POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY 
 
POST-PRAiNDIAL 
 
 Philosophy 
 
 By GRANT ALLEN 
 
 author of 
 "the evolutionist at large," etc. 
 
 LONDON: CHATTO &: WINDUS 
 
 1894 
 
PR4004 143234 
 
 i 
 
PREFACE 
 
 These Essays appeared originally in The West- 
 minster Gazette, and have only been so far modi- 
 fied here as is necessary for purposes of volume 
 publication. They aim at being suggestive rather 
 than exhaustive: I shall be satisfied if I have 
 provoked thought without following out each train 
 to a logical conclusion. Most of the Essays are 
 just what they pretend to be— crystallisations into 
 writing of ideas suggested in familiar conver- 
 sation. 
 
 G. A. 
 
 Hind Head, March 1894. 
 
J 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
 
 THE STRUGGLE FOR LIFE AMONG LANGUAGES 
 
 IN THE MATTER OF ARISTOCRACY 
 
 SCIENCE IN EDUCATION 
 
 THE THEORY OF SCAPEGOATS 
 
 AMERICAN DUCHESSES . 
 
 IS ENGLAND PLAYED OUT ? . 
 
 THE GAME AND THE RULES 
 
 THE ROLE OF PROPHET 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE CLASH OF RACES 
 
 the monopolist instincts 
 "mere amateurs" 
 a squalid village 
 concerning zeitgeist 
 
 THE DECLINE OF MARRIAGE 
 
 EYE versus ear . 
 
 THE POLITICAL PUPA 
 
 ON THlii CASINO TERRACE 
 
 THE CELTIC FRINGE . 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 9 
 i8 
 
 27 
 35 
 44 
 
 53 
 61 
 70 
 
 79 
 87 
 
 95 
 104 
 
 ri2 
 
 122 
 
 130 
 
 138 
 
 147 
 
Vlll 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 XIX. IMAGINATION AND RADICALS 
 
 XX. ABOUT ABROAD . 
 
 XXI. WHY ENGLAND IS BEAUTIFUL 
 
 XXII. ANENT ART PRODUCTION 
 
 XXIII. A GLIMPSE INTO UTOPIA 
 
 XXIV. OP SECOND CHAMBKRS 
 XXV. A POINT OF CRITICISM 
 
 PAGE 
 165 
 
 182 
 
 199 
 
POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY 
 
 I. 
 
 THE STRUGGLE FOR LIFE AMONG 
 LANGUAGES. 
 
 A DISTINGUISHED Positivist friend of mine, who is 
 in most matters a practical man of the world, 
 astonished me greatly the other day at Venice, 
 by the grave remark that Italian was destined 
 to be the language of the future. I found on 
 inquiry he had inherited the notion direct from 
 Auguste Comte, who justified it on the purely 
 sentimental and unpractical ground that the 
 tongue of Dante had never yet been associated 
 with any great national defeat or disgrace. The 
 idea surprised me not a little ; because it displays 
 such a profound misconception of what language 
 is, and why people use it. The speech of the 
 world will not be decided on mere grounds of 
 
4 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 sentiment: the tongue that survives will not sur- 
 vive because it is so admirably adapted for the 
 manufacture of rhymes or epigrams. Stern need 
 compels. Frenchmen and Germans, in congress 
 assembled, and looking about them for a means 
 of intercommunication, might indeed agree to 
 accept Italian then and there as an international 
 compromise. But congresses don't make or un- 
 make the habits of everyday life ; and the growth 
 or spread of a language is a thing as much beyond 
 our deliberate human control as the rise or fall 
 of the barometer. 
 
 My friend's remark, however, set me thinking 
 and watching what are really the languages now 
 gaining and spreading over the civilised world ; 
 it set me speculating what will be the outcome 
 of this gain and spread in another half century. 
 And the results are these : Vastly the most grow- 
 ing and absorbing of all languages at the present 
 moment is the English, which is almost everywhere 
 swallowing up the overflow of German, Scandi- 
 navian, Dutch, and Russian. Next to it, probably, 
 in point of vitality, comes Spanish, which is 
 swallowing up the overflow of French, Italian, 
 and the other Latin races. Third, perhaps, ranks 
 
STRUGGLE FOR LIFE AMONG LANGUAGES. 3 
 
 Russian, destined to become in time the spoken 
 tongue of a vast tract in Northern and Central 
 Asia. Among non-European languages, three 
 seem to be gaining fast : Chinese, Malay, Arabic. 
 Of the doomed tongues, on the other hand, the 
 most hopeless is French, which is losing all round ; 
 while Italian, German, and Dutch are either quite 
 at a standstill or slightly retrograding. The 
 world is now round. By the middle of the 
 twentieth century, in all probability, English will 
 be its dominant speech ; and the English-speak- 
 ing peoples, a heterogeneous conglomerate of all 
 nationalities, will control between them the des- 
 tinies of mankind. Spanish will be the language 
 of half the populous southern hemisphere. Rus- 
 sian will spread over a moiety of Asia. Chinese, 
 Malay, Arabic, will divide among themselves the 
 less civilised parts of Africa and the East. But 
 French, German, and Italian will be insignificant 
 and dwindling European dialects, as numerically 
 unimportant as Flemish or Danish in our own 
 day. 
 
 And why ? Not because Shakespeare wrote 
 in English, but because the English language 
 has already got a firm hold of all those portions 
 
4 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 of the earth's surface which are most absorbing 
 the overflow of European populations. Germans 
 and Scandinavians and Russians emigrate by the 
 thousand now to all parts of the United States 
 and the north-west of Canada. In the first 
 generation they may still retain their ancestral 
 speech ; but their children have v-U to learn 
 English. In Australia and New Zealand the 
 same thing is happening. In South Africa Dutch 
 had got a footing, it is true ; but it is fast losing 
 it. The newcomers learn English, and though 
 the elder Boers stick with Boer conservatism to 
 their native tongue, young Piet and young Paul 
 find it pays them better to know and speak the 
 language of commerce — the language of Cape 
 Town, of Kimberley, of the future. The reason 
 is the same throughout. Whenever two tongues 
 come to be spoken in the same area one of them 
 is sure to be more useful in business than the 
 other. Every French-Canadian who wishes to do 
 things on a large scale is obliged to speak English. 
 So is the Creole in Louisiana ; so earlier were the 
 Knickerbocker Dutch in New York. Once let Eng- 
 lish get in, and it beats all competing languages 
 fairly out of the field in a couple of generations. 
 
STRUGGLE FOR LIFE AMONG LANGUAGES. 5 
 
 Like influences favour Spanish in South America 
 and elsewhere. English has annexed most of 
 North America, Australia, South Africa, the 
 Pacific; Spanish has annexed South America, 
 Central America, the Philippines, Cuba, and a 
 few other places. For the most part these areas 
 are less suited than the English-speaking districts 
 for colonisation by North Europeans ; but they 
 absorb a large number of Italians and other 
 Mediterranean races, who all learn Spanish in 
 the second generation. As to the other domi- 
 nant languages, the points in their favour are 
 different. Conquest and administrative needs are 
 spreading Russian over the steppes of Asia; the 
 Arab merchant and the growth of Mahomme- 
 danism are importing Arabic far into the heart 
 of Africa; the Chinaman is carrying his own 
 monosvllables with him to California, Australia, 
 Singapore. These tongues in future will divide 
 the world between them. 
 
 The German who leaves Germany becomes an 
 Anglo-American. The Italian who leaves Italy 
 becomes a Spanish-American. 
 
 There is another and still more striking way 
 of looking at the rapid increase of English. No 
 
6 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 other language will carry you through so many 
 ports in the world. It suflSces for London, 
 Liverpool, Glasgow, Belfast, Southampton, Cardiff; 
 for New York, Boston, Montreal, Charleston, New 
 Orleans, San Francisco ; for Sydney, Melbourne, 
 Auckland, Hong Kong, Yokohama, Honolulu ; for 
 Calcutta, Bombay, Madras, Kurrachi, Singapore, 
 Colombo, Cape Town, Mauritius. Spanish with 
 Cadiz, Barcelona, Havana, Callao, Valparaiso, 
 cannot touch that record ; nor can French with 
 Marseilles, Bordeaux, Havre, Algiers, Antwerp, 
 Tahiti. The most commercially useful language 
 in the world, thus widely diffused in so many 
 great mercantile and shipping centres, is certain 
 to win in the struggle for existence among the 
 tongues of the future. 
 
 The old Mediterranean civilisation teaches us 
 a useful lesson in this respect. Two languages 
 dominated the Mediterranean basin. The East 
 spoke Greek, not because Plato and -<!Eschylus 
 spoke Greek, but because Greek was the tongue 
 of the great commercial centres — of Athens, 
 Syracuse, Alexandria, Antioch, Byzantium. The 
 West spoke Latin, not because Catullus and Virgil 
 spoke Latin, but because Latin was the adminis- 
 
STRUGGLE FOR LIFE AMONG LANGUAGES. 7 
 
 trative tongue, the tongue of Rome, of Italy, 
 and later of Gaul, of Spain, of the great towns 
 in Dacia, Pannonia, Britain. Whoever wanted 
 to do anything on the big scale then, had to 
 speak Greek or Latin ; so much so that the 
 native languages of Gaul and Spain died utterly 
 out, and Latin dialects are now the spoken 
 tongue in all southern Europe. In our own 
 time, again, educated Hindoos from different 
 parts of India have to use English as a moans 
 of intercommunication ; and native merchants 
 must write their business correspondence with 
 distant houses in English. To put an extreme 
 contrast : in the last century French was spoken 
 by far more people than English ; at the present 
 day French is only just keeping up its numbers 
 in France, is losing in Canada and the United 
 States, is not advancing to any extent in Africa. 
 English is spoken by a hundred million people 
 in Europe and America ; is over-running Africa ; 
 has annexed Australasia and the Pacific Isles ; 
 has ousted, or is ousting, Dutch at the Cape, 
 French in Louisiana, even Spanish itself in 
 Florida, California, New Mexico. In Egyptian 
 mud villages, the aspiring Copt, who once learnt 
 
8 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 French, now learns English. In Scandinavia, 
 our tongue gains ground daily. Everywhere in 
 the world it takes the lead among the European 
 languages, and by the middle of the next century 
 will no doubt be spoken over half the globe by a 
 cosmopolitan mass of five hundred million people. 
 
 And all on purely Darwinian principles ! It 
 is the best adapted tongue, and therefore it 
 survives in the struggle for existence. It is 
 the easiest to learn, at least orally. It has got 
 rid of the effete rubbish of genders; simplified 
 immensely its declensions and conjugations ; 
 thrown overboard most of the nonsensical ballast 
 we know as grammar. It is only weighted now 
 by its grotesque and ridiculous spelling — one of 
 the absurdest among all the absurd English 
 attempts at compromise. The pressure of the 
 newer speakers will compel it to make jetsam 
 of that lumber also ; and then the tongue of 
 Shelley and Newton will march onward un- 
 opposed to the conquest of humanity. 
 
 I pen these remarks, I hope, " without pre- 
 judice." Patriotism is a vulgar vice of which 
 I have never been guilty. 
 
II. 
 
 IN THE MATTER OF ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 Aristocracies, as a rule, all the world over, 
 consist, and have always consisted, of barbaric 
 conquerors or their descendants, who remain to 
 the last, on the average of instances, at a lower 
 grade of civilisation and morals than the demo- 
 cracy they live among. 
 
 I know this view is to some extent opposed 
 to the common ideas of people at large (and 
 especially of that particular European people 
 which "dearly loves a lord") as to the relative 
 position of aristocracies and democracies in the 
 sliding scale of human development. There is a 
 common though wholly unfounded belief knock- 
 ing about the world, that the aristocrat is better 
 in intelligence, in culture, in arts, in manners, 
 than the ordinary plebeian. The fact is, being, 
 like all barbarians, a boastful creature, he has 
 gone on so long asserting his own profound 
 
10 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 superiority by birth to the world around him — a 
 superiority as of jQne porcelain to common clay — 
 that the world around him has at last actually 
 begun to accept him at his own valuation. Most 
 English people in particular think that a lord is 
 born a better judge of pictures and wines and 
 books and deportment than the human average 
 of us. But history shows us the exact opposite. 
 It is a plain historical fact, provable by simple 
 enumeration, that almost all the aristocracies the 
 world has ever known have taken their rise in 
 the conquest of civilised and cultivated races by 
 barbaric invaders ; and that the barbaric invaders 
 have seldom or never learned the practical arts 
 and handicrafts which are the civilising element 
 in the life of the conquered people around 
 them. 
 
 To begin with the aristocracies best known to 
 most of us, the noble families of modern and 
 mediaeval Europe sprang, as a whole, from the 
 Teutonic invasion of the Roman Empire. In 
 Italy, it was the Lombards and the Goths who 
 formed the bulk of the great ruling families; all 
 the well-known aristocratic names of mediaeval 
 Italy are without exception Teutonic. In Gaul 
 
IN THE MATTER OF ARISTOCRACY. ii 
 
 it was the rude Frank who gave the aristocratic 
 element to the mixed nationality, while it was 
 the civilised and cultivated Romano-Celtic pro- 
 vincinl who became, by fate, the mere roturier. 
 The great revolution, it has been well said, was, 
 ethnically speaking, nothing more than the revolt 
 of the Celtic against the Teutonic fraction ; and, 
 one might add also, the revolt of the civilised 
 Romanised serf against the barbaric seigneur. In 
 Spain, the hidalgo is just the hi d'al Go, the son 
 of the Goth, the descendant of those rude Visi- 
 gothic conquerors who broke down the old civilisa- 
 tion of Iberian and Romanised Hispania. And 
 so on throughout. All over Europe, if you care 
 to look close, you will find the aristocrat was 
 the son of the intrusive barbarian ; the democrat 
 was the son of the old civilised and educated 
 autochthonous people. 
 
 It is just the same elsewhere, wherever we turn. 
 Take Greece, for example. Its most aristocratic 
 state was undoubtedly Sparta, where a handful of 
 essentially barbaric Dorians held in check a much 
 larger and Helotised population of higher original 
 civilisation. Take the East : the Persian was a 
 wild mountain adventurer who imposed himself as 
 
13 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 an aristocrat upon the far more cultivated Baby- 
 lonian, Assyrian, and Egyptian. The same sort 
 of thing had happened earlier in time in Babylonia 
 and Assyria themselves, where barbaric conquerors 
 had similarly imposed themselves upon the first 
 known historical civilisations. Take India under 
 the Moguls, once more ; the aristocracy of the time 
 consisted of the rude Mahommedan Tartar, who 
 lorded it over the ancient enchorial culture of 
 Rajpoot and Brahmin. Take China: the same 
 thing over again — a Tartar horde imposing its 
 savage rule over the most ancient civilised people 
 of Asia. Take England : its aristocracy at diffe- 
 rent times has consisted of the various barbaric 
 invaders, first the Anglo-Saxon (if I must use that 
 hateful and misleading word) — a pirate from 
 Sleswick ; then the Dane, another pirate from 
 Denmark direct ; then the Norman, a yet younger 
 Danish pirate, with a thin veneer of early French 
 culture, who came over from Normandy to better 
 himself after just two generations of Christian 
 apprenticeship. Go where you will, it matters 
 not where you look ; from the Aztec in Mexico 
 to the Turk at Constantinople or the Arab in 
 North Africa, the aristocrat belongs invariably to 
 
 ^t^^ 
 
IN THE MATTER OF ARISTOCRACY. 13 
 
 a lower race than the civilised people whom he 
 has conquered and subjugated. 
 
 " That may be true, perhaps," you object, " as 
 to the remote historical origin of aristocracies ; but 
 surely the aristocrat of later generations has 
 acquired all the science, all the art, all the polish 
 of the people he lives amongst. He is the flower 
 of their civilisation." Don't you believe it ! There 
 isn't a word of truth in it. From first to last the 
 aristocrat remains, what Matthew Arnold so justly 
 called him, a barbarian. I often wonder, indeed, 
 whether Arnold himself really recognised the literal 
 and actual truth of his own brilliant generalisation. 
 For the aristocratic ideas and the aristocratic pur- 
 suits remain to the very end essentially barbaric. 
 The " gentleman " never soils his high-born hands 
 with dirty work ; in other words, he holds himself 
 severely aloof from the trades and handicrafts 
 which constitute civilisation. The arts that train 
 and educate hand, eye, and brain he ignorantly 
 despises. In the early middle ages he did not 
 even condescend to read and write, those inferior 
 accomplishments being badges of serfdom. If you 
 look close at the '* occupations of a gentleman " in 
 the present day, you will find they are all of purely 
 
14 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 barbaric character. They descend to us direct from 
 the semi-savage invaders who overthrew the struc- 
 ture of the Roman empire, and replaced its civi- 
 lised organisation by the military and barbaric 
 system of feudalism. The " gentleman " is above 
 ail things a fighter, a hunter, a fisher — he pre- 
 serves the three simplest and commonest barbaric 
 functions. He is not a practiser of any civilised 
 or civilising art — a craftsman, a maker, a worker 
 in metal, in stone, in textile fabrics, in pottery. 
 These are the things that constitute civilisation ; 
 but the aristocrat does none of them; in the 
 famous words of one who now loves to mix with 
 English gentlemen, " he toils not, neither does he 
 spin." The things he may do are, to fight by sea 
 and land, like his ancestor the Goth and his an- 
 cestor the Viking ; to slay pheasant and partridge, 
 like his predatory forefathers ; to fish for salmon 
 in the Highlands ; to hunt the fox, to sail the 
 yacht, to scour the earth in search of great game — 
 lions, elephants, buffalo. His one task is to kill 
 — either his kind or his quarry. 
 
 Observe, too, the essentially barbaric nature of 
 the gentleman's home — his trappings, his distinc- 
 tive marks, his surroundings, his titles. He lives 
 
7N THE MATTER OF ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 '5 
 
 by choice in the wildest country, like his skin-clad 
 ancestors, demanding only that there be game and 
 foxes and fish for his deleclation. Jle loves the 
 moors, the wolds, the fens, the braes, the Highlands, 
 not as the painter, the naturalist, or the searcher 
 after beauty of scenery loves them — for the sake 
 of their wild life, their heather and bracken, their 
 fresh keen air, their boundless horizon — but for 
 the sake of the thoroughly barbarous existence he 
 and his dogs and his gillies can lead in them. 
 The fact is, neither he nor his ancestors have ever 
 been really civilised. Barbarians in the midst of 
 an industrial community, they have lived their own 
 life of slaying and playing, untouched by the cul- 
 ture of the world below them. Knights in the 
 middle ages, squires in the eighteenth century, 
 they have never received a tincture of the civi- 
 lising arts and crafts and industries ; they have 
 fought and fished and hunted in uninterrupted 
 succession since the days when wild in woods the 
 noble savage ran, to the days when they pay ex- 
 travagant rents for Scottish grouse moors. Their 
 very titles are barbaric and military — knight and 
 earl and marquis and duke, early crystallised names 
 for leaders in war or protectors of the frontier. 
 
i6 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Their crests and coats of arms are but the totems 
 of their savage predecessors, afterwards utilised by 
 raedia3val blacksmiths as distinguishing marks for 
 the summit of a helmet. They decorate their halls 
 with savage trophies of the chase, like the Zulu or 
 the Red Indian ; they hang up captured arms and 
 looted Chinese jars from the Summer Palace in 
 their semi-civilised drawing-rooms. They love to 
 be surrounded by grooms and gamekeepers and 
 other barbaric retainers ; they pass their lives in 
 the midst of serfs; their views about the position 
 and rights of women — especially the women of the 
 " lower orders " — are frankly African. They share 
 the sentiments of Achilles as to the individualitv 
 of Chryseis and Briseis. 
 
 Such is the actual aristocrat, as we now behold 
 him. Thus, living his own barbarous life in the 
 midst of a civilised community of workers and 
 artists and thinkers and craftsmen, with whom he 
 seldom mingles, and with whom he has nothing in 
 common, this chartered relic of worse days pre- 
 serves from first to last many painful traits of the 
 low moral and social ideas of his ancestors, from 
 which he has never varied. He represents most 
 of all, in the modern world, the surviving savage. 
 
IN THE MATTER OF ARISTOCRACY. 17 
 
 His love of gewgaws, of titles, of uniform, of dress, 
 of feathers, of decorations, of Highland kilts, and 
 stars and garters, is but one external symbol of his 
 lower grade of mental and moral status. All over 
 Europe, the truly civilised classes have gone on 
 progressing by the practice of peaceful arts from 
 generation to generation; but the aristocrat has 
 stood still at the same half-savage level, a hunter 
 and fighter, an orgiastic roysterer, a killer of wild 
 boars and wearer of absurd mediasval costumes, too 
 childish for the civilised and cultivated commoner. 
 
 Government by aristocrats is thus government 
 by the mentally and morally inferior. And yet 
 -a Bill for giving at last some scant measure of 
 self-government to persecuted Ireland has to run 
 the gauntlet, in our nineteenth-century England, of 
 an irresponsible House of hereditary barbarians ! 
 
 B 
 
III. 
 
 SCIENCE IN EDUCATION. 
 
 I MEAN what I say: science in education, not 
 education in science. 
 
 It is the last of these that all the scientific 
 men of England have so long been fighting for. 
 And a very good thing it is in its way, and I 
 hope they may get as much as they want of it. 
 But compared to the importance of science in 
 education, education in science is a matter of very 
 small national moment. 
 
 The difference between the two is by no means 
 a case of tweedledum and tweedledee. Education 
 in science means the systematic teaching of science 
 so as to train up boys to be scientific men. Now 
 scientific men are exceedingly useful members of 
 a community ; and so are engineers, and bakers, 
 and blacksmiths, and artists, and chimney-sweeps. 
 But we can't all bo bakers, and we can't all be 
 painters in water-colours. There is a dim West 
 
 i8 
 
 1 
 
SCIENCE IN EDUCATION. 19 
 
 Country legend to the effect that the inhabitants 
 of the Scilly Isles eke out a precarious livelihood 
 by taking in one another's washing. As a matter 
 of practical political economy, such a source of 
 income is worse than precarious — it's frankly 
 impossible. " It takes all sorts to make a world." 
 A community entirely composed of scientific men 
 would fail to feed itself, clothe itself, house itself, 
 and keep itself supplied with amusing light litera- 
 ture. In one word, education in science produces 
 specialists ; and specialists, though most useful and 
 valuable persons in their proper place, are no more 
 the staple of a civilised community than engine- 
 drivers or ballet-dancers. 
 
 What the world at large really needs, and will 
 one day get, is not this, but due recognition of 
 the true value of science in education. We don't 
 all want to be made into first-class anatomists 
 like Owen, still less into first-class practical sur- 
 geons, like Sir Henry Thompson. But what we 
 I do all want is a competent general knowledge 
 (amongst other things) of anatomy at large, and 
 especially of human anatomy ; of physiology at 
 [large, and especially of human physiology. We 
 [don't all want to be analytical chemists : but what 
 
20 
 
 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 we do all want is to know as much about oxygen 
 and carbon as will enable us to understand the 
 commonest phenomena of combustion, of chemical 
 combination, of animal or vegetable life. We 
 don't all want to be zoologists, and botanists of 
 the type who put their names after " critical 
 species : " but what we do all want to know is 
 as much about plants and animals as will enable 
 us to walk through life intelligently, and to 
 understand the meaning of the things that sur- 
 round us. We want, in one word, a general 
 acquaintance with the res^tlts rather than with 
 the methods of science. 
 
 " In short," says the specialist, with his familiar 
 sneer, " you want a smattering." 
 
 Well, yes, dear Sir Smelfungus, if it gives you 
 pleasure to put it so — just that ; a smattering, 
 an all-round smattering. But remember that in 
 this matter the man of science is always influ- 
 enced by ideas derived from his own pursuits as 
 specialist. He is for ever thinking what sort of 
 education will produce more specialists in future ; 
 and as a rule he is thinking what sort of educa- 
 tion will produce men capable in future of advanc- 
 ing science. Now to advance science, to discover 
 
SCIENCE IN EDUCATION. 
 
 21 
 
 new snails, or invent new ethyl compounds, is 
 not and cannot be the main object of the mass 
 of humanity. What the mass wants is just un- 
 specialised knowledge — the kind of knowledge 
 that enables men to get comfortably and credit- 
 ably and profitably through, life, to meet emer- 
 gencies as they rise, to know their way through 
 the world, to use their faculties in all circum- 
 stances to the best advantage. And for this 
 purpose what is wanted is, not the methods, but 
 the results of science. 
 
 One science, and one only, is rationally taught 
 in our schools at present. I mean geography. 
 And the example of geography is so eminently 
 useful for illustrating the difference I am trying 
 to point out, that I will venture to dwell upon 
 it for a moment in passing. It is good for us 
 all to know that the world is round, without its 
 being necessary for every one of us to follow in 
 detail the intricate reasoning by which that result 
 has been arrived at. It is good for us all to 
 know the position of New York and Rio and 
 Calcutta on the map, without its being necessary 
 for us to understand, far less to work out for 
 ourselves, the observations and calculations which 
 
22 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 fixed their latitude and longitude. Knowledge 
 of the map is a good thing in itself, though it is 
 a very different thing indeed from the technical 
 knowledge which enables a man to make a chart 
 of an unknown region, or to explore and survey 
 it. Furthermore, it is a form of knowledge far 
 more generally useful, A fair acquaintance with 
 the results embodied in the atlas, in the gazetteer, 
 in Baedeker, and in Bradshaw, is much oftener 
 useful to us on our way through the world than 
 a special acquaintance with the methods of map- 
 making. It would be absurd to say that because 
 a man is not going to be a Stanley or a Nansen, 
 therefore it is no good for him to learn geography. 
 It would be absurd to say that unless he learned 
 geography in accordance with its methods instead 
 of its results, he could have but a smattering, 
 and that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. 
 A little knowledge of the position of New York 
 is indeed a dangerous thing, if a man uses it 
 to navigate a Cunard vessel across the Atlantic. 
 But the absence of the smattering: is a much more 
 
 '& 
 
 dangerous and fatal thing if the man wishes to 
 do business with the Argentine and the Transvaal, 
 or to enter into practical relations of any sort 
 
SCIENCE IN EDUCATION. 23 
 
 with anybody outside his own parish. Tlio results 
 of geography are useful and valuable in themselves, 
 quite apart from the methods employed in obtain- 
 ing them. 
 
 It is just the same with all the other sciences. 
 There is nothing occult or mysterious about them. 
 No just cause or impediment exists why we 
 should insist on being ignorant of the orbits of 
 the planets because we cannot ourselves make 
 the calculations for determining them ; no reason 
 why we should insist on being ignorant of the 
 classification of plants and animals because we 
 don't feel able ourselves to embark on anatomical 
 researches which would justify ns in coming to 
 original conclusions about them. I know the 
 mass of scientific opinion has always gone the 
 other way ; but then scientific opinion means 
 only the opinion of men of science, who are them- 
 selves specialists, and who think most of the 
 education needed to make men specialists, not of 
 the education needed to fit them for the general 
 exigencies and emergencies of life. We don't 
 want authorities on the Cucurbitacea?, but well- 
 informed citizens. Professor Huxley is not our 
 best guide in these matters, but Mr. Herbert 
 
24 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Spencer, who long ago, in his book on Educa- 
 tion, sketched out a radical programme of in- 
 struction in that knowledge which is of most 
 worth, such as no country, no college, no school 
 in Europe has ever yet been bold enough to put 
 into practice. 
 
 What common sense really demands, then, is 
 education in the main results of all the sciences 
 — a knowledge of what is known, not necessarily 
 a knowledge of each successive step by which 
 men came to know it. At present, of course, in 
 all our schools in England there is no systematic 
 teaching of knowledge at all ; what replaces it 
 is a teaching of the facts of language, and for 
 the most part of useless facts, or even of exploded 
 fictions. Our public schools, especially (by which 
 phrase we never mean real public schools like 
 the board schools at all, but merely schools for 
 the upper and the middle classes) are in their 
 existing stage primarily great gymnasiums — very 
 good things, too, in their way, against which I 
 have not a word of blame ; and, secondarily, 
 places for imparting a sham and imperfect Know- 
 ledge of some few philological facts about two 
 extinct languages. Pupils get a smattering of 
 
SCIENCE IN EDUCATION. 25 
 
 Homer and Cicero. That is literally all the 
 equipment for life that the cleverest and most 
 industrious boys can ever take away from them. 
 The sillier or idler don't take away even that. 
 As to the " mental training " argument, so often 
 trotted out, it is childish enough not to be 
 worth answering. Which is most practically 
 useful to us in life — knowledge of Latin gram- 
 mar or knowledge of ourselves and the world we 
 live in, physical, social, moral? That is the 
 question. 
 
 The truth is, schoolmastering in Britain has 
 become a vast vested interest in the hands of men 
 who have nothing to teach us. They try to 
 bolster up their vicious system by such artificial 
 arguments as the " mental training " fallacy. 
 Forced to admit the utter uselessness of the 
 pretended knowledge they impart, they fall back 
 upon the plea of its supposed occult value as 
 intellectual discipline. They say in effect : — 
 " This sawdust we offer you contains no food, we 
 know : but then see how it strengthens the jaws 
 to chew it ! " I^esides, look at our results ! The 
 typical John Bull! pig-headed, ignorant, brutal. 
 Are we really such immense successes ourselves 
 
26 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 that wo must needs perpetuate the mould that 
 warped us ? 
 
 The one fatal charge brought against the public 
 school system is that " after all, it turns out 
 English gentlemen ! " 
 
IV. 
 
 THE THEORY OF SCAPEGOATS. 
 
 "Alas, liow easily thinpfs go wrong!" says Dr. 
 George MacDonald. And all the world over, when 
 things do go wrong, the natural and instinctive 
 desire of the human animal is — to find a scape- 
 goat. When the great French nation in the 
 lump embarks its capital in a hopeless scheme for 
 cutting a canal through the Isthmus of Panama, 
 and then finds out too late that Nature has 
 imposed insuperable barriers to its completion on 
 the projected scale — what does the great French 
 nation do, in its collective wisdom, but turn 
 round at once to rend the directors ? It cries, 
 "A Mazas ! " just as in '71 it cried "Bazaine 
 a la lanterne ! " I don't mean to say the directors 
 don't deserve all they have got or ever will get, 
 and perhaps more also ; I don't mean to deny 
 corruption extraordinary in many high places ; 
 
 as a rule the worst that anybody alleges about 
 
 27 
 
28 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 anything is only a part of what might easily be 
 alleged if we were all in the secret. Which of 
 us, indeed, would 'scape whipping? But what 
 I do mean is, that we should never have heard 
 of Reinach or Herz, of the corruption and pecu- 
 lation, at all if things had gone well. It is the 
 crash that brought them out. The nation wants 
 a scapegoat. "Ain't nobody to be whopped for 
 this 'ere?" asked Mr. Sam Weller on a critical 
 occasion. The question embodies the universal 
 impulse of humanity. 
 
