become such that the chiefs and masters of industry can no longer slacken or hurry work, open or close the workshops, take on or turn off workmen, increase or diminish salaries and hours of work, to suit the convenience and needs of these chiefs and masters, as it was formerly legitimate to do. The head of a great manufactory is no longer, in the old acceptance of the term, "master at home," as he was, and as still is the small employer who works in his own house with some workmen and apprentices. Another right has come into existence.

THE ORGANIZATION OF LABOR.

W. J. ASHLEY, M.A.

Methodist Magazine, Toronto, January.

N the present paper I shall not have to advance anything of startling novelty. Indeed, to many I may appear to be dealing in the flattest truisms. But, as someone has well remarked, truisms are precisely those truths which need to be most emphasized, because they are just those which people are most likely to disregard. The view which a great many people take of trade disputes rests upon what I believe are fundamental misconceptions, and it is no use trying to discuss the merits of any particular contest unless we are agreed upon certain common assumptions.

Well, then, the first and most important proposition I have to insist on is, that combinations or associations of laborers for the maintenance of their common interests are an inev

itable outcome of existing social conditions. For what are the characteristic conditions of modern industry? It is the presence, face to face, of a comparatively small body of employers and a body of employed, comparatively much larger. There is no legal restraint, such as existed in former ages, on the way in which the capitalist shall employ his capital, or on the way in which the laborer shall exercise his labor; and under these circumstances it soon becomes apparent to the employed that an isolated individual workman, not united or associated in any way with his fellows, bargaining with his employer as to the conditions of employment, is usually-except where the supply of labor is very scanty—at an enormous disadvantage. In order that two persons should be able to make a fair bargain, it is requisite that they should be in a tolerably equal position so far as the particular bargain is concerned. The common sense of the community recognizes this in many cases, and where there is a likelihood that one of the contracting parties will very frequently be at disadvantage, a public authority steps in and actually fixes the terms of the bargain, as for cab hire, railway fares, etc. Employer and would-be employed are not in a position of equality. Practically, every employer wishes to get his labor as cheaply as possible, and although stoppage of work means loss to both parties, it always means more to the workman if he stands quite by himself. If the workman has no union to fall back upon and fears that he may not find employment, he dreads the pinch more than the employer, and is constrained to accept lower wages than he might have secured had he been able to hold out. Moreover, there are generally a number of men out of work, and the man in search of work has always to fear that if he rejects unfavorable terms, another may accept them.

It is clear then, that, in order to have a reserve upon which to fall back, if they do not like the terms first offered to them; in order, moreover, to prevent men from underbidding one another, they must have a union with common funds. But it will be objected that this is a violation of the principle of freedom of contract. In one sense, it undoubtedly is; it puts obstacles in the way of an individual employer making a contract with an individual workman. But, in another and more important sense, it is the only way of securing freedom of contract; for, as I have already said, a contract is not really free if one of the parties to it is under greater coercion than the other in making it; and if there is no combination, the

workman is under the abiding coercion of need and of distrust of his fellow-workman.

Trades unions are inevitable; they are also justfiable. Mark you, I do not say that the actions of trades unions are all justifiable, but union in itself is, and it is time that this were freely granted. No power on earth can, in the long run, prevent intelligent men, whether bricklayers or wholesale grocers from combining, if they think it is to their interest to do so.

The right of the workmen to unite being conceded, the principle involves certain consequences which must also be conceded. The first is that a union must have some sort of organization, some sort of representative officials; and, in negotiations as to wages, employers will do well to recognize these officials and treat with them if it is known that they do really represent the workmen. This course is desirable if only on the ground of expediency. To refuse to treat with them arouses bad feeling and tends to alienate public opinion, and public opinion is a force by which such disputes are largely determined.

The next proposition I have to lay down is that workmen are justified in striking just as every dealer is justified in refusing to come to terms if he thinks he can make a better bargain. But we must distinguish between forms of labor which are of immediate importance to life, or limb, or public order, and those which are not. In the case of the former I would go so far as to make it a penal offense to leave work without due notice. yet the contract must not be a one-sided one; such employés should not be dismissed without an equally long notice.

