most grave state of things should Germany be overtaken by any serious misfortune.

There is no doubt that the growth of the Social Democratic Party is the result of narrow administrative measures. The chief grievance of Prussian workmen, for instance, is the Prussian Law of Association. Societies which occupy themselves with politics are illegal; but it is not easy to obtain an exact definition of what constitutes political matter. Laws for the regulation of the length of the working day; the question of the employment of women and children in onerous kinds of labor; protective duties, are all questions which may be considered political or not, as it pleases the heads of the police. In practice, associations of employers or of owners of property are always allowed to exist. Associations of workmen, formed with a view to promote the interests of their class, are rigorously suppressed. Nay, more, although workmen are prevented from combining, certain employers, on the other hand, are not only allowed and encouraged, but forced to do so. There is, moreover, a widespread feeling especially in the north, and not by any means confined to the working classes, that the administration of justice is not impartial on any question in which government or public authority may be interested. The result is to inspire the workmen throughout the Empire with a conviction that the whole force of public authority is against them. Hence there is no feeling of attachment to or respect for the institutions of the country such as we are accustomed to in England, and the serious suffering which would result from war with England would infallibly set loose forces of revolution and of disintegration which would shake the whole fabric of the Empire, even if they did not bring it topsy-turvy down.

We may, I think, take it as a certain

ty that no combination will be formed against England unless Germany joins it; and it is fairly certain that Germany will not do so if she thinks that England will resist any interference in South Africa by force of arms or otherwise.

We could not do better than remember the conduct of Lord Chatham, when he had to face a somewhat similar difficulty. During the Seven Years' War, when on one occasion negotiations for peace with France were going on, Bussy, the French envoy, pressed on Lord Chatham, who was still the Great Commoner, proposals of intervention in the controversy between England and Spain. Lord Chatham told him plainly that the government of the King of England would not suffer the disputes with Spain to be blended in any manner whatever in negotiations between England and France. Bussy continued arguing, and, at last, Chatham, in answer to his pleadings and veiled threats, replied, "Time enough to treat of all that, sir, when the Tower of London is taken, sword in hand." If European powers at the present moment were certain that a similar answer would be given to any combination proposing to interfere with the march of events in South Africa, nothing is more certain than that no attempt at interference would be made.

In order that England should take up such an attitude as her position and interests demand, it is requisite that she should be ready to put out her whole maritime strength at a given moment, and also that she should show vigorous intention to create an adequate army. She must definitely make up her mind to form a military force thoroughly efficient, and likely to fulfil the boast that Wellington made with reference to the army he parted from at the end of the Peninsular War, "that it could go anywhere and do anything." Notwithstanding the undoubted superiority

of our navy, it is clear that it will not be able by itself to repel the aggressive movements of great military powers. It will be simply impossible for this country to protect her interests and to beat off attacks on her continental possessions in Asia and Africa, if she continues to rely on her fleets alone. The experience of the last three months must make that truth evident to all persons in England not blinded by prejudice and cant, as it has long been clear to every continental writer on international politics of any eminence whatever. It is not necessary to enter, at the moment into discussion as to whether or not a system of compulsory military service of some sort should be introduced into this country. What is wanted is a national army. If the obligation of military service should be necessary to secure this, it will come in time, unless England ceases to be a great power. The practical measure, for the moment, would be for the government to take efficient steps to organize the militia into a number of divisions fit for the field, to form the men who serve in the ranks into thoroughly efficient soldiers, and then do the same with the volunteers. The military forces of the nation should be raised to something like the standard of the Prussian army in 1866. Besides the troops who have to be kept in India, in Egypt, and the Mediterranean, there should always be a force of at least 200,000 men ready to leave this country at a moment's notice, and, without disorganizing regiments or divisions, go to any part of the world; and an adequate permanent transport service should be ready to carry them. To organize such a force in England would be a far easier work than that done by Scharnhorst for Prussia in the early days of the century, and which has been admittedly the means of placing that country in the proud position she afterwards won, and which, I may add,

is now partly the cause of the commercial prosperity of Germany.