 Tracing the feeling back to its origin, it seems 
 due to this : minds of the lower order can never 
 see anything go wrong without experiencing a 
 certain sense of resentment ; and resentment, by 
 its very nature, desires to vent itself upon some 
 living and sentient creature, by preference a 
 fellow human being. When the child, running 
 too fast, falls and hurts itself, it gets instantly 
 angry. " Naughty ground to hurt baby ! " says 
 the nurse : " Baby hit it and hurt it." And 
 baby promptly hits it back, with vicious little 
 fist, feeling every desire to revenge itself. By- 
 and-by, when baby grows older and learns that 
 the ground can't feel to speak of, he wants to 
 
THE THEORY OF SCAPEGOATS. 29 
 
 put the blame upon somebody else, in order to 
 have an object to expend his rage upon. " You 
 puslied me down ! " he says to his playmate, and 
 straightway proceeds to punch his playmate's head 
 for it — not because he really believes the play- 
 mate did it, but because he feels he mitst have 
 some outlet for his resentment. When once 
 resentment is roused, it will expend its force 
 on anything that turns up liandy, as the man 
 who has quarrelled with his wife about a question 
 of a bonnet, will kick his dog for trying to follow 
 him to the club as he leaves her. 
 
 The mob, enraged at the death of Caesar, meets 
 Cinna the poet in the streets of Eome. " Your 
 name, sir ? " inquires the Third Citizen. " Truly, 
 my name is Cinna," says the unsuspecting author. 
 " Tear him to pieces ! " cries the mob ; " he's a 
 conspirator ! " "I am Cinna the poet," pleads 
 the unhappy man ; " I am not Cinna the con- 
 spirator ! " But the mob does not heed such 
 delicate distinctions at such a moment. " Tear 
 him for his bad verses ! " it cries impartially. 
 " Tear him for his bad verses ! " 
 
 Whatever sort of misfortune falls upon persons 
 of the lower order of intelligence is always met 
 
30 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 in the same spirit. Especially is this the case 
 with the deaths of relatives. Fools who have lost 
 a friend invariably blame somebody for his fatal 
 illness. To hear many people talk, you would 
 suppose they were unaware of the familiar prO' 
 position that all men are mortal (including 
 women) ; you might imagine they thought an 
 ordinary human constitution was calculated to 
 survive nine hundred and ninety-nine years unless 
 some evil -disposed person or persons took the 
 trouble beforehand to waylay and destroy it. 
 "My poor father was eighty-seven when he 
 died ; and he would have been alive still if it 
 weren't for that nasty Mrs. Jones : she put him 
 into a pair of damp sheets." Or, "My husband 
 would never have caught the cold that killed 
 him, if that horrid man Brown hadn't kept him 
 waiting so long in the carriage at the street 
 corner." The doctor has to bear the brunt of 
 most such complaints; indeed, it is calculated by 
 an eminent statistician (who desires his name to 
 remain unpublished) that eighty -three per cent, 
 of the deaths in Great Britain might easily have 
 been averted if the patient had only been treated 
 in various distinct ways by all the members of 
 
THE THEORY OF SCAPEGOATS. 31 
 
 his family, and if that foolish Dr. Squills hadn't 
 so grossly mistaken and mistreated his malady. 
 
 The fact is, the death is regarded as a mis- 
 fortune, and somebody must be blamed for it. 
 Heaven has provided scapegoats. The doctor 
 and the hostile female members of the family are 
 always there — laid on, as it were, for the express 
 purpose. 
 
 With us in modern Europe, resentment in such 
 cases seldom goes further than vague verbal out- 
 bursts of temper. We accuse Mrs. Jones of mis- 
 demeanours with damp sheets; but we don't get 
 so far as to accuse her of tricks with strychnine. 
 In the Middle Ages, however, the pursuit of the 
 scapegoat ran a vast deal further. When any 
 great one died — a Black Prince or a Dauphin — 
 it was always assumed on all hands that he must 
 have been poisoned. True, poisoning may then 
 have been a trifle more frequent ; certainly the 
 means of detecting it were far less advanced than 
 in the days of Tidy and Lauder Brunton. Still, 
 people must often have died natural deaths even 
 in the Middle Ages — though nobody believed it. 
 All the world began to speculate what Jane 
 Shore could have poisoned them. A little earlier, 
 
32 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 again, it was not the poisoner that was looked 
 for, but his predecessor, the sorcerer. Whoever 
 fell ill, somebody had bewitched him. Were the 
 cattle diseased ? Then search for the evil eye. 
 Did the cows yield no milk ? Some neighbour, 
 doubtless, knew the reason only too well, and could 
 be forced to confess it by liberal use of the thumb- 
 screw and the ducking-stool. No misfortune was 
 regarded as due to natural causes ; for in their 
 philosophy there were no such things as natural 
 causes at all ; whatever ill-luck came, somebody 
 had contrived it; so you had always your scape- 
 goat ready to hand to punish. The Athenians, 
 indeed, kept a small collection of public scape- 
 goats always in stock, waiting to be sacrificed at 
 a moment's notice. 
 
 More even than that. Go one step further 
 back, and you will find that man in his early 
 stages has no conception of such a thing as 
 natural death in any form. He doesn't really 
 know that the human organism is wound up like 
 a clock to run at best for so many years, or 
 months, or hours, and that even if nothing un- 
 expected happens to cut short its course pre- 
 maturely, it can only run out its allotted period. 
 
THE THEORY OF SCAPEGOATS. 33 
 
 Within his own experience, almost all the deaths 
 that occur are violent deaths, and have been 
 brought about by human agency or by the attacks 
 of wild beasts. There you have a cause with 
 whose action and operation the savage is per- 
 sonally familiar; and it is the only one he be- 
 lieves in. Even old age is in his eyes no direct 
 cause of death ; for when his relations grow old, 
 he considerately clubs them, to put them out 
 of their misery. When, therefore, he sees his 
 neighbour struck down before his face by some 
 invisible power, and writhing with pain as though 
 unseen snakes and tigers were rending him, what 
 should he naturally conclude save that demon or 
 witch or wizard is at work? and if he cares 
 about the matter at all, what should he do save 
 endeavour to find the culprit out and inflict con- 
 dign punishment? In savage states, whenever 
 anything untoward happens to the king or chief, 
 it is the business of the witch-finder to disclose 
 the wrong-doer; and sooner or later, you may 
 be sure, " somebody gets whopped for it." Whop- 
 ping in Dahomey means wholesale decapitation. 
 
 Now, is it not a direct survival from this primi- 
 tive state of mind that entails upon us all the 
 
34 POSr-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 desire to find a scapegoat ? Our ancestors really 
 believed there was always somebody to blame — 
 man, witch, or spirit — if only you could find him ; 
 and though we ourselves have mostly got beyond 
 that stage, yet the habit it engendered in our race 
 remains ingrained in the nervous system, so that 
 none but a few of the naturally highest and most 
 civilised dispositions have really outgrown it. Most 
 people still think there is somebody to blame for 
 every human misfortune. " Who fills the butcher's 
 shops with large blue flies ? " asked the poet of the 
 Regency. He set it down to "the Corsican ogre." 
 For the Tory Englishmen of the present day it is 
 Mr. Gladstone who is most often and most popu- 
 larly envisaged as the author of all evil. For the 
 Pope, it is the Freemasons. There are just a few 
 men here and there in the world who can see that 
 when misfortunes come, circumstances, or nature, 
 or (hardest of all) we ourselves have brought them. 
 The common human instinct is still to get into a 
 rage, and look round to discover whether there's 
 any other fellow standing about unobserved, whose 
 head we can safely undertake to punch for it. 
 
 " It's all the fault of those confounded paid 
 agitators." 
 
V. 
 
 AMERICAN DUCHESSES. 
 
 Every American woman is by birth a duchess. 
 
 There, you see, I have taken you in. When 
 you saw the heading, " American Duchesses," 
 you thought I was going to purvey some piquant 
 scandal about high-placed ladies ; and you straight- 
 way began to read my essay. That shows I 
 rightly interpreted your human nature. There's 
 a deal of human nature flying about unrecognised. 
 Yet when I said duchesses, I actually meant it. 
 For the American woman is the only real aristocrat 
 now living in America. 
 
 These remarks are forced upon me by a brilliant 
 afternoon on the Promenade des Anglais. All 
 Nice is there, in its coffmopolitan butterfly variety, 
 flaunting itself in the sun in the very ugly dresses 
 now in fashion. I don't know why, but the 
 mode of the moment consists in making every- 
 thing as exaggerated as possible, and sedulously 
 
 35 
 
36 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 hiding the natural contours of the human figure. 
 But let that pass ; the day is too fine for a man 
 to be critical. The band is playing Mascagni's 
 last in the Jardin Public; the carriages are 
 drawn up beside the palms and judas-trees that 
 fringe the Paillon ; the sous-officicrs are strolling 
 along the wall with their red caps stuck jauntily 
 just a trifle on one side, as though to mow down 
 nursemaids were the one legitimate occupation of 
 the hrav' militaire. And among them all, proud, 
 tall, disdainful, glide the American duchesses, 
 cold, critical, high-toned, yet ready to strike up, 
 should opportunity serve, appropriate acquaint- 
 ance with their natural equals, the dukes of 
 Europe. 
 
 " And the American dukes ? " — There aren't 
 any. " But these ladies' husbands and fathers 
 and brothers ? " — Oh, they're business men, work- 
 ing hard for the duchesses in Wall Street, or on 
 'Change in Chicago. And that's why I say quite 
 seriously the American woman is the only real 
 aristocrat now living in America. Everybody 
 who has seen much of Americans must have 
 noticed for himself how really superior American 
 women are, on the average, to the men of their 
 
AMERICAN DUCHESSES. 37 
 
 kind. I don't mean merely that they are better 
 dressed, and better groomed, and better got up, 
 and better mannered than their brothers. I mean 
 that they have a real superiority in the things 
 worth having — the things that are more excellent 
 — in education, culture, knowledge, taste, good 
 feeling. And the reason is not far to seek. They 
 represent the only leisured class in America. They 
 are the one set of people from Maine to California 
 who have time to read, to think, to travel, to 
 look at good pictures, to hear good music, to 
 mix with society that can improve and elevate 
 them. They have read Daudet; they have seen 
 the Vatican. The women thus form a natural 
 aristocracy — the only aristocracy the country 
 possesses. 
 
 I am aware that in saying this I take my life 
 in my hands. I shall be prepared to defend 
 myself from the infuriated Westerner with the 
 usual argument, which I shall carry about loaded 
 in all its chambers in my right-hand pocket. 
 I am also aware that less infuriated Easterners, 
 choosing their own more familiar weapon, will 
 inundate my leisure with sardonic inquiries whether 
 I don't consider Oliver Wendell Holmes or Charles 
 
38 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Eliot Norton (thus named in full) the equal in 
 culture of the average American woman. Well, 
 I frankly admit these cases and thousands like 
 them ; indeed I have had the good fortune to 
 number among my personal acquaintances many 
 American gentlemen whose chivalrous breeding 
 would have been conspicuous (if you will believe 
 it) even at Marlborough House. I will also 
 allow that in New York, in Boston, and less 
 abundantly in other big towns of America, men 
 of leisure, men of culture, and men of thought 
 are to be found, as wide-minded and as gentle- 
 natured as this race of ours makes them. But 
 that doesn't alter the general fact that, taking 
 them in the lump, American men stand a step 
 or two lower in the scale of humanity than 
 American women. One need hardly ask why. 
 It is because the men are almost all immersed 
 and absorbed in business, while the women are 
 fine ladies who stop at home, and read, and see, 
 and interest themselves widely in numberless 
 directions. 
 
 The consequence is that nowhere, as a rule, 
 does the gulf between the sexes yawn so wide 
 as in America. One can often observe it in the 
 
AMERICAN DUCHESSES. 39 
 
 brothers and sisters of the same family. And 
 it runs in the opposite direction from the gulf 
 in Europe. With us, as a rule, the men are 
 better educated, and more likely to have read 
 and seen and thought widely, than the women. 
 In America, the men are generally so steeped 
 in affairs as to be materialised and encysted ; 
 they take for the most part a hard-headed, solid- 
 silver view of everything, and are but little in- 
 fluenced by abstract conceptions. Their horizon 
 is bounded by the rim of the dollar. Nay, owing 
 to the eager desire to get a good start by begin- 
 ning life early, their education itself is generally 
 cut short at a younger age than their sisters' ; 
 so that, even at the outset, the girls have often 
 a decided superiority in knowledge and culture. 
 Amanda reads Paul Bourget and John Oliver 
 Hobbes; she has some slight tincture of Latin, 
 Greek, and German; while Cyrus knows nothing 
 but English and arithmetic, the quotations for 
 prime pork and the state of the market for 
 Futures. Add to this that the women are more 
 sensitive, more delicate, more naturally refined, 
 as well as unspoilt by the trading spirit, and 
 vou sret the real reasons for the marked and, in 
 
40 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 sorao ways, unusual superiority of the American 
 woman. 
 
 That, I think, in large part explains the fascina- 
 tion which American women undoubtedly exercise 
 over a considerable class of European men. In 
 the European man the American woman often 
 recognises for the first time the male of her 
 species. Unaccustomed at home to as general 
 a level of culture and feeling as she finds among 
 the educated gentlemen of Europe, she likes their 
 society and makes her preference felt by them. 
 Now man is a vain animal. You are a man 
 yourself, and must recognise at once the truth 
 of the proposition. As soon as he sees a woman 
 likes him, he instantly returns the compliment 
 with interest. In point of fact, he usually falls 
 in love with her. Of course I admit the large 
 number of concomitant circumstances which dis- 
 turb the problem ; I admit on the one hand the 
 tempting shekels of the Californian heiress, and 
 on the other hand the glamour and halo that 
 still surround the British coronet. Nevertheless, 
 after making all deductions for these disturbing 
 factors, I submit there remains a residual pheno- 
 menon thus best interpreted. If anybody denies 
 
AMERICAN DUCHESSES. 41 
 
 it, I would ask him one question — how does it 
 come that so many Englishmen, Frenchmen, and 
 Italians marry American women, while so few 
 Enc?lish women, French women, or Italian women 
 marry American men ? Surely the American 
 men have also the shekels ; surely it is something 
 even in Oregon or Montana to have inspired an 
 honourable passion in a Lady Elizabeth or a 
 dowager countess. I think the true explanation 
 is that our men are attracted by American women, 
 but our women are not equally attracted by 
 American men, and that the quality of the articles 
 has something to do with it. 
 
 The American duchess, I take it, comes over 
 to Europe, and desires incontinently to drag the 
 European duke at the wheels of her chariot. And 
 the European duke is fascinated in turn, partly by 
 this very fact, partly by the undeniable freshness, 
 brisfhtness, and delicate culture of the American 
 woman. For there is no burking the truth that 
 in many respects the American woman carries 
 about her a peculiar charm ungranted as yet to 
 her European sisters. It is the charm of freedom, 
 of ease, of a certain external and skin-deep emanci- 
 pation — an emancipation which goes but a little 
 
43 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 way down, yet adds a quaint and piquant grace 
 of manner. Wliat she conspicuously lacks, on tho 
 other hand, is essential femininity ; by which I 
 don't mean womanliness — of that she has enough 
 and to spare — but the wholesome physical and 
 instinctive qualities which go to make up a sound 
 and well-equipped wife and mother. The lack of 
 these underlying muliebral (i[ualities more than 
 counterbalances to not a few Europeans the un- 
 doubted vivacity, originality, and freshness of the 
 American woman. She is a dainty bit of porcelain, 
 unsuited for use ; a delicate exotic blossom, for 
 drawing-room decoration, where many would prefer 
 robust fruit-bearing faculties. 
 
 I dropped into the Opera House here at Nice 
 the other night, and found they were playing 
 " Carmen " — which is always interesting. Well, 
 you may perhaps remember that when that 
 creature of passion, the gipsy heroine, wishes to 
 gain or retain a man's affections, she throws a rose 
 at him, and then he cannot resist her. That is 
 Merimee's symbolism. Art is full of these sacri- 
 fices of realism to reticence. Outside the opera, 
 it is not with roses that women enslave us. But 
 the American duchess relies entu'ely upon the use 
 
AMERICAN DUCHESSES. 43 
 
 of the rose ; and that is just where she fails to 
 interest so many of us in Europe. 
 
 And now I think it's almost time for mo to go 
 and hunt up the material arguments for that rusty 
 six-shooter. 
 
VI. 
 
 IS ENGLAND PLAYED OUT? 
 
 Britain is now the centre of civilisation. Will 
 it always be so ? Is our commercial supremacy 
 decaying or not ? Have we begun to reach the 
 period of inevitable decline ? Or is decline indeed 
 inevitable at all ? Might a nation go on being 
 great for ever ? If so, are we that nation ? If 
 not, have we yet arrived at the moment when re- 
 trogression becomes a foregone conclusion ? These 
 are momentous questions. Dare I try, under the 
 mimosas on the terrace, to resolve them ? 
 
 Most people have talked of late as though 
 the palmy days of England were fairly over. 
 The down grade lies now before us. But, then, 
 so far as I can judge, most people have talked 
 so ever since the morning when Hengist and 
 Horsa, Limited, landed from their three keels 
 in the Isle of Thanet. Gildas is the oldest 
 historian of these islands, and his work consists 
 
 44 
 
IS ENGLAND PLAYED OUT!'' 45 
 
 entirely of a good old Tory lament in the Aslimead- 
 Bartlett strain upon the degeneracy of the times 
 and the proximate ruin of the British people. 
 Gildas wrote some fourteen hundred years ago 
 or thereabouts — and the couniiy is not yet quite 
 visibly ruined. On the contrary, it seems to the 
 impartial eye a more eligible place of residence 
 to-day than in the stirring times of the Saxon 
 invasion. Hence, for the last two or three 
 centuries, I have learned to discount these re- 
 current Jeremiads of Toryism, and to judge the 
 question of our decadence or progress by a more 
 rational standard. 
 
 There is only one such rational standard ; and 
 that is, to discover the causes and conditions of our 
 commercial prosperity, and then to inquire whether 
 those causes and conditions are being largely 
 altered or modified by the evolution of new phases. 
 If they a,re, England must begin to decline ; if 
 they are not, her day is not yet come. Home Rule 
 she will survive ; even the Eight Hours bogey, we 
 may presume, will not finally dispose of her. 
 
 Now, the centre of civilisation is not a fixed 
 point. It has varied from time to time, and 
 may yet vary. In the very earliest historical 
 
46 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 period, there was hardly such a thing as a centre 
 of civilisation at all. There were civilisations in 
 Egypt, Assyria, Babylonia, Etruria; discrete civili- 
 sations of the river valleys, mostly, which scarcely 
 came into contact with one another in their 
 first beginnings; any more than our own came 
 into contact once with the civilisations of China, 
 of Japan, of Peru, of Mexico. As yet there was 
 no world-commerce, no mutual communication of 
 empire with empire. It was in the ^Egean and 
 the eastern basin of the Mediterranean that 
 navigation first reached the point where great 
 commercial ports and free intercourse became 
 possible. The Phoenicians, and later the Greeks, 
 were the pioneers of the new era. Tyre, Athens, 
 Miletus, Rhodes, occupied the centre of the nascent 
 world, and bound together Assyria, Babylonia, 
 Egypt, Asia Minor, Greece, Sicily, and Italy in 
 one mercantile system. A little later, Hellas 
 itself enlarged, so as to include Syracuse, By- 
 zantium, Alexandria, Gyrene, Cumae, Neapolis, 
 Massilia. The inland sea became "a Greek lake." 
 But as navigation thus slowly widened to the 
 western Mediterranean basin, the centre of com- 
 merce had to shift perforce from Hellas to the 
 
IS ENGLAND PLAYED OUT? 47 
 
 mid-point of the new area. Two powerful trading 
 towns occupied such a mid-point in the Mediter- 
 ranean — Rome and Carthage ; and tliey were 
 driven to fight out the supremacy of the world 
 (the world as it then existed) between them. 
 With the Eoman Empire, the circle extended 
 so as to take in the Atlantic coasts, Gaul, Spain, 
 and Britain, which then, however, lay not at the 
 centre but on the circumference of civilisation. 
 During the Middle Ages, when navigation began 
 to embrace the great open sea as well as the 
 Mediterranean, a double centre sprang up : the 
 Italian Republics, Venice, Florence, Genoa, Pisa, 
 were still the chief carriers; but the towns of 
 Flanders, Bruges, Ghent, and Antwerp began to 
 compete with them, and the Atlantic states, 
 France, England, the Low Countries, rose into 
 importance. By and by, as time goes on, the 
 discoveries of Coluvnbus and of Vasco di Gama 
 open out new tracks. Suudenl}' commerce is 
 revolutionised. France, England, Spain, become 
 nearer to America and India thr 1 Italy; so Italy 
 declines ; while the Atlantic states usurp tLe first 
 place as the centres of civilisation. 
 
 Our own age brings fresh seas into the circle 
 
48 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 once more. It is no longer the Atlantic, the 
 Mediterranean, or the Indian Ocean that alone 
 count; the Pacific also begins to be considered. 
 China, Japan, the Cape; Chili, Peru, the Argen- 
 tine; California, British Columbia, Australia, New 
 Zealand ; all o£ them are parts of the system of 
 to-day ; civilisation is world-wide. 
 
 Has this change of area altered the central posi- 
 tion of England ? Not at all, save to strengthen 
 it. If you look at the hemisphere of greatest 
 land, you will see that England occupies its exact 
 middle. Insular herself, and therefore all made 
 up of ports, she is nearer all ports in the world 
 than any other country is or ever can be. I 
 don't say that this insures for her perpetual 
 dominion, such as Virgil prophesied for the Koman 
 Empire ; but I do say it makes her a hard country 
 to beat in commercial competition. It accounts for 
 Liverpool, London, Glasgow, Newcastle; it even 
 accounts in a way for Manchester, Birmingham, 
 Leeds, and Sheffield. England now stands at the 
 mathematical centre of the practical world, and 
 unless some Big Thing occurs to displace her, she 
 must continue to stand there. It takes a great 
 deal to upset the balance of an entire planet. 
 
IS ENGLAND PLAYED OUT? 49 
 
 Is anything now displacing her? Well, there 
 is the fact that railways are making land-carriage 
 to-day more important relatively to water-carriage 
 than at any previous period. That may, perhaps, 
 in time shift the centre of the world from an island 
 like England to the middle of a great land area, 
 like Chicago or Moscow. And, no doubt, if ever 
 the centre shifts at all, it will shift towards Western 
 America, or rather the prairie region. But, just 
 at present, what are the greatest commercial towns 
 of the world ? All ports to a man. And the day 
 when it will be otherwise, if ever, seems still far 
 distant. Look at the newest countries. What are 
 their great focal points ? Every one of them ports. 
 Melbourne and Sydney ; Rio, Buenos Ay res, and 
 Valparaiso ; Cape Town, San Francisco, Bombay, 
 Calcutta, Yokohama. Chicago itself, the most vital 
 and the quickest grower among modern towns, 
 owes half its importance to the fact that there 
 water-carriage down the Great Lakes begins ; 
 though it owes the other half, I admit, to the 
 converse fact that all the great trans-continental 
 railways have to bend south at that point to 
 avoid Lake Michigan. Still, on the whole, I 
 think, as long as conditions remain what they are, 
 
so POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the commercial supremacy of England is in no 
 immediate danger. It is these great permanent 
 geographical factors that make or mar a country, 
 not Eight Hours Bills or petty social reconstruc- 
 tions. Said the Lord Mayor of London to 
 petulant King James, when he proposed to re- 
 move the Court to Oxford, " May it please your 
 Majesty not to take away the Thames also." 
 
 " But our competitors ? We are being driven 
 out of our markets." Oh, yes, if that's all you 
 mean, I don't suppose we shall always be able in 
 everything to keep up our exclusive position. Our 
 neighbours, who (bar the advantage of insularity, 
 which means a coast and a port always close at 
 hand) seem nearly as well situated as we are for 
 access to the world-markets, are beginning to 
 wake up and take a slice of the cake from us. 
 Germany is manufacturing ; Belgium is smelting ; 
 Antwerp is exporting ; America is occupying her 
 own markets. But that's a very different thing 
 indeed from national decadence. We may have 
 to compete a little harder with our rivals, that's 
 all. The Boom may be over ; but the Thames 
 remains : the geographical facts are still unaltered. 
 And notice that all the time while there's been 
 
IS ENGLAND PLAYED OUT? 51 
 
 this vague talk about " bad times " — income-tax 
 has been steadily increasing, London has been 
 steadily growing, every outer and visible sign of 
 commercial prosperity has been steadily spreading. 
 Have our watering-places shrunk? Have our 
 buildings been getting smaller and less luxurious ? 
 If Antwerp has grown, how about Hull and 
 Cardiff? "Well, perhaps the past is all right; 
 but consider the future ! Eight hours are going 
 to drive capital out of the country ! " Rubbish ! 
 I'm not a political economist, thank God ; I never 
 sank quite so low as that. And I'm not speaking 
 for or against Eight Hours : I'm only discounting 
 some verbose nonsense. But I know enough to 
 see that the capital of a country can no more be 
 exported than the land or the houses. Can you 
 drive away the London and North- Western Rail- 
 way ? Can you drive away the factories of Man- 
 chester, the mines of the Black Country, the 
 canals, the buildings, the machinery, the docks, 
 the plant, the apparatus ? Impossible, on the 
 very face of it ! Most of the capital of a country 
 is fixed in its soil, and can't be uprooted. People 
 fall into this error about driving away capital 
 because they know you can sell particular railway 
 
52 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 shares or a particular factory and leave the country 
 with the proceeds, provided somebody else is willing 
 to buy ; but you can't sell all the railways and all 
 the factories in a lump, and clear out with the 
 capital. No, no ; England stands where she does, 
 because Grod put her there ; and until He invents 
 a new order of things (which may, of course, 
 happen any day — as, for example, if aerial navi- 
 gation came in) she must continue, in spite of. 
 minor changes, to maintain in the main her present 
 position. 
 
 But a truce to these frivolities ! The little 
 Italian boy next door calls me to play ball with 
 him, with a green lemon from the garden. Vengo, 
 Luigi, vengo! I return at once to the realities of 
 life, and dismiss such shadows. 
 
VII. 
 
 THE GAME AND THE RULES. 
 
 A SPORTIVE friend of mine, a mighty golfer, is 
 fond of saying, " You Eadicals want to play the 
 game without the rules." To which I am accus- 
 tomed mildly to retort, " Not at all ; but we 
 think the rules unfair, and so we want to see 
 them altered." 
 
 Now life is a very peculiar game, which differs 
 in many important respects even from compulsory 
 football. The Rugby scrimmage is mere child's 
 play by the side of it. There's no possibility of 
 shirking it. A medical certificate won't get you 
 off; whether you like it or not, play you must 
 in your appointed order. We are all unwilling 
 competitors. Nobody asks our naked little souls 
 beforehand whether they would prefer to be born 
 into the game or to remain, unfleshed, in the 
 limbo of non-existence. Willy nilly, every one 
 of us is thrust into the world by an irresponsible 
 
 S3 
 
54 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 act of two previous players ; and once there, we 
 must play out the set as best we may to the 
 bitter end, however little we like it or the rules 
 that order it. 
 
 That, it must be admitted, makes a grave dis- 
 tinction from the very outset between the game 
 of human life and any other game with which 
 we are commonly acquainted. It also makes it 
 imperative upon the framers of the rules so to 
 frame them that no one player shall have an un- 
 fair or unjust advantage over any of the others. 
 And since the penalty of bad play, or bad suc- 
 cess in the match, is death, misery, starvation, 
 it behoves the rule-makers to be more scrupulously 
 particular as to fairness and equity than in any 
 other game like cricket or tennis. It behoves 
 them to see that all start fair, and that no hapless 
 beginner is unduly handicapped. To compel men 
 to take part in a match for dear life, whether 
 they wish it or not, and then to insist that some 
 of them shall wield bats and some mere broom- 
 sticks, irrespective of height, weight, age, or bodily 
 infirmity, is surely not fair. It justifies the 
 committee in calling for a revision. 
 
 But things are far worse than even that, in 
 
THE GAME AND THE RULES. 55 
 
 the game as actually played in Europe. What 
 shall we say of rules which decide dogmatically 
 that one set of players are hereditarily entitled 
 to be always batting, while another set, less lucky, 
 have to field for ever, and to be fined or im- 
 prisoned for not catching ? What shall we say 
 of rules which give one group a perpetual right 
 to free lunch in the tent, while the remainder 
 have to pick up what they can for themselves by 
 gleaning among the stubble ? How justify the 
 principle in accordance with which the captain 
 on one side has an exclusive claim to the common 
 ground of the club, and may charge every player 
 exactly what he likes for the right to play upon 
 it ? — especially when the choice lies between 
 playing on such terms, or being cast into the 
 void, yourself and your family. And then to 
 think that the ground thus tabooed by one par- 
 ticular member may be all Sutherlandshire, or, 
 still worse, all Westminster ! Decidedly, these 
 rules call for instant revision ; and the unprivi- 
 leged players must be submissive indeed who 
 consent to put up with them. 
 
 Friends and fellow-members, let us cry with 
 one voice, " The links for the players ! " 
 
 .. 'O..^. . 
 
56 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Once more, just look at the singular rule in 
 our own All England club, by which certain 
 assorted members possess a hereditary right to 
 veto all decisions of the elective committee, merely 
 because they happen to be their fathers' sons, 
 and the club long ago very foolishly permitted 
 the like privilege to their ancestors ! That 
 is ' an irrational interference with the liberty of 
 the players which hardly anybody nowadays ven- 
 tures to defend in principle, and which is only 
 upheld in some half-hearted way (save in the 
 case of that fossil anachronism, the Duke of 
 Argyll) by supposed arguments of convenience. 
 It won't last long now ; there is talk in the 
 committee of " mending or ending it." It shows 
 the long-suffering nature of the poor blind players 
 at this compulsory game of national football that 
 they should ever for one moment permit so mon- 
 strous an assumption — permit the idea that one 
 single player may wield a substantive voice and 
 vote to outweigh tens of thousands of his fellow- 
 members ! 
 
 These questions of procedure, however, are 
 after all small matters. It is the real hardships 
 of the game that most need to be tackled. Why 
 
THE GAME AND THE RULES. 57 
 
 sliould one player be born into the sport with 
 a prescriptive right to fill some easy place in the 
 field, while another has to fag on from morning 
 to night in the most uninteresting and fatigning 
 position? Why should pdtd dc foic f/ras and 
 champagne-cup in the tent be so unequally dis- 
 tributed ? Why should those who have made 
 fewest runs and done no fielding be admitted 
 to partake of these luxuries, free of charge, while 
 those who have borne the brunt of the fight, those 
 who have suffered from the heat of the day, those 
 who have contributed most to the honour of the 
 victory, are turned loose, unfed, to do as they 
 can for themselves by hook or by crook somehow ? 
 These are the questions some of us players are 
 now beginning to ask ourselves ; and we don't 
 find them efficiently answered by the bald state- 
 ment that we " want to play the game without 
 the rules," and that we ought to be precious glad 
 the legislators of the club haven't made them a 
 hundred times harder against us. 
 
 No, no ; the rules themselves must be altered. 
 Time was, indeed, when people used to think 
 they were made and ordained by divine authority. 
 " Cum privilegio " was the motto of the captains. 
 