I advance now with some trepidation to a final proposition. If we allow that men have a right to combine, and come to a common agreement as to the terms upon which they will work, we cannot fairly restrict them in the range of conditions which they may think desirable. They may insist on the dismissal of all non-union men. Mark you, I would leave just the same right to the master. A master has a perfect right, if he thinks he can beat the union, to get in all the "blacklegs" he can obtain; and he has an unquestionable claim upn the civil authorities to see that his works and the non-unionists are protected. He has a right, again, when the men are beaten to refuse to take back more than he wants. It is industrial warfare in which both sides take risks, and if we cannot prevent the war we can, at least, see that both sides are given the same liberty of action.

I regard strikes as a most grievous outcome of the present industrial situation, and we should all be anxious to help towards the introduction of better methods. Arbitration or permanent Boards of Conciliation, as established in the iron trade in England, appear the most hopeful; and all these involve the recognition of the principle of union as an absolutely indispensable preliminary condition.

It is, therefore, not because unions are always wise that I urge their completest recognition. It is because I hold them to be unavoidable outgrowths of the present state of affairs, and to furnish the necessary basis for the most hopeful means of bettering existing conditions.

THE BASIS OF THE DEMAND FOR PUBLIC REGULATION OF INDUSTRIES.

THE

W. D. DABNEY. Annals of the American Academy, Philadelphia, January. HE principle which underlies and explains individual inequality in industrial society, broadly stated, is that certain functions necessary to all can best be discharged, and are in fact discharged, by a few, while other functions necessary to all are in fact discharged by many. Equality of dependence exists between the few collectively, on the one side, and the many, on the other. But consequent disparity exists between the average individual of the few and the average individual of the many.

How to harmonize industrial progress, with a reasonable

degree of security, in the masses against the arbitrary action of a few who, in every advanced society, inevitably acquire exclusive control of industrial functions of great consequence to all, is a problem well worthy of consideration.

The great and growing inequality in the distribution of the national wealth is frequently charged to our restrictive commercial policy, and to some extent the charge may be well founded. But the inequality is far more largely due to the necessary and inherent conditions of industrial progress.

The three great divisions of industrial society in the United States are the Agricultural, the Commercial, and the Manufacturing. Agriculture is the fundamental and primary function upon the efficacy and adequate discharge of which all classes are ultimately dependent. It is the largest of the segments of the industrial circle, and has made the least progress in specialization. The 7,670,493 persons engaged in agriculture in the United States are, by the census of 1880, divided into only twelve classes, some of which are very insignificant, the most important being "farmers and planters," 4,225.925, and "agricultural laborers," 3,323,876.

Commerce-the exchange of products-with all its agencies and instrumentalities is an industrial function of high importance, yet less essential than agriculture. It is more highly differentiated than agriculture, the census (1880) giving 1,810,256 persons, sub-divided into seventy-one classes.

"Manufacturing, mining, and mechanical industries," denoting still further industrial advancement, occupied in the United States 3,137,812 persons, sub-divided by the census into one hundred and thirty-six classes.

46

The tendency towards specialization has grown with industrial progress, and is strongest in the segment of most complex functions. In the agricultural segment, which has made the least industrial progress, the striking fact is noticeable that the 'farmers and planters" outnumbered the "agricultural laborers"; the employer class is numerically greater than the employé class. Under these circumstances, oppressive conduct of employer towards employé is, as a rule, impossible, and a fair share of the average product is assured to the employé for his services. And hence, except where race interposes a barrier, the farmer and his hired laborers are found associating on terms of equality, and the reciprocity of dependence between them is sufficiently manifest.

Carrying the comparison between the employer and the employed into commercial industries, and selecting the subdivision of commerce where the numerical disparity between the classes is most conspicuous-railroad transportation-a situation of the utmost gravity is disclosed. Of the railroads of the United States the mileage of about 160,000 miles is controlled and operated by less than 600 independent companies, which give employment to upwards of three-quarters of a million persons. The employés of some of the principal railroad systems number high into the thousands all under the same control and direction, and most of them dependent upon the action of a single man, or, at most, a limited number of individuals for their daily bread.

The mutuality of dependence between a great railroad corporation and any single one of its hundreds of machinists, engineers, firemen, brakemen, switchmen, trackmen, or other employés is absolutely inappreciable. The dependence is altogether one-sided. The same is true of the relations between the proprietors of large manufacturing establishments and their employés. The discontent of one or more of these unorganized employés is a matter of indifference to the employer of a thousand men, so long as the great majority of them remain faithful, and fresh applicants for work are always at hand; but a frown of displeasure from the employer may well strike terror to any one of the thousand, to whom dismissal means loss of subsistence for himself and perhaps a dependent family.

