universal Imperialism. Owing to the large amount of _indifference_ that prevails in British political circles, it has come about that a feeling of strangeness has been accentuated. Even the fervid Imperialism of a Chamberlain, if it abide alone, will not alter the trend of events.

But the views, or lack of views, of English statesmen towards Australia are far from being the chief cause of complaint in the younger country. Neither are they the source from which the little Australian most naturally springs. The stolid, unyielding, invincible prejudices of the English middle classes are a more important factor in the case. What does the man who has lived his life in the Midland Counties, or in Yorkshire, or in London, know about the Antipodes? What does he care to know? What is the use of telling him that at the Antipodes life may be as artistic, wit as polished, society as versatile, conventional codes as precise, manners as decorous, wealth as prodigal, intellect as keen, and the indefinable something known as _savoir faire_ as pronounced as in England? The Midlander would not believe it. And his wife would believe it still less. The Englishman should make it his business to learn something of the land that his countrymen have peopled. His geographical ignorance should be less complete, less appalling. One obstacle to lasting cohesion will be removed when the man who picks up his paper in Yorkshire or Warwickshire is aware that Victoria is not the Capital of New South Wales, and that people in Brisbane are debarred by distance from paying afternoon calls upon people in Geelong.

Another of the centrifugal forces at work is the attitude of the older nation towards the incipient art and literature of the new one. It is always a mistake to despise the day of small things. The error is one that is being constantly made by the English critic, the English reviewer, the English publisher, the English artist, and--to some extent--by the English reader. You will hear it said in London that the Colonies have been “overdone.” You need not believe it. They have never been anything but _under_done. They have always been fighting for recognition and very imperfectly obtaining it. The young men from Oxford and Cambridge have come to regard Fleet Street as their special domain. They have never been anxious to greet the outsider. They do not actually forbid intrusion, but they do not welcome it, and they do not wish it. The newspaper proprietors and editors are of the same way of thinking. A Colonial reputation to them means nothing, or less than nothing. The very fact that it is Colonial is enough to damn it. The word “Colonial” is unfortunate. Such a term, with such associations, might damn anything. Its use in this way is an injustice to the people to whom it is applied, a reflection on the manner of thinking of the people who apply it. It is a significant fact that the man who has done brilliantly in Melbourne or Sydney finds it harder to make a commencement in the metropolis _of his own race_ than does the man who has achieved nothing better than failure in Birmingham or York. English experience, good, bad, or indifferent, is understood to be better than Colonial success.

Still another factor calling for consideration is the tone of English society. In some respects this is the most important of all. Were it not for this, much could be forgiven. The Australian could overlook the majestic indifference of the Assembly that sits at Westminster; he could smile at the profound lack of topographical information possessed by the middle-class Briton in reference to Australia; and he could put up with the hard suspicion that greets his claims to a place in the literary or the artistic world. He could put up with these, and endeavour to overcome them. But he finds exasperating and well-nigh unendurable the slight movement of the shoulders, and the imperceptible lifting of the eyebrows, that, in certain exclusive circles, greet the mention of the word Australian. These indications of opinion are trifles. Society itself is the most futile and absurd of trifles. But the ridiculous prejudices of the most trifling individuals may have more influence upon international relationships than years of actual misgovernment or oceans of wordy vituperation. The Australian is aware of one or two things. He knows that although his erudition may be sound, his clothes faultless, and his hands as clean as his linen--though he may have much knowledge, much tact, much eloquence, much refinement--his acceptance among the people who can trace their descent for a couple of centuries will be achieved in spite of, and in no way because of, the land of his birth. He knows that in a particular circle, a circle that is largely the preserve of soulless aristocrats and commonplace millionaires and pushful Americans, there can be heard every now and then the exclamation, “Oh, Australians!” The delicate, almost imperceptible, irony of the tone in which these words are uttered may yet bring about the dismemberment of the Empire. No man cares to be thought ridiculous. No man relishes the suggestion--even the most faintly implied, ostensibly denied suggestion--that in the social sense he does not know how to live.

