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Cyclopaedia of Political Science, Political Economy, and of the Political History of the United States by the best American and European Authors, ed. John J. Lalor (New York: Maynard, Merrill, & Co., 1899). Vol 1 Abdication-Duty.

Editor: John Joseph Lalor

Part of: Cyclopaedia of Political Science, Political Economy, and of the Political History of the United States, 3 vols.

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C

CACHET

CACHET, Lettres de, were letters proceeding from and signed by the kings of France, and countersigned by a secretary of state. They were called also lettres closes, or "sealed letters," to distinguish them from the lettres patentes, which were in the nature of public documents and sealed with the great seal. Lettres de cachet were rarely employed to deprive men of their personal liberty before the seventeenth century. It is said that they were devised by Père Joseph under the administration of Richelieu. They were at first made use of occasionally as a means of delaying the course of justice; but during the reign of Louis XIV. they were obtained by any person who had sufficient influence with the king or his ministers, and persons were thus imprisoned for life, or for a long period, on the most frivolous pretexts, for the gratification of private pique or revenge, and without any reason being assigned for such punishment. The terms of a lettre de cachet were as follows: M. le Marquis de Launay, je vous fais cette lettre pour vous dire de recevoir dans mon cháteau de la Bastille le Sieur—, et de l'y retenir jusqu' á nourel ordre de ma part. Sur ce, je prie Dieu qu'il vous ait, M. le Marquis de Launay, en sa saints garde. These letters, which gave power over personal liberty, were openly sold in the reign of Louis XV. by the mistress of one of the ministers. "They were often given to the ministers, the mistresses and favorites as cartes blanches, or only with the king's signature, so that the persons to whom they were given could insert such names and terms as they pleased." (Welcker.) The lettres de cachet were also granted by the king for the purpose of shielding his favorites or their friends from the consequences of their crimes; and thus were as pernicious in their operations as the protection afforded by the church to criminals in a former age. Their necessity was strongly maintained by the great families, as they were thus enabled to remove such of their connexions as had acted in a derogatory manner. During the contentions of the Mirabeau family 59 lettres de cachet were issued on the demand of one or other of its members. The independent members of the parliaments and of the magistracy were proscribed and punished by means of these warrants. This monstrous evil was swept away at the revolution, after Louis XVI. had in vain endeavored to remedy it.

—Mirabeau, Des Lettres de Cachet, etc., 1782; Translation, published at London, in two volumes, in 1787; Rotteck and Welcker, Staats-Lexicon, art. "Cachet, Lettres de," by Welcker.

H. G. BOHN.

CÆSARISM

CÆSARISM. A sketch of Cæsar's life and character is a proper introduction to the subject of Cæsarism. Alexander and Cæsar, the two greatest statesmen of the classical period of European history, appeared when the nations to which they respectively belonged had already passed the period of their highest internal development. Alexander did not even dream of the future greatness of Rome. He knew not that the course of empire was taking its way westward. His eyes rested, by way of preference, on the east. He loved Asia and he conquered Asia as a lover, with the consciousness and the affection of a man who feels within himself the power to attract and make happy the half-resisting, half-yielding object of his love. Cæsar was more fortunate than Alexander, in this, that his victorious campaigns were mainly fought to subjugate the west of still barbarous Europe. He thus moved with the course of the world's history and his memory was borne onward by its current. He had no love for the people be conquered and to whom he brought Roman civilization. In the long struggle of the Gauls for freedom from foreign rule Cæsar, who always showed himself generous toward the Romans, practiced all the terrible harshness of the military usages of Rome. He conquered the west exclusively from motives of Roman policy. Cæsar loved Rome as he did himself. Rome was called by destiny to unite in one humanely ordered empire all the nations which had prepared the way for, or produced, European civilization, and to make this civilization accessible to the still backward nations of Europe. But no Roman understood this vocation of his country so well as Cæsar, and no one did more to fulfill it than he did. If Rome ever became mistress of the world Cæsar deserved to become the head of Rome. When he recognized this and strove for this mastery, he acted not from motives of morbid ambition, as his enemies and enviers supposed. He desired to be the first, because he was the first. The character and spirit of Rome were personified in him.

—Caius Julius Cæsar, both by his birth and family relations, was connected with the two principal parties which in his time strove for political influence in the capital. By origin he belonged to one of the highest old noble families. He moved, especially in his younger years, in the highest circles of the aristocracy of his time, but on his mother's side and by his marriage with Cornelia, the daughter of Cinna, he was also related to the great plebeian Marius, and connected with the democratic party. Politically he had joined this party at an early day. In reality Cæsar was neither a democrat nor an aristocrat. He felt himself a monarch to whom all parties should be subordinate.

—But Cæsar was also a thorough stranger to the thought of merely playing the rôle of the friend of the people and to erect a tyranny by the aid of the lower masses. He had a heart for the weal and woe of the people. The weaknesses and failings of the multitude could of course not escape his clear vision. He knew that the multitude needed direction and in certain circumstances a firm hand, but he cheerfully fulfilled the first duty of a monarch—to do good to the people. He clearly saw that the aristocratic party would yield to monarchic power only if forced to, and he well knew that the democratic party would far more readily conquer power for its chief leader, and leave it to him. He held to his party even when the following of its colors brought him the very reverse of promotion; but he looked after the interests of the great masses of the people more carefully and diligently after he had come to full power and needed their approbation no longer, than at the time of his rise. With increasing self-consciousness Cæsar became purer, more humane, greater Power, which ruins so many weaker men, was to him a condition of his own ennoblement. Without it his unsatisfied spirit was unrestrained, passionate, excitable. In power he recognized his lofty destiny and by it his intellect received a harmonious development. There is no greater proof of his inborn greatness than this. In his youth he was deeply involved in the intrigues of parties, and was far from being unstained by the filth of the scandalous means employed on every side in these struggles. He employed, too, on occasions, the leaders of bands who were ready for the perpetration of any crime. But even in his youth, whenever he took a personal stand, he showed himself as noble as he was brave. He defended with energy the cause of his marriage against the powerful Sulla, who tried to dissolve it. He defended the cause of history against the ruling aristocracy when he restored in splendor the statue of the proscribed Marius, and lauded in public funeral orations the services of the fallen leaders of democracy. He defended the same cause of history against the narrow party rage of his own adherents by showing due honor to Pompey and Sulla, his political opponents. Wherever it seemed possible to attain a political purpose through an understanding with men the most prominent and powerful, he took all pains to take that peaceful course. Through the different alliances which he brought about, he won more than one great bloodless victory. He was especially averse to brute force and preferred the peaceful measures of political effort and demonstration, to military action. He did not love war, though he knew he was the greatest soldier of his time, and was sure in advance of the greatest triumphs. He was first a statesman and then a warrior. The great truth that war is merely the violent form of politics, and must therefore be conditioned, directed and limited by the political mind, has perhaps never been made so clear in history, as by the life and career of Julius Cæsar.

—The magnanimity with which Cæsar spared his enemies is proverbial. Even during the civil war he respected the Roman and the man in his enemies. His humane conduct was the more praiseworthy when compared with the bloody persecutions which all victorious leaders of parties inflicted on their political opponents, both before and after him. Cæsar wished to combine all the forces of the nation and direct them to the common service of the fatherland. He was raised high above the narrowness and shortsightedness of party hatred. In this, too, he was a real emperor, that his guidance of the state did not favor the oppression of one party by another, but the free rivalry of all parties, for the common weal. He erred rather in forgiving his enemies too readily than in punishing them too severely. Conscious of his own magnanimity he was too much inclined to attribute to others better intentions than they had; and because he himself saw clearly how necessary he was to the state, he hastily, but too hastily concluded that the aristocracy saw it likewise.

—Cæsar was not religious after the traditional manner of the Romans. He was initiated into the arts of the priesthood at an early age, and knew how greatly the ancient religion was misused for political purposes. He ridiculed the signs and wonders which the priests held in readiness to check obnoxious measures, and allowed himself to be guided in his acts neither by the warnings nor threats drawn from the flight of birds and the omens of sacrifices. He even gave open expression to his contempt for these things, to the horror of the faithful and the vexation of hypocrites. But his firm belief in a divine destiny in which he confided, speaks for the instinctive religious trait in his character far more than the temples which he built in honor of the gods.

—The cheerful amiability of his nature was especially manifest in his liberality, his social connections, and his relations with women. He was generous to such a degree that he might have been considered a spendthrift had he not been Cæsar. On this account he became involved in his youth in debt to such an extent that he was able to pay it only in his riper years. But when he controlled the power of the state, and with it corresponding wealth, his coffers were never empty, no matter how liberal were his gifts. The youth might have been considered a spend-thrift, because he did not limit his expenses by his income. The man of mature years was evidently an excellent manager, for he achieved great things without disturbing the balance between his income and expenses. Different traits of his are handed down which show his tender relations to women. The respect for his mother, the love he bore his first and his last wife, the fatherly affection he bestowed on his daughter Julia, and even the tender regard shown his second wife after divorce, have been signalized by history. That such a man found much favor with women and enjoyed this favor in a high degree, can astonish no one. But no matter how many love affairs he may have had in later years, he was too much of a statesman to let his loves interfere with the interests of the state. He made good use of marriages to strengthen political alliances, but he drew a very sharp distinction between his private loves and politics. He could not endure that the institution of marriage should in any way be despised or attacked by the people.

—He was like all men of monarchical nature, a lover of order and too great an organizer to undervalue the significance of fixed forms of law. At the same time his genius was so marked and his nature so imperial that often in his life he overstepped the barriers high and low of recognized law, and demanded without hesitation exceptions from the rule wherever it seemed needful to him from high political considerations. He carried the law of his own mode of action in himself; when in conflict with the laws of the land he broke through them in order to fulfill his mission; he was clearly conscious that he was called to found a new order of things.

—He was not a hero of religion, but of science; not a churchman, but a statesman. He, like all distinguished Romans, had to thank Grecian masters for his early scientific training. He was as familiar with Greek as with Latin literature and was even a master of language. He was in his studies a sober but a penetrating investigator, and gave himself up with pleasure to natural sciences and grammar. His correction of the calendar is one of the examples of the application of science to public uses most worthy of imitation. He had a great reputation as an orator even in those days of most brilliant formal eloquence, although he despised the framing of ornate phrases, and sought effect only through the clearness of his thoughts and the power of his personality. From his "Commentaries on the Gallic War," we learn to value his smooth and natural style which describes situations and events so clearly, without pretension or idle ornament. He also engaged in written political controversies, being no less skillful in encounters with the pen than in battles with the sword. Pre-eminently in favor of publicity, he was the first to have the proceedings of the senate and the people made public, in writing. The political press may honor him as its intellectual father. He aided and promoted higher culture in every direction.

—His chief study, however, was the state. Single men of antiquity may be named who surpassed him in all other branches of intellectual activity, but as a statesman he holds unquestionably the first rank in the ancient world. "His talent for organization was wonderful; never did a statesman so cement his alliances, never did a commander so weld and hold together an army of disconnected and opposing elements, as Cæsar did his coalitions and his legions. Never did a ruler judge his instruments with so penetrating a glance. No man ever knew better how to put the right man in the right place. He was a monarch, but never played at being king. Perfectly pliant and flexible, agreeable and graceful in conversation, obliging to every man, he appeared to desire nothing but to be the first among his equals. No matter how much cause troubled relations with the senate gave him, he never had recourse to brutality like that of the 18th Brumaire. Cæsar was a monarch, but he was never affected by the giddiness of tyranny. He accomplished the possible, and never neglected the good for the sake of the impossible better. He never disdained to mitigate incurable evils by, at least, palliative measures. But wherever he recognized that fate had spoken he always submitted. Alexander on the Hyphasis, Napoleon at Moscow, turned back because they could not help it, and were angry at fate because it grants only limited success to its favorites; Cæsar turned back willingly from the Thames and the Rhine, and kept in mind on the Danube and the Euphrates that it was not for him to entertain any exaggerated plan of world-conquest.

—Like every true statesman he served the people not for the sake of reward, not even for the reward of their love, but sacrificed the favor of his contemporaries for the blessing of the future, and above all for the glory of saving and rejuvenating his nation." (Mommsen.)

—He restored long-absent peace to the state, and re-established law and order in it; he limited the power of the senate, and the influence of the comitia: but at the same time he saw to it that under his own personal direction and control only proper men should be elected to public offices and should make a moderate use of their official power. He did not allow the provinces to be fleeced by their governors. He restored order to the finances; restrained the army within the bounds of duty, and purified the administration of justice of many abuses. He promoted the cause of civilization in every way on the basis of Greco-Roman science and culture. He sought to infuse new life into the old Roman aristocracy by taking into their body new persons of distinction to elevate the condition of the oppressed classes of the people by colonization on a large scale, by modifying the laws relating to debt and the opening up of new industries; to give support to the poor by the systematic distribution of corn among them. He extended the right of citizenship farther over the nearest provinces and thus broadened the real foundation of the Roman commonwealth. Through numerous colonies in the remote provinces he opened a new field to the progress of Roman civilization, and thus promoted the civilization of these provinces themselves. His great edifices employed the laboring power of the nation and increased the common weal, for in them the useful and the beautiful were combined. He was hindered in the execution of many great plans by the passions, as foolish as they were wicked, of the so-called patriots, who, by the murder of the greatest of Roman statesmen, inflicted the deepest wound on their fatherland which they thought to save in this manner.

—Cæsar cherished the design of giving to the world a comprehensive code of law. If ever there was a Roman fitted to leave the world Roman-human laws, that Roman was Cæsar. But fate decided against him here, and 500 years later gave a far inferior ruler the glory of framing, from the memories of a greater past, a code which the most liberal Roman with creative mind had wished in vain to produce.

—Cæsar, dying, bequeathed to the world the idea of empire. History was juster than Rome, inasmuch as it connected his name indissolubly with the grandest institution which antiquity introduced into the world, but the full perfection of which only the future was destined to see. The Romans themselves preferred the name of Augustus for their emperors.

—The name of Cæsar designates also the degenerate variety of the empire known as Cæsarism which in our time has been renewed by the Napoleons, and which would therefore be more correctly termed Napoleonism. It has, it is true, certain characteristic traits which recall Cæsar, but still more his successors, the old Roman emperors, and which recall especially the connection with democratic institutions of a political one-man power inclined to dictatorship, an absolute autocracy on the basis of the fourth estate, upon which the ruler leans and whose interests he cares for. Cæsarism wishes well to the multitude which does homage to it, and is tyrannical toward all opposition which stands in its way. It has a political ideal which it wishes to realize, but in this ideal freedom has no dignity and no power. Everything is directed from above, as if by a god, with the approval of an accommodating senate and subservient representatives of the masses. The financial, the military, the intellectual powers of the nation are all subservient to the state and to Cæsar who is the highest expression of the state and represents its unity, its power and its dignity. The administration introduced by Cæsarism is distinguished by a well-considered system of offices which are easily controlled from a centre by skillful machinery, and therefore such an administration has rather a mechanical than an organic character. Its character is such that it does not allow of any self-determination of its members. It prevents the danger of party rule, but it suppresses all parties. It acknowledges the duty of caring for the nation and advancing its interests; it is a powerful stimulant to enterprises which promote the common good, but still it hinders the free development of the best powers of the nation, for this is possible only in the atmosphere of a more general freedom. It seizes power quickly and wields it unsparingly. At home it wields too much power; abroad it is bold and enterprising. In order to find recognition and safety, it needs dazzling results at home and glorious victories abroad. Disaster and defeat endanger its existence.

—A cultured-nation endures Cæsarism only when morally debased and it apprehends the loss of its property and its pleasures. People who love freedom combat it as the enemy of their liberties. It can be approved only when the Cæsar far surpasses the nation which he rules, in mind and character. "An undeceivable, infallible and indefatigable head, and an incapable or unworthy nation," such are, according to Ollivier's happy expression, "the fundamental conditions of a Cæsarian democracy." Such a head is not to be found. The powers of a Cæsar even are limited from the first. Even for a gifted Cæsar it is not possible to acquire the wisdom of age in youth, nor to preserve youthful freshness in advanced years. Cæsarism is not reconcilable with hereditary monarchy, and an elective monarchy is no safeguard against the Cæsar madness which seizes those who wickedly pretend to be the possessors of preterhuman power.

J. C. BLUNTSCHLI.

CALENDAR

CALENDAR, (See PARLIAMENTARY LAW.)

CALHOUN

CALHOUN, John Caldwell, was born in Abbeville district, S. C., March 18, 1782, and died in Washington city, March 31, 1850. He was graduated at Yale in 1804, was admitted to the bar in 1807, and served as representative in congress 1811-17 (see BANK CONTROVERSIES, III.), when he became secretary of war. He was vice-president from 1825 until 1831, when he resigned (see NULLIFICATION) to become senator from South Carolina. He was secretary of state 1843-5 (see ANNEXATIONS, III.), when he again became senator, dying in office. He was the particularist of particularists, the leader of that element of the democratic party which made no allowance for the country's development or growing necessities, but insisted on construing the constitution according to the needs of 1777-89. He held that the states were sovereign, (see STATE SOVEREIGNTY); that the constitution was merely a compact or treaty between separate, sovereign nations, to be construed entirely by the rules of international law; that such a treaty, when broken by one state, was no longer binding upon any; and that, consequently, the declaration of a state that the constitution had been violated, absolved the people of that state from any further allegiance or obedience to the United States until the wrong had been made good. (See ALLEGIANCE, SECESSION.) It must be remembered that, to Calhoun's mind, this theory did not militate against the existence of the Union; it only operated as a check upon the tyranny of a national majority. He was a master of logic; let his premises, that the states were originally sovereign, and that they separately, not unitedly, revolted from Great Britain (see DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE), be granted, and it would be difficult to make any head against his arguments. He was always in advance of the other politicians of his section, and the south only came up, in 1860, abreast with the doctrine which he had taught in 1850. He died in the unhappy belief that the south had been entrapped, under the supposition that she was merely forming an alliance with a more powerful neighbor, into a corporate union in which she was to be helpless under her neighbor's superiority in number of voters and other advantages. (See DEMOCRATIC PARTY, III., IV.; BANK CONTROVERSIES, III.; NULLIFICATION; ANNEXATIONS, III.; COMPROMISES, V.; SLAVERY; STATE SOVEREIGNTY; TERRITORIES; SECESSION; ADMINISTRATIONS, VIII., IX., XIV.—See Jenkins' Life of Calhoun; Parton's Famous Americans; Crallé's Works of Calhoun; A. H. Stephens' War Between the States; Appleton's American Cyclopœdia, art. "Calhoun"; Thomas' Carolina Tribute to Calhoun; 24 National Quarterly Review.

ALEXANDER JOHNSTON.

CALIFORNIA

CALIFORNIA, a state of the American Union, formed from territory acquired from Mexico. (see ANNEXATIONS, IV.) One of the earliest events of the Mexican war was the formation of a provisional government in 1846 in the Mexican province of Upper, or Alta California, by commodore Stockton and colonel J. C. Fremont. When the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, in 1848, transferred to the United States the title to the soil, the provisional military government was continued, owing to the inability of congress to settle the status of slavery in the acquired territory. (See WILMOT PROVISO.) The discovery of gold, in 1848, increased the population so rapidly that in 1849 a convention, called by the military governor, framed a state constitution, Sept. 1-Oct. 13, which was ratified by popular vote, Nov. 13. It fixed the state limits as follows: "Beginning where longitude 120° west from Greenwich intersects latitude 42° north; thence south to latitude 39° north; thence southeast to the river Colorado; thence down the Colorado to the Mexican boundary, and west on the Mexican boundary line to the Pacific ocean; thence in a northwesterly direction along the Pacific coast to latitude 42° north, and thence east to the beginning; including all the islands, harbors and bays on the Pacific coast." The capital was to be San Jose, since changed to Sacramento by the legislature, and the governor was to hold office for a term of two years, changed in 1862 to four years. Article I, § 18, provided that slavery should never be tolerated in the state. From this provision arose the opposition in congress to California's admission, which was not accomplished until Sept. 9, 1850. (See COMPROMISES, V.)

—In national politics California was at first steadily democratic. In 1852 the democrats obtained entire control of the state government, and retained it until 1860. A strong whig opposition, averaging about 42 per cent. of the total vote, was kept up until 1855, and the opposition vote was then for several years very evenly divided between the republican and American, or know nothing, parties. After 1855 an opposition was developed among the democrats, headed by U. S. senator Broderick, but it never succeeded in ousting the regular wing from the control of the party. In 1860 democratic division gave the electoral vote of the state to Lincoln, the popular vote being 39,173 rep., 38,516 Douglas dem., 34,334 Breckenridge dem., and 6,817 const. union; but the Douglas democracy had a strong majority in the legislature. In national politics, 1860-76, the state was steadily republican, though usually by a close vote; in 1868 Grant had but 506 majority in a total vote of 108,660. In 1880 the state cast its electoral vote for Hancock by a very slender majority, one of the democratic electors being defeated.

—In state politics, 1860-76, California has been alternately democratic and republican. Since 1876 its politics have been a chaos. The national parties have been supplemented by various state organizations based on opposition to Chinese immigration, to the influence of great corporations in politics, or to the growth of monopoly in land, or on a general support of the interests of workingmen. The result of the continuous agitation kept up by these was the formation of a new constitution which was adopted by a state convention, March 3, 1879, and ratified by popular vote May 7, 1879. Among other changes this instrument prohibited the admission of any native of China to the privileges of an elector; the grant of money or special privileges to corporations by the legislature; the passage of special or local laws by the legislature in thirty-three specified cases; the buying and selling of shares of stock in boards under the control of any association; the making of contracts for future delivery of stock, or of sales of stock on margins; the grant of aid or the pledge of credit, by the legislature, or by any county city, or municipal corporation, to any institution controled by any sect, or to any individual or corporation whatever; and the grant by any of these bodies of extra compensation to any public servant. It authorized the legislature to limit the charges of telegraph or gas companies; retired two of the six supreme court justices at the end of each four years; withheld the salary of judges of the higher grades so long as their court decisions were more than ninety days in arrears; forfeited all existing charters under which bona fide organization had not taken place; forbade the "watering" of stock; provided for minority stockholders' representation in boards of directors; ordered all corporations to submit their books to the inspection of stockholders; made all railroad, canal and transportation companies subject to legislative control; established an elective board of railroad commissioners to fix rates of charges by railroad and transportation companies, which rates were to be observed by the companies under penalty of not more than $20,000 fine for each offense, and, in the discretion of the legislature, the forfeiture of the charter; condemned the holding of large tracts of land by individuals or corporations as against the public interest; and forbade the employment of Chinese by private or municipal corporations. Its provisions have been thus fully given because they were, at the time of the adoption of the constitution, generally attributed to the influence of local California demagogues, and excited wide-spread alarm among capitalists and corporations, many of whom made preparations to leave the state. The success or failure of the constitution is not yet well assured. (See CONSTITUTIONS, STATE.)

—The derivation of the name California is very uncertain; it was first applied by Bernal Diaz to a single bay on the coast, and thence transferred to the entire country. The popular name is The Golden State.

—GOVERNORS: Peter H. Burnett (1850-52), John Bigler (1852-6), J. Neely Johnson (1856-8), John B. Weller (1858-60), Milton S. Latham (1860-62), Leland Stanford (1862-4), F. F. Low (1864-8), Henry H. Haight (1868-72), Newton Booth (1872-6), William Irwin (1876-80), George C. Perkins (1880-84).

—See Poore's Federal and State Constitutions; Cutts' Conquest of California; Tuthill's History of California; Capron's History of California; Norman's Youth's History of California; Soulé's Annals of San Francisco; McClellan's The Golden State; Appleton's Annual Cyclopœdia, 1861-80.

ALEXANDER JOHNSTON.

CANADA

CANADA. (See DOMINION OF CANADA.)

CANALS

CANALS. A canal is an artificial channel, filled with water kept at the desired level by means of locks or sluices, forming a communication between two or more places.

—1. Historical Sketch of Canals. Ancient Canals. The comparative cheapness and facility with which goods may be conveyed by sea or by means of navigable rivers seem to have suggested, at a very early period, the formation of canals. The best authenticated accounts of ancient Egypt represent that country as intersected by canals conveying the waters of the Nile to the more distant parts of the country, partly for the purpose of irrigation and partly for that of internal navigation. The efforts made by the old Egyptian monarchs, and by the Ptolemies, to construct a canal between the Red sea and the Nile, are well known, and evince the high sense which they entertained of the importance of this species of communication. (Ameilhon, Commerce des Egyptiens, p. 76.)

—Greece was too small a territory, too much intersected by arms of the sea, and subdivided into too many independent states, to afford much scope for inland navigation. Attempts were, however, made to cut a canal across the isthmus of Corinth; but they did not succeed.

—The Romans did not distinguish themselves in canal navigation. Their aqueducts, the stupendous ruins of which attest the wealth and power of their founders, were intended to furnish supplies of water to some adjoining city, and not for the conveyance of vessels or produce.

—2. Chinese Canals. In China, canals, partly for irrigation and partly for navigation, have existed from a very early period. The most celebrated among them is the Imperial or Grand canal, commencing at Hang-tchou, near the mouth of the Tching-tang-chiang river, in about latitude 30° 22' north, longitude 119° 45' east; it then stretches north, and crossing the great rivers Yang-tse-Kiang, and Hoang-ho, terminates at Linting, on the Eu-ho river, in about latitude 37° north, longitude 116° east. The direct distance between the extreme limits of the canal is about 512 miles, but, including its bends, it is above 650 miles in length; and as the Eu-ho, which is a navigable river, unites with the Pei-ho, also navigable, an internal water communication is thus established between Hang-tchou and Pekin across 10° of latitude. But apart from its magnitude and utility, the Grand canal does not rank high as a work of art. A vast amount of labor has, however, been expended upon it; for though it mostly passes through a flat country, and winds about to preserve its level, its bed is in parts cut down to a great depth, while in other parts it is carried over extensive hollows, and even lakes and morasses, on vast mounds of earth and stone. The sluices, which preserve its waters at the necessary level, are all of very simple construction, being merely intended to elevate or depress the height of the water by a few inches; as, excepting these, there is not a single lock or interruption to the navigation throughout the whole length of the canal. It is seldom more than 5 or 6 feet in depth, and in dry seasons is sometimes considerably less. The vessels by which it is navigated are sometimes rowed, and sometimes dragged by men, so that the navigation is for the most part slow. The canal is frequently faced with stone. The construction of this great work is usually ascribed to the Tartars, but the Chinese allege that it was merely repaired and renovated by the latter, and that it had been completed in the remotest period of their history. (Barrow's China, p. 335, etc.; La Lande, Canaux de Navigation, p. 529, etc.)

—3. Italian Canals. The Italians were the first people in modern Europe that attempted to plan and execute canals. They were principally, however, undertaken for the purpose of irrigation; and the works of this sort executed in the Milanese and other parts of Lombardy, in the eleventh, twelfth and thirteenth centuries, are still regarded as models, and excite the warm admiration of every one capable of appreciating them. In 1271 the Navilio Grande, or canal leading from Milan to Abbiate Grasso and the Tesino, was rendered navigable. (Young's Travels in France, etc., vol. ii., p. 170.)

—4. Dutch Canals. No country in Europe contains, in proportion to its size, so many navigable canals as the kingdom of the Netherlands, and particularly the province of Holland. The construction of these canals commenced as early as the twelfth century, when, owing to its central and convenient situation, Flanders began to be the entrepôt of the commerce between the north and south of Europe. Their number has since been astonishingly increased. "Holland," says Mr. Phillips, in his "History of Inland Navigation," is "intersected with innumerable canals. They may be compared in number and size to our public roads and highways; and as the latter with us are continually full of coaches, chaises, wagons, carts and horsemen going from and to the different cities, towns and villages, so, on the former, the Hollanders in their boats and pleasure barges, their treckschuyts, and vessels of burden, are continually journeying and conveying commodities for consumption or exportation from the interior of the country to the great cities and rivers. An inhabitant of Rotterdam, may, by means of these canals, breakfast at Delft or the Hague, dine at Leyden, and sup at Amsterdam, or return home again before night. By them, also, a most prodigious inland trade is carried on between Holland and every part of France, Flanders and Germany. When the canals are frozen over, they travel on them with skates, and perform long journeys in a very short time; while heavy burdens are conveyed in carts and sledges, which are then as much used on the canals as on our streets.

—The yearly profits produced by these canals are almost beyond belief; but it is certain, and has been proved, that they amount to more than £250,000 for about 400 miles of inland navigation, which is £625 per mile, the square surface of which mile does not exceed two acres of ground; a profit so amazing that it is no wonder other nations should imitate what has been found so advantageous.

—The canals of Holland are generally 60 feet wide and 6 deep, and are carefully kept clean; the mud, as manure, is very profitable. The canals are generally levels; of course locks are not wanted. From Rotterdam to Delft, the Hague, and Leyden, the canal is quite level, but is sometimes affected by strong winds. For the most part the canals are elevated above the fields or the country, to enable them to carry off the water which in winter inundates the land. To drain the water from Delftland, a province not more than 60 miles long, they employ 200 windmills in springtime to raise it into the canals. All the canals of Holland are bordered with dams or banks of immense thickness, and on these depends the security of the country from inundation; of course it is of great moment to keep them in the best repair; to effect which there is a kind of militia, and every village has a magazine of proper stores and men, whose business it is to convey stones and rubbish in carts to any damaged place. When a certain bell rings, or the waters are at a fixed height, every man repairs to his post. To every house or family there is assigned a certain part of the bank, in the repair of which they are to assist. When a breach is apprehended, they cover the banks all over with cloth and stones."

—5. Canal from Amsterdam to Nieudiep, near the Helder. The object of this canal, which is the greatest work of its kind in Holland, and probably in the world, is to afford a safe and easy passage for large vessels from Amsterdam to the German ocean. This city has 40 feet of water in the road in front of its port, but the pampus or bar at the junction of the Y with the Zuyder Zee, 7 miles below, has only a depth of 10 feet; and hence all ships of any considerable burden entering or leaving the port must unload and load part of their cargoes without the bar. As the Zuyder Zee is everywhere full of shallows, all ordinary means of improving the access to Amsterdam were necessarily ineffectual; and the resolution was, therefore, at length adopted, of cutting a canal from the city to the Helder, the most northern point of the province of Holland. The distance between these extreme points is 41 English miles, but the length of the canal is about 50½. The breadth at the surface of the water is 124½ English feet (120 Rhinland feet); the breadth at bottom 36; the depth 20 feet 9 inches. Like the Dutch canals generally, its level is that of the highest tides, and it receives its supply of water from the sea. The only locks it requires are, of course, two tide locks at the extremities; but there are, besides, two sluices, with floodgates in the intermediate space. It is crossed by 18 drawbridges. The locks and sluices are double, i.e., there are two in the breadth of the canal; and their construction and workmanship are said to be excellent. They are built of brick, for economy; but bands of limestone are interposed at intervals, and these project about an inch beyond the brick, to protect it from abrasion by the sides of vessels. There is a broad towing-path on each side, and the canal is wide enough to admit of two frigates passing.

—The line which the canal follows may be easily traced on a map of Holland. From the Y at Amsterdam it proceeds north to Purmerend; thence west to Alkmaar lake; again north by Alkmaar to a point within 2 miles of the coast, near Petten; whence it runs nearly parallel to the coast till it joins the sea a little to the east of the Helder, at the fine harbor of Nieudiep, formed within the last 50 years. At the latter place there is a powerful steam engine for supplying the canal with water during neap tides, and for other purposes. The time spent in towing vessels from Nieudiep to Amsterdam is 18 hours. The Helder is the only spot on the shores of Holland that has deep water; and it owes this advantage to its being opposite to the Texel, which, by contracting the communication between the German ocean and the Zuyder Zee to a breadth of about a mile, produces a current which scours and deepens the channel. Immediately opposite the Helder there are 100 feet water at high tides, and at the shallowest part of the bar to the westward there are 27 feet. In the same way, the artificial mound which runs into the Y opposite Amsterdam, by contracting the waterway to about 1,000 feet, keeps a depth of 40 feet in the port (at high water), while above and below there is only 10 or 12.

—The canal was begun in 1819, and finished in 1825. The cost was estimated at the sum of 10,000,000 or 12,000,000 florins, or about £1,000,000. If we compute the magnitude of this canal by the cubic contents of its bed, it is the greatest, we believe, in the world, unless some of the Chinese canals be exceptions. The volume of water which it contains, or the prisme de remplisage, is twice as great as that of the New York canal, or the canal of Languedoc, and two and a half times as great as that of the artificial part of the Caledonian canal. In consequence, however, of the facility with which the Dutch canal was dug, and of the evenness of the ground through which it passes, the difficulties the engineer had to meet in making it were trifling compared to those which had to be overcome in constructing the canals now mentioned. We have not learned what returns this canal yields; most probably it is not, at least in a direct point of view, a profitable concern. Even in Holland, notwithstanding the lowness of interest, it would require tolls to the amount of £40,000 a year to cover interest and expenses; and so large a sum can hardly, we should think, be raised by the very moderate tolls laid on the ships passing through it. This, however, is not the only consideration to be attended to in estimating the value of a work of this sort. Its influence in promoting the trade of Amsterdam, and, indeed, of Holland, may far more than compensate for its cost. It is evident, too, that the imposition of oppressive tolls would have effectually counteracted this advantage; that is, they would have defeated the very object for which the canal was constructed.

—A new canal has been built in Holland from the Zuyder Zee at Vuurtoren to Amsterdam, through the Het-ij, Wij-Ker-meer to the North sea near Breesaap. The entrance into the North sea is by two jetties, that on the north 2,000 mètres in length, that on the south 1,500. The canal drains 6,000 hectares (15,000 acres) of land, and shortens the journey from Amsterdam to the sea by 56 kilomètres.

—It is almost unnecessary to say that railways have superseded the use of canals for passenger traffic, and that the service of the latter is confined almost entirely to the carriage of goods.

—6. Danish Canals. The Holstein canal, formerly belonging to Denmark, is of very considerable importance. It joins the river Eyder with Kiel bay on the northeast coast of Holstein, forming a navigable communication between the North sea, a little to the north of Heligoland, and the Baltic, enabling vessels to pass from the one to the other by a short cut of about 100 miles, instead of the lengthened and difficult voyage round Jutland, and through the Cattegat and the sound. The Eyder is navigable for vessels not drawing more than 9 feet water from Tonningen, near its mouth, to Rendsburg, where it is joined by the canal, which communicates with the Baltic at Holtenau, about 3 miles north of Kiel. The canal is about 26 English miles in length, including about 6 miles of what is principally river navigation. The excavated portion is 95 feet wide at the top, 51 feet 6 inches at bottom, and 9 feet 6 inches deep (Eng. measure). Its highest elevation above the level of the sea is 24 feet 4 inches; to which height vessels are raised and let down by 6 locks or sluices. It is navigable by vessels of 120 tons burden, or more, provided they are constructed in that view. The total cost of the canal was about £500,000. It was opened in 1785, and has so far realized the views of its projectors as to enable coasting vessels from the Danish islands in the Baltic and the east coast of Holstein, Jutland, etc., to proceed to Hamburg, Holland, England, etc., in less time, and with much less risk, than, in the ordinary course of navigation, they could have cleared the point of the Skaw, and conversely with ships from the west. The smaller class of foreign vessels, particularly those under the Dutch and Hanseatic flags, navigating the Baltic and North seas, have largely availed themselves of the facilities afforded by this canal. About 3,000 vessels pass annually through the canal. This is a sufficient evidence of its utility. It would, however, be much more frequented, were it not for the difficult navigation of the Eyder from the sea to Rendsburg. The dues are moderate. (Coxe's Travels in the North of Europe, 5th ed., vol. v., p. 239, where there is a plan of the canal; Catteau, Tableau des Etats Danois, tom. ii., pp. 300-304; and private information.)

—7. Swedish Canals. The formation of an internal navigation connecting the Cattegat and the Baltic has long engaged the attention, and occupied the efforts, of the people and government of Sweden. Various motives conspired to make them embark in this arduous undertaking. The sound and other channels to the Baltic were commanded by the Danes, who were able, when at war with the Swedes, greatly to annoy the latter by cutting off all communication by sea between the eastern and western provinces of the kingdom. Hence, in the view, partly of obviating this annoyance and partly of facilitating the conveyance of iron, timber, and other bulky products from the interior to the coast, it was determined to attempt forming an internal navigation, by means of the river Gotha, and the lakes Wener, Wetter, etc., from Gottenburg to Soderkœping on the Baltic. The first and most difficult part of this enterprise was the perfecting of the communication from Gottenburg to the lake Wener. The Gotha, which flows from the latter to the former, is navigable, through by far the greater part of its course, for vessels of considerable burden; but, besides others less difficult to overcome, the navigation at the point called Tröllhætta is interrupted by a series of cataracts about 112 feet in height. Owing to the rapidity of the river, and the stubborn red granite rocks over which it flows, and by perpendicular banks of which it is bounded, the attempt to cut a lateral canal, and still more to render it directly navigable, presented the most formidable obstacles. But, undismayed by these impediments, on which it is, indeed, most probable he had not sufficiently reflected, Polhem, a native engineer, undertook, about the middle of last century, the Herculean task of constructing locks in the channel of the river, and rendering it navigable! Whether, however, it was owing to the all but insuperable obstacles opposed to such a plan, to the defective execution, or deficient strength of the works, they were wholly swept away, after being considerably advanced, and after vast sums had been expended upon them. From this period down to 1793 the undertaking was abandoned; but in that year the plan was proposed, which should have been adopted at first, of cutting a lateral canal through the solid rock, about 1½ miles from the river. This new enterprise was begun under the auspices of a company incorporated for the purpose in 1794, and was successfully completed in 1800. The canal is about 3 miles in length, and has about 6½ feet water. This is the statement of Catteau, Tableau de la Mer Baltique, tome ii., p. 77; Oddy, in his European Commerce, p. 306, and Balbi, Abrégé de la Géographic, p. 385, say that the depth of water is 10 feet. It has 8 sluices, and admits vessels of above 100 tons. In one part it is cut through the solid rock to the depth of 72 feet. The expense was a good deal less than might have been expected, being only about £80,000. The lake Wener, the navigation of which was thus opened with Gottenburg, is very large, deep, and encircled by some of the richest of the Swedish provinces, which now possess the inestimable advantage of a convenient and ready outlet for their products.

—As soon as the Tröllhætta canal had been completed, there could be no room for doubt as to the practicability of extending the navigation to Soderkœping. In furtherance of this object the lake Wener was joined to the lake Wetter by the Gotha canal, which admits vessels of the same size as that of Tröllhætta; and the prolongation of the navigation to the Baltic from the Wetter, partly by two canals of equal magnitude with the above, and partly by lakes, has since been completed. The entire undertaking is called the Gotha navigation, and deservedly ranks among the very first of the kind in Europe. Besides the above, the canal of Arboga unites the lake Hielmar to the lake Maelar; and since 1819 a canal has been constructed from the latter to the Baltic at Södertelje. The canal of Strömsholm, so called from its passing near the castle of that name, has effected a navigable communication between the province of Dalecarlia and the lake Maelar, etc. The total revenue of the 6 Swedish canals in 1864 was £36,436. (Report of Mr. Hamilton, Secretary of Legation, of Feb. 9, 1867; Coxe's Travels in the North of Europe, 5th ed. vol. iv., pp. 253-266, and vol. v., pp. 58-66; Thomson's Travels in Sweden, p. 35, etc.)

—8. French Canals. The first canal executed in France was that of Briare, 34½ English miles in length, intended to form a communication between the Seine and Loire. It was commenced in 1605, in the reign of Henry IV., and was completed in 1642, under his successor, Louis XIII. The canal of Orleans, which joins the above, was commenced in 1675. But the most stupendous undertaking of this sort, that has been executed in France, or indeed on the continent, is the canal of Languedoc. It was projected under Francis I., but was begun and completed in the reign of Louis XIV. It reaches from Narbonne to Toulouse, and was intended to form a safe and speedy means of communication between the Atlantic ocean and the Mediterranean. It is 64 French leagues in length, and 6 feet deep; and has, in all, 114 locks and sluices. In its highest part it is 600 feet above the level of the sea. In some places it is conveyed, by bridges of great length and strength, over large rivers. It cost upward of £1,300,000; and reflects infinite credit on the engineer, Riquet, by whom it was planned and executed.

—Besides this great work, France possesses several magnificent canals, such as that of the Centre, connecting the Loire with the Saône; of St. Quentin, joining the Scheldt and the Somme; of Besançon, joining the Saône, and consequently the Rhone, to the Rhine; of Burgundy, joining the Rhone to the Seine, etc. Some of these are of very considerable magnitude. The canal of the Centre is about 72 English miles in length. It was completed in 1791, at an expense of about 11,000,000 francs. Its summit level is about 240 feet above the level of the Loire at Digoin; the breadth at the water's edge is about 48 feet, and at bottom 30 feet; depth of water, 5¼ number of locks, 81. The canal of St. Quentin, 28 English miles in length, was completed in 1810. The canal joining the Rhone to the Rhine is the most extensive of any. It stretches from the Saône, a little above St. Jean de Losne, by Dol, Besançon, and Mulhouse, to Strasburg, where it joins the Rhine—a distance of about 200 English miles. From Dol to Vogeaucourt, near Montbéliard, the canal is principally excavated in the bed of the Doubs. It is not quite finished. The canal of Burgundy will, when completed, be about 242 kilomètres, or 150 English miles in length; but at present it is only navigable to the distance of about 95 kilomètres. In addition to these, a great many other canals have been finished, while several are in progress, and others projected. There is an excellent account of the French canals in the Histoire de la Navigation Intérieure de la France, by M. Dutens, in 2 vols. 4to, and to it we beg to refer the reader for further details. He will find at the end of the second volume a very beautiful map of the rivers and canals of France.

—The railroads now constructed in France, have, however, checked the progress of canals. We may observe, too that the state of the law in France is very unfavorable to the undertaking and success of all great public works; and we are inclined to attribute the comparative fewness of canals in France, and the recent period at which most of them have been constructed, to its influence. In that country, canals, docks, and such like works, are mostly carried on at the expense and for behoof of government, under the control of its agents. No scope has been given to the enterprise of individuals or associations. Before either a road or a canal can be constructed, plans and estimates must be made out and laid before the minister of the interior, by whom they are referred to the prefect of the department, and then to the Bureau des Ponts et des Chaussées; and supposing the project to be approved by these, and the other functionaries consulted with respect to it, the work must after all be carried on under the superintendence of some public officer. In consequence of this preposterous system, very few works of this description have been undertaken as private speculations; and while not a few of those begun by government remain unfinished and comparatively useless, those that are completed have, as was to be expected, rarely proved profitable. There are some good remarks on this subject in the useful work of M. Dupin on the Forces Commerciales of Great Britain.

—9. Prussian Canals. The Prussian states are traversed by the great navigable rivers the Elbe, the Oder, and the Vistula; the first having its embouchure in the North sea, and the others in the Baltic. The formation of an internal navigation to join these great waterways excited the attention of government at a distant period; and this object has been successfully accomplished partly by the aid of the secondary rivers falling into the above, and partly by canals. In 1662 the canal of Muhlrose was undertaken, uniting the Oder and the Spree; the latter being a navigable river falling into the Havel, also a navigable river joining the Elbe near Havelburg. But the navigation from the Oder to the Elbe by this channel was difficult and liable to frequent interruption; and to obviate these defects, Frederick the Great constructed, toward the middle of last century, the Finnow canal, stretching from the Oder at Oderburg to the Havel near Liebenwalde; the communication is thence continued by the latter and a chain of lakes to Plauen, from which point a canal has been opened joining the Elbe near Magdeburg.

—The Elbe being in this way connected with the Oder by a comparatively easy navigation, the latter has been united to the Vistula, partly by the river Netze, and partly by a canal joining that river to the Brahe, which falls into the Vistula near Bromberg. A vast inland navigation has thus been completed, barks passing freely through the whole extent of country from Hamburg to Dantzic; affording the means of shipping the products of the interior, and of importing those of foreign countries, either by the North sea or the Baltic, as may be found most advantageous. (Compare the above with Catteau, Tableau de la Mer Baltique, tome ii., pp. 11-18,)

—10. Russian Canals. The inland navigation of Russia is of vast extent, and very considerable importance.

—11. Bavarian Canals. A grand canal which was for a lengthened period in progress in Bavaria was completed in 1846, and promises to become of great public utility. It extends from Dietfurth on the Altmühl, a navigable affluent of the Danube, to Bamberg on the Mayn, a distance of 23½ German, or about 112 English miles. It is on a large scale, and has cost above £1,000,000. This magnificent undertaking, which carries an inland navigation through the centre of Europe, and realizes the project of Charlemagne for uniting the Black sea with the German ocean, is conducted by a joint-stock company, with the assistance of the Bavarian government. But the navigation of the Mayn and the Danube must be considerably improved before this grand channel of communication can acquire all the importance which, most probably, it is destined to obtain.

—12. Austrian Canals. The Austrian empire is traversed in its whole extent by the Danube; but the advantages that might result to the foreign trade of the empire from so great a command of river navigation have been materially abridged by the jealousy of the Turks, who command the embouchure of the river, and by the difficulties in some places incident to its navigation. Two pretty extensive canals have been constructed in Hungary. That called the Bega canal is 73 English miles in length: it stretches from Fascet through the Bannat by Temeswar to Becskerek, whence vessels pass by the Bega into the Theiss a little above its junction with the Danube. The other Hungarian canal is called after the emperor Francis. It stretches from the Danube by Zambor to the Theiss, which it joins near Foldvar, being 62 English miles in length; its elevation where highest does not exceed 27 feet. Besides the above, the canal of Vienna establishes a communication between that city and Neustadt. It is said to be the intention to continue this canal to Trieste; but however desirable, we doubt much whether this be practicable. A railroad has been made from Munchausen on the Danube to Budweiss on the Moldau, a navigable river that falls into the Elbe, which promises to be a highly useful communication. (Bright's Travels in Hungary, p. 246; Balbi, Abrégé de la Géographie, p. 216.)

—13. Spanish Canals. Nowhere are canals more necessary, both for the purposes of navigation and irrigation, than in Spain; but the nature of the soil, and the poverty and ignorance of the government as well as of the people, oppose formidable obstacles to their construction. During the reign of Charles II. a company of Dutch contractors offered to render the Mancanares navigable from Madrid to where it falls into the Tagus, and the latter from that point to Lisbon, provided they were allowed to levy a duty for a certain number of years on the goods conveyed by this channel. The council of Castile took this proposal into their serious consideration, and after maturely weighing it pronounced the singular decision, "That if it had pleased God that these two rivers should have been navigable, He would not have wanted human assistance to have made them such; but that, as He has not done it, it is plain He did not think it proper that it should be done. To attempt it, therefore, would be to violate the decrees of His providence, and to mend the imperfections which he designedly left in His works." (Clarke's Letters on the Spanish Nation, p. 284.) But such undertakings are no longer looked upon as sinful; and many have been projected since the accession of the Bourbon dynasty, though few have been perfected. The canal of the Ebrc, begun under the emperor Charles V., is the most important of the Spanish canals; but it is only partially completed, and during dry seasons it suffers from want of water. It runs parallel to the right bank of the Ebro, from Tudela in Navarre to below Saragossa; the intention being to carry it to Sastago, where it is to unite with the Ebro. The canal of Castile is intended to lay open the country between the Douro and Reynosa, and to facilitate the conveyance of grain from the interior to Santander and Bilbao. It passes by Valladolid, Palencia, and Aguilar del Campos; a small part has been executed, and is now in operation. A company has also undertaken, what the Dutch contractors formerly offered—to render the Tagus navigable from Aranjuez to Lisbon; the free navigation of the river having been stipulated at the congress of Vienna. A project for deepening the Guadalquivir, and some others, are also on foot. (Geographical Dictionary, ii. 710.) It would appear from Mr. Sackville West's Report to the Foreign Office, of Jan. 1, 1867, that on Dec. 31, 1865, the total amount of canal shares and subventions was 211,040,251 reals vellon, or £2,110,402, and that the sum estimated as necessary for their completion was 11,816,190 reals vellon, or £118,561. (Reports of Secretaries of Legation, No. 5 of 1867.)

—14. British Canals. Owing partly to the late rise of extensive manufactures and commerce in Great Britain, but more, perhaps, to the insular situation of the country, no part of which is very distant from the sea of from a navigable river, no attempt was made, in England, to construct canals till a comparatively recent period. The efforts of those who first began to improve the means of internal navigation were limited to attempts to deepen the beds of rivers, and to render them better fitted for the conveyance of vessels. So early as 1635, Mr. Sandys, of Flatbury, Worcestershire, formed a project for rendering the Avon navigable from the Severn, near Tewkesbury, through the counties of Warwick, Worcester and Gloucester, "that the towns and country might be better supplied with wood, iron, pit-coal, and other commodities." This scheme was approved by the principal nobility and landowners in the adjoining counties; but the civil war having broken out soon after, the project was abandoned, and does not seem to have been revived. After the restoration and during the earlier part of last century various acts were at different times obtained for cheapening and improving river navigation. For the most part, however, these attempts were not very successful. The current of the rivers gradually changed the form of their channels; the dikes and other artificial constructions were apt to be destroyed by inundations; alluvial sand banks were formed below the weirs; in summer the channels were frequently too dry to admit of being navigated, while at other periods the current was so strong as to render it quite impossible to ascend the river, which at all times, indeed, was a laborious and expensive undertaking. These difficulties in the way of river navigation seem to have suggested the expediency of abandoning the channels of most rivers, and of digging parallel to them artificial channels, in which the water might be kept at the proper level by means of locks. The act passed by the legislature in 1755 for improving the navigation of Sankey Brook on the Mersey gave rise to a lateral canal of this description, about 11¼ miles in length, which deserves to be mentioned as the earliest effort of the sort in England.

—But before this canal had been completed, the celebrated duke of Bridgewater, and his equally celebrated engineer, the self-instructed James Brindley, had conceived a plan of inland navigation independent altogether of natural channels, and intended to afford the greatest facilities to commerce, by carrying canals across rivers and through mountains, wherever it was practicable to construct them.