58 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 But we know very well now that every club settles 
 its own standing orders, and tliat it can alter 
 and modify them as fundamentally as it pleases. 
 Lots of funny old saws are still uttered upon 
 this subject — " There must always be rich and 
 poor;" "You can't interfere with economical 
 laws ; " " If you were to divide up everything- 
 to-morrow, at the end of a fortnight you'd find 
 the same differences and inequalities as ever." 
 The last-named argument (I believe it considers 
 itself by courtesy an argument) is one which no 
 self-respecting Radical should so much as deign 
 to answer. Nobody that I ever heard ol" for 
 one moment proposed to " divide up everything," 
 or, for that matter, anything : and the imputation 
 that somebody did or docs is a proof either of 
 intentional malevolence or of crass stupidity. 
 Neither should be encouraged ; and you encourage 
 them by pretending to take them seriously. It 
 is the initial injustices of the game that we 
 Radicals object to — the injustices which prevent 
 us from all starting fair and having our even 
 chance of picking up a livelihood. We don't 
 want to " divide up everything " — a most futile 
 proceeding ; but we do want to untie the legs 
 
THE GAME AND THE RULES. 59 
 
 and release the arms of the handicapped players. 
 To drop metaphor at last, it is the conditions we 
 complain about. Alter the conditions, and there 
 would be no need for division, summary or gradual. 
 The game would work itself out spontaneously 
 without your intervention. 
 
 The injustice of the existing set of rules simply 
 appals the Radical. Yet oddly enough, this in- 
 justice itself appeals rather to the comparative 
 looker-on than to the heavily-handicapped players 
 in person. They, poor creatures, dragging their 
 log in patience, have grown so accustomed to re- 
 garding the world as another man's oyster, that 
 they put up uncomplainingly for the most part 
 with the most patent inequalities. Perhaps 'tis 
 their want of imagination that makes them unable 
 to conceive any other state of things as even 
 possible — like the dog who accepts kicking as the 
 natural fate of doghood. At any rate, you will 
 find, if you look about you, that the chief reformers 
 are not, as a rule, the ill-used classes themselves, 
 but the sensitive and thinking souls who hate and 
 loathe the injustice with whicli others are treated. 
 Most of the best Radicals 1 have known were men 
 of gentle birth and breeding. Not all : others, 
 
6o POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 just as earnest, just as eager, just as chivalrous, 
 sprang from the masses. Yet the gently-reared 
 preponderate. It is a common Tory taunt to say 
 that the battle is one between the Haves and the 
 Have-nots. That is by no means true. It is 
 between the selfish Haves, on one side, and the 
 unselfish Haves, who wish to see something done 
 for the Have-nots, on the other. As for the poor 
 Have-nots themselves, they are mostly inarticulate. 
 Indeed, the Tory almost admits as much when he 
 alters his tone and describes the sympathising and 
 active few as " paid agitators." 
 
 For myself, however, I am a born Conservative. 
 I hate to see any old custom or practice changed ; 
 unless, indeed, it is either foolish or wicked — like 
 most existing ones. 
 
VITI. 
 THE ROLE OF PROPHET. 
 
 One great Englisli thinker and artist once tried 
 the rash experiment of being true to himself — of 
 saying out boldly, without fear or reserve, the 
 hisrhest and noblest and best that was in him. 
 He gave us the most exquisite lyrics in the Eng- 
 lish language ; he moulded the thought of our first 
 youth as no other poet has ever yet moulded it ; he 
 became the spiritual father of the richest souls in 
 two succeeding generations of Englishmen. And 
 what reward did he get for it ? He was expelled 
 from his i.niversity. He was hounded out of his 
 country. He was deprived of his own children. 
 He was denied the common appeal to the law 
 and courts of justice. He was drowned, an exile, 
 in a distant sea, and burned in solitude on a 
 foreign shore. And after his death he was vili- 
 fied and calumniated by wretched penny-a-liners, 
 or (worse insult still) apologised for, with half- 
 
 6i 
 
62 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 hearted shrugs, by lukewarm advocates. The 
 purest in life and the most unselfish in purpose 
 of all mankind, he was persecuted alive with the 
 utmost rancour of hate, and pursued when dead 
 with the vilest shafts of malignity. He never 
 even knew in his scattered grave the good he 
 was to do to later groups of thinkers. 
 
 It was a noble example, of cour'"^ ; but not, 
 you will admit, an alluring one for others to 
 follow. 
 
 "Be true to yourself," say the copy-book 
 moralists, " and you may be sure the result will 
 at last be justified." No doubt; but in how many 
 centuries? And what sort of life will you lead 
 yourself, meanwhile, for your allotted space of 
 threescore years and ten, unless haply hanged, or 
 burned, or imprisoned before it ? What the copy- 
 book moralists mean is merely this — that sooner or 
 later your principles will triumph, which may or 
 may not be the case according to the nature of 
 the principles. But even suppose they do, are you 
 to ignore yourself in the interim — you, a human 
 being with emotions, sensations, domestic affections, 
 and, in the majority of instances, wife and children 
 on whom to expend them ? Why should it be 
 
THE ROLE OF PROPHET. 63 
 
 calmly taken for granted by the world that if you 
 have some new and true thing to tell humanity 
 (which humanity, of course, will toss back in your 
 face with contumely and violence) you are bound 
 to blurt it out, with childish unreserve, regardless 
 of consequences to yourself and to those who de- 
 pend upon you ? Why demand of genius or ex- 
 ceptional ability a gratuitous sacrifice which you 
 would deprecate as wrong and unjust to others in 
 the ordinary citizen ? For the genius, too, is a 
 man, and has his feelings. 
 
 The fact is, society considers that in certain 
 instances it has a right to expect the thinker will 
 martyrise himself on its account, while it stands 
 serenely by and heaps faggots on the pile, with 
 every mark of contempt and loathing. But society 
 is mistaken. No man is bound to martyrise him- 
 self ; in a gjeat many cases a man is bound to do 
 the exact opposite. He has given hostages to 
 Fortune, and his first duty is to the hostages. 
 " We ask you for bread," his children may well 
 say, " and you give us a noble moral lesson. We 
 ask you for clothing, and you supply us with a 
 beautiful poetical fancy." This is not according 
 to bargain. Wife and children have a first mort- 
 
64 POSr-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 gage on a man's activities ; society has only a 
 right to contingent remainders. 
 
 A great many sensible men who had truths of 
 deep import to deliver to the world must have 
 recognised these facts in all times and places, and 
 must have held their tongues accordingly. Instead 
 of speaking out the truths that were in them, they 
 must have kept their peace, or have confined them- 
 selves severely to the ordinary platitudes of their 
 age and nation. Why ruin yourself by announcing 
 what you feel and believe, when all the reward you 
 will get for it in the end will be social ostracism, 
 if not even the rack, the stake, or the pillory ? 
 The Shelleys and Rousseaus there's no holding, of 
 course ; they will run right into it ; but the 
 Goethes — oh, no, they keep their secret. Indeed, 
 I hold it as probable that the vast majority of 
 men far in advance of their, times have always 
 held their tongues consistently, save for mere 
 common babble, on Lord Chesterfield's principle 
 that " Wise men never say." 
 
 The role of prophet is thus a thankless and dif- 
 ficult one. Nor is it quite certainly of real use to 
 the community. For the prophet is generally 
 too much ahead of his times. He discounts the 
 
THE ROLE OF PROPHET. 65 
 
 future at a ruinous rate, and he takes the conse- 
 quences. If you happen ever to have read the 
 Old Testament you must have noticed that the 
 prophets had generally a hard time of it. 
 
 The leader is a very different stamp of person. 
 He stands well abreast of his contemporaries, and 
 just half a pace in front of them ; and he has 
 power to persuade even the inertia of humanity 
 into taking that one half -step in advance he him- 
 self has already made bold to adventure. His post 
 is honoured, respected, remunerated. But the 
 prophet gets no thanks, and perhaps does mankind 
 no benefit. He sees too quick. And there can 
 be very little good indeed in so seeing. If one of 
 us had been an astronomer, and had discovered 
 the laws of Kepler, Newton, and Laplace in the 
 thirteenth century, I think he would have been 
 wise to keep the discovery to himself for a few 
 hundred years or so. Otherwise, he would have 
 been burned for his trouble. Galileo, long after, 
 tried part of the experiment a decade or so too 
 soon, and got no good by it. But in moral and 
 social matters the danger is far graver. I would 
 say to every aspiring youth who sees some poli- 
 tical or economical or ethical truth quite clearly : 
 
66 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 " Keep it dark ! Don't mention it ! Nobody will 
 listen to you ; and you, who are probably a person 
 of superior insight and higher moral aims than 
 the mass, will only destroy your own influence for 
 good by premature declarations. The world will 
 very likely come round of itself to your views in 
 the end ; but if you tell them too soon, you will 
 suffer for it in person, and will very likely do 
 nothing to help on the revolution in thought 
 that you contemplate. For thought that is too 
 abruptly ahead of the mass never influences 
 humanity." 
 
 " But sometimes the truth will out in spite of 
 one ! " Ah, yes, that's the worst of it. Do as I 
 say, not as I do. If possible, repress it. 
 
 It is a noble and beautiful thing to be a martyr, 
 especially if you are a martyr in the cause of truth, 
 and not, as is often the case, of some debasing and 
 degrading superstition. But nobody has a right 
 to demand of you that you should be a martyr. 
 And some people have often a right to demand 
 that you should resolutely refuse the martyr's 
 crown on the ground that you have contracted 
 prior obligations, inconsistent with the purely 
 personal luxury of martyrdom. 'Tis a luxury for 
 
THE ROLE OF PROPHET. 67 
 
 a few. It befits only the bachelor, the unattached, 
 and the economically spareworthy. 
 
 " These be pessimistic pronouncements," you say. 
 Well, no, not exactly. For, after all, we must 
 never shut our eyes to the actual ; and in the 
 world as it is, meliorism, not optimism, is the 
 true opposite of pessimism. Optimist and pessi- 
 mist are both alike in a sense, seeing they are 
 both conservative ; they sit down contented — the 
 first with the smug contentment that says " All's 
 well ; I have enough ; why this fuss about others ? " 
 the second with the contentment of blank despair 
 that says, " All's hopeless ; all's wrong ; why try 
 uselessly to mend it ? " The meliorist attitude, on 
 the contrary, is rather to say, "Much is wrong; 
 much painful ; what can we do to improve it ? " 
 And from this point of view there is something 
 we can all do to make martyrdom less inevitable 
 in the end, for the man who has a thought, a dis- 
 covery, an idea, to tell us. Such men are rare, 
 and their thought, when they produce it, is sure 
 to be unpalatable. For, if it were otherwise, it 
 would be thought of our own type — familiar, 
 banal, commonplace, unoriginal. It would en- 
 counter no resistance, as it thrilled on its way 
 
68 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 through our brain, from established errors. What 
 the genius and the prophet are there for is just 
 that — to make us listen to unwelcome truths, 
 to compel us to hear, to drive awkward facts 
 straight home with sledge-hammer force to the 
 unwilling hearts and brains of us. Not what 1/0% 
 want to hear, or what / want to hear, is good and 
 useful for us ; but what we don't want to hear, 
 what we can't bear to think, what we hate to 
 believe, what we fight tooth and nail against. 
 The man who makes us listen to that is the seer 
 and the prophet; he comes upon us like Shelley, 
 or Whitman, or Ibsen, and plumps down horrid 
 truths that half surprise, half disgust us. He 
 shakes us out of our lethargy. To such give 
 ear, though they say what shocks you. Weigh 
 well their hateful ideas. Avoid the vulgar vice of 
 sneering and carping at them. Learn to examine 
 their nude thought without shrinking, and examine 
 it all the more carefully when it most repels you. 
 Naked verity is an acquired taste; it is never 
 beautiful at first sight to the unaccustomed vision. 
 Remember that no question is finally settled ; that 
 no question is wholly above consideration ; that 
 what you cherish as holiest is most probably 
 
THE ROLE OF PROPHET. 69 
 
 wrong ; and that in social and moral matters 
 especially (where men have been longest ruled by- 
 pure superstitions) new and startling forms of 
 thought have the highest a priori probability in 
 their favour. Dismiss your idols. Give every 
 opinion its fair chance of success — especially when 
 it seems to you both wicked and ridiculous, recol- 
 lecting that it is better to let five hundred crude 
 guesses run loose about the world unclad, than to 
 crush one fledgling truth in its callow condition. To 
 the Greeks, foolishness : to the Jews, a stumbling- 
 block. If you can't be one of the prophets your- 
 self, you can at least abstain from helping to 
 stone them. 
 
 Dear me ! These reflections to-day are any- 
 thing but post-prandial. The gnocclii and the 
 olives must certainly have disagreed with me. 
 But perhaps it may some of it be " wrote sar- 
 castic." I have heard tell there is a thing 
 called irony. 
 
IX. 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE CLASH OF RACES. 
 
 The world has expanded faster in the last thirty- 
 years than in any previous age since " the spa- 
 cious days of great Elizabeth." And with its 
 expansion, of course, our ideas have widened. I 
 believe Europe is now in the midst of just such 
 an outburst of thought and invention as that 
 which followed the discovery of America, and of 
 the new route to India by the Cape of Good 
 Hope. But I don't want to insist too strongly 
 upon that point, because I know a great many 
 of my contemporaries are deeply hurt by the 
 base and spiteful suggestion that they and their 
 fellows are really quite as good as any fish that 
 ever came out of the sea before them. I only 
 desire now to call attention for a moment to one 
 curious result entailed by this widening of the 
 world upon our literary productivity — a result 
 
 which, though obvious enough when one comes to 
 
 70 
 
ROMANCE OF THE CLASH OF RACES. 71 
 
 look at it, seems to me hitherto to have strangely 
 escaped deliberate notice. 
 
 In one word, the point of which I speak is 
 the comparative cosmopolitanisation of letters, and 
 especially the introduction into literary art of the 
 phenomena due to the Clash of Races. 
 
 This Clash itself is the one picturesque and 
 novel feature of our otherwise somewhat prosaic 
 and machine-made epoch ; and, therefore, it has 
 been eagerly seized upon, with one accord, by 
 all the chief purveyors of recent literature, and 
 especially of fiction. They have espied in it, 
 with technical instinct, the best chance for obtain- 
 ing that fresh interest which is essential to the 
 success of a work of art. We were all getting 
 somewhat tired, it must be confessed, of the old 
 places and the old themes. The insipid loves 
 of Anthony Trollope's blameless young people were 
 beginning to pall upon us. The jaded palate of 
 the Anglo-Celtic race pined for something hot, 
 with a touch of fresh spice in it. It demanded 
 curried fowl and Jamaica peppers. Hence, on 
 the one hand, the sudden vogue of the novelists 
 of the younger countries — Tolstoi and Tourgenieff, 
 Ibsen and Bjornson, Mary Wilkius and Howells 
 
72 POST- PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 — who transplanted us at once into fresh scenes, 
 new people : hence, on the other hand, the ten- 
 dency on the part of our own latest writers — the 
 Stevensons, tlie Hall Gaines, the Marion Crawfords, 
 the Jlider Haggards — to go far afield among the 
 lower races or the later civilisations for the themes 
 oi" their romances, 
 
 Alas, alas, I see breakers before me ! Must I 
 pause for a moment in the flowing current of a 
 paragraj)h to explain, as in an aside, that I in- 
 clude Marion Crawford of set purpose among "our 
 own " late writers, wliile 1 count Mary Wilkins 
 and Howells as Transatlantic aliens ? Experience 
 teaches me that I nmst ; else shall I have that 
 annoying animalcule, the microscopic critic, coming 
 down upon me in print with his petty objection 
 that "Mr. Crawford is an American." Go to, oh, 
 blind on(; ! And Whistler also, I suppose, and 
 Sargent, and, perhaps, AsV/mead Ijartlett ! What! 
 have you read " Sarracinasca " and no< learnt that 
 its author is European to the core ? 'Twas for sucli 
 as you that the Irishman invented liis brilliant 
 ret(;rt : " And if I was born in Ji stable would I 
 be a horse ? " 
 
 Not merely, however, do our younger writers go 
 
 -*—""--* - ■' *■■* '-'■■- — ■ -"-' 
 
 -.. h - 
 
ROMANCE OF THE CLASH OF RACES. 73 
 
 into strange and novel places for the scenes of 
 their stories ; the important point to notice in the 
 present connection is that, consciously or uncon- 
 sciously to themselves, they have perceived the 
 mijjflity influence of this Clash of Kaces, and have 
 chosen the relations of the civilised people with 
 their savage allies, or enemies, or subjects, as the 
 chief theme of their handicraft. 'Tis a momentous 
 theme, for it encloses in itself lialf the problems 
 of the future. The old battles are now well-nigh 
 fought out; but new ones are looming ahead for 
 US, The cosmopolitanisation of the world is intro- 
 ducing into our midst strange elements of discord. 
 A conglomerate of unwelded ethnical elements 
 usurps the stage of history. America and South 
 Africa have already their negro (juestion ; Cali- 
 fornia and Australia have already their Chinese 
 question; Jlussia is fast getting her Asiatic, her 
 Mahommedan (question. Even France, the most 
 narrowly European in interest of European 
 countries, has yet her Algeria, her Tunis, her 
 Tonquin. Spain has Cuba and the l^hilippines. 
 Holland has Java. Cermany is burdening herself 
 with the unborn troubles of a Hinterland. And 
 as for England, she staggers ou still under tlie 
 
74 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 increasing load of India, Hong Kong, Singapore, 
 South Africa, the West Indies, Fiji, New Guinea, 
 North Borneo — all of them rife with endless race- 
 questions, all pregnant with difficulties. 
 
 Who can be surprised that amid this seething 
 turmoil of colours, instincts, creeds, and languages, 
 art should have fastened upon the race-problems as 
 her srreat theme for the moment ? And she has 
 fastened upon them everywhere. France herself 
 has not been able to avoid the contagion. Pierre 
 Loti is the most typical French representative of 
 this vagabond spirit ; and the question of the 
 peoples naturally envisages itself to his mind in 
 true Gallic fashion in the "Mariage de Loti" and 
 in " Madame Chrysanth^me." He sees it through 
 a halo of vague sexual sentimentalism. In Eng- 
 land, it was Rider Haggard from the Cape who 
 first set the mode visibly ; and nothing is more 
 noteworthy in all his work than the fact that the 
 interest mainly centres in the picturesque juxta- 
 position and contrast of civilisation and savagery. 
 Once the cue was given, what more natural than 
 that young Rudyard Kipling, fresh home from 
 India, brimming over with genius and with 
 knowledge of two concurrent streams of life that 
 
ROMANCE OF THE CLASH OF RACES. 75 
 
 flow on side by side yet never mingle, should 
 take up his parable in due course, and storm 
 us all by assault with his light field artillery ? 
 Then Robert Louis Stevenson, born a wandering 
 Scot, with roving Scandinavian and fiery Celtic 
 blood in his veins, must needs settle down, like 
 a Viking that he is, in far Samoa, there to 
 charm and thrill us by turns with the romance of 
 Polynesia. The example was catching. Almost 
 without knowing it, other writers have turned 
 for subjects to similar fields. " Dr. Isaacs," 
 " Paul Patoff," " By Proxy," were upon us. Even 
 Hall Caine himself, in some ways a most insular 
 type of genius, was forced in " The Scapegoat " 
 to carry us off from Cumberland and Man to 
 Morocco. Sir Edwin Arnold inflicts upon us 
 the tragedies of Japan. I have been watching 
 this tendency long myself with the interested eye 
 of a dealer engaged in the trade, and therefore 
 anxious to keep pace with every changing breath 
 of popular favour: and I notice a constant in- 
 crease from year to year in the number of 
 short stories in magazines and newspapers deal- 
 ing with the romance of the inferior races. I 
 notice, also, that such stories are increasingly 
 
76 POSr-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 successful with the public. This shows that, 
 whether the public knows it or not itself, the 
 question of race is interesting it more and more. 
 It is gradually growing to understand the mag- 
 nitude of the change that has come over civi- 
 lisation by the inclusion of Asia, Africa, and 
 Australasia within its circle. Even the Queen 
 is learning Hindustani. 
 
 There is a famous passage in Green's " Short 
 History of the English People " which describes 
 in part that strange outburst of national expan- 
 sion under Elizabeth, when Raleigh, Drake, and 
 Frobisher scoured the distant seas, and when at 
 home " England became a nest of singing birds," 
 with Shakespeare, Spenser, Fletcher, and Marlow. 
 " The old sober notions of thrift," says the pic- 
 turesque historian, " melted before the strange 
 revolutions of fortune wrought by the New 
 World. Gallants gambled away a fortune at a 
 sitting, and sailed off to make a fresh one in the 
 Indies." (Read rather to-day at Kimberley, 
 Johannesburg, Vancouver.) " Visions of galleons 
 loaded to the brim with pearls and diamonds 
 and ingots of silver, dreams of El Dorados where 
 all was of gold, threw a haze of prodigality and 
 
ROMANCE OF THE CLASH OF RACES. 77 
 
 profusion over the imagination of the meanest 
 seaman. The wonders, too, of the New World 
 kindled a burst of extravagant fancy in the Old. 
 The strange medley of past and present which 
 distinguishes its masques and feastings only re- 
 flected the medley of men's thoughts. ... A 
 ' wild man ' from the Indies chanted the Queen's 
 praises at Kenilworth, and Echo answered him. 
 Elizabeth turned from the greetings of sibyls and 
 giants to deliver the enchanted lady from her 
 tyrant, ' Sans Pitie.' Shepherdesses welcomed 
 her with carols of the spring, while Ceres and 
 Bacchus poured their corn and grapes at her 
 feet." Oh, gilded youth of the Gaiety, mutato 
 nomine de tc Fdbula narratur. Yours, yours is 
 this glory ! 
 
 For our own age, too, is a second Elizabethan. 
 It blossoms out daily into such flowers of fancy 
 as never bloomed before, save then, on British 
 soil. When men tell you nowadays we have 
 " no great writers left," believe not the silly 
 parrot cry. Nay, rather, laugh it down for 
 them. We move in the midst of one of the 
 mightiest epochs earth has ever seen, an epoch 
 which will live in histor'^ hereafter side by side 
 
78 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 with the Athens of Pericles, the Rome of 
 Augustus, the Florence of Lorenzo, the England 
 of Elizabeth. Don't throw away your birthright 
 by ignoring the fact. Live up to your privileges. 
 Gaze around you and know. Be a conscious par- 
 taker in one of the great ages of humanity. 
 
X. 
 
 THE MONOPOLIST INSTINCTS. 
 
 In the first of these after-dinner causeries I ven- 
 tured humbly to remark that Patriotism was a 
 vulgar vice of which I had never been guilty. 
 That innocent indiscretion of mine aroused at the 
 moment some unfavourable comment. I confess 
 I was sorry for it. But I passed it by at the 
 time, lest I should speak too hastily and lose my 
 temper. I recur to the subjeot now, at the hour 
 of the cigarette, when man can discourse most 
 genially of his bitterest enemy. And Monopoly 
 is mine. Its very name is hateful. 
 
 I don't often say what I think. At least, not 
 much of it. I don't often get the chance. And, 
 besides, being a timid and a modest man, I'm 
 afraid to. But just this once, I'm going to 
 " try it on." Object to my opinions as you will. 
 But still, let me express them. Strike — but 
 hear me ! 
 
 79 
 
8o POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Has it ever occurred to you that one object 
 of reading is to learn things you never thought of 
 before, and would never think of now, unless you 
 were told them? 
 
 Patriotism is one of the Monopolist Instincts. 
 And the Monopolist Instincts are the greatest 
 enemies of the social life in humanity. They 
 are what we have got in the end to outlive. 
 The test of a man's place in the scale oi; being 
 is how far he has outlived them. They are 
 surviving relics of the ape and tiger. But we 
 must let the ape and tiger die. We must begin 
 to be human. 
 
 I will take Patriotism first, because it is the 
 most specious of them all, and has still a self- 
 satisfied way of masquerading as a virtue. But 
 after all what is Patriotism? "My country, 
 right or wrong; and just because it is my 
 country." It is nothing more than a wider form 
 of selfishness. Often enough, indeed, it is even 
 a narrow one. It means, " My business interests 
 against the business interests of other people; 
 and let the taxes of my fellow-citizens pay to 
 support them." At other times it is pure 
 Jingoism. It means, " My country against other 
 
THE MONOPOLIST INSTINCTS. 8l 
 
 countries ! M>/ army and navy against other 
 lighters ! M// right to annex unoccupied territory 
 over the equal right of all other people ! M// 
 power to oppress all weaker nationalities, all 
 inferior races ! " It 7iever means anything good. 
 For if a cause is just, like Ireland's, or once 
 Italy's, then 'tis the good man's duty to espouse 
 it with warmth, be it his own or another's. 
 And if a cause be bad, then 'tis the good man's 
 duty to oppose it tooth and nail, irrespective of 
 your " Patriotism." True, a good man will feel 
 more sensitively anxious that justice should be 
 done by the particular State of which he happens 
 himself to be a member than by any other, 
 because he is partly responsible for the corporate 
 action; but then, people who feel deeply this 
 joint moral responsibility of all the citizens are 
 not praised as patriots but reviled as unpatriotic. 
 To urge that our own country should strive with 
 all its might to be better, higher, purer, nobler, 
 juster than other countries around it — the only 
 kind of Patriotism worth a brass farthing in a 
 righteous man's eyes — is accounted by most men 
 both wicked and foolish. 
 
 Patriotism, then, is the collective or national 
 
Sa POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 form of the Monopolist Instincts. And like all 
 those Instincts, it is a relic of savagery, which 
 the Man of the Future is now engaged in out- 
 living. 
 
 Property is the next form. That, on the 
 very face of it, is a viler and more sordid one. 
 For Patriotism at least can lay claim to some 
 expansiveness beyond mere individual interest ; 
 whereas property stops dead short at the nar- 
 rowest limits. It is not " Us against the 
 world ! " but " Me against my fellow-citizens ! " 
 It is the final result of the industrial war in 
 its most hideous avatar. Look how it scars 
 the fair face of our England with its anti-social 
 notice-boards, " Trespassers will be prosecuted ! " 
 It says, in effect, "This is my land. God made 
 it; but I have acquired it and tabooed it. 
 The grass on it grows green ; but only for me. 
 The mountains rise beautiful ; no foot of man, 
 save mine and my gamekeepers', shall tread 
 them. The waterfalls gleam fresh and cool in the 
 glen : avaunt there, you non-possessors ; 2/ou shall 
 never see them ! All this is my own. And I 
 choose to monopolise it." 
 
 Or is it the capitalist ? "I will add field 
 
THE MONOPOLIST INSTINCTS. 83 
 
 to field," he says, in despite of his own scrip- 
 ture ; "I will join railway to railway. I will 
 juggle into my own hands all the instru- 
 ments for the production of wealth that 1 can 
 lay hold of; and T will use them for myself 
 against the producer and the consumer. I will 
 enrich myself by ' corners ' on the necessaries 
 of life; I will make food dear for the poor, 
 that I myself may roll in needless luxury. 
 I will monopolise whatever I can seize, and 
 the people may eat straw." That temper, too, 
 humanity must outlive. And those who can't 
 outlive it of themselves, or be warned in time, 
 must be taught by stern lessons that their race 
 has outstripped them. 
 
 As for slavery, 'tis now gone. That was the 
 vilest of them all. It was the naked assertion 
 of the Monopolist platform : " You live, not for 
 yourself, but wholly and solely for me. I dis- 
 regard your life entirely, and use you as my 
 chattel." It died at last of the moral indigna- 
 tion of humanity. It died when a Southern court 
 of so-called justice formulated in plain words the 
 underlying principle of its hateful creed: "A 
 black man has no rights which a white man is 
 
84 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 bound to respect." That finally iinished it. We 
 no longer allow every man to " wallop his own 
 nigger." And though the last relics of it die 
 hard in Queensland, South Africa, Demerara, we 
 have at least the satisfaction of knowing that 
 one Monopolist Instinct out of the group is pretty 
 well bred out of us. 
 
 Except as regards women ! There, it lingers 
 still. The Man says even now to himself : — 
 " This woman is mine. If she ventures to have 
 a heart or a will of her own, woe betide her ! I 
 have tabooed her for life ; let any other man 
 touch her, let her look at any other man — and 
 — knife, revolver, or law court, they shall both 
 of them answer for it ! " There you have in all 
 its natural ugliness another Monopolist Instinct 
 — the deepest-seated of all, the vilest, the most 
 barbaric. She is not yours : she is her own : 
 unhand her ! The Turk takes his offending 
 slave, sews her up in a sack, and flings her into 
 the Bosphorus. The Christian Englishman drags 
 her shame before an open court, and divorces 
 her with contumely. Her shame, I say, in the 
 common phrase, because though to me it is no 
 shame that any human being should follow the 
 
THE MONOPOLIST TNSTINCTS. 85 
 
 dictates of his or her own heart, it is a shame 
 to the woman in the eyes of the world, and a 
 life of disgrace she must live thenceforward. 
 All this is Monopoly and essentially slavery. 
 As man lives down the Ape and Tiger stage, 
 he will learn to say, rather : " Be mine while 
 you can ; but the day you cease to feel you 
 can be mine willingly, don't disgrace your own 
 body by yielding it up where your soul feels 
 loathing; don't consent to be the mother of 
 children by a father you despise or dislike or 
 are tired of. Let us kiss and part. Go where 
 you will; and my good will go with you!" 
 Till the man can say that with a sincere heart, 
 why, to borrow a phrase from George Meredith, 
 he may have passed Seraglio Point, but he hasn't 
 rounded Cape Turk yet. 
 
 You find that a hard saying, do you ? You 
 kick against freedom for wife or daughter ? Well, 
 yes, no doubt ; you are still a Monopolist. But, 
 believe me, the earnest and solemn expression 
 of a profound belief never yet did harm to any 
 one. I look forward to the time when women 
 shall be as free in every way as men, not by 
 levelling down, but by levelling up ; not, as 
 
86 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 some would have us think, by enslaving the men, 
 but by elevating, emancipating, unshackling the 
 women. 
 
 There is a charming little ditty in Louis 
 Stevenson's "Child's Garden of Verse," which 
 always seems to me to sum up admirably the 
 Monopolist attitude. Here it is. Look well 
 at it : — 
 
 " When I am grown to man's estate 
 I shall be very proud and great, 
 And tell the other girls and boys, 
 Not to meddle with my toys." 
 
 That is the way of the Monopolist. It catches 
 him in the very act. He says to all the world : 
 " Hands off ! My property ! Don't walk on 
 my grass! Don't trespass in my park! Beware 
 of my gunboats ! No trifling with my women ! 
 I am the king of the castle. You meddle with 
 me at your peril." 
 
 " Ours ! " not " Mine ! " is the watchword of the 
 
 future. 
 
XT. 
 
 ''MERE AMATEURS." 
 
 " He was a mere amateur ; but still, he did some 
 sood work in science." 
 