So

The situation appears to be as follows: It seems likely that when occasion serves the Afrikander Bond will urge the Imperial Government to come to terms with the two South African Republics by offering to acknowledge their independence as Sovereign States on condition they disarm. This suggestion is sure to be accompanied by a menace more or less veiled, that should it be rejected by Her Majesty's Government, the Cape Dutch will renounce their allegiance to the Queen. It is superfluous to point out that the acceptance of such a proposal by England would mean the loss of the whole of South Africa at no distant date. base a betrayal, moreover, of the cause for which our fellow subjects beyond the seas have drawn their swords would raise a storm of indignation in our self-governing colonies so violent and enduring that it would shake the fabric of the British Empire. This is well understood from one end of Europe to the other, and hence the enemies will do all they can to cajole or frighten the English Government to be magnanimous in victory. Continental governments will contrive that pressure will be brought to bear on them by their own subjects to excuse their action in offering this advice, and more than one continental power would be glad to have a safe opportunity, under the mask of friendship, to deal a deadly blow at Great Britain. England cannot count on the friendship of any European power, except Italy. The main interest of that country is certainly, at the present moment, to preserve the conditions of political power in the Mediterranean. If the English supremacy in that sea were to pass away, it would, of necessity, be replaced by that of France; and every Italian very well knows that there is hardly any question on which Frenchmen, of all parties, are

more agreed upon than in dislike to the unity of Italy. Hence, Italy may always be counted on as a possible ally of England, notwithstanding that she has legitimate grounds for complaint at the studied accord of England with France in such questions as Morocco, Tunis, and Siam. The interests which are common to Italy and England are not likely to be forgotten so long as the destinies of the former country are in the hands of Visconti Venosta, who is the last living friend of Cavour, a man for whom the founder of Italian unity had a most particular regard and respect, and who has, in his turn, always held firmly to the policy of the greatest statesman of the second half of the nineteenth century. As regards the other great powers, there is nothing to expect from them. They will take every opportunity to thwart and damage England. They are jealous of her The National Review.

They

prosperity, and especially of the lawabiding and, at the same time, libertyloving character of the nation. look with envious eyes on the homogeneity of our people and on the solidity of our State. And they are rendered more malicious when they think of their own rickety internal condition. Should they attempt to interfere in South Africa the more clearly they are made to understand that their advice, however disinterested they may represent it to be, will not be listened to, the less likely they are to press it. Firmness now is the only way to avert dangerous complications or ruinous humiliation. The plain course for England to adopt is to knit together more firmly those rising and vigorous young nations, which we call self-governing colonies, to hold out the hand of friendship to Italy, and to stand to arms. Rowland Blennerhassett.

It is our misfortune, as we go onwards through life, engrossed mainly, and pardonably enough, by the present, that the successive phases of existence are apt to come upon us before we have quite realized how we are to bear ourselves in them. By the time we are beginning to learn they have nearly passed, it may be, and the picture of the immediate future presents itself in yet another focus, that surprises us afresh. The joins of life are apt to be awkward, unless the join is very skilfully made, and the one we are about to consider is, perhaps, the most difficult of them all. It is a time that stands half-way between youth and age, giving a hand to each; with many of the drawbacks of both, and all the advantages of neither; a time which is

a strange and inconsistent medley of warring possibilities and impossibilities, still retaining some of the aptitudes and predilections of youth, without its glorious convictions of success, but tinged with a secret acceptance of defeat. which yet falls short of the definite and dignified renunciation that accompanies old age. That secret acceptance of the inevitable, that inward renunciation-of which the world need not always know-is a lesson that we all have to learn; and, like other lessons, if we do it in a hurry, we shall acquire it but imperfectly. If we learn to renounce, as we go on, with dignity and silence, our sufferings in so doing-if we are wise they will scarcely deserve the name-will not be magnified by being seen through other people's at

We

tempts at sympathy. Arrived at middle age, it is very possible that most of us will have been called upon to renounce a good deal; we started, probably, with the conviction that our heads would strike the stars, and we have become strangely reconciled to the fact that they do not reach the ceiling. But it was, no doubt, better to start with the loftier idea; a man should allow a good margin for shrinkage in his visions of the future. And it is curious, it is pathetic, to see with what ease we may accomplish the gradual descent to the lower level, on which we find ourselves at last going along, if in somewhat less heroic fashion than we anticipated, yet on the whole comfortably and happily. have accepted a good deal, we have learnt how to carry our burdens in the way that is easiest.. We are no longer storm-tossed; we know pretty much, arrived at this stage, what we are going to do, those of us who thought they were going to do anything. The fact of taking life on a lower level of expectations makes it all the more likely that those expectations will be fulfilled. We have, with some easing of conscience, accepted certain characteristics and manifestations on our own part as inevitable, secretly and involuntarily cherishing a hope that where these do not fit in with those of our surroundings, it may yet be possible that other people should alter theirs. We are, some of us, arrived at this stage, still in the relation of being younger, with reference to persons surviving of the generations who preceded us, and are beginning to understand a little, now that we have a grown-up generation following us, what the difficulties and trials of the older people may have been in their relation to ourselves. We have a certain number of friends, a still larger number of acquaintances, of our own standing, of whom we observe with interest and note with some sur