It seems to be this sense of dependence among the laboring

classes, rather than the urgency of actual want, or actual exercise of oppressive conduct towards them, that has given rise to labor organizations.

The relative situations of the average farmer, on the one hand, and those in commercial and manufacturing industries on whom he is dependent, on the other, is most unequal. Railroad facilities, for example, are indispensable in the marketing of his surplus product. He is but one of many thousand patrons of the carrier, while the latter has practically complete control of the situation. His ruin, even, is a matter of indifference to the carrier, so long as revenues are maintained from There is no appreciable mutuality of depend

other sources.

ence.

It is but natural that private monopoly of any industrial function should aim to extract from the public the largest possible net gains. Under these circumstances, there is a growing disposition in the public to assume to itself (by delegation to Government) some functions which, for their proper discharge, must necessarily be of an exclusive nature. This is most often manifested in municipal ownership of water-works and gas or electric plants for lighting. The success of governmental discharge of a few industrial functions has suggested an extension of the principle. And it is in this direction that the solution of the problem of industrial monopoly seems likely to be attempted.

THE UNITED STATES AND THE RUSSIAN JEWS. H. H. HERBST.

N

Church Work, St. Paul, January.

reading the recent message of President saison, one cannot but marvel at the far-reaching interests which are embraced within the duties of this Nation.

When a nation with but the life of a century dare direct the attention of the world to the acts of one of the most, if not the most, powerful ruler simply because those acts are inconsistent with humanity, it indicates an advance in the direction of civilization and morals beyond computation in its scope.

One reads with disgust the history of such an enlightened government as Great Britain with the absence of almost a single instance in her dealings with other Powers where the propelling incentive was not the selfish greed for gold or power. I single out Great Britain, not because it is the worst, but because of its reputation as one of the most enlightened of civilized Powers. Her dark crime against the Eastern races by forcing upon them the traffic of opium, rum, and slavery, under the pretext of Christianizing and civilizing them, can never be washed out.

It is with a deep sense of pleasure that we turn aside from those dark blots and methods of intercourse between nations, to read the manly utterances of our Chief Magistrate in behalf of the much abused and despised race of Jews.

The protest of the Chief Executive of the United States against the acts of Russia toward the Jew, is to a nation with which we are, and always have been, on the most friendly terms. By this apparent interference with the internal affairs of so great a Power we have nothing to gain, so far as the gain of States, in worldly matters, is ordinarily measured; on the contrary, we are liable to call upon ourselves the perpetual enmity of our past friend. But, did we fail to notice this wrong or any other of a similar nature, I would say, amen, to the speedy extinction of this Nation from the face of the earth.

When the distressed cries of the Russian Jews fall upon the ears of the tens of thousands of Free American Citizen Jews, who have a voice in the affairs of this Nation, their protest will be voiced by the protest of their fellow-citizens and ring out as the voice of the entire Nation, which will and must be heard. When a similar appeal comes from Ireland or any other land, a like impulse takes place. No matter for what European land relief in whatever form is needed, it finds ready sympathy

:

This will solve the great problem of peace and war; it will force the public opinion of every nation of the world to accord to the people proper protection and justice; it will prevent atrocities similar to those commented on, which have been so prevalent in the past.

It is no picture of the imagination when I say that within fifty years the United States will be the greatest Power on earth, not only in numbers and strength, but in that greater factor, moral influence. Irrespective of the fact that the tendencies of the times are against warfare and in favor of peace and arbitration, the growing power of this Nation with its allpervading sympathies and ties, with the influence it can and will exert, these will be all-powerful factors to remedy this evil and many others akin to it. No seer is wise enough to foretell the changes of the future, but with the influences which are combining upon this side of the Atlantic for the union of all nations under one social, political, and family bond, may we not have reason to predict the favorable results here outlined of a sympathetic bond between all nations, all races of men, which shall prevent all acts of inhumanity, wrong, and injustice?

EXTENSION OF THE PEACE IDEA IN GERMANY. Die Nation, Berlin, January.