Mainly as the result of what is going on in England, partly because of other reasons, there is growing up in Australia a feeling of antagonism to constitutional ties as they now exist. I say “growing up,” although the shoots are at present hardly noticeable, and the vitality is taken from them by the vigour of other trees. But no one can afford to be blind to the signs of the times. In the Southern continent there is a strong and developing Labour party. Politically it is of the utmost importance. Where it does not actually choose Ministries and pass legislation it is the controlling or balancing force without which the Government in office could not carry on. This political Labour party is leavened with Republicanism. More than that, it is in spirit and essence Republican; that is to say, anti-Monarchical, and in a measure Separationist. So far, it is not actively disloyal. It has by no means shaken off old associations. The influences of race and of heredity are with it yet. The name and fame of England are more to it than the name and fame of France or Germany, or America, or Japan. Many of its members took part in the honourable folly of the Mafeking celebrations. But old associations become older each year; and even heredity is not in the long run proof against environment. A party that has to fight for its existence in Parliament, and to earn its own living outside of it, has not much time for sentiment. It comes down to bed-rock sooner than do other parties. All the patriotic ideals, all the associations of remoter kinship, all the far-off memories of battle fields, all the impalpable nothings that help to bind an Empire together, are not proof in the long run against the practical tendencies of the man who knows only his own surroundings--who is chiefly occupied in supplying material wants, and who wishes to be let alone.

Outside of political circles, and outside of the Labour party, there is a certain body of opinion that sees, or professes to see, indications of coming change. Causes of irritation are always arising. English newspaper criticism of Australia is one fruitful source of complaint. The returned Australian--the man who has battled hard for a living in London and has more or less failed--comes back with the conviction that racial sentiment is a vain and foolish thing. For him it is dead; its embers lie strewn about the pavement that runs past London newspaper offices, and are trampled under foot by the indifferent millions on their passage to and fro. The thoughtful and clever Australian, looking to the prevailing signs of the times, looking to the attitude of Downing Street, of Fleet Street, and of Belgravia, begins to pin his faith to a future that is not the future of the old world, but of the new.

For the present, old ties, old institutions, old associations are in the ascendant. The continent is owned, and to some extent governed, by men of peregrinating habits; by men to whom the Red Sea is as familiar as Collins Street; by men to whom the journey from Tilbury to Adelaide is no more formidable, and not much more unusual, than a cab-drive from the Marble Arch to London Bridge. These people, though they live in the Southern Hemisphere, have most of their financial, commercial, and social interests in the world’s metropolis. These people own most of the property and possess a preponderating, though a diminishing, share in the Government of the new country. Assisting them, and co-operating with them, is the racial and Imperialistic sentiment of the Australian middle classes. But the other type of individual--the man who believes that formulas have no hold over him, and who declares that he “may not call a throned puppet Lord”--is making himself felt more as a silent than as an eloquent factor in the life of the people. This is the type that is known as “little Australian.” On A.N.A. platforms, in suburban debating societies, at Trades’ Hall councils, and at Yarra Bank gatherings, it succeeds in making its aspirations heard. In social circles, in the region of practical politics, it is dumb and futile. But it is ambitious, and expects to grow.

For many reasons one might sympathise with the little Australian, and even feel some sorrow for him. He has so few materials with which to build. He has no national flag, no history, no bead-roll of fame, no justification for enthusiasm of any kind. He wishes to feel, and to spread around him, an atmosphere of enthusiasm for the land in which he was born. He wishes to see the embers removed from England, and relighted in Australia. But how is the thing to be done? National sentiment is largely the product of memories. And the Australian, as an Australian, has no memories worthy of the name. If he looks back a century--and he can look back no further--he finds merely the trail of the unattractive aboriginal, of the nomadic gold digger, and of that other man who, like Barrington, left his country for his country’s good. Hamlet declares that you cannot feed capons, that is to say, young cocks, on air; and you can hardly nourish the flame of patriotic sentiment on recollections such as these. So it is that in Australia the shrine of the local patriot is difficult to tend. The altar has not been stained with crimson as every rallying centre of a nation should be. A large expanse of territory, some trees, a whitey-grey or dull green landscape, a number of new buildings, a hard blue sky, a succession of fine days, and alternating periods of drought--these must be the outward and visible symbols, in default of others more histrionic and less tangible, on which the sentiment of the nation has to feed. It is no wonder that the result is a slow and fluctuating and uncertain growth.

But the little Australian lives on, and believes that time will have its revenges. He believes that each year as it passes is fighting for him. He knows that he is not strong enough to found a party that will carry any weight in the Government of the country. He is aware, also, that he can get no audience to listen to the gospel that is dearest to him, elsewhere than by the banks of rivers, at the less reputable street corners, or in the open spaces of a city domain. He recognises that the earth belongs to those who think very differently from himself. He has no hope of achieving a _tour de force_. But he is by no means idle. He does what he can. His voice is raised against all proposals that seem to have an old-world origin, or to be actuated by sympathy with old-world forms of Government. Thus he is an active opponent of the agreement under which Australia pays a naval subsidy of £200,000 to Great Britain. He is not candid enough to say what he really thinks--that he desires his country to be quite independent of the parent nation. But he talks, with an amusing sophistry that deceives no one, of the advantages that would accrue to the people of England if Australia possessed a navy of her own. Besides objecting to the naval subsidy he objects to State Governors, to all appeals from his part of the world to the Privy Council, to contingents such as those that went to South Africa, to the right of veto upon colonial legislation. All these are principles or practices that can be protested against without openly enlisting under the Separationist flag. The little Australian is not sure that the time is ripe for objecting to an English Governor-General, or to the appearance of the head of the Sovereign on the coins of the realm. But where there is a chance of doing something, he does it; where there is a head unprotected, he hits it as hard as he can.