 Increasingly of late years I have heard these 
 condescending words uttered, in the fatherland of 
 Bacon, of Newton, of Darwin, when some Bates 
 or Spottiswoode has been gathered to his fathers. 
 It was not so once. Time was when all English 
 science was the work of amateurs — and very 
 well indeed the amateurs did it. I don't think 
 anybody who does me the honour to cognise my 
 humble individuality at all will ever be likely 
 to mistake me for a laudator temporis acti. On 
 the contrary, so far as I can see, the past seems 
 generally to have been such a distinct failure 
 all along the line that the one lesson we 
 have to learn from it is, to go and do other- 
 wise. I am one on that point with Shelley 
 
 and Eousseau. But it does not follow, because 
 
 87 
 
 J-".-. j"^—. 
 
88 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 most old things are bad, that all new things, 
 and rising things are necessarily and indisput- 
 ably in their own nature excellent. Novelties, 
 too, may be retrograde. And even our great- 
 grandfathers occasionally blundered upon some- 
 thing cood in which we should do well to 
 imitate them. The amateurishness of old English 
 science was one of these good things now in 
 course of abolition by the fashionable process 
 of Germanisation. 
 
 Don't imagine it was only for France that 1870 
 was fatal. The sad successes of that deadly 
 year sent a wave of triumphant Teutonism over 
 the face of Europe. 
 
 I suppose it is natural to man to worship 
 success; but ever since 1870 it is certainly 
 the fact that if you wish to gain respect and 
 consideration for any proposed change of system 
 you must say, " They do it so in Germany." 
 In education and science this is especially the 
 case. Pedants always admire pedants. And 
 Germany having shown herself to be easily 
 first of European States in her pedant-manu- 
 facturing machinery, all the assembled dominies 
 of all the rest of the world exclaimed with one 
 
'MERE amateurs:' 89 
 
 voice, " Go to ! Let us Germanise our educa- 
 tional system ! " 
 
 Now, the German is an excellent workman in 
 his way. Patient, laborious, conscientious, he has 
 all the highest qualities of the ideal brick-maker. 
 He produces the best bricks, and you can gene- 
 rally depend upon him to turn out both honest 
 and workmanlike articles. But he is not an 
 architect. For the architectonic faculty in its 
 highest developments you must come to Eng- 
 land. And he is not a teaclier or expounder. 
 For the expository faculty in its purest form, 
 the faculty that enables men to flash forth 
 clearly and distinctly before the eyes of others 
 the facts and principles they know and perceive 
 themselves, you must go to France. Oh, dear, 
 yes ; we may well be proud of England, llemem- 
 ber, I have already disclaimed more than once in 
 these papers the vulgar error of patriotism. But 
 freedom from that narrow vice does not imply 
 inability to recognise the good qualities of one's 
 own race as well as the bad ones. And the 
 Englishman, left to himself and his own native 
 methods, used to cut a very respectable figure 
 indeed in the domain of science. No other nation 
 
90 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 has produced a Newton or a Darwin. The 
 Englishman's way was to get up an interest in a 
 subject first; and then, working back from the 
 part of it that specially appealed to his own 
 tastes, to make himself master of the entire field 
 of inquiry. This natural and thoroughly indi- 
 vidualistic English method enabled him to arrive 
 at new results in a way impossible to the 
 pedantically educated German — nay, even to the 
 lucidly and systematically educated Frenchman. 
 It was the plan to develop "mere amateurs," 
 I admit; but it was also the plan to develop 
 discoverers and revolutionisers of science. For 
 the man most likely to advance knowledge is 
 not the man who knows in an encyclopaedic 
 rote-work fashion the whole circle of the 
 sciences, but the man who takes a fresh interest 
 for its own sake in some particular branch of 
 inquiry. 
 
 Darwin was a "mere amateur." He worked 
 at things for the love of them. So were Mur- 
 chison, Lyell, Benjamin Franklin, Herschel. So 
 were or are Bates, Herbert Spencer, Alfred 
 Russel Wallace. "Mere amateurs!" every man 
 of them. 
 
''MERE AMATEURS." 9I 
 
 In an evil hour, however, our pastors and 
 masters in conclave assembled said to one an- 
 other, " Come now, let us Teutonise English 
 scientific education." And straightway they Teu- 
 tonised it. And there began to arise in England 
 a new brood of patent machine-mude scientists 
 — excellent men in their way, authorities on 
 the Arachnida, knowing all about everything 
 that could be taught in the schools, but lacking 
 somehow the supreme grace of the old English 
 originality. They are first-rate specialists, T 
 allow; and I don't deny that a civilised country 
 has all need of specialists. Nay, I even admit 
 that the day of the specialist has only just 
 begun. He will yet go far; he will impose 
 himself and his yoke upon us. But don't let 
 us therefore make the grand mistake of con- 
 cluding that our fine old English birthright in 
 science — the birthright that gave us our Newtons, 
 our Cavendishes, our Darwins, our Lyells — was 
 all folly and error. Don't let us spoil ourselves 
 in order to become mere second-hand Germans. 
 Let us recognise the fact that each nation has 
 a work of its own to do in the world; and 
 that as star from star, so one nation differeth 
 
92 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 from another in glory. Let each of us thank 
 the goodness and the grace that on his birth 
 have smiled, that he was born of Englisli breed, 
 and not a German child. 
 
 "Don't you think," a military gentleman once 
 said to me, "the Germans are wonderful organ- 
 isers ? " " No," I answered, " I don't ; but I think 
 they're excellent drill-sergeants." 
 
 There are people who drop German authori- 
 ties upon you as if a Teutonic name were 
 guarantee enough for anything. They say, " Haus- 
 berger asserts," or "According to Schimmelpen- 
 ninck." This is pure fetichism. Believe me, 
 your man of science isn't necessarily any the 
 better because he comes to you with the label, 
 "Made in Germany." The German instinct is 
 the instinct of Frederick William of Prussia — 
 the instinct of drilling. Very thorough and 
 eflficient men in their way it turns out; men 
 versed in all the lore of their chosen subject. 
 If they are also men of transcendent ability 
 (as often happens), they can give us a com- 
 prehensive view of their own chosen field such 
 as few Englishmen (except Sir Archibald Geikie, 
 
''MERE AMATEURS." 93 
 
 and he's a Scot) cau equal. If 1 wanted to 
 select a learned man for a special Government 
 post — British Museum, and so forth — I dare 
 say I should often be compelled to admit, as 
 Government often admits, that the best man 
 then and there obtainable is the German. But 
 if I wanted to train Herbert Spencers and 
 Faradays, I would certainly 7iot send them to 
 Bonn or to Berlin. John Stuart Mill was an 
 English Scotchman, educated and stuffed by his 
 able father on the German system ; and how 
 much of spontaneity, of vividness, of verve, we 
 all of us feel John Stuart Mill lost by it ! 
 One often wonders to what great, to what still 
 greater, things that lofty brain iight not hav(i 
 attained, if only James Mill would have given it 
 a chance to develop itself naturally ! 
 
 Our English gift is originality. Our English 
 keynote is individuality. Let us cling to those 
 precious heirlooms of our Celtic ancestry, and 
 refuse to be Teutonised. Let us discard the 
 lessons of the Potsdam grenadiers. Let us write 
 on the pediment of our educational temple, "No 
 German need apply." Let us disclaim that silly 
 
94 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 phrase "A mere amateur." Let us return to 
 the simple iaith iu direct observation that made 
 English science supreme in Europe. 
 
 And may the Lord gi'e us Britons a guid 
 conceit o' oorsel's ! 
 
XII. 
 
 A SQUALID VILLAGE. 
 
 Strange that the wealthiest class in the wealthiest 
 country in the world should so long have been 
 content to inhabit a squalid village ! 
 
 I'm not going to compare London, as English- 
 men often do, with Paris or Vienna. I won't 
 do two great towns that gross injustice. And, 
 indeed, comparison here is quite out of the 
 question. You don't compare Oxford with Little 
 Peddlington, or Edinburgh with Thrums, and 
 then ask which is the handsomest. Things must 
 be alike in kind before you can begin to com- 
 pare them. And London and Paris are not 
 alike in kind. One is a city, and a noble city; 
 the other is a village, and a squalid village. 
 
 No; I will not even take a humbler standard 
 of comparison, and look at London side by side 
 with Brussels, Antwerp, Munich, Turin. Each 
 of those is a city, and a fine city in its way; 
 
 95 
 
96 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 but each of them is small. Still, even by their 
 side, London is again but a squalid village. 1 
 insist upon that point, because, misled by their 
 ancient familiarity with London, most English- 
 men have had their senses and understandings 
 so blunted on this issue, that they really don't 
 know what is meant by a town, or a fine town, 
 when they see one. And don't suppose it's 
 because London is in Britain and these other 
 towns out of it that I make these remarks : for 
 Bath is a tine town, Edinburgh is a line town, 
 even Glasgow and Newcastle are towns, while 
 London is still a straggling, sprawling, inverte- 
 brate, inchoate, overgrown village. I am as 
 free, I hope, from anti-patriotic as from patriotic 
 prejudice. The High Street in Oxford, Milsom 
 Street in Bath, Princes Street in Edinburgh, 
 those are all fine streets that would attract 
 attention even in France or Germany. i)ut the 
 Strand, Piccadilly, Ptcgent Street, Oxford Street 
 — good Lord, deliver us ! 
 
 One more caveat as to my meaning. When I 
 cite among real towns Brussels, Antwerp, and 
 Munich, I am not thinking of the treasures of 
 art those beautiful places contain ; that is another 
 
A SQUALID VILLAGE. 97 
 
 and altogether higher question. Towns supreme 
 in this respect often lag far behind others of 
 less importance — lag behind in those external 
 features and that general architectural effective- 
 ness which rightly entitle us to say in a broad 
 sense, "This is a fhie city." Florence, for 
 example, contains more treasures of art in a 
 small space than any other town of Europe; 
 yet Florence, though undoubtedly a town, and 
 even a fine town, is not to bo compared in this 
 respect, I do not say with Venice or Brussels, 
 but even with Munich or Milan. On the other 
 hand, London contains far more treasures of art 
 in its way than Boston, Massachusetts; but 
 Boston is a handsome, well-built, regular town, 
 while London — well, I will spare you the further 
 repetition of the trite truism that London is a 
 squalid village. In one word, the point I am 
 seeking to bring out here is that a town, as a 
 town, is handsome or otherwise, not in virtue 
 of the works of art or antiquity it contains, but 
 in virtue of its ground-nlau, its architecture, its 
 external and visible decorations and places — the 
 Louvre, the Boulevards, the Champs Elysdes, the 
 Place de I'Opera. 
 
98 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Now London has no ground-plan. It has no 
 street architecture. It has no decorations, though 
 it has many uglifications. It is frankly and simply 
 and ostentatiously hideous. And being wholly 
 wanting in a system of any sort — in organic 
 parts, in idea, in views, in vistas — it is only a 
 village, and a painfully uninteresting one. 
 
 Most Englishmen see London before they see 
 any other great town. They become so familiar- 
 ised with it that their sense of comparison is 
 dulled and blunted. I had the good fortune to 
 have seen many other great towns before I ever 
 saw London : and I shall never forget my first 
 sense of surprise at its unmitigated ugliness. 
 
 Get on top of an omnibus — I don't say in 
 Paris, from the Palais lioyal to the A^^c de 
 Triomphe, but in lirussels, from the Gare du 
 Nord to the Palais de Justice — and what do 
 you see ? From end to end one unbroken suc- 
 cession of noble and open prospects. I'm not 
 thinking now of the Grande Place in the old 
 town, with its magnificent collection of mediaaval 
 buildings ; the Great Fire effectively deprived 
 us of our one sole chance of such an element of 
 beauty in modern London. I confine myself on 
 
A SQUALID VILLAGE. 99 
 
 purpose to the parts of Brussels which are purely 
 recent, and might have been imitated at a dis- 
 tance in London, if there had been any public 
 spirit or any public body in England to imitate 
 them. (But unhappily there was neither.) lie- 
 call to mind as you read tlie strikingly hand- 
 some street view that greets you as you emerge 
 from the Northern Station down the great central 
 Boulevards to the Gare du Midi — all built within 
 our own memory. Then think of the prospects 
 that gradually unfold themselves as you rise on 
 the hill ; the line vista north towards Sainte 
 Marie de Schaarbeck ; the beautiful Eue Royale, 
 bounded by that charming Pare; the uner|ualled 
 stretch of the Paie de la Eegence, starting from 
 the Place Eoyale with Godfrey of Bouillon, and 
 ending with the imposing mass of the Palais de 
 Justice. It is to me a matter for mingled sur- 
 prise and humiliation tliat so many Englishmen 
 can look year after year at that glorious street 
 — perhaps the finest in the world — and yet never 
 think to themselves, " Mightn't we faintly imitate 
 some small part of this in our wealtliy, ugly, un- 
 compromising London ? " 
 
 I always say to Americans who come to 
 
100 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Europe : " When you go to England, don't see our 
 towns, but see our country. Our country is some- 
 thing unequalled in the world : while our towns ! 
 — well, anyway, keep away from London ! " 
 
 With the solitary and not very brilliant excep- 
 tion of the Embankment, there isn't a street in 
 London where one could take a stranger to admire 
 the architecture. Compare that record with the 
 new Boulevards in Antwerp, where almost every 
 house is worth serious study : or with the Eing 
 at Cologne (to keep close home all the time), 
 where one can see whole rows of German Re- 
 naissance houses of extraordinary interest. What 
 street in London can be mentioned in this re- 
 spect side by side with Commonwealth Avenue 
 or Beacon Street in Boston ; with Euclid Avenue 
 in Cleveland, Ohio ; with the upper end of Fifth 
 Avenue, New York; nay, even with the new Via 
 Roma at Genoa ? Why is it that we English 
 can't get on the King's Road at Brighton any- 
 thing faintly approaching that splendid sea front 
 on the Digue at Ostend, or those coquettish white 
 villas that line the Promenade des Anglais at 
 Nice ? The blight of London seems to lie over 
 all Southern England. 
 
A SQUALID VILLAGE. loi 
 
 Paris looks like the capital of a world-wide 
 empire. Londou looks like a shapeless neglected 
 suburb, allowed to grow up by accident anyhow. 
 And that's just the plain truth of it. 'Tis a for- 
 tuitous concourse of hap-hazard houses. 
 
 " But we are improving somewhat. The County 
 Council is opening out a few new thoroughfares 
 piecemepl." Oh yes, in an illogical, unsystematic, 
 English patchwork fashion, we are driving a badly- 
 designed, unimpressive new street or two, with no 
 expansive sense of imperial greatness, through the 
 hopelessly congested and most squalid quarters. 
 But that is all. No grand, systematic, recon- 
 structive plan, no rising to the height of the 
 occasion and the Empire ! You tinker away at 
 a Shaftesbury Avenue. Parochial, all of it. And 
 there you get the real secret of our futile attempts 
 at making a town out of our squalid village. The 
 fault lies all at the door of the old Corporation, 
 and of the people who made and still make the 
 old Corporation possible. For centuries, indeed, 
 there was really no London, not even a village; 
 there was only a scratch collection of contiguous 
 villages. The consequence was that here, at the 
 centre of national life, the English people grew 
 
102 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 wholly unaccustomed to the bare idea of a town, 
 and managed everything piecemeal, on the petty 
 scale of a country vestry. The vestryman in- 
 telligence has now overrun the land ; and if the 
 London County Council ever succeeds at last in 
 making the congeries of villages into — I do not 
 say a city, for that is almost past praying for, 
 but something analogous to a second-rate Con- 
 tinental town, it will only be after long lapse 
 of time and violent struggles with the vestry- 
 man level of intellect and feeling. 
 
 London had many great disadvantages to start 
 with. She lay in a dull and marshy bottom, 
 with no building stone at hand, and therefore 
 she was forecondenined by her very position to 
 the curse of brick and stucco, when Bath, Oxford, 
 Edinburgh, were all built out of their own 
 quarries. Then fire destroyed all her mediaeval 
 architecture, leaving her only Westminster Abbey 
 to suggest the greatness of her losses. But 
 brick-earth and fire have been as nothing in 
 their way by the side of the evil wrought by 
 Gog and Magog. When five hundred trembling 
 ghosts of naked Lord Mayors have to answer 
 for their follies and their sins hereafter, I con- 
 
A SQUALID VILLAGE. 103 
 
 fidently expect the first question in the appalling 
 indictment will be, " Why did you allow the 
 richest nation on earth to house its metropolis 
 in a squalid village ? " 
 
 "We have a Molocli in England to whom we 
 sacrifice much. And his hateful name is Vested 
 Interest. 
 
XIII. 
 
 CONCERNING ZEITGEIST. 
 
 A CERTAIN story is told about Mr. Ruskin, no 
 doubt apocryphal, but at any rate characteristic. 
 A young lady, fresh from the Abyss of Bays- 
 water, met the sage one evening at dinner a 
 
 gushing young lady, as many such there be— 
 who, aglow with joy, boarded the Professor at 
 once with her private art-experiences. "Oh, Mr. 
 Ruskin," she cried, clasping her hands, "do you 
 know, I hadn't been two days in Florence before 
 I discovered what you meant when you spoke 
 about the supreme imapproachableness of Botti- 
 celli." "Indeed?" Buskin answered. "Well, 
 that's very remarkable; for it took me, myself, 
 half a lifetime to discover it." 
 
 The answer, of course, was meant to be crush- 
 ing. How should she, a brand plucked from 
 the burning of Bayswater, be able all at once, 
 on the very first blush, to appreciate Botticelli? 
 
CONCERNING ZEITGEIST. 105 
 
 Aud it took the greatest critic of his age half 
 a lifetime! Yet I venture to maintain, for all 
 that, that the young lady was right, and that the 
 critic was wrong — if such a thing be conceivable. 
 I know, of course, that when we speak of Ruskin 
 we must walk delicately, like Agag. But still, 
 I repeat it, the young lady was riglit ; and it 
 was largely the unconscious, pervasive action of 
 Mr. Ruskin's own personality that enabled her 
 to be so. 
 
 It's all the Zeitgeist : that's where it is. The 
 slow irresistible Zeitgeist. Fifty years ago, men's 
 taste had been so warped and distorted by current 
 art and current criticism that they couldn't see 
 Botticelli, however hard they tried at it. He 
 was a sealed book to our fathers. In those days 
 it required a brave, a vigorous, and an original 
 thinker to discover any merit in any painter 
 before Eaffael, except perhaps, as Goldsmith wisely 
 remarked, Perugino. The man who went then 
 to the Uffizi or the Pitti, after admiring as in 
 duty bound his High Renaissance masters, found 
 himself suddenly confronted with the Judith or 
 the Calumny, and straightway wondered what 
 manner of strange wild beasts these were that 
 
io6 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 some insane early Tuscan had once painted to 
 amuse himself in a lucid interval. They were 
 not in the least like the Correggios and the 
 Guidos, the Lawrences and the Opies, that the 
 men of that time had formed their taste upon, 
 and accepted as their sole artistic standards. 
 To people brought up upon pure David and 
 Thorvaldsen, the Primavera at the Belle Arti 
 must naturally have seemed like a wild freak of 
 madness. The Zeitgeist then went all in the 
 direction of cold lifeless correctness ; the idea 
 that the painter's soul counted for something in 
 art was an undreamt of heresy. 
 
 On your way back from Paris some day, stop a 
 night at Amiens and take the Cathedral seriously. 
 Half the stately interior of that glorious thirteenth 
 century pile is encrusted and overlaid by hideous 
 gewgaw monstrosities of the flashiest Bernini and 
 baroque period. Tliere they sprawl their obtru- 
 sive legs and wave their flaunting theatrical wings 
 to the utter destruction of all repose and con- 
 sistency in one of the noblest and most perfect 
 buildings of Europe. Nowadays, any child, any 
 workman can see at a glance how ugly and 
 how disfiguring those floppy creatures are; it is 
 
CONCERNING ZEITGEIST. 107 
 
 impossible to look at tliem without saying to 
 oneself: "Why don't they clear away all this 
 high-faluting rubbish, and let us see the real 
 columns and arches and piers as their makers 
 designed them?" Yet who was it that put 
 them there, those unspeakable angels in muslin 
 drapery, those fly-away nymphs and graces and 
 seraphim? Why, the best and most skilled 
 artists of their day in Europe. And whence 
 comes it that the merest child can now see in- 
 stinctively how out of place they are, how dis- 
 figuring, how incongruous? Why, because the 
 Gothic revival has taught us all by degrees to 
 appreciate the beauty and delicacy of a style 
 which to our eighteenth century ancestors was 
 mere barbaric medisevalism ; has taught us to 
 admire its exquisite purity, and to dislike the 
 obstrusive introduction into its midst of incon- 
 gruous and meretricious Bernini-like tlimsiness. 
 
 The Zeitgeist has changed, and we have 
 changed with it. 
 
 It is just the same with our friend Botticelli. 
 Scarce a dozen years ago, it was almost an affecta- 
 tion to pretend you admired him. It is no affec- 
 tation now. Hundreds of assorted young women 
 
io8 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 from the Abyss of Bayswater may rise auy morn- 
 ing here in sacred Florence and stand genuinely 
 enchanted before the Adoration of the Kings, or 
 the Venus who floats on her floating shell in a 
 Botticellian ocean. And why ? Because Leigh- 
 ton, Holman Hunt, Rossetti, Burne-Jones, Madox 
 Brown, Strudwick, have led them slowly up to 
 it by golden steps innumerable. Thirty years ago 
 the art of the early Tuscan painters was some- 
 thing to us Northerners exotic, strange, uncon- 
 nected, archaeological. Gradually, it has been 
 brought nearer and nearer to us on the walls of 
 the Grosvenor and the New Gallery, till now 
 he that runs may read ; the ingenuous maiden, 
 fished from the Abyss of Bayswater, can drink 
 in at a glance what it took a liuskin many years 
 of his life and much slow development to attain 
 to piecemeal. 
 
 That is just what all great men are for — to 
 make the world accept as a truism in the genera- 
 tion after them what it rejected as a paradox in 
 the generation before them. 
 
 Not, of course, that there isn't a little of affec- 
 tation, and still more of fashion, to the very end 
 in all of it. An immense number of people, 
 
CONCERNING ZEITGEIST. log 
 
 incapable of genuinely admiring anything for its 
 own sake at all, are anxious only to he told 
 what they "ought to admire, don't you know," 
 and will straightway proceed as conscientiously 
 as they can to get up an admiration for it. 
 A friend of mine told me a beautiful example. 
 Two aspiring young women, of the limp-limbed, 
 short-haired, resthetic species, were standing rapt 
 before the circular Madonna at the Uffizi. They 
 had gazed at it long and lovingly, seeing it bore 
 on its frame the magic name of Botticelli. Of 
 a sudden one of the pair happened to look a 
 little nearer at the accusing label. " Why, this 
 is not Sandro," she cried, with a revulsion of 
 disgust; "this is only Aless." And straightway 
 they went off from the spot in high dudgeon 
 at having been misled as they supposed into 
 examining the work of "another person of the 
 same name." 
 
 Need I point the moral of my apologue, in 
 this age of enlightenment, by explaining, for the 
 benefit of the junior members, that the gentle- 
 man's full name was really Alessandro, and that 
 both abbreviations are impartially intended to 
 cover his one and indivisible personality? The 
 
no POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 first half is official, like Alex. ; the second affec- 
 tionate and familiar, like Sandy. 
 
 StiU, even after making due allowance for 
 such humbugs as these, a vast residuum remains 
 of people who, if born sixty years ago, could 
 never by any ])ossibility have been made to see 
 there was anything admirable in Lippi, Botticelli, 
 Giotto ; but who, having; been born thirty years 
 ago, see it without an effort. Hundreds who read 
 these lines must themselves remember the un- 
 mistakable thrill of genuine pleasure with which 
 they first gazed upon the Fra Angelicos at San 
 Marco, the Memlings at Bruges, the Giottos in 
 the Madonna dell' Arena at Padua. To many 
 of us, those are real epochs in our inner life. 
 To the men of fifty years ago, the bare avowal 
 itself would have seemed little short of affected 
 silliness. 
 
 Is the change all due to the teaching of the 
 teachers and the preaching of the preachers ? I 
 think not entirely. For, after all, the teachers 
 and the preachers are but a little ahead of the 
 age they live in. They see things earlier ; they 
 help to lead us up to them ; but they do not 
 wholly produce the revolutions they inaugu- 
 
CONCERNING ZEITGEIST. in 
 
 rate. Ilumanity as a whole develops consistently 
 along certain pre-established and predestined lines. 
 Sooner or later, a certain point must inevitably 
 be reached ; but some of us reach it sooner, 
 and most of us later. That's all the difference. 
 Every great change is mainly due to the fact 
 that we have all already attained a certain point 
 in development. A step in advance becomes in- 
 evitable after that, and one after another we are 
 sure to take it. In one word, what it needed 
 a man of genius to see dimly thirty years ago, 
 it needs a singular fool not to see clearly nowa- 
 days. 
 
XIV. 
 
 THE DECLINE OF MARRIAGE. 
 
 Men don't marry nowadays. So everybody tells 
 us. And I suppose we may therefore conclude, 
 by a simple act of inference, that women in 
 turn don't marry either. It takes two, of course, 
 to make a quarrel — or a marriage. 
 
 Why is this ? " Young people nowadays want 
 to begin where neir fathers left off." "Men 
 are made so comfortable at present in their 
 clubs." " College-bred girls have no taste for 
 housekeeping." "Eents are so hi-U and manners 
 so luxurious." Good heavens, what silly trash, 
 what puerile nonsense! Are we all little boys 
 and girls, I ask you, that wo are to put one 
 another off with such transparent humbug? 
 Here we have to deal with a primitive instinct 
 — the profoundest and deepest-seated instinct of 
 humanity, save only the instincts of food and 
 drink and of self-preservation. Man, like all 
 
 113 
 
THE DECLINE OF MARRIAGE. 113 
 
 other animals, has two main functions: to feed 
 his own organism, and to reproduce his species. 
 Ancestral habit leads him, when mature, to choose 
 himself a mate— because he loves her. It drives 
 him, it urges him, it goads him irresistibly. If 
 this profound impulse is really lacking to-day 
 in any large part of our race, there must be 
 some correspondingly profound and adequate reason 
 for It. Don't let us deceive ourselves with shal- 
 low platitudes which may do for drawing-rooms. 
 This is philosophy, even though post-prandial. 
 Let us try to take a philosophic view of the 
 question at issue, from the point of vantage of a 
 biological outlook. 
 
 Before you begin to investigate the causes of a 
 phenomenon qmlconque, 'tis well to decide whether 
 the phenomenon itself is there to investigate. 
 
 Taking society throughout— 710^^ in the sense 
 of those " forty families " to which the term is 
 restricted by Lady Charles Beresford— I doubt 
 whether marriage is much out of fashion. Statis- 
 tics show a certain decrease, it is true, but not 
 an alarming one. Among the labouring classes, 
 I imagine men, and also women, still wed pretty 
 frequently. When people say, « Young men won't 
 
 H 
 
114 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 marry nowadays," they mean young men in a 
 particular stratum of society, roughly bounded by 
 a silk hat on Sundays. Now, when you and 
 I were young (I take it for granted that you 
 and I are approaching the fifties) young men did 
 marry ; even within this restricted area, 'twas 
 their wholesome wav in life to form an attach- 
 ment early with some nice girl in their own set, 
 and to start at least with the idea of marrying 
 her. Toward that goal they worked ; for that 
 end they endured and sacrificed many things. 
 True, even then, the long engagement was the 
 rule; but the long engagement itself meant some 
 persistent impulse, some strong impetus marriage- 
 wards. The desire of the man to make this 
 woman his own, the longing to make t'lis woman 
 happy — normal and healthy endowments of our 
 race — had still much driving-power. Nowadays, 
 I seriously think I observe in most young men 
 of the middle class around me a distinct and 
 disastrous weakening of the impulse. They don't 
 fall in love as frankly, as honestly, as irretriev- 
 ably as they used to do. They shilly-shally, 
 they pick and choose, they discuss, they criti- 
 cise. They say themselves these futile foolish 
 
THE DECLINE OF MARRIAGE. 115 
 
 things about the club, and the flat, and the cost 
 of living. They believe in Malthus. Fancy a 
 young man who believes in Malthus ! They seem 
 in no hurry at all to get married. But thirty or 
 forty years ago, young men used to rush by blind 
 instinct into the toils of matrimony— because they 
 couldn't help themselves. Such Laodicean lukj- 
 warmness betokens in the class wliich exhibits it 
 a weakening of impulse. That weakening of im- 
 pulse is really the thing we have to account for. 
 
 Yoxmg men of a certain type don't marry, 
 because— they are less of young men than 
 formerly. 
 
 Wild animals in confinement seldom propa- 
 gate their kind. Only a few caged birds will 
 continue their species. Whatever upsets the 
 balance of the organism in an individual or a 
 race tends first of all to affect the rate of re- 
 production. Civilise the red man, and he begins 
 to decrease at once in numbers. Turn the 
 >Sandwich Islands into a trading community, and 
 the native Hawaiian refuses forthwith to give 
 hostages to fortune. Tahiti is dwindling. From 
 the moment the Tasmanians were taken to Nor- 
 folk Island, not a single Tasmanian baby was 
 
ii6 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 born. The Jesuits made a model community of 
 Paraguay ; but they altered the habits of the 
 Paraguayans so fast that the reverend iathers, 
 who were, of course, themselves celibates, were 
 compelled to take strenuous and even grotesque 
 measures to prevent the complete and immediate 
 extinction of their converts. Other cases in abun- 
 dance I might quote an I would ; but I limit 
 myself to these. They suffice to exhibit the 
 general principle involved ; any grave upset in 
 the conditions of life affects first and at once the 
 fertility of a species. 
 
 " But colonists often increase with rapidity." 
 Ay, marry, do they, where the conditions of life 
 are easy. At the present day most colonists go 
 to fairly civilised regions ; they are transported 
 to their new home by steamboat and railway ; 
 they find for the most part more abundant pro- 
 vender and more wholesome surroundings than 
 in their native country. There is no real upset. 
 Better food and easier life, as Herbert Spencer 
 has shown, result (other things equal) in increased 
 fertility. His chapters on this subject in the 
 " Principles of Biology " should be read by every- 
 body who pretends to talk on questions of popu- 
 
THE DECLINE OF MARRIAGE. 117 
 
 lation. But in new and difficult colonies the in- 
 crease is slight. Whatever compels greater wear 
 and tear of the nervous system proves inimical 
 to the reproductive function. The strain and 
 stress of co-ordination with novel circumstances 
 and novel relations affect most injuriously the 
 organic balance. The African negro has Ion" 
 been accustomed to agricultural toil and to certain 
 simple arts in his own country. Transported to 
 the West Indies and the United States, he found 
 life no harder than of old, if not, indeed, easier. 
 He had abundant food, protection, security, a kind 
 of labour for which he was well adapted. In- 
 stead of dying out, therefore, he was fruitful, 
 and multiplied, and replenished the earth amaz- 
 ingly. But the Eed Indian, caught blatant in 
 the hunting stage, refused to be tamed, and 
 could not swallow civilisation. He pined and 
 dwined and decreased in his " reservations." The 
 change was too great, too abrupt, too brusque 
 for him. The papoose before long became an 
 extinct animal. 
 