—The duke was proprietor of a large estate at Worsley, 7 miles from Manchester, in which were some very rich coal mines, which had hitherto been in great measure useless, owing to the cost of carrying coal to market. Being desirous of turning his mines to some account, it occurred to him that his purpose would be best accomplished by cutting a canal from Worsley to Manchester. Mr. Brindley, having been consulted, declared that the scheme was practicable; and an act having been obtained, the work was immediately commenced. "The principle," says Mr. Phillips, "laid down at the commencement of this business reflects as much honor on the noble undertaker as it does upon his engineer. It was resolved that the canal should be perfect in its kind; and that, in order to preserve the level of the water, it should be free from the usual obstruction of locks. But in accomplishing this end many difficulties were deemed insurmountable. It was necessary that the canal should be carried over rivers, and many large and deep valleys, where it was evident that such stupendous mounds of earth must be raised as would scarcely, it was thought by numbers, be completed by the labor of ages; and, above all, it was not known from what source so large a supply of water could be drawn, even on this improved plan, as would supply the navigation. But Mr. Brindley, with a strength of mind peculiar to himself, and being possessed of the confidence of his great patron, contrived such admirable machines, and took such methods to facilitate the progress of the work, that the world soon began to wonder how it could be thought so difficult. When the canal was completed as far as Barton, where the Irwell is navigable for large vessels, Mr. Brindley proposed to carry it over that river by an aqueduct 39 feet above the surface of the water in the river. This, however, being considered as a wild and extravagant project, he desired, in order to justify his conduct toward his noble employer, that the opinion of another engineer might be taken, believing that he could easily convince an intelligent person of the practicability of the design. A gentleman of eminence was accordingly called, who, being conducted to the place where it was intended that the aqueduct should be made, ridiculed the attempt; and, when the height and dimensions were communicated to him, he exclaimed, "I have often heard of castles in the air, but never was shown before where any of them were to be erected." This unfavorable verdict did not deter the duke from following the opinion of his own engineer. The aqueduct was immediately begun; and it was carried on with such rapidity and success as astonished those who, but a little before, thought it impossible."

—Before the canal from Worsley to Manchester had been completed, it occurred to the duke and his engineer that it might be practicable to extend it by a branch, which, running through Chester parallel to the river Mersey, should at length terminate in that river below the limits of its artificial navigation, and thus afford a new, safer and cheaper means of communication between Manchester and its vicinity and Liverpool. The execution of this plan was authorized by an act passed in 1761. This canal, which is above 29 miles in length, was finished in about 5 years. It was constructed in the best manner, and has proved equally advantageous to its noble proprietor and the public.

—"When the duke of Bridgewater," says Dr. Aikin, "undertook this great design, the price of carriage on the river navigation was 12s. the ton from Manchester to Liverpool, while that of land carriage was 40s. the ton. The duke's charge on his canal was limited by statute to 6s.; and together with this vast superiority in cheapness, it had all the speed and regularity of land carriage. The articles conveyed by it were, likewise, much more numerous than those by the river navigation; besides manufactured goods and their raw materials, coals from the duke's own pits were deposited in yards at various parts of the canal, for the supply of Cheshire; lime, manure and building materials were carried from place to place; and the markets of Manchester obtained a supply of provisions from districts too remote for the ordinary land conveyances. A branch of useful and profitable carriage, hitherto scarcely known in England, was also undertaken, which was that of passengers. Boats, on the model of the Dutch treckschuyts, but more agreeable and capacious, were set up, which, at very reasonable rates and with great convenience, carried numbers of persons daily to and from Manchester along the line of the canal." (Aikin's Description of the Country round Manchester, p. 116.)

—The success attending the duke of Bridgewater's canals stimulated public-spirited individuals in other districts to undertake similar works. Mr. Brindley had early formed the magnificent scheme of joining the great ports of London, Liverpool, Bristol and Hull by a system of internal navigation; and though he died in 1772, at the early age of 56, he had the satisfaction to see his grand project in a fair way of being realized. The Trent and Mersey, or as it has been more commonly termed, the Grand Trunk canal. 96 miles in length, was begun in 1766 and completed in 1777. It stretches from near Runcorn on the Mersey, where it communicates with the duke of Bridgewater's canal, to Newcastle-under-Line; thence southward to near Titchfield; and then northwesterly, till it joins the Trent at Wilden ferry, at the northwestern extremity of Leicestershire. A water communication between Hull and Liverpool was thus completed; and by means of the Staffordshire and Worcestershire canal, which joins the Grand Trunk near Haywood in the former, and the Severn near Stourport in the latter, the same means of communication was extended to Bristol. During the time that the Grand Trunk canal was being made, a canal was undertaken from Liverpool to Leeds, 130 miles in length; another from Birmingham to the Staffordshire and Worcestershire canal, joining it near Wolverhampton, and one from Birmingham to Fazeley and thence to Coventry. By canals subsequently undertaken, a communication was formed between the Grand Trunk canal and Oxford, and consequently with London, completing Brindley's magnificent scheme. In 1792 the Grand Junction canal was begun, which runs in a pretty straight line from Brentford, on the Thames, a little above the metropolis, to Braunston, in Northamptonshire. where it unites with the Oxford and other central canals. It is about 90 miles in length. There is also a direct water communication, by means of the river Leanavigation, the Cambridge Junction canal, etc., between London and the Wash. In addition to these, an immense number of other canals, some of them of great magnitude and importance, have been constructed in different parts of the country; so that a command of internal navigation has been obtained, unparalleled in any European country, with the exception of Holland.

—In Scotland, the great canal to join the Forth and Clyde was begun in 1768, but it was suspended in 1777, and was not resumed till after the close of the American war. It was finally completed in 1790. Its total length, including the collateral cuts to Glasgow and the Monkland canal, is 38 8/4 miles. Where highest it is 150 feet above the level of the sea. It is on a larger scale than any of the English canals. Its medium width at the surface is 56, and at the bottom 27 feet. Originally it was about 8 feet 6 inches deep; but its banks have been raised, so that the depth of water is now about 10 feet. It has, in all, 39 locks. In completing this canal many serious difficulties had to be encountered. These, however, were all successfully overcome; and though unprofitable for a while, it has for many years past yielded a better return to its proprietors. Swift boats on the plan of those subsequently described were established on this canal in 1832. (Cleland's Statistics of Glasgow, p. 170, etc.)

—The Union canal joins the Forth and Clyde canal near Falkirk, and stretches thence to Edinburgh, being 31½ miles in length. It is 40 feet wide at the top, 20 at bottom, and 5 deep. It was completed in 1822. But it appears to have been an extremely ill-advised undertaking; so much so that its proprietors have sold it at a heavy loss to the Edinburgh and Glasgow railway company, who employ it in the conveyance of coal and other heavy goods.

—A canal intended to form a communication between Glasgow, Paisley and Ardrossan was commenced in 1807; but only that portion connecting Glasgow with Paisley and Ardrossan was commenced in 1807; but only that portion connecting Glasgow with Paisley and the village of Johnstoun has hitherto been finished. This part is about 12 miles long; the canal being 30 feet broad at top, 18 at bottom, and 4½ deep. It was here that the experiments were originally made on quick traveling by canals, which are said to have demonstrated that it was practicable to impel a properly constructed boat, carrying passengers and goods, along a canal at the rate of 9 or 10 miles an hour, without injury to the banks!

—The Crinan canal across the peninsula of Kintyre, admitting vessels of 160 tons burden, is 9 miles in length, and 12 feet in depth.

—The Caledonian canal is the greatest undertaking of the sort attempted in the empire. It stretches southwest and northeast across the island from a point near Inverness to another near Fort William. It is chiefly formed by Loch Ness, Loch Oich, and Loch Lochy. The total length of the canal, including the lakes, is 60½ miles; but the excavated part is only about 23 miles. At the summit it is 96½ feet above the level of the Western ocean. It is mostly constructed upon a very grand scale, being intended to be 20 feet deep, 50 feet wide at bottom, and 122 at top; the locks are 20 feet deep, 172 long, and 40 broad; and had it been wholly executed as was originally intended, frigates of 32 guns and merchant ships of 1,000 tons burden might have passed through it. It was opened in 1822, being executed entirely at the expense of government, from the designs and under the superintendence of Thomas Telford, Esq. The entire cost amounted, exclusive of interest, on the 1st of May, 1853, to £1,347,780. It would appear, however, to have been projected without due consideration, and has been a most unprofitable speculation. The revenue of the canal amounted in 1852-3 to only £5,889, whereas the expenditure during the same year, excluding allowance for wear and tear, and including £900 for repairs, amounted to £7,429! But this is not all. Owing to a wish to lessen the expense and to hasten the opening of the canal, parts of it were not excavated to their proper depth, while others were executed in a hurried and insufficient manner. Hence the canal does not really admit vessels of above 250 or 300 tons burden, and previously to steam tugs being provided on the lakes, they were frequently delayed in making their passage across for a lengthened period. During 1837 and 1838 the works sustained considerable damage; and the reader need not be surprised to hear that it was gravely debated whether it would not be better entirely to break up and abandon the canal.

—There was naturally, however, an extreme disinclination to destroy a work which, how inexpedient soever originally, has been executed at an enormous expense, and various schemes have been suggested for relieving the public from the expense of keeping it up without involving its destruction. Among others it has been proposed to assign it to a joint-stock company, on their agreeing to complete the works and keep them in repair; and an act authorizing such transfer was passed in 1840. But hitherto it has not been found possible to dispose of the canal in this way, and parliament has since voted large sums for the partial repair of the works, which, though a good deal improved, will every now and then require fresh outlays.

—Some other canals have been projected and completed in different parts of Scotland. Of these the Monkland canal, for the supply of Glasgow with coal, has been the most successful.

—15. Irish Canals. Various canals have been undertaken in Ireland, of which the Grand canal and the Royal canal are the principal. The Grand canal was begun in 1765, by a body of subscribers; but they could not have completed the work without very large advances from government. The canal commences at Dublin, and stretches in a westerly direction, inclining a little to the south, to the Snannon, with which it unites near Banagher, a distance of 85 statute miles, and thence on the west side of the river to Ballinasloe, 14 miles. But exclusive of the main trunk, there is a branch to Athy, where it joins the Barrow, a distance of about 27 miles; and there are branches to Portarlington, Mount Mellick, and some other places. The total length of the canal, with its various branches, is about 164 English miles, Its summit elevation is 200 feet above the level of the sea at Dublin. It is 40 feet wide at the surface, from 24 to 20 feet at bottom, has 6 feet water, and cost, in all, above £2,000,000.

—Two capital errors seem to have been committed in the formation of this canal—it was framed on too large a scale, and was carried too far north. Had it been 4 or 4½ instead of 6 feet deep, its utility would have been but little impaired, while its expense would have been very materially diminished. But the great error was in its direction. Instead of joining the Shannon about 15 miles above Lough Derg, it should have joined it below Limerick. By this means barges and other vessels passing from Dublin to Limerick, and conversely, would have avoided the difficult and dangerous navigation of the upper Shannon; and the canal would have passed through a comparatively fertile country; and it would not have been necessary to carry it across the bog of Allen, in which, says Mr. Wakefield, "the company have buried more money than would have cut a spacious canal from Dublin to Limerick." (Account of Ireland, vol. i., p. 642.)

—The Royal canal was undertaken in 1789. It stretches westward from Dublin to the Shannon, which it joins near Tormanbury. Its entire length is about 92 miles, exclusive of a branch of 5 miles from Kilashee to Longford; its highest elevation is 322 feet above the level of the sea. At bottom it is 24 feet wide, having 6 feet depth of water. It had cost, exclusive of interest on stock, loans, etc., advanced by government, in February, 1823, £1,421,954.

—This canal seems to have been planned in the most injudicious manner. It has the same defect as the Grand canal, of being extravagantly large; and throughout its whole course it is nearly parallel to, and not very distant from, the latter. There are consequently two immense canals where there ought, perhaps, to be none. At all events, it is abundantly certain that one canal of comparatively moderate dimensions would have been quite enough for all the business of the district, even if it were much greater than it is at this moment, or than it is ever likely to become.

—It appears from "Thom's Almanac" for 1868, that in 1866 the gross revenue of the Royal canal was £10,504. while the net revenue of the Grand canal for the first half of 1866 was £7,535; and deducting from these sums the expense attending the working of the canals, and allowing for their ordinary wear and tear, it is extremely doubtful whether these great public works, which have cost between £5,000,000 and £6,000,000, produce a sixpence of clear revenue.

—Besides the above there are some other canals, as well as various river excavations, in Ireland, the chief of which is the Ulster, 48 miles long; but hardly one of them yields a reasonable return for the capital expended upon it. They have almost all been liberally assisted by grants of public money; and their history, and that of the two great canals now adverted to, strikingly corroborates the caustic remark of Arthur Young, that "a history of public works in Ireland would be a history of jobs." (Tour in Ireland, part ii., p. 66, 4to ed.) Those who wish to make themselves fully acquainted with the history and state of the canals of Ireland may consult the Report by Messrs. Henry Mullins and M'Mahon, in the Appendix to the "Report of the Select Committee of 1830 on the State of Ireland," and the valuable "Report on Railways."

—16. American Canals. The United States are pre-eminently distinguished by the spirit with which they have undertaken, and the perseverance they have displayed in executing, the most magnificent plans for improving and extending internal navigation. Besides many others of great, though inferior, magnitude, a canal has been formed connecting the Hudson with lake Erie. This immense work is 363 miles in length, the rise and fall along the entire line being 692 feet. It was originally 40 feet wide at the surface, 28 feet at bottom, and 4 feet deep. But these dimensions being found, from the rapidly increasing traffic and importance of the canal, to be far too limited, an act was passed in 1835, providing for its enlargement. Under this act the canal has been increased, so as to be 70 feet wide on the surface, 42 feet at the bottom, and 7 feet in depth, the locks being of corresponding dimensions. The original cost of the canal was $9,027,456, and the cost of the enlargement has been about $25,000,000. or nearly three times its first cost. The Erie canal is the property of the state of New York and is one of the greatest and most important works of its kind in the world. Notwithstanding the contracted scale on which it was originally constructed, it has completely verified the predictions of its projector, De Witt Clinton, having been at once extremely profitable as a mercantile speculation, and of singular advantage in a public point of view to the state of New York and the Union generally.

—The Chesapeake and Ohio canal would, had it been completed, have been a great and useful work. It begins at the tide water of the Potomac river above Georgetown in the District of Columbia, and is intended to terminate at Pittsburgh, in Pennsylvania, a distance of 341½ miles. Its dimensions are nearly identical with those of the new Erie canal; its breadth at the surface being from 60 to 80 feet, and at bottom 50 feet, with a depth of water varying from 6 to 7 feet. Several tunnels occur in the line which crosses the Alleghany ridge. The cost of this work was estimated at $22,275,000, which were to be subscribed partly by individuals, and partly by the United States and the states of Maryland and Pennsylvania. Owing, however, to the inability, or rather disinclination, of the two last-mentioned states to make good their engagements, the works on the canal have been suspended, after about 10 millions of dollars have been expended upon them. But the probability is that they will be resumed and completed at some future period; their completion being the only means by which the capital already expended upon them can be made to yield anything.

—A great many other canals have been completed and are in progress in different parts of the Union. Of the former, the Ohio canal, uniting the Ohio with lake Erie, is by far the most important, and is, if at all, only less advantageous than the Erie canal Cleveland, where the canal unites with lake Erie, has become one of the greatest emporiums on the lakes.

—17. Utility of Canals. The utility of canals, when judiciously contrived, and opening an easy communication between places capable of maintaining an extensive intercourse with each other, has never been better set forth than in a work published in 1765, entitled "A View of the Advantages of Inland Navigation," etc. But the following extract from Macpherson's Annals of Commerce (1760) contains a brief, and at the same time eloquent summary of the principal advantages resulting from their construction. "They give fresh life to established manufactures, and they encourage the establishment of new ones by the ease of transporting the materials of manufacture and provisions; and thence we see new villages start up upon the borders of canals in places formerly condemned to sterility and solitude. They invigorate, and in many places create, internal trade, which, for its extent and value, is an object of still more importance than foreign commerce, and is exempted from the many hardships and dangers of a maritime life and changes of climate. To this may be added that they greatly promote foreign trade, and consequently enrich the merchants of the ports where they, or the navigable rivers they are connected with, terminate, by facilitating the exportation of produce from, and the introduction of foreign merchandise into, the interior parts of the country, which are thus placed nearly on a level with the maritime parts; or, in other words, the interior parts become coasts and enjoy the accommodations of shipping. The price of provisions is nearly equalized through the whole country; the blessings of Providence are more uniformly distributed; and the monopolist is disappointed in his schemes of iniquity and oppression by the ease wherewith provisions are transported from a considerable distance. The advantages to agriculture, which provides a great part of the materials, and almost the whole of the subsistence, required in carrying on manufactures and commerce, are pre-eminently great. Manure, marl, lime and all other bulky articles, which could not possibly bear the great expense of cartage, and also corn and other produce, can be carried at a very light expense on canals; whereby poor lands are enriched, and barren lands are brought into cultivation, to the great emolument of the farmer and landholder, and the general advantage of the community, in an augmented supply of the necessaries of life and materials of manufactures; coals (the importance of which to a manufacturing country few people not actually concerned in manufactures are capable of duly appreciating), stone, lime, iron ore, and minerals in general, as well as many other articles of great bulk in proportion to their value, which had hitherto lain useless to their proprietors by reason of the expense, and, in many cases, impossibility of carriage, are called into life, and rendered a fund of wealth, by the vicinity of a canal; which thus gives birth to a trade, whereby, in return it is maintained."

—18. Increased Speed of Traveling by Canals. Great as have been the advantages derived from the formation of canals, their progress has been to a considerable degree checked by the formation of railroads. We believe, however, that canals will always be preferred for the conveyance of coal and other bulky and heavy products; and even passengers could be conveyed along them with a rapidity that would previously have been supposed impossible. This new system was introduced on the Paisley and Glasgow canal, by Mr. Houston, in June, 1831. The results are described in the following statements. to which it is unnecessary to call the reader's attention.

—Mr. Thomas Graham, civil engineer, in his "Letter to Canal Proprietors and Traders," says, "The experiments of great velocity have been tried and proved on the narrowest, shallowest, and most curved canal in Scotland, viz., the Ardrossan or Paisley canal, connecting the city of Glasgow with the town of Paisley and village of Johnstoun—a distance of 12 miles. The result has disproved every previous theory as to difficulty and expense of attaining great velocity on canals, and as to the danger or damage to their banks by great velocity in moving vessels along them.

—The ordinary speed for the conveyance of passengers on the Ardrossan canal has, for nearly 2 years been from 9 to 10 miles an hour; and, although there are 14 journeys along the canal per day, at this rapid speed, its banks have sustained no injury. The boats are 70 feet in length, about 5 feet 6 inches broad, and, but for the extreme narrowness of the canal, might be made broader. They carry easily from 70 to 80 passengers; and, when required, can and have carried upward of 110 passengers. The entire cost of a boat and fittings up is about £125. The hulls are formed of light iron plates and ribs, and the covering is of wood and light oiled cloth. They are more airy, light and comfortable than any coach. They permit the passengers to move about from the outer to the inner cabin, and the fares per mile are one penny in the first, and three farthings in the second cabin. The passengers are all carried under cover; having the privilege also of an uncovered space. These boats are drawn by 2 horses (the price of which may be from £50 to £60 per pair), in stages of 4 miles in length, which are done in from 22 to 25 minutes, including stoppages to let out and take in passengers, each set of horses doing 3 or 4 stages alternately each day. In fact, the boats are drawn through this narrow and shallow canal at a velocity which many celebrated engineers had demonstrated, and which the public believed, to be impossible.

—The entire amount of the whole expenses of attendants and horses, and of running one of these boats 4 trips of 12 miles each (the length of the canal) or 48 miles daily, including interest on the capital, and 20 per cent. laid aside annually for replacement of the boats, or loss on the capital therein invested, and a considerable sum laid aside for accidents and replacement of the horses, is £700 some odd shillings; or, taking the number of working days to be 312 annually, something under £2 2s. 4d. per day, or about 11d. per mile. The actual cost of carrying from 80 to 100 persons a distance of 30 miles (the length of the Liverpool railway), at a velocity of nearly 10 miles an hour, on the Paisley canal, one of the most curved, narrow and shallow in Britain, is therefore just £1 7s. 6d. Such, in brief, are the facts, and, incredible as they may appear, they are facts which no one who inquires can possibly doubt."

—Boats on this principle were for a time established on a great many British canals, and on the Grand and Royal canals in Ireland.

J. R. M'C.

CANON LAW

CANON LAW. (See LAW.)

CAPITAL

CAPITAL, a politico-economical term. It may be said, in a general way, that capital is the result of accumulation. It is the sum total of values withdrawn from unproductive consumption, and bequeathed to the present by the past.

—This definition is exact enough. and is, strictly speaking, sufficient. It agrees with that of J. B. Say, which is as follows: "Capital, in the broadest sense, is an accumulation of values withdrawn from unproductive consumption." It differs, however, in some respects—if not in substance, at least as to the number and variety of the objects it embraces—from that given by some other economists, and, in certain cases, from that given by J.B. Say himself.

—With the exception of certain writers who are not authority in the science, all economists are agreed in not comprising under the term capital, either land or the instruments of production furnished by nature, but only such values as are created by man and which are the result of previous accumulation. Thus, in treating of the great agents of production, economists always enumerate three: land, labor and capital; drawing a clear distinction between land, the primitive basis of production given by nature, and the total of the values or products which man has successively added to it by his labor, and which is called capital.

—But does capital comprise all the values previously produced by man, or only those which are used for purposes of reproduction? Here economists are not all agreed; for some consider all accumulated products as capital, whatever their nature or use, even articles reserved for the immediate consumption of man; while others consider as capital only such objects as are directly devoted to reproduction, such as raw materials, tools, machinery, buildings, etc.

—What is most remarkable is, that in the minds of all economists, without distinction, the idea of reproduction is inseparably associated with the idea of capital. However great their disagreement may seem, all conceive capital to be not only wealth acquired to society by its previous labor and saving, but also a lever to increase the energy, the power and the fruitfulness of its future labor. But some accord the reproductive faculty to a greater number of objects than others. Some grant it to all acquired wealth, even to things reserved for the immediate satisfaction of human wants, now considering them as a necessary reserve to facilitate future labor, sometimes as productive of utility or pleasure. Others recognize this productive faculty only in instruments of labor, properly speaking, to the exclusion of articles intended for immediate consumption.

—This disagreement is more apparent than real, in this sense, at least, that it is more about words than things, and does not modify substantially the final conclusions of economists. As it tends nevertheless to introduce an element of uncertainty into economic reasoning, we shall endeavor to put an end to it, so far as in us lies; or at least to show the real cause of the disagreement, which is the insufficiency of the language economists are forced to use.

—To understand the exact nature of capital, says Rossi, is one of the most difficult things in political economy. However this may be, we shall endeavor, first, to define precisely the nature of capital. We shall then show what are the functions of capital in human society, the nature and the extent of the services which it renders, the manner in which it is distributed and employed, the necessity of its alliance with labor, and the manner in which it divides with labor the new wealth produced. This is one of the most important parts of economic science.

—I. What is capital? Of what does it consist? We have just seen that there are two very different definitions of capital. In the one, all accumulated values are comprehended under the term; in the other, it applies exclusively to those which are directly devoted to purposes of reproduction, such as raw materials, tools, machinery, etc. Between these extreme opinions there are intermediate ones; but we take them in their absolute formularization, better to estimate their respective value.

—Among French economists this difference is most marked between J. B. Say and Rossi. Among English economists we find the difference at least as great between Adam Smith and Malthus on the one hand, and M'Culloch on the other. Garnier, in his Eléments de l'Economie Politique, thus sums up the divergent opinions of Say and Rossi: "According to the same economist," says he, speaking of Rossi, "we must define capital, a product saved and intended for reproduction. This definition includes three notions, the notion of product, of saving, and of reproduction. J. B. Say has frequently introduced into his definition only the first two. He understands by capital, the simple accumulation of products. Rossi, to explain his thought clearly, analyzes the labor of the savage who, having killed a beast, divides its carcass into three parts: one of them he eats, one he lays by for the next day, and one he uses in hunting—the horns of the animal for instance, which thus become an instrument of labor or of production, in other words, capital. Rossi does not consider as capital what is laid by to be consumed on the following day. If it were capital, then it might be said that even the ant accumulated capital."

—Such is the difference of opinion found in the writings of these two men. The difference is even more marked than it seems here; for although he does not always say so, and attaches the idea of capital inseparably to the idea of reproduction, J. B. Say certainly includes in the term all objects of consumption which Rossi just as certainly excludes from it.

—The English economists we have mentioned differ in about the same way. M'Culloch agrees with J. B. Say, whose views he sometimes carries to an extreme; while Adam Smith and Malthus seem to have suggested Rossi's views to him.

—Whichever one of these views we adopt it is proper to remark that the principles of political economy are not seriously involved here. It is a question of nomenclature and nothing more. But nomenclature has its importance, for, if it is not science, it serves at least to make science accessible to those who do not know it. There is nothing more annoying than the endless discussion of the use of words. It uselessly taxes the minds of men who might make better use of their faculties. It tends even to discredit science in the eyes of those who only follow it at a distance.

—In political economy it is useful, nay almost necessary, for the explanation and demonstration of certain great truths of science, to posses a word to designate and include generally the sum total of the values which the past has bequeathed to the present, which are the fruit of previous labor, of saving, of accumulation, and which add so much to the power of mankind In the beginning man found himself alone, with only his natural faculties, face to face with brute nature. In this condition, his existence was very precarious, his influence over nature small, and his power of production extremely limited. But owing to the peculiar foresight with which he was gifted, he, by degrees, invented for himself instruments fitted to second the labor of his hands. He built dwellings to shelter him from the inclemency of the weather. He stored up provisions, reserve stores, which enabled him to devote himself to more continued labor by assuring him sustenance for the morrow. In a word, he adapted the earth to his own use, while he continually increased his means of turning it to account. The values with which he surrounded himself in order to better his condition, assumed a thousand different forms, and ministered to a thousand wants. These are instruments, tools, dwellings, domestic animals, seeds, clothing, provisions of every kind; but they all have this in common, that they elevate the condition of man and increase his power over nature. It is desirable that we should be able to designate by a single word this immense stock of values which has been added in a thousand forms to man's original domain, and to distinguish it from the primitive basis of production furnished by nature, to which it is only an addition The word capital has been used by political economists to perform this service.

—The broad meaning given to the word capital by J. B. Say, is rejected by Rossi, who considers as capital only that part of accumulated values which is so employed as to produce a revenue. He thinks that he is thus more faithful to the definition and classification adopted by the English economists, Adam Smith, Malthus and others. We shall see directly if he is right on this point. But when he refuses to apply the term capital to the total of accumulated values, has Rossi found any other word to take its place? He has not. In his vocabulary all this mass of wealth previously acquired, has no special appellation, and can only be designated by means of a circumlocution. This seems to us decisive. J. B. Say's vocabulary appears to us decidedly preferable, in this, that it is not irreparably defective.

—Shall we therefore say with M'Culloch, that accumulated values should always be considered as a whole; that there is no distinction to be drawn between those reserved for the immediate satisfaction of the wants, or even the fancies, or the caprices of men, and those which are specially intended for production? Assuredly not. To pretend that all these values are equally productive, and productive in the same sense, is to go counter to reason which bears witness to the contrary. J. B. Say has perhaps fallen into this error sometimes, but it is especially peculiar to M'Culloch, who, in his extreme desire to place all accumulated values on the same level, goes so far as to pretend that articles of luxury which merely satisfy the desire of ostentation of the rich, contribute as much as anything else to production, as much as agricultural implements, for instance.

—But it does not follow necessarily that, because these values should not be confounded with one another, they may not receive the same designation, especially since there are not two names equally fitted to apply to them separately. All that follows is, that there is a good reason to divide and to classify different kinds of capital, and to distinguish them from one another by adding to the general and common appellation qualifying terms to indicate the difference between them. Rossi believes that values intended for purposes of reproduction are distinct from others. We believe so, too, though the distinction does not appear to us always easy to make. Let them, therefore, be called productive capital, to distinguish them from other values called simply, capital. Thus, whatever meaning be attached to the word, we must admit that there are several kinds of capital, and classify them. This merely necessitates our drawing a distinction the more, a first and general distinction which will serve as a point of departure for all other distinctions. In this way there need be no defect in the vocabulary of political economy, and all the demands of science may be met.

—Rossi, in restricting the sense of the word capital as he has, believed he was following the thought or the method of Adam Smith and Malthus. He was mistaken. It is very true that these two economists understand by capital only values used for purposes of reproduction, but they have another and broader word by which they designate the total of values produced and accumulated by man: stock is the word.

—The nomenclature of these writers is satisfactory and complete. They use the word stock to designate the total of accumulated values, and the word capital to express that portion of the values accumulated which is specially devoted to reproduction.

—This is capital as Rossi understands it. Thus, stock is the total of accumulated values, of whatsoever nature they may be, and to whatsoever use they are applied, whether they serve solely to support men or are used in reproduction. Capital is a part of stock, that part which is specially employed in reproduction, that is to say, in the creation of revenue. Owing to the use of these two words, the nomenclature is complete; the whole and the part being designated by special terms.

—Let no one suppose that these definitions are peculiar to Malthus. They are literally conformable to those followed by Adam Smith. In book II. of his work, where he treats specially of accumulated wealth and the employment of capital, he establishes very precisely the distinction just made, first in the introduction to his work; then in the commencement of chapter 1, he writes as follows: "When the stock which a man possesses is no more than sufficient to maintain him for a few days or a few weeks, he seldom thinks of putting it out to interest. He consumes it as sparingly as he can, and endeavors by his labor to acquire something which may supply its place before it be consumed altogether. His revenue is, in this case, derived from his labor only. This is the state of the greater part of the laboring poor in all countries.

—But when he possesses stock sufficient to maintain him for months or years, he naturally endeavors to derive a revenue from the greater part of it; reserving only so much for his immediate consumption as may maintain him till this revenue begins to come in His whole stock, therefore, is distinguished into two parts. That part which he expects is to afford him this revenue, is called the capital. The other is that which supplies his immediate consumption, and which consists either, first, in that portion of his whole stock which was originally reserved for this purpose; or, secondly, in his revenue, from whatever source derived, as it gradually comes in, or, thirdly, in such things as had been purchased by either of these in former years and which are not yet entirely consumed; such as a stock of clothes, household furniture, and the like. In one, or other, or all of these three articles, consists the stock which men commonly reserve for their own immediate consumption."

—Since in the English language, there are two words well fitted to designate, the one the genus stock, the other the species capital, why should writers confound the two under a common designation? The English nomenclature is a good one. Besides, it is sanctioned by the authority of the first masters of the science. We are, therefore, very far from approving the attempt made by M'Culloch to change the old vocabulary, by giving to the word capital a meaning broader than that given by J. B. Say. Malthus is right in accusing him on this account of introducing obscurity into the science, breaking with traditions without any valid cause. The arguments by which he undertakes to justify his new theory are of still less value than the theory itself. English economists will do well to preserve their nomenclature as it is fixed by Adam Smith and his immediate successors.

—II. Division or Classification of Capital. Capital may be divided or classed in different ways. There is no absolute or unvarying rule in this matter. This alone is important, that no kind of value produced should be omitted, and that the classification should be from generals to particulars.

—Adam Smith has given a classification of capital which seems to us satisfactory enough, and which has been adopted as he gave it, or only slightly modified, by a great number of his successors. It is true that he uses the word capital to designate only such values as are directly intended for purposes of production, but his classification embraces, none the less, values put aside for purpose of consumption. He was far from ignoring the importance of the latter.

—It is not capital only as he conceived it, but the general stock of accumulated values which he divided and classified. We may advantageously adopt his classification of capital.

—Adam Smith divides the general stock of accumulated values into three parts: the first comprising all the objects which serve only for the maintenance of man; the second, that part of productive capital which is stationary and which he terms fixed capital; the third, that part of productive capital which is not fixed, and which he calls circulating capital. He thus illustrates his division of capital: "The general stock of any country or society," he says, "is the same with that of all its inhabitants or members, and therefore, naturally divides itself into the same three portions, each of which has a distinct function or office.

—The first is that portion which is reserved for immediate consumption, and of which the characteristic is that it affords no revenue or profit. It consists in the stock of food, clothes, household furniture, etc., which have been purchased by their proper consumers, but which are not yet entirely consumed. The whole stock of mere dwelling houses, too, subsisting at any one time in the country, make a part of this first portion. The stock that is laid out in a house, if it is to be the dwelling house of the proprietor, ceases from that moment to serve in the function of a capital, or to afford any revenue to its owner. A dwelling house, as such, contributes nothing to the revenue of its inhabitants; and though it is, no doubt, extremely useful to him, it is as his clothes and household furniture are useful to him, which, however, make a part of his expense, and not of his revenue."

—Passing then to the specifically productive part of capital which he calls fixed capital, he describes it in the following manner, with his subdivisions, in which he does not fail to include that which afterward has been called immaterial capital, that is to say, useful talents and varieties of knowledge acquired by man.

—"The second of the three portions into which the general stock of the society divides itself, is the fixed capital; of which the characteristic is, that it affords a revenue or profit without circulating or changing masters. It consists chiefly of the four following articles: 1. Of all useful machines and instruments of trade which facilitate and abridge labor. 2. Of all those profitable buildings which are the means of procuring a revenue, not only to their proprietor who lets them for a rent, but to the person who possesses them and pays that rent for them; such as shops, warehouses, workhouses, farm houses, with all their necessary buildings; stables, granaries, etc. These are very different from mere dwelling houses. They are a sort of instruments of trade, and may be considered in the same light. 3. Of the improvements of land, of what has been profitably laid out in clearing, draining, inclosing, manuring, and reducing it into the condition most proper for tillage and culture. An improved farm may very justly be regarded in the same light as those useful machines which facilitate and abridge labor, and by means of which, an equal circulating capital can afford a much greater revenue to its employer. An improved farm is equally advantageous and more durable than any of those machines, frequently requiring no other repairs than the most profitable application of the farmer's capital employed in cultivating it. 4. Of the acquired and useful abilities of all the inhabitants or members of society. The acquisition of such talents, by the maintenance of the acquirer during his education, study, or apprenticeship, always costs a real expense, which is a capital fixed and realized, as it were, in his person. Those talents, as they make a part of his fortune, so do they likewise of that of the society to which he belongs. The improved dexterity of a workman may be considered in the same light as a machine or instrument of trade which facilitates and abridges labor, and which, though it costs a certain expense, repays that expense with a profit."

—We have next, the other part of productive capital circulating capital, with its three principal subdivisions.

—"The third and last of the three portions into which the general stock of the society naturally divides itself, is the circulating capital; of which the characteristic is, that it affords a revenue only by circulating, or changing masters. It is composed likewise of four parts: 1. Of the money by means of which all the other three are circulated and distributed to the proper consumers. 2. Of the stock of provisions which are in the possession of the butcher, the grazier, the farmer, the corn merchant, the brewer, etc., and from the sale of which they expect to derive a profit. 3. Of the materials, whether altogether rude, or more or less manufactured, of clothes, furniture, and buildings, which are not yet made up into any of those three shapes, but which remain in the hands of the growers, the manufacturers, the mercers and drapers, the timber merchant, the carpenters and joiners, the brick makers, etc. 4. And lastly, of the work which is made up and completed, but which is still in the hands of the merchant or manufacturer. and not yet disposed of or distributed to the proper consumers; such as the finished work which we frequently find ready-made in the shops of the smith, the cabinet maker, the gold-smith, the jeweler, the china merchant, etc. The circulating capital consists in this manner, of the provisions, materials, and finished work of all kinds that are in the hands of their respective dealers, and of the money that is necessary for circulating and distributing them to those who are finally to use or to consume them."

—This classification leaves little to be desired. It comprises capital in the broadest acceptation of the term. Besides, it enumerates all the species of capital, while putting each one in its own place. It is to be wished, perhaps, that Adam Smith had drawn a distinction in the case of values reserved for the immediate consumption of man, similar to that which he drew in the case of capital specially devoted to reproduction. The latter is divided, as we have seen, into fixed and circulating capital; into fixed capital which renders continual service in the hands of its possessors, and circulating capital which renders no service except in so far as it is exchanged or transformed. In like manner, of objects destined for immediate consumption there are some which are consumed altogether, and are of use only because they are thus consumed: such are eatables generally. There are others, on the contrary, which last, at least for a time, and only their use is consumed: such are furniture and especially dwelling houses. But we do not insist on this distinction which is much less important than the other.

—III. Formation and Increase of Capital. There is scarcely an economist who has not devoted a special chapter of his work to explain the manner in which capital is acquired and increased. The different kinds of capital are the fruits of saving and accumulation. (See SAVING, ACCUMULATION.)

—IV. Necessity of Capital as an Auxiliary to Labor. Whatever difference of opinion may exist among economists, on the definition of capital, there is none on the necessity of capital as auxiliary to labor. Here all disagreement disappears. From Adam Smith's time all adepts in the science are at one on this point, that without the assistance of capital in production man can do nothing and his labor is even fruitless.

—How could so simple a truth be ignored? The cultivator of the soil can not till his land without the plow or spade. He can not utilize the fruits of the harvest without wagons, beasts of burden, granaries, threshing machines and other implements. The black-smith can not work without his hammer and his anvil. He needs, besides these instruments, a bellows, a furnace, fuel and iron, not to speak of his shop which is also capital. A weaver can not weave his cloth without a loom. He also needs thread. He must buy it or it must be furnished him; not to mention many other necessary things. There is no industry, no trade, in which certain instruments are not needed, although the importance of these instruments varies much with the kind of labor.

—"This part, however," writes Adam Smith, "is very small in some, and very great in others. A master tailor requires no other instrument of trade but a parcel of needles, to which should be added, however, scissors and a board. Those of the master shoemaker are very little more expensive. Those of the weaver rise a good deal above those of the shoemaker." But, considerable or not, instruments are always necessary, and the difference relates only to their number. And this is only a small part of the capital required in every trade. It is necessary, moreover, to have raw material, which is sometimes more costly than the tools. If a tailor's tools are of little account, the cloth, on the other hand, which he makes into clothes, and which he generally pays for in advance, is higher in price. The case is the same with the leather which the shoemaker uses, and both one and the other must have a certain supply of material to enable them to live while waiting for the price of their labor. Tools, raw material, supplies of every kind, are indispensable in different degrees, whatever the trade may be; and all these are capital.

—It is certain then that in all production, capital is the companion, the indispensable auxiliary of labor, so that it may be truly said that without capital there is no labor. This is true, even in the savage state, such as it has always been known, where man does not go to hunt without a bow and arrows, or some other instrument to take their place This for a more cogent reason is strictly true in civilized life, where labor is always more complicated and never gives such speedy results.

—This truth, we say, is so simple that it almost flows from the simple definition of the words. It does not seem to need any demonstration. However it is denied daily, not by economists, it is true, but by eccentric writers, whose pens, unfortunately, do not fail to exercise great influence on a considerable part of the public. They declaim against capital which is supposed to be, not the servant, but the lord of labor; they wish to free labor and workmen from the yoke which this alleged tyrant imposes on them. They go further: they pretend that capital is really unnecessary and that they can do without its assistance. It seems almost useless, at first sight, to refute propositions of this kind which refute themselves. But it is necessary to pause when it is seen that they find a great number of adherents among a misled public. It is well, moreover, to go to the source of these errors which generally originate from the false idea formed of capital. Let us first look at an example of this kind of eccentricity.

—We find it in an extract from a so-called democratic journal, one reproduced with approval in Proudhon's last work.39 Although he had only imperfect ideas of economic matters, frequently disfigured by the eccentricities with which he associated them, Proudhon knew enough when it suited him not to be mistaken on the nature of capital, which he defined sometimes in rather exact terms. But it often suited him to depart from the definitions which he himself had given, or to accept the grossest errors of his disciples, when these errors seemed to prop up his system. Thus he approved the vagaries of which we here make mention.

—A certain number of journeymen tailors come together and associate for the purpose of making clothing, and profess to be without capital; that is to say, they work on their own account, without the intervention of any employer. These workmen, as it appears, succeed in their endeavor, which is nothing very surprising. The writer cited by Proudhon concludes from this that they have refuted an axiom of political economy and dethroned capital. He thus sets forth and justifies this singular proposition. "Here are workmen who deny altogether this saying of the old economists, No capital, no Labor, a saying, which, if it were true in principle, would condemn to slavery and misery without hope and without end, a numberless class of laborers who live from hand to mouth, and have no capital whatever. These journeymen tailors could not admit the truth of this terrible conclusion of official science. Seeking for the rational laws for the production and consumption of wealth, they discovered that capital which was supposed to be a generative element in labor, has only a conventional utility; that the only agents of production are man's intellect and muscles; that hence it is possible to produce and to guarantee the normal circulation and consumption of commodities, by the sole fact of the direct communication of producers and consumers with one another. That by the doing away of a burdensome intermediary, and the establishment of new relations, producers and consumers would reap the profits now given to capital, that sovereign lord of the labor, life and wants of all."

—According to this theory the emancipation of workmen is possible by the union, in groups, of individual powers and wants; in other words, by the association of producers and consumers, who, ceasing to have opposing interests, escape forever the domination of capital.

—The wants of consumption being permanent, if producers and consumers enter into direct relation, associate together, and give credit to each other, it is clear that the rise or the fall, the artificial increase or the arbitrary decrease which speculation forces upon labor and production, would no longer have a cause.

—It is scarcely necessary to say, as we shall see presently, that the maxim, No capital, no labor does not in any manner condemn to endless servitude and wretchedness, that numerous class of workmen who have no capital. Capital may indeed come to the assistance, in different ways, of those who have none; and this necessarily happens every day. But to the principal question: How have the workmen above referred to, refuted the truth of the axiom, No capital, no labor? Have they, perchance, discovered how to sew without needles, to cut cloth without scissors? They probably have not been able to do without a shop and a press-board. Now the needles, scissors, shop and press-board used by the tailors are capital. Further, these workmen could not have made the clothing without the use of cloth, which is also capital. In fact, they have been satisfied to work on cloth, that is to say on capital, which did not belong to them but was furnished by others. But this capital was none the less an indispensable auxiliary to their labor. and if it be true that it was put at their disposition by third parties, it is only a proof of the truth of what we have just said, that it is not always necessary to be the owner of capital in order to make use of it. Moreover, these workmen, whatever be the manner in which they did it, were obliged to provide for their own maintenance, until they had received the price of their labor; and they could thus provide for their maintenance, only by means of capital possessed by themselves or borrowed from others. They, therefore, have had recourse to capital. But they did not, we are told, submit to conditions imposed by an employer. Furthermore, they found means of dispensing with the agency of merchants in dealing with consumers. This is apparently what the unknown author of the strange dissertation just quoted, wished to say, and this is what he calls destroying the tyranny of capital. If the workmen found a way of doing without an employer, or took his place themselves, they did well, especially if any real advantage resulted to them therefore. They did well also to dispense with the aid of merchants, if they were able to do so without prejudice to the sale or circulation of their products. But what has all this to do with the truth of the economic proposition? The workmen in question, no more than other men, discovered the means of dispensing with capital. They simply worked with their own capital instead of working with the capital of others, a thing done every day, for the majority of employers who have come from the working class have acted in this manner. After accumulating their savings as workmen, they used them to begin business with on their own account, and to become employers of labor. The workmen whose example is cited here did the same, with this difference, that as the savings of each man were probably not large enough alone, they united them in a common stock. They called to their aid the power of association, which is not to be despised when a good use is made of it; thus forming, by the union of several small savings, a capital sufficient to found an establishment of their own. From workmen, which they were, they become employers. There is nothing in this which strikes at the dignity of capital. On the contrary, it is in many respects a new proof of its productiveness, since by its aid the workmen in question succeeded in changing, if not in bettering their condition.

—We have noted the preceding passage, which is really unworthy to appear here, for the sole purpose of showing by an example, the kind of ideas that are current in certain circles, and how the simplest truths of science are interpreted in them. Surely if those who wrote these strange lines had given themselves the trouble of opening any work on political economy, they would have easily found in it a correction of their error. But what is their idea of capital?

—At first one would be tempted to believe they have simply confounded capital with money—a very common error. Money, as we know, is only a fraction, and rather a small fraction, of capital. But even if this were their point of departure, would they be justified in saying, in the case they mention, that capital has been dethroned? The workmen of whom they speak have not succeeded in dispensing with money, more than with any other article. They have been obliged to make use of it, at least to buy provisions while awaiting the completion of their work. All they can mean to claim is that the workmen, through association, succeeded in freeing themselves from the rule of a master, from that inconvenient and annoying person whom they looked upon as a tyrant, and who in their eyes is the personification of capital.

—J. B. Say has shown the necessity of capital in these terms: "We shall soon see, by observing its processes, that industry alone and unaided is not able to give value to things. It is necessary that the person engaged in industry should possess products already existing, without which his labor, however skilled, would remain inactive. These things are: 1. Tools, implements of the various arts. The cultivator of the soil can do nothing without his pick and spade, the weaver without his loom, nor the sailor without his ship. 2. The products which are to support the workman engaged in industry, until he has completed his part in the work of production. The product on which he is busied, or the price which it will bring, ought in reality to bring back the expense of keeping him; but he is obliged continually to advance what is necessary for his support. 3. The raw material which his industry has to change into finished products. It is true that these materials are often furnished him gratuitously by nature; but more frequently they are industrial products already existing, such as seeds furnished by agriculture, metals furnished by the miner and founder, etc. The manufacturer who uses them in his industry is obliged to advance their value. The value of all these articles constitutes what is called productive capital." All economists are agreed on this subject. Here, for example, is another quotation taken from the "Theory of Social Wealth," by Fredrick Skarbek, professor of political economy at Warsaw: "When we observe man occupied in collecting primitive values, or in producing new ones, we see that, in both cases, he can not act without having in his possession a certain stock which furnishes him the means of subsistence, or the objects necessary to fit him to work. A hunter needs some kind of weapon to strike down the wild beast that is to furnish him with food or clothing. Uncertain of the result of the chase, he must be supplied with a certain amount of provisions to enable him to endure one day's or several days' fatigue. If, later, with more developed means, he wishes to construct a dwelling he can not do so without first having the necessary tools for the purpose, without having felled the trees to be used in its construction, without having such a supply of provisions as will free him from the care of procuring a subsistence while he is building his house; in one word, he can neither collect the values which he finds ready in nature, nor produce new ones, without possessing a stock which will enable him to work by giving him the means of existence and the objects of labor."

—These are exactly the same ideas which we found in the works of J. B. Say. Both are agreed in considering as necessary for the execution of any labor whatever, not only the preliminary possession of tools and raw materials, but also a certain supply of food which enables the laborer to live till his work is finished and its product sold; thus considering such supply as an essential part of the capital. Although Rossi and some other economists deny this last, they have really the same views; since they consider the stock of provisions necessary to the laborer, as well as the raw materials and tools.

—Earlier than any of these economists, Adam Smith had established the same principles. He first supposes, it is true, that capital is not necessary in a barbarous or savage state. This we must not take too literally, for it is sure, and Adam Smith is not mistaken here, that the savage himself has need of tools. But he shows later, which is strictly true, that the necessity of capital increases in proportion as civilization advances and the division of labor extends.

—"In that rude state of society in which there is no division of labor, in which exchanges are seldom made, and in which every man provides everything for himself, it is not necessary that any stock should be accumulated or stored up beforehand in order to carry on the business of the society. Every man endeavors to supply by his own industry his own occasional wants as they occur. When he is hungry he goes to the forest to hunt; when his coat is worn out, he clothes himself with the skin of the first large animal he kills; and when his but begins to go to ruin he repairs it, as well as he can, with the trees and the turf that are nearest. But when the division of labor has once been thoroughly introduced, the produce of a man's own labor can supply but a very small part of his occasional wants. The far greater part of them are supplied by the produce of other men's labor, which he purchases with the produce, or, what is the same thing, with the price of the produce of his own. But this purchase can not be made till such time as the produce of his own labor has not only been completed, but sold. A stock of goods of different kinds, therefore, must be stored up somewhere sufficient to maintain him, and to supply him with the materials and tools of his work till such time, at least, as both these events can be brought about. A weaver can not apply himself entirely to his peculiar business, unless there is beforehand stored up somewhere, either in his own possession or in that of some other person, a stock sufficient to maintain him, and to supply him with the materials and tools of his work, till he has not only completed, but sold his web. This accumulation must, evidently, be previous to his applying his industry for so long a time to such a peculiar business."

—We have underlined in the text the words maintain materials and tools, in order to call attention to the fact that Adam Smith, although he does not include the stock for maintenance in his definition of capital, does not fail to consider it as an indispensable condition precedent of production.

—Capital being necessary, in different degrees, in all the employments of labor, we may conclude, first, that the number of these employments naturally increases in proportion as capital increases; then, that labor becomes more productive in the same proportion in the sense that it gives more abundant results for the same amount of labor and effort, consequences equally favorable to the progress of society and the well being of the masses.

—We say that the increase of capital increases the employment of labor. Just as man can produce nothing without capital, capital can not act without the assistance of man. If the agricultural laborer can do nothing without his plow and his spade, the plow and the spade can do nothing unless the arm of the laborer puts them in operation. Dependence is reciprocal; it is even greater in the case of the instrument than of the hand and the intelligence which urges it on. It is easy to understand from this, that every increase of capital, every creation of a new capital, affords man new opportunities to utilize his power or his intelligence. As soon as there is formed anywhere, by saving and accumulation, by an excess of production over consumption, any amount whatever of capital—unless the owner hides it away, which happily is becoming rarer every day—that capital seeks employment in production, and it can not find that employment unless an ampler field for the employment of human labor be found. It is very true, moreover, that the sphere of possible labor widens in proportion as capital increases, because if there are many kinds of labor like those of the tailor and shoemaker, which can be carried on successfully on small capital, there are many others. which can not be completed or even undertaken, except by the aid of enormous advances.

—If we wish to appreciate this truth in its broadest bearings, we have but to follow humanity in its principal stages, from the savage or barbarous state to the condition of civilization to which it has advanced.