A

MONG the Christmas fantasies and Christmas wishes which one dismisses without a thought of their realization in this workaday world, the present season has given birth here to a beautiful thought" which is earnestly regarded as no mere plaything of fancy, but designed to play a dominant and conquering part in the world's affairs. The idea has been long in course of incubation. Little groups have believed in its justice, its efficacy, and its practicability, and the most orthodox adherents of the old creed yesterday are among the strongest supporters of the nobler creed of to-day. It is of the highest interest to study history for instances of how the world has been gradually won over to new ideas, and no less so to trace the course of current movements, although occurring under our eyes they present an everyday appearance which may easily mislead us into overlooking their importance.

It is true that nothing very important has yet occurred, but a new link has been forged in an important chain. A national parliamentary committee has been formed in Germany in connection with the International Peace Conference, with Baumbach, Vice-president of the Reichstag, at its head, and already, in advance of any public agitation to enlist sympathy or support, more than fifty members of Parliament have joined the movement. These certainly do not constitute a power capable of insuring universal peace but they afford a hopeful promise of becoming a rallying point for the earnest friends of peace everywhere.

Of course, none but a fool will believe that the way is short and smooth, but it appears no less foolish to condemn war on theoretical grounds, and at the same time to reject any means calculated to avert it. The object of the present movement is to bring all moral force to bear against war; this object can be achieved only by recognized leaders of the people, who will organize practical means to enable them to give expression to their convictions. When "cruel war "is made the subject of discussion at the joyous Christmas festivities, it amounts to no more than an expression of the wish that those present may be preserved from experiencing its horrors. This consumation will be best achieved by keeping the sentiment alive, and organizing means for giving practical effect to it, and affording every friend of the movement an opportunity of contributing his quota of influence; and it would not be unseasonable to remark that the proclamation, "Peace on earth," which sounds so desirable at the Christmas season, may be actually realized, if all those who thoughtlessly listen to it would join those who earnestly desire it in supporting systematic measures for its inauguration.

THE GREATEST NEED OF COLLEGE GIRLS.
ANNIE PAYSON CALL.

Atlantic Monthly, Boston, January. OLLEGES for women in America have not, as a rule, been developed from lower forms of boarding-schools: they have been copies of colleges for men. In one particular only is there an obvious discrimination. The part which athletics play in college life for men has no answering equivalent in college life for women. It is true that in well-equipped colleges for women the gymnasium is found, and that the higher forms of outdoor athletics are practiced; but the parallel ends there. In colleges for men it is the constant study of the authorities to regulate athletics just as they regulate courses of study with reference to the symmetrical and sane development of manhood, and the practical problem is in the repressing, not the encouragement of athletic zeal. In the colleges for women, the constant study of the authorities is, not to regulate, but to enforce physical culture; not to encourage but to repress intellectual excitability. The broad distinction marks a radical difference between the sexes, and any consideration of the true development of colleges for women must take it into account. They have not attained their end by setting up a gymnasium, making exercise compulsory, and providing for boating, tennis, and grace hoops.

It does not require acute perception to find the greatest physical need among women in our schools and colleges. A collective need is most often an exaggeration of the average individual shortcoming. No one who has been an inmate of a large college for women will deny the general state of rush and hurry which prevails. No time," is the cry from morning until night. Worry and hurry mark the average condition of the school-girl. The strain is evident in the faces of students and teachers. It is painfully evident in those who have broken down, and even more pitiably evident in those on the verge of disaster, who have forgotten what a normal state of body is.

"

Let us look a little deeper into the temperamental reason for this strain. A woman's self-consciousness is her greatest enemy. Custom is partly to blame for this, because it is so generally felt that man is to admire, and woman to be admired. Thus, a woman is born into and inherits a "to-be-admired state of mind, and her freedom is delayed in proportion. Few realize the absolute nervous strain of self-consciousness; and if to self-consciousness we add a sensitive conscience, we have come near to a full explanation. Men have neither of these to the same degree. In the atmosphere of men's colleges there is not one-tenth part of the unnecessary excitement that we find in women's colleges. Nervous strain is far less evident. English women are showing marked superiority over American women in the college career, because of better physique, more normal nervous systems, and consequently greater power of endurance.

The first, the greatest physical need for women is a training to rest not rest in the sense of doing nothing, not repose in the sense of inanity or inactivity, but a restful activity of mind and body, which means a vigorous, wholesome nervous system that will enable a woman to abandon herself to her study, her work, and her play with a freedom and ease which are too fast becoming, not a lost art, but lost nature. After this greatest physical need is supplied, women may-probably will-reach the place where their power will be increased through vigorous exercise.

