its best days, another abstraction, which we call 'Socialism,' is incontinently presented to us as claiming the sole monopoly of our affections and the incense of our adoration. And because the present State, with which we are tolerably familiar, the State which is attempting to hit off the golden mean between collective action and private enterprise, has shown itself to be in many ways defective, we are summoned to pin our faith to the mystical polity of Socialism. We are forbidden to try, as best we might, to present it to our thought as a going concern, for that is the sin which slew Utopianism. We are to close our eyes, to open our mouths, and to bolt down whole the immodest dogma that a sort of idealised bureaucracy will be well competent to run the collective coach to the complete satisfaction of the entire human race; that the infinite complexity of things social, economic, and political will 'evolve,' somehow, into a cosmos of universal prosperity and happiness, and that through the witchery of the Socialistic impulse the wilderness of our present discontents will one day blossom as the rose. Why it should blossom at all, or why its blossoms, if they bloom, should resemble roses, are points which are never explained, but are always awaiting explanation in our next.'

When, looking to our wide experiences of the strength and weakness of officialdom, I confessed to some doubts and fears as to the ability of even a Socialist bureaucracy to fulfil its endless functions,' what was Mr. Macdonald's reply? It was that if the peculiarities of Aristides, Rhadamanthus, and the Holy See were to be required by the Socialist State, it was very comforting to know that we had already got them. I presume that all this was ' wrote ironical.' In point of fact Mr. Macdonald deplores the very imperfect presentations of them which mark our work-a-day world of to-day. But if his argument means anything particular I suppose it means that whatever holds good of any one State, under conditions of its own, will of course hold equally good of quite a different State, in which, among other changes, the altruistic motive of the greatest happiness of the greatest number has to be relied upon in place of the discarded motive of self-advancement. This does not seem to be very cogent or convincing. But I must be winding up.

Imitation, it has been said, is the sincerest flattery, and our genial satirist, after making merry with what he describes as my 'Symphonie Pathétique,' dismisses the audience which have heard him so gladly with what I suppose he would call an Appassionata of his very own, a creation of which the stirring motif appears to be the crying evils of our present social organisation. I do not remember that on my part I made any attempt to sing its praises. 'Let,' then, the galled jade wince, our withers are unwrung.' Possibly, however, it might have been more generous in my rival composer to find room for some recognition of the countless ways in which at the present time many thousands of our fellow men and women are working night and day

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to leave the world a little better and a little brighter than they found it. A glance at any Register of Charities may bring a man at least this much of comfort, that never has the Virgilian 'sense of tears in mortal things' been more mighty than it is to-day to inspire those with high aims and means and leisure to do what in them lies to alleviate misery, to show sympathy and compassion, to check vice, to enlighten ignorance, to resist evil, to do good. A society out of which from time to time have emerged a Howard, a Father Damien, an Elizabeth Fry, a Florence Nightingale, a Livingstone, a Gordon, and many like unto them, cannot yet have become all corrupt. No greater names occur to one even within the ranks of Socialism, nor can one recall any professedly Socialistic labourers who are more entitled to our gratitude than Mr. Charles Booth and Mr. B. S. Rowntree. But perhaps no devotion that does not bear the hall-mark of Collectivism is worth even a passing notice from those whose business it is to convince private philanthropy and earnestness of impotence, and even a Master's Appassionata cannot be expected to find adequate expression for each separate one of all the varied notes which make up human emotion. Great as is the task which lies before all schemes of social reform, it is at any rate something to be thankful for, that during the last half-century pauperism in this country has diminished by something like 50 per cent., that wages have risen, that the hours of work are shorter, and that money is able to buy more.

In the meantime let us all indulge the hope that, with the strenuous assistance of the apostles and martyrs of Socialism, poor human nature will 'evolve' to that lofty qualitative standard which alone can render the Socialistic ideal realisable in practice. And if anyone objects, that, should this standard ever be attained, Socialism will then have become quite superfluous, and will have vanished in its own perfection, we can only counsel him to possess his soul in patience. The future will become clearer as we go on.'

H. W. HOARE.

LORD CROMER ON GORDON AND THE GLADSTONE CABINET

THE great book which the great proconsul has written has already taken its place as one of the original authorities on recent history and politics. It must be studied closely by all who seek to know the truth concerning that unique episode, the British occupation of Egypt, and those who desire to estimate the results fairly. But it must also interest many who care little for the affairs of the Nile regions. For it throws a vivid light on certain phases of our own politics, on the character of some distinguished statesmen, and most of all on the attitude of our party leaders to that curious and misunderstood entity which is known as Public Opinion. On this last fruitful theme no such sermon has been preached in our time as that contained in Lord Cromer's revelations concerning himself, General Gordon, and the Ministry of Mr. Gladstone.