—In the savage state there is scarcely anything but the chase, the most elementary and fruitless of all kinds of work. The soil can not yet be cultivated. Even if the savage had the idea, which he has not, of cultivating the soil, which he occupies, to increase its natural fertility, he would be unable to carry out this idea in practice from want of capital. Having neither plow nor spade to break the earth, he would be reduced to stirring it up with the branch of a tree. And even if he should succeed in this, which would be very difficult, he would be stopped in the course of his work for want of seed. Let us add, besides, that the cultivation of the soil which hardly repays the laborer after a year's waiting, is not suitable to a man whose stock of provisions can last only a few days. The vast circle of agricultural labor is closed to him by this fact. All that he can do in this direction is to collect here and there, in a very small number, such fruits as the earth produces spontaneously.

—When, thanks to the accumulation of capital, the cultivation of the earth becomes possible, the circle of agricultural labor enlarges, but it does not reach at once its greatest extent. With a few tools, such as the spade and the plow, the harrow and a small number of draught animals, and with seeds and provisions for a year, a man can doubtless set about the cultivation of some lands, but not of all kinds of land, at first. Tools being imperfect, as always happens when capital is not abundant, only the lighter soils are cultivated, those which offer the least resistance and yield the least. Even on them, all the labor necessary to make them as productive as they might be, is not expended. Men abstain from the working of the heavier soils which are the most fertile but which require more powerful implements. Especially lands are avoided which present obstacles that must be removed before they can be cultivated at all, and which are not susceptible of giving immediate results. Such are lands covered with forests or swamps. In a state which we shall not call savage but only barbarous, man is merely able to cultivate bare or prairie land which responds to the touch of the feeblest instrument in his possession, and which at most presents no other obstacles but the long weeds that fire can destroy. As soon as he meets greater obstacles, such as forests or marshes, he halts. It would be necessary previous to the cultivation of such lands, to fell the forests and drain the swamps. But these operations require time, tools, etc., and can be performed only with the assistance of a large amount of capital. In this state of things the sphere of the agricultural laborer is still quite restricted. It widens only in proportion as the amount of capital increases.

—It is the same in almost all the paths of production. A nascent people, or one which is not sufficiently provided with capital, can not begin the working of mines and quarries. All that such a people ask of the mines and quarries is what can be got from them with little effort and labor. Later, when the amount of their capital becomes greater, they explore its depth to wrest from the earth the riches hidden in its bosom. Here is a vast career closed almost entirely during the earlier ages to the labors of man, which is opened and developed only by degrees, through the increase of capital. No monuments or edifices are constructed in a barbarous state; men scarcely build houses. They are content with the most modest dwellings, built at the smallest cost possible. The great building industries, which play so great a part in civilized countries, in which they give employment to so much intelligence and so many hands, are here reduced to their simplest expression. What shall we say of navigation, ship-building, preparing, transporting, collecting materials, lading and unlading, the piloting of ships, building and management of harbors, etc.? Much more might be said on manufacturing industry, which scarcely exists in barbarous states. It is almost always the last to follow in the path of civilization, for, more than any other, it requires a large appliance of acquired knowledge and a considerable development of capital. Still what a vast career this industry opens to the activity of man, when we consider it in its various branches. And what a lively impulse it gives through its contact with them to all the others! It is true, therefore, that in a barbarous state human labor is restricted on every side, and that it multiplies and extends at once in all directions in proportion as the increase of capital furnishes men with the means of action which they need.

—It is proper to remark that if capital, generally speaking, increases the employment of labor by the opening up of new careers to the activity of men, it sometimes diminishes also their number in certain special branches of industry, since by the introduction of machinery it dispenses with the labor of many hands. This is a reproach directed especially against machines, which have, it is said, the great drawback of depriving workmen of work by doing a great part of that which was theirs. It is true that a steam engine, under the care of a single man, is able to replace the muscular power of a great number of men. It is none the less true that a spinning machine, for example, managed by one or two persons at most, can do the work of many women, and it may be said that in this sense it takes a part of their work from the women. These are facts. The error consists solely in the general consequences drawn from them.

—We do not intend to anticipate here what will be said in the article MACHINES. We may be permitted, however, some brief reflections on this subject, which are very naturally related to the subject of capital.

—The object of industry is not to furnish occupation to man, but to provide for his wants. Labor is but a means; the satisfaction of his wants is the end. When, thanks to the increase of capital, industry enters new paths, it is to satisfy these wants that it enters them. In this way it offers, it is true, more numerous employments to the activity of man, but this is only accessorily. Its final aim is the extension of production and the increase of the number of products. Even when by simplifying its methods, by increasing the power of its means, by subjecting a greater number of natural agents to its empire, industry increases production with a less expenditure of force, or assists the labor of man by natural forces which it yokes to labor, it merely remains faithful to its chief mission. In this way it continually increases the mass of our wealth. Does it result from this that the amount of labor which man performs is really decreased? By no means. Capital, by increasing, always creates more labor than it destroys. If, thanks to the power of the agents set at work, it does away with part of the labor of man in special branches, it communicates a great activity to all the other branches; it opens in other directions so many new paths to industry, that for one employment it destroys it creates ten.

—If men were well convinced of this truth, they would have given the great question of machinery a solution different from what they have sometimes given it. Does the invention of new machines increase or diminish the employment of labor? It diminishes it, say some economists, at least in certain cases, by satisfying the demand for commodities by a much smaller amount of labor. Others say it does not diminish it, except temporarily, for the simplification of the process of production by lowering the price of products, increases the demand for them, and industry grows in the same proportion. Taken in this sense, the question does not appear to us susceptible of a general decision. There are facts in support of both sides of it. There are today more printers than there were formerly copyists: this is an undoubted fact. Cotton spinning also employs more persons now that it is done by machinery, than it employed when it was done by hand. But again, are there more printers of music than there were formerly copyists of music? Does paper making by machinery employ as many workmen, notwithstanding the real increase of the demand, than paper making by hand employed some years ago? Does linen spinning by machinery employ, in France, as many men, and especially women, as hand spinning employed some time ago? Here we can boldly answer, no. But this is not the real question at issue. What should be asked is this: Is it not true that the introduction of machines—which in certain directions supplant the labor of man—is the result of the increase of capital and would not have taken place without such increase? Is it not true, on the other hand, that this increase of capital has given to all the other branches of industry a greater impetus, to say nothing of the new industries which it has called forth; and that, in consequence, the small number of employments which have been done away with on one side have been amply replaced by new ones? Thus put, the question will not appear to us subject to the least doubt. It will always be objected, it is true, that if labor has not been decreased, it has been at least displaced. But displacements of this kind which are less annoying than is generally supposed, would be almost imperceptible were they not too frequently sudden, produced as they are by artificial means, and if the distribution and handling of capital were less subject to restrictions.

—It is true that capital, by increasing, tends unceasingly to produce a wider development of human labor. This truth is strikingly evident when we compare two nations placed at a great distance from each other with respect to the accumulation of wealth. A sparse population may be seen to languish in inaction for want of employment, while another and a dense population works and is active. But even when the contrast is not so strongly marked, this truth is none the less apparent.

—As to the advantages which the increase of wealth yields to society in other regards, by augmenting, in ever-increasing proportions, the sum of the products which it can dispose of, they are so evident that it is scarcely necessary to dwell on them.

—V. By what Methods is the Co-operation of Capital and Labor effected in a Nation. Since capital and labor can do nothing alone, they always seek each other. They have been represented as necessarily in conflict. Nothing falser can be imagined. The fact is, that placed by the law of their nature in reciprocal dependence, they tend constantly to association. It is true that the conditions of this alliance vary, as we shall soon see, according to circumstances, and these are not always equally favorable to labor. But association is none the less necessary to them in all cases. We have here to explain the different methods by which this association is effected.

—When capital is in the hands of a man who can use it, there is nothing simpler than this association. The man who possesses an amount of capital sufficient to engage in some industry, and strength enough to employ this entire capital, has no need of inquiring further as to the manner in which he shall utilize the one and the other, nor to have recourse to outside aid in this matter. He works and calls his own capital to his assistance. A water-carrier whose capital consists in a barrel and a few pails, goes for water to the public well every day, and distributes the water to his customers himself. In this work he needs no outside aid: capital and labor are naturally allied in his hands. It is the same with most itinerant vendors who travel the streets of great cities, and even of some small hawkers. In general they own an amount of capital sufficient to buy in the morning the wares which they dispose of during the day. Sometimes, it is true, the capital which they use does not belong to them; they are forced to borrow it from others. In this case the alliance between capital and labor is not so simple; but if we suppose that they are really owners of the merchandise which they sell, capital and labor are combined, so to speak, in their persons, and work without difficulty side by side. It is the same with certain small artisans who carry on a trade on their own account, without employing workmen, their personal labor being sufficient to accomplish the work they have to do.

—But these simple combinations of capital and labor are rare. They are moreover only applicable to very small industries, which require only the strength of a single man. The moment an owner of capital possesses a greater amount than he can utilize in his own work, he is forced to call in, in some way, the labor of another person. He must then either undertake an industry, by associating with his labor assistance, under the name of workmen, with whom he will naturally share the fruits of their common toil, by paying them a remuneration freely agreed upon between them, or turn over a portion of his capital as a loan, as stock or in some other form at a stipulated price to a master of an industry who will make it effective in his stead. On the other hand, when a man does not possess the amount of capital necessary to employ his mind and his hands usefully, he is forced to associate his labor in some way with the capital of another. This is the condition of the greater number of those who belong to what is called the working class We have here various situations, in which capital and labor, not being at first united in proper proportions in the same hands, men are obliged to bring them together. How is this done? The preceding suffices to give an idea of the operations, it only remains to enumerate and define the several ways.

—An owner of an amount of capital which he can not utilize himself, or of an amount of capital so great that he is unable to utilize it at all, has three principal means of calling to his assistance the labor of others: 1. He can engage in some industry by setting up an establishment answering to the amount of the capital which he possesses. and calling to his assistance men who, under the name of workmen, and for fixed wages, will give him the co-operation of their labor. 2. He can lend his capital to a man of enterprise who engages in some branch of industry, and who will use the capital at his own risk and peril, on condition of returning it later, and in consideration of the payment of a yearly percentage, under the name of interest, during the time he keeps it. 3. He can become interested in an industrial enterprise, by investing his capital in it as a shareholder, that is to say, by associating his capital with all the chances of the enterprise in order to share its profits or losses. In each of these cases, which comprise, in their general expression, nearly all the possible combinations, the owner of capital, in reality, but associates his capital with the labor of another. Whether he makes it of avail directly, through the co-operation of his workmen, or gives it, in consideration of a yearly interest, to another proprietor who will make it available at his own risk and peril, or invests it in an outside enterprise by exposing it to all the risks of that enterprise, it is always true, that this capital is put at work, in whole or in part, by the hands of other men. There is here, therefore, a real alliance of the capital of the one with the labor of the other. These two necessary instruments of production, capital and labor, placed in different hands, are brought together, combined, united, and owing to this alliance they work from that time forward together.

—The man who possesses only his labor has also three methods of obtaining what he wants by joining this labor to the capital of another; and these methods correspond exactly to those which we have just examined. He can either offer his services to the proprietor of an industry, or try to obtain by a loan and for a given interest the capital which he lacks, or he can call upon money-lenders who will consent to risk their capital in his enterprise. Of the three methods, the first is undoubtedly the least favorable to workmen, in this sense at least, that if they run no risk of loss, neither can they hope for very great advantages. The returns which they get vary doubtless according to places and times. They also vary frequently with individuals, on account of their activity or respective capacity; but in general they are very much inferior to those which men may hope for who succeed, either by means of a loan, or in any other way, in putting the capital of others at work for their own profit, and at their own risk. But the reasons for this are so easily understood that it is scarcely worth while to set them forth. The man who obtains the capital of others in the form of a loan, to make it available on his own account, is in an altogether special position. The very fact of the loan which he has contracted, proves that special confidence is placed in his morality or capacity, which all workmen do not inspire in the same degree. He is besides weighted with a heavier responsibility than comes upon others, and is exposed to greater risks. It is therefore quite natural that he should aspire to make greater profits. It is the same with him who has been able to induce capitalists to interest themselves in his undertaking, by investing their money in his enterprise.

—VI. Effects of the Scarcity or Abundance of Capital—Absolute and Relative Abundance—Actire Capital and Dormant Capital. We have seen how, in proportion as capital develops in a country, industry opens up new paths for itself, daily extending the dominion of man and daily satisfying new wants. But this is not all. Even in the branches already cultivated, industry operates more profitably and on a larger scale in countries where capital abounds than in countries where it is rare.

—"Nations with small capital," says J. B. Say, "are at a disadvantage in selling their products; they are unable to grant their customers at home or abroad long terms of credit, or easy payments. Those with still less capital are not always in a condition to make even the advances of their raw materials and labor. This is why men are obliged, in India and Russia, to send the price of what is bought six months and even a year before their commissions can be executed. These nations must be greatly favored in other regards in order to make such considerable sales in spite of this disadvantage."

—The total of their sales is considerable, it is true, but not proportionate to the territory they occupy, nor nearly such as they might make if they possessed a greater amount of capital. Besides they always operate at a relative disadvantage, in this, that they scarcely ever realize the amount of profit to which they might lay claim; the greater part of it always comes to those nations who traffic with them, and who, so to speak, lay down the law to them.

—This disadvantage, however great, is not the only, nor even the greatest which they have to bear. A nation poor in capital knows little of the spirit of enterprise. It reaps small advantage of favorable occasions which present themselves and which another better provided nation always seizes. It also derives but a medium advantage from new inventions, through lack of power or boldness to put them to use. It drags along painfully in the old ruts, hesitating always to depart from the beaten track. If by chance it takes a risk in some new enterprise, it does so almost always with insufficient capital, and reaps disappointment. It may be that in such a nation the greater part of its land is cultivated; but the cultivation is ill managed, for want of capital sufficient to second the efforts of man, and the results are not proportionate to the energy of the laborers' work. It may be also that in such a nation the chief branches of manufacturing industry are carried on, but as they are only carried on with defective machinery, because proprietors either dare not or can not renew them in time, industry vegetates instead of flourishing. Their products are almost always imperfect, except when they depend more particularly on the labor of man. Moreover, these products are naturally dearer, at least they would be were it not for an almost fatal necessity which in this case throws the loss, resulting from lack or imperfection of tools, on the workmen, by reducing their wages.

—These truths appear in all their prominence when we compare the people of England and the United States, so rich in capital, with the majority of the nations on the European continent, which are so generally devoid of it. The spirit of enterprise is active in England; it is still more active in the United States. Every favorable chance to realize a profit is seized upon there with eagerness. Besides, an enterprise generally obtains all the capital necessary to its success. The agricultural and manufacturing industries are commonly provided with the best instruments, the best tools known, so that they are carried on under the most favorable conditions possible; and the sweat of man, his talents and his acquired knowledge are never spent in vain.

—The most serious matter, perhaps, is that the decrease of wages is the inevitable consequence of scarcity of capital. There are two decisive reasons for this. The first is, that where the spirit of enterprise is not much encouraged, there are fewer careers open to the activity of man; consequently there are a greater number of idle men, either voluntary or constrained. The second is, that fewer products are obtained with the same amount of labor. Where there is less labor, where, besides, fewer results are obtained with the same amount of labor, is it not inevitable that each man's share shall be smaller? We say that in this case wages fall, and it must indeed be so: but this is not all. The general level of wealth falls; the sum total of consumption is reduced, together with the sum total of production. And this is true not only with reference to the laboring classes, but with reference to all classes of society, with a few rare exceptions. The poor become poorer in consequence and the rich less rich, in this sense, at least, that all are obliged to be satisfied with a smaller number of products.

—Protests are often raised against these results, in so far as the working classes are particularly concerned. Why is it not seen that they are inevitable under certain circumstances? When the sum total of production is small, is it possible to distribute to each one a large part? Doubtless that of the workmen is relatively very small. There are here and there certain men who obtain much more and whose situation presents a striking contrast to that of their fellows: but if we reduce the part belonging to these latter would that of the workmen be much increased? But the strangest thing is, that men on this account declaim against capital, to which they impute the distress of the working classes. There can be no greater folly. The truth is, that the cause of this evil lies in the absence or in the scarcity of capital. But the abundance of capital is absolute or relative; and this is a truth ignored, upon which we should insist more were it not sufficiently dwelt on elsewhere.

—It is not always the relative importance of the values which it has accumulated that constitutes the superiority of one people over another; it is sometimes, and more frequently, its superiority in making use of these values. As to England it may be admitted as very sure that the sum of its actual capital is greater than that of any other nation in Europe. But is the same true of the United States of America? It is more than permitted to doubt it. North America, a new country, which in great part is still almost unexplored, can not possess an amount of capital equal to that which some European countries, France, for example, owe to the labors of past generations and the slow accumulations of many centuries. Nevertheless it is true, in fact, that capital is much more abundant in the United States than in France, in the sense at least that it lends itself more easily and with indefinitely greater profusion to the requirements of labor. Whence comes this? From several causes, which are summed up in one, to wit, that in the United States capital always goes to its real destination and there is never inactive. One would be alarmed if it were possible to give an account, in France, of the amount of capital daily turned away from fruitful employment to be dragged into sterile uses. One would perhaps be still more astonished could an exact calculation be made of the amount of capital lying idle, not only in the form of money, but in the form of merchandise and values of every kind. This evil, though not altogether unknown, is far less in the United States than in France, and this is the reason that with perhaps a smaller amount of actual capital there is relatively a much greater abundance. There is perhaps more capital in France, but in the United States there is much more active capital.

—And if it is asked whence comes the inferiority of France in this regard, we shall answer that it comes, first, from the almost total absence of those institutions of credit whose chief object is to distribute and dispose of capital; that it depends, also, on the vices of French legislation on commercial associations, and on the presence of certain ill-planned institutions, which have no other effect than to strike the greater part of social wealth with sterility.

CHARLES COQUELIN.

CAPITAL

CAPITAL, The National (IN U. S. HISTORY). The congress of the revolution and the confederacy was peripatetic, and at various times in its history held meetings at Philadelphia, Baltimore, Lancaster, York, Princeton, Annapolis, Trenton and New York. (See CONTINENTAL CONGRESS) June 21, 1783, a handful of insubordinate and unpaid militia marched into Philadelphia, where congress was sitting, and, unchecked by any efforts of the state or city authorities to keep the peace, broke up the session of congress by jeering the members and pointing muskets at the windows. This, among other incidents, gave an impulse to the desire to obtain a permanent home for the national legislature, and Oct. 7, 1783, congress resolved that a building for its use should be erected at some place near the falls of the Delaware. This was soon after modified, in deference to sectional jealousy, by requiring the erection of a suitable building near the falls of the Potomac, that the meetings of congress might alternate between the two places. After long and warm debate, congress returned to its first resolution, and decided that there should be but one capital, and commissioners were appointed to lay out a federal town near the falls of the Delaware. Dec. 23, 1784, it was resolved to meet regularly in New York city until the new town was completed. But, while money was wanting for more pressing demands, congress was unable to go any further than the plan. The commissioners made their report, but no action was taken upon it.

—The successful establishment of the constitution, with the prospect of a federal government whose wealth and resources would surpass any previous experience in America, revived the notion of a federal town. Objection was made to New York city as a permanent capital by many of the delegates from agricultural districts, who considered a commercial metropolis very ineligible, because of the direct influence which the moneyed interest might exert on congress; and objections were also made to Philadelphia by many of the southern members, who were affronted by the assiduity of the Quakers in preparing and presenting to congress propositions for the abolition of slavery. When the new congress also came to the conclusion to fix the location of the federal town in the north, placing it this time on the banks of the Susquehanna, the decision roused intense anger among the southern delegates, and Madison declared that if this action had been foreseen, his state might never have entered the Union. As a compromise, it seemed probable that congress would drift back again to the plan of two capitals, and of alternate meetings north and south, an arrangement excellently adapted for preserving the two sections in their separate integrity, and for facilitating their ultimate separation.

—The inevitable compromise finally took another form. The anti-federalists, whose strength was mainly southern, succeeded by a majority of two in the house in voting down Hamilton's plan for the assumption of state debts by the federal government. (See FEDERAL PARTY, I.) By Jefferson's mediation (though he afterward claimed that he was "entrapped" into it), two anti-federalists from the Potomac agreed to vote for Hamilton's plan, which was thereby adopted, the federalists in return agreeing to vote that the national capital should be fixed upon the Potomac, after remaining ten years at Philadelphia. The result was an act passed June 28, 1790, with the following clause "That a district of territory on the river Potomac, at some place between the mouths of the Eastern Branch and the Connogocheague, be and the same is hereby accepted for the permanent seat of the government of the United States." By the same act congress was to meet at Philadelphia until the first Monday in November, 1800, and then remove to the Potomac.

—By separate cessions of Maryland in 1788 and Virginia in 1789, a federal district ten miles square was acquired, which was laid out by Washington in person, by act of March 30, 1791. The place was officially known as The Federal City until Sept. 9, 1791, when, by order of three commissioners appointed by the president, the district was named The Territory of Columbia, and the city The City of Washington.

—Congress made no adequate appropriations for the work on public buildings, and in December, 1796, Washington was compelled to make a personal appeal to the legislature of Maryland, which advanced $100,000 on the pledge of the private credit of the commissioners. Nov. 17,1800, the federal government removed to "the Indian place, with the long name, in the woods, on the Potomac." Its discomforts are feelingly described in letters of the time, and more particularly in those of Mrs. John Adams. There were few public buildings, except the capital, of which only the two wings were finished, connected by a wooden passage.

—Aug. 24-25, 1814, the British army burned the public buildings, and when congress re-assembled the two houses met in a small brick building known as Blodget's hotel. The project of establishing the capital in the north was at once revived, and liberal offers for the location were made by Philadelphia, and by Lancaster, Penn., formerly the capital of Pennsylvania. Oct. 3, 1814, a resolution for removal was carried in the house by the casting vote of the speaker, nearly the whole southern vote being in the negative. A bill for the removal was ordered to be prepared but was smothered in committee. The citizens, who were naturally anxious to prevent any removal, furnished a building which was used by congress until a portion of the present capital was finished, Dec. 6, 1819. The building was completed in 1827, being surmounted by a wooden dome. In 1851 an extension was begun, and in 1863 the whole structure was finished in its present form by the completion of the iron dome (begun in 1855), crowned by Crawford's bronze statue of freedom.

—The position of the national capital proved exceptionally fortunate during the rebellion. The necessity for securing communication with the loyal states forced the federal government into a policy far more aggressive than would have been the case if the capital had been further north. The location of Washington upon the Potomac, which the south had so eagerly desired, was one of the causes which made peaceable secession, and northern acquiescence in a division of the country, equally impossibilities.

—In 1846 Virginia's cession was retroceded, leaving only 64 square miles in the District of Columbia. This tract has always been governed directly by congress, excepting during the years 1871-74, when the experiment was tried of erecting a territorial government, with the power to raise money by tax and loan. This body rushed at once into a very extensive system of public improvements, which resulted in the creation of a debt of over $20,000,000 on an assessed valuation of less than $80,000,000. The District of Columbia is now under the supervision of commissioners, appointed by the president, but controlled by congressional legislation. Like other territories it has no voice in national elections, and the city of Washington thus presents the anomaly of a city of 147,307 inhabitants (in 1880) whose own citizens, except in local elections, are disfranchised. (See CONTINENTAL CONGRESS, DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA

—See Poore's Political Register, 1; 1 Curtis' History of the Constitution, 220, 227, and 2: 268, and authorities there cited; 6 Hildreth's United States, 528; Varnum's Seat of Government; J. Elliot's Historical Sketch of the Ten Miles Square; Howe's Virginia Historical Collections; 9 Curtis, 65; and authorities under DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA.

ALEXANDER JOHNSTON.

CAPITULATION

CAPITULATION. When an army corps or a fortress feels no longer able to resist the enemy, and the belligerents are not induced by passion to refuse all quarter, there remains only to surrender at discretion or on condition. The latter form of submission, especially when a fortress is in question, is called more particularly a capitulation. Nevertheless, it would seem that in ordinary language a distinction is no longer made between a surrender pure and simple and a capitulation.

—The rules regarding capitulations are very simple. They are treaties whose clauses have been discussed beforehand, and which, once signed, become binding on the contracting parties, except, say some writers, when one or both of them have exceeded their powers. Now, the officer in command of the fortress, on the one hand, and the commander of the besieging army, on the other, are authorized by usage and necessity to negotiate and conclude this kind of treaty; and the supposition of the treaty containing other provisions than those relative to the capitulation is a case which it does not seem worth while to consider here. Neither do we wish to consider the case of non-fulfillment of the capitulation on the part of the victor. A general who did not keep his engagements with the vanquished, would dishonor himself, and would expose himself or his side to reprisals.

—The stipulations which may be contained in capitulations depend on circumstances. According as the chances of relief are greater or less, according as the defense has been more or less prolonged, according to the extent of the means of resistance still left the garrison, the terms granted will be more or less lenient or severe. It rarely occurs that a garrison is allowed to leave a fortress with "the honors of war," that is to say, with arms and baggage, colors flying, and bands playing martial airs; but neither, on the other hand, is it necessary to stipulate that the lives of the garrison shall be spared. That is understood, for prisoners of war are no longer put to death. The soldiers, also, are allowed their personal effects, and sometimes the officers, too, are permitted to retain their swords. The victor must not seize on anything but the property of the state, and he ought not to forget that peaceful inhabitants are not to be considered as enemies.

—Prior to the capitulation the commander of a fortress is master there, and is accountable only to his superiors. But the capitulation once signed, the United States Instructions for Armies in the Field, § 144, says that, the capitulator has no right, during the time that elapses between the signing and the execution of the capitulation, to destroy or injure the defensive works, the arms, provisions and munitions in his possession, unless it has been otherwise agreed.

—Thus far we have considered capitulations from the standpoint of international law; there remains still the standpoint of the military code. The government which has intrusted a soldier with the charge of a fortress has a right to demand an account of his acts, and this account is often required. In France, the decree of May 1, 1812, provides as follows: "Art. 1. All generals and all commanders of armed forces, whatever their rank, are forbidden to enter into any capitulation, written or verbal, in the open field.

—Art. 2. Every capitulation of this sort, that results in a laying down of arms, is declared dishonorable and criminal, and shall be punished with death. [But what if there are absolutely no means of defense?] The same shall hold true of all other capitulations where the general or commander has not done all that honor and duty prescribed.

—Art. 3. In a fortified place, besieged and invested, a capitulation is allowed in the cases provided in the next article.

—Art 4. A capitulation of a fortified place besieged and invested may be made if the provisions and munitions are exhausted after due economy, if the garrison has sustained an assault on its enceinte, and is unable to withstand a second, and if the governor or commandant has fulfilled all the obligations imposed upon him by the decree of the 24th of December, 1811.

—The governor or commander, as well as the officers, shall in no case separate their own lot from that of their soldiers but shall always share the fortunes of the latter.

—When the conditions prescribed in the preceding article shall not have been fulfilled, any capitulation or loss of the place that shall ensue is declared dishonorable and criminal, and shall be punished with death * * * *."

—Other countries have analogous provisions. (See ARMISTICE, SIEGE, etc.)

MAURICE BLOCK.

CARICATURE

CARICATURE. Political caricature, and this is the only kind we refer to, is only one form of the liberty of the press. It is the weapon of the weak, the book of people who have not yet learned to read. It was the newspaper of the rustic, before newspapers proper came into existence. An event occurs. The caricaturist seizes it, and with the point of his pencil nails it to the pillory. The impression produced is immediate. The people see the point. Indifference here is out of the question. The idea is caught at a glance, and at the same time people declare for or against the artist. Better than the newspaper article or the book, caricature gives body to ideas and sets up a target for the shots of rancor. The history of political caricature is intimately connected with that of nations. While the aristocracy and the middle class write books or edit newspapers, the engraver's art tells the story of popular joy and sorrow, hope and wrath. The people paint themselves as they are, and represent their enemies as they appear to them. They call things by their right names. In 1496, long before Luther, they held up papal Rome to execration. Before the league they drew Henry III., the hermaphrodite, on the hurdle. Richelieu made every one tremble before him; yet he feared the shafts of caricature, which did not respect even the terrible majesty of Louis XIV. Caricature helped the French revolution by familiarizing the people with the idea of revolt. It showed foresight on the eve of the 18th Brumaire, by representing the first consul thimblerigging the republic under the pyramids as goblets. Vanquished in 1815, it avenged itself by ridiculing the victors.

—We do not, however, pretend to say that caricature has been always in the right. In the first place it has been frequently malicious, and consequently given to exaggeration. And then the desire to provoke laughter and be witty has more than once blinded the artist. But in these cases the public was not with it; or, if they applauded its wit for a time, they did not approve its malice. Social and political caricature was, for a long time, only a representation of the personages whom it wished to expose to public ridicule. Words surrounded by a pencil line, and issuing from the mouth of one of the actors in the scene, expressed in a comic way the thought of the artist. It was seldom that caricature, faithful to its etymological significations, exaggerated personal defects or attitudes, or facial expression. The point was altogether in the written words, the apparel, or the peculiarities of the person represented; but with William Hogarth, Goya and Callot, caricature attained its highest degree of development. It became less ingenuous, but wittier. To allegory, the general form of caricature, succeeded the observation, and bringing out into relief of certain contours or lines. This was the artistic period of caricature.

—Caricature attained great importance under Louis XVI. and during the French revolution. It fell into disuse in France before public spirit disappeared. The hero of a hundred battles could not allow his acts to be commented on by the pencil. What he exacted from the press was disciplined admiration. During his reign caricature took refuge in England, and contributed, not a little, by the daily irritation it kept up, to the maintenance of that hatred which was one day to be his ruin.

—The restoration was not much more liberal in this respect, and it took the revolution of 1830 to restore caricature to its rights. The establishment of daily papers devoted to caricature dates from this period. Struck down in France at the same time as the press by the laws of September, 1835, it rose again in 1848, only to fall once more under the decree of Feb. 17, 1852. Caricature in that country today, subject to a preliminary authorization, attacks the foibles or the vices of citizens. In France it was for a long time forbidden to touch on political subjects, unless the country was at war, in which case the artist was allowed to discover and bring into relief the motes in the eye of the enemy, on condition, however, of not perceiving the beam in the eye of the nation.

—The caricaturist's art, in our own time, is so frequently employed, that no large city is without one or more satirical illustrated papers. We need only mention the "Uomo di Pietra" of Milan, the Paris "Charivari," "Il Fischietto" of Turin, the Berlin "Kladderadatsch," and the London "Punch."

—Caricature plays in England a part similar to that played by the chansons in France and the pasquino at Rome; but with this difference in England's favor, that the pasquinades were purposely obscure, the chansons or popular songs were liable to the severest penalties, while in England the only limit to the right of saying anything is the right to contradict it. Has the government reason to regret the liberty it allows its citizens? We may form an opinion from one fact. In England caricature is pitiless to the most important personages in the state, but the moment it represents government personified, that is, the king, it reproduces his features faithfully; and the correctness of the picture of the king, showing the artist's respect for the principle of authority itself, renders only more scathing the epigram intended for the public functionary.

—In proportion as ideas of liberty generate ideas of dignity, caricature will certainly diminish in importance. The power of freely expressing one's thoughts will take away all desire to express them with malice. When a man has the right to expound great and immortal truths, he does not waste his time in fighting trifles. For example, in 1858 a mass of fischietti appeared all over Italy who with pencil and pen ridiculed and caricatured the Austrians and the principal feudatories of Vienna. Since then the fischietti have become almost mute and are content with preaching liberty and defending national unity.

—Caricature when it strikes home, is as good as the best newspaper article, and whether the precursor or interpreter of popular dissatisfaction, it sometimes gives salutary warning. The following was the design of a satirical drawing called "The Assembly of Notables," which appeared in 1787. Calonne, the minister, dressed as a court cook, and armed with a large knife, harangues a whole army of poultry, representing the notables. The legend runs thus. Calonne: "Dear people, whom I govern, I have gathered you together to know with what sauce you would like to be eaten." The Notables: "But we do not wish to be eaten at all." Calonne, severely, "That is no answer to my question."

—This caricature is the sad and faithful representation of human history. It is only the sauce that changes. When the notables persist and will not keep to the point, we have what is called revolution.

HECTOR PESSARD.

CARPET BAGGERS

CARPET BAGGERS, the name given by the southern whites after 1865 to northern republicans who settled in the south. Originally it was given only to those politicians who, retaining their homes and connections in the north, went (with no more baggage than a carpet-bag) to the south for a time long enough to qualify them for admission to congress or for state offices. Gradually the name was extended to all whites who endeavored to organize or lead the colored vote. (See RECONSTRUCTION.)

A. J.

CARTEL

CARTEL. (See EXCHANGE OF PRISONERS.)

CASS

CASS, Lewis, was Lorn at Exeter, N. H., Oct. 9, 1782, and died at Detroit, June 17, 1866. He was admitted to the bar in Ohio in 1802; reached the rank of brigadier general in 1813; was governor of Michigan territory 1813-31; secretary of war under Jackson, secretary of state under Buchanan, (see ADMINISTRATIONS, and United States senator from Michigan (democrat) 1845-57. In 1848 he was the democratic candidate for president. (See DEMOCRATIC PARTY, IV.)

—See Smith's Life of Cass; Young's Life of Cass.

A. J.

CASUS BELLI

CASUS BELLI A nation is accountable to itself alone. It is always the nation itself that, in the end, judges its relations to other powers. It can, at its pleasure, change the nature of those relations, and pass from a state of peace to a state of war. But wars always have a pretext or a reason. When the pretext or reason can be shown beforehand, it is said to be a casus belli, a case of war. It would be impossible to enumerate the various causes of war. The cause of a war may depend on fortuitous circumstances; on the choice of a prince to succeed to a neighboring throne; on the change of a form of government; on wounded vanity. We shall confine ourselves to a general summary of the principal causes that lead to war. They arise either from a violation of rights or from the violation of the interests of one nation by another; or else from offenses against the dignity of the nation.—"The rights of states," says Klüber, (Droits des gens modernes, sec. 2, chap. i., p. 208), "are violated in the same manner as the rights of individuals. They are violated directly or indirectly; directly, if the injury has been done to the body of the state itself; indirectly, if it has been done only to individual subjects of the state; it may be by some of its members, provided their government has been affected in any way by the violation." The state, like a man living isolated and in a state of nature, Klüber further says, according to the most eminent jurisconsults, has the right to defend itself by acts of violence, in the measure that may be necessary, against injuries actual or to be apprehended. Thus a state may be injured by the mere fact that a neighboring state has acquired an excess of territory. It may declare such acquisition a casus belli.

—There have been cases in which war has been waged under the pretext that a moral invasion, an intellectual contagion, a political epidemic, was feared, or because there was a pretense of fearing them. However, a revolution, or even a rebellion, when it is purely national, and unaccompanied by direct danger to other states, does not justify the intervention of these states in affairs not theirs. Bluntschli expresses himself as follows, in his Codified International Law, on this point. "We must acknowledge and admit the necessity for every state and people to modify itself according to the political needs of the period, on the same ground that historical rights should be protected when they are not in conflict with principles admitted by its contemporaries. By opposing the formation of a new law, the living breath which animates the law is lost sight of, and the law itself is kept from progressing, together with the nation. We do not see why a people should have the right to go to war to defend the crown of their prince, and not have the right to resort to arms to establish national unity. Is it, perchance, because an old piece of parchment determined during the middle ages the right of succession of the prince, while a series of disastrous events hindered during several centuries the consolidation of national unity? It seems to me that the right of a people to resort to arms when necessary to give themselves the constitution they claim to develop their natural qualities, to fulfill their mission, to provide for their safety, defend their honor, is much more natural, more important and more sacred than musty manuscripts, the evidence of the rights of a dynasty."

MAURICE BLOCK.

CAUCUS

CAUCUS, The Congressional, (IN U. S. HISTORY). The convention of 1787, in framing the system of choosing a president and vice-president, carefully provided that "no senator or representative, or person holding an office of trust or profit under the United States, shall be appointed an elector." (See CONSTITUTION, ARTICLE II). The convention's suspicions of congressional influence have been signally justified by the extreme difficulty of keeping the electoral system free from it. (See ELECTORS). At the first two presidential elections the electors were real officers with discretionary powers, and even in the third election, though some of them were pledged in advance by their constituents, most of them retained their original functions. In 1796 the republican members of congress informally agreed to support Jefferson and Burr equally, while the selections of Adams and Pinckney were due mainly to federalists out of congress. But the next election developed a system of congressional caucuses which reduced the electors to the position of mere ciphers, and gave all their powers to the members of congress. These caucuses were seven in number, extending over the years 1800-24.

—I. In the winter of 1800 the federal party controlled both houses of congress, and, as was asserted by the Philadelphia Aurora (for which assertion its editor, Duane, was arrested for contempt of the senate), a compact clique of senators controlled the decisions of the majority in the senate. President Adams, the nominal head of the federal party, was heartily disliked by the leaders of his party (See ELECTORS), and, although prudence forbade an open quarrel with him, the federalist members of congress, in February, 1800, met in caucus and decided that their party electors should support Adams and Pinckney equally, in hopes that their decision would be respected in New England, while in the south Pinckney would gain enough scattering votes to head Adams, and, under the then provisions of the constitution, become president. Without any similar design against the precedence of Jefferson, the republican members soon after met and resolved that Burr, whose feeble support in the south at the preceding election had been a ground of complaint in New York, should have an equal support with Jefferson. The result was the downfall of the electoral system. The electors of both parties, in passive obedience to the dictates of the caucuses, voted the tickets prepared for them, except that in Rhode Island one elector withheld his second vote from Pinckney, so that South Carolina's vote would have quietly seated both Adams and Pinckney. (See DISPUTED ELECTIONS, I).

—II Feb. 29, 1804, the first open caucus of republican congressmen met. Jefferson was renominated for the presidency without hesitation, but a selection for the vice-presidency was a different matter. The incumbent, Burr, distinguished equally for brilliancy and lack of principle, had always been an object of mingled terror and suspicion to the Virginia interest (See VIRGINIA), had come too near the presidency in 1800 to become prominent again with Jefferson's good will, and was at war with his own party in his own state. (See BURR, AARON). His chances in a congressional caucus were therefore not worth considering. But it was essential that New York should not be alienated, and in Burr's place the Virginia interest preferred George Clinton, the leader of the Clintonian faction of New York democrats, against whose domination Burr's following was arrayed then and after. The votes in caucus were, for Clinton, 67; for Hugh H. Breckenridge, of Pennsylvania, 20; for Levi Lincoln, of Massachusets, 9; for John Langdon, of New Hampshire, 7; for Gideon Granger, of Connecticut, 4; and for William Maclay, of Pennsylvania, 1. The caucus action was indirectly the cause of Alexander Hamilton's melancholy death. (See BURR, AARON). No record of any federalist caucus of this year can be found. Their action was governed by a knot of leaders who had determined to effect a coalition between the New England federalists and the middle state democrats, who were tired of Virginia domination. Of this scheme Burr's candidacy for governor of New York was a part. Had he succeeded he would probably have been sprung upon the country as a coalition candidate for the presidency in 1804.

—III. Jefferson, in answer to requests from democratic state legislatures to accept a third term, had decisively refused. Jan. 19, 1808, Stephen R. Bradley, senator from Vermont, and chairman of the last previous caucus, "in pursuance of the powers vested in him, "called a caucus for Jan. 23. This strong symptom of the organization of a machine was displeasing to many of his party, who knew that they were only summoned to register the selection previously made by the Virginia interest, and to transfer the presidency from Jefferson to Madison. Of the 130 democratic congressmen only 89 attended on the appointed day, the votes for the presidential candidate being 83 for Madison, 3 for George Clinton, and 3 for Monroe. For vice-president, Clinton received all the votes cast, 79. Monroe was an aspirant for the presidency, and both his friends and those of Madison claimed to be the veritable "Virginia interest." Jan. 21 the Virginia legislature had split into two caucuses, one of which gave Madison a unanimous vote, 134, and the other 50 for Monroe and 10 for Madison. Each caucus nominated a set of electors, and began an active canvass Monroe's friends in congress published, March 7, a protest which objected to Madison as unfit for the presidency in troublous times, and denounced the presumption of congressmen in arrogating to themselves "the right (which belongs only to the people) of selecting presidential candidates." Against this charge the caucus had sheltered itself under the assertion that its members acted "only in their individual character as citizens." No record remains of any federalist caucus. That party could not well make nominations while coquetting with Clinton and Monroe (See FEDERAL PARTY), and, when their candidacy proved a failure, the federalists by common consent fell back on their old candidates, Pinckney and King.

—IV. In 1812 the democratic-republican party had become a war party, and its new leaders were determined that the peace-loving president should, at least in appearance, head them. A committee, headed by Henry Clay, informed Madison that a war message was the price of his renomination, and to this condition Madison unwillingly submitted. The caucus was accordingly held May 18, 1812, 82 of the 133 democratic congressmen being present. Madison was renominated unanimously, and John Langdon, of New Hampshire, received a majority of votes for vice-president. On Langdon declining, Elbridge Gerry was substituted. The caucus again announced its action to be that of "individual citizens," but it took a step in advance by appointing a national committee to see that its nominations were observed. In New York, where the Clintonian faction at present controlled the state, 95 of the 99 republican members of the legislature met in caucus, May 29, and by 87 to 8 voted to nominate Clinton as the anti-administration candidate, in opposition to congressional caucus action, which "always resulted in the selection of a Virginia candidate." In September a secret convention of federalists from all of the states north of the Potomac, and from South Carolina, met in New York city, and after three day's debate agreed to support Clinton for president and Jared Ingersoll for vice-president.

—V. Monroe, who had always been regarded as the foreordained successor of Madison, had not by any means shown great brilliancy in his conduct of the war, and only through the lack of any available opponent was his nomination possible. Even when the caucus met, March 16, 1816, 118 of the 141 democratic congressmen being present, the result was by no means certain. Two resolutions were offered, one by Henry Clay and the other by John W. Taylor, of New York, that caucus nominations ought to be abolished, but these were voted down, and Monroe received the nomination by 65 votes to 54 for William II. Crawford, of Georgia. Had Crawford chosen to make any strenuous effort against Monroe he could probably have secured the nomination, which was equivalent to an election. For vice-president Daniel D. Tompkins, of New York, received 85 votes to 30 for Simon Snyder, of Pennsylvania. The federalists, whose continued existence was only a matter of form, made no nominations, but their New England electors voted by common consent for Rufus King, and for various vice-presidential candidates.

—VI. In 1820 Samuel Smith, of Maryland, chairman of the last previous caucus, called a new one, but only about 50 members assembled, and these yielded to the general impatience of the further existence of this irresponsible nominating body and separated without action. The incumbents, Monroe and Tompkins, were voted for by common consent and without opposition.

—VII. In 1824 party lines had disappeared through the extinction of the professed federal party. There was but one party from which to select candidates, and it was now generally felt that a selection made by a congressional caucus indirectly gave to congress that power of electing a president and vice-president which had been carefully denied by the constitution. Furthermore, various state legislatures had willingly assumed the functions of nominating bodies, and, being unwilling to see their action overslaughed by congressmen, had instructed their senators and representatives not to attend a caucus, if one should be called. But the friends of Crawford, who felt that his self-abnegation in the caucus of 1816 had cost him the nomination then, were determined to secure for him the usual stamp of "regularity," and called a caucus for Feb. 14, 1824. Only 68 of the 258 members were present, and of these 64 voted for Crawford, 2 for John Quincy Adams, 1 for Andrew Jackson, and 1 for Nathaniel Macon, of North Carolina. A motion to adjourn the meeting until March had been voted down. For vice-president Albert Gallatin (See AMERICAN PARTY, I). received 57 votes and was nominated. The manner of nomination brought more injury than benefit to Crawford, and the reign of "King Caucus" was ended. In 1828 the nominations were made by state legislatures, and in 1832 the still existing system of nominating conventions was introduced, under which the official nullity of the electors has become fixed. (See DEMOCRATIC-REPUBLICAN PARTY, FEDERAL PARTY, ELECTORS, NOMINATING CONVENTIONS.)

—See 25 Niles' Register, 244-258, 4 Hildreth's United States, 687; 5: 357, 516; 6:63, 298, 376, 595, 620, 701; 1 Hammond's Political History of New York, 315, 411, and 2: 128; 3 Parton's Life of Jackson, 24; Mackenzie's Life and Times of Van Buren, 44, 55.

ALEXANDER JOHNSTON.

CAUCUS SYSTEM

CAUCUS SYSTEM. A caucus, in the political vocabulary of the United States, is primarily a private meeting of voters holding similar views, held prior to an election for the purpose of furthering such views at the election. With the development of parties, and the rule of majorities, the caucus or some equivalent has become an indispensable adjunct of party government, and it may now be defined as a meeting of the majority of the electors belonging to the same party in any political or legislative body held preliminary to a meeting thereof, for the purpose of selecting candidates to be voted for, or for the purpose of determining the course of the party at the meeting of the whole body. The candidates of each party are universally selected by caucus, either directly, or indirectly through delegates to conventions chosen in caucuses. In legislative bodies the course of each party is often predetermined with certainty in caucus, and open discussion between parties has been, in consequence, in some degree superseded. The caucus system is, in short, the basis of a complete electoral system which has grown up within each party, side by side with that which is alone contemplated by the laws. This condition has in recent years attracted much attention, and has been bitterly denounced as an evil. It was, however, early foreseen. John Adams, in 1814, wrote in the "Tenth Letter on Government": "They have invented a balance to all balance in their caucuses. We have congressional caucuses, state caucuses, county caucuses, city caucuses, district caucuses, town caucuses, parish caucuses, and Sunday caucuses at church doors; and in these aristocratical caucuses elections have been decided."

—The caucus is a necessary consequence of majority rule. If the majority is to define the policy of a party, there must be some method within each party of ascertaining the mind of the majority, and settling the party programme, before it meets the opposing party at the polls. The Carlton and Reform clubs discharge for the tories and liberals many of the functions of a congressional caucus. Meetings of the members of the parties in the reichstag, the corps legislatif and the chamber of deputies are not unusual, though they have generally merely been for consultation, and neither in England, France, Germany or Italy has any such authority been conceded to the wish of the majority of a party as we have vested in the decision of a caucus. What has been called a caucus has been established by the liberals of Birmingham, England, as to which see a paper by W. Fraser Rae, in the "International Review" for August, 1880.

—The origin of the term caucus is obscure. It has been derived from the Algonquin word kaw-kaw-wus—to consult, to speak—but the more probable derivation makes it a corruption of caulkers. In the early politics of Boston, and particularly during the early difficulties between the townsmen and the British troops, the seafaring men and those employed about the ship yards were prominent among the towns-people, and there were numerous gatherings which may have very easily come to be called by way of reproach a meeting of caulkers after the least influential class who attended them, or from the caulking house or caulk house in which they were held. What was at first a derisive description, came to be an appellation, and the gatherings of so-called caulkers became a caucus. John Pickering, in a vocabulary of words and phrases peculiar to the United States (Boston, 1816), gives this derivation of the word, and says several gentlemen mentioned to him that they had heard this was the derivation.

—Gordon, writing in 1774, says: "More than fifty years ago Mr. Samuel Adams' father and twenty others, one or two from the north end of the town where all the ship business is carried on, used to meet, make a caucus and lay their plan for introducing certain persons into places of trust and power. When they had settled it they separated, and each used their particular influence within his own circle. He and his friends would furnish themselves with ballots, including the names of the parties fixed upon, which they distributed on the days of election. By acting in concert, together with a careful and extensive distribution of ballots, they generally carried their elections to their own mind. In like manner it was that Mr. Samuel Adams first became a representative for Boston." (History of the American Revolution, vol. i., p. 365) February, 1763, Adams writes in his diary: "This day I learned that the caucus club meets at certain times in the garret of Tom Dawes, the adjutant of the Boston regiment. He has a large house and he has a movable partition in his garret which he takes down and the whole club meets in one room. There they smoke tobacco till you can not see from one end of the room to the other. There they drink flip, I suppose, and there they choose a moderator who puts questions to the vote regularly; and selectmen, assessors, collectors, wardens, fire wards and representatives are regularly chosen before they are chosen in the town. Uncle Fairfield, Story, Ruddock, Adams, Cooper, and a rudis indigestaque moles of others, are members. They send committees to wait on the merchants' club, and to propose in the choice of men and measures. Captain Cunningham says, they have often solicited him to go to these caucuses, they have assured him benefit in his business, etc." (Adams' Works, vol. ii., p. 144.)

—Under the title Caucus should be considered the congressional nominating caucus; the caucuses of legislative assemblies; primary elections, still known outside the larger cities as caucuses; the evils which have been attributed to the latter, and the remedies which have been proposed. These will accordingly be mentioned in the order given.

—I. The Congressional Caucus marks the departure from the electoral scheme provided for by the constitution, and is the first appearance of the caucus, as we now understand it, in our history. In the continental and confederate congresses the pre-arrangement of business attributed to the caucus system, was in some measure accomplished by committees, but the first appearance of the existing institution is in the congressional nominating caucus. Members of congress held meetings quickly called caucuses, by which candidates were nominated, between whom it was understood the electors provided for by the constitution should choose, thus depriving the electors themselves of the free choice it was intended they should exercise, and thence it followed that the support of particular candidates soon became the sole issue in the choice of electors.

—In 1796 a general understanding among the members of congress of the republican and federal parties was had, that Jefferson and Adams should receive the votes of the republican and federal electors respectively but this result does not seem to have been arrived at through formal meetings of those members. In 1800 such formal meetings were held by the members of both parties in congress, for the purpose of consulting about presidential candidates, great pains being taken at the time to preserve the fact of these meetings secret, on account of the popular jealousy of any attempt at general direction by those connected with the general government. Adams and Pinckney were selected by the federalists, with the understanding that each should be voted for equally, and Jefferson and Burr by the republicans, with, however, the distinct understanding that Jefferson was the candidate for the presidency.