The first necessity now is to teach a girl to approach her work, physical or mental, in a normal, healthy way,-to accomplish what she has to do naturally, using only the force required to gain her point; not feeling rushed from morning until night for fear her work will not be done.

Let us suppose a school having in its scheme a distinct inten

tion of eliminating all hurry and worry, and training girls to a normal state of active repose. To get rid of the "no time" fever, teachers would accept the fundamental principle that it is not the acquisition of knowledge, but of the power to think, which is the justification of the school or college. The next important reform would so arrange the daily work that there would be a marked rhythm in the alternation of studies. There is often the most perfect rest in freeing one set of faculties and working another. There must be exercise, plenty of wholesome food, long sleeping-times; a friendly attitude and perfect confidence between students and teachers must be cultivated, without emotionalizing.

A distinct power to cultivate is that to be gained through a natural repose which is self-forgetful, and often delightfully active. The work must begin with physical training, including a training of the voice. All through the class work deep breathing should be practiced, not only for its quieting and restful effect, but for the new vigor that comes with it, and the steady, even development which deep breathing so greatly assists. Each member of the class must to some degree be trained separately for deep breathing, in order that it may be clear to each what a deep, quiet breath is; what it is to feel as if the breath took her, and not as if she took the breath. The result of this training is strongly apparent in a single person, and still more when a class works together. The class should take slow, regular exercise for the relaxation of the muscles and further quieting of the nerves, interspersed always with deep breathing. Then the voice training should begin and continue as a part of the regular work. Exercises for suppleness of the joints and muscles should come next; followed by motions for finer balance and for spring; and the class work might end with the quiet breathing and voice training. This course should be taken gradually, so that its aim will dawn clearly upon the girls without too much hard thinking. They can scarcely fail to come out of such a class with new vigor, and with clearer ideas each day of how to let nature's laws work through them in study and in play.

THE

THE POET OF THE AMERICAN WAR.
ENRICO NENCIONI.

Nuova Antologia, Rome, December.

HE Civil War of the United States is unique in history, both for the social importance of a sacred right inhumanly attacked and heroically defended, and for the vastness and variety of the theatre on which the Titanic struggle was conducted. Slavery, prospering in one-half only of the Republic, had created two hostile worlds. The apparent forms of government were the same; but the customs, the interests, the ideals were different. The antagonism between the North and the South was becoming every day more evident and more threatening. The dramatic picture of the sufferings of millions of human beings, as described in the book of Mrs. Beecher Stowe, moved all Europe. Yet, more than on the martyrology of the negroes, the attention of every thinker in Europe and America was centred on the patent and certain fact that, among the more humane slave-owners, in districts where the slave led a relatively happy life, a fatal demoralization was the just punishment that slavery was inflicting on those who drew from it profit and power. The Count of Paris, in his classical and monumental work on the Great War, observes justly that "the institution of slavery, violating the supreme law of humanity, which unites by an infrangible chain the two words Work and Progress, and in that way making of work itself a means of humiliation, did not degrade the slave alone, but brought with it necessarily the depravation of the slave-owner; since the despotism of an entire race always ends, like the despotism of a single man, in perverting the reason and moral sense of the despot."

The poet of the Great War is Walt Whitman.

If genius were not, as it is, an extraordinary and marvelous harmony of reason and imagination, of fancy and symmetry, in the same intellect; if the divine afflatus, far-extending vision, philanthropic enthusiasm were sufficient, Whitman might be placed beside the few sovereign poets. Despite his defects, I do not know who in the United States could contend with him for the primacy of poetry in that country. Without any manner of doubt, he is the most original, the most charteristically and essentially American. The power of his mind. is so magnetic that he has attracted the admiration of the most distinguished English critics, Ruskin, Rossetti, Symonds, Vernon Lee; and, in an ode, the greatest contemporaneous lyric poet, Swinburne, extols Whitman as a direct interpreter of the great voices of nature, and as the poet of democracy and humanity. It is curious to see the author of Atalanta, the most exquisite cultivator of perfect form, bow before this rough and colossal Yankee.* Rossetti compared Whitman to a giant who cannot stop for minute descriptions, but has in the highest degree the faculty of seeing human life in great masses, and of comprehending with one glace of his eye the most vast and varied panoramas. "Whitman was born," says Rossetti, "to chisel granite sphinxes, not to engrave gold and gems."

