be enriched.' England and Ireland are not over-populated; compared with other countries they are the reverse. The population of Belgium is 469 to the square mile, of England 389, of Ireland 169; but they are under-cultivated. Under proper cultivation the agricultural production of England might be trebled; whilst only one kind of the soil of Ireland is cultivated at all, and, moreover, she is entirely without productive industries. It is no exaggeration to say that England, with her immense agricultural and manufacturing resources, can easily maintain a larger proportionate population than Belgium; and fairly cultivated, and with her industries developed, Ireland could easily support double her present population.

How, then, can it be said that England and Ireland are over-populated? How can there be a single man too many where land is uncultivated and industries unknown? If we had waste lands to bring into cultivation and industries to create, and had no population, what would necessarily be our first step? To import population. Now we have the people and the waste lands, but instead of bringing them together, instead of employing the people in cultivating the waste lands and in creating industries, we export them, and leave the land uncultivated and industries a blank.

We dissipate British capital in expatriating British subjects, in transferring the very bone and sinews of the Empire to distant climes, in order, forsooth, to increase our internal prosperity and strength. Those who propose to advance the prosperity of their country by expatriating their countrymen are indeed Hiberniores Hibernis.' More Irish than the Irish themselves, they would cure disease with death.

We export our operatives and import what our operatives produce; we export our agricultural labourers and import what agricultural labourers would grow; we see vessels at Liverpool, and Glasgow, and London, unloading foreign silks, and woollens, and cottons, and shoes, and

linen, and cambrics, and corn, and side by side we see ships embarking for America or Australia English operatives and labourers whose business and industry it is to produce these very same articles! Is this common sense? We say to our silk workers, 'Give up making silk; we can buy it cheaper elsewhere; make something else.' To our woollen workers, Give up making woollens; we can buy them cheaper elsewhere; make something else;' and so on with cambrics, and velvets, and fine linen. Who can say that in a year or two we shall not say to our cotton workers, 'Give up making cotton; we can buy it cheaper elsewhere; make something else.' Where is it to end?

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We say to our agricultural population, 'Give up growing wheat; we can buy it cheaper in America. Turn your land into grass; grow meat instead.' But who can say that in a year or two chemistry and steam may not bring us meat from North and South America, from Australia and New Zealand, cheaper than we can produce it; and that again we shall say to our agricultural population, Give up growing meat; we can buy it cheaper elsewhere; grow something else.' Is not this tantamount to saying to our people, 'There is no work for you to do here; go elsewhere ? '

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How is it that as our population increases our means of feeding them decrease?

How is it that during the last ten years we have three millions more mouths to feed, and grow three millions fewer quarters of corn to feed them with? These three millions of people, who have been added to our population in the last ten years, require food, and houses, and furniture, and boots, and shoes, and woollens, and linen, and cotton, and silk. Why, then, should those who produce all these articles be out of work? How is it that as our national consumption of everything increases our national production of everything falls off?

Why is it that England proposes to export her agricultural labourers, her mechanics and operatives, her bone

and sinew, the sources of her wealth and her greatness? It is simply because economic doctrinaires have exposed our working classes to an industrial invasion against which they are helpless; they have to fight against foreign labour under conditions that make the contest impossible. If they had to face a military invasion that threatened to deprive them of the means of living, should we not urge them to do all they could, at all cost, to drive the invasion back? But now that it is only an industrial invasion, we tell them they must not fight-they must lay down their arms, and leave the country! Is this common sense? Is it justice?

Competition and cheapness are the watchwords of English economists, and we are assured they constitute the summum bonum of individual and national happiness. I fail to see it. On the contrary, I believe that the present maddening race of artificially-stimulated competition is the chief source of national suffering and discontent.

It is over-competition that has thrown our land out of cultivation, and our mills out of work. It is over-competition that has ruined every industry in Ireland, and reduced large portions of it to the condition of a pauper warren. It is over-competition that overcrowds our cities, reduces wages, and raises a cry for state-aided emigration.

Carried to excess, competition becomes a war of industrial extermination; and, under our suicidal system of one-sided free trade, it has become a war of extermination against English workmen! Comparative cheapness is a blessing to a nation, of course; but with our natural disposition to rush into extremes, we now preach the gospel of mere cheapness that this is the summum bonum of industrial happiness; but it is not. Work and wages are far more vital to industrial prosperity than mere cheapness. It is a fact that cheap places' in all fully settled countries have hitherto been those in which the working poor have been the most degraded and depressed,

and cheap times those in which they have been most wretched. The first condition of cheapness is cheap labour. Is the waste of human life, the misery, the suffering, and demoralisation, and immorality inseparable from cheap labour a blessing? Is the cheapness of corn, that throws our land out of cultivation and deprives our labourers of work and wages, a blessing? Are shirts stitched by starving women at 4d. a dozen a blessing to the nation? or the dressing of bricks made by over-tasked children at nominal wages? or the cheapness of nails or cables made by over-worked women and children? Are these national blessings? The more closely mere cheapness is examined, the more evident it becomes that it means a low standard of life, and a low standard of life is incompatible with human happiness. America is a dear country, in which the standard of life is very high. Ireland is a cheap country, in which the standard of life is very low. In which country does the working man enjoy the greatest prosperity?

Every field in England requires more labour; in Ireland the very fields themselves have to be created! Each year the consumption of everything that England and Ireland produce increases; whilst each year the production of everything that England and Ireland consumes diminishes! Is not this proof positive that there is something wrong somewhere. What is it? What is it that, in the face of increasing consumption of everything they produce, compels our working population to leave their country and seek employment abroad?

If it is the result of the inexorable logic of free trade, of unrestricted foreign competition, may not the working classes be excused for asking to be relieved from a logic and a competition that are bringing them to ruin?

Theories and philosophy apart, it is evident that the policy that must most promote national prosperity is that which promotes employment and limits competition.

XXVI.

THE DUKE'S STATUE.

'Too late!' is the refrain of the hour. I suppose it is too late now to save the Duke's statue; in fact, if I understand rightly Lord Granville's reply the other evening in the House of Lords, its fate is already decided. The Government declines to reconsider the question, and, as it is not a question in which Imperial interests are in any way concerned, it is probable they will stand firm. No doubt this decision will meet with the approval of the few who are born art critics, and of the many who have suddenly constituted themselves art critics; but to the great majority of Englishmen it will cause regret. I have not the slightest doubt that if a plébiscite was taken of those who have been in the daily habit of seeing the statue, the great majority, probably twenty to one, would vote for its being again put on the arch, or at any rate, being kept in Hyde Park. The statue is abominable,' say our art critics; 'it violates every canon of art.' But if this is really so, it should at once be deprived of statue life and sent to the melting-pot. We have no right to spare our own æsthetic nerves at the expense of our delicate young soldiers at Aldershot! But is it really so bad? I don't believe it is. I believe an immense deal of nonsense has been talked and written about it. I don't mean to say that it rivals the famous statue of Polycletus, that was so complete and exact in all its forms and proportions that it was called 'The Rule;' that Copenhagen is so perfect a model that passing horses rush at him as we are told they did at the famous horse cast by Dionysius of Argos. I by no means believe that the statue is an exceptionally good one, but to say that it is without merit is absurd. For one equestrian statue in the country that is better there are half a dozen worse, and if we are to get rid of this one