—In 1804 the first caucus, not secret, was held by the republicans, Jefferson was unanimously nominated for re-election, and George Clinton, governor of New York, substituted for Burr as the vice-presidential candidate, by a vote of 67 out of 107. The probability of a vacancy in the governorship of New York through the election of Clinton was thus created, and Burr was brought forward as an independent candidate. At a caucus of the federal members of the legislature at Albany his support was favored by a large majority, and the bitter opposition of Hamilton was the foundation of the feeling which culminated in the fatal duel. The proceedings of this federal caucus were said to have become known through Burrites who were concealed in an adjoining bedroom. C. C. Pinckney and Rufus King were selected by a federal caucus in this same year, as the federal candidates. The republican congressional caucus in this year was much criticised because republican voters in congressional districts represented by federalists complained that they were unrepresented in it, and that they were therefore being dictated to by districts in which the republicans had the majority.

—In 1808 Stephen R. Bradley, senator from Vermont, who had been chairman of the caucus in 1804, assumed the responsibility of sending out written notices to the republican members in both houses, to meet at a time specified in the notice, in the senate chamber. The purpose of the meeting was not mentioned in the call, but it was understood to be the selection of republican candidates to be voted for at the ensuring election. The result of this caucus had already been determined by private consultation, and out of 138 members, 89 were present, by whom Madison and George Clinton were nominated by 83 and 79 votes respectively. This caucus was open, and proceeded as if the selection of candidates was its unquestioned business. In consequence, there appeared very soon, a protest of 17 representatives, denying the authority of Bradley, the regularity of the caucus, and finally the necessity of any caucus whatever, which was stated only to have been necessary for the concentration of the party when the federal party was powerful. This protest the caucus had in a measure anticipated, by declaring that its members "acted only in their individual character as citizens." Separate caucuses were also held during this year by the members of the Virginia legislature who favored Madison and Monroe respectively, for the purpose of furthering the candidacy of each.

—In 1812 the republican caucus was attended by 82 members. It was held openly like the previous caucus, and the members resolved as before that they made the nomination in their individual characters only. It took, however, one step forward, by the appointment of a committee of correspondence, of one member from each state, to see that the nominations it made were duly respected. Madison was unanimously renominated, with Gerry as vice-president. but it is noteworthy that a committee headed by Clay had formally demanded of Madison a war policy as the price of their support in the caucus. This caucus, like the last, was bitterly criticised, and on May 29 a caucus of 91 republican members of the New York legislature was held which refused to recognize the decision of the congressional caucus, and nominated De Witt Clinton by a vote of 87. In consequence of this, the federalists held in New York, in September, 1812, a national caucus or convention, composed of 70 delegates from eleven states, for further consultation and by which it was resolved to give the federal support to Clinton.

—In 1816 the attempt was made in the republican caucus by the friends of Crawford to declare the selection of candidates by the members of congress inexpedient, as the caucus was likely to be controlled by the friends of Monroe, but the attempt failed, and Monroe was nominated by a vote of 65 to 54. Burr, who had done so much for the perfection of the caucus, had foreseen this result in 1815, and in order to defeat it had advised some popular nomination of Andrew Jackson, declaring that "if it could be made respectable his success would be inevitable."

—In 1820 a call for a republican caucus was issued by Smith of Maryland, who had been chairman of the last caucus, but only about 50 members of congress attended, and the renomination of the incumbents was acquiesced in.

—In 1824 a great question was raised as to whether there should be any attempt to nominate a candidate by means of a caucus, and there was a combination of the friends of other candidates than Crawford to prevent such a caucus. It was, however, strenuously advocated by the Albany regency under the lead of Van Buren, which took the position that those who opposed the congressional caucus, which it called the "regular nomination," were to be treated as enemies of the democratic party, which was the first pronunciation of the more modern notions of the sanctity of party majorities and of all the proceedings of the party organization. During this discussion a caucus of the republican members of the New York legislature was held, which decided that a congressional caucus ought to be held, and an account of the proceedings of this New York caucus was forwarded to Washington, without, however, much influencing the result. Comparatively few members of congress attended the congressional caucus which was finally called, and its nomination of Crawford was of questionable assistance to him. This was the last congressional nominating caucus. In 1835 the democrats nominated candidates in a national convention, and in 1839 the whigs adopted the same method. While the congressional caucus lasted it is to be mentioned that the nominee and most of the candidates before the caucus had been, in every case after Jefferson's second term, previously nominated by the legislature of some state, or by a caucus of the members of one party in a state legislature.

—II. Legislative Caucuses. It has been the practice for the members in each party in congress and the state legislatures to meet in a caucus and decide their course in the assembly by a vote of the majority. The officers to be elected by each legislative body are invariably so selected. The first mention of such caucuses is in the Statesman's Manual, vol. i., p. 338, where, speaking of the second session of the eighth congress, it is said: "During the session of Congress there was far less of free and independent discussion on the measures proposed by the friends of the administration than had been previously practiced in both branches of the national legislature. It appeared that on the most important subject the course adopted by the majority was the effect of caucus arrangement, or, in other words, had been previously agreed upon at meetings of the democratic members held in private. Thus the legislation was constantly swayed by party feelings and pledges rather than according to sound reason or personal conviction." Since that time the practice described has steadily increased, and at present the course of each party in the house of representatives with reference to any measure which has been made a party measure is determined in caucus In particular the election of the officers of the house is predetermined in the caucuses of the party in the majority. Long and active canvasses are undertaken by candidates for the speakership, for the caucus nomination to that position. In the senate party lines are less strictly drawn, but when they are drawn, a caucus decision exercises the same authority over the majority there as elsewhere. In 1881 the caucus nominees of one party for the officers of the senate were generally alleged to be of worthless character. The opposite party, as a result of caucus deliberation, declined to permit these caucus nominations to be ratified by the election of the nominees. There ensued, in consequence of the unyielding adherence of senators to these caucus decisions, one of the most persistent "deadlocks" on record, in the course of which, members of each party produced the most gory speeches about the "revolutionary" tendencies of their opponents; and the members of the senate. by what was felt to be their obdurate fidelity to their respective caucuses, in a petty matter, brought their body for a time into public contempt.

—In the state legislatures the caucus system also prevails, but in a less degree than in congress. The authority of the caucus is there mainly invoked in the selection of candidates for the positions filled by the legislature itself. It is especially used in selecting the candidates for the speakership and for the United States senate. Aspirants for these positions not unfrequently attend at the place of meeting of the legislature in time to receive the members as they arrive, and to make personal supplication for their votes in caucus. Every sort of influence is brought to bean to obtain such votes, candidates often opening "headquarters." a sort of a club room with free entertainment for all comers, and in one flagrant case a candidate for the senate was accompanied to the state capital by his wife, and his nomination and election were alleged to have been entirely due to the success of her personal appeals to members of the legislature for their votes in the party caucus. The whole of these influences are brought to bear to secure, not the votes of members in the legislature, but only the caucus nomination. No matter how that is secured, it stands as definitive. It determines the course of the legislature, and the decision of a legislative caucus about candidates has come consequently to be invested with all the attributes of a fetich. Politicians talk about it as if it possessed some peculiar and intrinsic virtue or efficacy, and members of the legislature are no more free to disregard such a nomination, no matter how ridiculous or scandalous it may be, and no matter by what agencies it was secured, than they are free to violate their oaths. The notion that the legislative caucus was an opportunity for consultation has been eliminated, and it has become merely an instrumentality for conferring absolute power upon a majority.

—III. Primary Elections. This expression is rapidly supplanting the use of the word caucus to designate the meetings of voters, for the direct nomination of candidates, or for the election of delegates to nominating conventions. In the country districts generally, and particularly in New England, the word caucus is still used. In the cities the increase of the safeguards which have been found necessary for the ascertainment of the results of a caucus, have surrounded it with so many formalities that it is properly becoming known as a primary, or preliminary, election. Its primitive form is as follows: A few days before an election is to be held or a convention to meet, a call is issued addressed to the members of one political party residing in the same election district, usually a township, calling upon them to meet at a specified time and place, for the purpose of holding a caucus to choose candidates or delegates. This call is posted in prominent places in the town, such as the postoffice, but it is now also generally published in the local paper, if there be one. It was in the first instance usually issued by individuals acting on their own responsibility, and over their own names. At the appointed time, those assembled in response to it are called to order by one of the signers of the call, and a presiding officer and secretary are nominated and selected. The meeting is then declared to be organized and ready to proceed to the transaction of business, the nature of which is stated either by the presiding officer or by the person by whom the meeting was called to order. Any member of the caucus may nominate persons to be the candidate or delegates to be chosen, and several persons are usually nominated for each position. These nominations, if seconded, are acted upon in the order in which they are made. There is more or less formal debate, and the vote upon each nomination is taken viva voce, and the result announced by the chair. If the announcement is questioned, upon the demand of any member the vote is taken by a show of hands, or, more rarely, by actual count by the secretary and tellers. Members of the opposing party are not excluded from the meeting, but if detected in voting, any person may call the attention of the meeting thereto, and if the result has been affected in consequence, the intruder is turned out, and another vote taken, but the test of the right of any person to participate in the caucus is whether or not he voted with the party at the last general election, and of that fact his own assertion is almost invariably received as evidence. The caucus having made its nominations or selected its delegates, usually appoints a committee to prepare ballots and distribute them at the polls—though this is sometimes left to the enthusiasm of individuals—and adjourns sine die. The secretary, if delegates have been chosen, gives them a letter stating the fact of their election, which serves as their credentials in the convention to which they have been sent. Up to this point the caucus presents very nearly the pure democratic ideal, a return to which is so frequently held up as the sole remedy for machine politics, and the exactness of this description may be verified every year, in parts of New England and the west.

—It is, however, the fact, constantly overlooked, that such a caucus system does not rest upon political equality, but upon an amount of actual and therefore social equality, and of personal acquaintance among voters, which the great increase in the density of population and in the unequal distribution of wealth has tended to destroy, and which that increase has made impossible outside of small and comparatively thinly populated constituencies. The development of the caucus itself indicates this. As population thickens, especially in manufacturing districts in which there is a large comparatively transient class of voters, the personal acquaintance of voters with each other is no longer sufficient to detect whether all those who participate in the caucus are members of the party, or even whether they are all voters within the district. Strange faces appear, and the caucus is found to be controlled by workers in a particular interest, who may not be residents of the district, or even members of the same political party. Consequently the use of a check list is necessitated as the remedy. That is, no person is allowed a vote whose name is not registered as a voter within the district at the last election, and if, as in some states, there are no registration laws, the only means of preventing fraud seems to be violence. So long also as the regular party caucus may be called by individuals acting on their own responsibility, there is found to be danger that two or more caucuses will be held, each claiming to be the regular caucus; the authority to call the caucus must therefore be located, and committees, for that purpose, and later, for the purpose of providing the proper check lists, and of taking charge of the organization of the caucus, have to be provided for. Such committees are the basis of the whole structure of American party government. The members of the committees thus appointed hold from year to year, and as they are frequently re-appointed, they come thereby naturally into that greater knowledge of the politics and politicians of their districts which is the source of their undue political influence and of the power of political mechanism, which has lately attracted so much attention, and as the remedy for which, a return to that very system is urged, from which such committees have necessarily been evolved. With the increase of the necessity of these two agencies—committees and check lists—the caucus system has assumed, in various places, all of the forms which make up the whole chain of development between the primitive caucus above described and the elaborate primary organizations in New York city which will alone be further mentioned, as the ultimate form toward which the whole caucus system is tending. There are in New York three primary election systems, the republican, Tammany hall and democratic. The basis of the republican system is the republican district associations, of which there is one in each of the 24 assembly districts. These associations are permanent clubs, sending delegates to the republican central committee composed of 159 members, which has the general direction of the affairs of the republican party in the city, and is, in its turn, practically controlled by a small executive committee. The district associations all have the same constitution, which is published together with that of the central committee, and this constitution can only be amended by a vote of two-thirds of all of the associations after the amendment has been proposed by the central committee at the request of five of the associations. A meeting of a district association is theoretically a caucus of the republicans of the assembly district in which it is located. The fact is, however, widely different. No person is admitted to the meeting of the association, i. e, to the primary meeting or caucus, who is not a member of the association. But in order to become a member of the association it is necessary to be proposed by one who is already a member. The applicant's name must then be posted upon a bulletin board; after which, a report upon the applicants may be presented to a meeting of the association, and all those whose names are favorably reported may become members of the association, provided a majority of the members present at such meeting vote in their favor, and provided that the applicant shall thereafter sign the roll within a specified period, but not otherwise. It is, however, a prerequisite to signing the roll that applicants should take a pledge, observance of which is a condition of admission to, or continuance in, the membership of any primary association. This pledge requires that the applicant shall: 1. "Support the republican party organization of which the association is a recognized portion." 2. "Submit to the legally expressed action of the association and of the central committee." 3. "Honorably sustain all nominations made by the republican party through its legally constituted conventions called or recognized by the central committee." 4. "Not become a member of any committee or body which does not recognize the authority of the association."

—In order to secure the better observance of these pledges, there is in each association a standing committee for the investigation of breaches of them, known as the committee on discipline, and it is provided that for a willful failure "to keep the pledge of membership, any guilty member may be expelled by the vote of a majority at any meeting" of the association. This authority has been frequently exercised, and it has been stretched so far that in one case a member was expelled because he had opposed the nomination by the president to a federal office, of one of the officers of the association. The tendency is obviously to control the whole political action of members of the association, and to exclude from membership such republicans as decline to allow such control, or to take the required pledges. As a matter of fact the very great majority of republicans are thus excluded. Although there are no means of ascertaining exactly how many republicans belong to these associations, their number probably does not exceed one-tenth of the whole. The remaining nine-tenths are for all party purposes disfranchised. They have no share whatever in making nominations, they can have no standing in conventions, and they are not recognized by the party organization as members of the party. At the election of 1880, the republican vote in New York city was about 80,000, while the rolls of the republican associations contained less than 15,000 names, and a large number of these names were of persons who had died, or removed. In 1879, Mr. George Bliss, than whom no person can be better qualified to speak on this subject, in a letter to Mr. Arthur, says: "The rolls are deceptive; in one district half the names of those on the rolls are not known in the district. These bogus names afford a convenient means for fraudulent voting," and the rolls of other districts "are full of the names of men not republicans." It may, therefore, be fairly said that 8,000 is a liberal estimate of the number of republicans who are members of these associations, and who are, therefore, eligible to participate in the primaries.

—Such is the constitution and membership of the republican primaries. They are not representative but exclusive, and because of the conditions of membership they are composed of the least worthy portion of the party. In case an association expels or refuses to admit a member, a nominal remedy is provided, by an appeal to the central committee, but that body frequently refuses to act on such appeals, and if the district association simply refuses to act upon the name of any applicant, there are no means of compelling them to do so.

—The procedure of these associations is quite as far removed from that of the primitive caucus as their constitution. The officers are permanent and elected annually, the voting is by secret ballot, and a meeting together of any considerable number of the members of any association is extremely rare. Practically, all the business of the association is transacted by small committees. If, for instance, a candidate is to be nominated, or delegates to a nominating convention are to be chosen, a ticket prepared by the executive committee is printed, and the function of the association is discharged by voting for or against this ticket, for which purpose the polls are opened for two or three hours in an evening, and probably not more than half a dozen members of the association will meet together during that time.

—The Tammany system is theoretically completely popular; primary elections are nominally held in each of the election districts of the assembly districts, or altogether in 678 election districts, to which all democrats, resident in the respective districts, are invited. After the polls are closed, the ballots are, however, subjected to a process called "inspection" by the central committee of Tammany hall or its appointees, and in its practical workings the whole Tammany system is a farce. Under the cloak of popular forms, it is one of the most complete and corrupt instrumentalities for the centralization of power which has yet been devised. (See article on TAMMANY HALL.)

—The democratic system is the result of the reorganization of the various anti-Tammany democratic factions, brought about, in 1881, by a practically self-appointed committee of 100. Under this system primary elections are to be held annually in each of 678 election districts, at which all democratic electors resident in the respective districts may participate, provided they were registered at the last general election. The persons voting at any primary shall be members of the election district association for the ensuing year, which is to be organized in January of each year. The associations may admit democratic residents in their respective districts, who are not members, to membership, and they have general supervision of the interests of the party within their districts. Primaries are held on not less than four days' public notice, through the newspapers, of the time and place, and at the appointed time the meeting is called to order by the chairman of the election district association, provided 20 persons be present; if that number shall not be present, the meeting may be called to order with a less number, at the end of 15 minutes. The first business of the meeting is to select a chairman, and all elections of delegates or committeemen shall take place in open meeting. Each person, as he offers to vote, states his name and residence, which may be compared with the registration list at the last election, and each person shall state for whom he votes, or he may hand to the judges an open ballot having designated thereon the persons for whom he votes and for what positions. Nominations are all made by conventions of delegates from the districts within which the candidate to be chosen is to be voted for. There is an assembly district committee in each assembly district, composed of one delegate for each 100 votes or fraction thereof, from each election district within the assembly district. There is also a county committee, composed of delegates from each of the assembly district committees. The function of these committees is generally to look after the interests of the parties within their respective spheres. This system is too new for its workings to be as yet fairly criticised. It may prove a really popular system, or it may prove only an inchoate form of the other systems; at present it can only be said that the first primaries under it were participated in by 27,000 electors.

—IV. The evils of the caucus and primary election system lie in the stringent obligation which is attached to the will of a formal majority; in the fact that the process of ascertaining what the will of the majority is, has been surrounded with so many restrictions that the actual majority of voters are disfranchised, and take no part in that process, so that the formal majority is in consequence no longer the majority in fact, although it continues to demand recognition of its decisions as such; and in the further fact, that under a debauched system of civil service the machinery for making nominations, or of finding out what the will of the majority is, has fallen largely under the control of those who hold or seek public office, as a consequence of the prevailing theory that such offices are the proper reward of political services and the spoil of the victors in a political contest. This conception of public offices as spoils, furnishes officeholders with an illegitimate incentive to political activity, the effect of which is seen in the fact of their control of the organization. In the democratic organization in New York, a very large number of those who serve on committees and direct primary elections are office-holders, and in the republican organization, under the Arthur and Cornell régime, in 19 out of the 24 assembly districts the chairman of the district associations, in whom is vested an almost controlling power, was a federal officeholder, the secretaries of these associations were likewise federal officeholders, and in the central committee, out of 159 members, 93 were salaried servants of the federal government. It is obviously preposterous to assume that a primary system thus officered, and including only one-tenth of the voters of a party, represents that party, yet this is precisely the assumption which is acted upon by the republicans of New York. The organization described is the regular organization, and none other is recognized. It exercises all the authority of a majority. It chooses all delegates to conventions, makes all nominations, and its nominees are supported upon no other possible theory than that they are the choice of the majority. Very distinguished men have taken pains to make it known that they always support the "regular" ticket, and as they and the large class they lead, have actively supported the men most obnoxious to them, whose nominations were stated to be for the purpose of "disciplining the party," nominations have come to be made without regard to this class, and to suit the pleasure of the nominating machine. In consequence, elective officers have come to look upon those who thus control the nominating machinery, and not the mass of voters, as their true constituents, and to act accordingly. The separation between the organization and the party, between those who nominate and those who elect, is the sum of the evils of the highly organized caucus system. It has its roots in the notion that the majority is right, because it is the majority, which is the popular view, thus expressed by Hammond: "I think that when political friends consent to go into caucus for the nomination of officers, every member of such caucus is bound in honor to support and carry into effect its determination. If you suspect that determination will be so preposterous that you can not in conscience support it, then you ought on no account to become one of its members. To try your chance in a caucus and then because your wishes are not gratified, to attempt to defeat the result of the deliberation of your friends, strikes me as a palpable violation of honor and good faith. You caucus for no other possible purpose than under the implied agreement that the opinion and wishes of the minority shall be yielded to the opinions of the majority, and the sole object of caucusing is to ascertain what is the will of the majority. I repeat that unless you intend to carry into effect the wishes of the majority, however contrary to your own, you have no business at a caucus." (Political History of New York, vol. i., p. 192.)

—In accordance with this theory the will of the majority becomes obligatory as soon as it is made known, and one can not assist at a caucus in order to ascertain the will of the majority, without thereby being bound to follow it; and the theory is so deeply rooted that, under the caucus and primary election system, it has been extended to cases in which the majorities are such only in form.

—V. The remedies as well as the evils of the caucus and nominating system have been made the subject of general discussion in connection with civil service reform. It is claimed that that reform, by giving to public officers the same tenure of their positions which is enjoyed by the employés of a corporation of a private business house, or during the continuance of efficiency and good behavior, would abolish or greatly diminish the evils of the caucus system, by depriving public officers of the illegitimate incentive to maintain it under which they now act. Other more speculative remedies have been suggested. It is proposed, on the one hand, to very greatly diminish the number of elective offices, and, in order to do away with the pre-determination of elections, to restrict the political action of the people in their own persons to districts so small that they can meet together and act as one body, and that in all other affairs than those of these small districts the people should act by delegates. The theory here seems to be, by doing away with elections, so far as may be, to get rid of the necessity for election and nominating machinery. (See "A True Republic," by Albert Strickney. New York, 1879, and a series of articles in Scribner's Monthly for 1881, by the same writer.) On the other hand, it is proposed to greatly increase the number of elections, by taking the whole primary system under the protection of the law. This plan proposes: 1. The direct nomination of candidates by the members of the respective political parties in place of nominations by delegates in conventions. 2. To apply the election laws to primary elections. 3. To provide that both political parties shall participate in the same primary election instead of having a different caucus for each party. 4. To provide for a final election to be held between two candidates, each the representative of a party, who have been selected by means of the primary election.

—This plan would undoubtedly do away with the evils of the present caucus system, but it contains no guarantee that a new caucus system would not be erected for the purpose of influencing "the primary election" in the same manner in which the present primary system now influences the final election. (See, however, "The Elective Franchise in the United States," New York, 1880, by D. C. McMillan.)

—The effective remedy for the evils of the caucus system will probably be found in the sanction of primary elections by law, in accordance with some such form as is known in Pennsylvania as the "Crawford County System," so called after the usage of that county, which provides for a direct vote by the electors within a district for the person to be nominated, and that the person receiving the greatest number of votes shall be the candidate. But no satisfactory method of thus legalizing primaries has yet been devised. Bills for this purpose were introduced by the Hon. Erastus Brooks into the New York legislature in 1881, which provided substantially for the system proposed by Mr. McMillan, but they were left unacted upon, and no legislative attempt to regulate primaries, except by providing for their being called and for their procedure, has been made elsewhere. In Ohio what is known as the Baber law provides that where any voluntary political association orders a primary, it must be by a majority vote of the central or controlling committee of such party or association; that the call must be published for at least five days in the newspapers, and state the time and place of the meeting, the authority by which it was called, and the name of the person who is to represent that authority at each poll. The law also provides for challenging voters, for the punishment of illegal voting, and for the bribery or intervention of electors or judges. (Rev. Stat. Ohio, sees. 2916-2921.) A similar law in Missouri is made applicable to counties only of over 100,000 inhabitants, but by this law it is made optional with the voluntary political association whether it will or not hold its primaries under the law, and if it does, it is provided that the county shall incur no expense in the conduct of such elections. (Laws of Missouri, 1875, p. 54.) A similar law also exists in California. (Laws of California, 1835-6, p. 438.) These laws comprise all the existing legislation on the subject.

—Until an effective legal control of the caucus system shall be devised, and the civil service shall be reformed, the only remedy at hand for the evils of the caucus system is a greater amount of what has been described as "individuality in politics." Public opinion may in this country never permit self-nominations to elective officers, but in smaller districts, at least, very much may be accomplished by spontaneous or independent nominations, made by a few well known men of high character, which shall claim popular support not because they pretend to be made by a majority of a party, but because they are intrinsically excellent, and are certified so to be by the men of recognized reputation who make them. If, however, character can not be thus in some degree substituted for the majority as the basis of the political action, individuals must make it plain that the authority of the majority rests in the fact of its being right, and not merely in the fact of its real or pretended existence. Votes should not be yielded unconditionally at the mention of the party name, and until the legal remedy for the existing caucus shall be found, the true attitude of the individual toward it is perhaps best expressed by John Jay in the following language used by him in a letter replying to criticisms of himself for bolting a caucus nomination in 1812. He says: "We approve of the customary mode of nominating candidates, and have uniformly concurred in it; that concurrence certainly involved our tacit consent to be bound by the nomination which should be so made. But it is equally certain that such consent did, does and ever will rest on the condition, trust and confidence that such nominations only be made as we could or can support without transgressing the obligation we are under to preserve our characters and our minds free from humiliation and reproach." (Life and Writings of John Jay, vol. i., p. 448)

FREDERICK W. WHITRIDGE.

CAUSE AND EFFECT IN POLITICS.

CAUSE AND EFFECT IN POLITICS. Nothing seems more natural and, at first sight, easier, than to refer facts, if not always to their true, at least to their probable and apparent cause. And still we see men, at every instant, bringing two circumstances, two facts, into connection, and making one follow from the other without inquiring whether it is materially or morally possible that the one should issue or result from the other. This error often goes so far as to confound cause and effect. Have laws their origin in customs, or customs their origin in laws? Is it the government that corrupts the nation; or is the government itself an emanation of the nation, made in its image? Here are questions, and they might be multiplied, which will be answered well or ill according as men are able or not to distinguish cause from effect.

—It is evident that the answer to such questions is no mere trifle; but that attention should be directed to the effects of our own actions, individual or national, is of still greater importance. A well known precept tells us to foresee the consequences of our own acts. All admit the necessity of this, and still it is neglected in many cases.

—How often are men satisfied with saying, "I shall do this," or "we shall do that," without carrying their thought beyond. "I shall do this," or "I shall do that," is very quickly said; but the purpose can not generally be carried out except when man is face to face simply with dead nature, with clay and stone. In such case the resistance may be easily calculated, and a man may say: "I shall do this;" for he can overcome stone and clay and iron. But when opposed to men we are not so sure of success. Other men are almost always our equals, and as often our superiors as our inferiors. And we should ask: What would others do if we should act against them in this or that manner? What would be the effect of our action? We should never for a single moment lose sight of the fact, that each one of our acts is a cause.

—We are greatly afraid of preaching in the wilderness. Nations will continue to close their ports to foreign goods, and yet will be astonished (just as if it were not a natural effect of the cause) that other countries should do the same to theirs. The French will shout, death to the English! and then find it wicked that the English should cry, down with the French! Men try to weaken their neighbors and then grow angry because these neighbors in turn try to weaken them. We demand liberty for ourselves and are still unable to understand that our fellow citizens should have it also; we find it natural to enjoy liberty ourselves, and take it away from those who think differently from us. We might multiply examples if we wished to depart from generalities applicable to all countries for the purpose of citing special determinate facts. But why do this? Would men thereby become more accustomed to put themselves mentally in the place of others? Would they see the beam in their own eye more clearly, or give a stricter application to the golden rule of doing unto others only that which they would that others should do to them? In a word, would men look at causes more seriously and better foresee effects?

M. B.

CELIBACY, Clerical

CELIBACY, Clerical, an institution of the Roman Catholic church which prohibits the marriage of her clergy. Even outside the Roman church, and in times anterior to Christianity, we find traces of a like attempt to subdue human nature by its own power. But we must here limit our considerations to that form of celibacy which has attained a real historical importance, the celibacy of the Roman Catholic clergy.

—The Old Testament knows nothing of a command prescribing the celibacy of the priesthood; neither does the New Testament, although we there find it intimated, in a general way, that under certain circumstances it may be more advisable not to take a wife (1 Cor. 7: 38); and this intimation was not without influence during the early period of Christianity and the church. During the first three centuries we find some of the clergy practicing celibacy, but always voluntarily, not because it was a law. It was far from being the rule. The fourth century, however, made a decided move in the direction of celibacy. Regulations favoring it were drawn up, as, for instance, at the council of Ancyra in 314 It was distinctly declared that the unmarried priest deserved the preference over the married priest, although marriage was not yet prohibited. Toward the end of the fourth century (375) Silicius, bishop of Rome, declared that marriage impaired the efficiency of the priesthood and their calling, and his opinion was followed by his successors in the fifth century. At first the prohibition of marriage was intended for the higher grades of the clergy only, for bishops, priests and deacons; but, before long it was extended to sub-deacons after ordination also. The temporal power did not oppose the attempts made to elevate the prohibition of marriage into a law for the priesthood; on the contrary, it favored the endeavor as much as it could, and gave it the support of its authority.

—We must not forget that there was in the development of the Catholic church something which strove to establish the supremacy and promote the universal establishment of celibacy. Opposition to celibacy was not slow in manifesting itself, an opposition which came from the ranks of the clergy themselves. It was not without foundation, therefore, that the observance of celibacy was repeatedly enjoined. Yet it was reserved for the eleventh century to decide in favor not only of this law, but to assert the triumph of the church generally. Pope Gregory VII., with whose name this triumph is connected, in this case, invented nothing, nor introduced anything new, any more than into his whole system; but he understood how to give the celibacy of the clergy enduring power and to overcome the resistance of the nations on whom the church had chiefly to lean, notably of the Germans. There can be no doubt that in considering the question of celibacy pope Gregory VII. gave much less thought to considerations of abstract morality than to expediency; and that his only object was to establish the supremacy and unity of the church through a clergy independent of the state. He declared this himself in an unmistakable manner when he said: Non liberari potest ecclesia a servitute laicorum, nisi liberentur clerici ab uxoribus. Gregory's successors remained faithful to his doctrine, and propagated it, without, however, being able everywhere to enforce it practically, as for instance in the case of the Slavonian Catholics.

—Yet however necessary the regulation may have been or have seemed to be at the time of its introduction, it was soon followed by crying evils, especially in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. The complaints of the immorality of the clergy became so general that doubts as to the propriety of celibacy were soon everywhere expressed, and it was asked whether morality did not lose by the system at least as much as the power of the church gained by it.

—At the time of the reformation there were voices enough heard in the Catholic church demanding the abolition of the rule of celibacy. Several princes, even king Charles V. in interim endeavored to bring it about, in the hope of thus paving the way to a reconciliation between the Protestants and the Catholic church. Opposition was not wanting even later, noticeably in the eighteenth century, but to no purpose. LITERATURE F. A. and August Theiner, Die Einführung der erzurungenen Ehelosigkeit bei den christlichen Geistlichen und ihre Folgen, Altenburg, 1828, 2 ed. 1845, 2 vols; Carové, über das Cölibatsgesetz des römischkatholischen Klerus, Frankfort-on-the-Main, 1832, 1853, and das römische Cölibatsgesetz in Frankreich und Deutschland, Offenbach, 1834; Der Cölibat, Regensburg, 1841.

WEGELE.

CELIBACY, Political Aspects of.

CELIBACY, Political Aspects of. In the same country, at different times, religion has been seen exalting celibacy, making it a virtue, and the civil law condemning, stigmatizing and subjecting it to taxation, excluding it from certain honors or dignities. It is not our task here to decide what a church should prescribe to its believers. That is an affair of internal discipline, and we do not recognize in ourselves any right of interference. But in politics or in administration and taxation, every distinction between married and single men is unjust and rests on false views. The legislator hoped sometimes to be able to compel marriage, forgetting that the man who does not yield to the powerful law of nature which makes marriage desirable to every adult, and even to minors, has sufficiently strong reasons not to be forced to contract marriage by financial or other like penalties imposed by the state. We say it is unjust to make celibacy an offense, for more than one avoids marriage for reasons of health: others because they are burdened with a family which they are obliged to support, for example, aged parents, etc.; and still others from motives quite as landable. These celibates far from being punished should rather be honored for being able to overcome an inclination to which nature has given such power. Moreover, we understand (without justifying them, be it well understood) the measures favoring marriage in new countries, as though the facility of rearing a family were not a sufficient encouragement needing no other incitement; but in very populous countries it would be difficult to modify these laws in a suitable manner. Who knows but a time will come when people will think rather of encouraging celibacy in order to arrest, if possible, the rising wave of population?

M. B.

CELTS.

CELTS. (See RACES.)

CENSURE.

CENSURE. (See PARLIAMENTARY LAW.)

CENSURE OF MORALS.

CENSURE OF MORALS. Beginning with the sixteenth century, the noble name of censure was given to that ill-starred guardianship of the press, which for a length of time interfered with the progress of political education, but did not keep back the dreaded revolution in Europe, and was at length abolished by general consent. The word censure was borrowed from the Romans, who had thus modestly named one of the grandest and worthiest institutions of their state.

—We find kindred institutions among other ancient nations. Thus the Areopagus and the Archons among the Athenians, and the Ephors among the Spartans, exercised the functions of moral judges. The remarkable Chinese institution of Tu-tschea-Yuen, is also essentially a court of moral censure. Its members are considered commissioners of heaven, as the "visible conscience of the state," and give expression to praise or blame, even concerning the highest officials. The emperor himself is not spared by them when he deviates from the sacred customs. But the Romans distinguished more clearly between morality and law, and could not allow the magistrate who presided in a law suit, nor the judge who decided on the right and the wrong, to watch over morals and punish immorality, without surrendering the legal security they had won. So far, therefore, as the Roman state used its authority for the preservation of good morals and to take decisive steps against immorality, a special magistracy seemed to be needed; and the censorship was created for that purpose.

—During the middle ages the Christian church showed a decided tendency to assume the entire moral direction and education of nations. Ecclesiastical now took the place of civil censure. The state itself needed the moral care of the church. The ancient Roman-Byzantine empire was, in a moral sense, weak: it was in decay. It needed a physician, and the still uncivilized Germanic peoples, although morally healthier and stronger, submitted willingly to the divine authority and felt the ideal elevation of the Christian religion, which in the Roman priesthood found its first devoted advocates and representatives This continued even after the reformation, though under changed conditions, and the reformers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were especially distinguished for their church discipline. When the temporal power assisted here with its external repressive measures, it did so with the moral authority of ecclesiastical censure, not as an independent temporal-moral power. Church and state divided the work of ruling nations. The one took the moral, the other the legal province. It is evident that at this time the idea of a political censure of morals could not easily arise.

—Still in the modern state the want of filling up the void thus left is felt, and not simply because ecclesiastical censure has lost its principal power, and a restoration of it, in the spirit of the middle ages, is an impossibility. Even if we recognize that the life task of the church lies essentially in the province of morality, and that that of the state, on the other hand, is the control of legal relations, it only results therefrom, that as a rule, the state should leave purely moral questions either to the church or to private persons, and should guard against untimely and officious interference in this sphere. Since the state itself is a moral being and must in its own interest take morality into consideration, it must, when and in so far as its very life is concerned, issue general moral regulations, and also, if exceptionally, take a position against peculiar moral dangers.

—As a rule, the state should not be allowed to interfere at all in private morals. This is the affair of individuals, not of the state. If the state exercises authority here, the distinction between morals and law is confounded, and the moral powers of the citizen, which become manifest and are developed by free self-determination, are fatally injured, not strengthened. But the power of the state may here be called forth exceptionally, when the open immorality of individuals threatens the moral foundations, both of the social life of men and the public welfare; that is when their harmful action on public morals is evident. Thus, for example, as a rule the state concerns itself with the relations of the sexes only in so far as the law is violated or scandal calls upon it to defend good morals. In like manner, money matters are left to private persons and free contract. But when a rich man misuses his property mercilessly and openly to oppress and exhaust the poor, even in a form which can not be reached by the law, or when a sensual profligate outrages the feelings of decency and good morals among the people through his display of senseless luxury, the state has good ground to practice censure after the manner of the Romans.

—If the intervention of the state in cases of private immorality is justifiable only in rare cases and under exceptional circumstances, it may interfere more readily where public (political) morality appears immediately concerned; but in such a case only to supplement the law, and only when the political immorality is undoubted, and the moral health of the state appears seriously affected. The Roman censors denounced the breach of a political oath; immoral projects of laws; breach of political decorum; and cowardly conduct in time of Janger, which is the more blameworthy in proportion to the greatness of the confidence demanded by the public character of the position. An excess of haughty harshness toward subordinates, and indecent stockjobbing on the part of high and influential officials and similar persons, may be considered as further reasons which, in clear cases of public scandal, may rouse political censure to activity.

—The police regulations of the present are utterly insufficient in all these cases. The Romans had the fine tact not to intrust the exercise of high political censure to subordinate servants of authority. Only the most honorable and most distinguished statesmen were chosen censors. There was no dignity in the Roman republic more highly respected than that of censor. "Majesty" was ascribed to the office. In this lies the surest and greatest guarantee of the whole institution. Nothing would be more destructive than to give it to ordinary officials, or, through court favor allow it to be exercised in bureaucratic fashion The opponents of all political censure are perfectly right so long as there is any danger of its being administered in this manner. Better no censure than a bureaucratic one. Only he whose person has moral authority should exercise such a power in the state. Political offices of honor well organized in this spirit might furnish the state with the same guarantees, and render it services similar to, and even better than the Roman magistracy rendered the Roman republic.

—With regard also to the course of procedure and means of correction the censure of the Romans is worth considering. The censors lodged official accusation, but they gave the accused whom they summoned before them full opportunity to defend themselves. They pronounced their sentences in public, and assigned reasons for them. A check was imposed on the partiality or passion of a single censor by the intervention of other censors; and if the censors of one lustrum acted too severely, their successors in office in the following lustrum might remedy the evil.

—The corrective measures of the censors answered to the fundamental character of the censorship as a moral institution. They did not affect, as does punishment proper which belongs to the law, the person, the property, or the freedom of the accused, particularly not his private rights, but exclusively his political honor and political rights. Their action was, therefore, limited to the field of moral appreciation and political life. The unworthy senator might be struck from the list of senators. The immoral knight might be deprived of his horse; other citizens less highly placed might be excluded from their class and reduced to a lower voting class, or deprived of suffrage altogether. Exclusion from honors and office was a regular effect of censorial blame, and the dishonor inseparable from the same was sensibly felt in social intercourse.

—Modern censure would have nothing new to discover in all these respects, but merely to transfer Roman thought to modern life. Exclusion from rights of association and from those of honor, from suffrage and eligibility to places of public trust, would be in our day a very effective and at the same time a thoroughly justifiable means of seriously punishing open immorality and enforcing political morals.

J. C. BLUNTSCHLI

CENSURES

CENSURES (IN U. S. HISTORY). In case of violation of law by the president, the constitutional process of punishment is impeachment by the house, conviction by the senate, and removal from office. (See IMPEACHMENTS, I.) In two cases, where a legal majority for impeachment was impossible a single branch of congress has endeavored, by separate action, to inflict an extra judicial condemnation upon the president.

—I. March 28. 1834. (see BANK CONTROVERSIES, III.; DEPOSITS, REMOVAL OF), after a three months' debate, in which the resolutions had been variously modified, the senate resolved, by a vote of 26 to 20, "That the president, in the late executive proceedings in relation to the public revenue, has assumed upon himself authority and power not conferred by the constitution and laws, but in derogation of both." April 15, in a special message, president Jackson protested against the resolution on the ground that it accused him of perjury in violating his oath of office, and was thus an indirect and illegal method of impeachment, a condemnation against which he had no opportunity to defend himself. The senate refused to receive the protest or place it on record upon the journal. Senator T. H. Benton, of Missouri, at once gave notice that he would offer a resolution each year to expunge the resolution of censure. After an intermittent struggle of three years. Jackson's supporters carried the expunging resolution, and the resolution of censure was marked around by broad black lines with the memorandum "Expunged by order of the senate this 16th day of January, 1837." The argument against this was, that it violated the constitutional direction to the senate, to "keep a journal" of its proceedings; and in favor of it, that the original resolution was extra legislative, had no more place on the journal than the record of a horse race, and ought to be stricken out. As the former argument involves a plain direction of law, it must have more weight than the latter, which is wholly a matter of opinion.

—II. During the session of 1841-2 (see WHIG PARTY; TYLER, JOHN; TARIFF), a tariff bill was passed containing a provision for the distribution of surplus revenue among the states. To this president Tyler objected as an innovation directly designed to encourage extravagantly high tariffs beyond the needs of the country, and he therefore vetoed the bill Aug. 9, 1842. The conflict between Tyler and the whigs had become extremely embittered. The whigs, though in a majority in both houses, could not command a sufficient vote either to impeach or to pass bills over the veto. They therefore took the unusual step, in the house, of referring the veto message to a committee whose majority report censured the president for improper use of the veto. Against this report Tyler protested, but, as he had voted against the reception of Jackson's protest in the senate in 1834 the house sent him a copy of the senate resolution on that occasion.

—See (I.) 12, 13 Benton's Debates of Congress; 2 von Holst's United States, 68; 4 Webster's Works, 103-147; 1 Benton's Thirty Years' View, 423, 717-730; and authorities under DEPOSITS, REMOVALS OF; (II.) 14 Benton's Debates of Congress, 505-529; 2 von Holst's United States, 458; 2 Benton's Thirty Years' View, 413-417; and authorities under BANK CONTROVERSIES, IV.

ALEXANDER JOHNSTON.

CENSUS.

CENSUS. Census taking, or the counting of the population of a country, has been practiced from time immemorial. The Bible makes mention of it, but not always approvingly. The oriental nations still retain their prejudices against the taking of a census, which is so necessary in every state. It is fortunate that Christian countries do not share these prejudices; for there are many cases in which it is indispensable to know the number of the population.

—The operation is not, however, so easy as one might believe. Various systems have been tried, and agreement among specialists in the matter is of only recent date. Formerly the custom was to count the legal population, that is, inhabitants with a domicile, and who were present, or only temporarily absent, when the census was taken. Now the census gives the actual population.

—The actual population is that which is found in each locality, at a given time, whether it be "resident" or "floating." An inhabitant of Bordeaux or Lille, so-journing in Paris at the time of the census, would, under the old system in France, be numbered among the inhabitants of Bordeaux or Lille, and under the new system, among the floating population of Paris (as a traveler).

—In order to ascertain the actual population the census must be taken throughout the entire extent of a country on the same day (or same night). For this reason, before the day indicated for the taking of the census, the government sends to all the house-holders blanks which they are required to fill. This is the method adopted in England, and we think it may be recommended. We would not even hesitate to establish by law, as that country does, a penalty against such as refuse to furnish the desired information, or who give it in an incorrect manner. In Germany they have tried to substitute individual blanks for family ones, but we do not know whether the experiment has been successful.

—In some countries, in France for example, the taking of the census lasts several weeks, because the census-takers go from house to house. This method admits of more errors, and especially of more repetitions than the other. The traveler may be counted in two places in the same census.

—In many countries the census includes, beside the inhabitants, an enumeration of the cattle, houses, and factories, and the government also avails itself of this circumstance to collect other information.

MAURICE BLOCK.

CENTRALIZATION and DECENTRALIZATION.

CENTRALIZATION and DECENTRALIZATION. The contrast between centralization and decentralization is to be found everywhere: in social and political life, in the state and the church, in the municipality and even in the family; in public concerns and in the private affairs of large and small benevolent and educational institutions as well as of industrial establishments. Everywhere we find the relation of head and members, of centre and circumference, either stamped upon the original organism or formed by man; everywhere we find the task of properly understanding and regulating this relation, of distributing in proper measure the power of the centre and the independence of the circumference—the question of centralization and decentralization.

—When political centralization is spoken of, it must not be forgotten that the expression is only approximately correct; that it implies an imperfect comparison, which may lead to erroneous conclusions. It reminds us too strongly of the construction of a machine the different parts of which mechanically obey the central power without any capacity for self-determination. To the different members of the state organism there belongs, however, by virtue of natural necessity—although in intimate connection with the life of the centre—a sphere of free and independent action.

—The idea of political centralization admits of a strict or broad interpretation. When we compare the state of the middle ages with the modern state, the characteristic difference between them becomes apparent at once, the latter giving a wider scope to its action and consequently bringing a larger part of public life under its control than the former brought. While the care for instruction and for the support of the poor devolved formerly chiefly upon the church, the care for security and means of communication upon the municipality, and that for the administration of justice in a great measure upon the patrimonial tribunals in every part of Europe, the modern state has drawn these and other matters either entirely or partially into the sphere of its activity. Even at the present day this process is not finished, and the problem is not yet solved, how far the centralization of public life in the state should be extended. The problem embraces, at the same time, the question of separation of those things which should be subjected only to state supervision, from those which come within the immediate sphere of action of the state power. Within the wider or narrower limit which the state puts to its sphere of action, the question of centralization again arises. Should legislation be reserved entirely to the central state power, or be partly transferred to provincial and district legislative organs? Should it be placed entirely in the hands of the head of the state, or be made dependent upon the co-operation of the representatives of the people? Should the law give expression to the variety of interests in the state, as well as to the unity of the state? Should the administrative offices of secondary or subordinate rank be simply the tools of the centre, or be invested with relative independence? Should the people take a part in the business of government, or is all the business of administration of affairs of state to be concentrated in government offices? After the centralization of public life in the state, therefore, the centralization of the life of the state in the head of the state and in offices is a subject for reflection.

—The contrast between political centralization and decentralization is not confined to the constitution of the state which is a unit; it is also apparent in the laws regulating the union of a number of federated states. On the other hand, it is met with within the unit-state in the wider and narrower circles of district and municipal constitutions. There does not exist, for the proper measure of centralization, any general rule equally well adapted to all states and to all times.

—The members of the political organism do not show the same aptitude and the same desire for an independent expression of their life, in different nations and at different times. The French surrender themselves, more than do the Germans, to the whole. Their nature, more than the German, seems to be able to bear strict centralization and to require it. In states where the people belong to one race or have become melted into one in course of time, there is less necessity to individualize the legislation and the administration than in states that have either been recently formed or which are composed of essentially different elements. In Spain the independence of municipal constitutions is of greater importance than in France; Joseph II. utterly failed in the attempt to adapt the same political system to Germans, Italians, Belgians, Bohemians and Hungarians. It is true that the peculiar nature of the state in his case imperatively demanded that every existing element of unity should be carefully nurtured from a strong centre; the holding together of nationalities striving for political disruption consists in the art of taking into consideration the peculiarity of their nature and of letting them fully experience the economical and political advantages arising from union with a large and powerful state. During any serious crisis, particularly in the event of a war for external independence, the necessity of centralization is much stronger than in times of peace. It here becomes imperative to increase the concentration of all available forces, thereby securing the power of the state against any impediment that might be created by the obstinacy of external force. In moments of the greatest danger centralization goes so far as to reach dictatorship.

—I. Centralization of Legislation. Under this head we have to consider, in the first place, the organization of legislative bodies; and next, the extent and the nature of their action. Correctly to represent the political and legal ideas prevalent among the people, their ideas of the state and of right must either be framed with the co-operation of the people themselves, or emanate from a personage of towering ability in whom their consciousness of law and right is concentrated. As the appearance of such individuals can not be counted on, the constitutional system in monarchical states has provided that laws shall be framed with the co-operation of the people. The representation of the people in the work of legislation can not keep the defects of the national character and the errors of the times from finding expression in the laws, but it can keep the errors and whims of single individuals from leaving their imprint on them. When properly regulated, the participation of the people in legislation not only guarantees the harmony of the law with the spirit of the people, at least in that which is fundamental, but also that the resources of the country shall not be employed to excess for state objects and that the wants of the different parts of the country and of the different classes of the entire people shall be recognized more certainly, duly appreciated, and properly attended to. There is no compensation for such guarantees when the central power has recourse to the advice of officials or boards (Behorden) which only too often are the mere reflection of the thought of the central powers, and of both its good qualities and its defects. The greatest although not insuperable difficulty in constitutional legislation lies in the danger, that in the multiplicity of elements at work the unit thought may be lost. This danger, it is true, is present to a less degree when legislation is in the hands of the head of the state, but even there it may be produced by rival influences.

—If the centralization of the legislative power is properly modified, the sphere of action of that power should not be extended further than is required by a centralized legislation. Both in legislation and administration the principle holds good, to assign to each its centre in the circle of those who are immediately concerned in its result, but to secure also to the more distant circles interested in it the possibility of affecting its action; the state does not meddle with legislation on subjects that are not of a state or political nature, and confines itself to the most general direction and supervision of those concerns which interest it only in a secondary degree. The defect in mediæval decentralization did not lie in the fact that the state left to each interest the care for its own concerns, but that it drew too narrow a limit to its own action, excluding much that concerned it very particularly or was intimately connected with its own interests.

—On the other hand, it is acknowledged, in principle at least, that civil legislation should not interfere with the free action of those who share in it; also that criminal legislation (although central in quite another sense), should leave room for the judge's estimate of the individual case, and that so-called administrative legislation can not commit a greater blunder than when, by disregarding the variety of economical conditions, intellectual culture and civilization, it takes as its starting point the fiction of an average state which exists nowhere, or which imposes the conditions of one part of the country upon all others.

—Nevertheless, this latter kind of faulty centralization is often found in modern laws, sometimes as the result of a false principle and again as a consequence of overhaste or superficiality. A sufficient protection against such errors is not afforded even by a representative constitution; it can only be secured through the preliminary discussion of the law at provincial and district meetings, by chambers of commerce, by conventions of business men, etc., in fact, particularly by the proper organs of the classes most interested in and most familiar with the subject. In other cases, in connection with these measures, the examination of experts or other competent persons by a committee of the legislative body may prove beneficial.

—We have been considering the decentralization of legislation from two essentially different points; in the first place, as the recognition of an autonomy which the state can not refuse without exceeding the limits of its powers and its rights; then as a matter of expediency, which may indeed be overlooked without violation of the law, but not without injury to the state. In the first place, the state power is called upon not to extend its sphere of action to matters foreign to it, and in the second, not to pass laws regulating any subject in its own sphere of action without the concurrence of those possessed of the most perfect knowledge of it and directly interested in the result.

—The recognition of autonomy above spoken of should find a place in the affairs relating to the church, to communities, institutions, associations, but not in the sense that state legislation could ignore them altogether. Even with regard to the church, which is allowed full independence within its own province, it behooves the power of the state to protect its own sphere from encroachment, and to regulate the extent and the conditions of its grants to the church and which the church expects from it.

—The state has more to do with the organization of other associations and corporations, especially of municipalities; but here, also, a state legislation, properly limited, acknowledges the principle of autonomy, and all legislative provisions are preceded by the question, not how the subject is to be regulated, but whether it can be regulated by the state at all.

—II. Centralization of the Administration. The contrast between state legislation and autonomy corresponds with the contrast between administration by officials and self-government. In both cases a line must be drawn between the right of independent action in matters which lie outside the jurisdiction of the state and the institutions called upon to co-operate in state affairs.