What is the future to be? No one knows, least of all the little Australian. Sometimes he sees visions, sometimes he dreams dreams. But he lacks constructive ability, and he is wanting in definite aim. His antecedents are of a heterogeneous character. It may be that he is of Irish descent, and that memories of Drogheda and Vinegar Hill are running in his blood. Perhaps he has a Gaelic strain and refuses, as some Scotchmen still refuse, to forego the hereditary instinct which meant war to the knife against the race across the Border. Or possibly he is a German for whom loyalty to Great Britain has no meaning; or possibly an Italian, the child of a country that is always talking about liberty, but has for gotten how to use it. Perhaps he is an Englishman who for adequate personal reasons has a vendetta against his fathers’ country, and everything connected with it. There are a number of local causes, a number of nationalities, a number of racial prejudices helping to build up the little Australian. But for the present the Imperialists of the continent can afford to smile at him. They know that his day is not yet.

INDEX

A

Achilles, 122

Actors, 138-141

Actress, Young American, 147

Adams, Francis, 113

Adelaide, 53, 306

_Adonais_, 114

Adonis, 260

Æstheticism, 168

Aetius, 37

Afghanistan, 284

Agamemnon, 209

_Age_, 55-58

Aide-de-camp, Government House, 28, 34

Amaryllis, 110

America, 142, 144, 305

Amurath, 81

Aphroditë, 190

_A Pretty Woman_, 232

Araluen, 92

_Argus_, 55, 56, 66, 93

Arnold, Sir Edwin, 169

_As long as any May_, 249

Astoria, 145

_Atalanta in Calydon_, 39

_At Dawn and Dusk_, 227, 234

_At the Opera_, 232

Attila, 37

Aurelius, Marcus, 260

_Australasian_, 128

A.N.A., 307

Australian men, 1-22, 199-203

---- society, 23-44

---- women, 32, 160-180, 251

Authors, dramatic, 141

_Autumn Song_, 124

Azores, 115

B

_Bab Ballads_, 148

Back-blocks, 215

Badajos, 283

_Ballad of Dreamland_, 123

Barrère, 1

Barrington, 308

Barton, Sir E., 89, 252-258

Bayard, 133

Beaconsfield, 216

Beau Brummell, 260

Beersheba, 112

Belgravia, 306

_Belle of New York_, 146

Bent, Thomas, 78

Birth-rate, 36, 37

Bismarck, 1

Bjornsten, 146

_Blanchelys_, 233, 234

Blue Mountains, 209

Boers, 283

Botany Bay, 57, 285

Brighton (Melb.), 113

Brisbane, 53, 153, 158, 300

Brisëis, 122

Browning, 1, 68, 74, 91

Bryne, Desmond, 113

Buddhists, 3, 169

_Bulletin_, 103, 108, 109, 205

Bunthorne, 124

Burke, Edmund, 9

---- Street, 195

Burney, Miss, 124

Byron, 133, 259

C

Cæsar, Julius, 280

Cambridge, 171, 301

_Camille_, 150

Carlton, 265

Carlyle, 203

Cecil Family, 284

Cereals, 209

Chamberlain, Joseph, 299

Charters Towers, 158

Chateaubriand, 1

Circë, 183

Circular Quay, 142, 162, 207

Cochin China, 284

Collins St. (Melb.), 195, 207, 291, 306

“Colonial,” 301

Colonial Secretary, 16, 191, 192

Commonwealth, 36, 56, 259

Como, Lake, 215

Condorcet, 15

Confucius, 3

Contingent, S. A., 203, 310

Cowper, 277

Cricket, 155, 156

Cromwell, 1

Cronje, General, 291

Crosland, Henry, 24, 161, 162, 271

_Cui Bono_, 127

Cup Day, 199

Curate, the Anglican, 169

Cytherea, 190

D

_Daily Telegraph_ (Sydney), 55-58

Daley, Victor, 23, 92, 94, 225-236

Danton, 267

Darling Downs, 208

Darling Harbour, 182

Darlinghurst, 142