prise that in many respects they do not remain as they were when we were all younger. Is this time, then, under these conditions, as happy as that which preceded it? Is it even, as some of the contented would have it, likely to be happier? If it is, then one drawback, I fear, it must have, that of approaching more nearly to its happiness. At any rate, the question, however often debated, has not much of a practical bearing; we are not called upon fortunately, to choose at which stage of life we would prefer to be. We may, therefore, enjoy the peace that comes from the inevitable. But one thing is probably certain: that, on the whole, this stage of existence is pre-eminently inportant as a factor in our intercourse with our fellow creatures. The government of the family life in the large majority of cases is mainly in the hands of the middle-aged; it is they who determine its general tone, spirit, and atmosphere. This is a heavy responsibility to bear, and those upon whom it is laid can claim indulgence neither on the score of youth nor on that of age; they are old enough to perceive their mistakes, but not too old to correct them. It is they who create the atmosphere which surrounds their little community. And the atmosphere-figurative as well as actual-breathed by human beings during their passage from infancy to maturity is of incalculable importance; it can save, or it may destroy. The young, it is true, carry an atmosphere of their own with them through these early years, full of brightness and color, precious, indeed, to their surroundings. But, as time goes on, a gradual individual differentiation takes place; the bright, dancing glow, which shed a general radiance over everything fades away; and we are seen, each of us, as we are, as we have made ourselves during the passage of the years, surrounded by our own special atmosphere, unsoftered by

the golden haze of youth on the one hand, or by the silvery mists of age on the other. Middle age is seen in an unbecoming light. There is not much romance, much mystery about it; it is not often sung by the poets. Now it is that we must stand forth with such characteristics for good or evil as we have made our own by a never-ceasing, if unconscious, process of selection from successive possibilities. The range of those possibilities is apt to narrow curiously as time goes on, unless we are always on the watch. We lie in a constant danger of our interests extending abnormally in one or two directions and dwindling in others, until, arrived at the moment when we are called upon to govern, when our minds and our judgment should, by long exercise, be more pliable than ever, more open, more ready to respond to any and every appeal to our sympathy or experience, we find, on the contrary, that we have gradually become absorbed, from circumstances as well as from individual bias, in a limited set of interests, sometimes, indeed, exclusively of a personal nature, and that our outlets and our inlets are, in other directions closed. The question we have to ask and to answer is, need our characters deteriorate, as our physical constitutions are bound to do, with the passage of time? Not if we are careful to keep a watch over the innate proclivities by which we are so mysteriously governed. This is not an idle query; it is one, on the contrary, which should be earnestly considered and may be fruitfully discussed, since the answer lies in our own hands, to a greater extent, perhaps, than we are inclined to believe at the first blush. We are apt to go astray from the fact that we generally discuss it in relation to the phenomena unpleasant to ourselves that we observe in other people. That is not so profitable. When we come to consider the question not merely aca

demically, but as bearing upon our own daily action, we shall probably be inclined to admit that, as time goes on, we have a tendency to relax the watch over ourselves, and to yield more and more to the increasing indolence that comes with the years, to let our moral muscles become as stiff as the material ones from the decrease in their use.

Most people, arrived at that middle term of life of which we are speaking, know that to keep themselves in what is called good condition, as to their physical being, depends almost entirely upon a sage ordering of both the active and the quiescent scheme of life, by the requisite amount of activity as well as of self-denial. That it is possible in various unheroic ways to exercise this self-denial, we may, any of us, deduce from the conversation of our older neighbors at dinner, who will, with unnecessary communicativeness, tell us what exact portion of the bill of fare is forbidden to them, and what are the threatened penalties that make them forego the enjoyment of what others are enjoying around them. If this form of material self-denial is possible, then the same men and women ought certainly to be able to achieve it in the moral order as well, given that they have the same conviction of the necessity of doing so. There does not seem to be any eternal reason why, since they are able so well to regulate some of their appetites, they should not be able to keep watch over their words, actions and tendencies as well. Many a middle-aged man who uses dumbbells, or fences, to keep his muscles in order, walks and rides for a given time every day to have the requisite amount of exercise, avoids over-fatigue and unwholesome food, would, no doubt, if he brought the same amount of purpose to bear on the moral side of his nature, have results just as profitable, and would find the will kept as pliable as the muscles. But the obstacle to