—The right of independent action belongs to churches, municipalities, and to all corporations which have neither been created by the state nor for it, not only in administration but also in legislation. These independent bodies possess the prerogative to be ruled according to their own conception of their mission, by authorities they themselves appoint and who are responsible to them. Only their independence is not absolute, and in so far as it behooves the state to interfere in their autonomy with its legislation, it has to superintend and define their administration through its authorities.

—The participation of citizens in the affairs of the state is called self-administration in a wider sense, and appears chiefly under two forms: first, when public offices are held as honorary positions by citizens who do not devote themselves to a public career with the view of earning a livelihood; secondly, when a committee of citizens is placed side by side with the administrative state power, with the right to make proposals, express opinions and interpose a veto.

—A state which excludes autonomy and self-administration, or limits them to a fictitious existence, deprives itself of a great power. It extends its task beyond its natural limits, while it, at the same time, diminishes its capacity to perform that task even within its natural limits. The state, like any other society, reaches its ends all the more completely, the better its members understand them, and possess the strength and inclination to fulfill them. This political education of the people, which made Rome great in antiquity and England in modern times, and the want of which has made Germany small, can only be attained through the participation of the many in public life. This political education alone overcomes the spirit of egoism, which knows no interest but personal advantage; makes no sacrifice for the general weal unless compelled; and which, where the state is concerned, does not shrink from acting in a manner considered immoral in private life, and remains a passive spectator during the perturbation of the order of the state until the danger has entered into the narrower circle of private interests. As the feeling for the common weal, so is also the capacity to serve it, a natural consequence of that political education which is acquired and practiced in the management of the affairs of the municipality, of corporations, associations and in the honorary officers in state administration. The constitutional state can least of all dispense with it, an institution requiring the people, through its representatives, to take a part in the highest work of legislation, will prove a failure rather than a success if these representatives are not returned by politically educated electors. Autonomy and self-administration in the electors are necessary conditions to the sharing of the people in the functions of the central power; and for the prosperity of the constitutional system. On the other hand, the constitutional system itself serves as a means of political education, exercising a beneficial influence upon the narrow circles of public life, and so they mutually condition each other.

—The objection has been raised against the principle of self-administration, that this liberty can not be granted to a people deprived of public spirit and sunk in individual interest, without endangering the treasure intrusted to them. That thus consciously or unconsciously the constitutional system is rejected, is evident from what has preceded. This objection would be well founded if the officers of government were chosen from a race endowed with higher political capacity, and not from the same nation as the governed. But the state takes its servants from the same people subject to the same imperfections. What they acquire in training for service and in the administration of their office, is scientific knowledge and refinement of manner, not public spirit. This highest qualification will be wanting in the civil service class, unless it has come to them as an inheritance, and unless kept alive in them by the public spirit of the whole people. The office accepted by the citizen as a duty of honor, without remuneration, is a school for political virtue and constant self-denial; but to the paid servant of the state the same office is merely a livelihood. A higher conception of his calling he acquires not by the possession of the office, but from the spirit of the community at large and from a supreme state direction in harmony with it. History confirms this; the lower a people had sunk, the more did official calling degenerate into bureaucracy.

—The administration of foreign affairs in which the state as a unit has to do with another state, should be concentrated entirely in the hands of the supreme power, but without prejudice to the granting of extraordinary powers in critical moments, on the one hand, and to regular intercourse with neighboring states on the other.

—Military affairs require a complete unity of administration, frequently reaching even to the smallest details. In war, when military operations are conducted far away from the centre of the state, the commander-in-chief should be invested with extensive powers so as to act any moment as the moment demands. The evil consequences of a disregard of this principle are abundantly shown in the German and more particularly in the Austrian annals of war. Of the affairs concerning the internal administration of the state, those referring to the state budget are the most adapted to a centralized treatment; they are managed by paid officials according to prescriptions frequently reaching down to the smallest details given by the supreme authority. This refers particularly to taxes and customs dues.

—Centralized administration is required also in the case of the police. The object of the police institution can often be attained only when the measures taken by the central or provincial authorities are speedily and uniformly carried out in all parts of the country. On the other hand, under pressing emergencies, even subordinate officials may find themselves compelled to act without delay according to their own view of the case.

—The administration of justice comes within the principle of centralization to some extent.

—Proper centralization has nothing in common with the ideas of absolutism, of state omnipotence and bureaucracy. "In unity, in the irresistible power of the whole, lies all that is great in the moral world. Centralization is in no way opposed to liberty; only the man is free who lives in the whole and in whom the whole lives. Nothing makes man more impotent, less free and weaker than isolation, extreme division and anarchy." (C. Rössler, Allgemeine Staatslehre, v. i., p. 347.)

—But proper decentralization has just as little in common with the ideas of radicalism, state impotence and anarchy. It keeps the power of the state together by preventing it from forcing itself into circles foreign to its calling. It secures to it the good will of capable men who wish to devote themselves to the state, but not to be absorbed by it. It grants every part its individual value, each office a competent sphere of action, and each existing force its freedom of movement.

—Proper decentralization grants every part the liberty to really live within the whole; and to the whole the power which is secured by a healthy development of all parts.

—BIBLIOGRAPHY. Some of the above questions have been treated in von Bülau's Die Behorden in Staat und Gemeinde, Leipsig, 1836. For France, see de Tocqueville, L'ancien régime et la révolution, Paris, 1856; von Mohl, Geschichte und Literatur der Staatswissenschaften v. iii., p. 193, etc. For England, see Gneist, Englisches Verwaltungsrecht, 2 vols., 2nd ed., 1867; Englische Kommunalverfassung, 2nd ed., 1863.40

K. BRATER.

CEREMONIAL

CEREMONIAL, International. By ceremony we here understand the aggregate of prescriptions of form which regulate intercourse in select circles of society. International ceremonial is therefore the collection of formal rules to be used in intercourse between the representatives of states.

—Since certain forms are indispensable in all intercourse of any importance; since, further, all intercourse in its inception finds difficulty in overcoming the vanity and self-exultation of those who are concerned in it, it is natural that we should find ceremonial precepts and disputes beginning at the period when European states came into more frequent contact with one another. At that period (the sixteenth century), Spain stood at the summit of her power. This explains why the Spanish ceremonial was enabled to make its way first to France and thence over the whole continent of Europe. The infinitely rigid forms of this ceremonial (see Leti Cœremoniale-historico-politicum, Amsterdam, 1685,) was in keeping with the exclusive rule of dynastic interests and the low degree of culture in that age.

—We remark in the eighteenth century a decrease in the stiffness of ceremonial forms and in the number of ceremonial disputes. An abrupt change was brought about in this direction by the French revolution, whose diplomates and generals purposely showed their contempt for the ancient court ceremonial. After the imperial throne of Napoleon was established all this was changed. The congress of Vienna effected a restoration of ceremonial. In this case, of course, the restoration was in accordance with the spirit of modern times. It was felt to be the task of ceremonial not to render intercourse between political representatives more difficult, but to facilitate it. Efforts were made to simplify it; and this tendency has happily continued to grow.

—There are different kinds of ceremonial according to the manner in which, and the difference of place at which, the representatives of several states meet. If the intercourse is personal and oral it is carried on according to the rules of court or diplomatic ceremonial, whether diplomates or diplomates and sovereigns are present. Court and diplomatic ceremonial are designated by the common name etiquette.

—Chancellery ceremonial gives the necessary rules for written communications between the representatives of states.

—Lastly, ships have long been considered as floating portions of territory, and both their meetings on the high sea, and their entering or leaving foreign maritime districts have been considered as the meeting between different state powers, and rules for salutation have been established. The collection of these rules is called sea-ceremonial.

—Space forbids us to enter into detail concerning these different ceremonials. We content ourselves with citing a few chief points. It is first to be remarked with regard to court ceremonial that sovereigns to whom kingly honors are due treat one another on a complete footing of equality. According to general usage the host yields precedence to his guest; grand dukes do the same when they meet emperors or kings. As to states to which royal honors are not due, at least everything is to be avoided which might be interpreted as want of respect for their sovereignty. That their representative, however, must give precedence to those of first class states, is self-evident.

—Those questions of diplomatic ceremonial which had previously given occasion to most disputes were settled by the protocol of the congress of Vienna signed March 19, 1819. This protocol established a classification of representatives and the order of their rank. Precedence in each class was to be regulated according to priority of credentials. In signing treaties the names were to be alternate or the country was to decide. (See AGENT, DIPLOMATIC.) At present the alphabetical order is usually resorted to, by taking the initial letter of the names which the countries bear in the French language. In personal intercourse diplomates often free themselves from the formalities of ceremony by the so-called pêlemêle.

—Chancellery ceremonial has become remarkably simple. Official letters to a sovereign with the so-called great or middle title, are scarcely seen. The small title, limited to a description of the chief dignity of the sovereign, is considered sufficient.

—The diplomatic intercourse of states is carried on mostly by dépêches communiquées, that is, through dispatches which the minister of foreign affairs sends to his ambassadors who read them to the minister of foreign affairs of the state to which they are accredited.

—In autograph letters between sovereigns of royal rank, the title brother is so usual that Napoleon III. considered the refusal of it on the part of the emperor Nicholas as an offense.

—In sea-ceremonial, the principle has been long in force that the ship which enters foreign waters must salute first. Formerly the great truth was not understood that the high sea could not be subjected to the rule of any state. England claimed dominion over certain parts of the high sea, and demanded in them the first and a humiliating salute from foreign flags, which gave occasion to the bitterest disputes and even to war. This pretension is at present extinguished. The obligation to give the first salute after entering foreign waters is as generally recognized as that on the high sea ships of various nationalities cannot require salutes of each other. Flag salutes on the part of war vessels are no longer customary. Cannon only are used in salutes.

—Though on the high sea a salute can no longer be demanded, it is generally given on both sides from reasons of politeness. It is the general rule that the first salute is given in the following cases: by merchantmen to ships of war; by a war ship having on board an officer of inferior rank to one with an officer of higher rank; by single war ships to squadrons, etc. Compare on this question, the queen's (of England) regulations, and the admiralty instructions for the government of her majesty's naval services, (1861); further, the United States navy regulations, etc.

—In reviewing the precepts of the existing international ceremonial, we call special attention to two points: The ceremonial of the present loses its personal character more and more, that is, its rules are considered less with reference to the single sovereign, diplomate or naval officer, than to the nation which is represented by either of them. Besides, the correct view is becoming more widely accepted, that the rules of ceremony and the claims arising from them, are rules and claims not of right but of manners. This sentence expresses our view of the future significance of ceremonial in the intercourse of nations Ceremonial will retain in the future, also, its significance for the representatives of states, just as the rules of politeness are of high value in the intercourse between cultured men, but its precepts will disappear more and more from international law.

—BIBLIOGRAPHY. Bluntschli, Modernes Völkerrecht, § 171, note, §§188, 189: Heffter, Völkerrecht, § 193 ff., 218 ff.; Martens' Guide diplomatique, 5th ed. by Geffeken, I., pp. 122 ff., 196 ff., 207 ff.; II., pp. 10 ff., 113 ff. 320 ff.

STRAUCH.

CHAMBER OF COMMERCE.

CHAMBER OF COMMERCE. Mr. M'Culloch, the English economist, thus defines a chamber of commerce: "An assembly of merchants and traders where affairs relating to trade are treated of," and Bouvier in his "Law Dictionary" as follows: "A society of the principal merchants and traders who meet to promote the general commerce of the place." There are several establishments of this kind in France. In the United States, the term, "Chamber of Commerce," or "Board of Trade," is frequently applied to an institution which would be more appropriately called "Exchange" or "'Change." The economic utility of these institutions will be treated of in the article EXCHANGE, which see.

E. D.

CHARGÉ D'AFFAIRES.

CHARGÉ D'AFFAIRES. (See AGENT, DIPLOMATIC.)

CHARITY, Private.

CHARITY, Private. Economists reject public or state charity as producing incomparably more evil than good. This has sufficed to bring upon their doctrines the accusation of extolling egoism, of stifling feelings of charity, of under valuing generosity and devotion. Happily these accusations are as stupid as they are odious, a fact which may be shown without difficulty.

—We shall first examine the arguments put forward by the two most eminent defenders of public charity, Lamartine and Thiers. Says Lamartine, in his Le Conseiller du Peuple: "Are fraternity and charity virtues? They are. Then society itself ought to exercise these two virtues; society should not, as is pretended by economists, who have no religion but arithmetic, free itself from these great duties and let misery and death take their course." Thiers, in his report to the French legislative assembly on public assistance, brings up the same considerations: "If the individual has virtues, can not society have them too? To our thinking the answer is not doubtful. We must not look upon the state as a cold, senseless, heartless being. The collection of members composing the nation, as they may be intelligent, courageous, polished, may be humane, charitable, as well as individuals themselves."

—What is society? If it be the collection of members composing the nation, it is clear that this collection will unite in themselves the total of all the virtues possessed by each one of the individuals composing it. If it is wished to personify the collection, and to make of it that creature of the mind called society or the state, it is absurd to attribute to this being which has no existence, an action independent of that of all the members composing the nation. If, however, we understand by society or the state the government, the question is changed altogether; and we must no longer ask whether charity being a virtue in the individual, is not equally a virtue in society, but whether it is proper, moral and advantageous to have charity practiced by the government, or whether it is even possible for the government to practice charity at all We say not. It is very evident that Charity and fraternity are virtues only when they are free and spontaneous. State and, therefore, forced, charity is not a virtue, it is a tax. Now, the sacrifice imposed on some in favor of others clearly loses the character of charity. The legislator has no merit in the case, for all he has to do is to cast his vote in its favor. The executive power or the tax collector has still less, for, instead of giving, he retains a part of the gift as pay for his services. Neither has the tax payer, since he contributes only in spite of himself. Where can we find here the conditions of charity: a benevolent inspiration followed by a voluntary sacrifice on the part of him who feels it? Is not that a strange kind of charity whose acts are performed by the tax gatherer and policeman?

—Economists who, according to Lamartine have no religion but arithmetic, have always shown themselves filled with pity for the sufferings of their neighbors, as profound as that which he himself felt; and if we look into the lives of the most illustrious among them, Quesnay, Turgot, Malthus, Smith, J. B. Say, Charles Comte, etc., we shall find a series of acts of noble disinterestedness, of devotion to truth, to justice and the unfortunate classes, worthy to be held up to all men animated by real philanthropy.

—Economists are specially occupied with the means of dispensing exact justice to every man, and with diminishing misery by acting on the causes which produce it; but they know that preventive measures will never be enough to eradicate it: that there will always exist in society a great number of individuals absolutely incapable of obtaining for themselves enough to escape from the sufferings brought on by indigence, and whose support can never be assured except through the wealth created by others; that, consequently, feelings of pity, benevolence and charity will always be indispensable; and that too much force and activity can not be given them when there is a question of solacing unmerited misfortune.

—But economists deny that public charity is a means of supporting and developing these sentiments. On the contrary, they are convinced that it tends to weaken them continually, to blot them out, by apparently diminishing the necessity for them, by adding to the suggestions of egoism plausible pretexts against generous impulse. They are convinced that charity practiced by individuals or free associations would be more extensive and powerful in proportion to the decrease of state interference in the collection and distribution of relief; that this interference tends to suppress the principal stimulant to charity and the condition which can best assure its efficacy, by destroying direct relations between the benefactor and the benefited; that by this state interference the individuals assisted are bound to feel grateful only to the law, that is to say, to no one, and that, by making assistance obligatory to those who render it, they naturally dispose those who receive it to look upon it as a right; that thenceforth, relief loses all character of uncertainty or contingency and that the poor classes accustom themselves to count on it, and yield more and more to improvidence, idleness and other vices, productive of misery; that, in this way, public charity engenders more evils than it can cure.

—Charity consists in interesting one's self in the misfortunes of others, and in the making of sacrifices to diminish them. When it is freely practiced it can present no danger; the sacrifices are generally proportioned to the resources of those who make them, and no one can count on them positively; they have not the inconvenience of lessening the preventive effects of penalties attached to misconduct and habits generating misery. But if charity is imposed by the law, what shall be its limit? What part of the penalties on improvidence, etc., will be left in force? That will depend on the opinions, the disposition, the caprice of the legislator. Lamartine, for example, wished to bind the state to begin 500 million francs worth of public works. Louis Blanc understood popular fraternity in a wider sense. He wanted all the shops to be taken by the state and put at the disposition of associated workmen. On another occasion, Barbès and Sobrier, "considering that fraternity is not an empty word, and that it ought to manifest itself in acts," wanted a tax of a milliard of francs on capitalists for the benefit of workmen. It is evident that if this principle of fraternity or public assistance be once admitted, its consequences have no assignable limits, and might extend until one-half of the population was despoiled in favor of the other half.

—Such are the motives which have caused economists to reject public charity and oppose all measures tending to give it a greater extension than it already has; but far from wishing to weaken the feeling of charity by this action, or restrain charity freely practiced, they claim, on the contrary, that they give it more intensity and breadth, for they contend that the interference of the law, in place of rendering the sources of charity more abundant, tends inevitably to exhaust them. Political economy does not approve of state rule, either in the practice of charity or in the church, or in industry. It maintains and demonstrates that but for the unfortunate claim of governments to direct these different branches of social activity, we should be more charitable, more religious and more industrious.

AMBROISE CLÉMENT.

CHARITY, Public.

CHARITY, Public. 1. Principles and Effects of Public Assistance. Mutual aid is a precept dictated by the best sentiments of human nature and which the very constitution of society renders necessary.

—Misfortune excites our pity. Natural law prescribes to us the duty of relieving it, and religion most imperatively recommends it. Christianity is instinct with a tender affection for those whom it calls "the suffering members of Christ." "Help one another!" Does not this command, without which society is impossible, flow from the divine precept: "Love one another?" Moreover, in a political society founded, on the one hand, on the principle of responsibility which leaves each man to the consequences of his faults and makes misery the punishment of improvidence and vice, and on the other, on the principle of inequality which is indispensable to order and progress, but the effect of which is to permit involuntary wretchedness—a wretchedness which falls, as a burden, inevitably on those possessed of assured and ample means of subsistence—the whole question is, how and in what form that assistance shall be given. Shall it remain purely individual, that is to say, in the hands of individuals acting with their own resources alone, and coming into direct contact with the poverty-stricken? Shall it be the work of voluntary associations, which afford more abundant and more regular aid? Shall it be made a matter of public concern by the county or city, or shall it have for organ that collective being known as the state? It is evident that the science of politics is not less interested in the solution of these questions than political economy and morals. They are questions which involve the power, the wealth and the safety almost of the nation. A faulty distribution of assistance by exhausting the sources of public wealth, and by destroying much productive power, strikes a blow, not seldom serious, at the health and vitality of the entire social body. Too many examples, from the days when assistance was dealt out in Rome to the time of the poor laws of England, bear witness to the truth of this statement. It is therefore of the highest political importance to know what rule is to be followed here in a matter thus delicate and dangerous, in which the least error may lead to cruel suffering. Not to relieve misery, and to relieve it by unwise means, are two lines of conduct equally exposed to engender the hatred which divides classes of men, and gives rise to dark discontent and revolution. We shall therefore endeavor to establish, first of all, as clearly and precisely as we can, the principal which governs in this matter of public assistance, a matter so important in itself and so much involved in controversy.

—All charity, no matter how sacred its principle, how indispensable its practice, how useful its effects, has its drawbacks. It runs the risk of perpetuating poverty. Men accustom themselves to depend on aid, they cease to labor and be provident. The will grows weak; the mind loses that generous pride which is the very mainspring of moral life and of the industry which is nobly anxious to provide for itself. Here is the danger. There is not an economist who has not called attention to it. Must we conclude, therefore, that charity should be suppressed? That would be a conclusion as barbarous as it is visionary, but a conclusion which we might perhaps be justified in drawing if, by means unknown to the most advanced civilization, the great majority of men were insured against evil chance or an error of calculation. But even on this chimerical hypothesis, charity would be unable to abstain from action. Misfortune even when deserved would not find it indifferent. Charity which takes pity even on crime and vice, would not remain insensible to suffering resulting from a simple want of foresight or some degree of carelessness. The privations of a man who has fallen by his own fault acquire at times such a degree of intensity that society itself could not look on them unmoved and refuse him all help. Policy which is calculating, just as charity is guided by feeling and duty, will always be loath to reduce a human being to despair by leaving him no alternative but theft or suicide. If the help thus given saves from the abyss the person who receives it, both policy and charity will congratulate themselves on the fact. If he does not improve his condition, they try nevertheless to prevent the unfortunate from dying of hunger. But it is imperative to regulate relief in such a way that the culpable improvidence, which it frequently generates, shall be reduced to a minimum. In this lies the difficulty in the way of assistance, and this difficulty becomes manifest to a greater or less extent according to the form it takes. Who would not understand, even if experience had not shown it in so striking a manner, that individual charity could not have precisely the same moral and economic effects as charity organized in vast associations, and that this in turn would be different from the public assistance which takes the name of state charity? A policy jealous of the interests of the people, and the future of the state, should therefore examine and compare with the greatest care these three kinds of assistance, as to their principles and their results upon the minds and condition of those who receive them.

—The most blameless, the most sacred, the most beautiful of all forms of assistance is the individual charity born of the impulse of the heart and the heroism of devotion, which, looking on the human race as one family, inquires into the sufferings endured by this one or that of its members; and which, not satisfied with throwing down a few pennies under the momentary empire of pity or importunity, goes out to meet the unfortunate, visits him in his abode, and, with delicate discernment adjusts the aid given to the extent of the need, and dresses the wounds of misery with tact and even with tenderness. Charity is admirable where it is voluntary and spontaneous, and where it establishes the mild and powerful bond of attachment and gratitude between him who gives and him who receives. How could hatred and envy find a place in minds brought into close relation by the strongest and deepest feelings of the human heart? The merit of this charity in the eyes of the statesman and philanthropist, is that it is exposed to fewer errors, that it reaches real suffering, that it infuses a kind of modesty into the recipient and places a certain limit to the acceptance and asking of aid. In the case of such charity, there is less risk that the beneficiaries will carry on a shameless traffic in assistance and lose the salutary check of shame.

—But whatever economists may say on the matter, isolated charity is not sufficient too many cases of misery escape its notice. By a tendency common to every powerful and permanent feeling, charity is obliged to have recourse to the power of association. It must be organized in such manner as to increase its resources on the one hand, and on the other to supply aid with a regularity of which individual action, always limited and somewhat capricious, is not capable. Such is the object of charitable associations. They reach misfortune and adapt themselves to its manifold forms with an efficacy which private assistance could never attain. Charitable associations are the means of doing much good. Only it is to be feared that, in assuming an administrative form, these associations may destroy the affectionate relations between the benefactor and the recipient, and that charity may begin to have its pensioners who count upon its aid as upon an assumed income.

—The third species of assistance is that represented by the county, municipality or state. It, also, does a good which associations could not always do. It has more wealth at its disposal and is better organized. Such state or municipal charity has an extent and sometimes a grandeur to which that of private associations can rarely aspire. While noting these circumstances, political science should not forget that some of the drawbacks which attach to private charitable associations are much more apparent here and in an almost fatal form. It is no longer with charitable men that the befriended individual has to deal, but with officials. Hence a certain curtness which takes from charity its amiable and tender character, and puts the coldness of official relations in its place. Hence fewer scruples on the part of him who asks relief, and less affection on the part of those who are nothing more than salaried distributors of assistance. The aid funds then become a kind of plunder, the better part of which the most adroit and most audacious strive to bear away. These are the considerations which have caused economists generally to pass so severe a judgment upon assistance given by the state, a judgment which has caused their science to be accused of pitiless harshness. Such certainly was not their intention when they reproached legal charity with increasing the number of the poor, and creating more misery than it removed. Let us recognize the fact, however, that they have at times condemned state assistance too absolutely. Its legitimateness lies in its necessity. There is suffering of a kind that demands a prompt remedy and immense sacrifices of money or the employment of means which the state alone can command in sufficient quantity. The assistance rendered by the state to the needy is sometimes recommended as an act of justice even or at least of equity. Does the state owe no aid to its servants grown infirm in its service, and who have not attained the age when a pension is their right, or to their widows, or orphans of a tender age? Is it not sometimes equitable, even when the law does not make it an obligation, to accord some indemnity to those whom certain measures of general utility have crippled in their resources? Why should prudence not make it obligatory on the state, no matter what the purely economical objections may be, to help those whose sudden poverty has become a menace and a peril to society? Are there not cases in which humanity itself cries out? What is to be done with the poor in times of commercial depression, whom private charity is powerless to feed and who fall exhausted by the wayside? Let us suppose that fire has destroyed a village, or that an inundation has extended its ravages over a whole country. What can fit the remedy to the evil unless it be public assistance? It is the same with certain diseases, the care of which demands a more regular attendance than that which private charity can afford, and more means than are at the disposal of voluntary associations. Unfortunately aid must also be extended to healthy men. Here, above all, moderation is difficult. It is a matter of experience, which can not be too often recalled, that the slightest regular aid nourishes idleness and generates pauperism. There are brutal natures who would rather content themselves with the most miserable pittance, upon which they might count with certainty, than yield themselves to the least continuous labor. It is to them and to the excess of assistance unmeasured and unenlightened that the sadly significant words of William Stone, an English author, are applicable. The words were spoken of a weaver, a type of this whole class of beneficiaries without heart and without dignity. He was, says Stone, born for nothing, nursed for nothing, reared, taught, clothed for nothing; he learned a trade for nothing, was ill and cured for nothing, married and had children for nothing, who came to the world and lived like their father, for nothing, till their death, then received a shroud, a grave and prayers for nothing.

—We do not intend to relate in detail England's experience with the poor tax. It is but too well known that the obligation imposed on the parishes, of finding work for able bodied paupers, of caring for the infirm, for foundlings, and in general for all persons unable to earn their living by labor, acted as a premium paid to improvidence, as an encouragement to laziness, to premature marriages and to the increase of poor families. The reform bill of 1834, called forth partly by the writings of Malthus, while maintaining the principle of legal charity, introduced into the organization intended to realize it, two important modifications, to wit: 1, the obligation of parishes to group themselves into unions, for the levying of the tax, and the distribution of aid, where the higher authorities think proper to so order it; 2, the establishment of workhouses, where all able bodied paupers were obliged to go, under pain of being deprived of all share in the poor tax, and where they are submitted to a régime of restraint and privation with separation of the sexes and of ages. This reform, introduced into English legislation, produced happy results. A saving of $8,000,000 was realized immediately, and $15,000,000 in 1837. Still the poor tax in England recently amounted to nearly $20,000,000. A single house of charity which in 1840 had admitted only 767 homeless poor, received 6,300 in 1846, and 11,674 in 1847. But in spite of the tax the number of beggars increased; in 1847 there were 265,000 depending on other than legal charity.

—The situation has improved since then; but is it to the poor tax that we are to attribute the improvement? It must be attributed to causes of well being with which political economy is well acquainted, to the development of industry, the abundance of capital, the increase of wages, and the freedom of trade.

—How can we doubt the truth that state assistance when regular, perpetuates pauperism, when it is known that in the 15 years preceding 1856, the number of names inscribed in the charity bureaus of Belgium rose from 400,000 to 1,000,000? Must we see in this increase only the proof of the fact that many paupers were not inscribed in them before? We do not think so. There are communes in western Flanders where the number of paupers is invariable, whatever be the state of labor and the price of provisions. In speaking of the charity bureaus of France, M. Watteville remarks: We see to-day enrolled on the registers the names of the grandsons of paupers admitted to public assistance in 1802, while the sons of these had in 1830 in like manner been put on the list. It is thus that the condition of pauper becomes almost a hereditary profession Many parishes in England presented this same scandalous spectacle. What do you do? asked a traveler of a tolerably well dressed man who was walking with a cane. "I am a pauper," answered the latter, just as a man would have said he was a sailor, a miner, or a weaver.

—One of the consequences most detrimental to justice and to the wealth of a country which public assistance entails, whether the assistance is given in the form of aid by work or of alms, is that this assistance is levied in part on the fund destined to feed what has been known as the wage fund. Assistance thus becomes a tax imposed on workmen who receive no assistance. It is to them a source of fresh embarrassment. Now add to this the competition of subsidized labor, and the result is that the assistance given to their prejudice tends to force them to have recourse to assistance themselves. There is only a certain amount of work to be disposed of.

—What should political science conclude from these views borrowed from observation? That we should endeavor rather to limit than extend legal assistance; that its practice should be such as to detract as little as possible from the moral force of those whom it benefits, and that if possible it should even aid this moral force, which it does when it saves an individual from discouragement, or when it takes the form of instruction given gratuitously to those who are unable to bear its expense. Except in this case it is only a palliative. How can we avoid being struck by the fact that in a time of famine it has not been given to charity to create a single bushel of wheat, to make up the deficit in the harvest? It is to be remarked also, shocking as the proposition may appear at first, that as the wealthy who buy bread for the poor, do not eat a morsel of bread the less on that account themselves, it follows that such bread is taken from the share of the non-assisted poor. We have no idea of denying the benefits of charity because of this. In reality the aided poor being considered the most unfortunate ran the risk of dying of hunger, but well-to-do people took what they gave from their own savings. What does this example and so many others show but that assistance does not increase the resources upon which workmen live? These severe lessons of political economy do not go so far as to do away with assistance, a point which can not be dwelt upon too much. It is proper that this should be kept in mind that there may be no illusion on the subject. The poor man reduced to sad extremity must be assisted, and his life must not be embittered by the sad feeling of his being forsaken. This has been recognized by the economist who passes for the most systematic adversary of public assistance. Let us not forget, says Malthus, speaking of disastrous periods, that humanity and true policy demand imperatively the giving to the poor of all the assistance which the nature of things allows to be given them. It is important to know well what this nature of things is. The state in matters of assistance is bound to conform to certain rules. There is, so to speak, a policy of assistance. What this policy is we shall now point out.

—II. Rights and Duties of the State in the Matter of Assistance. Two extreme opinions have been upheld relative to public assistance. On the one hand, it was denied that the state had the right to perform acts of benevolence, for the reason that it could do so only by taking from some of its members to give to others. Taxes, it is added, are paid back to those who contribute them in the form of moral and material advantages by the state. The tax payer's sacrifice has its compensation. In case of assistance this sacrifice is a pure loss. It is a species of spoliation. On the other hand, it was maintained that assistance is not a charitable duty on the part of the state, but the strict right of the assisted party. We know under what circumstances the famous thesis of the right to assistance in France was produced, which had for corollary the right to labor—a thesis developed in books and journals at a period when everything was called in question, from the bases of society to the facts of the day.

—To question the right of the state to assist in a certain measure the classes suffering from poverty is, in our eyes, only an exaggeration of the logic of laisser faire and laisser passer, a maxim good in itself, but the abuses of which should be avoided. Side by side with the individual and his action, there is a principle with which we must reckon, the principle of solidarity. Society is not a simple juxtaposition of individuals; it is a living organism; and the state which represents it is also to a certain point a moral person, a sort of collective individuality, which society itself intrusts with doing that which it could not do through each of its members standing alone. The state does not exceed its rights in performing acts of charity. How could it if, in doing so, it filled not only the rôle of benefactor to those it assisted, but performed also a duty of social prudence, and of preservation in certain cases?

—As to the right of the individual to ask public or legal assistance, as a thing rigorously due him, how can we avoid looking on its assertion as one of the grossest errors of the socialist school? What is a right and what does it imply? Every real right brings with it this consequence, that it can not be denied an individual without real oppression. The vindication of this right, when all other means of obtaining the exercise of it have failed, may go so far even as to justify the use of force. Are not the most decided adversaries of revolution constrained to admit that there have been rightful revolutions? Is the pretended right to assistance of such a character? By no means. Can I in truth call myself oppressed, because the government does not take money from tax payers' pockets to meet my wants? Should not all aid be received with gratitude, as something not due? The right to live has been invoked as the basis of the right to assistance. What is meant by this? Is the right to live one which the state should and can enforce? I have the right to support myself, to breathe, to go and to come; that is to say, no one has the right to take measures or commit acts to hinder me from doing these things; but it is not the duty of the state to procure them for me. Otherwise we should look on the state as a producer and distributer of wealth, and hence as communistic. I have the right to live, and to live even a hundred years, if I can, was the just answer given the French socialist orators in 1848, but not that others should be charged with my support. The state has fulfilled its task when it insures me the right to live by sheltering my person from violence, when it insures the free exercise of my labor by a good police system, and guarantees me the possession of its fruits. The right to live can not give me any power over the results of other men's labor. To take up arms to obtain assistance, is not the exercise of a right but an act of violence. The man most pressed by hunger who steals a loaf of bread, may have done a deed deserving the judge's pity, no doubt, but he has none the less committed a theft.

—The right and the duty of the state in the matter of assistance would seem to be sufficiently well stated in these observations which we have thought it our duty to insist upon in this work, intended to set forth the fundamental principles of all social and political questions. State like individual aid should be free. To force it, is to change the principle of all governments which have liberty, responsibility and property as their foundation. It is to become a spoliator, and a traitor to justice, under pretense of completely realizing the dogma of fraternity.

—The state's policy of assistance reduces itself to this rule: to intervene only in cases of real necessity, and when individuals or associations are unable to act as effectually. In this latter case the state should endeavor to lend to assistance the forms which best accord with the principles of personal responsibility, which alone constitute personal dignity and secure the permanent well being of individuals. It should avoid as much as possible everything which weakens the family spirit. It is not for those who are united by the ties of blood to call on a social providence to discharge their duties for them. If there were some form of assistance which could help the unfortunate individual to recover, and give him strength for the future, the state should adopt it by way of preference. It should also examine whether there are not cases in which wisdom prescribes that it should not act itself, but aid charitable associations in the work of assistance.

—III. Forms of Assistance. Every age has its share of infirmity and evil, difficult, if not impossible, to avoid. The best division of the means of assistance is that which keeps in view the three ages of man: infancy, maturity and old age. It is the one adopted by M. Thiers, in his general report in the name of the commission of assistance and public provision presented to the French national assembly during the sitting of Jan. 26, 1850.

—That infancy recommends itself in too many cases to public assistance, we can not deny. Here there can be no responsibility nor the possibility of self-support. It is true that the family has been created by Providence to come to the assistance of the mental and physical weakness of the child. The whole difficulty here lies in reconciliation of these two principles: the sacred interest of the infant which can not be ignored, neglected nor abandoned, and the family spirit, which we must avoid weakening. There are circumstances in which the family, no matter how well intentioned it may be, is powerless to give the child the help which it needs. Such is, for example, the case of an infant born lacking one of its senses. What can be more admirable than the institutions for deaf-mutes and blind children? Is it in the bosom of the family that the child could learn to supplement the organs which it lacks, by a further development of those which remain to it? The institutions intended for the reception of infancy from the most tender age until the school years, crèches, and asylums, are much praised. Their object is to take the place of the mother who can not nurse her new born infant, or is obliged to labor far from her child. It is difficult, however, not to recognize that these philanthropic institutions which have multiplied so rapidly in France, have put some mothers too much at ease with their duties, and the good which they do is not an unmixed one.

—The assistance of the state in the case of the child extends to all the conditions of its physical and moral life. Almost all publicists are at one in acknowledging that it should above all afford the child the means of instruction. Assistance given in the form of instruction is the best of all. It has this very commendable character, that it places him who receives it in a condition to dispense with all other assistance. There are other forms of assistance for childhood. Is not the contract of apprenticeship a legitimate object of the care of the legislator? It has been contended that the same is true of the fixing of the hours of labor in factories. Such a regulation, however, does not encroach in the least on the legitimate power either of the father of a family or the manufacturer: neither of whom should be allowed to violate the laws of morality, or to exhaust the strength of the young creature whose guardian the state becomes when its natural guardians fail to do their duty.

—It is when we come to people of mature age that the most delicate questions arise. This is the time when man is usually in the full enjoyment of his intellectual faculties and his physical power. If in exceptional circumstances public assistance must come to his aid, it should not be allowed to take the place of his own endeavors and forethought. This is the rock on which so many philanthropic efforts, and more than one administrative measure have been wrecked. Rules established to raise wages in an artificial manner, the forced limitation of working hours, the organization of labor in the ateliers nationaux, aid distributed to healthy men without motive or sufficient discrimination, are open to the serious objection of rendering the individual indifferent to his fate, of weakening his energy, and of disturbing labor. Such, for instance was the outcome of an institution really praiseworthy in its charitable intent, that of workshops for poor women. These are admitted in a warm building and assured wages in exchange for their labor. What is the result? In one of these workshops in Paris the making of a shirt is as low as twenty-five centimes. At the Salpêtriere it is not more than ten centimes, and the making of twenty pieces of baby linen does not amount to more than one franc and ten centimes. How can free operatives meet such competition? How can the mother who works at home earn enough to feed and bring up her children?

—Does this mean that assistance can not be given to mature age without radical drawbacks which cause the evil to outweigh the good? We do not think so. Are not savings banks a striking proof of this useful interference, at least at the inception of aid institutions if one may give this designation to an institution of credit, which more than any other brings the power of responsibility into play? Societies of mutual assistance give rise to the same reflections. They present the characteristic well worthy of our sympathy, of uniting in the body of the same institution the principle of responsibility which urges to labor, to save, with the solidarity or charity which is the happy corrective of whatever there is narrow and egotistical in personal motives. As to assistance under the form of work in times of crises or lack of employment, it does not present, perhaps, insoluble difficulties. M. Thiers, in France, undertook to show this in his report. Although political economy has in general reproached this remarkable paper with yielding too large a field to assistance, even in theory, it can not, to our thinking, but approve the idea of reserving certain public works for periods of distress and revolution, instead of being too prodigal of them in time of prosperity. Thus, instead of improvising fruitless occupations on the spur of the moment, the state would hold itself ready in such manner as not to be forced to wait in a moment of urgency for plans, estimates and votes in the matter of public works. It would be well to reserve for these general crises which are more or less periodical, the work of building fortified places, digging ditches, putting up walls, laying out certain roads, etc.

—There is need also of caring for natural diseases, as well as those of advanced age. This is done in the hospitals and almshouses. These have been often condemned as institutions antagonistic to labor and the family. Here again moderation is necessary. Not all have a family capable of receiving and nursing them. There are diseases of such a nature that the sufferer must be removed for the sake of public health, or which require more continuous or costly care than a poor family can give them. In this case private individual charity could not alone suffice. It is said truly that it is dangerous to suggest to families the idea of getting rid of their members by leaving to others the care which duty exacts of them. From this it has been concluded that home remedies are preferable. But are they always possible? Must we look unmoved on the wretched care given by poor families to their sick members in difficult cases, or the detestable hygienic conditions in which they live? Can doctors go to a hundred places the same day gratuitously? Is there not here something touching and fitted to reconcile the heart of the poor man with society—which he sometimes accuses of harshness—since he receives the care of the best trained and distinguished experts? How can almshouses for the infirm and incurables be condemned? Still it is the almshouses, even those for the aged, which have given rise to the greatest number of well-founded objections. The admission of aged persons in good health seems to present the greatest difficulties. This prospect of the almshouses for the poor classes renders some improvident, and creates culpable callousness in those who should support the head of the family, who has become incapable of hard labor.

HENRI BAUDRILLART.

CHARITY, State.

CHARITY, State. I. State charity, public charity, official charity, these are expressions often used the one for the other, although each of them has a very distinct meaning. And so it is with the words poverty, indigence, misery, pauperism, which designate the objects of charity. The language of science has suffered from the confusion prevailing in this respect in everyday language. Let us endeavor to define carefully the sense in which we shall employ these words, so that we may not add to the difficulties already existing those of an ambiguous or variable terminology. Of the first three expressions the widest in meaning is undoubtedly state charity, comprising, as it does, every kind of charity administered by a public authority in the name of the state, of the municipality or any other territorial division, whether by furnishing funds or by organizing or distributing relief.

—When the authorities intervene by virtue of laws imposing upon them, more or less explicitly, the duty of helping the poor in general, or certain classes of the poor in particular, this charity we may define as legal charity. The intervention of the authorities in so far as the distribution and application of relief is concerned, may be called official charity. Legal charity and official charity, where they exist, are comprised under the term public charity; but this latter can exist without either legal or official charity. The state may aid, without being obliged by law to do so, purely private charitable institutions, as for instance, mutual aid societies, etc. When the funds destined for purposes of public charity are obtained by means of taxes levied expressly for that object, such taxes are called the poor tax.

—The word poverty expresses but a relative idea. The poor are, in all countries, the class subject to the greatest privation. On the other hand, the words indigence and indigent express an absolute idea, viz., that degree of poverty which implies the deprivation of things necessary to existence, and implies consequently the need of charitable assistance.

—By misery we mean the poverty which, grown permanent through the permanent causes that engender it, generally produces absolute indigence and manifests itself in the poor by a characteristic number of physical and moral habits. We reserve the word pauperism for that kind of misery which, being produced by general causes, constitutes the normal condition of whole classes of individuals.

—II. In all nations whose history is known to us, wealth has been unequally distributed, and consequently there have been rich and poor. Poverty is, therefore, a universal fact. This is not the case with indigence, nor misery, and especially not with pauperism. Both historically and in theory, indigence is a product of charity. That a number of families incapable of procuring the means of subsistence strictly necessary to life by their own efforts might exist, it was imperative that a portion of the revenue of the rich should first have been distributed to poor people by public or private charity.

—Let us imagine a primitive nation, in which no religious, moral or political motive has awakened the liberality of the rich toward the poor, and in which, consequently, the poor do not rely upon any generosity on the part of the rich or on the part of the ruler who governs them. Indigence in such a country would be dreaded as much as pestilence or any other affliction, since it would be a no less certain cause of suffering and death. Hence all the powers of the poor man would tend to the one end: the preservation of the means of subsistence which he possessed. If his labor no longer suffices to support him, inevitable and speedy destruction threatens him. Feeble or timid, he dies of misery; strong and courageous, he has recourse to theft, to brigandage, and soon meets with a violent death. In any case, his terrible fate is an exceptional fact which strikes with fear all who might possibly meet with a similar one, and which prevents the propagation of the scourge. Under such circumstances indigence can not exist as a social disease and as such attract the attention of the legislator. The western political communities of ancient times were organized in a manner that excluded indigence and misery; the poor in such communities were not isolated and abandoned to themselves; they were grouped around the rich in large numbers, in the family by the bonds of slavery, in the city by those of patron and client. The master had an interest in the preservation of his slaves who constituted his wealth; and the patron had an interest in ensuring the well being of his clients whose numbers and good will were his power in the city. It was only after the bonds which grouped the poor around the rich had been slackened, and an independent plebeian class devoted to trade or to the mechanic arts had by degrees sprung up in the cities, that misery, that is, extreme and permanent poverty, manifested itself: then they obtained from the wealthy, either by selling them their votes or exciting their pity, regular bounties, and this soon raised indigence, followed by mendicity, to the rank of normal facts, of organic and henceforth incurable affections of the social body.

—Although the polytheism of the Greeks and the Romans did not make almsgiving a religious duty, private charity, with its abuses, soon introduced itself among them. Plautus, who wrote during the third century before the Christian era, and who only copied the Greek comedians, places in the mouth of one of his personages (Frinummus) this entirely Malthusian sentence: De mendico male meretur qui ei dat quod edet aut quod bibat; nam et illud quod dat perdidit, et illi producit ad vitam miserrimam.41

—In the east, on the contrary, religion made charity a positive duty. The sacred books of the Hindoos, the Persians and the Jews went so far as to prescribe the amount of alms the wealthy should give the poor. The Koran, without prescribing a minimum, lays down in several places the religious precepts concerning charity. Thus indigence and mendicity attained in the eastern nations a development against which only the unchangeable organization of theocratic nations was capable of resisting.

—Christianity—which is superior to other religions in this, that it makes a religious duty of everything which can inspire love for one's neighbor, but which none the less recommends almsgiving as a chief manifestation of such love, as an essential form and fruit of charity—caused numerous institutions to be established in the Roman empire, destined for the relief of various classes of poor, while the abundant alms distributed by monasteries and the clergy gave to the increase of mendicity an impulse the effects of which are still visible in several countries of modern Europe.

—Nevertheless, neither ancient nations nor those of the middle ages were acquainted with pauperism, that form of misery which extends to entire classes of the population and becomes their normal condition, by reason of the causes which favor the increase of wealth and the growth of general prosperity. In former times the poor were grouped around the rich, the working classes around property, in such a manner as to prevent the formation of a proletariat, that is to say, of an independent working class, subject by their very independence to the immediate and constant action of the laws which regulate the distribution of wealth.

—Under the successors of Constantine, at a time when indigence was already very widespread, and had, on more than one occasion, called for the interference of the legislator, we find that the laws destined to remedy the evil contained striking proofs of the influence which was still exercised by slavery still present in Roman society at the time of the downfall of the empire, and by the serfdom which tended little by little to replace it. In a constitution, of which Justinian has preserved a fragment, the emperors Gratian, Valentinian and Theodosius proposed to put an end to the abuse of mendicity. Did they intend, in order to attain this object, to establish workhouses, asylums, home assistance; in one word, to practice public charity? They simply decreed that ablebodied mendicants should be arrested; that if slaves, they should be returned to their masters; and that those who were free should be reduced to slavery. Later, slavery was replaced by servitude in the case of the agricultural poor and by trades corporations and political and religious confraternities in the case of city poor. The poor man who did not find admission into any of these groups, ceased to belong to any class of workmen whatever, and in some sense to society itself. Mendicity or brigandage then became his only resources; and mendicity, practiced on a large scale, as an industry, so to speak, as the only expedient of large numbers of the poor, often assumed the character of brigandage. We have all heard of those organized bands of mendicants, who under different names, appeared in former times, in the large cities in Europe, and went from country to country, carrying with them their vulgar cunning and disgusting manners. But this wretched condition of whole multitudes whom industry had cast away from it, differs essentially from pauperism, which attacks the working classes even in the centres of industry, of the very industry which had attracted them thither.

—The dissolution of ancient social groups, the emancipation of agricultural and industrial laborers, alone could give birth to the proletariat and with it to pauperism; but it is only since the commencement of the present century that this scourge has, in some countries, assumed alarming proportions. A system which, by giving every workman the liberty to choose his trade, to change it at will, to offer his labor to whomsoever he pleases and at what price he will, and which leaves him, at the same time, exposed to all the effects of competition and to all the chances of life, good and bad, could not help sooner or later, under the force of certain circumstances, but create, in the general condition of the poorest among the working class of a country or some certain industry, a lamentable crisis, marked by a temporary interruption of the demand for labor or by an exceptional lowering of wages. The advantages of this system to society in general, and also to the laboring classes taken as a body, are immense and incontestable. Often even the immediate cause of partial or temporary crises which produce pauperism are conquests made by industry, absolute progress, the proximate and definitive result of which proves beneficial to the poor working classes and ameliorates their condition. But the suffering inseparable from distress which extends to hundreds, perhaps to thousands, of families, were this distress to last but a few days, is none the less cruel and felt none the less by those who experience it.

—Legislators, statesmen and writers have not waited for this last phase of the development of poverty in order to busy themselves, some actively, others theoretically, with the lot of the poorer classes, and to devise means by which to render it more tolerable. Misery and mendicity, these two old and open wounds of the social body, produced by the imprudent, thoughtless or abusive liberality of private charity, have raised grave questions in the solution of which, religion, public peace, humanity and morality are equally interested.

—The necessity of a solution of these questions was felt more than ever at the time of the reformation, when the suppression of a great number of monasteries and the secularization of a considerable part of the property of the church had, if not exhausted, at least turned into other channels, the former abundant gifts of private charity, and when a disastrous and prolonged war, in which all the nations of Europe were more or less involved, had destroyed or consumed unproductively the capital accumulated by preceding generations. Hence the most important law that was ever passed for the relief of the poor, dates from the end of the sixteenth century. We refer to the famous statute of queen Elizabeth, which introduced simultaneously into England legal charity, and the poor tax, by imposing on each parish the obligation of relieving its disabled poor and of furnishing its ablebodied poor with work.

—After this period no book treating of natural law, public law or political economy has been published in which the question of poverty has not been discussed more or less completely, and there is scarcely one of the numerous solutions proposed which has not been tried by some nation or other. Public charity like poverty has become a universal fact, a social necessity which is no longer a matter of discussion, although many of those who admit it consider it an evil, and do not think themselves bound to tolerate it except within certain limits and under certain forms.

—III. A question properly put, is half solved. It is because the questions relating to charity have nearly always been incorrectly put, that they have received so many different or contradictory answers, and that they have appeared insoluble to so many otherwise enlightened minds.

—It is not the business of the economist to investigate what should be done by a humane and Christian nation, in which indigence, misery and pauperism are found in any degree, nor to lay down a rule of conduct for the legislators who govern such a nation. Such a question far exceeds the limits of political economy. Many and grave motives perfectly foreign to this science may counterbalance those borrowed from it, and justify laws or measures which are contrary to the principles of political economy. We do not affirm that it is generally or always so; we simply maintain that it does not come within the province of political economy to weigh and judge of motives which are foreign to it, and to decide in what case these motives should prevail.

—Poverty in all its forms is an economic phenomenon; a phenomenon of the distribution of social wealth. What are the laws or the general causes governing this phenomenon? These laws once known, what is the effect, on the distribution of social wealth, of a proposed institution, of a proposed system of assistance or charitable act? Such are the terms in which the questions relative to poverty are formulated in political economy. Political economy can and must be able to say whether such or such a law, such or such a measure, having for its object to remedy indigence, misery or pauperism, under certain given circumstances, will attain its object fully or in part. Its domain reaches thus far and no further.

—It is then without any kind of foundation, and because of the strangest confusion of ideas, that political economy has so often been accused of being inhuman, cruel and unmerciful, as if it were responsible for the evils it explains or foresees, for the evils the effects of which it investigates and the causes of which it lays bare. We might with as much reason reproach medical science with seeking and enumerating the disastrous results of certain diseases, certain organic defects, certain accidents to which the poor are particularly exposed. If it should happen that the application of an economic principle became really inhuman and barbarous, the fault would not be with the science but with those who had applied it without discretion, and without having weighed beforehand the considerations or the facts by which the principle should have been modified. And then, where are the principles of our science, at least among those we recognize as true, which do not tend toward the improvement of the condition of men, poor or rich, and notably of the working class? Political economy, our readers will soon be convinced, teaches nothing that can alarm an intelligent philanthropist. Let us begin by searching for the law of the phenomenon.