Of Gordon, Lord Cromer only says what many people must have thought. His estimate is unsympathetic, and will strike some readers as ungenerous, though he does ample justice to the heroic constancy of that final stand behind the shattered defences of Khartoum. There was nothing in common between the two men. Lord Cromer, if I may judge from his writings and his public action, is a favourable specimen of that class of Englishmen England always seems able to produce when some definite piece of practical work requires doing. Such men we bred freely during the great expansionist and consolidating period of the nineteenth century, and Asia and Africa are deeply scored with their handiwork: men of high ability, conscientious, clear-sighted, courageous, and inspired by an inexorable sense of duty; on the other hand, self-righteous, somewhat limited in their sympathies, and sternly unimaginative. Lord Cromer's recent incursions into our domestic politics are as characteristic as his admirable record in administration and finance. He can find no excuse for the labourer who, after a lifetime of ill-paid toil, has the temerity to ask society to provide him with a few shillings a week in order that he may be kept from the workhouse. To him this seems sheer demoralisation of the public conscience, and ignoble selfishness.

One need not be surprised at this attitude. It is part of the mid-Victorian tradition in which Lord Cromer has been nurtured, a great and honourable tradition, though it has almost outlived its usefulness.

To such a man Gordon, with his knight-errantry, his emotional religion and his capricious humour, was not an object of admiration. Lord Cromer is devout, according to the mid-Victorian standard, with that kind of restrained and regulated devotion which is never allowed to interfere with business. To him, Gordon, hero, saint, mystic, who saw God in clouds and heard Him in the wind, and to whom the Bible was a book to be handled like the railway time-table,-to him Gordon was unintelligible and even absurd. He could not understand the point of view of a person who habitually consults the prophet Isaiah when he is in difficulty.' He had no confidence, he said, 'in opinions based on mystic feelings.' Perhaps his impatience of that intellectual muddle in which the religious enthusiast commonly lives and dies made him undervalue Gordon's genuine practical ability. He would probably have distrusted Oliver Cromwell, and have been profoundly suspicious of John Nicholson. Yet when all is said the enthusiasts have their uses. Valuable as the Cromers are, the world needs the Gordons too, and could get on better without the former than the latter.

But whatever may be thought of Gordon's character, I do not see how anybody can deny that he was quite the wrong man to send to the Sudan in January 1884. The emergency called for coolness, caution, judgment, and an absolute disinclination to complicate a desperate situation further by facing unnecessary risks; and these were precisely the qualities that Gordon did not possess. He was recklessly adventurous, fanatically brave, extremely pugnacious, as capricious in forming his resolutions as he was precipitate in carrying them into effect, and he had never during his entire career shown the smallest disposition to obey an order which did not happen to suit his mood at the moment. In any situation where everything depended on that infectious self-confidence which is the result of a belief in direct Divine inspiration, Gordon was superb. He could act with the prompt sub-conscious instinct of genius in moments of actual emergency and physical danger; and he had also the power of impressing savages and semi-civilised people with the force of his personality. These great capacities he had shown in China; he was to make a memorable display of them again during the closing months of the siege of Khartoum, when he animated his half-starved mob of townsmen and disorganised Egyptian soldiers to hold out against the Mahdi's hordes. But such an exhibition of heroism was not contemplated nor desired when he was despatched on his mission. Even the Marquis of Hartington and Earl Granville could hardly have expected him to fight eighty thousand fierce spearmen with his walking-stick.

It was not soldier's work that was needed; but a piece of administrative business that could only have succeeded if conducted with consummate dexterity, careful calculation of chances, and the absolute avoidance of all unnecessary friction. It is doubtful whether it could have succeeded at all; with Gordon as the commissioner it was doomed to failure from the outset. Gordon's character, alike in its merits and its defects, unfitted him for the task with which he was entrusted.

And the Government knew it, or should have known it, if they had allowed themselves to think out the project on which they embarked with so little forethought. Mr. Gladstone, Lord Granville, Lord Northbrook, Lord Derby, Lord Kimberley, and the rest of the Ministers were grave and earnest politicians; but they dealt with this question in a spirit of what may well be called frivolity. They had no excuse for ignorance of Gordon's temperament; they could not have been unacquainted with the main factors of the Sudan problem if they had read and considered the weighty State papers which Sir Evelyn Baring had laid before them. If they had chosen to weigh the question seriously they could hardly have failed to reach the conclusion which Lord Cromer had set forth. The alternatives before them were either to re-assert the Khedivial authority by force, or to abandon the Sudan altogether. The former involved sending an army, and would have cost much money; the latter had an unpleasant aspect of weakness, and would have thrown considerable obloquy on those who controlled the affairs of England and Egypt. Either expedient was therefore disagreeable. But Ministers are put into office to do disagreeable things when necessary: especially when these are the consequences of their own acts or omissions to act. The Government should have accepted its responsibility and decided one way or the other. They should have sent an adequate force to 'smash the Mahdi,' and rescue the garrisons; or they should have left the Egyptians and Europeans in the Sudan to find their way out as they could. In the event they succeeded in combining the disadvantages of both courses: they broke the eggs without making the omelette. They sent an army; and they did not save the garrisons. They spent an enormous amount of money; and they incurred more than all the censure which would have been passed upon them if they had washed their hands of the business in the beginning.

But how was it that a body of experienced statesmen, whose individual capacity was undeniable, acted with so little wisdom? In part, I think, it was due to the Cabinet system. That system has many admirable features; but it has some weak points, and one of them is the difficulty of coming to a rapid decision on a question of executive action. A Minister is a very busy man, and often an elderly and rather indolent man, not in the best of health. Comfortable gentlemen of sixty or so who endeavour to combine the anxieties of political life with the social amenities of a London season have no