Deakin, Alfred, 89, 258-264

De Brett, 26

Demosthenes, 260

_Deus ex machina_, 168

Dibbs, Sir George, 78

_Dolores_, 150

_Doubtful Dreams_, 127, 130

Downing Street, 288, 299, 306

_Dreams in Flower_, 246, 247

Dress, love of, 174

Drogheda, 311

Dumas, 146

Dumplings, 158

E

Edward, the Confessor, 257

Egypt, 280

Egyptology, 172

_Elegy_, Gray’s, 269

Eliot, George, 23, 24

English middle classes, 300

---- newspapers, 111, 143, 145, 301, 305

---- society, 24, 25, 302

Epicurus, 1

Epsom, 156

Established Church, 187

_Euphues_, 123

Evans, Essex, 94

Expediency, 287

F

_Faces in the Street_, 242

Federation, 256, 264, 266

Flinders Lane, 162

Flippant style, 107

Forests, Australian, 208

_Fra Lippo Lippi_, 91

Free Trade, 266, 275

_From the Wreck_, 128

G

Gambling, 11, 34, 153, 156

Gamins, 14

Geelong, 300

Germany, 19, 305

_Girl, The Country_, 224

Gissing, George, 214

Godwin, William, 15

Golden Age, 190

Goose-step, 14

Gordon, Adam L., 113-136

Gorky, 214

Government House, 28, 30, 34, 47, 67

----, N.S.W., 37

Gracchus, Caius, 260

Graduates, lady, 173

Groperism, 54

Guildhall, 254

H

Hackett, Dr, 54

_Hamlet_, 252, 308

Hardy, Thomas, 209

Harland, Henry, 177

Harte, Bret, 96

Heine, 1

_Henry V._, 105

Holt, Bland, 142

Hooligans, 14

Horace, 168, 269

Hospitality, 5

_How we beat the Favourite_, 128, 130

Humorous style, 106, 217

I

Ibsen, 145, 146

Icarus, 231

Illegitimacy, 10

Illiteracy, 97

Immigration Restriction Act, 3

Immorality, 17

Imperial Defence, 289, 310

Imperialist, 277-295

I.O.G.T., 191

I.O.R., 191

Inner life, society’s, 32

Irrigation, 263

Irwin, W. H., 78

_Island Lover_, 94

J

Japan, 142, 286, 305

Jarrah, 208

Jones, H. A., 145

Journalism, 45-67, 220

Jugurtha, 25

K

Karri, 208

Katoomba, 209

Keats, 48, 225

Kelly Gang, 142

Kendall, Henry C., 8, 119

_King Lear_, 79, 217

Kingston, C. C., 290

Kipling, 296

Koniggratz, 19

Kosciusko, 284

L

Labour party, 81-83, 265-268, 305

Lais, 202

Lamartine, 133

Lancelot, 133

Larrikin, 8, 15

Lazzaroni, 14

Lawn tennis, 170

Lawson, Henry, 42, 99, 208, 237-243

_Leah Kleschna_, 146

_Lear, King_, 79, 217

Le Gallienne, Richard, 161, 162

Legislative Council, 84, 162

Leicester Square, 98

Leonidas, 39

_Light of Asia_, 169

_Lohengrin_, 224

London, 197, 207, 300

---- Bridge, 306

Lorimer, Mr, 224

Lotos-flower, 183

Louis XIV., 40

M

_Macbeth_, 257

Mack, Louise, 181, 243-251

Mafeking, 291, 292, 305

Magazines, Australian, 219, 220

Magersfontein, 283

Majuba, 283

Manchuria, 280

Mannerisms, 31

Mansion House, 255

Marble Arch, 306

_Marriage of Kitty_, 150

Melbourne, 53-61, 193-203

Melnotte, Claude, 215

Melville, Whyte, 128

Men, Australian, 199-203

_Mens æqua_, 209

Meredith, George, 214

Micawber, 214

Midlands, 300

Milton, 20, 137, 160

Mirabeau, 14

Molière, 40

_Morning Herald_ (Sydney), 55, 56, 63

Morris, Professor, 171

_Mouse, The Country_, 150

Mulhall, 10

Musical comedy, 151

N

Nadjezda, 145

Napoleon, 280

Nature and Art, 179

Navy, British, 289

Newspapers, English, 111, 143, 145, 301, 305

Newton, Sir Isaac, 153

New York, 52, 188

---- Zealand, 237

Nicholson’s Nek, 283

Nora Creina, 201

O

Octavian, 1

_Old Stone Chimney_, 242

_Omar Khayyam_, 193

_On Wairee Hill_, 249

“Oriel,” 63

Orpheus, 132

Ouida, 30