 Is not the same thing true of the middle class 
 of England ? Civilisation and its works have come 
 too quickly upon us. The strain and stress of 
 
Il8 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 correlating and co-ordinating the world we live 
 in are getting too much for us. Railways, tele- 
 graphs, the penny post, the special edition, have 
 played havoc at last with our nervous systems. 
 We are always on the stretch, rushing and tear- 
 ing perpetually. We bolt our breakfasts; we 
 catch the train or 'bus by the skin of our 
 teeth, to rattle us into the City ; we run down 
 to Scotland or over to Paris on business; we 
 lunch in London and dine in Glasgow, Bel- 
 fast, or Calcutta. (Excuse imagination.) The 
 tape clicks perpetually in our ears the last quota- 
 tion in Eries ; the telephone rings us up at 
 inconvenient moments. Something is always hap- 
 pening somewhere to disturb our equanimity ; we 
 tear open the Times with feverish haste, to learn 
 that Kimberleys or Jabez Balfour have fallen, 
 that Matabeleland has been painted red, that 
 shares have gone up, or gone down, or evapo- 
 rated. Life is one turmoil of excitement and 
 bustle. Financially, 'tis a series of dissolving 
 views ; personally 'tis a rush ; socially, 'tis a 
 mosaic of deftly-fitted engagements. Drop out 
 one piece, and you can never replace it. You 
 are full next week from Monday to Saturday — 
 
THE DECLINE OF MARRIAGE. 119 
 
 business all day, what calls itself pleasure (save 
 the mark !) all evening. Poor old Leisure is dead. 
 We hurry and scurry and flurry eternally. One 
 whirl of work from morning till night: then 
 dress and dine : one whirl of excitement from 
 night till morning. A snap of troubled sleep, 
 and again da ca'po. Not an hour, not a minute, 
 we can call our own. A wire from a patient 
 ill abed in Warwickshire ! A wire from a client 
 hard hit in Hansards ! Endless editors askinj; 
 for more copy ! more copy ! Alter to suit your 
 own particular trade, and 'tis the life of all 
 of us. 
 
 The first generation after Stephenson and the 
 Eocket pulled through with it somehow. They 
 inherited the sound constitutions of the men who 
 sat on rustic seats in the gardens of the twenties. 
 The second generation — that's you and me — felt 
 the strain of it more severely : new machines 
 had come in to make life still more complicated: 
 sixpenny telegrams, Bell and Edison, submarine 
 cables, evening papers, perturbations pouring in 
 from all sides incessantly; the suburbs growing, 
 the hubbub increasing, Metropolitan railways, 
 
 ^«fcfl.r>*"jn«Mk»^'Kr'W,t»«^cr^yrj.VK- ^» 
 
I20 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 trams, bicycles, innumerable : but natheless we 
 still endured, and presented the world all the same 
 with a third generation. Tliat third generation 
 — ah me ! there comes the pity of it ! One 
 fancies the impulse to marry and rear a family 
 has wholly died out of it. It seems to have 
 died out most in the class where the strain and 
 stress are greatest. I don't think young men of 
 that class to-day have the same feelings towards 
 women of their sort as formerly. Nobody, I 
 trust, will mistake me for a reactionary : in most 
 ways, the modern young man is a vast improve- 
 ment on you and me at twenty-five. But I 
 believe there is really among young men in 
 towns less chivalry, less devotion, less romance 
 than there used to be. That, I take it, is the 
 true reason why young men don't marry. With 
 certain classes and in certain places a primitive 
 instinct of our race has weakened. They say 
 this weakening is accompanied in towns by an 
 increase in sundry hateful and degrading vices. 
 I don't know if that is so ; but at least one 
 would expect it. Any enfeeblement of the normal 
 and natural instinct of virilitv would show itself 
 
 i.tJ':at»>^*,«>>e*Mfc«n*i.--« 
 
THE DECLINE OF MARRIAGE. 121 
 
 first in morbid aberrations. On that I say 
 nothing. I only say this— that I think the 
 present crisis in the English marriage market 
 IS due, not to clubs or the comfort of bachelor 
 quarters, but to the cumulative effect of nervous 
 over-excitement. 
 
XV. 
 
 EYE VERSUS EAR. 
 
 It is admitted on all hands by this time, I sup- 
 pose, that the best way of learning is by eye, not 
 by ear. Therefore the authorities that prescribe 
 for us our education among all classes have de- 
 cided that we shall learn by ear, not by eye. 
 Which is just what one might expect from a 
 vested interest. 
 
 Of course this superiority of sight over hearing 
 is pre-eminently true of natural science — that is 
 to say, of nine-tenths among the subjects worth 
 learning by humanity. The only real way to 
 learn geology, for example, is not to mug it up 
 in a printed text-book, but to go into the field 
 with a geologist's hammer. The only real way to 
 learn zoology and botany is not by reading a 
 volume of natural history, but by collecting, dis- 
 secting, observing, preserving, and comparing speci- 
 mens. Therefore, of course, natural science has 
 
 122 
 
 -j^ 
 
 iJ 
 
EYE VERSUS EAR. 123 
 
 never been a favourite study in the eyes of school- 
 masters, who prefer those subjects which can be 
 taught in a room to a row of boys on a bench, 
 and who care a great deal less than nothing 
 for any subject which isn't "good to examine 
 in." Educational value and importance in after 
 life have been sacrificed to the teacher's ease and 
 convenience, or to the readiness with which the 
 pupil's progress can be tested on paper. Not 
 what is best to learn, but what is least trouble 
 to teach in great squads to boys, forms the 
 staple of our modern English education. They 
 call it "education," I observe in the papers, and 
 I suppose we must fall in with that whim of 
 the profession. 
 
 But even the subjects which belong by rights 
 to the ear can nevertheless be taught by the eye 
 more readily. Everybody knows how much easier 
 it is to get up the history and geography of a 
 country when you are actually in it than when 
 you are merely reading about it. It lives and 
 moves before you. The places, the persons, the 
 monuments, the events, all become real to you. 
 Each illustrates each, and each tends to impress 
 the other on the memory. Sight burns them 
 
124 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 into the brain without conscious effort. You can 
 learn more of Egypt and of Egyptian history, 
 culture, hieroglyphics, and language in a few 
 short weeks at Luxor or Sakkarah than in a 
 year at the Louvre and the British Museum. 
 The Tombs of the Kings are worth many papyri. 
 The mere sight of the temples and obelisks and 
 monuments and inscriptions, in the places where 
 their makers originally erected them, gives a sense 
 of reality and interest to them all that no amount 
 of study under alien conditions can possibly equal. 
 We have all of us felt that the only place to 
 observe Flemish art to the greatest advantage is 
 at Ghent and Bruges and Brussels and Antwerp ; 
 just as the only place to learn Florentine art as 
 it really was is at the Uffizi and the Bargello. 
 
 These things being so, the authorities who have 
 charge of our public education, primary, secondary, 
 and tertiary, hav3 decided in their wisdom — to do 
 and compel tho exact contrary. Object-lessons 
 and the visible being admittedly preferable to 
 rote-lessons and the audible, they liave prescribed 
 that our education, so called, shall be mainly an 
 education not in things and properties, but in 
 books and readiucf. Thev have settled that it 
 
EYE VERSUS EAR. 125 
 
 shall deal almost entirely and exclusively with 
 language and with languages ; that words, not 
 objects, shall be the facts it impresses on the 
 minds of the pupils. In our primary schools 
 they have insisted upon nothing but reading and 
 writing, with just a smattering of arithmetic by 
 way of science. In our secondary schools they 
 have insisted upon nothing but Greek and Latin, 
 with about an equal leaven of algebra and geo- 
 metry. This mediaeval fare (I am delighted that 
 1 can thus agree for once with Professor Ray 
 Lankester) they have thrust down the throats of 
 all the world indiscriminately ; so much so that 
 nowadays people seem hardly able at last to con- 
 ceive of any other than a linguistic education as 
 possible. You will hear many good folk who talk 
 with contempt of Greek and Latin ; but when you 
 come to inquire what new mental pabulum they 
 would substitute for those quaint and grotesque 
 survivals of the Dark Ages, you find what they 
 want instead is — modern languages. The idea 
 that language of any sort forms no necessary 
 element in a liberal education has never even 
 occurred to them. They take it for granted that 
 when you leave off feeding boys on straw and 
 
126 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 oats you must supply them instead with hay 
 and sawdust. 
 
 Not that I rage against Greek and Latin as such. 
 It is well ve should have many specialists among 
 us who understand them, just as it is well we 
 should have specialists in Anglo-Saxon and San- 
 skrit. I merely mean that they are not the sum 
 and substance of educational method. They are 
 at best but two languages of considerable import- 
 ance to the student of purely human evolution. 
 
 Furthermore, even these comparatively useless 
 linguistic subjects could themselves be taught far 
 better by sight than by hearing. A week at 
 Eome would give your average boy a much clearer 
 idea of the relations of the Capitol with the 
 Palatine than all the pretty maps in Dr. Wiiliam 
 Smith's Smaller Classical Dictionary. It would 
 give him also a sense of the reality of the Latin 
 language and the Latin literature, which he could 
 never pick up out of a dog-eared Livy or a 
 thumb-marked ^neid. You have only to look 
 across from the top of the Janiculum, towards the 
 white houses of Frascati, to learn a vast deal more 
 about the Alban hills and the site of Tusculum 
 than ever you could mug up from all the geo- 
 
EYE VERSUS EAR. 127 
 
 graphy books in the British Museum. The way 
 to learn every subject on earth, even book-lore 
 included, is not out of books alone, but by actual 
 observation. 
 
 And yet it is impossible for any one among us 
 to do otherwise than acquiesce in this vicious 
 circle. Why? Just because no man can dis- 
 sociate himself outright from the social organism 
 of which he forms a component member. He 
 can no more do so than the eye can dissociate 
 itself from the heart and lungs, or than the legs 
 can shake themselves free from the head and 
 stomach. We have all to learn, and to let our 
 boys learn, what authority decides for us. We 
 can't give them a better education than the aver- 
 age, even if we know what it is and desire to 
 impart it, because the better education, though 
 abstractly more valuable, is now and here the 
 inlet to nothing. Every door is barred with 
 examinations, and opens but to the golden key 
 of the crammer. Not what is of most real use 
 and importance in life, but what "pays best" in 
 examination, is the test of desirability. We are 
 the victims of a system; and our only hope of 
 redress is not by sporadic individual action but 
 
128 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 by concerted rebellion. We must cry out against 
 the abuse till at last we are heard by dint of our 
 much speaking. In a world so complex and so 
 highly organised as ours, the individual can only 
 do anything in the long run by influencing the 
 mass — by securing the co-operation of many 
 among his fellows. 
 
 Meanwhile, I believe it is gradually becoming 
 the fact that our girls, who till lately were so 
 very ill-taught, are beginning to know more of 
 what is really worth knowing than their public- 
 school-bred brothers. For the public school still 
 goes on with the system of teaching it has derived 
 direct from the thirteenth century ; while the 
 girls' schools, having started fair and fresh, are 
 beginning to assimilate certain newer ideas be- 
 longing to the seventeenth and even the eighteenth. 
 In time they may conceivably come down to the 
 more elementary notions of the present genera- 
 tion. Less hampered by professions and examina- 
 tions than the boys, the girls are beginning to 
 know something now, not indeed of the universe 
 in which they live, its laws and its properties, 
 but of literature and history, and the principal 
 facts about human development. Yet all the 
 
EYE VERSUS EAR. 129 
 
 time, the boys go on as ever with Miisa, Mus«, 
 like so many parrots, and are turned out at last, 
 in nine cases out of ten, with just enough smatter- 
 ing of Greek and Latin grammar to have acquired 
 a life-long distaste for Horace and an inconquer- 
 able incapacity for understanding /Eschylus. One 
 year in Italy with their eyes open would be 
 worth more than three at Oxford ; and six months 
 in the fields with a platyscopic lens would teach 
 them strange things about the world around them 
 that all the long terms at Harrow and Winchester 
 have failed to discover to them. But that would 
 involve some trouble to the teacher. 
 
 What a misfortune it is that we should thus 
 be compelled to let our boys' schooling interfere 
 with their education ! 
 
XVI. 
 
 THE POLITICAL PUPA. 
 
 I HA.VE picked up on the moor the chrysalis of 
 a common English butterfly. As I sit on the 
 heather and turn it over attentively, while it 
 wriggles in my hands, I can't help thinking how 
 closely it resembles the present condition of our 
 British commonwealth. It is a platitude, indeed, 
 to say that "this is an age of transition." But 
 it would be truer and more graphic perhaps to 
 put it that this is an age in which England, 
 and for the matter of that every other European 
 country as well, is passing through something like 
 the chrysalis stage in its evolution. 
 
 But, lirst of all, do you clearly understand what 
 a chrysalis is driving at ? It means more than 
 it seems; the change that goes on within that 
 impassive case is a great deal more profound 
 than most people imagine. When the caterpillar 
 
 is just ready to turn into a butterfly it lies 
 
 130 
 
THE POLITICAL PUPA. ,3, 
 
 by for a while, full of internal commotion, and 
 feels all its organs slowly melting one by one 
 into a sort of indistinguishable protoplasmic pulp ; 
 chaos precedes the definite re-establishment of a 
 fresh form of order. Limbs and parts and nervous 
 system all disappear for a time, and then gradu- 
 ally grow up again in new and altered types. 
 The caterpillar, if it philosopliised on its own 
 state at all (which seems to be very little the 
 habit of well-conducted caterpillars, as of well- 
 conducted young ladies), might easily be excused 
 for forming just at iirst the melancholy impres- 
 sion that a general dissolution was coming over it 
 piecemeal. It must begin by feeling legs and 
 eyes and nervous centres melt away by degrees 
 into a common indistinguishable organic pulp, 
 out of which the new organs only slowly form 
 themselves in obedience to the law of some 
 internal impulse. But when the process is all 
 over, and— hi, presto !— the butterfly emerges at 
 last from the chrysalis condition, what does it 
 find but that instead of having lost everything 
 it has new and stronger legs in place of the 
 old and feeble ones; it has nerves and brain 
 more developed than before; it has wings for 
 
i-,2 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 flight instead of mere creeping little feet to 
 crawl with ? What seemed like chaos was really 
 nothing more than the necessary kneading up 
 of all component parts into a plastic condition 
 which precedes every fresh departure in evolu- 
 tion. The old must fade before the new can 
 replace it. 
 
 Now I am not going to work this perhaps 
 somewhat fanciful analogy to death, or pretend 
 it is anything more than a convenient metaphor. 
 Still, taken as such, it is not without its lumi- 
 nosity. For a metaphor, by supplying us with 
 a picturable representation, often enables us really 
 to get at the hang of the thing a vast deal 
 better than the most solenm argument. And 
 I fancy communities sometimes pass through just 
 such a chrysalis stage, when it seems to the 
 timid and pessimistic in their midst as if every 
 component element of the State (but especially 
 the one in which they themselves and their 
 friends are particularly interested) were rushing 
 violently down a steep place to eternal perdition. 
 Chaos appears to be swallowing up everything. 
 " The natural relations of classes " disappear. 
 Faiths melt ; churches dissolve ; morals fade ; 
 
THE POLITICAL PUPA. 133 
 
 bonds fail; a universal magma of emancipated 
 opinion seems to take the place of old-established 
 dogma. The squires and the parsons of the 
 period — call them scribes or augurs — wring their 
 hands in despair, and cry aloud that they don't 
 know what the world is coming to. But, after 
 all, it is only the chrysalis stage of a new system. 
 The old social order must grow disjointed and 
 chaotic before the new social order can be^in to 
 evolve from it. The establishment of a plastic 
 consistency in the mass is the condition precedent 
 of the higher development. 
 
 Not, of course, that this consideration will ever 
 afiford one grain of comfort to the squires and 
 the parsons of each successive epoch; for what 
 they want is not the reasonable betterment of the 
 whole social organism, but the continuance of just 
 this particular type of squiredom and parsonry. 
 That is what they mean by "national welfare;" 
 and any interference with it they criticise in all 
 ages with the current equivalent for the familiar 
 Tory formula that « the country is going to the 
 devil." 
 
 Sometimes these great social reconstructions of 
 which I speak are forced upon communities by 
 
134 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 external factors interfering with their fixed in- 
 ternal order, as happened when the influx of 
 northern barbarians broke up the decaying and 
 rotten organism of the Roman Empire. Some- 
 times, again, they occur from internal causes, in 
 an acute, and so to speak, inflammatory condition, 
 as at the French Eevolution. But sometimes, 
 as in our own time and country, they are slowly 
 brought about by organic development, so as really 
 to resemble in all essential points the chrysalis 
 type of evolution. Politically, socially, theologi- 
 cally, ethically, the old fixed beliefs seem at such 
 periods to grow fluid or plastic. New feelings 
 and habits and aspirations take their place. For 
 a while a general chaos of conflicting opinions 
 and nascent ideas is produced. The mass for 
 the moment seems formless and lawless. Then 
 new order supervenes, as the magma settles down 
 and begins to crystallise ; till at last, I'm afraid, 
 the resulting social organism becomes for the most 
 part just as rigid, just as definite, just as dog- 
 matic, just as exacting, as the one it has super- 
 seded. The caterpillar has grown into a particular 
 butterflv. 
 
 Through just such a period of reconstruction 
 
THE POLITICAL PUPA. 135 
 
 Europe in general and Britain in particular are 
 now in all likelihood beginning to pass. And 
 they will come out at the other end translated 
 and transfigured. Laws and faiths and morals 
 will all of them have altered. There will be 
 a new heaven and a new earth for the men 
 and women of the new epoch. Strange that 
 people should make such a fuss about a detail 
 like Home Eule, when the foundations of society 
 are all becoming Huid. Don't flatter yourself for 
 a moment that your particular little sect or your 
 particular little dogma is going to survive the 
 gentle cataclysm any more than my particular 
 little sect or ray particular little dogma. All 
 alike are doomed to inevitable reconstruction. 
 " We can't put the Constitution into the meltin"- 
 pot," said Mr. John Morley, if I recollect his words 
 aright. But at the very moment when he said 
 it, in my humble opinion, the Constitution was 
 already well into the melting-pot, and even be- 
 ginning to simmer merrily. Federalism, or some- 
 thing extremely like it, may with great probability 
 be the final outcome of that particular melting; 
 though anything else is perhaps just as probable, 
 and in any case the melting is general, not special. 
 
136 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 The one thing we can guess with tolerable certainty 
 is that the melting-pot stage has begun to overtake 
 us, socially, ethically, politically, ecclesiastically ; 
 and that what will emerge from the pot at the 
 end of it must depend at last upon the relative 
 strength of those unknown quantities — the various 
 formative elements. 
 
 Being the most optimistic of pessimists, how- 
 ever, I will venture (after this disclaimer of 
 prophecy) to prophesy one thing alone : 'Twill 
 be a butterfly, not a grub, that comes out of 
 our chrysalis. 
 
 Beyond that, I hold all prediction premature. 
 We may guess and we may hope, but we can 
 have no certainty. Save only the certainty that 
 no element will outlive the revolution unchanged 
 — not faiths, nor classes, nor domestic relations, 
 nor any other component factor of our complex 
 civilisation. All are becoming plastic in the 
 organic plasm ; all are losing features in the 
 common mass of the melting - pot. For that 
 reason, I never trouble my head for a moment 
 when people object to me that this, that, or the 
 other petty point of detail in Bellamy's Utopia or 
 William Morris's Utopia, or my own little private 
 
THE POLITICAL PUPA. 137 
 
 and particular Utopia, is impossible, or uurealis- 
 able, or wicked, or liateful. For these, after all, 
 are mere Utopias; their details are the outcome 
 of individual wishes; what will emerge must bo, 
 not a Utopia at all, either yours or mine, but a 
 practical reality, full of shifts and compromises 
 most unphilosophical and illogical — a practical 
 reality distasteful in many ways to all us Utopia- 
 mongers. "The Millennium by return of post" 
 is no more realisable to-day tlian yesterday. The 
 greatest of revolutions can only produce that un- 
 satisfactory result, a new human organisation. 
 
 Yet, it is something, after all, to believe at 
 least that the grub will emerge into a full-fledged 
 butterfly. Not, perhaps, quite as glossy in the 
 wings as we could wish ; but a butterfly all the 
 same, not a crawling caterpillar. 
 
XVII. 
 
 ON THE CASINO TERRACE. 
 
 I HAVE always regarded Monte Carlo as an 
 Influence for Good. It helps to keep so many- 
 young men off the Stock Exchange. 
 
 Let me guard against an obvious but unjust 
 suspicion. These remarks are not uttered under 
 the exhilarating efl'ect of winning at the tables. 
 Quite the contrary. It is the Bank that has 
 broken the Man to-day at Monte Carlo. They 
 are rather due to the chastening and thought- 
 compelling influence of persistent loss, not alto- 
 gether unbalanced by a well-cooked lunch at 
 perhaps the best restaurant in any town of 
 Europe. I have lost my little pile. The eight 
 five-franc pieces which I annually devote out of 
 my scanty store to the tutelary god of roulette 
 have been snapped up, one after another, in 
 breathless haste, by the sphinx-like croupiers, 
 
 impassive priests of that rapacious deity, and 
 
 138 
 
ON THE CASINO TERRACE. 139 
 
 now I am sitting, cleaned out, by the edge of 
 the terrace, on a brilliant, cloudless, February 
 afternoon, looking across the zoned and belted 
 bay towards the beautiful grey hills of Eocca- 
 bruna and the gleaming white spit of Bordighera 
 in the distance. 'Tis a modest tribute, my poor 
 little forty francs. Surely the veriest puritan, 
 the oiliest Chadband of them all, will allow a 
 humble scribbler, at so cheap a yearly rate, to 
 purchase wisdom, not unmixed with tolerance, at 
 the gilded shrine of Fors Fortuna ! 
 
 For what a pother, after all, the unwise of 
 this world are wont to make about one stranded 
 gambling-house, in a remote corner of Liguria ! 
 If they were in earnest or sincere, how small a 
 matter they would think it! Of course, when 
 I say so, hypocrisy holds up its hands in holy 
 horror. But that is the way with the purveyors 
 of mint, cumin, and anise ; they raise a mio-htv 
 hubbub over some unimportant detail — in order 
 to feel their consciences clear when business 
 compels them to rob the widow and the orphan. 
 In reality, though Monte Carlo is bad enou«di 
 in its way — do I not pay it unwilling tribute 
 myself twice a year out of the narrow resources 
 
140 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 of The Garret, Grub Street? — it is but a skin- 
 deep surface symptom of a profound disease 
 which attacks the heart and core in London 
 and Paris. Compared with Panama, Argentines, 
 British South Africans, and Liberators, Monte 
 Carlo is a mole on the left ankle. 
 
 " The Devil's advocate ! " you say. Well, 
 well, so be it. The fact is, the supposed moral 
 objection to gambling as such is a purely com- 
 mercial objection of a commercial nation ; and 
 the reason so much importance is attached to 
 it in certain places is because at that particular 
 vice men are likely to lose their money. It 
 is largely a fetish, like the sinfulness of cards, 
 of dice, of billiards. Moreover, the objection is 
 only to the ki7id of gambling. There is another 
 kind, less open, at which you stand a better 
 chance to win yourself, while other parties stand 
 a better chance to lose ; and that kind, which 
 is played in great gambling-houses known as 
 the Stock Exchange and the Bourse, is considered, 
 morally speaking, as quite innocuous. Large 
 fortunes are made at this other sort of gambling, 
 which, of course, sanctifies and almost canonises 
 it. Indeed, if you will note, you will find 
 
ON THE CASINO TERRACE. 141 
 
 not only that the objection to gambling pure 
 and simple is commonest in the most commer- 
 cial countries, but also that even there it is 
 commonest among the most commercial classes. 
 The landed aristocracy, the military, and the 
 labouring men have no objection to betting ; 
 nor have the Neapolitan lazzaroni, the Chinese 
 coolies. It is the respectable English counting- 
 house that discourages the vice, especially among 
 the clerks, who are likely to make the till or 
 the cheque-book rectify the little failures of their 
 flutter on the Derby. 
 
 Observe how artificial is the whole mild out- 
 cry : how absolutely it partakes of the nature of 
 damning the sins you have no mind to! Here, 
 on the terrace where I sit, and where ladies in 
 needlessly costly robes are promenading up and 
 down to exhibit their superfluous wealth ostenta- 
 tiously to one another, my ear is continuously 
 assailed by the constant piiig, ping, ping of the 
 pigeon-shooting, and my peace disturbed by the 
 flapping death-agonies of those miserable victims. 
 Yet how many times have you heard the tables 
 at Monte Carlo denounced to once or never that 
 you have heard a word said of the poor mangled 
 
142 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 pigeons ? And why ? Because nobody loses 
 much money at pigeon-matches. That is legiti- 
 mate sport, about as good and as bad as pheasant 
 or partridge shooting — no better, no worse, in 
 spite of artificial distinctions ; and nobody (except 
 the pigeons) has any interest in denouncing it. 
 Legend has it at Monte Carlo, indeed, that when 
 the proprietors of the Casino wished to take 
 measures " pour attirer les Anglais " they held 
 counsel with the wise men whether it was best 
 to establish and endow an English church or a 
 pigeon-shooting tournament. And the church was 
 in a minority. Since then, I have heard more 
 than one Anglican Bishop speak evil of the 
 tables, but I have never heard one of them say 
 a good word yet for the boxed and slaughtered 
 pigeons. 
 
 Let me take a more striking because a less 
 hackneyed case — one that still fewer people would 
 think of. Everybody who visits Monte Carlo gets 
 there, of course, by the P.L.M. If you know 
 this coast at all you will know that P.L.M. is 
 the curt and universal abbreviation for the Paris, 
 Lyon, Mediterranee Railway Company — in all 
 probability the most gigantic and wickedest mono- 
 
ON THE CASINO TERRACE. 143 
 
 poly on the face of this planet. Yet you never 
 once heard a voice raised yet against the com- 
 pany as a company. Individual complaints get 
 into the Times, of course, about the crowding of 
 the train de hixe, the breach of faith as to places, 
 and the discomforts of the journey; but never a 
 glimmering conception seems to flit across the 
 popular mind that here is a Colossal Wrong, 
 compared to which Monte Carlo is but as a flel- 
 bite to the Asiatic cholera. This chartered abuse 
 connects the three biggest towns in France— Paris, 
 Lyon, Marseilles— and is absolutely without com- 
 petitors. It can do as it likes; and it does it, 
 regardless— I say " regardless," witnout qualifica- 
 tion, because the P.L.M. regards nobody and 
 nothing. Yet one hears of no righteous indigna- 
 tion, no uprising of the people in their angry 
 thousands, no moral recognition of the monopoly 
 as a Wicked Thing, to be fought tooth and nail, 
 without quarter given. It probably causes a 
 greater aggregate of human misery in a week 
 than Monte Carlo in a century. Besides, the 
 one is compulsory, the other optional. You 
 needn't risk a louis on the tables unless you 
 choose, but, like it or lump it, if you're bound 
 
14+ POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 for Nice or Cannes or Mentone, you must open 
 your mouth and shut your eyes and see what 
 P.L.M. will send you. Our own railways, indeed, 
 are by no means free from blame at the hands 
 of the Democracy : the South-Eastern has not 
 earned the eternal gratitude of its season-ticket 
 holders; the children of the Great Western do 
 not rise up and call it blessed. (Except, indeed, 
 in the most uncomplimentary sense of blessing.) 
 But the r.L.M. goes much further than these ; 
 and I have always held that the one solid argu- 
 ment for eternal punishment consists in the im- 
 probability that its Board of Directors will be 
 permitted to go scot-free for ever after all their 
 iniquities. 
 
 I am not wholly joking. I mean the best 
 part of it. Great monopolies that abuse their 
 trust are far more dangerous enemies of public 
 morals than an honest gambling-house at every 
 corner. Monte Carlo as it stands is just a con- 
 centrated embodiment of all the evils of our anti- 
 social system, and the tables are by far the least 
 serious among them. It is an Influence for Good, 
 because it mirrors our own world in all its naked, 
 all its over-draped hideousness. There it rears 
 
 • '•ki'i HHVli" 
 
ON THE CASINO TERRACE. 145 
 
 its meretricious head, that gaudy Palace of Sin, 
 appropriately decked in its Haussmanesque archi- 
 tecture and its coquettish gardens, attracting to 
 itself all the idle, all the vicious, all the rich, 
 all the unworthy, from every corner of Europe 
 and America. But Monte Carlo didn't make 
 them; it only gathers to its bosom its own 
 chosen children from the places where they are 
 produced — from London, Paris, Brussels, New 
 York, Berlin, St. Petersburg. The vices of our 
 organisation begot these over-rich folk, begot 
 their diamond-decked women, and their clipp°ed 
 French poodles with gold bangles spanning their 
 aristocratic legs. These are the spawn of land- 
 owning, of capitalism, of military domination, 
 of High Finance, of all the social ills that flesh 
 is heir to. I feel as I pace the terrace in the 
 broad Mediterranean sunshine, that I am here 
 in the midst of the very best society Europe 
 affords. That is to say, the very worst. The 
 dukes and the money-lenders, the Jay Goulds 
 and the Eeinachs. The idlest, the cruellest : the 
 hereditary drones, the successful blood-suckers. 
 But to find fault with them only for trying to 
 win one another's ill-gotten gold at a fair and open 
 
146 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 game of trcntc-et-quamnte, with the odds against 
 them, and then to say nothing about the way 
 they came by it, is to make a needless fuss about 
 a trifle of detail, while overlooking the weightiest 
 moral problems of humanity. 
 
 Whoever allows red herrings like these to be 
 trailed across the path of his moral consciousness, 
 to the detriment of the scent which should lead 
 him straighu on to the lairs of gigantic evils, 
 deserves little credit either for conscience or saga- 
 city. My son, be wise. Strike at the root of the 
 evil. Let Monte Carlo go, but keep a stern eye 
 on London ground-rents. 
 
XVIII. 
 
 THE CELTIC FRINGE. 
 
 We Celts henceforth will rule the roost in 
 Britain. 
 
 What is that you mutter ? " A very inoppor- 
 tune moment to proclaim the fact." Well, no, 
 I don't think so. And I'm sorry to hear you 
 say it, for if there is a quality on which I plume 
 myself, it's the delicate tact that makes me 
 refrain from irritating the susceptibilities of the 
 sensitive Saxon. See how polite I am to him! 
 I call him sensitive. But, opportune or inoppor- 
 tune, Lord Salisbury says we are a Celtic fringe. 
 I beg to retort, we are the British people. 
 