The poetry of Whitman is like a natural production, an emanation of vital energy. He hates everything which is old in art and in life. He hymns the obsequies of the old feudal poetry with which Europe is still amused. He is a pioneer, as he calls himself; he is the forerunner, the indicator of a new poetic world. No more romantic loves, elegies, ballads, legends, and romances, as in the books of those whom he calls minstrel Philistines and weavers of rhymes; but man, the man of America, healthy and energetic, in his strong and rude primitive activity and colossal boldness-and for landscape, the immense natural sights of the two Americas.

The humanitarian and democratic idea had already had powerful and efficacious interpreters in Burns, Schiller, Shelley, Mazzini, Victor Hugo, and a few others; but the largest, the cosmopolitan understanding of the idea is that of Whitman. "To what historical events are we tending?" He says: "The most vital and burning questions are on the eve of being solved; everywhere are broken the confines and barriers of the old aristocracy. The audacious foot of man is on land and on sea; he colonizes the Pacific and the Archipelagoes; with steam, with the telegraph, with mechanical inventions, with the newspapers, he confounds all geographical divisions, and brings together all the nations. In a little while our globe will have but a single heart."

Whitman paints with equal passion the Andes and the Missouri, Expositions and trade, the man of Paris, and the savage of Greenland; he accepts and embraces all the expressions of nature and of life, all histories and all races. No one shall be excepted," he exclaims in one of his productions, “no one! Not even you, human forms in the thoroughly sad, almost irrecognizable aspect of the brute; not even you, blacks of Australia, who crawl through the earth in search of food; nor you, miserable aborigines of the hills of Oregon and of California. Your day will come. Salvation to the world!"

Walter (or Walt as he has always written) was born near New York in May, 1889. His father was a naval engineer of rigid manners; his mother of Dutch origin. Walt, after the most elementary school studies, began a various, troubled, and adventurous career. He did not lack the sad and severe lessons of life from early youth; he was compositor, schoolmaster, employé on newspapers, traveler, then again compositor, afterwards, like his father, a naval engineer. The first and most important of the poetical works of Whitman is "Leaves of Grass," under which title he collected all the poetical pro

*The author of this paper is aware that Whitman was born near New York, as appears further on, and therefore shares the general European delusion that every one born in the United States is a Yankee.-ED. LITERARY DIGEST.

ductions he had written.

He was moved to write this book by a sentiment of indignation and revolt against the Philistin-. ism of the American poets who were his contemporaries, by so many weak imitations of English and German poems, made in the land of the greatest poetic materials that Nature presents. There is in the volume a superb contempt for all literary traditions, an exuberance which exceeds all bounds, a phraseology that makes one smile-but no matter-the book was a new, fresh American voice; you feel in it the wind which agitates the prairies, the air of the mighty currents of the Ohio and the Mississippi. Emerson, after reading it, exclaimed: At last, here is a man!" The poems, however, aroused no enthusiasm among young readers.

After "Leaves of Grass Whitman's most noteworthy production is Drum Taps." This book was inspired by the wonderful Civil War. Whitman, an ardent Unionist, went to the front as correspondent of the New York Times and became nurse to the sick and the wounded. He helped thousands of the soldiers of the North and South indiscriminately. In "Drum Taps" he has consecrated and immortalized his personal impressions; the vast extent of country traversed by the armies, the phases and awful vicissitudes of the great war, the enrolments, the ambulances, the terrible marches, the desperate combats.

To me it appears that the greatest poetical imaginations in our age have been four in number: Carlyle, Michelet, Victor Hugo, Walt Whitman. Carlyle is the most impetuous and apocalyptic; to him came a warm breath of Hebrew poetry across Puritan tradition, which makes him a species of prophet, a seer, in the nineteenth century. In Victor Hugo predominates the magnificent and splendid vision, which is at the same time plastic, highly colored, and symphonic. In Michelet is contagious emotion, the cry and the groan which are both lyrical and passionate. In Whitman are found the heroic joy of individual life, the feeling and enthusiasm of universal life-from the wing of a lark to the splendors of the Great Bear.