Oxford, 171, 187, 301

P

_Pallida mors_, 168

_Pall Mall Gazette_, 111

Paternoster Row, 98

Paterson, 48, 208

_Patience_, 124

Payments, literary, 224

Perth, 54, 153

Petticoat Lane, 145

Phantasmagoria, 183

Philip, Governor, 190

Pigmies, 16

Pinero, Mr, 145

Pitt, William, 260

Plato, 169

Plutocrats, 35

_Podas Okus_, 122

Poetry, Australian, 225-251

Poland, 280

Politics, the game of, 68-90

Port Darwin, 153

Potts’ Point, 67

Prejudices, 303

Proserpinë, 132

Protection, 266, 275, 276

Publishers, 100

_Punch_, 205

Q

_Quex, The Gay Lord_, 150

Quinn, P. E., 99

---- R. J., 99

_Quo Vadis_, 150

R

_Reedy River_, 242

Reid, G. H., 79, 89, 270-276

Resources of Australia, 208, 209

_Rhyme of Joyous Garde_, 122, 133

Richardson (novelist), 124

Roberts, Earl, 16

Robespierre, 267

_Roll of the Kettledrum_, 128

_Romance of Britomarte_, 129

Rostand, 146

Rudd, Steele, 204-224

Rugby football, 158, 171

Russia, 280

S

Sahara, 195

St Kilda, 200

Salamanders, 158

Salamis, 40

Salvation Army, 16

Samaritan, the good, 6

San Francisco, 52, 57

Sardou, 145

Sempach, 40

Sentiment, Imperial, 281, 295

_Seven Seas_, 296

Shakespeare, 105, 146, 152, 175, 201, 204, 217, 229, 252, 257, 308

Shaw, Bernard, 96, 149

Shelley, 114, 125, 224

Sheridan, 146

Slang, 171

Slums, 186

Smith, Sappho, 108

Snobs, 202

Society, 23-44

Solomon Islanders, 154

_Song of Autumn_, 127

Sou’-wester, 195

_Spectre Bride_, 117

Spring St. (Melb.), 195

Squadron, Australian, 286

Star of Australia, 43

Stephen, St, 297

Stowe, H. B., 45

Sudermann, 145, 146

Sweating, 17

_Sweet Nell of Old Drury_, 150

_Swimmer, The_, 124, 131

Swinburne, 39, 110, 123, 125

Sydney, 53-55, 61, 181-193

---- Town Hall, 256, 284

Supreme Court, 59, 257

Syme, David, 55

Symmons, Davison, 63

T

Tasman Sea, 182

Tennyson, 222

Theatres, 137-152

Theosophy, 168

Thermopylæ, 16, 39

Thurston, Mrs, 155

Tigris, 182

Tilbury, 306

_Tithonus_, 222

Toby, Uncle, 214

Togo, Admiral, 286

Toorak, 67, 142, 200

Torres Vedras, 216

Trades’ Union, 72

Trams of Sydney, 186

_Trip to Chinatown_, 146

_Triumph of Time_, 123

Trumper, Victor, 157

Tsu-shima, 4

Tugela, 283

Twain, Mark, 96, 106

Twofold Bay, 209

V

Vallambrosa, 93

Vedas, 169

_Venus and Adonis_, 229

Vices, national, 9, 13, 192

Victoria, Queen, 260

Vinegar Hill, 311

Virgil, 209

Virtues, national, 7

Vitellius, 1

Viviani, Emilia, 229

Von Kotze, 94

_Vows_, 249

W

Wagner, 201

Waldorf, 145

Warwickshire, 300

Waterloo, 47, 283

Watson, Chris., 89, 264-270

Wellington, Duke of, 103

_West Australian_, 54

Westminster, 145, 293, 299, 302

_White Heather_, 150

Wildman, Ina, 108

Wilkes, John, 1

Winkelreid, A. von, 40

Winter in Melbourne, 195

Woman’s suffrage, 163

_Women and Wine_, 150

Women, Australian, 160-180

W.C.T.U., 191, 202

Women, English, 176

Wooloomooloo, 255, 265

Wordsworth, 45, 153

Working classes, 44

X

Xerxes, King, 40, 280

Y

Yalu, 16

Yarra Bank, 307

_Years Ago_, 229

Yellow peril, 286

Yorkshire, 300

Young American Actress, 147

Z

_Zaza_, 150

Zeno, 1

Zola, 214, 216

Transcriber's Notes:

Repetative heading, ‘The Real Australia’, has been removed.

Italics are shown thus: _sloping_.

Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained.

Perceived typographical errors have been changed.