—Indigence, misery, pauperism, the only forms of poverty that can be considered as absolute evils, manifest themselves only in one class of society, in that of the working class, who depend upon their work for a livelihood, because they possess no other source of revenue, or because they possess it in an insufficient measure. Now, in the case of the individuals of this class indigence may result either from their not having worked in proportion to their real or artificial wants, or from the fact that the price of their labor is not sufficient to insure them the necessaries of life. Insufficiency of labor, insufficiency of wages: these are the two causes of indigence, misery and pauperism.

—Insufficiency of labor may result from the poor having left their work to satisfy artificial wants, from their misbehavior or from accidents independent of their will. In all of these cases the poor have been wanting in foresight. Knowing what his labor could bring him, and what would be required for the satisfaction of his most indispensable wants, knowing also that human weakness exposed him to infirmities of different kinds, that is to say, to forced interruptions of work, he has not fixed beforehand the quantity of his work and the quantity of his outlay, in accordance with these data, which, in a great part, can be easily and certainly determined.

—As to the insufficiency of wages, it results invariably from the competition of the workingmen themselves; in other words, from the too large supply of labor compared with the demand, or with the quantity of disposable productive capital. This excess in the supply of labor may result from the fact that the number has increased more rapidly than productive capital; and then it evidently has as its first cause, the improvidence of the class who depend on their labor for a livelihood, and who ought to have foreseen that by increasing their numbers they would destroy the equilibrium between their income and their wants. The excess may also result, it is true, in a given place or in a given industry, from the fact that a portion of the capital employed has become unproductive, or that it has changed form or destination. For instance, a commercial outlet has been closed; a rival industry has received an unexpected development; the capital, formerly employed in the remuneration of human labor, has been invested in costly machinery. The very increase of wages has a manifest tendency to provoke these different changes in the employment, and consequently in the distribution of capital. But as these changes are nearly always local and temporary, as they do not necessarily involve an absolute diminution in the amount of productive capital employed in the country, and as they frequently have for effect a more rapid accumulation of this same capital, they can plunge only improvident workmen into indigence, workmen who, in their economic life, had not taken any account of future contingencies. Improvidence is, therefore, the first and radical cause of misery and pauperism. Destroy this root—do away with this aggregate of vicious habits, of wrong calculations and thoughtless actions which may be expressed by the word improvidence—and you at once do away with all three evils. The duty of foresight, like all duties, needs a sanction, and, in the natural order of things, this sanction is not wanting to it. It is the responsibility weighing upon every family, the concatenation of causes and effects which condemn the improvident workman to suffering in his own person or in the persons of the members of his family; it is misery, the menaces of which are ever sounding in the ears of the needy, and which is always at his heels, ready to make him atone by privation, by physical and moral suffering, for the least idleness, the least vicious habit.

—What are the means of weakening this responsibility and of neutralizing the sanction resulting therefrom? They would consist in breaking the chain which connects effects with their causes; in so arranging it that destitution, privation and disease should no longer be to the poor the natural consequences of an insufficiency of work or of an insufficiency of wages. Such, in fact, is the part played by charity, both private and public, when it takes upon itself the task of assisting the indigent and alleviating misery. This is the end toward which all its works tend, whether it relieves the poor from the care of providing for and educating their children; whether it provides for the wants of those who, either by sickness or old age, have been rendered incapable of working; whether it distributes assistance, under one form or another, to those whose labor can find no market or is insufficiently remunerated. The practice of charity is incompatible with complete responsibility on the part of the poor, that is to say, with the complete sanction of the duty of foresight, and this sanction must exist in direct proportion to the degree of activity displayed by charity and to the extent of its labors. This truth is too evident to be dwelt on longer. Assistance and responsibility are two ideas which mutually exclude each other, the one being implicitly the negation of the other. Can charity replace responsibility in such a manner as to render it superfluous? In other words, can charity by providing for the wants of all the indigent and relieving all misery, relieve the poor of the duty of foresight? It might if indigence were susceptible of assignable limits; if it had a determinable maximum which it could never exceed, and which itself could not exceed the means at the disposal of charity. But it is not so, at least not as a rule. Let 100 represent the actual wants of indigence at a given period and in a given place. If charity provides entirely for the wants of the indigent, the encouragement it gives to improvidence will be felt by the entire class of the non-assisted poor, the unknown number of whom is perhaps a hundred times that of the actually indigent; and therefore improvidence will unceasingly tend to increase as a consequence of the very guarantees given it against the fatal results of its growth. Thus, an amount of assistance equal to 100 will have as its result, beginning with the next year, to increase the amount of wants perhaps to 200, perhaps to 500 or even 1,000, while the ulterior increase will have no assignable limit, so long as the amount of charity is capable of augmenting in proportion.

—Still another cause accelerates the increase of indigence. Whatever may be the immediate source of the assistance distributed by charity, it is always levied upon the revenues of the country. Whether the charity takes the form of contributions, or some other form, the assistance given is subtracted from the savings which have been made, and the power of saving and capitalizing has been diminished by so much. Consequently, in proportion as the amount of assistance given increases, it will absorb a greater part of the funds which were destined to replace or to increase the capital consumed in production, of the funds which represent the present and future demand for labor, the support of workmen and of those who will succeed them. Of course we must suppose that charity will first be practiced at the expense of unproductive consumption, and as charity can only substitute for such consumption other unproductive consumption; the condition, on the whole, of non-assisted workmen will not be changed. Whether a portion of our revenue be devoted to the satisfaction of wants of luxury, or used to procure the bare necessaries of life for the poor, it must in any case be exchanged for the products of labor. But it is impossible that charity, gradually extending its work, should not end by reaching the funds destined for reproductive consumption; and then it can not concern itself for the assisted poor, except at the expense of the unassisted; the work or help it provides for some is taken from others; it then reduces to indigence a number equal to that which it relieves.

—Such are the laws of political economy governing the subject under discussion. It is easy to deduce from them the solution of the questions connected with this subject. The general effect of charity is to increase the improvidence of the poor, and consequently to produce indigence, misery and pauperism; to insure the increase in the future of present evils; in fine, to render more and more pernicious, and more incurable the disease of which it partially attenuates the ravages.

—How does charity produce this effect? By lessening the individual responsibility of the poor and the sanction resulting therefrom; by engendering in them an expectation contrary to this sanction, contrary to the natural concatenation of causes and effects, that is to say, to the natural course of things.

—Thus, the more general and well founded this expectation, the greater will these effects be, since the intensity of a cause is the exact measure of the action of that cause. This principle furnishes us with a criterion for judging, from the strictly economical point of view, the different modes of the practice of charity.

—The expectation in question rests either upon declarations or upon presumptions; it is better founded the more explicit the declarations and the stronger the presumptions; and it is all the more general the more such declarations and presumptions are notorious and of a wide application.

—No declaration could be more explicit, more notorious, nor wider in its application, than the law imposing upon the state or upon the provinces the formal obligation to assist all the indigent within their limits, thus creating for the poor a positive right to assistance. Legal charity is, therefore, the most vicious of all the modes of assistance, for it is the system which produces the best founded and most general expectation of assistance, especially when it is combined, as in England, with the poor tax, when to the absolute right of the indigent corresponds an unlimited burden to the nation.

—At the other extreme we find private charity, less mischievous in so far as it is practiced individually and with the discretion and prudence characteristic of true charity. The expectation of assistance it gives rise to rests merely on a presumption, and this presumption is, of all its kind, the weakest, the least notorious, the least susceptible of extended application: the least strong, since, from the fact that an individual has done an act of charity today, it can not be inferred that he will always perform charitable acts, nor even that he will do so again, nor that any other person will feel disposed to imitate his example; the least notorious, because private individual charity avoids publicity from interest if not from duty; lastly, the least susceptible of an extended application, because this charity reaches only chosen poor and those belonging to one limited locality.

—Between these two opposite extremes may be placed and grouped all the other forms of charity, forms more or less pernicious, according as they approach nearer to legal charity or private charity; they all participate to some extent in the inconveniences which attach to the0 very principle of charity. We shall limit ourselves to a brief enumeration of the most characteristic of these forms.

—Almsgiving begets mendicity, and mendicity in turn begets almsgiving. Almsgiving and mendicity, once they have become a habit, tend to become more and more frequent; the two habits support one another. To prevent almsgiving is an impossibility; to repress mendicity is a little less difficult; but this repression is always costly and it can never become efficacious except with the aid of institutions which approach very near to legal charity. Hospitals and houses of refuge must be established for the sick or infirm poor; work and shelter must be provided for the ablebodied poor, were it only in a house of correction or a prison. Hospitals are commonly considered altogether inoffensive, because they serve as a refuge for a kind of indigence the causes of which do not naturally tend to increase. This is an error. It must not be forgotten that these causes are among the contingencies which stimulate the poor to foresight, and that from the moment these stimulants are neutralized, the number of poor families which fall into indigence through any of the causes connected with insufficiency of labor or insufficiency of wages necessarily increases. The poor man will not become sick voluntarily so as to avail himself of the assistance a hospital affords, but he will make fewer efforts to avert from himself and from the other members of his family these ever imminent calamities, and, as a general rule, he will occupy himself less with providing for contingent future wants.

—With respect to the institutions destined to afford labor and shelter to the ablebodied poor, the expectations they engender are all the greater the more completely they provide for the wants of the indigent and the easier the terms are which they impose. These institutions can not, therefore, neutralize this expectation unless they assume a penal character; and the less they have of the penal character the less will the expectation of assistance be neutralized, and consequently the less will the scourge of indigence and misery meet with opposition.

—Official charity has always the inconvenience of causing a very strong presumption of assistance, thus creating a general expectation of relief. We may say the same of collective private charity practiced by permanent organized associations.

—The principles we have exposed may be easily applied to all other forms of public or private charity.

—IV. It may happen—and some such instances are known to us—that all the indigent of a locality may be assisted, and amply too, and yet their number not increase from year to year. We once visited a commune in Switzerland in which there was neither mendicity nor misery. Upon asking whether indigence was wholly unknown in the canton we were shown a large house in which about a hundred persons of both sexes, young and old, were supported in a condition of comfort that would excite the envy of the poor of other countries. Here is the explanation of the phenomenon.

—In the country just mentioned each commune being obliged to assist its own poor, mendicants not belonging to it are pitilessly ordered to leave it. The commune in question is one of the richest in the land, and is besides an agricultural one in which property, is very widely distributed, so that the middle class comprised all the inhabitants with the exception of some hundred poor, who, thanks to the influence of legal authority, had all fallen into indigence. The plague had stopped there for the last two generations, and although the assisted families had somewhat increased, the fund destined for their maintenance had amply sufficed till then to keep them. We must not be surprised at the fact that the middle class escaped the demoralizing influence of legal charity; this is a general fact, although it would naturally occur on a larger scale among the inhabitants under the circumstances we have described. In all nations advanced in civilization the help of charity implies for the man of the middle class who is its recipient an absolute forfeiture of social position to which death is not seldom preferred. Hence the horror inspired by indigence is not lessened and the stimulant resulting therefrom is not neutralized, in the case of this class, by any charitable institution nor by any hope of assistance however well founded and general we may suppose it. This fact explains how the principle of legal charity could be adopted and practiced in England during more than two centuries without completely ruining the country; it is this fact, too, which establishes that there is an essential difference between the principle of legal charity and that of the right to labor. The most rugged nation would not long resist the application of this last principle; and yet the law which would apply it might be framed in about the same terms as the statute of queen Elizabeth.

—Legal charity none the less contains a germ whose development sooner or later brings grave dangers to the social body. Under the influence of this principle the number of the indigents constantly increased in England and the poor tax had reached the exorbitant sum of $33,957,995 for a population of 13,894,574 inhabitants, which is more than $2.50 a head. There were districts in which misery had reached such proportions that farmers unable to bear the burden of the poor tax gave up their leases; the land did not pay the cost of cultivation, and the ablebodied population was left without work or wages. The obligation imposed upon parishes to find work for the ablebodied poor and to take care of the infirm, of abandoned children, in fact, of all those who were not in a position to gain a livelihood by their labor, had the effect of a bounty paid to improvidence, and acted as an encouragement to idleness, to early marriage, to the increase of poor families. Such is the substance of the investigation made by order of the British parliament in 1833.

—The system of legal charity does not exist in England only. It is found in Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Holland, Belgium, in all the states of Germany, in a great part of Scotland, Switzerland, and the United States. France had kept free from this economic error until 1789; she again abandoned the system in 1814 only to fall into the error again in 1848, the constitution of that year (preamble § vii. and article xiii.) making it a duty of the state to furnish labor to ablebodied indigent people and to assist the indigent sick.

—Moreover, the countries where legal charity was not adopted, none the less practiced public charity, and in some of them, notably in France, this was done on a very large scale. What has been the result of public charity in all these cases? Has it put an end to indigence, done away with misery, or remedied pauperism? It has not. On the contrary, everywhere the increase in the number of the indigent has been more rapid, in proportion as charity, private or public, showed itself more generous and active.

—Public charity moves in a vicious circle from which it can not possibly escape; it creates an expectation of assistance which it can not satisfy; finally, it tries to render this expectation illusory so as to diminish the burden with which it has rashly loaded itself.

—Can it be said that these results are owing to the mode of administration of public charity rather than to the system? These modes of administration have all been tried and they have all had the same result. We refer to the innumerable facts which have been collected in many modern works, especially to a mémoire crowned in 1835 by the French academy of moral and political sciences, and which has been since published by its author, M. Naville of Geneva, under the title of De la charité légale. M. Naville proves by facts and figures which can not be disputed, that all the modes of practicing public charity, and especially workhouses and agricultural colonies from which such happy results had been anticipated, have been inadequate to remove the plagues of misery and of pauperism. After having partially attained their object, after having been prosperous for some years, the best organized establishments break down, because not able to meet the very demands to which they give rise. Hospitals, poorhouses, workhouses and generally all charitable institutions intended for a special class of indigents only, or which have not been established to help the poor indiscriminately, may exist and in fact do exist, much longer; we know of some centuries old; but their duration is owing to the fact that the assistance they afforded was limited and consequently incomplete and insufficient. With them, and even side by side with them, are found deep-rooted misery and indigence, a misery and an indigence more widespread probably than they would have been had these charitable institutions not been established. Besides, if by availing themselves of public charity, the poor do not altogether forfeit all right to social consideration, their feeling of honor is lost, because public charity has a humiliating effect. Now what is the difference between refusing relief altogether and giving it in a manner that renders it unacceptable?

—Thus the facts which at first sight seem to contradict our theory are explained by it and confirm it. Not a single case has come under our observation which does not corroborate our statements. From the moment that public charity becomes regular and notorious it becomes injurious, not only to society as a whole but to the poor in particular; injurious to those it assists and to those it does not assist; injurious both morally and physically; injurious even in proportion to the liberality of its intentions and to the means it employs. If public charity were not condemned by political economy, it should be condemned by philanthropy.

—V. The ideas we have here developed are the same as those of the majority of English and Scotch economists of any reputation who have either written general treatises on political economy or who have devoted special attention to the subject under discussion. Adam Smith, Ricardo, Malthus, Chalmers, MacFarland, Townsend, and several other authors not so well known, have demonstrated (or have expressly laid it down as already demonstrated) that the tendency of state charity is to increase indigence, misery and pauperism because of its influence on the moral character of the poor.

—On the continent of Europe the subject has never been looked at from a proper standpoint. It has been made a question of morals or of politics, we might almost say of theology; the duty of society to the poor has been the sole thought of writers, as if before discovering what society should do it were not necessary to see what it can do!

—German and Italian economists do not concern themselves with legal charity except to point out the best means to promote the practice of such charity by the state, as an end; they do not even think of denying the propriety and absolute legitimateness of public charity; whereas it is precisely in its end that charity sins, and because of its end that it must be condemned.

—Have French economists better understood and better treated the question? J. B. Say, in his Cours complet, scarcely devotes ten pages to it. And this lucid writer does not see in the result of English legislation on the subject of the poor, anything but a local experience, containing no fruitful principle and no general lesson. According to Say everything depends upon the nature of the means employed, and upon the political character of the institutions of the country in which the relief is afforded.

—Duchâtel, in his work on charity, gives a very clear exposition of the causes of misery and of the fatal tendencies of legal charity; but after thus entering upon the right path, he stops midway and admits that governments can do charity without danger, in the case of indigence resulting from causes which man can neither prevent nor foresee; he even makes it the duty of the state to assist the poor whenever prudence or charity do not suffice to prevent or to relieve indigence.42 "These words," Naville justly remarks, "might be written upon the banner of legal charity; the most declared partisans of the system hold no other language."

—What shall we say of writers not economists, such as de Morogues, de Villeneuve, de Gérando, Thiers, Dufau, etc., who have especially busied themselves with the question? From the moment that it is tacitly or expressly admitted as a dogma that the state must do charity, and that it can do so without producing more evil than good, we do not deny that there are a thousand means of relieving actual misery, at least partially.

—Baron de Gérando, in his work so replete with science and warm philanthropy, while he admits that public charity is a duty, does not admit the correlative right of the indigent; and he is of opinion that if public charity has sometimes a dangerous tendency, it can have such a tendency only in a country in which such a right is publicly proclaimed or expressly recognized. This is evidently an error; the danger of public charity consists in that it creates an expectation of relief. Undoubtedly the expectation is greater where the right to public charity is recognized, but it exists independently of such right and of any explicit declaration; to create this expectation it suffices for the state to perform acts of charity at its own cost. Even private charity, as we have shown, is not free from this inconvenience when it is practiced collectively or in the form of alms.

—M. Thiers sums up his opinion in the following terms: "The state, like the individual, should be charitable; but like the individual, it must be so of its own free will, and, moreover, it must be so in a prudent manner; and it is not to assure it the means of giving less or giving little that we assign these limits to it; it is with the object of saving the nation's wealth which belongs to the poor more than to the rich; it is to keep up the duty of labor for every one, and to prevent the vices of idleness, which, with the multitude, easily become dangerous and even atrocious. But the state, free and prudent in its liberty, must not be parsimonious in doing charity. Just as the state tends toward everything great and beautiful by its taste for the great and beautiful; just as it erects magnificent monuments to excite the admiration of men, as it sacrifices the blood of its soldiers to preserve to the nation its reputation for heroism; so will the state practice charity in order to win universal esteem. We shall not allow our cities to be the haunts of misery or vice; the state should try to diminish the amount of suffering by the love of the good which should equal its love for the great and the beautiful. The state should be as proud to spare strangers the sight of beggars dying of hunger, as to exhibit to them the monuments of art and of glory, the column of Vendôme or the Hotel des Invalides. The state, in a word, will be a good man when led by the same impulses as a good man, namely by the love for the good and the beautiful; and being good it will be just and wise. Such are the only true principles in the matter of charity."

—We have transcribed in full this strange passage because it very well explains why M. Thiers always professed to ignore and to deny political economy. M. Theirs, in order to be consistent with himself must deny a great many things besides. Still arithmetic because denied and ignored by spendthrifts is none the less positive. The state must be prudent and largely charitable at the same time. But if prudence excludes public charity altogether, what then? The state must be charitable for the love of the good. But what if charity necessarily ends in producing more evil than good?

—VI. Political economy is not the only science which must find application in the conduct of states; it furnishes some directing principles but not absolute principles. It therefore does not come within the province of economists to draw up a plan of legislation on the poor. What it teaches in this respect may be modified by many considerations drawn either from other moral and political sciences or from local and temporary circumstances. All that can be asked of us is to give a solution of the problem of misery in accordance with political economy, to point out what are the means economically proper to relieve indigence. This is what we purpose to do in a few words.

—The state should neither practice public charity nor interfere with the exercise of private charity. The want in question is one of those which society can not satisfy except by itself, by the free development of its productive powers and of its moral faculties. Left to its own inspiration, society would not be slow to perceive that if charity is to be efficacious; if it is not to become an encouragement to idleness, vice and fraud; if it is not to provoke an imprudent increase of the poor class, it must adopt certain principles and impose upon itself certain duties, which may be set forth thus: 1. Charity must combat the causes of indigence, namely prevent them, at the same time that it endeavors to relieve indigence itself. It should strive to destroy, not to relieve it. It must be at once preventive and subventive, but it should above all and always be preventive, since subvention has limits while prevention has none. 2. Purely preventive charity may be practiced collectively by establishing, for instance, savings banks, mutual aid societies, and other similar institutions. 3. Charity both preventive and subventive should be practiced individually at least in so far as the application of relief itself is concerned; its action should have as its permanent and principal aim the improvement of the moral character of the indigent, and, as far as possible, consider their position rather than the satisfaction of their material wants and the saving them from present privation. 4. Charity can not be efficacious and its works will not really abolish misery and prevent indigence unless it is ever and before all, charitable, that is to say, the result of benevolence and love and not of ostentation or of contemptuous pity; unless it is affectionate in its forms, patient and active as well as firm and vigilant; unless, in fine, it employs in the attainment of its object that personal action, that natural patronage practiced by every man, when he will, on those who stand in need of him. Such would be charity according to political economy.

A. E. CHERBULIEZ.

CHASE

CHASE, Salmon Portland, was born at Cornish, N. H., Jan. 13, 1808, and died at New York, May 7, 1873. He was graduated at Dartmouth in 1826, and admitted to the bar in Ohio, in 1830. In politics he was a democrat, but took part with the liberty party (see ABOLITION, II.) until 1848, when he joined the free soil party. He served as United States senator, having been elected by a coalition of democrats and free soilers, 1849-55, was governor of Ohio 1856-60 (republican), was secretary of the treasury under Lincoln 1861-4 (see ADMINISTRATIONS, XIX.), and chief justice of the U. S. supreme court 1864-73. (See IMPEACHMENTS, VI.) In 1868 his name was before the democratic national convention for the presidency, but he refused to so modify the expression of his political principles as to conciliate the majority of the convention. He prepared, and allowed to be published, a statement of his own views of democratic principles, all points of which would have been acceptable to all the convention, excepting the first half of the first paragraph, which was as follows: "Universal suffrage is a democratic principle, the application of which is to be left, under the constitution of the United States, to the states themselves * * * * * ". This so-called "Chase platform." therefore, would have committed the democratic party to the acceptance and maintenance of negro suffrage in the south, coupled with general amnesty and restoration of all the political and police rights of the southern states. (See DEMOCRATIC PARTY, VI.)

—See Warden's Life of Chase; Bartlett's Presidential Candidates of 1860, 95-117; Schuckers' Life of Chase, (the "Chase platform" is at p 567).

A. J.

CHECKS AND BALANCES.

CHECKS AND BALANCES. This term of modern political language finds a place only in the vocabulary of mixed governments, and even, more properly speaking, only of free governments. It is applied to the equilibrium which, for the proper conduct of public affairs and the liberty of the citizen, should be established between the different powers by means of the constitutional definition of their rights and the limitation of their functions.

—A distribution of powers is to be met with, to a greater or less degree, in all governments which are not based upon the autocratic principle. For if certain classes of the citizens are oppressed by discriminating laws and exposed to penalties not pronounced by judicial magistrates; if the peers, instead of being placed under the régime of law, can be attacked by administrative decrees; if the nation does not enjoy full liberty of representation, all powers are confused and the country is deprived of the most essential guarantees of its liberty.

—We must, therefore, regard the proper separation of powers as the first condition of liberty, and the just equilibrium of power as the only means of preventing liberty from degenerating into license and anarchy, or from being destroyed by despotism.

—There are in every state three classes of powers: the legislative power, the executive power, and the judicial power. The first two, the political powers, are those whose functions are the most difficult to separate; their relations are the most delicate, and their action, now independent and now of necessity concurrent, is variously regulated and limited according as the constitution tends to extend or confine the prerogatives of the executive, and according as in the formation of the legislative power the aristocratic or the democratic element predominates, or a just balance between the two obtains. The judicial power, charged with the application of the laws, the settlement of differences between individuals, and the punishment of offenses and crimes against persons or the state, ought to be made completely independent of the legislative power, which is easily done, and as independent as possible of the executive power, a result of more difficult attainment. At all events, the principle of the necessity of a separation between the judicial power and that of making and administering the laws, is generally accepted and generally respected, except where mere arbitrary power prevails; were this principle not recognized, all notion, all possibility, of a just balance between the powers confounded, or separated by fictitious lines of demarcation, would be virtually done away with. We need, therefore, consider here only the conditions necessary for the maintenance of an equilibrium between the legislative power and the executive power. These conditions can not be the same in a monarchy and in a republic; and representative government admits equally of both forms. Montesquieu thinks that England drew from the Germania of Tacitus the idea of the institutions to which she owes her stability, her wealth and her greatness.43 Whatever may have been the origin and the successive transformations of mixed government, to England belongs the honor, an honor which can not be disputed her, of having been the first to establish representative government on its true foundations; all the countries of the world which desired to become free have imitated her more or less. But every country has been able and has been obliged to preserve or introduce in its own constitution differences which its customs or genius made advisable or necessary.

—Thus the United States organized themselves as a republic, and modern France has not been able, and never will be able, without danger, to abandon the great principles of 1789.

—It does not fall within the limits of our subject to examine and compare, still less to judge, the various forms of representative government. We shall not undertake to set forth and discuss the means of equilibrium best adapted to secure a just distribution of powers under each of these forms of government. We will suppose, then, a representative government existing in the form and under the conditions that most frequently occur, that is, an executive power in the hands of an hereditary sovereign, and two chambers (whatever be the method of their election or nomination) sharing the legislative power with the head of the state. Peace, war, treaties and international relations belong to the powers of the sovereign. The courts render their decrees in his name, and he sees to their execution: he has the appointment to military and civil offices, but he governs by the delegation of his powers to responsible ministers; he has no power to dispose by treaty of any part of the public territory or treasure, nor can he make war without having the necessary grants from the representatives of the country. If the policy pursued by the executive ceases to have the support of the chambers, if the representatives of the country manifest their distrust and refuse their concurrence, the sovereign appeals to the electoral body by dissolving the elective chamber, or he changes his ministers, who may be brought to trial, in cases and by forms regulated by law; he himself remains irresponsible and inviolable. The opponents of representative government attack it particularly by arguments of fact drawn from revolutions which overthrew thrones in vain protected by a vicarious responsibility which was not even invoked, and by an inviolability which was not respected. Ministerial responsibility having failed to save the monarchy, it has been attempted to infer, not only that it is a useless fiction, but that it is even dangerous, the sovereign being too dependent on the chambers when the latter have the power, so to speak, to dictate to him the choice of his advisers.

—An attempt has been made to go even further than the suppression of ministerial responsibility, and to conceive of the personal responsibility of the sovereign before the nation. Now though it is easy to comprehend the meaning of the responsibility of the elective head of a republic, the question becomes singularly complicated when we have to consider the hereditary sovereign of a monarchical state. When, how, in whose name, and by whom could this responsibility be invoked? Who would be the judges and where would be the sanction? There is something in this that fails to present any clear idea to the mind, something that never has been explained and probably never will be explained. Such a clause, whatever meaning we may choose to attach to it as a declaration of principles, is, therefore, destined wherever it occurs to remain, in reality, a dead letter. It is very fortunate that this is so, for can we conceive of the state of a country where the sovereign could be, we will not say brought to trial, but publicly discussed in person and conduct? We need not hesitate, therefore, to declare that, since the sovereign can not be responsible, it follows that when the ministry is not responsible, no responsibility exists anywhere.

—The first condition of a balance of powers in a representative government being to place the sovereign above all attack and outside of all discussion, it has been found that the best way to accomplish this object is to subject all intervention in the affairs of government on his part to the counter-seal of a minister whose responsibility covers him.

—Every act exceeding the powers of a ministerial department ought to be discussed and approved in a council of ministers, so as to unite the entire cabinet in strict community of interests. This is the very foundation of representative governments, and, this form of government once accepted, the principle of ministerial responsibility has never been called in question. Where this responsibility does not exist, the form of government, whatever its name and whatever our opinion of it, is not the true and free representative form. Such is not the case with the prerogatives of parliament, which have been more or less enlarged or restrained according to the age, the country and the customs. In treating of these prerogatives we shall only touch on the principal points: the right to vote taxes to regulate the expenditure, the right of discussion of the laws, the right of amendment, of initiative, and the right to interrogate the ministers. On each of these points we shall dwell only on that which is essential to the balance of powers.

—The right to vote taxes, granted to deliberative assemblies without the right to regulate and control expenses, is only an illusory guarantee. The only effective safeguard of this double right lies in the power of the representatives of the people to modify the propositions of the budget, and in making it the duty of the executive to conform to the specification of expenditures voted, and never to undertake a new expenditure without a special appropriation by the legislative power. In speaking of the right to introduce amendments in the laws and retrenchments in the budget, a distinguished statesman has said: "The discussion of laws without the power to alter them, is only a sterile agitation. To place before the chambers the alternative of absolute rejection or adoption, is to reduce them to extreme resolutions and to destroy the spirit of compromise, which ought to be the true spirit of free countries." (History of the Consulate and of the Empire, vol. xviii., p. 177.)

—The right of amendment, balanced by the reservation in the hands of the head of the state of the right of initiative, and of approval of laws, can not be denied the representatives of the people, (or submitted to a body composed, like a council of state, of functionaries appointable and removable by the executive power, of which power the body is, as a matter of fact, a mere delegation,) without seriously diminishing the part of the assemblies. Chambers deprived of the right of amendment are reduced to obstructing the course of the government by their resistance, or to following it with absolute docility; they are no longer, properly speaking, deliberative bodies, but advisory commissions.

—We must not, in spite of certain resemblances between the two, confound the right of amendment with the right of initiative, and employ against the former objections in reality applicable only to the latter. The initiative in all matters, even in matters of legislation, may be safely left to the executive power to which it belongs to act.44

—When the majority seriously desires and resolutely demands changes in legislation, the power which possesses the initiative will not wish, nor indeed have the power, to resist long. A responsible ministry could not keep the support of a chamber to which it refused the presentation of a law decidedly required by the representatives of the country. The recollection of the embarrassments caused in legislative assemblies by the exercise of the right of initiative is still fresh in the memory of every one. When this right exists it is impossible not to grant by the rules regulating it, or at least to allow in practice, an important part to the minority. The result is that assemblies lose valuable time in examining in committee or discussing in public sessions, propositions which have not the least chance of being adopted, propositions whose object may be, whose result frequently is, a useless agitation of the public mind. But quite another thing is the right to interrogate the government or to communicate information to it on affairs and on passing events which will soon become accomplished events. In such cases the representatives of the country ought not to find in the regulations of the assembly insurmountable obstacles to the putting of their questions at the proper time to the depositaries of the executive power. The majority should be free to authorize the interrogation, the answer to which, usage, in conformity with reason, allows the ministers on their own responsibility to refuse or defer. On all the points which we have thus summarily passed in review the prerogatives of the two chambers are equal in all governments where the powers are well balanced; but the rule is almost general that the priority in voting on money grants and financial measures belongs to the chamber of deputies, or to that body, whatever its name, which is most directly and most frequently renewed by election.

—To make a law the concurrence of the two chambers and of the executive power is indispensable. Each of the chambers may reject laws presented to it. and the sovereign may refuse to approve laws which the chambers have amended. Thanks to these salutary precautions none of the three wills which must concur to change a proposed bill into a law of the state, is exposed to the danger of finding itself alone in opposition to another will. There are always two on the same side, and the third ordinarily in the end submits.

—When the constitution has established between the sovereign represented by his ministers and the chambers representing the country, relations admitting of a reciprocal action of one on the other, uniting them both in a community of moral interests and responsibilities, and obliging the sovereign, not to be dependent on the legislative power, but to associate with himself in the exercise of the executive power men to whom the chambers accord their confidence and support, it becomes inevitable that the necessary moderation can not be imposed upon all parties. Concessions are made on either side. Neither of the powers probably obtains, but neither is forced to give up all that it desires. The sovereign may sometimes be embarrassed in his projects, hampered even in the good which he would like to do; but by a just compensation he is protected against more than one mistake, more than one rash impulse. Do we mean to say by this that a country is thus secured forever against revolutions? No, for all things human have their end. It is not merely dynasties and governments that pass away, societies themselves perish and peoples disappear. Human wisdom can not make anything eternal, and should confine itself to seeking the conditions most favorable to stability. History can show us no government that fell for having made timely concessions, but more than one has been over-thrown for having resisted too long. The great advantage of representative government, honestly administered, is, that it allows public opinion to manifest itself and renders the concessions of the sovereign easy and in no wise harmful. It is, furthermore, the only government where the separation of powers can be legally and actually complete—the only one where, as proved by the example of England, the just distribution of powers, maintained quite as much if not more by political customs as by the fundamental law of the state, softens, regulates and protects the play of the institutions, and thus secures their durability.

CASIMER PÉRIER.

CHEROKEE CASE

CHEROKEE CASE (IN U. S. HISTORY). In 1783 the territory included in the present states of Mississippi and Alabama, and the western and northern parts of Georgia, had been from time immemorial in the possession of a number of powerful Indian tribes, the most important being the Cherokees, Creeks, Choctaws and Chicasaws. The Creeks, or Muscogees, were the fiercest and most savage, and their still more savage refugees or "wild men," were afterward better known as Seminoles. In 1802 the newly erected territory of Mississippi (which then included Alabama) was entirely owned by the Indians, excepting small strips of land about Natchez and on the Tombigbee. By cessions from the Choctaws, Nov. 16, 1805, from the Creeks, Aug. 9, 1814, (as the result of Jackson's victories over them), and from the Chicasaws, Sept. 20, 1816, a great part of Mississippi and Alabama was ceded to the United States; and in the end the Choctaws, by treaty of Sept 27, 1830, and the Creeks, by treaty of March 24, 1832, ceded all their lands east of the Mississippi in return for an equivalent area on the other side of that river.

—The boundaries of the Cherokee country had been first fixed by the Hopewell treaty of Nov. 28, 1785, and modified by the Holston treaty of July 2, 1791, and by other treaties until that of Feb. 27, 1819. By the Hopewell treaty, to which the others were supplementary, the United States recognized the Cherokees as a nation, capable of making peace and war, of owning the lands within its boundaries, and of governing and punishing its own citizens by its own laws. By these treaties, which were part of the "supreme law of the land," the United States "solemnly guaranteed" (Art. 7 of the Holston treaty) to the Cherokees the lands not ceded by them; and by act of congress of March 30, 1802, the president was authorized to employ military force for the removal of all trespassers, and particularly of surveyors.

—Thus given and guaranteed the right of self-government, the Cherokees had certainly made very considerable advances in civilization before the year 1824. They had formed a government closely modeled after that of the United States; had established churches, a school system, a judiciary system and national courts of law; had developed a written language and introduced printing; and were quite successful in working the gold mines in the northern part of their domain, which lay mainly within the present limits of Georgia.

—The cession of western lands by Georgia, April 24, 1802, was accompanied by a stipulation that the United States should extinguish for the use of Georgia the Creek and Cherokee title to lands within the state, "as soon as it could be done peaceably and on reasonable terms;" and the federal government fulfilled its agreement. In 1808 deputations from the upper and lower Cherokees visited Washington to state the wishes of the former, who were husbandmen, to retain their location, and of the latter, who were hunters, to remove beyond the Mississippi. Accordingly, by the treaty of July 8, 1817, a tract of land of equivalent size beyond the Mississippi was granted to the lower Cherokees in exchange for their lands in Georgia. By this treaty and eight other treaties concluded with the Cherokees, and by four treaties with the Creeks, all concluded between 1802 and 1819, the United States had acquired about 15,000,000 acres of Georgia, leaving about 5,000,000 acres in possession of the Cherokees and about 4,000,000 acres in possession of the Creeks.

—In 1819 the Georgia legislature, impatient of the probably permanent continuance of the upper Cherokees in the state, memorialized the president for the complete fulfillment of the agreement of 1802. But the remaining Cherokees, who were now homogeneous in their tastes and tribal character, utterly refused to consider the matter of further cessions, and declared their intention to remain where they now were; and the more savage Creeks, at the Tuckebachee council, May 25, 1824, after emphatically announcing their resolution not to sell one foot of their land in future, denounced the punishment of death by shooting or hanging against any chief who should disobey the national will. It was therefore impossible to obtain any further cessions of land by treaties with the Indians in their national capacity. It was equally impossible by the natural operations of bargain and sale of land to white immigrants; for, by Creek and Cherokee law, recognized by section 12 of the act of March 30, 1802, the land of the whole district was the property of the whole nation, and no individual held in severalty or had the power of alienation. By the presence within her borders of two exceptionally able and intelligent Indian nations, the state of Georgia was thus threatened with the permanent establishment of an imperium in imperio over which state laws did not operate, a district of refuge within which any criminal, if agreeable to the Indians, might set state officers and writs at defiance. In Alabama and Mississippi, which Georgia had ceded to the United States, the Indian title had been successfully extinguished, with the exception of that to the few remaining Creek lands in Alabama; only in Georgia itself did the federal government seem unable and unwilling to relieve the state from this excrescence upon its dominion. With this grievance as a vehicle, it was natural that the greed for the rich Creek and Cherokee lands should urge not only private speculators, but the state government also, to active efforts to oust the rightful owners, despite the supreme law of the land, and the solemn guarantee given by the United States.

—The first attempt was made upon the Creeks. Three Creek chiefs, M Intosh, Tustenugge and Hawkins, were induced to sign a treaty at Indian Springs, Feb. 12, 1825, conveying the Creek lands to the United States for the use of Georgia. The Creek nation repudiated the treaty, and executed the chiefs, but the president and senate of the United States, willing thus to settle a very troublesome question, ratified the treaty and accepted it as binding. Governor Troup, of Georgia, at once gave orders for a survey of the Creek country, regardless of article 8 of the treaty, which gave the Creeks undisturbed possession of the country until Sept. 1, 1826, and regardless of the prohibition of such surveys by the act of March. 30, 1802. President Adams, at first mildly, and finally emphatically, forbade the survey, which was abandoned after considerable opposition by the governor and legislature. Jan. 24, 1826, a new treaty was made with the Creeks at Washington city, by which they ceded, under defined boundaries, most of their lands, but not, as in the Indian Springs treaty, their "whole territory lying within the state of Georgia." In the meantime Troup, by a very small majority, had been re-elected governor, and, being thus supported by the people as well as by the legislature of his state, he renewed the order for the survey, basing his orders upon the Indian Springs treaty, and refusing to recognize its substitute as valid or binding. President Adams again forbade it, ordered the arrest of the state surveyors, and sent a detachment of federal troops to enforce his orders. In reply, governor Troup notified the federal government of his "defiance," and ordered out the sixth and seventh divisions of the Georgia militia to resist the forces of the United States. He further announced to the Georgia congressmen that in his action he should be governed by the principle (see STATE SOVEREIGNTY) that Georgia and the federal government were equally sovereign and independent powers, and that disputes between them could not be decided by the supreme court, but by negotiation, until some competent tribunal should be established for that purpose as a part of the constitution. Unwilling to press the matter to the arbitrament of arms, president Adams referred the question to congress for action. No action was taken, and the Creeks were left to their fate. As before stated, they were finally forced to leave their lands in 1832.

—The case of the Cherokees presented more obstacles to state action than that of the Creeks. They were fewer in number (about 10,000), perfectly united, and intelligent enough to be more than a match for Georgian diplomacy. Club-law was the only resort, and to this the state was encouraged by the vacillation and timidity of the federal authorities in the Creek case. Very little attempt was made by the state authorities to justify their action on legal and constitutional grounds. But the basis seems to have been that the state had a sovereign right to extend the operation of its laws over all its territory; that the federal government had no right, by treaty or otherwise, to erect another sovereignty within the state limits; and that, when the federal government assumed to do so, the state executive was bound to obey the laws of the state even to the extent of armed resistance to the national authority. To this the natural answer was that treaties were a part of the supreme law of the land, which the governor himself was sworn to execute; that by such a treaty the quiet possession of their lands was guaranteed to the Cherokees; and that Georgia, as one of the United States, was a party to that treaty, and was estopped to deny what she had thus solemnly admitted. Thus, even supposing Georgia still a sovereign state in all respects, she could have had no standing in a court of law or equity. Nevertheless the Georgia legislature took the initiative, expecting the governor to fulfill its laws, and careless of any interference by the federal authority. Indeed, as the result showed, the new federal executive was unexpectedly found determined to stand neutral.

—By act of Dec. 20, 1828, the legislature divided the Cherokee country into five parts, added them respectively to the counties of Carroll, De Kalb, Gwinnett, Hall and Habersham, and extended the laws of the state over them. By the same act all Cherokee laws, usages and customs were declared null and void, and provision was made that Cherokees should not be competent witnesses for or against a white citizen; but the laws of the state were as yet to affect only white men living in the Cherokee country. The act of Dec. 19, 1829, extended state laws over all persons, white or Indian, in the Cherokee country, provided for punishment of any Indian resisting state writs, and made executions, under the Indian law against the sale of lands by individuals, murder in the first degree. By the act of Dec. 21, 1830, the lands of the Cherokees were authorized to be surveyed and laid off into small tracts which were to be distributed by lottery or raffle among the people of Georgia. By act of Dec. 23, 1830, the Cherokees were declared incapable of making contracts with white citizens. By act of Dec. 22, 1830, the improvements of the Cherokee landholders were seized by the state, as were also their gold mines by the act of Dec. 2, 1830, and white persons were forbidden to enter the Cherokee country except on conditions. By act of Dec. 22, 1830, the Cherokees were forbidden, under heavy penalties, to hold legislative assemblies or courts, or to execute the writs issued by their national courts. By these successive acts the state, so far as its legislative authority availed, completely ousted the Cherokees from the country whose possession the United States had solemnly guaranteed. The only question was, whether the state executive would be hindered in carrying out the laws by the national executive or by the supreme court. From congress no impediment was expected, for congress had refused or neglected to interfere when President Adams had laid the Creek case before it.

—It must not be supposed that the Cherokees had remained passive or quiescent during these aggressive proceedings of the legislature. Their printing presses at New Echota, their capital, and elsewhere, were burdened with the printing of appeals to the justice of the people of the United States. Early in 1829 their "beloved men," or head chiefs, had appealed to President Adams for the protection which the act of March 30, 1802, authorized him to afford, but he felt compelled to leave the case to the incoming administration of Jackson. April 18, 1829, through the secretary of war, president Jackson, on substantially the grounds enumerated above as the only authorized defense of Georgia's action, refused to interfere, and emphatically advised the Cherokees either to submit to the laws of Georgia, or to remove beyond the Mississippi and rejoin the lower Cherokees. It is difficult to defend president Jackson's refusal to uphold the treaties made with the Cherokees, or to execute, as he was sworn to do, the law of March 30, 1802. His refusal was in flat opposition to the practice of every president from Washington to Adams. Jefferson, who always and firmly upheld the rights of the Indian tribes, in his instructions to general Knox, Aug. 10, 1791, had laid down the principle that "the Indians have a right to the occupation of their lands, independent of the states within whose chartered lines they happen to be; that until they cede them by treaty or some other transaction no act of a state can give a right to such lands; * * * * that the government is determined to exert all its energy for the patronage and protection of the rights of the Indians, * * * and will think itself bound, not only to declare to the Indians that such settlements are without the authority or protection of the United States. but to remove them also by the public force." On the contrary, Jackson's decision held the federal government bound to stand neutral unless it could persuade the state to listen to reason and cease to nullify the treaties made by the United States. When South Carolina followed Georgia's precedents, president Jackson preached a very different doctrine. (See NULLIFICATION.) In the Cherokee case his mind may have been biased by his long continued frontier warfare against the southern Indians.

—Having found the president deaf to their appeal, the Cherokees at once tried the supreme court. The time fixed for extending the laws of Georgia over the Cherokee country was June 1, 1830. George Tassels, a Cherokee, was found guilty of homicide in resisting the execution of a state writ, and was sentenced to be hanged. By writ of error from the supreme court, dated Dec. 12, 1830, the state was cited to appear in January following, and show cause why the judgment against Tassels should not be corrected. The legislature, to which notice of the writ had been sent by the governor, at once passed resolutions instructing the governor and other state officers to pay no attention to the writs of the supreme court in the case, except to resist their execution by force if necessary, and Tassels was executed.

—William Wirt, attorney general from 1817 to 1825, and John Sergeant, had been engaged as counsel for the Cherokees, and they caused notices to be served, Dec. 27, 1830, and Jan. 1, 1831, upon the governor and attorney general of Georgia that an application would be made to the supreme court for an injunction restraining the state of Georgia from executing her laws within the Cherokee country. The state refused to appear. The case turned upon the right of the Cherokees to sue Georgia under the constitutional provision that the national judicial power should extend to cases between a state "and foreign states, citizens or subjects." Wirt and Sergeant united in an extremely able argument going to show that the Cherokees were a sovereign and independent nation with all the national powers of making peace, war, and treaties, and of self-government; that in these respects they were more sovereign and independent than the state of Georgia; that their national sovereignty and independence had been recognized by the United States in a long series of treaties which it was the sworn duty of the court and the president to maintain and enforce; and that the word "foreign" in the constitution was a political, not a local or geographical, term, so that it was perfectly possible for a "foreign" nation to exist within the limits of the United States. Their argument was re-enforced by the opinion of chancellor Kent, of New York, but was rejected by the court, which held that, while the Cherokees were a state, they were not a foreign state, but a domestic, dependent nation in a state of pupilage, holding their soil only by occupancy, and bearing the relation to the United States of a ward to his guardian. The injunction was therefore refused, and the Cherokees were relegated to the mercy of the state of Georgia, since the president, their constitutional protector, refused to intervene in their behalf.

—Another opportunity soon offered for the adjudication of the state laws in the supreme court. By the state law of Dec. 22, 1830, white persons were forbidden to enter the limits of the Cherokee country without obtaining a license from the governor and without the taking of the oath of allegiance to the state of Georgia. For violating this act, ten persons, mostly Presbyterian and Methodist missionaries, were arrested, cruelly handled, indicted, and, in September, 1831, sentenced to four years' imprisonment. Eight of the number, having given assurance that they would conform to the state laws, were pardoned, but two, Dr. Butler and Rev. Mr. Worcester, refusing to submit, were imprisoned, and Worcester brought suit in the supreme court for relief. The decision of the court was given in March, 1832. It reviewed the entire proceedings of the state in the case of the Cherokees, declared them to be violations of the constitution, treaties and laws of the United States, and ordered Worcester to be discharged, since the act was void and the judgment a nullity. In contempt of the mandate of the supreme court the state court refused to grant a writ of habeas corpus, and Worcester and Butler continued to serve their term of imprisonment. There was no prospect of relief for them until January, 1833, at the next sitting of the supreme court, when it would have been competent for the court to enjoin the marshal of the district of Georgia to summon the posse comitatus, and the president to assist in enforcing the decree with the land and naval forces. The question of the national authority would then have been imperatively put at issue. Unfortunately the missionaries wearied of their experience as martyrs, and on their submission to the state authorities, were pardoned by the governor, Jan. 14, 1833. The state officials persisted successfully in executing the state laws, and they and the national administration at last succeeded in extorting from the Cherokees the treaty of Dec. 29, 1835, by which the United States paid $5,700,000 for the territory in dispute, and removed the Indians beyond the Mississippi. The political importance of the Cherokee case lay in the fact that its result was the first successful nullification, in its modern sense, of the laws of the United States. (See NULLIFICATION, STATE SOVEREIGNTY, SECESSION.)

—See 1 von Holst's United States, 433; 8, 10, 11, Benton's Debates of Congress; 3 Jefferson's Works (ed. 1829), 280; 2 Clay's Speeches, 249; 1 Greeley's American Conflict, 102. The Cherokee Case is in 5 Pet., 1, (9 Curtis, 178), and that of Worcester vs. Georgia in 6 Pet., 515, (10 Curtis, 214). The arguments of Wirt and Sergeant, together with the opinions of chancellor Kent, the treaties, and the acts of the Georgia legislature, are in Richard Peters' The Cherokee Nation vs. The State of Georgia. The treaties referred to are in 7 Stat. at Large, those of Hopewell and Holston at pp. 18, 39. The law of March 30, 1802, is in 2 Stat. at Large, 139.

ALEXANDER JOHNSTON.

CHESAPEAKE CASE.

CHESAPEAKE CASE. (See UNITED STATES.)

CHILI.

CHILI. This country, under Spanish rule, formed, with the vice-royalties of Granada, Peru, and La Plata, a captaincy general under the authority of an officer having the rank of lieutenant general, president, governor, and captain general of the kingdom of Chili.

—The unhappy events which convulsed Spain during the second half of the reign of the first Napoleon, had already reacted on the American continent when the new spirit crossed the Andes and disturbed Chili. The republic of Chili began its revolution under sad auspices. The first struggle for emancipation was in 1810. On the 18th of September of that year, she declared her independence. Dissatisfaction provoked by electoral questions afforded the three Carrera brothers, young and ambitious debauchees, a pretext for taking an active part in the movement. On the 11th of December, 1811, they dispersed the congress, seized the reins of government, were driven from power, returned to it, and as a result of their rule Chili was almost reduced by the arms of Spain.

—The cause of independence seemed lost when help from an unexpected quarter was obtained, giving it new life and finally insuring its triumph. General San Martin, the real founder of the Chilian republic, hurried from Buenos Ayres with 3,000 men, crossed into Chili in 1817, and restored courage and confidence to all. He reorganized the national army, and defeated the royalists at Chacabuco; was defeated in turn at Canchaarayada, a disaster he soon repaired by the famous battle of Maypo, which he won April 5, 1818. It decided the success of the revolution and assured Chilian independence.

—The new state had to defend itself against the dangers which threatened it from within. It happily surmounted them. In 1821 San Martin had gone northward from Chili to free Peru, of which he had been proclaimed protector, from the Spanish yoke. Generals O'Higgins and Freyre had succeeded him in turn as president. To them succeeded general Pinto, whose elevated mind and travels in Europe had given him a higher reputation in the country. He governed with an ability that assured Chili some years of tranquillity. The country showed its appreciation by re-electing him, but an irregularity in the election furnished the malcontents a pretext for agitation. He allowed himself to be influenced by the counsels of the extreme liberals, and gave to Chili an ultra-democratic constitution. This imprudent course excited violent opposition. The reactionary party, that is what is there called the "moderate" party, had, at its head general Prieto, and among its members the unfortunate Portales. A civil war excited against them, ended in their victory and in the abolition of the constitution.