 "Conquered races," say my friends. Well, 
 grant it for a moment. But in civilised societies, 
 conquerors have, sooner or later, to amalgamate 
 with the conquered. And where the vanquished 
 are more numerous, they absorb the victors in- 
 stead of being absorbed by them. That is the 
 
148 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Nemesis of conquest. Rome annexed Etruria ; 
 and Etruscan Mcecenas, Etruscan Sejanus organ- 
 ised and consolidated the Eonian Empire. Rome 
 annexed Italy; and the Jus Italicum grew at 
 last to be the full Roman franchise. Rome 
 annexed the civilised world; and the provinces 
 under Csesar blotted out the Senate. Britain 
 is passing now through the self-same stage. One 
 inevitable result of the widening of the electorate 
 has been the transfer of power from the Teutonic 
 to the Celtic half of Britain. I repeat, we are 
 no longer a Celtic fringe : at the polls, in Parlia- 
 ment, we are the British people. Lord Salisbury 
 may fail to perceive that fact, or, as I hold 
 more probable, may affect to ignore it. What will 
 such tactics avail? The ostrich is not usually 
 counted among men as a perfect model of political 
 wisdom. 
 
 And are we, after all, the conquered peoples? 
 Meseems, I doubt it. They say we Celts dearly 
 love a paradox — which is perhaps only the 
 sensible Saxon way of envisaging the fact that 
 we catch at new truths somewhat quicker than 
 other people. At any rate, 'tis a pet little 
 paradox of my own that we have never been 
 
THE CELTIC FRINGE. 149 
 
 conquered, and that to our unconquered state we 
 owe in the main our Eadicalism, our Socialism, 
 our ingrained love of political freedom. We are 
 tribal not feudal; we think the folk more im- 
 portant than his lordship. The Saxon of the 
 south-east is the conquered man: he has felt 
 on his neck for generations the heel of feudalism. 
 He is slavish; he is snobbish; he dearly loves a 
 lord. He shouts himself hoarse for his Beacons- 
 field or his Salisbury. Till lately, in his rural 
 avatar, he sang but one sons: — 
 
 " God bless the squire and his relations, 
 And keep us in our proper stations." 
 
 Trite, isn't it ? but so is the Saxon intelligence. 
 
 Seriously — for at times it is well to be serious 
 — Soutli-Eastern England, the England of the 
 plains, has been conquered and enslaved in a 
 dozen ages by each fresh invader. Before the 
 dawn of history, Heaven knows what shadowy 
 Belgse and Iceni enslaved it. But historical time 
 will serve our purpose. The Eoman enslaved it, 
 but left Caledonia and Hibernia free, the Cam- 
 brian, the Silurian, the Cornishman half-subju- 
 gated. The Saxon and Anglian enslaved the 
 
I50 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 east, but scarcely crossed over the watershed of 
 the western ocean. The Dane, in turn, enslaved 
 the Saxon in East Anglia and Yorkshire. The 
 Norman ground all down to a common servitude 
 between the upper and nether millstones of the 
 feudal system — the king and the nobleman. At 
 the end of it all, Teutonic England was reduced 
 to a patient condition of contented serfdom: it 
 had accommodated itself to its environment : no 
 wish was left in it for the assertion of its freedom. 
 To this day, the south-east, save where leavened 
 and permeated by Celtic influences, hugs its chains 
 and loves them. It produces the strange portent 
 of the Conservative working-man, who yearns to 
 be led by Lord Kandolph Churchill. 
 
 With the North and the West, things go wholly 
 otherwise. Even Cornwall, the earliest Celtic 
 kincrdom to be absorbed, was rather absorbed 
 than conquered. I won't go into the history of 
 the West Welsh of Somerset, Devon, and Corn- 
 wall at full length, because it would take ten 
 pages to explain it; and I know that readers 
 are too profoundly interested in the Shocking 
 Murder in the Borough Road to devote half-an- 
 liour to the origin and evolution of their own 
 
THE CELTIC FRINGE. 151 
 
 community. It must suffice to say that the 
 Devonian and Cornubian Welsh coalesced with 
 the West Saxon for resistance to their common 
 enemy the Dane, and that the West Saxon 
 kingdom was made supreme in Britain by the 
 founder of the English monarchy — one Dunstan, 
 a monk from the West Welsh Abbey of Glas- 
 tonbury. Wales proper, overrun piecemeal by 
 Norman hlibusterers, was roughly annexed by 
 the Plantagenet kings ; but it was only pacified 
 under the Welsh Tudors, and was never at any 
 time thoroughly feudalised. Glendower's rebellion, 
 Richmond's rebellion, the Wesleyan revolt, the 
 Rebecca riots, the tithe war, are all continuous 
 parts of the ceaseless reaction of gallant little 
 Wales against Teutonic aggression. " An alien 
 Church" still disturbs the Principality. The 
 Lake District and Ayrshire — Celtic Cumbria and 
 Strathclyde — only accepted by degrees the supre- 
 macy of the Kings of England and Scotland. 
 The brother of a Scotch King was Prince of 
 Cumbria, as the elder son of an English King 
 was Prince of Wales. Indeed, David of Cumbria, 
 who became David I. of Scotland, was the real 
 consolidator of the Scotch kingdom. Cumbria 
 
152 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 was no more conquered by the Saxon Lothians 
 than Scotland v,as conquered by the accession of 
 James I. or by the Act of Union. That means 
 absorption, conciliation, a certain degree of tribal 
 independence. For Ireland, we know that the 
 " mere Irish " were never subjugated at all till the 
 days of Henry VII. ; that they had to be recon- 
 quered by Cromwell and by William of Orange ; 
 that they rebelled more or less throughout the 
 eighteenth century ; and that they have been 
 thorns in the side of Tory England through the 
 whole of the nineteenth. As for the Highlands, 
 they held out against the Stuarts till England 
 had rejected that impossible dynasty ; and then 
 they rallied round the Stuarts as the enemies of 
 the Saxon. General Wade's roads and the forts 
 in the Great Glen, aided by a few trifles of 
 Glencoe massacres, kept them quiet for a moment. 
 But it was only for a moment. The North is 
 once more in open revolt. Dr. Clark and the 
 crofters are its mode of expressing itself. 
 
 Nor is that all. The Celtic ideas have re- 
 mained unaltered. Of course, I am not silly 
 enough to believe there is any such thing as a 
 Celtic race. I use the word merely as a con- 
 
THE CELTIC FRINGE. 153 
 
 venient label for the league of the unconquered 
 peoples in Britain. Ireland alone contains half- 
 a-dozen races ; and none of them appear to have 
 anything in common with the Pict of Aberdeen- 
 shire or the West- Welsh of Cornwall. All I 
 mean when I speak of Celtic ideas and Celtic 
 ideals is the ideas and ideals proper and common 
 to unconquered races. As compared with the 
 feudalised and contented serf of South-Eastern 
 England, are not the Irish peasant, the Scotch 
 clansman, the "statesman" of the dales, the 
 Cornish miner, free men every soul of them ? 
 English landlordism, imposed from without upon 
 the crofter of Skye or the rack-rented tenant of 
 a Connemara hillside, has never crushed out the 
 native feeling of a right to the soil, the native 
 resistance to an alien system. The south-east, 
 I assert, has been brutalised into acquiescent 
 serfdom by a long course of feudalism ; the west 
 and north still retain the instincts of freemen. 
 
 As long as South-Eastern England and the Nor- 
 manised or feudalised Saxon lowlands of Scotland 
 contained all the wealth, all the power, and most 
 of the population of Britain, the Celtic ideals had 
 no chance of realising themselves. But the in- 
 
154 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 dustrial revolution of the present century has 
 turned us right - about - face, has transferred the 
 balance of power from the secondary strata to the 
 primary strata in Britain ; from the agricultural 
 lowlands to the uplands of coal and iron, the 
 cotton factories, the woollen trade. Great in- 
 dustrial cities have grown up in the Celtic or 
 semi-Celtic area — Glasgow, Liverpool, Manchester, 
 Leeds, Bradford, Sheffield, Belfast, Aberdeen, Car- 
 diff. The Celt — that is to say, the mountaineer 
 and the man of the untouched country — repro- 
 duces his kind much more rapidly than the 
 Teuton. The Highlander and the Irishman swarm 
 into Glasgow ; the Irishman and the Welshman 
 swarm into Liverpool; the west-countryman into 
 Bristol ; Celts of all types into London, South- 
 ampton, Newport, Birmingham, Sheffield. This 
 eastward return-wave of Celts upon the Teuton 
 has leavened the whole mass ; if you look at the 
 leaders of Kadicalism in England you will find 
 they bear, almost without exception, true Celtic 
 surnames. Chartists and Socialists of the first 
 generation were marshalled by men of Cymric 
 descent, like Ernest Jones and Robert Owen, or 
 by pure-blooded Irishmen like Fergus O'Connor. 
 
THE CELTIC FRINGE. 155 
 
 It is not a mere accident that the London 
 Socialists of the present day should be led by 
 Welshmen like "William Morris, or by the eloquent 
 brogue of Bernard Shaw's audacious oratory. We 
 Celts now lurk in every corner of Britain ; we 
 have permeated it with our ideas ; we have in- 
 spired it with our aspirations ; we have roused 
 the Celtic remnant in the south-east itself to a 
 sense of their wrongs ; and we are marching to- 
 day, all abreast, to the overthrow of feudalism. 
 If Lord Salisbury thinks we are a Celtic fringe he 
 is vastly mistaken. But he doesn't really think 
 so : 'tis a piece of his ponderous Saxon humour. 
 Talk of " Batavian grace," indeed ! Well, the 
 Cecils came first from the fens of Lincolnshire. 
 
XIX. 
 
 IMAGINATION AND RADICALS. 
 
 Conservatism, I believe, is mainly due to want 
 of imagination. 
 
 In saying this, I do not for a moment mean 
 to deny the other and equally obvious truth that 
 Conservatism, in the lump, is a euphemism for 
 selfishness. But the two ideas have much in 
 common. Selfish people are apt to be unimagi- 
 native : unimaginative people are apt to be selfish. 
 Clearly to realise the condition of the unfortu- 
 nate is the beginning of philanthropy. Clearly 
 to realise the rights of others is the beginning 
 of justice. " Put yourself in his place " strikes 
 the keynote of ethics. Stupid people can only 
 see their own side of a question : they cannot 
 even imagine any other side possible. So, as a 
 rule, stupid people are Conservative. They cling 
 to what they have ; they dread revision, redis- 
 tribution, justice. Also, if a man has imagiua- 
 
 is6 
 
IMAGINATION AND RADICALS. 157 
 
 tion he is likely to be Eadical, even though sel- 
 fish ; while if he has no imagination he is likelv 
 to be Conservative, even though otherwise eood 
 and kind-hearted. Some men are Conservative 
 from defects of heart, while some are Conservative 
 from defects of head. Conversely, most imagina- 
 tive peoDle are Eadical ; for even a bad man may 
 sometimes uphold the side of right Ijecause he 
 has intelligence enough to understand that thinirs 
 might be better managed in the future for all 
 than they are in the present. 
 
 But when I say that Conservatism is mainly 
 due to want of imagination, I mean more than 
 that. Most people are wholly unable to conceive 
 in their own minds any state of things very 
 different from the one they have been born and 
 brought up in. The picturing power is lacking. 
 They can conceive the past, it is true, more or 
 less vaguely — because they have always heard 
 things once were so, and because the past is 
 generally realisable still by the light of the 
 relics it has bequeathed to the present. But 
 they can't at all conceive the future. Ima^ina- 
 tion fails them. Innumerable difficulties crop up 
 for them in the way of every proposed improve- 
 
158 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 ment. Before there was any County Council for 
 London, such people thought municipal govern- 
 ment for the metropolis an insoluble problem. 
 Now that Home Rule quivers trembling in the 
 balance, they think it would pass the wit of 
 man to devise in the future a federal league for 
 the component elements of the United Kingdom; 
 in spite of the fact that the wit of man has 
 already devised one for the States of the Union, 
 for tlie Provinces of the Dominion, for the com- 
 ponent Cantons of the Swiss Republic. To the 
 unimaginative mind difficulties everywhere seem 
 almost insuperable. It shrinks before trifles. " Im- 
 possible ! " said Napoleon. " There is no such 
 word in my dictionary ! " He had been trained 
 in the school of the French Revolution — which 
 was not carried out by unimaginative pettifoggers. 
 
 To people without imagination any change you 
 propose seems at once impracticable. They are 
 ready to bring up endless objections to the mode 
 of working it. There would be this difficulty in 
 the way, and that difficulty, and the other one. 
 You would think, to hear them talk, the world 
 as it stands was absolutely perfect, and moved 
 without a hitch in all its bearings. They don't 
 
IMAGINATION AND RADICALS. 159 
 
 see that every existing institution just bristles 
 with difficulties — and that the difficulties are met 
 or got over somehow. Often enough while they 
 swallow the camel of existing abuses they strain 
 at some gnat which they fancy they see flying 
 in at the window of Utopia or of the Millennium. 
 " If your reform were carried," they say in effect, 
 "we should, doubtless, get rid of such and such 
 flagrant evils ; but the streets in November would 
 be just as muddy as ever, and slight incon- 
 venience might be caused in certain improbable 
 contingencies to the duke or the cotton-spinner, 
 the squire or the mine-owner." They omit to 
 note that much graver inconvenience is caused 
 at present to the millions who are shut out from 
 the fields and the sunshine, who are sweated all 
 day for a miserable wage, or who are forced to 
 pay fancy prices for fuel to gratify the rapacity 
 of a handful of coal-grabbers. 
 
 Lack of imagination makes people fail to see 
 the evils that are ; makes them fail to realise the 
 good that might be. 
 
 I often fancy to myself what such people would 
 say if land had always been communal property, 
 and some one now proposed to hand it over abso- 
 
i6o POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 lutely to the dukes, the squires, the game-pre- 
 servers, and the coal-owners. '"Tis impossible," 
 they would exclaim ; " the thing wouldn't be work- 
 able. Why, a single landlord might own half 
 Westminster! A single landlord might own all 
 Sutherlandshire ! The hypothetical Duke of West- 
 minster might put bars to the streets ; he might 
 impede locomotion ; he might refuse to let certain 
 people to whom he objected take up their resi- 
 dence in any part of his territory; he might 
 prevent them from following their own trades or 
 professions ; he might even descend to such petty 
 tyranny as tabooing brass plates on the doors of 
 houses. And what would you do then? The 
 thing isn't possible. The Duke of Sutherland, 
 again, might shut up all Sutherlandshire; might 
 turn whole vast tracts into grouse-moor or deer- 
 forest ; might prevent harmless tourists from walk- 
 ing up the mountains. And surely free Britons 
 would never submit to that. The bare idea is 
 ridiculous. The squire of a rural parish might 
 turn out the Dissenters ; might refuse to let land 
 for the erection of chapels; might behave like a 
 petty King Augustus of Scilly. Indeed, there 
 would be nothing to prevent an American alien 
 
IMA GIN A TION AND RA DICA LS. 1 6 r 
 
 from buying up square miles of purple heather 
 in Scotland, and shutting the inhabitants of these 
 British Isles out of their own inheritance. Sites 
 might be refused for needful public purposes ; 
 fancy prices might be asked for pure cupidity. 
 Speculators would job land for the sake of un- 
 earned increment J towns would have to grow as 
 landlords willed, irrespective of the wants or con- 
 venience of the community. Theoretically, I don't 
 even see that Lord Eothschild mightn't buy up 
 the whole area of Middlesex, and turn London 
 into a Golden House of Nero. Your scheme can't 
 be worked. The anomalies are too obvious." 
 
 They are indeed. Yet I doubt whether the 
 unimaginative would quite have foreseen them : 
 the things they foresee are less real and possible. 
 But they urge against every reform such objec- 
 tions as I have parodied; and they urge them 
 about matters of far less vital importance. The 
 existing system exists; they know its abuses, its 
 checks and its counter-checks. The system of 
 the future does not yet exist; and they can't 
 imagine how its far slighter difficulties could 
 ever be smoothed over. They are not the least 
 staggered by the appalling reality of the Duke 
 
 L 
 
i62 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 of Westminster or the Duke of Sutherland ; not 
 the least staggered by the sinister power of a con- 
 spiracy of coal-owners to paralyse a great nation 
 with the horrors of a fuel famine. But they are 
 staggered by their bogey that State ownership of 
 land might give rise to a certain amount of 
 jobbery and corruption on the part of officials. 
 They think it better that the dukes and the 
 squires should get all the rent than that the 
 State should get most of it, with the possibility 
 of a percentage being corruptly embezzled by the 
 functionaries who manage it. This shows want of 
 imagination. It is as though one should say to 
 one's clerk, " All your income shall be paid in 
 future to the Duke of Westminster, and not to 
 yourself, for his sole use and benefit; because 
 we, your employers, are afraid that if we give 
 you your salary in person, you may let some of 
 it be stolen from you or badly invested." How 
 transparently absurd ! We want our income our- 
 selves, to spend as we please. We would rather 
 risk losing one per cent, of it in bad investments 
 than let all be swallowed up by the dukes and 
 the landlords. 
 
IMAGINATION AND RADICALS. 163 
 
 It is the same throughout. Want of imagina- 
 tion makes people exaggerate the difficulties and 
 dangers of every new scheme, because they can't 
 picture constructively to themselves the details 
 of its working. Men with great picturing power, 
 like Shelley or Eobespierre, are always very 
 advanced Eadicals, and potentially revolutionists. 
 The difficulty theij see is not the difficulty of 
 making the thing work, but the difficulty of con- 
 vincing less clear-headed people of its desirability 
 and practicability. A great many Conservatives, 
 who are Conservative from selfishness, would be 
 Radicals if only they could feel for themselves 
 that even their own petty interests and pleasures 
 are not really menaced. The squires and the 
 dukes can't realise how much happier even they 
 would be in a free, a beautiful, and a well-organised 
 community. Imaginative minds can picture a 
 world where everything is so ordered that life 
 comes as a constant aesthetic delight to everybody. 
 They know that that world could be realised 
 to-morrow — if only all others could picture it 
 to themselves as vividly as they do. But they 
 also know that it can only be attained in the 
 
l64 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 end by long ages of struggle, and by slow evolu- 
 tion of the essentially imaginative ethical faculty. 
 For right action depends most of all, in the last 
 resort, upon a graphic conception of the feelings 
 of others. 
 
ABOUT ABROAD. 
 
 The place known as Abroad is not nearly so 
 nice a country to live in as England. The people 
 who inhabit Abroad are called Foreigners. They 
 are in every way and at all times inferior to 
 Englishmen. 
 
 These Post-Prandials used once to be provided 
 with a sting in their tail, like the common 
 scorpion. By way of change, I turn them out 
 now with a sting in their head, like the common 
 mosquito. Mosquitoes are much less dangerous 
 than scorpions, but they're a deal more irritatinc^. 
 
 Not that I am sanguine enough to expect I 
 shall irritate Englishmen. Your Englishman is 
 far too cock-sure of the natural superiority of 
 Britons to Foreigners, the natural superiority of 
 England to Abroad, ever to be irritated by even 
 the gentlest criticism. He accepts it all with 
 lordly indifference. He brushes it aside as the 
 
 i6s 
 
166 POST-PRANDIAL PJULOSOPIIY. 
 
 olophant mi^lit brusli aside the ineffective ^'fidfly. 
 No x^i'oboscis can ])ieice tliat pacliyderniato'.i« liide 
 ol' liis. If you praise him to liis face, he accepts 
 your praise as his obvious due, witli perfect com- 
 posure and without th(; slightest (;lation. If you 
 blame liim in aught, he s(jts it down to your 
 i^morance and mental inferiority. You say to 
 him, "Oh, Englishman, you are great; you are 
 wise; you are rich beynd conijjarison. You are 
 noble ; you are generous ; you are the prince 
 among nations." He smiles a calm smile, and 
 thinks you a very sensible fellow. But you add, 
 " Oh, my lord, if I may venture to say so, there 
 is a smudge on your nose, which I make bold 
 to attribute to the settlement of a black on your 
 intelligent countenance." He is not angry. He 
 is not even contemptuously amused. He responds, 
 " My friend, you are wrong. There is never a 
 smudge on my immaculate face. No blacks lly 
 in London. The sky is as clear there in Novem- 
 ber as in August, All is pure and serene and 
 beautiful." You answer, " Oh, my lord, I admit 
 the force of your profound reasoning. You light 
 the gas at ten in the morning only to show all 
 the world you can afford to Imrn it." At that, he 
 
ABOUT ABROAD. 167 
 
 gropes Ill's way aloni^- T'all Mall to his club, and 
 t(!lls tlio men lie meets there how completely he 
 silenced you. 
 
 And yet, My Lord Elephant, there is use in 
 mosquitoes. Mr. Mattieu Williams once dis- 
 covered the final cause of fleas. Certain peojile, 
 said he, cannot be induced to employ the harmless 
 necessary tub. For them, Providence designed 
 the lively flea. He compels them to scratch 
 themselves. By so doing they rouse the skin to 
 action and get rid of impurities. Now, this liritish 
 use of the word Al^road is a smudge on the face 
 of the otherwise perfect Englishman. Perchance 
 a mosquito-bite may induce him to remove it with 
 a little warm water and a cambric pocket-hand- 
 kerchief. 
 
 To most Englishmen, the world divides itself 
 naturally into two une([uul and non-equivalent 
 portions — Abroad and England. Of these two, 
 Abroad is much the larger country ; but England, 
 though smaller, is vastly more important. Abroad 
 is inhabited by Frenchmen and Germans, who 
 speak their own foolish and chattering laniiua^es. 
 Part of it is likewise pervaded by Chinamen, who 
 wear jugtails ; and the outlying districts belong 
 
 .^_ «- .,--. 
 
 
i68 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 to the poor heathen, chiefly interesting as a fiehl 
 of missionary enterprise, and a possible market 
 for Manchester piece-goods. We sometimes invest 
 our money abroad, but then we are likely to get 
 it swallowed up in Mexicans or Egyptian Unified. 
 If you ask most people what has become of Tom, 
 tliey will answer at once with the specific infor- 
 mation, " Oh, Tom has gone Abroad." I have one 
 stereotyped rejoinder to an answer like that. 
 " What part of Abroad, please ? " That usually 
 stumps them. Abroad is Abroad ; and like tlie 
 gentleman who was asked in examination to 
 " name the minor prophets," they decline to make 
 invidious distinctions. It is nothing to them 
 whether he is tea-planting in the Himalayas, or 
 sheep-farming in Australia, or orange-growing in 
 Florida, or ranching in Colorado. If he is not in 
 England, why then he is elsewhere ; and elsewhere 
 is Abroad, one and indivisible. 
 
 In short. Abroad answers in space to that well- 
 known and definite date, the Olden Time, in 
 chronology. 
 
 People will tell you, " Foreigners do this " ; 
 " Foreigners do that " ; " Foreigners smoke so 
 much " ; " Foreigners alwavs take coffee for break- 
 
 ' ^^^-— * • fc- *- aa 1 
 
ABOUT ABROAD. 169 
 
 fast." " Indeed," I love to answer ; *' I've never 
 observed it myself in Central Asia." 'Tis Parson 
 Adams and the Christian religion. Nine Eni^lish 
 people out of ten, wlien tlicy talk of Abroad, mean 
 what tliey call the Continent; and when they 
 talk of the Continent, they mean France, Ger- 
 many, Switzerland, Italy; in short, the places 
 most visited by Englishmen when they consent 
 now and again to go Abroad for a holiday. " I 
 don't like Abroad," a lady once said to me 
 on her return from Calais. Foreigners, in like 
 manner, means Frenchmen, Germans, Swiss, Italians. 
 In the coimtry called Abroad, the most important 
 parts are the parts nearest England ; of the jjcople 
 called Foreigners, the most important are those 
 who dress like Englishmen. The dim black 
 lands that lie below the horizon are liardly worth 
 noticing. 
 
 Would it surprise you to learn that most people 
 live in Asia? Would it surprise you to learn 
 that most people are poor benighted heathen, 
 and that, of the remainder, most people are 
 Mahommedans, and that of the Christians, who 
 come next, most people arc; Eoinan Catholics, and 
 that, of the other Christian sects, most people 
 
I70 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 belong to the Greek Church, and that, last of all, 
 we get Protestants, more particularly Anglicans, 
 Wesleyans, Baptists ? Have you ever really 
 realised the startling fact that England is an 
 island off the coast of Europe? that Europe is 
 a peninsula at the end of Asia ? that France, 
 Germany, Italy, are the fringe of Paissia? Have 
 you ever really realised that the English-speak- 
 ing race lives mostly in America ? that the country 
 is vastly more populous than London ? that our 
 class is the froth and the scum of society ? 
 Think these things out, and try to measure them 
 on the globe. And when you speak of Abroad, 
 do please specify what part of it. 
 
 Abroad is not all alike. There are differences 
 between Poland, Peru, and Palestine. What is 
 true of France is not true of Fiji. Distinguish 
 carefully between Timbuctoo, Tobolsk, and Toledo. 
 It is not our insularity that makes us so insular. 
 'Tis a gift of the gods, peculiar to Englishmen. 
 The other inhabitants of these Isles of Britain 
 are comparatively cosmopolitan. The Scotchman 
 goes everywhere ; the world is his oyster. Ireland 
 is an island still more remote than Great Britain ; 
 but the Irishman has never been so insular as 
 
ABOUT ABROAD. 171 
 
 the English. I put that down in part to his 
 Catholicism : his priests have been wheels in a 
 world-wide system ; his relations have been with 
 Douai, St. Omer, and Eome ; his bishops have 
 gone pilgrimages and sat on Vatican Councils ; 
 his kinsmen are the MacMahons in France, the 
 O'Doniiels in Spain, the Taafes in Austria. Even 
 in the days of the Eegency this was so : look at 
 Lever and his heroes ! When England drank 
 port, County Clare drank claret. But ever since 
 the famine, Ireland has expanded. Every Irish- 
 man has cousins in Canada, in Australia, in New 
 York, in San Francisco. The Empire is Irish, 
 with the exception of India ; and India, of course, 
 is a Scotch dependency. Irishmen and Scotchmen 
 have no such feelings about Abroad and its 
 Foreigners as Londoners entertain. But English- 
 men never quite get over the sense that everybody 
 must needs divide the world into England and 
 Elsewhere. To the end no Englishman really 
 grasps the fact that to Frenchmen and Germans 
 he himself is a foreigner. I have met John Bulls 
 who had passed years in Italy, but who spoke of 
 the countrymen of Caesar and Dante and Leonardo 
 and Garibaldi with the contemptuous toleration 
 
172 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 one might feel towards a child or an Andaman 
 Islander. These Italians could build Giotto's 
 campanile ; could paint the Transfiguration ; could 
 carve the living marble on the tombs of the 
 Medici; could produce the Vita Nuova; could 
 beget Galileo, Galvani, Beccaria ; but still — they 
 were Foreigners. Providence in its wisdom has 
 decreed that they must live Abroad — ^just as it 
 has decreed that a comprehension of the decimal 
 system and its own place in the world should be 
 limitations eternally imposed upon the English 
 intellect. 
 
XXL 
 
 WHY ENGLAND IS BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 As I strolled across the moor this afternoon 
 
 towards Waverley, I saw Jones was planting out 
 
 that bare hillside of his with Douglas pines and 
 
 Scotch firs and new strains of silver birches. 
 
 They will improve the landscape. And I thought 
 
 as I scanned them, " How curious that most people 
 
 entirely overlook this constant betterment and 
 
 beautifying of England! You hear them talk 
 
 much of the way bricks and mortar are invading 
 
 the country; you never hear anything of this 
 
 slow and silent process of planting and developing 
 
 which has made England into the prettiest and 
 
 one of the most beautiful countries in Europe." 
 
 What's that you say? "Astonished to find 
 
 I have a good word of any sort to put in for 
 
 England!" Why, dear me, how irrational you 
 
 are! I just love England. Can any man with 
 
 eyes in his head and a soul for beauty do other- 
 
 173 
 
174 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 wise? England and Italy — there you have the 
 two great glories of Europe. Italy for towns, for 
 art, for man's handicraft; England for country, 
 for nature, for green lanes and lush copses. Was 
 it not one that loved Italy well who sighed in 
 Italy — 
 
 " Oh, to he in England now tliut April's there ? " 
 
 And who that loves Italy, and knows England, too, 
 does not echo Browning's wish when April comes 
 round again on dusty Tuscan hilltops? At 
 Perugia, last spring, through weeks of tramontana, 
 how one yearned for the sight of yellow English 
 primroses ! Not love England, indeed ! Milton's 
 England, Shelley's England; the England of the 
 skylark, the dog-rose, the honeysuckle ! Not love 
 England, forsooth! Why, I love every flower, 
 every blade of grass in it. Devonshire lane, close- 
 cropped down, rich water-meadow, bickering brook- 
 let : ah me, how they tug at one's heartstrings in 
 Africa ! No son of the soil can love England as 
 those love her very stones who have come from 
 newer lands over sea to her ivy- clad church- towers, 
 her mouldering castles, her immemorial elms, the 
 berries on her holly, the may in her hedgerows. 
 
WHY ENGLAND IS BEAU IIFUL. 175 
 
 Are not all these bound up in our souls with 
 each cherished line of Shakespeare and Words- 
 worth ? do they not rouse faint echoes of Gray 
 and Goldsmith? Even before I ever set foot 
 in England, how I longed to behold my first 
 cowslip, my first foxglove! And now, I have 
 wandered through tlie footpaths that run obliquely 
 across English pastures, picking meadowsweet and 
 fritillaries, for half a lifetime, till I have learned 
 by heart every leaf and every petal. You think 
 because I dislike one squalid village—" The Wen," 
 stout English William Cobbett delighted to call 
 it — I don't love England. You think because 
 I see some spots on the sun of the English char- 
 acter, I don't love Englishmen. Why, how can 
 any man who speaks the English tongue, and 
 boasts one drop of English blood in his veins, 
 not be proud of England? England, the mother 
 of poets and thinkers; England, that gave us 
 Newton, Darwin, Spencer ; England, that holds in 
 her lap Oxford, Salisbury, Durham; England of 
 daisy and heather and pine- wood ! Are we hewn 
 out of granite, to be cold before England ? 
 
 Upon my soul, your unseasonable interruption 
 has almost made me forget what I was going to 
 
176 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 say ; it has made me grow warm, and drop into 
 poetry. 
 
 England, I take it, is certainly the prettiest 
 country in Europe. It is almost the most beauti- 
 ful. I say "almost," because I bethink me of 
 Norway and Switzerland. I say " country," be- 
 cause I bethink me of Eome, Venice, Florence. 
 But, taking it as country, and as country alone, 
 nothing else approaches it. Have you ever 
 thought why ? Man made the town, says the 
 proverb, and God made the country. Not so in 
 England. There, man made the country, and 
 beautified it exceedingly. In itself, the land of 
 south-eastern England is absolutely the same as 
 the land of Northern France — that hideous tract 
 about Boulosjrne and Amiens which we traverse in 
 silence every time we run across by Calais to 
 Paris. Chalk and clay and sandstone stretch 
 continuously under sea from Kent and Sussex 
 to Flanders and Picardy. The Channel burst 
 through, and made the Straits of Dover ; but the 
 land on either side was and still is geologically 
 and physically identical. What has made the 
 difference ? Man, the planter and gardener. 
 England is beautiful by copse and hedgerow, by 
 
WHY ENGLAND IS BEAUTIFUL. 177 
 
 pine-clad ridge and willow-covered hollow, by 
 meadows interspersed witli great spreading oaks, 
 by pastures where drowsy sheep, deep-fleeced and 
 ruddy-stained, huddle under the shade of ancestral 
 beech-trees. Its loveliness is human. In itself, 
 I believe, the actual contour of England cannot 
 once have been much better than the contour of 
 northern France — though nowadays it is hard 
 indeed to realise it. Judicious planting, and a 
 constant eye to picturesque effect in scenery, 
 have made England what she is — the garden of 
 Europe. 
 