To-day, when pessimistic and fatalistic doctrines are triumphant in nearly every European literature, the reading of Browning, of Tolstoï, of Whitman, is a salutary tonic, before which vanish, like all evil things at the rising of the sun, the poetry and philosophy of despair, disgust, satiety, weariness, skepticism.

WHE

JOURNALISTS AND JOURNALISM.

ALFRED CAPUS.

Revue Bleue, Paris, January 2.

HEN newspapers began to multiply, and what is called the Press was recognized as something, connection with which could be considered as a regular occupation, there was a formidable irruption into this new pursuit. An extraordinary mass of people, very unlike each other, rushed after employment. They came from everywhere, from politics, the bar, the army, medicine, gambling-houses, the Polytechnic School, the magistracy. Among these various persons were those who had not succeeded in their profession; others, on the contrary, who were superior to the profession they had chosen by accident and disgusted by it; commonplace minds and those endowed with superior qualities; fellows knowing only how to read and write, and pupils of the Normal School rejected by its professors; writers of the first order and the most ignorant individuals. The provinces sent poor devils who were dying of hunger, and all crowded together pell-mell. At that time the Press had a sad reputation. At the present time matters have somewhat improved. Yet journalists themselves do not hesitate to concede that there is abundant room for improvement. As means of improvement there have been started several projects, two of which I mention here.

Is it possible, it has been asked, to organize for the Press

something analogous to the Council of the Order of Advocates, which supervises that corporation, settles certain professional differences, and rigorously expels unworthy members? This is a question which has been put from time to time; but it has always met with unsurmountable difficulties. In the first place there exists between journalists and members of the bar this capital difference, that the latter have all received the same education, passed the same examinations, and practice a profession of which the rights and duties are definitely fixed. The Council of the Order can, therefore, have precise and indisputable powers, where all the cases are foreseen. These powers are voluntarily submitted to by the mere fact of becoming a member of the bar, just as a dramatic writer who allows one of his pieces to be played at a theatre which has an agreement with the Society of Authors, impliedly approves the statutes of that Society.

On the contrary, to become a member of the Press, there is no need of diplomas or certificates, proof of nationality or education. For the trade of journalism there is no positive regulation in advance. One has just as much right to the title of journalist after writing five articles as after writing five hundred. A journalist will recognize the jurisdiction of his brethren, of committees of associations, for example, in regard to details of no great importance; but when matters of real interest are in question, he always applies to the courts of justice. He will never be willing to submit to the decision of any group whatever of his colleagues. The Council of the Order of members of the bar can prevent a lawyer from practicing his profession anywhere in France; while a journalist, despite acts which gravely affect his honor, and which may even be followed by the formal condemnation of a court of justice, is at liberty to take employment on rival sheets, to found a newspaper, or direct one. The Press has obtained its liberty, but in doing so has had to sacrifice its fellowship in honor and dishonor.

The possibility of a sort of professional school in which the trade of a journalist could be taught has been discussed now and then-never, it must be said, very seriously. Such a project will very probably remain a mere fantasy, since the trade does not allow of a base of definable or presentable instruction. It is not necessary for a journalist to know anything thoroughly, and it may be said that he will not excel in his occupation if he has a marked preference for some special study. Of course radical ignorance is a condition still more unfavorable. What is of most value to a journalist is a sort of tact which warns him of dangerous places, which urges him to give you some instruction at an opportune moment. Το this he must join acquaintance with the outlines of all things, like the table of contents in indispensable works on history, philosophy, economics, law, even science; in a word, what goes to make up a rapid conversation, a little vague, without any absolute conclusion—that is journalism. All that is wanted besides is more exact ideas as to contemporary events and personages and a certain art of writing.

The best journalists of our day possess in addition to their individual talent, this general knowledge, which does not fall far short, after several years of practice and study, of amounting to an extended erudition.

Literary men, pure and simple, savants, affect frequently a contempt for journalists. They are reproached, sometimes disdainfully, with lacking style; at other times, with treating grave subjects flippantly. In the matter of style, journalists have created the kind of style which suits their work, and I do not see in what respect it is weaker than the style of the vast majority of novels. These still have, with few exceptions, the defects of being nearly unreadable by reason of their length, their bad composition, their lack of interest. A newspaper article, though it be commonplace, has always the apology that it is short, that it is easily read, and that it relates to questions which interest a number, more or less large, of individuals.