—In 1838 Chili finally adopted its present constitution, "one of the wisest in America," says a traveler, "which gives to the government the legal means of enforcing obedience to its commands, and to the country satisfactory guarantees of liberty." The president is elected for 5 years. Besides the ministry which governs with him, he is assisted by a council of state composed of the ministers, 2 judges, an ecclesiastical dignitary, 2 generals, and a like number of ex-ministers. The legislative power is vested in a senate of 20 members, elected for 9 years, and a triennial house of representatives, consisting of one member for every 20,000 inhabitants. Under the firm rule of general Prieto and of Portales peace was firmly established; habits of order and political wisdom prevailed in the country. Chili began a career of progress which has since been only occasionally interrupted and then for but short periods. The question has been asked, "How did Chili come to have this exceptional history, and what favorable circumstances gave it a destiny so different from that of the other democracies of South America?" Several causes have been assigned for this: First the non-interference of the resident Spanish population, of whom very few took part in the revolutionary struggles, thus guaranteeing their own security and not adding a third party to the two already opposed to each other; the purity of the Creole race, which has very little admixture of Indian blood and preserved its vigor and moral preponderance; the destructive character of that active and serious race who are fond of comparing themselves to the English, and whom a traveler has likened to the Dutch; the depth of Chilian national sentiment, their taste for commerce, and the isolation of the country, which, defended on the east by the chain of the Andes and on the west by the sea, is protected both from the ambition of its neighbors and from its own; and lastly, by the geographical features of the country which does not admit of long wars, and in which every quarrel must be quickly decided.

—After the republic had passed through its period of crises and had nothing to do but to devote itself to the development of its institutions, an unfortunate incident, brought about by the ambition of general Santa Cruz, president of Bolivia, checked its progress for a time. Santa Cruz had united Bolivia and Peru into a confederation of which he was the head. He wished to include Chili, and to further his plan, began by exciting civil war in the country over which he desired to extend his rule. The attempt at insurrection was soon crushed, but Portales was its first victim. Order was reestablished but Chili had lost one of its most distinguished men, the one on whom it based the most legitimate hopes, and who had already done so much for the reformation of its laws and the perfecting of its organization. At the beginning of 1859, however, new storms arose. A party of liberal opposition had been formed. It demanded constitutional reforms and allied itself with its most decided opponents, the reactionary and clerical parties. Although this coalition of extreme parties inspired no confidence in the country, and although, moreover, it was wanting in leaders, it was none the less dangerous. It brought on an armed insurrection. The president took energetic measures. Extraordinary powers were voted him by congress. He usurped the dictatorship which he had the courage and the honor not to abuse. The insurrection was suppressed on the 29th of April at Pemelas, and peace assured.

—The Chilians dreaded the approach of 1861. During the course of the year every branch of the government of the state was to be re-elected. They had to meet at the polls several times during the year; on the 28th of February, to elect members of the house; on the 15th of May, to vote for senators; on the 25th of June, to choose presidential electors, and on the 31st of September the president himself. But all these elections passed off in an orderly and lawful manner.

—While these contests, attended with much excitement but no bloodshed, were going on in the interior, Chili did not neglect its foreign relations. In 1859 a treaty concerning the payment of a certain indemnity which Chili acknowledged that it owed the United States, was signed with that power. At the same time it signed a treaty of navigation and commerce with Belgium, while a similar treaty with Austria was in course of preparation. On the 11th of April it concluded an extradition treaty with France.

—But the good understanding between Chili and the European powers did not last long. In 1864 it espoused the cause of Peru against Spain.

—In the article BOLIVIA the reader will find an account of the manner in which the war between Peru and Spain broke out, and how the republic of Ecuador, Bolivia and Chili came to sign a treaty of alliance, offensive and defensive, with Peru. This alliance was preceded in Chili by active hostilities with Spain, which was irritated at the indirect assistance given to Peru by Chili. Admiral Paréja, commanding the Spanish squadron, declared the coast of Chili blockaded in September, 1865. The Chilian government declared war against Spain and entered into the Peruvian alliance in December.

—The bombardment of Valparaiso has made this war celebrated in Europe. The Chilian squadron had had some success in its engagements with the Spanish vessels, and the United States offered its mediation, which Chili refused. The Spanish admiral Mendez-Nunez gave the Chilian government four days to accept the proposition of the United States, failing which, he threatened to open fire on Valparaiso, an unfortified place, its only battery having been recently dismantled. It was the great entrepôt of all foreign commerce. In vain did the ministers of England, France and the United States represent to the Chilian president the folly of resistance. He was controlled by the press and by public opinion. Both had become excited to such a degree that they would not listen to reason. He was imprudent enough to defy the threat of the Spanish commander, who had the inhumanity to carry it out. March 31, 1866, the bombardment set fire to the custom house buildings which contained $30,000,000 worth of goods. French merchants lost $3,400,000, the English and American $500,000 each, the Chilians $400,000. A portion of the city, valued at $15,000,000, was reduced to ashes.

—The news of the bombardment caused in Europe an indignation that found vent in the English parliament and in the French corps législatif. But the French and English governments considered the act justified by the necessities of war, and not contrary to the law of nations, so Spain was not asked to make good the loss. Besides, the war with Chili had virtually terminated with the retreat of the Spanish squadron, which had laid siege to Callao unsuccessfully. (See PERU.) Both sides saw fit to postpone the concluding of a treaty of peace, which was not signed until 1868.

—The territory of Chili consists of a narrow strip of land running from north to south along the Pacific coast, between 25° and 44° south latitude; and its area is 132,606 English square miles. It possesses, at some distance from its southern coast, the archipelago of Chiloë, and it claims authority over a much vaster extent of territory which belongs to Patagonia, and which, added to Chili, would double its area. But its authority over the territory situated between 37° and 42° south latitude. beyond the river Biobio, seems to be nominal. The inhabitants of this region, the Araucanian Indians, are independent in the strict sense of the word. Chili is bounded on the north by the desert of Atacama, belonging to Bolivia; on the east by the Argentine republic and Patagonia, separated from them by the chain of the Andes; on the south also by Patagonia; and on the west by the Pacific ocean. Its rivers, the Rio Maypo, the Maule and the Rio Biobio, are of little importance. The climate, as a general thing, is mild and healthy; but this advantage is offset in a terrible manner by the earthquakes to which Chili is subject, perhaps more than any other country, especially on the coast. The country is divided into 16 provinces. The provinces are, Atacama, Angel, Aranco, Coquimbo, Aconcagua, Santiago, Colchagua, Valparaiso, Talca, Maule, Nuble, Concepcion, Valdivia, Chiloë, Llanquihue, Linares, Curico. Santiago is the capital of the whole republic, with a population of 129,807 (1875). Valparaiso, the commercial and business centre, is the most important city. Its population in 1875, was 97,775.

—The population of Chili, estimated at 240,000 in 1764, and placed at 600,000 in 1825 by an English traveler, reached 1,080,000 in 1843. In 1857 it was 1,465,492; in 1868, 1,908,340; and in 1875, 2,283,568. We here speak almost exclusively of the population north of the Biobio, where there is very little admixture of negroes and Indians. South of that river there are hardly any other inhabitants than members of the Araucanian tribe. Their number in 1790 was estimated to be 70,000.

—Education is with the Chilian government an object of great and legitimate solicitude. Santiago has a university which has founded five colleges; among them the national institute, and the institute of Coquimbo. Santiago has also private educational institutions. More than two thousand young men attended the state colleges in 1860. The private colleges are 50 in number, 26 for boys and 24 for girls. The former was attended by about 6,000 scholars, the latter by about 2,000 pupils. There were 477 primary schools; 329 for boys, 23 for adults, and 125 for girls; 2,000 pupils of both sexes attended them, while the 84 municipal schools had 4,500 pupils. In 1867 there were 993 primary schools, with 50,877 pupils.

—The Chilian government seems to neglect no opportunity to develop the elements of prosperity in the country. Important reforms have been introduced in the civil and criminal codes, also in the administration of justice, for which tribunals of first resort, three courts of appeal and one supreme court, are provided. Railways are being built, and in 1860 80 kilomètres of railway were already in operation and had carried nearly 300,000 passengers. In 1871 the total length of railway lines was about 761 kilomètres. There are telegraph lines from Valparaiso to Santiago, and from the latter place to Talca, over 750 kilomètres in length. 2,650 miles of telegraph were in operation in 1878. The use of the decimal system, decreed in 1848, for measures of length and volume, was to be enforced during the course of the year 1860. The military spirit is not very prevalent in Chili, and has not had the pernicious influence there that it exerted in the other South American republics. The regular army, consisting of a few battalions of infantry and some squadrons of cavalry, does not reach the number of 5,200 men. The national guard, however, is well organized. It numbers 50,000 men. The navy consists of 6 steamers, with 40 guns and 400 men.

—From 1825 until 1832 the average revenue of the republic did not exceed $1,700,000 per annum, and the expenditure was in excess of the receipts. In 1851 the expenses amounted to more than $4,700,000, while the receipts in 1852 were only about $4,430,000. The budget of 1853 nearly restored the balance of the two parts which composed it. The receipts appeared in it as 6,419,000 piasters, and the expenditures as 6,336,000 piasters. In 1871 the receipts were 11,550,000 piasters, and the expenditures 12,542,000 piasters. The principal source of revenue was the customs duties, which amounted to more than 4,000,000 piasters. In 1878 the revenue of Chili amounted to 20,443,977 pesos, and its expenditure to 21,375,728. At the end of the same year the total debt, internal and foreign, was 63,397,022 pesos.

—In 1879, on the outbreak of war with Peru and Bolivia, Chili had 22,000 men under arms. The navy consisted of 10 steamers, of 120 to 300 horse power, and 2 ironclads.

—Metals form an important part of the mineral wealth of Peru. Spangles of gold are found at the bottom of some of its rivers. It contains silver mines, and especially copper mines. In 1856 the yield of fine gold and silver amounted to 529,000 piasters, in 1857 to about 1,100,000 piasters, and in 1858 to 1,000,000 piasters. But Chili is, above all, an agricultural country. Besides the precious metals it exports grain and lumber. The most fruitful source of its industrial wealth is the vast extent of its pasture lands, in the midst of which may sometimes be seen a herd of 10 or 20,000 head of stock belonging to one man. In 1856 the imports amounted to 99,000,000 francs, and the exports to 90,800,000 francs, or 189,800,000 altogether. The principal countries which fed this commerce figured in the following order: Imports—England, 34,500,000 francs; France, 21,300,000; the United States, 12,100,000; Germany, 9,600,000. Exports—England, 41,500,000 francs; the United States, 15,500,000; Peru, 11,900,000; France, 7,000,000. The whole foreign commerce of Chili in 1869 amounted to 291,235,000 francs, of which, 144,319,000 were for imports and 146,916,000 for exports. Adding the coasting trade the grand total foots up 524,806,000 francs. During the year 1856 2,602 vessels, Chilian or foreign, entered Chilian ports, and 2,568 cleared for other ports: total, 5,170. England ranks first, with 1,156 ships; the United States follow, with 475; France only holds the fifth rank, with 122. In 1867 arrivals and departures were as follows: arrivals, 3,553 vessels, registering 1,723,617 tons; departures, 3,334 vessels representing 1,680,868; total, 6,877 vessels, and 3,374,485 tons. England retained her first rank, with 1,073 vessels; the United States came next, with 665; France had fallen back to the sixth rank, with 148 ships. The intermediate ranks were held by the Hanseatic cities, San Salvador and Italy.

—BIBLIOGRAPHY. The Progress and Actual Condition of Chile, by G. Rose Innes, London, 1875; Historia General de el Reyno de Chile, by R. P. Diego de Rosales, Valparaiso, 1877-8.

A. RABUTAUX.

CHINA

CHINA. This patriarchal empire, having the oldest existing government in the world, consists of China proper, Manchuria, Mongolia, Tibet, and Ili, or Eastern Turkestan, with the large islands of Formosa and Hainan. The various countries of Indo-China, Burmah, Siam, and Annam, the tribes of Amuria, the Riu Kiu (Loo Choo) islands, Corea, and Japan (under the Ashikaga line of shoguns, from 1401 to 1573) were formerly tributary vassals, but their relations are now those of ceremony only, or of complete independence.

—The official title of China, under the present dynasty, from which it is named, is Tsin, ("pure") Tai-tsin, ("Great Pure") or Tatsin-kwo, (Empire of Great Tsin). Popular names are Chung-hwa ("Central Flower") or Chunghwa-kwo ("Central Flowery Land"), a name formerly applied to Ho-nan province; and Chung-kwo ("The Middle Kingdom") also an old name of Ho-nan. This central province formerly situated between the "foreigners of the east" or sea-border, and the hill tribes of the west, under the Han dynasty, finally gave its name to "all the Chinas"—the favorite conception being that of one central empire, while all other countries lay outside. Chu-Hia, ("All the Chinas") Shi-pasan, ("The Eighteen Provinces") referring to China proper, and various appellatives derived chiefly from dynastic titles, are in popular or literary use. The terms China and Chinese (Fr. Chine, Chinois), are Anglicized forms of the ancient native "Tsin," "Chin," or "Sin," used long before the Tsin dynasty (255-209 B. C.) and found in Sanskrit, Persian and Hebrew, meaning a silk-worm. China is the home of the silk-worm, and the first land of silk. The Russians and north Asiatics use the old Mongol names Kitai or Kitan (whence Marco Polo's "Cathay"); the Annamese, Sina, the Tibetans, Yulbu; the Japanese, Shin, Shina-koku, Kara, Morokoshi, or Kanto. The name used by most Chinese emigrants, and in Java, the Straits and the Sandwich islands, is Tang-shan, from a famous mountain in Chi-li province; the emigrants being termed Tang-jin—the first Chinese settlers in Java having left their homes during the Tang dynasty, (618-905 A.D.) The vulgar term "Celestial" is not of Chinese origin, unless it be borrowed from Tien-chau, ("Heaven-rule or Theocracy") applied to the great government, irrespective of dynasty.

—The chief boundary lines of China are rivers, mountains and the sea. Her whole northern frontier borders on Russia in Asia, the supplementary treaty of 1860 negotiated by general Ignatieff having deprived her of Amuria, and all the coast north of Corea, leaving her without a seaport beyond China proper. South of Corea and the Usuri river, her eastern boundary is a seacoast line, 2,000 miles long. Her neighbors, on the south, are Annam, Burmah and India; and on the west, Turkestan and India. In brief, with the exception of the sea line, and part of Burmah, China is now surrounded by three great European nations, Russia, England, and France, in Asia.

—Manchuria is, in the main, a grassy fertile basin, lying between the Amur river and the Great Wall, and Corea and the Usuri river, and the Kin Ghan mountains. Mongolia is largely desert, poorly watered, alternately very hot and cold, and hemmed in by lofty mountain ranges, the Altai and the Kin Ghan. Tibet is a plateau, the highest in the world, walled in by the Himalaya and Huen Lun mountains. Ili, or Eastern Turkestan, another desert plateau, was completely reconquered by the Chinese in 1877, after it had lapsed into rebellion and set up an independent government. China proper, the only division of the empire having maritime boundaries, is a vast plain or series of fertile river basins lying on the slope toward the sea, and threaded by those great rivers which have their source in the central Asian plateau. Four of the five great divisions of the empire are inhabited by mixed races of people, with divers religions, and are governed rather as conquered territory. China proper alone has a homogeneous population and political system. The area of the whole empire is about 5,000,000 square miles, or one-third of Asia, or one-tenth of the land surface of the globe. China ranks third among the great landed governments of the earth, the British and Russian exceeding, the United States and Brazil falling short of the Chinese area; the five together occupying more than one-half of the known land of the world. China proper has a land frontier of 4,500 miles, an area of over 2,000,000 square miles, or half as large as Europe, and a population of 360,000,000, according to Dr. S. Wells Williams—the entire empire containing probably 450,000,000 souls, or one-third of mankind. Dr. Williams, who has spent nearly 40 years in China, and who devoted more time to the preparation of his chapter on population in his master book, "The Middle Kingdom," than to any other, bases his calculation on the government census of 1812, which was made for purely official purposes, and not for the use or eye of foreigners. It is certain that the empire is very far from being overpopulated, there being immense fertile districts in Manchuria and Mongolia very scantily inhabited; while Ili, Tibet, and the abandoned flats of the Hoang ho (or Whang ho), or Yellow river, at present sustain a mere fraction of the population that under the pressure of necessity, or the blessing of a better government, they could sustain. Agriculture is in but a few places carried to its extreme possibilities, and the real cause of famine, as in most old countries, is the lack of means of transportation. The division of China proper into 18 provinces dates from the fourteenth century, the nineteenth province having been added by the present dynasty. They are subdivided into 182 prefectures, and 1,279 districts. Those best known to foreigners are the maritime provinces, containing the treaty ports with a population estimated at 4,990,000, open to the trade and residence of aliens, of whom there were, in 1878, 3,814. The coast provinces are, Shin-king, Chi-li, Shan-tung, Kiang-su, Che kiang, Fo-kien, Kwang-tung. The frontier provinces are Kwang-si and Yun-nan, adjoining Annam and Burmah; Se-chuen and Kansu, adjoining Tibet; Shen-se and Shan-se, adjoining Mongolia; Ho-nan, Ngan-wi, Kiang-si, Hunan, Kwei-chow and Hu-pe, are the interior provinces. Shin-king, or the imperial province, was formerly a part of Manchuria, but has been incorporated with China proper during the present dynasty, making the actual number 19. The metropolitan province is Chi-li, in the extreme north, in which, very inconveniently situated, is the King or capital, Peking; the ancient capital having been Nanking.

—The political system of China is the most perfect example in history of the idea of the family expanded into that of the nation. Its vast imperialism is but the perfected evolution of the parental and final relations. The popular term for the nation or commonwealth is the hundred families. Before the dawn of history, the Chinese ideal and fact of government was that of a father ruling his children, and in this, perhaps, the forty-sixth century of their existence, the primal idea, scarcely modified in its essence, binds together the administrative system under which one-fourth of the human race dwell. This is not the production of conquest, but is due to the unfolding of the original genius of the people. Neither foreign wars, nor internal commotions often vast in form and long abiding in time, nor their repeated subjugation by conquerors from the north, alien in blood, language and religion, nor the immense local diversity of the tribes and regions comprised in this colossal country, have more than temporarily affected this nationality. Filial piety—the obedience of the child to the parent, and the reverence of the young to the aged—is the corner-stone of China's unique civilization. After forty-five centuries of existence, the Chinese people are to-day the living witness to the truth wrapped up in the fifth commandment given by Jehovah (Chinese Shang-ti) on Mount Sinai, to the Hebrews: "Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee." While all the other political systems of antiquity have crumbled and passed away leaving only their ruins, the land of filial piety is inherited to-day by a nation whose social structure is more firmly settled than that of any other on earth. If Egypt gave us architecture and agriculture, the Phœnicians letters, the Hebrews religion, the Greeks beauty, the Romans jurisprudence, the Germanic nations personal liberty, China brings to the sum of truth possessed by the race, the demonstrated power of filial reverence to preserve the life of nations. If political science be based on fact, and not merely on theory, and if longevity be the quest of nations as of individuals, then China has this supreme lesson, in addition to many others, to teach the younger nations of the west. "The peculiar character of the Chinese—for they have a character which is one and distinct—is not to be accounted for by their residence in great plains, for half their empire is mountainous. Neither is it to be ascribed to their rice diet, as rice is a luxury in which few of the northern population are able to indulge. Still less is it to be referred to the influence of climate, for they spread over a broad belt in their own country, emigrate in all directions and flourish in every zone. It is not even explained by the unity and persistency of an original type, for, in their earlier career, they absorbed and assimilated several other races, while history shows that at different epochs their own character has undergone remarkable changes. The true secret of this phenomenon is the presence of an agency which, under our own eyes, has shown itself sufficiently powerful to transform the turbulent nomadic Manchu into the most Chinese of the inhabitants of the Middle Kingdom. The general name for that agency, which includes a thousand elements, is education. It is education that has imparted a uniform stamp to the Chinese, under every variety of physical condition." (W. A. P. Martin, "The Chinese.") Yet this term "education" does not suggest in China what it does in Christendom of this century. With us it means the training of all the faculties of mind and body, the discipline of every one of man's powers, to the end that all nature may be subordinate to man's needs, and new truths be continually won as man progresses. In China, education looks entirely to the past. It is a combination of the purely literary and scholastic training like that of mediæval Europe, with the pupilage of the child still under parental rule. The family idea rules even in the schools, and subordination and filial obedience are the principles which form the core of Chinese education. Because of this very idea of the family dominating that of state and empire, there is seen in China a vast interplay of despotism and liberty—the absolute rule of the father or emperor, and the easy freedom within limits of his children the people. What the Americans are in Christendom, the Chinese are in extra-Caucasian humanity—the freest people in Asia. Since the political genius and concrete system of China are unique, original, the oldest in the world, absolutely independent of foreign influence, we shall best expose them by a brief outline of the history of the Chinese people.

—The purely mythical period of their history, which even the native critics reject, comprises a period of 2,267,000 years before the birth of Confucius in B. C. 551. The legendary portion, which can not, except in its outlines, bear the rigid requirements of modern historical criticism, begins about 2852 B. C. Passing over this, we reach the semi-historical period in the reign of Wu (B. C. 1122), of the Chow dynasty (1122-255 B. C.). The opinions of most modern critics are now gravitating toward the year 781 B. C. as the beginning of trustworthy Chinese history.

—The early legends of the Chinese are perhaps no more vitiated by fable than are those of most ancient peoples. In the gray dawn of their history we find a people settled within the loop of the Hoang Ho, in what is now the modern province of Shen-se, dwelling as one family ruled by a father or patriarch. Within a few generations, the increasing number of immigrants was divided into tribes and classes, to each of which a name was given, the wang or king being still the father of all the people. Agriculture was the chief occupation, but arts and trades began to be developed among them—the rudiments of that vast subdivision of labor seen in the China of to-day, with its guilds and trades-unions of hoary age. It is now nearly certain, however, that many of the inventions ascribed to them or their leaders originated farther west, and before their departure from the land whence they came. Linguistic science, aided by researches in other domains of thought, is gradually bridging the gulf between the Chinese and Euphratean nations, one of the most brilliant recent discoveries being the identification of the primitive forms of the Chinese characters with the Accadian hieroglyphs from which the cuneiform writing of Assyria was derived, and the agreement in the ancient pronunciation of them. M. de Lacouperie, who makes this claim, also asserts that the enigmatical Yh-king, a system of mystic characters whose real meaning had been forgotten before the age of Confucius, is really a collection of syllabaries and lists of words similar to those with which the clay tablets of the library at Ninevah have made us familiar. (See Early History of Chinese Civilization, and Le Yh-King et les Origines asiatiques occidentales de la Civilization Chinoise; by M. Terrier de Lacouperie.) From their first origins, the Chinese type of intellect is easily perceived. Unlike the dreamy, metaphysical Hindus "who think away matter and hate the physical toil which develops its uses," we find at once "a swarm of plodding utilitarians, sternly adherent to things actual and positive; who insist that the world is the plainest of facts and needs no explanation; that it is purely a working world, wherein a seventh day rest would be an impertinence,—a world where every atom is intensely real and valuable; where domestic and social uses stand for poetry metaphysics and religion." (Johnson's Oriental Religions—China.) In India—the other great reservoir of mankind—we find brain, pure thought; in China, muscle, pure labor. The type of the Hindu intellect is cerebral, that of the Chinese is muscular; in the cosmogeny of the former, the world issues from mystic thought, in that of the latter, the earth is already existent and self-shaping, the first man having hammer and chisel in his hand, himself and tools being a part of it. In India the type of architecture is the bubble, symbol of unreality; in China, it is the pagoda, pile on pile of tents or dwellings. Contrasting the Chinese physical mould—the flattened profile, the uninspired air, the plump, muscular and enduring physique, with the clear bright eye and rapid graceful motion of the Arab; with the dreamy languor yet exquisite nervous susceptibility of the Aryan Hindu; with the prominent features, the collected self-conscious and expectant bearing of the Teuton or the Greek; and we easily discover the persistent mental type corresponding to it, so lymphatic, so incurious, so fast-bound in things as they are, and have been. The Chinese creative faculty remains within the plane of certain organic habits, failing to rise from the formalism of rules to the freedom of the ideas. The Chinese mind buries itself in its materials, but does not go beyond them. Hence the stability of the structure, without growth or development in the idea. (Johnson's China, passim.) We may add that the above philosophical analysis of the Chinese mental qualities, by a distinguished American scholar, is valid as well for the pre-Confucian era as for this sixth year of K wang-si (A. D. 1881).

—A change from simple patriarchalism in the direction of feudalism was made by Wu Wang (1122 B.C.) who allotted portions of land for the support of the now numerous sons and brothers of the sovereigns, who had gradually formed a kind of nobility of the state. Seventy-two principalities were allotted to the royal relatives, all of whom were tributary to the sovereign. Yet even in this rudimentary feudalism, there were few or no restrictions of the privileges of the people, such as were seen in mediæval Europe. The inherent viciousness of the system soon, however, developed itself; jealousies, tribal fights, internecine wars, and the mutual weakening of loyalty to the tribe-father or suzerain and his authority over the vassals, resulted. Worse than all, the tributary nations on the north called Tâtars (vassals), emboldened by the internal weakness of their conquerors, began, about 950 B. C., the inroads which continued for many centuries, necessitating the constant arming of the people, and, before the Christian era, the building of the Great Wall. Into the details of Chinese feudalism we need not enter. It lasted from 1122 to 221 B. C., a period of 900 years. The best picture of feudal China is seen in the She King or Book of Ancient Poetry, translated into English verse by Dr. James Legge, London, 1876. The sage Kung, the one being on earth whom the Chinese regard as endowed with unalloyed wisdom, and who is known to Europeans as Confucius, was born at the time of greatest feudal misrule, 551 B. C., in the petty kingdom of Lu. By this time the sovereignty of the rulers or kings of the Chow dynasty had become reduced to little more than an empty pageant. The actual functions of government had passed into the hands of a varying number of vassal dukes who ruled their respective territories with the attributes of sovereign power. Confucius was not, in any sense of the word, an original thinker, a revealer, or an inventor, but only a reverent student of antiquity, a teacher who re-presented the old traditions, and enforced them by his example. Like our own great theologian of Princeton, he doubtless boasted that "he had never invented a new idea." He was compiler, editor and annalist, but composed no doctrinal work. To his disciples we owe what is known of his life and works. "He held up for the admiration of his pupils and countrymen at large the virtuous endeavors of these wise rulers [of antiquity] and the principles upon which, under their government, the empire was ordered. The lessons which he drew from these sources and inculcated in his conversations or by his example (translated by Dr. Legge under the title of Confucian Analects), constitute the most sacred portion of the Chinese canon of philosophy and instruction." (Mayer.) Late in life he collected and arranged the substance of the ancient books and traditions, in prose and poetry, under the title of King, which form the second portion of the canon. These works, together with a meagre chronicle of the events of his native state (722-481 B. C.) constitute a body of writings which, to the Chinese, have been for a period of 2,000 years the basis of the national education, religion and government. In them, one finds the keys to the entire Chinese political and social system, in ideal and in fact; yet it must never be forgotten that Confucius added nothing new, he simply reproduced the archaic norm and ancient genius of the nation. On the other hand, it is very probable that he purposely failed to properly express what the ancients had taught concerning religion. (See Dr. Legge's Religions of China, 1880.) Though reverenced in his life, the sage was not practically successful as a reformer. Meng Tsze (372-289 B. C.), a native of the same state in which Confucius was born, is honored as "Sage Second" of China. His work was to popularize the doctrines of his predecessor. The record of his teachings and conversations with princes who sought his counsel, or with disciples who gathered round him for instruction, forms the fourth of the canonical books—the standard of the national ethics and social order. The Jesuit scholars at Peking who first Latinized the names of these two sages might have rendered familiar to western ears and minds other famous Chinese names, had they given them the same familiar terminology.

—Thirty years after the death of Mencius, was born the man, by whose genius and labors the feudal system was swept away, and a homogeneous empire, nearly conterminous with modern China, erected on its ruins. He broke with the traditions of the past, and attempted to forever destroy the power of the literati, the idolaters of letters and the opponents of progress, by ordering the destruction of all the ancient records. He built the Great Wall—the most stupendous monument of human industry on earth, by uniting in one the several walls of the various states, with great additions. He divided the vast empire into 36 provinces ruled by governors sent out from the capital, and thus created centralized monarchy. In thus securing the extinction of feudalism, China anticipated Japan by the space of 2,000 years. He combined the ancient title, Wang, (sovereign), with Ti (Divine ruler, or deity), and took the title of She Wang Ti (First Universal Emperor; or First Autocrat ruling by Divine Right.) This is the initial appearance of that shibboleth of Chinese imperialism: for to China's emperor alone can this august title be granted. All other sovereigns and rulers on earth whosoever are only Wang (king or sovereign). None can be Wang Ti, either by law, custom or fact; nor will Chinese diplomatists ever in document, official address or conversation apply this title to any king, emperor, czar, shah, mikado or president. All tributary nations receive investiture of their rulers under the title of Wang (king), or Wang kwo, Japanese, Koku O (king of a country). The ineradicable conception in the Chinese mind is, that as there is one father to a family, so there is but one ruler for the world. His ideal for the whole race of mankind is the family, hence the emperor must be the world-father. To the average Chinaman, who saw that European sovereigns were not addressed in equal terms with the Chinese emperor, the idea of the inferiority or vassalage of the latter to their Wang Ti instinctively arose. Of late years the foreign legations in Peking have insisted upon and compelled the Chinese officials to use specially-coined terms to express the titles of European sovereigns in such a manner that absolute, or at least apparent equality may be secured, and the suggestion of inferiority be eliminated. The obnoxious, vulgar word, "barbarian," has also been stricken out of official correspondence, and "foreigner" or "foreign countryman" substituted. The incurable jealousy, mutual contempt and chronic unfriendliness between the Japanese and Chinese have their roots in the fact that the former persist in applying the title Wang Ti (Japanese Kotei) to their mikado; and the term Tei Koku (land ruled by a theocratic dynasty) to their country. The proposition of the dissatisfied ministers of China to bestow the simple term Wang-kwo (Japanese Koku O, Nation-king), upon even the Japanese Sh?gun (or "Tycoon,") has been deemed a sufficient casus belli in several historic instances. In the case of the ministers of the Ming dynasty, and Hidéyoshi of Japan in 1593-7, it was the cause of the renewals of hostilities in Corea after a truce. All tributary sovereigns or their envoys on entering the imperial hall of audience, must perform the kow-tow (nine prostrations). The refusal of foreign ambassadors to submit to this humiliation, has been the cause of their non-admission to the presence of the emperor. In these audiences the tribute-bearers and mandarins of the empire who are privileged to enter the imperial presence, face the "Son of Heaven," whose throne fronts toward the south The following extract from a letter of the king of Corea, addressed to the Chinese emperor, through the board of rites, Nov. 20, 1801, is a characteristic specimen of the language used on such occasions: "Turned toward the north, I keep my eyes fixed upon the cloud-enveloped heaven, which I hope will be favorable to him who is below." In this phrase we have suggested the throne facing the south, the prostrate suppliant and the "heavens covered with clouds," which signifies his majesty's severity or wrath, his pleasure being expressed as "a gentle rain." The symbol of all that pertains to the emperor is the dragon, or chief of the divinely constituted beings, possessed of all powers of destruction and blessing. Hence the representations of this creature are embroidered on the imperial dresses, banners and insignia, and are found on all that pertains to the emperor. His throne is called "the dragon throne," his face "the dragon countenance," and "the ruffling of the dragon's scales" the disturbance of his feelings. The imperial color is yellow, from the legend of the yellow dragon that rose out of the river Loh and presented the elements of writing to Fuh-hi, the mythical founder of the Chinese polity. Further details concerning the Son of Heaven will be given below. We have but shown the substance of those popular ideas which underlie and support the throne. Enlightened Chinese probably do not now mean by Wang-ti more than "autocrat," or "sovereign;" foreign successes with improved cannon having greatly modified the old superstition.

—The ancient records edited by Confucius and destroyed by She Wang Ti, were recovered from memory and written fragments, after the death of the tyrant, and the doctrines of the sage being always acceptable to the possessors of the throne, the sovereigns of the Han dynasty began to enforce the Confucian political ethics. Henceforth, though the history of China was varied by internal convulsions, and inroads of barbarians and periods of anarchy, though a new dynasty occupied the throne every second or third century, though Tâtar, Mongol and Manchiu hordes rolled out of the north upon the fertile plains of China, to conquer and then to be quietly absorbed, the Chinese never changed but rather consolidated their political system, steadily developing the idea of the family into that of universal empire. Under the overmastering genius of Confucius, whose principles are now practiced by 500,000,000 people in China, Corea, Japan and Indo-China, the Middle Kingdom was carried to a grade of civilization far beyond that of other nations of eastern Asia, and during mediæval Europe, it was the most highly civilized country on earth. While the nations of Europe awoke to renascence and second morning, and have gone on progressing, China has remained stationary; for there is no germ of progress in the Confucian ethics. In eliminating the principle of popular religion, and relegating divine worship to the emperor alone, Confucius cut the tap-root of national progress. The poverty of their spoken language and its difficulty of acquisition by foreigners the multiplicity of their ideographic writing in which the monosyllables of their national infancy have been petrified; their geographical isolation, added to the fact that for fifteen centuries their chief intercourse was with rude barbarians and pupil nations from whom no improvement could be gained, nor even comparison made except to show their vast superiority and flatter their vanity, have kept the Chinese satisfied with their excellence in civil polity, arts and literature. It is not possible at once for the nation, so long a teacher, to become the pupil. Whether in the presence of modern civilization, and its forces of war, science and religion, or the genial influences of mutual comity, the ancient system can stand, remains to be seen.

—The Confucian ethics, the basis and norm of all government in the family and nation, are summed up in the doctrine of the Five Relations. The relation being stated, the correlative duty arises at once. These are: 1, between sovereign and subject; 2, between father and son; 3, between elder and younger brother; 4, between husband and wife; 5, between friend and friend. Confucius might have made his system of ethics a religion, by adding a sixth, or supreme relation—between God and man. He declined to do so, thus leaving his people without any aspiration toward the Infinite. By setting before them a finite goal, he sapped the principle of progress. With obedience to the emperor, the supreme duty of the individual is fulfilled. Hence, if the emperor fails to do his duty, if the public works are neglected, if decay and ruin overtake the national edifices and enterprises, if stagnation and paralysis seize upon the national policy and government, the individual cares not, the subject takes no concern, since his duty is fulfilled in obedience to the emperor who is the representative of God and destiny. "Of all crimes the greatest is rebellion, but if the rebellion succeeds, it is evident that heaven has willed it so." Success is the manifest will of God. "Thus the first duty of a citizen is absolute fidelity to his sovereign, and at the same time an immediate and absolute acknowledgment of whatever may be an accomplished fact." (Hübner.) The people are the children of the emperor, and he is the Son of Heaven. He alone mediates between his subjects or children, and his Father, Heaven. In the temple of Heaven in Peking, the emperor offers an annual sacrifice with prayers on the lofty stone altar, on behalf of the nation; the master of all the earth thus worshiping the Master of Heaven, vicariously, for all his people. Like the pagan father, he holds the power of life and death over his household. His word is absolute. From this point of view China is a despotism. But the duties of the emperor and his subjects are reciprocal. Peace in the empire is the result of his fatherly rule. Rebellion, as he himself acknowledges, arises from his lack of ability or wisdom. Mencius, the popularizer of Confucius, taught the inherent right of rebellion against an unjust prince. This right has been often exercised by the people; yet, with rare exceptions does rebellion pass beyond a demand for justice. As in a family children are punished for wrong doing, but rewarded for being good, so exemplary filial piety, loyalty, valor, and minute, even trivial, domestic virtues are rewarded by the government. Official cognizance is often taken of incidents that in western countries belong to the privacy of the family. To old people on their birthday, to children for their filial piety, to widows for not re-marrying, etc., etc., presents of rolls of silk, money and other desirable articles are made by the authorities. In the case of illustrious services rendered to the nation, or of public individuals deserving of honor, there are eight grounds of distinction or privilege, as follows: 1, Imperial connection; 2, Long service; 3, Meritorious service; 4, Wisdom and virtue; 5, Ability; 6, Zeal on behalf of the state; 7, Exalted official rank; 8, Descent from privileged ancestors. It will be seen from the above order, which is part of the statute law of the existing dynasty, that mere rank or descent counts for very little, while long, faithful or brilliant services are the criteria of distinction. There is no permanent feudal or hereditary rank in China, no primogeniture, and few if any of those restrictions of birth or class which hinder the rise of commoners to lofty rank, office and station. The only hereditary nobility is that enjoyed by the descendants of Confucius. By a gradual process even the blood relatives of the emperor take their places among the people; for with every generation they descend one degree. The descendants of a prince of the blood will in the sixth generation be common people. The five degrees of feudal rank, instituted in the dawn of Chinese history, once the symbols of actual land and power, but existing only in name in modern times, may be translated "Duke," "Marquis," "Earl," "Viscount" and "Baron." After their reduction to the ranks of the common people, the emperor's relatives form one of the numerous clans of the nation, called the imperial clan, and are governed by a special board. In the succession to the throne, the emperor chooses an heir from among the offspring of his three wives. Of these wives one is the wang-hoi, or empress, and two rank as queens. The large number of concubines, female servants, and ladies in waiting form an establishment in which many eunuchs are required, and a soil in which palace intrigues are ever ready to spring, and from which a counteracting influence to reformatory ideas continually proceeds. The eunuch system is an exotic from Persia. The "solitary" or "peerless" man, as the emperor is styled, lives with his harem in the Forbidden City, or group of yellow-tiled buildings surrounded by a wall, in the very heart of Peking. He rarely appears in public, and then he is guarded by a large military force. The now ruling Tsing dynasty trace their ancestry to the Manchiu chieftain Chao Tsu Yuan, the scat of the original tribe being in the valley of the Hurka, a tributary of the Sungari river. Gradually increasing in land, in men and in horses, during the sixteenth century they mustered mighty hordes of cavalry, and began to raid the Chinese province of Lia Tong (now Shing King). Invited by a Chinese general to assist in deposing a usurper, they entered China proper in 1636 and defeated the rebels, but declined to go out again. Easily finding a pretext, they deposed the Ming dynasty and set their own ruler Shun Chi on the dragon throne in 1644. The Manchius then began the conquest of China in earnest, but only after much bloodshed succeeded. The badge of loyalty to the new régime was a shaven scalp, with the hair braided into a queue—the "pigtail," to which the Chinaman now after three centuries of custom clings as a symbol of nationality. Gradually the native opposition to the Manchiu foreigners became weaker, and the Chinese quietly adopted the "pigtail" and absorbed their conquerors. The fierce Manchiu became a pupil of Chinese civilization. The sciences of Europe were patronized at Peking; Tibet was added to the empire; Nipal was invaded, and western Formosa conquered; while foreign commerce, diplomatic relations and Christian missions entered upon their ever-increasing career of influence in China. On the 12th of January, 1873, Tung Chi, the eighth Manchiu occupant of the dragon throne and the last of the direct line, died of small pox, and "became a guest in heaven." Kwang Si ("Succession of Glory"), the present ruler, now in his eleventh year, and a cousin of Tung Chi, became emperor, having been so nominated in the deceased emperor's will. During his minority, the government is carried on by the empress-dowager, the empress-mother, and prince Kung, uncle of the late emperor, and the ablest of all the imperial officers. Thus the succession to the throne has passed out of the direct line—a fact which may yet be made the pretext for revolution or intrigue in the future. One of the dowagers regent, mother of the late emperor Tung Chi, died at Peking, April 11, 1881, an event which most probably throws more power and influence into the hands of the progressive prince Kung. She was the ruling spirit of the court of Peking, and serious intrigues may follow her demise.

—In its external form, the government is a bureaucracy. The emperor is assisted by the Nai-Ko, or supreme or privy council, consisting of nine Manchiu and seven Chinese officers, who prepare opinions for the emperor's judgment. The general council, or Kiun-Chi Chu, is composed of the heads of the six boards, and tribunals, with various high personages, princes and commissioners. It has less power and influence than the privy council, its functions being mainly distributive. It issues the imperial edicts, presides over the civil service examinations, directs various national procedures, decides upon and prepares the matter for the Peking Gazette, or "government journal," and takes cognizance of affairs in the empire outside of China proper. There are five imperial courts, presided over by high functionaries who are usually at the same time connected with one or other of the six boards. These courts are, of judicature, religious ceremonial, imperial stables, banqueting, and entertainment. The greater portion of the actual work of administration is carried on by the six boards. These are, of civil office, revenue, ceremonies, war, punishment, and public works. At the head of each board are two presidents, four vice-presidents, and three lower grades of officers, supplemented by a large staff of clerks. Nearly all the higher grades of office are filled by an equal number of Manchius and native Chinese. Not only is a check upon arbitrary power sought to be secured by having two heads to each department, but no one board is entirely independent of the others. A real and potent element of popular representation is found in the college of censors, which exercises a supervisory and judicial control over all the boards and officials. The censors scrutinize all acts of the courts, boards and councils, form themselves into investigating committees, inquire into and object to measures which they deem unlawful or injurious, and freely accord audience to complainants of every class. The college also directs the metropolitan police, at Peking, and is a supreme court of appeals, in that it reviews criminal cases referred from the provinces. Even the emperor is not freed from the censorate, but is occasionally rebuked in firm but respectful language, when he has violated the spirit of China's constitution. Irresponsible government is not found in China. From the most ancient times, the drum of justice has hung at the palace gate opposite the throne, and any subject has the right to memorialize the sovereign or prefer requests. Such appeals are received and forwarded by the court of request. The eight causes for removal from public employ are. 1, a grasping disposition; 2, cruelty; 3, indolence and inactivity; 4, inattention to duty; 5, age, 6, sickness; 7, indecorous behavior; 8, incapacity. The members of the Han Lin Yuan (Forest of Pencils), or imperial academy, are a body of civil functionaries forming an integral part of the machinery of state, exercising considerable influence upon the government, and recruiting from their number many of the higher offices. The memorial of an imperial academician laid before the throne will often outweigh in influence that of a provincial officer higher in rank. The Peking Gazette, before alluded to, is, in one sense, the organ of the government for disseminating official intelligence throughout the empire, and is an expression of the democratic element in the Chinese political system. It is named King Pao (Metropolitan Reporter). When reprinted in the distant provinces, it is often called King Chao (Transcripts from the Capital). It is issued at an early hour daily in Peking at several establishments. This "newspaper" is stitched with paper cord and covered with the imperial yellow. The price of the full edition is about six dollars a year. It is printed with movable wooden types on bamboo paper, on one side of the sheet; its length is 9 inches by 3½ inches wide, and it contains from 6 to 20 or more leaves, according to the documents issued. The offices of publication are not limited, but each one issues its own cover. The date and table of contents occupy the first page, then follow the names of persons admitted to an audience, lists of officers reporting for duty or on leave of absence, records of memorials, reports, sentences of criminals in the capital, lists of official changes, the movements of imperial princes, and of the emperor, the fall of rain and show in Peking, and various other matters. The Peking Gazette has, properly speaking, no editor, no contributors, contains no remarks on public acts, and inserts no advertisements or news articles of any kind. It is not in any sense a review, magazine or journal, according to the western use of these words. It is simply a transcript, by government permission, of such public documents as the supreme council allows to be placarded for public use. Couriers carry copies of these public documents to all the provincial capitals, but it 18 by means of the Peking Gazette that all classes of people are enabled, by clubbing together, subscribing or borrowing, to read the government news. The supervision of the Gazette rests with a sub-committee of officials connected with the supreme council. Occasionally documents intended to be kept secret are surreptitiously published. Some of the memorials and remonstrances which are allowed to be published show a surprising bluntness of criticism and boldness of reform. On the other hand, nothing concerning any of the details of the opium war of 1839-42 was mentioned. The first instance in recent times in which the name and title of a foreign functionary were properly mentioned was in July, 1859, when the American minister Hwa-joh-han (Ward John, or John E. Ward) was reported as having come to Peking. The Gazette was established probably at the beginning of the present dynasty. It is now translated into English, and reprinted by the North China Herald at Shanghai. Many thousands of copies are read all over China, furnishing information such as no other Asiatic government allows to its subjects.

—Each of the 19 provinces of China proper is divided into fu (prefecture or department) embracing a population of about 2,000,000 souls. The fu is subdivided into chu (districts), and further into hien (sub-district). The larger provinces are ruled by a viceroy. Of the smaller provinces a viceroy may rule over two. Each province has a governor, (Tao-tai, chief, or intendant of circuit) prefects, treasurers, judges, tax-collectors, and a large number of officials, whose duties are multiform. The salary of the viceroys or governors general varies, but is not less than $40,000; that of a Tao-tai or governor is $5,175; that of a prefect, $3,425; that of a district magistrate, $1,375 per annum. To the salaries there are no legal perquisites, but large additions are often made to them by bribery and exactions of various kinds. The three-year limit to office, while acting beneficially to popular liberty, tends to make the mandarin improve all his opportunities of levying "squeezes" upon the people. The chief sources of revenue are from taxes on land, customs and transit duties, government monopolies, licenses, stamp duties, and various forms of taxation on salt, mining, fisheries and manufactures. There is no "national debt." In grave emergencies, extraordinary levies are made on rich merchants throughout the empire to provide funds. Each province collects its own taxes and pays its own expenses. A certain proportion of the provincial revenues go to Peking to support the central government, which receives its quota partly in grain and partly in money. The total revenue of the empire from taxation is over $200,000,000, of which $55,000,000 go to Peking, and $145,000,000 are kept in the provinces. Exact figures can not as yet be obtained by foreigners. In addition to the numerous local officials, imperial commissioners, who are usually selected from the Han Lin academy, are sent out from Peking to act as censors and spies. The chief executive officers of each province, the governor, chief military mandarin, chief treasurer and judge form a local council who advise with and limit the power of the viceroy. Each province has its own army and navy, and must defend its own borders, and keep the peace within its own area. By official espionage from above, and below, and on either side, by registration of all important facts, by the transmission of every detail to the central bureaus, by reports expected from all respecting their doings and misdoings, the entire administration of affairs in the provinces and capital becomes known, in theory, to the supreme head of the nation. In actuality, no emperor, however able, can control so colossal a bureaucracy, which at times is corrupt to the core.

—The term applied by foreigners to Chinese kuan, or officials, is "mandarin"—a word unknown to most Chinese. It is derived, probably, from the Sanskrit mantrin, counselor; and more directly from the Portuguese mandar, to command. The badge of official rank, in distinction from the nobility of birth, is a peacock feather in the hat, which varies according to services rendered. Both classes of military and civil mandarins are divided into nine grades, each grade having two classes. This division dates from 220 A. D. Each of the nine grades is marked by a "button" toggle, tassel, or knob, worn on the crown of the cap, and in vogue since 1730 A. D. These simple but sufficient substitutes for shoulder-straps, stars, garters, robes or breast decorations are in their order, in color, or material, ruby, red coral, sapphire, turquoise, crystal, white coral, plain gold, wrought gold, chased silver. The official robes are likewise embroidered with symbolic designs, those of the military differing from those of the civil mandarins. This personal dignity of rank adheres to the possessor, whether in or out of office. The number of officials within the nine grades is stated at 40,000, the majority being military. About one-fourth are Manchiu. The number of civil mandarins paid by the government is stated at 10,000. The administration of the provinces outside of China proper is intrusted to a separate department called the Li-fan-yuen, and by foreigners, the "Colonial Office." The foreign relations of China were formerly considered of so little importance that they were put in charge of a sub-bureau of a department. Since 1858 the Tsung-li Yamen (Board of Control, or Office for Foreign Affairs) has been established, and foreign envoys now communicate directly with the Tsungli Yamen.

—In the local forms of administration there is more or less imitation of the imperial rule, with accountability in both directions, to the higher magistracy and to the people. In the court the mandarin is judge, jury and bar, but the ordinary procedure is without fee, open alike to rich and poor, with the right of protest or appeal to the higher judicatory. The ten heinous offenses known to Chinese law, are in their order, as follows: 1, Rebellion; 2, Conspiracy against the sovereign's person; 3, Treason, or Revolt; 4, Parricide, and similar crimes; 5, Inhumanity, comprising willful murder, mutilation for nefarious purposes, etc; 6, Sacrilege; 7, Unfilial conduct; 8, Discord; 9, Insubordination; 10, Incest. Though cruelty, bribery and official corruption of all kinds do undoubtedly prevail all over China, yet the actual freedom of the people is superior to that of the masses in ancient Rome, or in India or Russia. The imperial officers are in a measure detached from local influences by the rule that no man shall hold office in the province of which he is a native, and by the additional rule—as old as the fifth century of our era—that their term of holding office is limited to three years. The influence of the censors at Peking, who do not spare even the emperor, acts also as a powerful factor of popular freedom. Furthermore, the continuous and rapid republication in the provinces of the Peking Gazette, containing the criticisms and memorials of the censors at the capital and complainants in the provinces, keeps public affairs before the eye of an intelligent and thinking people. The perpetually exercised right of pasting up placards, tracts and pasquinades on walls and public places exerts a powerful restraining influence on the local mandarins. If justice is often bought and sold at the yamen, the right of influencing the public by the written appeal flourishes. Distinct elements of popular freedom are also found in the organization of the clans, in the town and district councils, in the trade guilds, the special clubs, and, in an extreme form, in the secret societies. These last are always large and numerous, and are usually organized with designs inimical to the reigning dynasty, but not to the nation. One of the most powerful of these was the "queue-cutting" band, who secretly cut off the "pigtails" of people and officials, with the object in view of insulting the Manchiu dynasty, by mutilating their distinctive badge of loyalty.