 Of course there are parts of the country which 
 owed, and still owe, their beauty to their wildness 
 — Dartmoor, Exmoor, the West iiidiug of York- 
 shire, the Surrey hills, the Peak in Derbyshire. 
 Yet even these depend more than you would 
 believe, when you take them in detail, on the 
 art of the forester. The view from Leith Hill 
 embraces John Evelyn's woods at Wotton : the 
 larches that cover one Juru-like gorge were set 
 there well within your and my memory. But 
 elsewhere in England the hand of man has done 
 absolutely everything. The American, when he 
 first visits England, is charmed on his way up 
 
 M 
 
178 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 from Liverpool to London by the exquisite air of 
 antique cultivation and soft rural beauty. The 
 very sward is moss-like. Thoroughly wild country, 
 indeed, unless bold and mountainous, does not 
 often please one. It is apt to be bare, unattrac- 
 tive, and desolate. Witness the Veldt, the Steppes, 
 the prairies. You may go through miles and miles 
 of the States and Canada, where the wildness for 
 the most part rather repels than delights you. I 
 do not say everywhere ; in places the wilderness 
 will blossom like a rose ; boggy margins of lakes, 
 fallen trunks in the forest overgrown with wild 
 flowers, make scenes unattainable in our civilised 
 England. Even our roughest scenery is compara- 
 tively man-made : our heaths are game preserves ; 
 our woodlands are thinned of superfluous under- 
 brush ; our moors are relieved by deliberate plan- 
 tations. But England in her own way is unique 
 and unrivalled. Such parks, such greensward, 
 such grassy lawns, such wooded tilth, are wholly 
 unknown elsewhere. Compare the blank fields 
 and long poplar- fringed high rouds of central 
 France with our Devon or our Warwickshire, and 
 you get at once a just measure of the vast, the 
 unspeakable difference. 
 
WHY ENGLAND IS BEAUTIFUL. 179 
 
 And man has done it all. Alone he did it. 
 Often as I take my walks abroad — and when I 
 say abroad I mean in England — I see men at 
 work dotting about exotics of variegated foliage 
 on some barren hillside, and I say to myself, 
 "There, before my eyes, goes on the beautifying 
 of England." Thirty years ago, the North Downs 
 near Dorking were one bare stretch of white 
 chalky sheep-walk ; half of them still remain so ; 
 the other half I. as been planted irregularly with 
 copses and spinneys, which serve to throw up 
 and enhance the beauty of the unaltered intervals. 
 Beech and larch in autumn tints set off smooth 
 patches of grass and juniper. Within the last 
 few years, the downs about Leatherhead have 
 been similarly diversified. Much of the loveli- 
 ness of rural England is due, one must frankly 
 confess, to the big landlords. Though the great 
 houses love us not, we must allow at least that 
 the great houses have cared for the trees in the 
 hedge-rows, and for the timber in the meadows, 
 as well as for the covert that sheltered their 
 pheasants, their foxes, and their gamekeepers. 
 But almost as much of England's charm is due 
 
i8o POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 to individual small owners or occupiers. *Tis 
 
 they who have planted the grounds about villa 
 
 or cottage ; they who have stocked the sweet 
 
 old gardens of yew and box, of hollyhock and 
 
 peony ; they who have given us the careless 
 
 rustic grace of the English village. Still, one 
 
 way or another, man has done it all, whether in 
 
 grange or in manor-house, in palatial estate or 
 
 in labourer's holding. Look at the French or 
 
 Belgian hamlet by the side of the English one; 
 
 look at the French or Belgian farm by the side 
 
 of our English wealth in wooded glen or sheltered 
 
 homestead. Bricks and mortar are not covering 
 
 the whole of England. That is only true of the 
 
 squalid purlieus and outliers of London, whither 
 
 Londoners gravitate by mutual attraction. If you 
 
 will go and live in a dingy suburb, you can't 
 
 reasonably complain that all the world's suburban. 
 
 Being the most cheerful of pessimists, a dweller 
 
 in the country all the days of my life, I have no 
 
 hesitation in expressing my profound conviction 
 
 that within my memory more has been done 
 
 to beautify than to uglify England. Only, the 
 
 beaut itication has been quiet and unobtrusive, 
 
WHY ENGLAND IS BEAUTIFUL. i8i 
 
 while the uglification has been obvious and con- 
 centrated. It takes half a year to jerry-build a 
 dingy street, but it takes a decade for newly- 
 planted trees to give the woodland air by im- 
 perceptible stages to a stretch of country. 
 
XXII. 
 ANENT ART PRODUCTION. 
 
 Yesterday, at Bordighera, I strolled up the hills 
 behind the town to Sasso. It is a queer little 
 cluster of gleaming white-washed houses that top 
 the crest of a steep ridge ; and, like many other 
 Italian villages, it makes a brave show from a 
 distance, though within it is full of evil smells 
 and all uncleanness. But I found it had a church 
 — a picturesquely ugly and dilapidated church ; 
 and without and within, this church was decorated 
 by inglorious hands with very naive and rudi- 
 mentary frescoes. The Four Evangelists were 
 there, in flowing blue robes ; and the Four Greater 
 Prophets, with long white beards ; and the Ma- 
 donna, appearing in most wooden clouds ; and 
 the Patron Saint tricked out for his Festa in 
 gorgeous holiday episcopal vestments. That was 
 all — ^just the common everyday Italian country 
 
 church that everybody has seen turned out to 
 
 183 
 
ANENT ART PRODUCTION. 183 
 
 pattern with manufacturing regularity a hundred 
 times over ! Yet, as I sat among the olive-terraces 
 looking down the steep slope into the Borghetto 
 valley, and across the gorge to the green pines 
 on the Cima, it set me thinking. 'Tis a bad 
 habit one falls into when one has nothing better 
 to turn one's mind to. 
 
 We English, coming to Italy with our ideas 
 fully formed about everything on heaven and 
 earth, naturally say to ourselves, "Great heart 
 alive, what sadly degraded frescoes ! To think 
 the art of Eaphael and Andrea del Sarto should 
 degenerate even here, in their own land, to such 
 a childish level ! " But we are wrong, for all 
 that. It is Eaphael and Andrea who rose, not 
 my poor nameless Sasso artists who sank and 
 degenerated. Italy was capable of producing her 
 great painters in her own great day, just because 
 in thousands of such Italian villages there were 
 work-a-day artisans in form and colour capable 
 of turning out such ridiculous daubs as those 
 that decorate this tawdry church on the Ligurian 
 hilltop. 
 
 We English, in short, think of it all the wrong 
 way uppermost. We think of it topsy-turvy, 
 
1 84 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 beginning at the end, while evohition invariably 
 begins at the beginning. The Eaphaels and 
 Andreas, to put it in brief, were the final flower 
 and fullest outcome of whole races of church 
 decorators in infantile fresco. 
 
 Everywhere you go in Italy, this truth is 
 forced upon your attention even to the present 
 day. Art here is no exotic. It smacks of the 
 soil ; it springs spontaneous, like a weed ; it 
 burgeons of itself out of the heart of the people. 
 Not high art, understand well ; not the art of 
 Burne- Jones and Whistler and Puvis de Chavannes 
 and Sar Peladan. Commonplace everyday art, 
 that is a trade and a handicraft, like the joiner's 
 or the shoemaker's. Look up at your ceiling ; 
 it's overrun with festoons of crude red and blue 
 flowers, or it's covered with cupids and graces, 
 or it bristles with arabesques and unmeaning 
 phantasies. Every wall is painted; every grotto 
 decorated. Sham landscapes, sham loggias, sham 
 parapets are everywhere. The sham windows 
 themselves are provided, not only with sham 
 blinds and sham curtains, but even with sham 
 coquettes making sham eyes or waving sham 
 handkerchiefs at passers-by below them. Open- 
 
ANENT ART PRODUCTION. 185 
 
 air fresco painting is still a living art, an art 
 practised by hundreds and thousands of craftsmen, 
 an art as alive as cookery or weaving. The 
 Italian decorates everything ; his pottery, his house, 
 his church, his walls, his palaces. And the only 
 difference he feels between the various cases is, 
 that in some of them a higher type of art is 
 demanded by wealth and skill than in the' others. 
 No wonder, therefore, he blossomed out at last 
 into Michael Angelo's frescoes in the Sistine 
 Chapel ! 
 
 To us English, on the contrary, high art is 
 something exotic, separate, alone, sui generis. We 
 never think of the plaster star in the middle of 
 our ceiling as belonging even to the same range 
 of ideas as, say, the frescoes in the Houses of 
 Parliament. 
 
 A nation in such a condition as that is never 
 truly artistic. The artist with us, even now, is 
 an exceptional product. Art for a long time in 
 England had nothing at all to do with the life 
 of the people. It was a luxury for the rich, a 
 curious thing for ladies' and gentlemen's consump- 
 tion, as purely artificial as the stuccoed Italian 
 villa in which they insisted on shivering in our 
 
1 86 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 chilly climate. And the pictures it produced were 
 wholly alien to the popular wants and the popular 
 feelings; they were part of an imported French, 
 Italian, and Flemish tradition. English art has 
 only slowly outgrown this stage, just in proportion 
 as truly artistic handicrafts have sprung up here 
 and there, and developed themselves among us. 
 Go into the Cantagalli or the Ginori potteries at 
 Florence, and you will see mere boys and girls, 
 untrained children of the people, positively dis- 
 porting themselves, with childish glee, in painting 
 plates and vases. You will see them, not slavishly 
 copying a given design of the master's, but letting 
 their fancy run riot in lithe curves and lines, in 
 griffons and dragons and floral twists-and-twirls 
 of playful extravagance. They revel in ornament. 
 Now, it is out of the loins of people like these 
 that great artists spring by nature — not State- 
 taught, artificial, made-up artists, but the real 
 spontaneous product, the Lippi and Botticelli, the 
 hereditary craftsmen, the born painters. And in 
 England nowadays it is a significant fact that a 
 large proportion of the truest artists — the inno- 
 vators, the men who are working out a new style 
 of English art for themselves, in accordance with 
 
ANENT ART PRODUCTION. 187 
 
 the underlying genius of the British temperament, 
 have sprung from the great industrial towns — 
 Birmingham, Manchester, Leicester — where artistic 
 handicrafts are now once more renascent, I won't 
 expose myself to further ridicule by repeating here 
 (what I nevertheless would firmly believe, were it 
 not for the scoffers) that a large proportion of 
 them are of Celtic descent — belong, in other 
 words, CO that section of the complex British 
 nationality in which the noble traditions of deco- 
 rative art never wholly died out — that section 
 which was never altogether enslaved and degraded 
 by the levelling and cramping and soul-destroying 
 influences of manufacturing industrialism. 
 
 In Italy, art is endemic. In Eugiand, in spite 
 of all we have done to stimulate it of late years 
 with guano and other artificial manures, it is still 
 sporadic. 
 
 The case of nmsic affords us an apt parallel. 
 Till very lately, I believe, our musical talent in 
 Britain came almost entirely from the cathedral 
 towns. And why ? Because there, and there 
 alone, till quite a recent date, there existed a 
 hereditary school of music, a training of musicians 
 from generation to generation among the mass 
 
f88 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 of the people. Not only were the cathedral 
 services thenisulves a constant school of taste in 
 music, but successive generations of choristers and 
 organists gave rise to something like a musical 
 caste in our episcopal centres. It is true, our 
 vocalists have always come mainly from Wales, 
 from the Scotch Highlands, from Yorkshire, from 
 Ireland. But for that there is, I believe, a suffi- 
 cient physical reason. For these are clearly the 
 most mountainous parts of the United Kingdom; 
 and the clear mountain air seems to produce 
 on the average a better type of human larynx 
 than the mists of the level. The men of the 
 lowland, say the Tyrolese, croak like frogs in 
 their marshes ; but the men of the upland sing 
 like nightingales on their tree-tops. And indeed, 
 it would seem as if the mountain people were 
 always calling to one another across intervening 
 valleys, always singing and whistling and shouting 
 over their work in a way that gives tone to the 
 whole vocal mechanism. Witness Welsh penillion 
 singing. And wherever this fine physical endow- 
 ment goes hand in hand with a delicate ear and 
 a poetic temperament, you get your great vocalist, 
 your Sims Reeves or your Patti. But in England 
 
ANENT ART PRODUCTION. 189 
 
 proper it was only in the cathedral towns that 
 music was a living reality to the people; and it 
 was in the cathedral towns, accordinfdv, durinf^ 
 the dark ages of art, that exceptional musical 
 ability was most likely to show itself. More 
 particularly was this so on the Welsh border, 
 where the two favouring influences of race and 
 practice coincided — at Gloucester, Worcester, 
 Hereford, long known for the most musical towns 
 in England. 
 
 Cause and effect act and react. Art is a pro- 
 duct of the artistic temperament. The artistic 
 temperament is a product of the long hereditary 
 cultivation of art. And where a broad basis of 
 this temperament exists among the people, owing 
 to intermixture of artistically-minded stocks, one is 
 liable to get from time to time that peculiar com- 
 bination of characteristics— sensuous, intellectual, 
 spiritual — which results in the highest and truest 
 artist. 
 
XXlll. 
 A GLIMPSE INTO UTOPIA. 
 
 You ask me what would be the position of women 
 in an ideal community. Well, after dinner, imagi- 
 nation may take free flight. Suppose, till the 
 coffee comes, we discuss that question. 
 
 Woman, I take it, differs from man in being 
 the sex Siicrificed to reproductive necessities. 
 
 Whenever I say this, I notice my good friends, 
 the women's-rights women, with whom I am gener- 
 ally in pretty close accord, look annoyed and hurt. 
 I can never imagine why. I regard this point 
 as an original inequality of nature, which it 
 should be the duty of human society to redress 
 as far as possible, like all other inequalities. 
 Women are not on the average as tall as men ; 
 nor can they lift as heavy weights, or undergo, 
 as a rule, so much physical labour. Yet civilised 
 society recognises their equal right to the protec- 
 tion of our policemen, and endeavours to neutralise 
 
 I go 
 
A GLIMPSE INTO UTOPIA. 191 
 
 their physical inequality by the collective guaran- 
 tee of all the citizens. In the same way I hold 
 that women in the lump have a certain disadvan- 
 tage laid upon them by nature, in the necessity 
 that some or most among them should bear 
 children; and this disadvantage I think the men 
 in a well-ordered State would do their best to 
 compensate by corresponding privileges. If women 
 endure on our behalf the great public burden of 
 providing future citizens for the community, the 
 least we can do for them in return is to render 
 that burden as honourable and as little onerous 
 as possible. I can never see that there is any- 
 thing unchivalrous in frankly admitting these 
 facts of nature ; on the contrary, it seems to me 
 the highest possible chivalry to recognise in 
 woman, as woman, high or low, rich or poor, the 
 potential mother, who has infinite claims on that 
 ground alone to our respect and sympathy. 
 
 Nor do I mean to deny, either, that the right 
 to be a mother is a sacred and peculiar privilege 
 of women. In a well-ordered community, I believe, 
 that privilege will be valued high, and will be 
 denied to no fitting mother by any man. While 
 maternity is from one point of view a painful 
 
192 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 duty, a burden imposed upon a single sex for 
 the good of the whole, it is from another point of 
 view a privilege and a joy, and from a third point 
 of view the natural fulfilment of a woman's own 
 instincts, the complement of her personality, the 
 healthy exercise of her normal functions. Just 
 as in turn the man's part in providing physically 
 for the support of the woman and the children is 
 from one point of view a burden imposed upon 
 him, but from another point of view a precious 
 privilege of fatherhood, and from a third point of 
 view the proper outlet for his own energy and 
 his own faculties. 
 
 In an ideal State, then, I take it, almost every 
 woman would be a mother, and almost every 
 woman a mother of not more than about four 
 children. An average of something like four is 
 necessary, we know, to keep up population, and 
 to allow for infant mortality, inevitable celibates, 
 and so forth. Few women in such a State would 
 abstain from maternity, save those who felt them- 
 selves physically or morally unfitted for the task ; 
 for in proportion as they abstained, either the 
 State must lack citizens to carry on its life, or an 
 extra and undue burden would have to be cast 
 
A GLIMPSE INTO UTOPIA. 193 
 
 upon some other woman. And it may well be 
 doubted whether in a well-ordered and civilised 
 State any one woman could adequately bear, 
 bring up, and superintend the education of more 
 than four young citizens. Hence we may con- 
 clude that while no woman save the unfit would 
 voluntarily shirk the duties and privileges of 
 maternity, few (if any) women would make them- 
 selves mothers of more than four children. Four 
 would doubtless grow to be regarded in such a 
 community as the moral maximum; while it 
 is even possible that improved sanitation, by 
 diminishing infant mortality and adult ineffective- 
 ness, might make a maximum of three sufficient 
 to keep up the normal strength of the popu- 
 lation. 
 
 In an ideal community, again, the woman who 
 looked forward to this great task on behalf of 
 the race would strenuously prepare herself for it 
 beforehand from childhood upward. She would 
 not be ashamed of such preparation; on the 
 contrary, she would be proud of it. Her duty 
 would be no longer " to suckle fools and chronicle 
 small beer," but to produce and bring up strong, 
 vigorous, free, able, and intelligent citizens. There- 
 
 N 
 
T94 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 fore, she must be nobly educated for her great 
 and important function — educated physically, in- 
 tellectually, morally. Let us forecast her future. 
 She will be well clad in clothes that allow of 
 lithe and even development of the body ; she 
 will be taught to run, to play games, to dance, to 
 swim ; she will be supple and healthy, finely 
 moulded and knit in limb and organ, beautiful 
 in face and features, splendid and graceful in the 
 native curves of her lissom figure. No cramping 
 conventions will be allowed to cage her ; no worn- 
 out moralities will be tied round her neck like a 
 mill-stone to hamper her. Intellectually she will 
 be developed to the highest pitch of which in 
 each individual case she proves herself capable 
 — educated, not in the futile linguistic studies 
 which have already been tried and found wanting 
 for men, but in realities and existences, in the 
 truths of life, in recognition of her own and our 
 place among immensities. She will know some- 
 thing worth knowing of the world she lives in, 
 its past and its present, the material of which 
 it is made, the forces that inform it, the energies 
 that thrill through it. Something, too, of the 
 orbs that surround it, of the sun that lights it, 
 
A GLIMPSE INTO UTOPIA. 195 
 
 of the stars that gleam upon it, of the seasons 
 that govern it. Something of the plants and 
 herbs that clothe it, of the infinite tribes of beast 
 and bird that dwell upon it. Something of the 
 human body, its structure and functions, the 
 human soul, its origin and meaning. Something 
 of human societies in the past, of institutions 
 and laws, of creeds and ideas, of the birth of 
 civilisation, of progress and evolution. Some- 
 thing, too, of the triumphs of art, of sculpture 
 and painting, of the literature and the poetry of 
 all races and ages. Her mind will be stored 
 with the best thoughts of the thinkers. Morally, 
 she will be free ; her emotional development, 
 instead of being narrowly checked and curbed, 
 will have been fostered and directed. She will 
 have a heart to love, and be neither ashamed nor 
 afraid of it. Thus nurtured and trained, she will 
 be a fit mate for a free man, a fit mother for 
 free children, a fit citizen for a free and equal 
 community. 
 
 Her life, too, will be her own. She will know 
 no law but her higher instincts. No man will 
 be able to buy or to cajole her. And in order 
 that she may possess this freedom to perfection. 
 
196 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 that she may be no husband's slave, no father's 
 obedient and trembling daughter, I can see but 
 one way : the whole body of men in common 
 must support in perfect liberty the whole body 
 of women. The collective guarantee must protect 
 them against individual tyranny. Thus only can 
 women be safe from the bribery of the rich 
 husband, from the dictation of the father from 
 whom there are " expectations." In the ideal 
 State, I take it, every woman will be absolutely 
 at liberty to dispose of herself as she will, and 
 no man will be able to command or to purchase 
 her, to influence her in any way, save by pure 
 inclination. 
 
 In such a State, most women would naturally 
 desire to be mothers. Being healthy, strong, and 
 free, they would wish to realise the utmost poten- 
 tialities of their own organisms. And when they 
 had done their duty as mothers, they would not 
 care much, I imagine, for any further outlets for 
 their superfluous energy. I don't doubt they 
 would gratify to the full their artistic sensibilities 
 and their thirst for knowledge. They would also 
 perform their duties to the State as citizens, no 
 less than the men. But having done these things 
 
A GLIMPSE INTO UTOPIA. 197 
 
 I fancy they would have done enough : the margin 
 of their life would be devoted to dignified and 
 cultivated leisure. They would leave to men the 
 tilling of the soil, the building and navigation of 
 marine or aerial ships, the working of mines and 
 metals, the erection of houses, the construction 
 of roads, railways, and communications, perhaps 
 even the entire manufacturing work of the com- 
 munity. Medicine and the care of the sick mi^ht 
 still be a charge to some ; education to most ; art, 
 in one form or another, to almost all. But the 
 hard work of the world might well be left to 
 men, upon whom it more naturally and fitly 
 devolves. No hateful drudgery of "earning a 
 livelihood." Women might rest content with 
 being free and beautiful, cultivated and artistic, 
 good citizens to the State, the mothers and 
 guarditms of the coming generations. If any 
 woman asks more than this, she is really asking 
 less— for she is asking that a heavier burden 
 should be cast on some or most of her sex, in 
 order to relieve the minority of a duty which to 
 well-organised women ought to be a privilege. 
 
 "But all this has no practical bearing!" I 
 beg your pardon. An ideal lias often two prac- 
 
198 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 tical uses. In the first place, it gives us a 
 pattern towards which we may approximate. In 
 the second place, it gives us a standard by which 
 we may judge whether any step we propose to take 
 is a step forward or a step backward. 
 
XXIV. 
 OF SECOND CHAMBERS. 
 
 A Second Chamber acts as a drag. Progress is 
 always uphill work. So we are at pains to pro- 
 vide a drag beforehand — for an uphill journey. 
 
 There, in one word, you have the whole philo- 
 sophy of Second Chambers. 
 
 How, then, did the nations of Europe come to 
 hamper their legislative systems with such a 
 useless, such an illogical adjunct ? In sackcloth 
 and ashes, let us confess the truth — we English 
 led them astray : on us the shame ; to us the 
 dishonour. Theorists, indeed (wise after the fact, 
 as is the wont of theorists), have discovered or in- 
 vented an imaginary function for Second Chambers. 
 They are to preserve the people, it seems, from 
 the fatal consequences of their own precipitancy. 
 As though the people — you and I — the vast body 
 of citizens, were a sort of foolish children, to be 
 
 classed with infants, women, criminals, and im- 
 
 199 
 
200 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 beciles (I adopt the chivalrous phraseology of an 
 Act of Parliament), incapable of knowing their 
 own minds for two minutes together, and requiring 
 to be kept straight by the fatherly intervention of 
 Dukes of Marlborough or Marquises of Ailesbury. 
 The ideal picture of the level-headed peers restrain- 
 ing the youthful impetuosity of the representa- 
 tives of the people from committing to-day some 
 rash act which they would gladly repent and 
 repeal to-morrow, is both touching and edifying. 
 But it exists only in the minds of the philosophers, 
 who find a reason for everything just because it is 
 there. Members of Parliament, 1 have observed, 
 seem to know their own minds every inch as well 
 as earls — nay, even as marquises. 
 
 The plain fact of the matter is, all the Second 
 Chambers in the world are directly modelled upon 
 the House of Lords, that Old Man of the Sea whom 
 England, the weary Titan, is now striving so hard 
 to shake off her shoulders. The mother of Parlia- 
 ments is responsible for every one of them. 
 Senates and Upper Houses are just the result 
 of irrational Anglomania. When constitutional 
 government began to exist, men turned unani- 
 mously to the English Constitution as their model 
 
OF SECOND CHAMBERS. 201 
 
 and pattern. That was perfectly natural. Evolu- 
 tionists know that evolution never proceeds on any 
 other plan than by reproduction, with modification, 
 of existing structures. America led the way. She 
 said, " England has a House of Commons ; there- 
 fore we must have a House of Representatives. 
 England has also a House of Lords ; nature has 
 not dowered us with those exalted products, but 
 we will do what we can ; we will imitate it by a 
 Senate." Monarchical France followed her lead ; 
 so did Belgium, Italy, civilisation in general. I 
 believe even Japan rejoices to-day in the august 
 dignity of a Second Chamber. But mark now the 
 irony of it. They all of them did this thing to be 
 entirely English. And just about the time when 
 they had completed the installation of their peers 
 or their senators, England, who set the fashion, 
 began to discover in turn she could manage a great 
 deal better herself without them. 
 
 And then what do the philosophers do ? Why, 
 they prove to you the necessity of a Second 
 Chamber by pointing to the fact that all civilised 
 nations have got one — in imitation of England. 
 Furthermore, it being their way to hunt up ab- 
 struse and recondite reasons for what is on the 
 
202 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 face of it ridiculous, they argue that a Second 
 Chamber is a necessary wheel in the mechanism 
 of popular representative government. A foolish 
 phrase, which has come down to us from antiquity, 
 represents the populace as inevitably " fickle," a 
 changeable mob, to be restrained by the wisdom 
 of the seniors and optimates. As a matter of 
 fact, the populace is never anything of the sort. 
 It is dogged, slow, conservative, hard to move ; 
 it advances step by step, a patient, sure-footed 
 beast of burden ; and when once it has done a 
 thing, it never goes back upon it. I believe this 
 silly fiction of the "fickleness" of the mob is 
 mainly due to the equally silly fictions of preju- 
 diced Greek oligarchs about the Athenian assembly 
 — which was an assembly of well-to-do and culti- 
 vated slave-owners. I do not swallow all that 
 Thucydides chooses to tell us in his one-sided 
 caricature about Cleon's appointment to the com- 
 mand at Sphacteria, or about the affair of Mity- 
 lene ; and even if I did, I think it has nothing 
 to do with the question. But on such utterly 
 exploded old-world ideas is the whole modern 
 argument of the Second Chamber founded. 
 
 Does anybody really believe great nations are 
 
OF SECOND CHAMBERS. 203 
 
 so incapable of managing their own affairs for 
 themselves through their duly -elected represen- 
 tatives that they are compelled to check their own 
 boyish ardour by means of the acts of an irre- 
 sponsible and non-elective body ? Does anybody 
 believe that the House of Commons works too 
 fast, and gets through its public business too 
 hurriedly ? Does anybody believe we improve 
 things in England at such a break-neck pace that 
 we require the assistance of Lord Salisbury and 
 Lord St. Leonards to prevent us from rushing 
 straight down a steep place into the sea, like the 
 swine of Gadara ? If they do, I congratuhte them 
 on their psychological acumen and their political 
 wisdom. 
 
 What the Commons want is not a drag, but a 
 goad — nay, rather, a snow-plough. 
 
 No ; the plain truth of the matter is this : all 
 the Second Chambers in the world owe their exis- 
 tence, not to any deliberate plan or reason, but to 
 the mere accident that the British nobles, not 
 having a room big enough to sit in with the Com- 
 mons, took to sitting separately, and transacted 
 their own business as a distinct assembly. With 
 so much wisdom are the kingdoms of the earth 
 
204 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 governed ! How else could any one in his senses 
 have devised the idea of creating one deliberative 
 body on purpose to mutilate or destroy the work 
 of another ? to produce from time to time a peri- 
 odical crisis or a periodical deadlock ? There is 
 not a country in the world with a Second Chamber 
 that doesn't twice a year kick and plunge to get 
 rid of it. 
 
 The House of Lords was once a reality. It con- 
 sisted of the ecclesiastical hierarchy — the bishops 
 and mitred abbots ; with the official liierarchy — the 
 great nobles, who were also great satraps of pro- 
 vinces, and great military commanders. It was 
 thus mainly made up of practical life-members, 
 appointed by merit. The peers, lay and spiritual, 
 were the men who commended themselves to the 
 sovereign as able administrators. Gradually, with 
 prolonged peace, the hereditary element choked 
 and swamped the nominated element. The abbots 
 disappeared, the lords multiplied. The peer ceased 
 to be the leader of a shire, and sank into a mere 
 idle landowner. Wealth alone grew at last to 
 be a title to the peerage. The House of Lords 
 became a House of Landlords. And the Eng- 
 lish people submitted to the claim of irresponsible 
 
OF SECOND CHAMBERS. 205 
 
 wealth or irresponsible acres to exercise a veto 
 upon national legislation. The anomaly, utterly- 
 indefensible in itself, had grown up so slowly that 
 the public accepted it — nay, even defended it. 
 And other countries, accustomed to regard Eng- 
 land — the Pecksnift among nations — as a perfect 
 model of political wisdom, swallowed half the 
 anomaly, and all the casuistical reasoning that 
 was supposed to justify it, without a murmur. 
 But if we strip the facts bare from the glamour 
 that surrounds them, the plain truth is this — 
 England allows an assembly of hereditary nobodies 
 to retard or veto its legislation nowadays, simply 
 because it never noticed the moment when a 
 practical House of administrative officers lapsed 
 into a nest of plutocrats. 
 
 Mend or end ? As it stands, the thing is 
 a not-even-picturesque mediaeval relic. If we 
 English were logical, we would arrange that any 
 man who owned so many thousand acres of land, 
 or brewed so many million bottles of beer per 
 annum, should ipso facto be elevated to the peerage. 
 Why should not gallons of gin confer an earldom 
 direct, and Brighton A's be equivalent to a mar- 
 quisate? Why not allow the equal claim of 
 
2o6 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 screws and pills with coal and iron ? Why dis- 
 regard the native worth of annatto and nitrates ? 
 Baron Beecham or Lord Sunlight is a first-rate 
 name. As it is, we make petty and puerile 
 distinctions. Beer is in, but whiskey is out; 
 and even in beer itself, if I recollect aright, 
 Dublin stout wore a coronet for some months or 
 years before English pale ale attained the dignity 
 of a barony. No Minister has yet made chocolate 
 a viscount. At present, banks and minerals go 
 in as of right, while soap is left out in the cold, 
 and even cotton languishes. If the Chancellor 
 of the Exchequer t up titles to auction, while 
 abolishing the legislative function of the Lords, 
 there would be millions in it. But as we English 
 are not logical, our mending would probably re- 
 solve itself into fatuous tinkering. We might 
 get rid of the sons, but leave the fathers. We 
 might flood the Lords with life peers, but leave 
 the veto. Such tactics are too Britannic. '' Stone 
 dead hath no fellow ! " 
 
XXV. 
 
 A POINT OF CRITICISM. 
 
 A FEW pa^es back, I ventured to remark that in 
 Utopia or the Millennium the women of the com- 
 munity would probably be supported in common 
 by the labour of the men, and so be secured com- 
 plete independence of choice and action. When 
 these essays first appeared in a daily newspaper, 
 a Leader among Women wrote to me in reply, 
 "What a paradise you open up to us! Alas 
 for the reality ! The question is — could women 
 ever be really independent if men supplied the 
 means of existence ? They would always feel they 
 had the right to control us. The difference of 
 the position of a woman in marriage when she 
 has got a little fortune of her own is something 
 miraculous. Men adore money, and the possession 
 of it inspires them with an involuntary respect for 
 the happy possessor." 
 
 Now I got a great many letters in answer to 
 
 207 
 
2o8 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 these Post-Prandials as they originally came out — 
 some of them, strange to say, not wholly com- 
 plimentary. As a rule, I am too busy a man to 
 answer letters : and I take this opportunity of 
 apologising to correspondents who write to tell me 
 I am a knave or a fool, for not having acknow- 
 ledged direct their courteous communications. But 
 this friendly criticism seems to call for a reply, 
 because it involves a question of principle which 
 I have often noted in all discussions of Utopias 
 and Millennia, 
 
 For my generous critic seems to take it for 
 granted that women are not now dependent on 
 the labour of men for their support — that some, or 
 even most of them, are in a position of freedom. 
 The plain truth of it is — almost all women depend 
 for everything upon one man, who is cr may be 
 an absolute despot. A very small .lumber of 
 women have " money of their own," as we quaintly 
 phrase it — that is to say, are supported by the 
 labour of many among us, either in the form of 
 rent or in the form of interest on capital be- 
 queathed to them. A woman with five thousand 
 a year from Consols, for example, is in the strictest 
 sense supported by the united labour of all of 
 
A POINT OF CRITICISM. 209 
 
 us — she faps a first mortgage to that amount upon 
 the earnings of the community. You and I are 
 taxed to pay her. But is she therefore more 
 dependent than the woman who lives upon what 
 she can get out of the scanty earnings of a 
 drunken husband ? Does the community therefore 
 think it has a right to control her? Not a bit 
 of it. She is in point of fact the only free woman 
 among us. My dream was to see all women 
 equally free— inheritors from the community of 
 so much of its earnings ; holders, as it were, of 
 sufficient world-consols to secure their indepen- 
 dence. 
 
 That, however, is not the main point to which 
 I desire just now to direct attention. I want 
 rather to suggest an underlying fallacy of all so- 
 called individualists in dealing with schemes of 
 so-called Socialism — for to me your Socialist is 
 the true and only individualist. My correspon- 
 dent's argument is written from the standpoint of 
 the class in which women have or may have 
 money. But most women have none ; and schemes 
 of reconstruction must be for the benefit of the 
 many. So-called individualists seem to think that 
 
 under a more organised social state they would 
 
 
 
2IO POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 not be so able to buy pictures as at present, not 
 so free to run across to California or Kamschatka. 
 I doubt their premiss, for I believe we should all 
 of us be better off than we are to-day; but let 
 that pass ; 'tis a detail. The main thing is thir. : 
 they forget that most of us are narrowly tied and 
 circumscribed at present by endless monopolies and 
 endless restrictions of land or capital. I should 
 like to buy pictures ; but I can't afford them. I 
 long to see Japan; but I shall never get there. 
 The man in the street may desire to till the 
 ground : every acre is appropriated. He may 
 wish to dig coal: Lord Masham prevents him. 
 He may have a pretty taste in Venetian glass : 
 the flints on the shore are private property; the 
 furnace and the implements belong to a capitalist. 
 Under the existing regime, the vast mass of us 
 are hampered at every step in order that a few 
 may enjoy huge monopolies. Most men have no 
 land, so that one man may own a county. And 
 they call this Individualism ! 
 
 In considering any proposed change, whether 
 imminent or distant, in practice or in day-dream, 
 it is not fair to take as your standard of refer- 
 ence the most highly-favoured individuals under 
 
A POINT OF CRITICISM. 211 
 
 existing conditions. Nor is it fair to take the 
 most unfortunate only. You should look at the 
 average. 
 
 Now the average man, in the world as it wags, 
 is a farm-labourer, an artisan, a mill-hand, a 
 navvy. He has untrammelled freedom of con- 
 tract to follow the plough on another man's land, 
 or to work twelve hours a day in another man's 
 factory, for that other man's benefit — provided 
 always he can only induce the other man to 
 employ him. If he can't, he is at perfect liberty 
 to tramp the high road till he drops with fatigue, 
 or to starve, unhindered, on the Thames Embank- 
 ment. He may live where he likes, as far as 
 his means permit; for example, in a convenient 
 court off Seven Dials. He may make his own 
 free bargain with grasping landlord or exacting 
 sweater. He may walk over every inch of English 
 soil, with the trifling exception of the millions 
 of acres where trespassers will be prosecuted. 
 Even travel is not denied him: Florence and 
 Venice are out of his beat, it is true ; but if he 
 saves up his loose cash for a couple of months, 
 he may revel in the Oriental luxury of a third- 
 class excursion train to Brighton and back for 
 
212 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 three shillings. Such advantages does the regime 
 of landlord-made individualism afford to the aver- 
 age run of British citizen. If he fails in the 
 race, he may retire at seventy to the ease and 
 comfort of the Union workhouse, and be buried 
 inexpensively at the cost of his parish. 
 
 The average woman in turn is the wife of 
 such a man, dependent upon him for what fraction 
 of his earnings she can save from the public-house. 
 Or she is a shop-girl, free to stand all day from 
 eight in the morning till ten at night behind 
 a counter, and to throw up her situation if it 
 doesn't suit her. Or she is a domestic servant, 
 enjoying the glorious liberty of a Sunday out 
 every second week, and a walk with her young 
 man every alternate Wednesday after eight in 
 the evening. She has full leave to do her love- 
 making in the open street, and to get as wet 
 as she chooses in Regent's Park on rainy nights 
 in November. Look the question in the face, 
 and you will see for yourself that the mass of 
 mothers in every community are dependent for 
 support, not upon men in general, but upon a 
 single man, their husband, against whose caprices 
 and despotism they have no sort of protection. 
 
A POINT OF CRITICISM. 213 
 
 Even the few women who are, as we say, " in- 
 dependent," how are they supported, save by the 
 labour of many men who work to keep them 
 in comfort or luxury ? They are landowners, 
 let us put it; and then they are supported by 
 the labour of their farmers and ploughmen. Or 
 they hold North- Western shares ; and then they 
 are supported by the labour of colliers, and stokers, 
 and guards, and engine-drivers. And so on 
 throughout. The plain fact is, either a woman 
 must earn her own livelihood by work, which, 
 in the case of the mothers in a community, is 
 bad public policy; or else she must be supported 
 by a man or men, her husband, or her labourers. 
 
 My day-dream was, then, to make every woman 
 independent, in precisely the same sense that 
 women of property are independent at present. 
 Would it give them a consciousness of being 
 unduly controlled if they derived their support 
 from the general funds of the body politic, of 
 which they would be free and equal members 
 and voters ? Well, look at similar cases in our 
 own England. The Dukes of Marlborough derive 
 a heavy pension from the taxes of the country ; 
 but I have never observed that anv Duke of Marl- 
 
214 POST-PRANDIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 borough of my time felt himself a slave to the 
 imperious taxpayer. Mr Alfred Russel Wallace 
 is justly the recipient of a Civil List annuity ; 
 but that hasn't prevented his active and essentially 
 individualist brain from inventing Land National- 
 isation. Mr. Robert Buchanan very rightly draws 
 another such annuity for good work done ; but 
 Mr. Buchanan's name is not quite the first that 
 rises naturally to my lips as an example of cowed 
 and cringing sycophancy to the ideas and ideals 
 of his fellow-citizens. No, no; be sure of it, 
 this terror is a phantom. One master is real, 
 realisable, instant ; but to be dependent upon ten 
 million is just what we always describe as inde- 
 pendence. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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26 
 
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 THE MAYFAIR LIBRARY. 
 
 A Journey Round My Boom. By Xavier 
 
 Die MAISTKli. 
 
 ¥uipB and Quiddities. RyW. D.Adams. 
 he Agony Column of "Tlie Times." 
 Melancholy Anatomised: Abridgement of 
 
 *' Burton's Anatomy of Melanclioly." 
 The Speeches of Charles Dickens. 
 Poetical Ingenuities. By W. T. Dobson. 
 The Cupboard Papers. By Fin-Bec, 
 W. S. Qilbert's Plays. First Serif.s. 
 W. B. Gilbert's Plays. Sp.cond Skrils. 
 Bongs of Irish Wit and Humour. 
 Animals and Masters. By Sir A. Helps. 
 Bocial Pressure. By Sir A. Helps. 
 Curiosities of Criticism. H. J. Jennings. 
 Holmes's Autocrat of Breakfast-Table. 
 Pencil and Palette. By K. Kkmpt. 
 Lit tle Essays; from Lamb's Letters. 
 
 THE GOLDEN~LIBRAR Y. 
 Bayard Taylor's Diversions of the Ecli^ 
 
 Club. 
 Bennett's Ballad History of Engb.nd. 
 Bennett's Bongs for Sailors. 
 Godwin's Lives of the Necromancers. 
 Pope's Poetical Works. 
 Holmes's Autocrat of Breakfast Table. 
 
 Post 8vo, cloth limp, *£<*. Oil. per Volume. 
 I Forensic Anecdotes. By Jacob LARwonn. 
 ' Theatrical Anecdotes. Jacob Larwood. 
 
 Jeux d'Esprit. Edited by Henry S. Leigh. 
 
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 Ourselves. By E. Lynn Linton. 
 
 Pastimes & Players. By R. Macgregor. 
 I New Paul and Virginia. W.H.Mallock. 
 I New Republic. By W. H. Mallock. 
 
 Puck on Pegasus. By H. C. Pennell. 
 ! Pegasus Re-Saddled. By H.C. Pennell. 
 I Muses of Mayfalr. Ed. H. C. Pennell. 
 
 Thoreau: IlisLile&Aims. By H.A.Page. 
 I Puniana. By Hon. Hugh Rowley. 
 
 More Puniana. By Hon. Hugh Rowley. 
 I The Philosophy of Handwriting. 
 I By Stream and Sea. By VVm. Senior. 
 
 Leaves from a Naturalist's Note-Book. 
 Hv Dr. Andrew Wilson. 
 
 Post Svo, cloth limp, '2n, per Volume. 
 
 Jesse's Scenes of Country Life. 
 
 Leigh Hunt's Tale for a Chimney 
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 Mallory's Mort d'Arthur: Se'ections. 
 
 Pascal's Provincial Letters. 
 ! Rochefoucauld's Maxims & Reflections. 
 
 THE WANDERER'S LIBRARY. 
 Wanderings in Patagonia. By Julius 
 
 Beerbohm. Illustrated. 
 Camp Notes. By Frederick Boyle. 
 Savage Life. By Frederick Boyle. 
 Merrie England in the Olden Time. By 
 
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 Lives of the Conjurers. Thomas Frost. 
 The Old Showmen and the Old London 
 
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 Low-Life Deeps. By James Greenwood. 
 
 Crown Svo, cloth extra, tin. G<1. each. 
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 Tunis. Chev. Hksse-Wartegg. 22lliusts. 
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 World Behind the Scenes. P.Fitzgerald. 
 Tavern Anecdotes and Sayings. 
 The Genial Showman. ByE.P. Hingston 
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 London Characters. By Henry Mavhew. 
 Seven Generations of Executioners. 
 Summer Cruising in the South Seas. 
 
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 Harry Fludyer at Cambridge. 
 Jeff Briggs's Love Story. Bret Harte. 
 Twins of Table Mountain. Bret Harte. 
 Snow-bound at Eagle's. By Bret Haute. 
 A Day's Tour. By Percy Fitzgerald. 
 Esther's Glove. ByR. E. Francillon, 
 Sentenced! By Somerville Gihney. 
 The Professor's Wife. By L.Graham. 
 Mrs. Gainsborough's Diamonds. By 
 
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 Niagara Spray. By J. Holi.ingshead. 
 A Romance of the Queen's Hounds. By 
 
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 Garden that Paid Rent. Tom Jerrold. 
 Cut by the Mess. By Arthur Kevser. 
 Teresa Itasca. By A. MacAlpine. 
 Our Sensation Novel. J. H. McCarthy. 
 Doom! By Justin H. \IcCarthy, 
 Dolly. By Justin H. McCarthy. 
 
 POPULAR SHILLING BOOKS. 
 
 Lily Lass. Justin H. McCarthy. 
 Was She Good or Bad ? By W. Minto. 
 Notes from the "News." By J as. Payn. 
 Beyond the Gates. By E. S. Phelps. 
 Old Maid's Paradise. By E. S. Phelps. 
 Burglars in Paradise. By E. S. Phelp.s. 
 Jack the Fisherman. By E. S. Phelps. 
 Trooping with Crows. By C. L. Pirkis. 
 Bible Characters. By Charles RiiAUE. 
 Rogues. By R. H. Sherard. 
 The Dagonet Reciter. By G. R. Sims. 
 How the Poor Live. By G. R. Sims. 
 Case of George Candlemas. G. R. Sims 
 Sandycroft Mystery. T. W. Speigiit. 
 Hoodwinked. By T. W. Speight. 
 Father Damien. By R. L. Stevenson. 
 A Double Bond. By Linda Villa'u. 
 My Life with Stanley's Rear Guard. By 
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 HANDY NOVELS. Fcap. 8vo, cloth boards, Is. 6d. each. 
 The Old Maid's Sweetheart. A.St.Aubyn I Taken from the Enemy. H. Newbolt. 
 Modest Little Sara. Alan St. Aubyn. | A Lost Soul. By W. L. Alden. 
 Seven Sleepers of Ephesus. M.E.Coleridge. | Dr. Palliser's Patient. Grant Allen. 
 
CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. 
 
 27 
 
 MY LIBRARY. Printed on laid paper 
 Four Frenchwomen. By Austin Dobson, 
 Citation and Examination of William 
 
 Slialispeare. l!y W. S. Landor. 
 Tlie Journal of Maurice de Guerin. 
 
 , post 8vo, half-Roxburglie, tin, 6(1. each. 
 Christie Johnstone. By Charles Rbaub. 
 
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 Peg Wofflngton. By Charlks Reaue. 
 The Dramatic Essays of Charles Lamb. 
 
 THE POCKET LIBRARY. Postsvo 
 
 The Essays of Elia. By Charles Lamb. 
 Robinson Crusoe. Edited by John Major. 
 
 With 37lllusts. by George CR^;IKsH^NK. 
 Whims and Oddities. By Thomas Hood. 
 
 With 8i Illustrations. 
 The Barber's Chair, and The Hedgehog 
 
 Letters. By Douglas Jerrold 
 Gastronomy. By Brillat-Savarin. 
 The Epicurean, &c. By Thomas Moore. 
 Leigh Hunt's Essays. Ed. K. Ollie i? . _ 
 
 =^^^-p,Q-Q^p,LLY NOVELST 
 
 LirsRARY Editions of Novels, many Illustrated, crown 8vo. cloth extra, 3i«. 6(1. each. 
 
 Uy F. ITI. ALLCrV. ~" 
 
 Green as Grass. 
 
 lly CiRAIVT ALLEiX. 
 
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 White's Natural History of Selborne. 
 
 Gulliver's Travels, and The Tale of a 
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 The Rivals, School for Scandal, and other 
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 Anecdotes of the Clergy. I. Larwoou. 
 
 Thomson's Seasons. Ilhistraicd. 
 
 The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table 
 nni The Professor at the Breakfast- 
 Table. By Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
 
 Phillstia. 
 Babylon, 
 btrange Stories. 
 Beckoning Hand. 
 In all Shades. 
 
 The Tents of Sltem. 
 For Maimie's Sake. 
 The Devil's Die. 
 This Mortal Coil. 
 The Great Taboo. 
 
 Dumaresq'B Daughter. | Blood Royal. 
 The Duchess of Powysland. 
 Ivan Greet's Masterpiece. 
 
 By KDWIIV i,. ARNOLD. 
 Phra the Phoenician. 
 The Constable of St. Nicholas. 
 
 By AliAIV MT. AUKVrV. 
 A Fellow of Trinity. | The Junior Dean. 
 The Master of St. Benedict's. 
 
 By Rev. ». BARIiXO dOVl.D. 
 Red Spider. I Eve. 
 
 By ROBERT BARR. 
 
 In Steamer Chair | From Whose Bourne 
 
 By ^V. BESAIVT & J. R1C'I<:. 
 
 By ITlACXiARIilV COBBAIV. 
 
 The Red Sultan. 
 
 ITIORT. & VKATHCEH €OI.I.,IIVS. 
 
 Transmigration. | Blacli^ith&Scholar. 
 From Midnight to Midnight. 
 Village Comedy. | Ygu Play Me False. 
 By WIl.li.lli} €01iL,lIV<>«. 
 
 Armadale. 
 After Dark. 
 No Name. 
 Antonina. | Basil. 
 Hide and Seek. 
 The Dead Secret. 
 Queen of Hearts. 
 My Miscellanies, 
 woman in White. 
 The Moonstone. 
 Man and Wife. 
 Poor Miss Finch. 
 Miss or Mrs? 
 
 By Celia's Arbour. 
 Monks of Thelema, 
 The Seamy Side. 
 Ten Years' Tenant. 
 
 My Little Girl. 
 Case of Mr.Lucraft. 
 ThlsSonofYulcan. 
 Golden Butterfly. 
 Ready-Money Mortiboy. 
 With Harp and Crown. 
 'Twas in Trafalgar's Bay. 
 The Chaplain of the Fleet. 
 
 By WAliTliR BKM.tNT. 
 All Sorts and Conditions of Men. 
 The Captains' Room. I Herr Paul us. 
 All in a Garden Fair | The Ivory Gate. 
 The World Went Very Well Then. 
 For Faith and Freedom. 
 
 The Frozen Deep. ' 
 The Two Destinies. 
 Law and the Lady. 
 Haunted Hotel. 
 The Fallen Leave:. 
 Jezebel's Daughter. 
 The Black Robe. 
 Heart and Science. 
 "I Say No." 
 Little Novels. 
 The Evil Genius. 
 The Legacy of Cain 
 A Rogue's Life. 
 Blind Love. 
 
 New Magdalen. 
 
 By BUTTON COOK. 
 Paul Foster's Daughter. 
 
 By EOWARU U. COOPER. 
 Geolfory Hamilton. 
 
 By V. CECIIi COTEM. 
 Two Girls on a Barge. 
 
 By MATT 4;RI VI. 
 Adventures of a Fair Rebel. 
 
 By B. ITl. CROKER 
 
 PrettyMissNcviKp. 
 ABirdof Passas,. 
 "To Let." 
 C¥PIiE«. 
 
 The Holy Rose. 
 Armorel of Lyon- 
 
 esse. 
 St. Katherlne's by 
 
 the Tower. 
 
 Dorothy Forster. 
 
 Uncle Jack. 
 
 Children of Gibeon. 
 
 BsU of St. Paul's. 
 
 To Call Her Mine. 
 
 Verbena Camellia Stephanotis. 
 
 By ROBERT BCC'ilAIVAIV. 
 The Shadow of the Sword, j Matt. 
 A Child of Nature. I Heir of Linnc. 
 The Martyrdom of Madeline. 
 God and the Man. The New Abelard. 
 Love He for Ever. Foxglove Manor. 
 Annan Water. Masterof the Mine. 
 
 By HAL.L. CAIIVE. 
 The Shadow of a Crime. 
 h Son of Hagar. I The Deemster. 
 
 Diana Harrington. 
 
 Proper Pride. 
 
 A FamilyLikeness. 
 
 By «VIL.KilAIfl 
 Hearts of Gold. 
 
 By AL.PHOIV8E DA CDET. 
 The Evangelist; or, Port Salvation. 
 
 Bv EUASITICM DAW!!»<»IV. 
 The Fountain of Vouth. 
 
 By JAiTIE!i» BE MIIaIjV:. 
 A Castle in Spain. 
 
 By J. I^EITII DERWEIVT. 
 Our Lady of Tears. I Circe's Lovers* 
 
 By DICli. 1>0.\0%'AIV. 
 Tracked to Doom. 
 Man from Manchester. 
 
 By A. C4»IVAN DOVL.E. 
 The Firm of Girdlestone. 
 By IVIra. ANNIE ED%VARDES. 
 Archie Lovell. 
 
 By G. mANVlI^I^E FENN. 
 The New Mistress. I Witness to the Deed. 
 
28 
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 TiiK I'lccAiiiULY (3/6) biavELS— continual, 
 
 ny PKItCV FlTZGIillALiU. 
 Fatal Zero. 
 
 Hy It. K. FIlAIVC'lIiliOnr. 
 
 Queen Cophelua. 
 
 One by One. 
 
 Voi & his Shadow. 
 
 A Real Queen. 
 
 King or Knave. 
 
 Ropes of Band. 
 
 i<iiji<:iej<:. 
 
 opes 
 Prrl'.by Mir HXUTLK 
 
 Pandurang Hari. 
 
 Jb:i>. (.iAItliKT'r.— TheCapel Oirls. 
 
 By PAVL, C}AI.'L.OT. 
 The Red Shirts. 
 
 By CIIAKI.KH UIBBOK. 
 Robin Gray. I The Golden Shaft. 
 
 Loving a Dream. I Of High Dogrca. 
 The Flower of the Forest. 
 
 By K. CiliANVII.IiR. 
 The Lost Heiress. I The Fossichcr. 
 A Fair Colonist. I 
 
 By K. J. OOODITIAIV. 
 The Fate of Herbert Wayne. 
 
 By €;EC;iIi CiltirFlTlB. 
 Corinthia Marazion. 
 
 By MVUrVEV CiKUNUV. 
 The lOays of his Vanity. 
 
 By TIIOITIAM flAKDY 
 Under the Greenwood Tree. 
 
 By BKKT UAB'i'E. 
 A Waif of the Plains. | Sally Dovvs. 
 A Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 A Sappho of Green Springs. 
 Colonel Starbottle's Client. | Busy. 
 A Protdgee of Jacl< Hamlin's. 
 By JUIilAN llAWTlIOBrVt:. 
 
 Dust. 
 Fortune's Fool. 
 Beatrix Randolph. 
 
 Garth. 
 
 Ellice Quentin. 
 
 Sebastian Strome. 
 
 David Polndextcr's Disappearance. 
 
 The Spectre of the Camera. 
 
 ByHiv A.IIEIjFW.— Ivan do Biron. 
 
 By 1MAA€ lIEiNUEU^OiN. 
 Agatha Page. 
 
 By rUrs. IIVIVOERFOBD. 
 I adv Yerner's Flight. 
 
 By ITIrs. AlirKED 111 :\T. 
 Tlic lioaden Casliet. I Self-Condemned. 
 Tliat Other Person. | Mrs. Juliet. 
 By B. Ar^llE I&1IV(>;. 
 A Drawn Game. 
 "The Wearing of the Green." 
 
 By E. liYN[% I.BIVTOIV. 
 
 ione. 
 
 Paston Carew. 
 
 Bowing the Wind 
 
 Patricia Kemball. 
 
 Under which Lord? 
 
 "My Love I" 
 
 The Atonement of Lcam Dundas 
 
 The World Well Lost. 
 
 By llEIVUi: ^V. liTCV. 
 Gideon Fleyce. 
 
 By .llTjiilTIIV lTIc€^%KTIIV 
 
 Donna Quixote. 
 Maid of Athens. 
 Camiola. 
 
 A Fair Saxon. 
 
 Linley Rochford. 
 
 Miss Misanthrope. 
 
 The Waterdale Neighbours. 
 
 My Enemy's Daughter. 
 
 Dear Lady Disdain. | The Dictator. 
 
 The Comet of a Season. 
 
 By «;;E0BC}E xYlACDOIVAlvJD. 
 Heather and Snow. 
 
 By AONES MA€l>0:VEL.l7. 
 Quaker Cousins. 
 
 By BERTRAIfl IVIITFORD. 
 The Gun-Runner. | The King's Assegai. 
 The Lack of Gerard Ridgeley. 
 
 Thb Piccadilly (3/6) NovKi.s-fod/iHi/^i/. 
 By 1>. C'llBlNTIE Ifll^ieiCAl'. 
 
 Val Strange. 
 
 Hearts. 
 
 A Model Father. 
 
 Time's Revenges. 
 
 Life's Atonement. 
 
 Joseph's Coat. 
 
 Coals of Fire. 
 
 Old Blazer's Hero. 
 
 By the Gate of the Soa. 
 
 A Bit of Human Nature. 
 
 First Person Singular. I Cyulc Fortune. 
 
 The Way of the World. 
 
 Bob Martin's Little Girl. 
 
 By ITIL'KHCAV iV IIEBVIA.V 
 The Bishops' Bible. | Paul Jones's Altai. 
 One Traveller Returns. 
 
 By IIUJIE NI.SBET. 
 "Bail Up!" 
 
 By t.)Ii:OR€;;EM OlIIVET. 
 A Weird Gift. 
 
 By OIIOA. 
 Hold in Bondage. Two Little Wooden 
 Sti'.ithmore. Shofs. 
 
 Chandos. In a Winter City. 
 
 Under Two Flags. Ariadne. 
 
 Idaiia. 
 CocllCastlemainc's 
 
 Gage. 
 Triootrin. | Puck. 
 Folio Farino. 
 A Dog of Flanders. 
 Pascarel. I Sign a. 
 Princess Maprax- 
 
 ine. 
 
 By IflAKf^.tlSI^T 
 Gentle and Simple. 
 
 By .ia.ti<<:m 1»AVIV. 
 Lost Sir Massingberd. 
 Loss Bla,ck than We're Painted. 
 A Conndcntlal Ai^ont. 
 A Orapo from a Thorn. 
 Ill Poril and Privation. 
 The Mystery of Mirbridge 
 The Canon's Ward. 
 
 Friendship. 
 Moths. I Rufllno. 
 Pipistreilo. 
 A Village Commune 
 Blmbi. I WandQ. 
 Frescoes. Othniar. 
 In Maremma. 
 Syrlin.' Guiideroy. 
 Santa Barbara. 
 A. PALIi. 
 
 Walter's Word. 
 By Proxy. 
 High Spirits. 
 Under One Roof. 
 From Exile. 
 Glow-worm Tales. 
 Talk of the Town. 
 
 By E. 1'. 
 Valentina. 
 
 Holiday Tasks. 
 For Cash Only. 
 The Burnt Million. 
 TheV/ord and the 
 
 Will. 
 Sunny Stories. 
 A Trying Patient. 
 I»K«« E. 
 I The Foreigners. 
 
 Mrs. Lancaster's Rival, 
 
 By Ba(;ilAKl> i*icv(;e. 
 
 Miss Maxwell's Affections. 
 
 By C;iIARIiE.H ICEABE. 
 
 It is Never Too Late to Mend. 
 
 Tiie Double Marriage. 
 
 Love Me Little, Love Me Long, 
 
 The Cloister and the Hearth. 
 
 The Course of True Love. 
 
 The Autobiography of a Thief. 
 
 Put Yourself in his Place. 
 
 A Terrible Temptation. | The Jilt. 
 
 Singieheart and Doubletace. 
 
 Good Stories of Men and other Animals. 
 
 Hard Cash. 
 Peg WoRlngton. 
 ChristieJohnstone. 
 Griffith Gaunt. 
 Foul Play. 
 
 Wandering Heir, 
 
 A Woman-Hatcr. 
 
 A Simpleton. 
 
 Readianu. 
 
 A Perilous tiecret. 
 
 By Iflrs. J. H. RIDUEI.I^. 
 
 The Prince of Wales's Garden Party, 
 Weird Stories, 
 
CHATTO Sc Vv'INDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. 
 
 20 
 
 Tub PiccAniM.Y (vf>) Novki.s— coh^/ih^J. 
 
 II) AiTIKIilU KlVMiM. 
 Barbara Dering. 
 
 It) !•'. \V. II«>BIIVKOIV. 
 The Hands of Justice. 
 
 Hy W. riiAKK KLMMKIir.. 
 Ocean Tragedy. | My Shipmate Louise. 
 Alone on a wide Wide Sea. 
 
 By JOHN MAL'IVUtCRM. 
 Ouy Waterman. I Two Dreamers. 
 Bound to Vi^heel. I Lion in tlie I'nth. 
 By KATIlAUIIVli: MALNDt^UM. 
 Margaret and Elizabeth. 
 Gideon's Rocli. j Heart Salvage. 
 The High Mills. I Sebastian. 
 
 By llAWIiGV MITIAUT. 
 Without Love or Licence. 
 
 By n. A. 8'r£:ie.'yi>AiiC 
 
 The Afghan Knife. 
 
 By BKKTIIA TIIOVIA!^. 
 
 Pfoud Maisie. I The Violin-player. 
 
 isy fbsai\c'I<:m i:. Tnot.iAtva. 
 
 Mko Ships upon tiie Sea. 
 
 Anne Furness. | Mabers Progress. 
 
 The Piccadilly (3/6) Novki.s— foH/i/i»r./. 
 By IVAIV TtJIC4.3F:VII<:i<-F, Av. 
 Stories from Foreign Novelists. 
 By AIVTIIOIXV TICOI.I.«»l'f<:. 
 
 Frau Frohniann. I Land-Lcai^uers. 
 Marlon Fay. | The Way Wo Live Now. 
 Mr. Scarborough's Family. 
 
 By C. C. ■•'iftA!!tL:il-TlTL.E::U. 
 Mistress Judith. 
 
 By MAKAII TVri.RK. 
 The Bride's Pass. I Lady Bell. 
 Burled Diamonds. I Biackhail Ghosts. 
 
 By ITIAICEC TWAli\. 
 The American Claimant. 
 The £1,000,000 BanU-noto. 
 
 By A li 1.1: IV I.1*%VAR1>. 
 The Queen Against Owen. 
 
 RS) .1. f*. Wt>'l'i:i8. 
 A SoiUier".=5 Chlidrcn. 
 
 K > > r% as <; A B li T \\ \ S M A i-v. 
 My fiii'iAtions. 
 
 Bv e:. xoiiA. 
 
 The Downfall. I Dr. Pascal. 
 The Droar.1. | Honey. 
 
 CHEAP EDITIONS OF POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
 Post 8vo, illustrated boards, ^s. each. 
 
 By ARTEMIIS WAIIJD. 
 
 Artoraus Ward Complete. 
 
 By £l>:TIOiNl> ABOt/T. 
 The Fellah. 
 
 By IIAITIILTOIV AIOJC. 
 
 Cair of Carrlyon. | Confidences. 
 By ltlAU¥ Al^BKUT. 
 Brooke Finchley's Daughter. 
 
 By IUi-8. AliKXAIVJUEK. 
 
 Haid,Wife,orWidow? I Valerie' Fate. 
 
 By OBANT Al^l.CIV. 
 
 Strange Stories. 
 
 Phiiistia. 
 
 Babylon. 
 
 The Devil's Die. 
 This Mortal Coll. 
 In all Shades. 
 
 The Beckoning Hand. | Blood Royal. 
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