—The foundation of the entire commonwealth is found in the clans, of which there are about 450 in the empire. The designs of their organization are, defense against the centralized bureaucracy in Peking, mutual aid and protection in business, and the common transactions of life, and for festive enjoyment and the worship of the spirits of their ancestors. The clan organization is so complete that while it may secure justice to the innocent, it may also thwart the design of the magistrate, and even of justice. In some parts of the country bitter and often bloody quarrels, inherited from many generations past, are kept up. The chiefs of the clan at Peking are able by their power to prevent the punishment of murder and violence committed by members of it in the provinces. The feuds of these hostile clans often render property and travel in certain sections of the country insecure for months at a time. Marriage with another of the same clan is forbidden. The proper degree of consanguinity is thus preserved among the people, and very few towns are inhabited entirely by men of one clan. These clan divisions, however, are not kept up by emigrants abroad. Another element of popular freedom, against which the power of the local mandarin is vain, is trades-unionism. Often beneficent in their operations, these leagues are equally oppressive and tyrannical. Useful as a check to over-government, they are an injury to free industry, and offer a fertile field to intrigue, revenge and depravity.

—More truly beneficial are the town and district councils of elders, which contain real elements of representative government; they exercise local powers with which the imperial magistrates rarely dare to interfere. The administration of villages and city wards, police arrangements, and taxation, are within their control. The elders or officers are salaried, and usually hold their office during good behavior. The council consists, as a rule, of the elders of 50 or 100 villages or city wards, having a central hall and assistants for clerical labor. In the cities the wards or gates are closed at night, and guarded by a watchman, who also strikes the hours. By this minute subdivision of authority, disturbances are easily localized and offenders found out. Not only have foreign residents repeatedly experienced the potency of these popular forms of power and opinion, but the apparent apathy and unwillingness of the Peking government to carry out a promised policy becomes intelligible. In most cases the central authority is utterly unable to override the local sentiment of the democracy. Hence the vacillations and radical difference of opinions among foreign writers and even long residents in China. "The mandarins and government are all; there are no such ideas as 'rights' or 'liberty' in the Chinese mind; the administration is a despotism in theory and in fact," says one. "China has no government worthy of the name; the mob is everything," says another. The truth seems to be, that for centuries government in China has rested in equilibrium between democracy and bureaucracy, between the throne and the people. The symbols of government and justice in western lands are the sword, and the scales held by the blindfolded goddess. The more prosaic and correct emblem for China might be found in the tembimbo or carrying-pole of the native laborer, whereon all burdens are distributed and balanced by being divided into two equal parts, though the double weight falls on one shoulder. The real reason why western students of the Chinese political system are often puzzled to understand it, seems to arise from a false analysis of Chinese society. "The root-idea of the Chinese state is that mutuality of rights and interests between prince and people, as the two terms of one divine order, neither of which can fail of its part, without defeating the whole. The primitive simplicity of this recognition of justice has not unfolded into those practical mediations which political experience has elsewhere devised for correcting the relations between ruler and ruled, and which have ultimately identified the two in pure self-government by the people." (Johnson's China.) In China we miss the middle term of individuality, which in western forms of government is so powerful a factor. "Unity in the ruling force, multiplicity in the ruled," is the simple antithesis of the Chinese political system. The unit of society is not the individual but the family, "the hundred families" being the collective term for the whole nation. The emperor can not with safety violate ancient custom, or substitute his selfish interest for the public good. On the other hand, among the people, there is an utter absence of caste, of heredity, and of slavery. The foreign term, "coolie," (Hindoo kuli), is a misnomer imported by the East India company's people to China, and thence adopted into the English language. There are millions of laborers in China, but not one native of the "coolie" caste in the whole empire. No hereditary rank, honors or titles are known in the empire except in the family of Confucius. Hereditary bondage is unknown, and "involuntary servitude" is confined to prisoners of war, criminals, and persons sold by their parents or for debt. The worst features of "family slavery" are found only in southern China. While thus "liberty" in the radical sense of license to do as one pleases is absent from the Chinese people; while the individual possesses only a portion of the idea and fact of liberty in its Anglo-Saxon sense; it must be admitted that the Chinese commonwealth is a commonwealth of freedom, such as no nation in Asia or ancient Europe has ever shown.

—Proofs of the essential autonomy and representative powers of the people are seen by an examination of the Chinese codes of law, and the binary system of education and civil service, the one founded upon the other. Theoretically, the laws of China may be called the constitution of the empire. The penal code, called "The Great Pure [dynasty] Statutes and Decrees," embodies the old national ideas and such practical institutions as experience has proved best suited to the people. It is revised by the imperial counselors every few years—a process which has brought it into a compact and simple form. It was translated into English by Sir George Staunton, and published in 1810. Its seven principal divisions treat of: 1, General Laws; 2, Civil Laws; 3, Fiscal, including laws relating to land and marriage, public property, customs, private property, sales and markets; 4, Ritual; 5, Military; 6, Criminal, divided under the heads of robbery, homicide, quarreling, indictments and information, bribery, fraud, incest, arrest, imprisonment, trial and punishment; 7, Public Works. (For a brief digest of the code, see Johnson's China, pp. 355-365.) Excellent as is the present penal code, which superseded the severer one of the Ming dynasty, yet, as is not denied by the most careful witnesses, the imperial officers often override its provisions with their edicts, reviving obsolete portions, or arbitrarily emphasizing others. Added to the derangements caused by extra territoriality, by opium, by foreign influences and the popular dislike to the Manchiu rule, the superstitious reverence, almost amounting to idolatry, of the mandarins for the ancient texts, tends constantly to great cruelty in the administration of justice. Barbarous penalties are described in the Shu-king and Chiu-li classics, which a certain conscientiousness in the mandarin often compels him, in spite of revised codes, to put in execution. This state of mind is easily understood in Christendom, when one sees how the mere phraseology of the Old Testament profoundly influences devout persons otherwise Christian and humane. Chinese puritanism often transforms the mandarin into a cruel tyrant and debases popular conscience and conduct. Hence, in actuality, the Chinese prisons are horrible gaols, where thousands of prisoners annually rot out their lives. Torture is freely used to obtain confession, and the victims of the cudgel and of incarceration outnumber those of the ever-busy swordsman. Prisoners are kept in cages like beasts, tortured unspeakably by flogging with ropes or beating with bamboo at the word of the mandarin. The five punishments as at present classified are: 1, Bambooing; 2, Bastinadoing; 3, Banishment; 4, Transportation for Life; 5, Death. The first two punishments comprise five degrees of severity; the second, five degrees of duration; the fourth, three degrees of distance; while in the fifth are two degrees, strangling and decapitation. The ancient forms of revolting punishment under the ancient dynasties of Chow and Han, such as branding on the forehead, cutting off the nose, maiming, castration and death by horrible and studied forms of cruelty, have long since been abolished. Public sentiment has also largely outgrown parental rights over life and liberty as well as slave-penalties, except in a few less civilized provinces, family "slavery," so-called, being confined to the southern part of the empire. Nominally the emperor must sign every death-warrant; practically the high mandarin holds and exercises this power.

—After filial piety, education is the great conserving force of Chinese society. The national culture is a process of evolution whose germs are in the town and village schools, and expand into detailed adaptations to public wants through a graded system of competitive examinations; the ultimate point being the supply of civil and administrative force. This is the motive power of the process. "The government fosters education only in holding out the promise of office to all who are qualified by the test of examination." From the moment the boy enters school the goal of official promotion is before him. "The general and the prime-minister are not born in office," is the familiar line in every schoolboy's mouth, who sees the possible marshal's baton in his knapsack, or the ruby button adorning his cap. Yet the education of the Chinese child can not be said to begin as in Christendom in early childhood. The language of the fireside is not that of the books, nor are nurses and mothers trained in letters. At the age of seven or eight, a lucky day is chosen from the almanac, and the lad enters school, bowing first to the image of the Sage, and then to the living teacher. For several years the whole work of the pupil consists in the use of memory and the ink-brush. He commits the entire contents of the canonical books, so as to know the sound and form of the characters, without reading or understanding a sentence of them, or their dead language. This dead lift of memory is unalleviated by the exercise of any other faculty. It is like an American boy learning to repeat the whole of the Iliad, without knowing where Ilios, or who Hector, was, or the meaning of one line of the epic. This painful system of rote has replaced the ancient Socratic method of questions and answers which was practiced by Confucius and Mencius. The second stage of the undergraduate's work is the translation of the textbooks into the living language of to-day, with lessons in composition. The third stage is belles-lettres and the composition of essays. These three periods occupy, in all, from 10 to 20 years. It is next to impossible to master the written language, according to the ordinary Chinese scholar's standard, in less than 10 years, while many take 30 to do it in. The memory, literary judgment and taste are profoundly exercised, and a thorough grasp of the vernacular is obtained, but the range of ideas is very narrow. Elegant composition, or the art of making literary mosaics by deftly joining together the ideas and expressions of the sages and classic writers, is constantly practiced. Invention of new ideas is neither attempted nor desired. A high literary polish is sought and attained as an end in itself, not a means only. The power of the writings of the sages over the literati even of this century springs from the vigorous and chaste style in which their thoughts are clothed, as well as from their wisdom. The three grades of Chinese schools are primary, middle and classical. In the first, memoriter recitation and imitative chirography; in the second, the exposition of the canonical books; in the third, the composition of essays, are the leading exercises respectively. Of national institutions of learning there are none, except one or two in the capital. Connected with government departments, however, there are various special training schools. Education is left to private enterprise and public charity, the government gathering the choicest fruits and encouraging production by suitable rewards. Enlightened magistrates and wealthy gentlemen are often very liberal in establishing or assisting schools. In addition to official influence, the emperor, by bestowing honors upon munificent patrons, secures vast advantage to popular education without the expenditure of a tael from the treasury. Yet after all, popular education does not penetrate to the lower strata. Thousands of Chinese can use the characters necessary to their business or special pursuit, and even keep accounts and write letters, who yet are unable to read a single sentence in a book. Dr. W. A. P. Martin says in his book just published, "The Chinese," from which we have drawn some of our facts: "Of those who can read understandingly, the proportion is greater in towns than in rural districts. But striking an average, it does not, according to my observation, exceed 1 in 20 for the male sex and 1 in 10,000 for the female—rather a humiliating exhibit for a country which has maintained for centuries such a magnificent institution as the Han Lin academy. The system of competitive examinations for appointment to civil service actually dates back to a period anterior to the rise of literature. They assumed the form in which we now find them between the seventh and twelfth centuries. Two resident examiners in each district keep a list of all competing students. In each province is one superintendent of instruction who must, within his three-years term of office, visit every district, hold an examination, and confer the first degree upon a certain percentage of candidates. For the conferring of the second degree, two imperial commissioners, usually Han Lin academicians, are sent out from the capital. The regular degrees which faintly suggest those of our B. A., M. A., and LL. D., are: 1, Sin-Tsai (Budding Talent); 2, Chin-jin (Man Deserving Promotion); 3, Tsin-shi (Able to fill Office). The highest grade in the literary knighthood is to receive membership into the Han Lin Yuan, or "Forest of Pencils." These degrees are purely the gift of the state, not of any educational institution. Only about 1 per cent. of contestants for the first degree pass the ordeal. The trial for the second degree in the provincial capital requires a strain of nearly nine days of continual exertion. A few of the weak and aged are found dead in their cells at this time, unable to endure the rigors of composing in prose and verse, and answering the questions in Chinese history, philosophy, criticism and archæology. Of the competitors, 1 per cent. Is again chosen, but before office is bestowed, a further ordeal must be gone through in the capital. Of the victors, a score are admitted to the Han Lin, two or three score are added as brevet members, and the remainder are assigned to official positions in the capital and provinces. So intense is the desire for honor and office, that gray-headed men are often found competing even at the district examinations. Grandfather, father and son, occasionally apply at the same time. The unsuccessful men usually become school-masters, authors, writers or clerks, while the government secures the trained intellects for public service. The system serves the state as a safety-valve, providing a career for those ambitious spirits which might otherwise foment disturbances or excite revolutions. It acts as a counterpoise to an absolute monarch by introducing a popular element into the government. In practice, the princes of the blood have great privileges, and to them the ministers may be in a very inferior position; but on the other hand, the ministers who may have risen from the humblest station have predominant influence in affairs of state. The system also gives the government a hold on the educated gentry who are the most influential class in the empire. Civil office is bestowed as a reward of learning, and not of political or military services. Hence the literati are the most loyal of subjects. Occasionally the emperor, to relieve a depleted treasury, has offered for sale the literary decorations, but such a proceeding is rare and dangerous. The punishment for an examiner who fraudulently issues a degree is death. Of late years the range of subjects has been broadened by introducing, to a limited extent mathematics and political economy among the subjects examined upon. That the mandarins are not hopelessly committed to scholastic madiævalism is shown in the fact that nine-tenths of the new books published are written by them, and most, if not all, of the reforms of late years have emanated from their body. A class of men numbering several millions keep their faculties continually bright by constant exercise, possess retentive memories, are ready with the pen, and are intensely interested in public affairs. With many grave defects arising from the abuse of the system, it is yet the most admirable institution in China, and most worthy of imitation by other nations.

—Chinese diplomatic relations with the states of Christendom began, properly speaking, after the opium war of 1839-42. Embassies from the Roman emperors and mediæval popes occasionally reached China. In the thirteenth century Marco Polo held office for 25 years under Kublai Khan. The Portuguese began to trade, and the Jesuits obtained a foothold in the empire in the sixteenth century, and the Dutch, British and Russians, after various repulses, secured trade and commerce in the seventeenth century. The East India company had a share in the oppressions that led the American colonies to revolt from Great Britain. After much dissatisfaction in America, caused by the high prices of the monopoly on tea, the company were authorized to ship the crop directly from China to America without first paying duty in England. The first vessels came to Boston, and the fate of the herb is well known. Chinese tea caused as great an excitement on our eastern borders in 1773, as "Chinese immigration" did a century later on our Pacific shores. No sooner was the revolution over than our people hastened to share the profits of the rich trade with China. The first American ship, "Empress," left New York for Canton, Feb. 22, 1784. Other vessels rapidly followed from Albany, Boston and Philadelphia, carrying the American flag round the world—the Chinese name for the United States being "The Land of the Flowery Flag." Perhaps the first event pregnant with relations between the oldest and the youngest of nations, was the discovery of ginseng in Massachusetts in 1757. The Indians searched out the root and sold it to the Dutch at Albany who exported it to China at a profit of 600 per cent. The Chinese consider this mild aromatic as endowed with almost miraculous curative properties, and immense quantities of the root are still sent to China from Minnesota and the western states. The development of the fur trade of the northwest was stimulated by the Chinese demand for American furs. The first British embassy of lord Macartney in 1793 was well received, but that of lord Amherst in 1816 was not admitted to the presence of the emperor, the British envoy refusing to perform the kow-tow, or nine prostrations. From this time forth the subject of "imperial audience" became a sore and bitter one between Chinese and foreign diplomatists until June 29, 1873, when Soyéshima, the mikado's ambassador from Japan, followed by the other diplomatic representatives, obtained audience on equal terms, standing erect, and laying their respective credentials before the dragon throne. The charter of the East India company expired in 1834, and while lord Napier, the British agent, attempted negotiations with the viceroy of Kwang Tung and failed, the Chinese renewed their protest against opium. For five years trade remained in a precarious condition, but opium was still imported. In 1839 the special commissioner Lin demanded the surrender of all the opium in English hands at Canton, received and destroyed it. The English government declared war against China. After two years, during which the British troops occupied various coast cities, the Chinese sued for peace, and paid war indemnities amounting to $21,000,000, and opened the ports of Canton, Amoy, Fuchow, Ningpo and Shanghai to trade, ceded Hong Kong to the British, and agreed to conduct diplomatic correspondence on equal terms. The success of the British arms stimulated the desire for commerce in other countries. In 1843 president Tyler sent the honorable Caleb Cushing, of Massachusetts, as minister extraordinary of the United States to China with a letter to the emperor. Mr. Cushing succeeded in establishing commercial arrangements, by the treaty of Wang-hia (near Canton), which being ratified at Washington, the honorable A. H. Everett, of Massachusetts, was appointed minister resident in China. He died at Canton in 1847. By the second war with Great Britain in 1856-7, in which France, Russia and the United States joined, new treaties were gained and new concessions granted to foreigners; that with the United States being signed April 18, 1858. The American minister, Mr. John Ward, arrived in Peking, but refused to kow-tow to the emperor, and came away. The allies occupied Peking and punished the treachery of the mandarins by destroying the imperial summer palace—a proceeding intended to wreak vengeance on the government with a minimum of injury to the people. From this time the legations of the treaty nations began to be established in Peking, and the Tsung-li Yamen, or office of foreign affairs, was established by the Chinese government. Mr. Wm. B. Reed was the United States envoy from 1858-61. In 1862 the legation of the United States was established at Peking, and Mr. S. Wells Williams, the accomplished scholar in Chinese and author of The Middle Kingdom, was made secretary, a post which he ably and honorably filled until 1875. Honorable Anson Burlingame was our minister from 1861 to 1867, when the Chinese government appointed him special ambassador to the treaty powers of the world, partly as an exponent of profound alteration in the national policy toward foreigners, and partly to forestall further demands expected upon the revision of the treaties then pending. The first official acceptance by China of the principles of international law was in the treaty at Washington, July 28, 1868. Other treaties were made with European powers. The Peking government which had hitherto ignored the existence of Chinese outside of China, now began to look after the condition of their citizens in Peru, Cuba the United States and other nations. By the influence of Yung Wing, a graduate of Yale college, an educational mission was formed and 120 Chinese lads were sent to New England for a ten years' course of study in American schools and colleges. Legations and consulates were established in various countries, and the rights of China's citizens began to be respected even by the street savages of Christendom. The "coolie" traffic, or involuntary emigration through fraudulent and cruel means, was practically abolished. A demand was made upon Russia for the retrocession of Kulja or Ili, and the lapsed province was restored. The general indications now are that the most enlightened mandarins are fully alive to the necessity and desirability of maintaining friendly relations with western nations, and assimilating the best elements of foreign civilization. Yet in so vast and ancient a nation it is undoubtedly true that for a long time to come, millions of the proud-spirited Chinese will desire to acquire the material forces of the foreigners only to sweep China clear of them. While the odious ex-territoriality clauses are kept intact in the treaties, there will remain a chronic root of bitterness. The transforming power of education, Christianity, and modern science, are, however, rapidly leavening a nation that must either disintegrate, or accept a new form of national life, from which the old element of willfully blind pride and intolerance will be purged.

—Authorities and Statistics. We have refrained as much as possible from giving statistics, which may be found in such annuals as "The Statesman's Manual," "Almanach de Gotha," the various Year-books published in the Anglo-Chinese ports, and in the Blue Books of the British, and the consular reports of the United States government. Statistics of a fresh and trustworthy character are difficult to be obtained by foreigners, as the Chinese government does not regularly publish these in exact and detailed form, except in departments and on subjects least interesting to those outside the Chinese official world.

—Of the multitude of books on China, those in the following selected list are the best for the student of political science: American—S. Wells Williams' The Middle Kingdom, and papers in The Chinese Repository; William Speer's China and the United States; W. A. P. Martin's The Chinese, their Education, Philosophy and Letters; Justus Doolittle's Social Life of the Chinese; Samuel Johnson's Oriental Religions—China. European—W. F. Mayer's The Chinese Reader's Manual, and Treaty Ports of China and Japan; Sir G. T. Staunton's Penal Code of China; Gray's China; Meadow's The Chinese, and their R bellions; Dr. James Legge's The Chinese Classics; Medhurst's The Foreigner in Far Cathay; Parker's Comparative Chinese Family Law; Boulger's History of China.

W. E. GRIFFIS.

CHINESE IMMIGRATION.

CHINESE IMMIGRATION. The immigration of Chinese in considerable numbers, which began shortly after the discovery of gold in California, early aroused strong opposition in the Pacific states, which has sought expression in numerous attempts to restrict this immigration by local legislation, and—these local measures having been declared invalid by the United States courts—in appeals for federal legislation. No response was however, made by congress until 1879, when a bill passed both houses, limiting the number of Chinese passengers who could be brought to the United States by any one vessel to 15. This was vetoed by president Hayes on the ground of repugnance to treaty stipulations; but a commission was subsequently appointed, which, proceeding to Pekin, negotiated a treaty that gives to the United States the power to limit, suspend or regulate, but not to prohibit the coming or residence of Chinese laborers, and secures to Chinese students, teachers, merchants or travelers from curiosity, together with their servants, and to laborers now in the United States, the right to come and go at pleasure, and all the privileges accorded to citizens or subjects of the most favored nations. This treaty was ratified by the senate in March, 1881.

—The discussion of the propriety of prohibiting or restricting Chinese immigration which is opened rather than closed by the treaty, and which, no matter what legislation is now taken, is apt to recur in the future, ranges over economic, social, political and ethical ground, but begins with a question of fact. On the one hand, it is asserted that the Chinese are an inferior and brutalized race, incapable of understanding our political institutions or entering into our social life; on the other, they are pictured as models of industry, thrift and docility, thirsting for a knowledge of western civilization and religion. The truth lies in about the mean between these extreme characterizations.

—Chinese civilization widely differs from ours, and, from a western standpoint at least, is unquestionably lower than ours; but there is no reason for regarding the Chinese as an essentially inferior race. Their civilization had certainly attained a relatively high development when what are now the most advanced of the European races were yet in a very rude state; and although decadence on the one hand and rapid progress on the other have now carried European civilization far in advance of that of China, the possibility of the Mongolian race at some time arousing from its long lethargy and reversing present conditions, is one of those grand questions which can hardly fail to rise in the imagination of whoever considers what this race has accomplished in the past. In natural characteristics the Chinese seem to be in no wise essentially inferior. Physically, those who have as yet come to the United States may be upon the average somewhat smaller and lighter than the Anglo-American, but this immigration has been as yet exclusively drawn from the southern provinces of China, whose people are said to be less robust than those of the north. Nor is there any evidence of natural intellectual inferiority. They are shrewd traders and sharp bargainers, are quick at learning what they care to learn, and it may be more than doubted whether there is anything in our knowledge that could not be acquired by a Chinaman under the same circumstances that a white man could acquire it.

—Their standard of morality differs more, perhaps, in kind than in degree. On the filial virtues they set a higher estimate than we do; of the political virtues they seem to have little idea. In courage, either active or passive, they are certainly not deficient. Their religion appears to be practically that materialism which among a people of active intellect seems always to follow the deterioration of creeds, mingled with much superstition, and something of that decorous regard for forms which survives the decay of real belief. They have that habit of patient attention to details characteristic of a country where population is dense and machinery little used, but it would be hard to say that the Chinese are either more or less industrious than our own people. They work steadily when they have an object to work for; and their "standard of comfort" being much lower than that of our people, they will work, if need be, for a return upon which an American would not deem it possible to support life; but no more than white men do they work because they like it, nor do they idealize industry. Those who are raised above the necessity of manual labor are proud of this fact, and let their finger nails grow long to show it; the fat man is their ideal of the prosperous and enviable man. They are fond of amusements, having a keen taste for theatrical representations, and are greatly addicted to gambling. If less given to the use of intoxicating liquors they are more given to the use of intoxicating drugs.

—The fact is that the Chinese seem, in all essential things, to be about such human beings as we are, differing from us only as men of the same race might differ who had been from birth subjected to the influence of widely different social environments. But this is a difference which is of as much practical moment as a difference in natural capacity—a difference so wide as clearly to distinguish Chinese immigration from any which has previously set upon our shores.

—Between the various European peoples from whom our population has been drawn, there are differences of race, language, tradition, custom and religion. Yet these differences are trivial as compared with the differences between the Chinaman and the European. The European peoples belong to the same primary subdivision of the human family; their languages are derived from the same parent stock, their religions are but modifications of the same great creed, their civilization is essentially one, and their customs, methods and habits of thought have even in their variations a family likeness. Differences probably nearly as great as those which exist between the Irishman and the German, or the Englishman and the Italian, exist between the people of the various provinces of the great Chinese empire.

—Yet as these are indistinguishable to the unpracticed European, so differences between Europeans are as nothing when compared with the wider differences which separate the Chinese from the European. The only immigration we have ever received which in point of difference can be compared with the Chinese, is that which in the early days of American settlement was brought by the slave trade. But the negro as landed from the hold of the slave ship, was merely a naked barbarian. He had everything to learn, but had little to unlearn. The difference between the negro as he came among us, and the Chinaman as he now comes among us, is like the difference between the child ready to imbibe whatever he is taught, and the full grown man whose habits are formed.

—The Chinaman is not a simple barbarian but a civilized man, of a civilization to which ours is but a thing of yesterday. The Chinese have a written language, a literature, codes of manners and of morals, national and religious traditions, arts, beliefs, customs and habits of thought which have been perpetuated for centuries through immense masses of people.

—Of all the wrong impressions concerning the Chinese, there is probably none more erroneous than that widely diffused in this country (especially among those who are hopeful of the conversion of the Chinese to Christianity), that they are conscious of their own inferiority, and seek but to learn of us. That those who come among us recognize our superiority in the mechanical arts is doubtless true. But this is not the direction in which Chinese ideals lie, and their feeling toward us is probably akin to that with which the scholar, proud of his learning, might recognize the superior physical strength of a porter or coal-heaver, or the impoverished descendant of a noble family might regard the money-getting ability which had placed wealth in vulgar hands.

—It is doubtful, indeed, if the European mind, and especially the American mind, can fairly comprehend that veneration for antiquity which leads the Chinese to regard the "outside barbarian," for all his steamships and railroads and telegraphs and ironclads, as a barbarian still. Western civilization looks to the future for its ideal of perfection; that of Chinese civilization is in the past.

—Now it is not merely that the greater the difference in language, customs and habits of thought, the greater the difficulties of assimilation between different peoples brought into contact, but the greater the difference the less powerfully do assimilative forces act, for the greater are the tendencies, both attractive and repulsive, to the formation and maintenance of separate societies in which the peculiarities of each are perpetuated.

—In the case of the Chinese this difficulty of assimilation is increased by a remarkable characteristic. Arising probably from the fact that for ages the political institutions of China have been so far gone on the path of decadence as to compel extra legal association for the protection of individual rights and the enforcement of individual obligations, the Chinese show a peculiar aptitude for secret associations and the maintenance of guilds resembling those trade and mercantile guilds so strong in Europe during the middle ages.

—By virtue of this capacity for organization, the Chinese in a foreign country really constitute an imperium in imperio, really live under a Chinese government of their own—a government which finds ample means to enforce its own laws and regulations.

—This is as notorious on the Pacific coast of the United States as it is in every other part of the world to which the Chinese have gone in any numbers. Without the aid of American law, and in spite of American law, Chinese regulations are enforced.

—Chinese women are to-day, for instance, as merchantable a commodity in the Chinese quarter of San Francisco, as are hogs or opium. Whether the majority of the Chinese who come to the United States are or are not bound to service, they at least come with certain definite relations, whether of membership, clientage or peonage to the great organizations, the six companies.

—Instead of coming and going upon individual responsibility, as do the immigrants from Europe, they are received and placed upon arrival, by these organizations, and so absolute is this control, and so fully is it recognized by those who do business with the Chinese, that until within a recent time (if not to the present) a Chinaman could not purchase a passage ticket to return to China without a clearance from the companies. Thus the Chinaman, coming to the United States not with the intention of permanently settling, but of returning as soon as he can, and if he dies here of having his bones sent back to his native country—a duty religiously performed by the Chinese organizations—is received upon his arrival in a Chinese society, constantly being recruited by new immigrants, and is affected very slightly, if at all, by assimilative influences.

—He may learn something of the languages, something of the laws, and religion and arts and customs, and may adopt some of the methods and habits of the country in which he sojourns, just as the English in India learn and adopt such things of the natives; but as the Englishman in India remains an Englishman and does not become a Hindoo, so does the Chinaman in America remain essentially a Chinaman.

—Thus Chinese immigration differs from European immigration in being practically non-assimilable.

—That in course of time should their immigration continue, the Chinese would bring their women and permanently settle, just as they have permanently settled in parts of the East Indies, there can be little doubt, but from all appearance and experience this would not be because they had become Americanized but because a permanent Chinese community had been here founded.

—This non-assimilability of the Chinese immigration gives a practical importance to all its characteristics, which they would not have if it could be assumed that they would in this country melt away and finally disappear. And that characteristic of the Chinese which is of most practical importance is that they are habituated to a standard of comfort much lower than that of American laborers and much lower even than that of any people whom we receive from Europe. Wages in China touch the absolute minimum that will support life. This at once furnishes a powerful incentive to immigration and enables the Chinese to underbid any competitors in the labor market.

—It is from this fact, that the Chinese can, and where necessary to secure employment do, work cheaper than white laborers, that the hostility to their immigration, which shows itself where they have come among us in any numbers, primarily proceeds; and the fundamental difference between those who ask and those who oppose restriction of Chinese immigration will generally be found to be a difference of opinion as to whether cheap labor is an injury or a benefit.

—It is urged, on the one hand, that the competition of this cheap labor tends to the degradation of our own people. On the other hand, it is contended that the cheapness with which Chinese labor may be obtained is an advantage of which it would be foolish for the nation to deprive itself, that the saving in the cost of production which may be effected by the use of Chinese labor is precisely analogous to the saving effected by the use of labor-saving machinery; that we should no more object to the introduction of the Chinaman because he will do more work at a less cost for wages than we should object to an improvement of the steam engine which should increase its efficiency while reducing its consumption of coal; that the effect of utilizing Chinese labor is to permit many things to be done that could not otherwise be done; to reduce the cost of production so as to bring comforts and luxuries within the power of many who could not otherwise afford them, and that the occupation of the lower branches of industry by the Chinese operates to open larger opportunities for white men in the higher.

—If the question were of commerce with China, or if the Chinese who came to this country were absolutely confined to occupations in which they could not come into competition with white laborers, then the reasoning of those who thus oppose interference with Chinese immigration as economically unwise would be in the main correct. In either case the community as a whole would stand to the Chinese in, the relation of employer. The greater the cheapness with which the Chinese in China or the Chinese in America if absolutely confined to occupations (it is hardly necessary to say there are none such) in which they could not come into competition with white laborers, would produce for us, the greater would be the amount of wealth which we as a whole would have to divide, while the conditions of divisions between different classes would be unchanged. In other words, commercial intercourse with them, or their employment here under the conditions assumed, would, so far as our people are concerned, add to the production of wealth without affecting distribution. But this is not the question raised by Chinese immigration. It is a question of the employment here of the Chinese in occupations in which they do come into competition with white labor. They do not remain external to our industrial organization, merely exchanging with it services or commodities, in which case it is evident that the more they gave in the exchange and the less they took, the greater would be our advantage; they enter and become an integral part of it.

—Now without going into the theory of wages, or inquiring as to the causes of the fact, it is a fact that under the conditions existing throughout the civilized world the competition of laborers with each other tends to force wages to a minimum which will merely support the laboring class in such condition as under their habits they are able to live and reproduce. So obvious is this under social conditions which now exist, that this point of a bare living is termed by Smith and Ricardo "natural wages' and the standard of comfort of the laboring classes is by Mill considered as the determinator of wages. The effect, therefore, of the entrance into the labor market of a class of laborers willing and able to work for less than white laborers, is to inaugurate a competition which must displace white laborers or compel them to lower wages.

—If such a lowering of wages seems to be an advantage it is only because it is considered from the standpoint of the employer, and not from that of the interests of the whole community.

—The highness or lowness of wages does not primarily affect the production of wealth, but merely the distribution. A fall of wages means that in the division of the aggregate product less will go to the laborers, and more to the other parties to the division, but not that productive power is in any wise increased. Here is the fallacy in the analogy which it is so often sought to draw between the effect of a reduction of wages and the effect of labor-saving machinery. So far as the employer is concerned the effect of a reduction of wages may be the same as the adoption of an improved process of laborsaving machinery; but considering the community as a whole the effect is very different. The improved process or improved machinery adds to productive power, and increases the general fund of wealth by enabling the production of more wealth with the same exertion. The reduction of wages in nowise increases productive power; and if it is to the gain of the employer it is in the same or in larger degree to the loss of the employed. If it makes some richer by giving them a larger share in the aggregate production, it only does so by curtailing the share of others.

—So with the notion that the cheapening of labor will induce the undertaking of industrial enterprises which can not be undertaken while wages are high. To reduce wages is not to increase productive power, and no matter how much wages are reduced, capital and labor will not be applied to less remunerative occupations while more remunerative occupations are open to them.

—But while the primary effect of increase or decrease of wages is upon distribution and not upon production, it is true that there is a secondary effect upon production. This, however, is the reverse of what is presumed in the notion that cheap labor is advantageous to a community. That to increase wages is to increase productive power, and to decrease wages is to lessen productive power, is evident from the fact shown by every comparison that highly paid labor is always the most efficient. The law is universal that wherever wages are highest there is invention the most active, economies the largest, production the greatest, and the growth of wealth most rapid, while ill-paid labor means wasted and wasteful labor the world over. The United States and China furnish good examples for this comparison. In the United States wages are on the whole higher than anywhere else in the world, and nowhere else in the whole world is invention so active, machinery so generally utilized, production so great relatively to population, and the increase in wealth so rapid. In China, on the other hand, wages are lower than anywhere else, and the industrial arts have been for a long time stationary, if they have not absolutely retrograded, machinery is hardly used, goods are still transported on men's shoulders, production is relatively very small, and though there are large concentrations of wealth, the country is as a whole miserably poor. To apply to the machinery and industrial methods which are in the one country the outgrowth of high wages, the cheap labor which in the other country destroys the incentive to improvement, may for the time result in large profits to those who make the combination, but if the effect be ultimately to reduce the general rate of wages the result in that country is to check invention and lessen productive power A Chinaman working for the lowest wages may be able to run the machinery which is the latest product of American ingenuity as well as a Massachusetts operative; but it is certain that in a country where the Chinese standard of wages prevailed, no such machinery would ever have been developed, and that just as wages fall toward the Chinese standard so must the spirit of invention and adaptation be checked, and stagnation take the place of progress.

—It is thus evident that considering even the purely material interests of a community as a whole, any reduction of wages must result in loss, not gain. A reduction of wages would not in any way increase the power of any of the productive factors. It would merely imply that in the division of the aggregate produce the laboring classes would get a smaller and other classes a relatively larger share; and that this must ultimately lessen the efficiency of labor and weaken the powers of production all experience shows.

—And it must be remembered that Chinese immigration does not mean an addition of so many Chinese laborers to the working forces of the nation; but, ultimately at least, rather a substitution of so many Chinese laborers for so many white laborers; for even when in sparsely settled districts the Chinese do not actually displace white laborers, they certainly take the place of those who would otherwise come. That California, for instance, would now have a larger white population had it not been for Chinese immigration can not be doubted by any one familiar with that state. In fact, it can hardly be doubted that had it not been for Chinese immigration the aggregate population of California would be greater than now; for not only do the Chinese not bring their women, but by filling vocations for which women would otherwise be required, and by the conditions which their competition necessitates among the whites in the industrial pursuits in which it is felt, their presence has operated to prevent the attainment of that due proportion of the sexes which is requisite to the freest growth of population as to healthy social life.

—The social and political difficulties involved in Chinese immigration are too obvious to need dwelling upon, and are seen when the non-assimilable character of that immigration is recognized. The healthful life of every social or political organism depends upon the assimilation of its elements.

—Even differences in language, religion, customs or tradition, which are as nothing when compared to the differences between the Chinese and our own people, are sources of discord and danger when they perpetuate themselves in the same community.

—But the immigration of the Chinese in any considerable numbers into a country like the United States means not only a population separated by the widest gulf, instead of a homogeneous people; it means the attempt to blend two diverse civilizations in the same social and political organization. It means not merely the introduction of a non-assimilable element, with all the jealousies and hatreds and conflicts and dangers which experience shows hence arise; but the introduction of an element which even in its effect upon our own people tends most powerfully to intensify dangerous tendencies.

—The social and political dangers with which the republic is already menaced spring from the growing inequality in the distribution of wealth—the same cause, which as the long course of history shows, has everywhere brought destructive conflicts or slow decay, and turned the prosperity born of free institutions into anarchy and despotism.

—And the effect of Chinese, immigration is to strongly increase the tendency to the unequal distribution of wealth, and at the same time to make remedial measures more difficult. The experience of California already shows that Chinese immigration means the introduction of an element into our political and social life which is as capable of arousing violent passions as negro slavery. Even were there no other objection to the Chinese than the fact that the opposition which their presence arouses among the laboring classes leads them to lose sight of all things else, and to blindly follow demagogues, it would be a sufficient one.

—The ethical considerations which are so often urged against any proposition to shut out Chinese immigration have no force when the real character and effects of that immigration are understood. A conscientious individual may fully recognize his duty toward his neighbor, and yet see that to bring under the same roof with his own family, a family of totally different habits, would be to demoralize instead of elevate, and to produce quarrels and ill will where there should be harmony. And so may one fully imbued with that higher patriotism which regards the whole world as its country and all mankind as brethren, see clearly that such an admixture of peoples as is involved in any considerable Chinese immigration to the United States would be to the degradation of the superior civilization without any commensurate improvement of the lower, and that regarded from the highest standpoint it would tend to check the general progress of the race, not to advance it.

—It is not merely the supreme law of self-preservation which justifies us in shutting out a non-assimilable element fraught for us with great social and political dangers, but a regard for the highest interests of the race. It is not that national vanity against which the philosopher should carefully guard, but the obvious fact which it were blindness to ignore, that European civilization as developed on the freer field of the American continent represents the highest advance yet made by humanity, and that upon the great Anglo-Saxon republic of the new world devolves in the era now opening the leadership of the nations.

—What civilizing influence she will exert upon other peoples depends on her own civilization, her maintenance of ground already gained, and her solution of problems which grow in gravity with the progress of development and the increase of wealth.

—Whatever will introduce into the life of the republic race prejudices and social bitterness; whatever will reduce wages and degrade labor, and widen the gulf between rich and poor, it is our duty to guard against not merely for the sake of the republic, but for the best interests of mankind.

—That European civilization has in its westward march reached the verge of that ocean which has for centuries held in the vast human hive of eastern Asia, and that steam navigation, constantly being cheapened, is reducing to a mere ferriage the distance between countries where the wages of labor are at their highest and at their lowest, may bring about one of those great migrations which change the destinies of the world.

—It is easy to hold fast a door which once fairly opened it may be impossible to shut; it is easy to prevent a movement which once it gathers way may prove resistless; and unless we are quite sure that the largest possible influx of Chinese could work no harm, it is the part of wisdom to take the side of caution.

—Chinese immigration to the United States has hitherto been held in check by the strong resistance on the Pacific coast, and, I am inclined to think, by the Chinese organizations which have controlled it in the interests of the Chinese already here.

—But without governmental action the effect of the first check must steadily weaken. Already powerful forces are becoming interested in Chinese immigration, and this must be increasingly the case as industrial relations adjust themselves to this element, while as the stream becomes larger, and the Chinese over wider areas become used to the idea of emigrating, it must pass beyond the control even of Chinese organizations.

—The enormous population of China, which the best estimates do not place under four hundred millions; the intense struggle for existence on the part of vast masses; the peculiar adaptation of the Chinese to that form of production to which our industrial organization now tends in the use of machinery and the minute division of labor, which dispenses with skill in the operation, and the rapid reduction in the cost of transportation, make, should it once gather full headway, the possibilities of Chinese immigration overwhelming.

—The fact is, that under modern industrial conditions the power of working cheaper and living on less may be quite as effective in substituting one population for another as was superior force in any previous age of the world; and that just as the Saxon supplanted the Briton on English soil, or the white race has supplanted the Indian race on this continent, so may the Chinese, if free play be allowed their immigration, supplant the white race. On a small scale this result may be seen in those quarters of San Francisco which have been virtually turned into a Chinese city, where once fashionable residences now swarm with Chinese tenants and Christian churches have been changed into Joss houses! It may be seen in mining camps which have become, in whole or in part, purely Chinese settlements; in Rocky mountain coal mines, where Chinese labor has displaced white labor; and even for a long distance further east, where along the line of the Union Pacific railroad Chinese section hands have displaced the white hands at first employed. Not more certainly does the Indian retire from before the white man than does the white man from before the industrial competition of the Chinese. The process may be observed in those branches of business which on the Pacific coast the Chinese have made their own. First one or two employers begin to engage Chinese; others are by the competition gradually compelled to do the same; ultimately Chinese employers appear where competition is as disastrous to the white employers as was the competition of Chinese workmen to white workmen, and finally the whole business is under Chinese control.

—The enormous possibilities of an immigration which with the advance in steam navigation may be drawn from four hundred million people, among whom the struggle for existence is so intense that large numbers perish annually from sheer want, and the fact that these immigrants retain all their essential habits and characteristics, make the question in its final aspects nothing less than that of a Mongolization of America.

HENRY GEORGE.

CHIVALRY.

CHIVALRY. It was not in the middle ages that the word knight made its first appearance in the language of politics. The small cities of Greece and the republic of Rome had their knights. They formed a distinct class in the state, and in some respects had a faint resemblance to the knights of the middle ages. We find the spirit of chivalry, as the unselfish prompter of valiant deeds and of heroism, in the most dissimilar nations and ages. It is characteristic of a certain period in the life of most nations; the period of transition from a barbarous state to a more refined civilization. During this period, while retaining to some extent the savage grandeur of the previous age, nations begin to acquire the graces of the other. For instance, chivalry shed some light on the Arabs before Mohammed appeared. Mr. Ampère calls attention to it in the poems of the Radjastan. Hallam sees in Homer's Achilles the model of chivalry in its most general form. Heeren finds in Godfrey of Bouillon, the Agamemnon of an army having in Tancred, Raymond, and Boemond, its Achilles, Diomedes and Ulysses. Greece, in the time of its glory, conceived Hercules as a sort of knight-errant and righter of wrongs. But the feudal system alone gave rise to, and has the right to claim chivalry as its own, that is, the perfect development of the spirit of chivalry in an institution peculiar to itself. What then, is chivalry, as Montesquieu calls it, "the marvelous system of chivalry," which according to Hallam, was "the best school of moral discipline that appeared in the middle ages;" and which Mr. Ampère alludes to as "the greatest moral and social event between the establishment of Christianity which produced it and the outbreak of the French revolution which utterly destroyed it"? The question is not easily answered. Many causes, impossible for us to allude to here, have contributed to obscure the subject. There are two kinds of chivalry. First comes primitive, hereditary chivalry. It can not be clearly distinguished from feudalism; or rather it is feudalism, armed feudalism. It is the true militia, properly speaking, what the French call the ancien ordre. It was composed of the old crown vassals, holding their fiefs direct from the crown before the final establishment, of the feudal hierarchy, and all the titled gentlemen from dukes to barons inclusive. They were milites per naturam, generositate sanguinis. In Spain they existed too. They were the "Ricos hombres," "Ricos hombres de natura." This chivalry had its esquires, valets and varlets, also esquires by birth, with the name of their fiefs, for which they rendered a special service. They were rear vassals, brought into existence by the large increase in the number of fiefs, nobles provided with the benefices by the great barons, freemen and allodial proprietors who were included in the feudal system when the latter extended to all who owned land.

—The other chivalry is the nova militia; the militaris honos, as opposed to the genus militaire, the militiæ cingulum, the order of chivalry. It is the chivalry of honor, of the accollade, and is personal, not hereditary. As time passed, people came gradually to consider it as the recompense of courage or merit. Its first recruits were from among the vassals already alluded to, the nobles of inferior rank, or esquires, who could thus be made knights without changing the nature of their fiefs, and rose in the feudal hierarchy by personal merit. This chivalry also admitted into its ranks hereditary knights who, however, were not full knights until they were able to bear arms.

—It is of this second species of chivalry that we wish to say a few words here. Its cradle, as that of all great institutions, is veiled in obscurity. It first saw the light in "France, the classic land of chivalry." (Hallam.) It grew in the shade, spontaneously, the natural development of various germs planted in modern society. When first noticed it had actually been in existence for a long time. Some elements borrowed from the manners, traditions and ideas of ancient Germany supplied its military foundation, its very substance, so to speak. Religion soon claimed it as her own, aiming to direct it toward a noble and moral end, and to make it an instrument of order and a means of social improvement. Gallantry, in turn, with the worship of woman, with love and the muses, left its imprint upon it, giving it grace, brilliancy, originality and polish.

—Tacitus tells us of an ancient custom which existed in the forests of Germany. When a youth was old enough to bear arms his father, or his next of kin, handed him the sword and buckler in presence of the council of the tribe. The German conquerors never gave up this custom. Under the feudal system the court of the feudal castle took the place of the council of the tribe, the lord paramount succeeded the barbarian chieftain and conferred the new dignity, not only upon his own son, but upon the young vassals brought up in his household, who were proud of receiving it from the hands of the suzerain, surrounded by their companions. The two ceremonies are in fact the same. Such was chivalry.

—Knighthood consisted essentially in admission to the rank and honors of the warrior, in the solemn delivery of arms and giving of emblems of warlike life. This was its origin. (Guizot.) From the beginning of the ninth century certain religious rights accompanied the investiture of the knight, and at the end of the tenth century the ceremony was, in its principal features, what we find it later. Chivalry soon received a wonderful impetus from the crusades. They developed all its latent germs and made it a religious institution, especially devoted to the defense of the faith. Chivalry thoroughly organized in the twelfth century, had spread from France to all the states of western Europe, England, Germany, Italy and Spain. Its leading features remained the same in all these countries, but its minor characteristics and its fortunes varied. It even penetrated to the east for a while, but the conditions being unfavorable, its existence there was of brief duration.

—We do not care to enter into all the details of a knightly education. We know that the youthful aspirant was taken from the government of women at 7 years of age. He passed the next 14 years of his life either in the home of his father's suzerain, or in that of some distinguished knight. The first 7 years he spent as a page, the remaining 7 as an esquire. During all this time he performed menial duties, which were not considered any disgrace by the nations of Germanic origin. The esquire, at least in early times, was dubbed a knight at 21 years of age, the age at which noblemen attained their majority. Sometimes high birth, or tried courage, enabled him to anticipate this age. As a rule he postponed assuming the belt until later, or else abandoned the idea altogether, either hoping that some brilliant exploit would shed lustre on his knighthood, or because his poverty made it impossible for him to meet the expense. As we have seen, there is no doubt that the honor was, at first, almost exclusively conferred, by the suzerain, within the walls of his castle. And the writers of the middle ages liked to compare the investiture of knighthood with that of a fief or homage, even to the conferring of holy orders. When chivalry afterward loosened the ties that bound it to feudalism, periods of great public solemnity, tournaments, festivity at the coronation of kings, or at the baptism or marriage of princes, were selected for the investiture of knighthood. In accordance with the taste of the time, the ceremonies accompanying the conferring of knighthood had a deeply symbolic character. They pictured, in noble and poetic rites, the tasks and duties of a knightly career. These ceremonies varied, in their details, with the country and the age; but, while they were performed, their leading features remained the same. When the esquire had taken the prescribed bath, and performed the vigil of arms, the weapons he was to carry were committed to his keeping. The lance and sword were the special emblems of his new dignity. Then his sponsor, that is, the person who was to introduce him to the order, struck him on the neck with the flat of his sword. This was the accolade. Henceforth the knight was said to be dubbed. Then the priest performed his part. Suiting his speech to the occasion he reminded the new knight of the obligations he was under. To these the latter, in a solemn oath, swore to remain faithful. He swore to defend the right, to protect the defenseless, widows and orphans, and to succor the oppressed. He was to be "humble to the lowly," valiant, loyal, gentle, courteous, generous and modest; he was to keep his plighted word, to love truth, and to be just in all things. The mediæval idea of a knight was the embodiment of all that was noble and warlike. He united in his person all the qualities, all the virtues, all the graces which constitute the moral perfection of a man of the higher classes. This was of course only an unattainable ideal, and but a few chosen ones ever attempted to attain it. The majority made no effort in that direction. Yet the fact of this ideal being impressed on men's imaginations at that time had a tendency to raise the average of character, and to prevent the sentiment of honor and of right from being obliterated from a society ruled by force and violence. The words with which Renan describes the nations of Indo European origin, apply more particularly to the knights of the middle ages: A race capable of self-sacrifice, and preferring many things to life.

—Knighthood was not always conferred with such ceremonies as we have attempted to describe. Knights were often, more especially toward the close of the feudal period, created in great numbers on the battle field, either before engaging in battle in order to excite their valor, or afterward to reward it. There the accolade alone sufficed. Little by little this custom gained ground, and, in the fifteenth century, the rites of investiture were discarded.

—The education of the knight was not over by any means, when the belt encircled his loins. He completed it in time of war on the field of battle. In time of peace he perfected himself in all those martial exercises which were used in warfare. These exercises were always bloody and dangerous. They constituted in great part the military pageant called a tournament, which Saint Palaye compares to the French camps de plaisance in which the knights were alternately encouraged by the example of princes, and hampered by their decrees; but which the church, though in vain, never ceased to oppose with all the influence and spiritual power at its command, as bloody games where cruelty vied with license.

—But the tournament was not a mere military school. any more than was chivalry itself a purely military institution. Chivalry was the embodiment of the feelings and customs which left their imprint on the middle ages. The tournaments illustrated this in the most striking manner. They were great feasts, "the drama of chivalry," as Hallam calls them; and soon became chivalry itself. All the luxury and magnificence of the middle ages were displayed on these occasions. The ladies, though hesitatingly at first, soon attended them in great numbers, excited the valor of the contestants, acted as judges, distributed the rewards, and there exercised their undisputed power. This feature was the crowning glory of chivalry, its brightest ornament, and, in the end, its greatest danger.

—Compared with what it was in antiquity, the condition of woman had very much improved in the new society formed by feudalism. Many causes combined to produce this transformation. The German conquerors had only to consult the traditions of their race to find evidence of a profound respect for women among their ancestors. This respect had been strengthened by the isolated life of families living on their estates; and the dignified position held by the lady of the castle. Christianity gave it a character of greater gentleness and tenderness, and the worship of the Virgin, more than anything else, cast around it a halo of mysticism. This tender and austere respect for woman, carried to an extreme, no longer found satisfactory expression, and gallantry, of which more refined and at the same time more dissolute southern France furnished in its manners and customs and in the troubadours who had formed them, the most captivating and dangerous example. Chivalry accepted henceforward the dogma, that the man who was faithful both to God and to his love could count on happiness here below and heavenly joys hereafter. A vigorous aristocratic literature, eagerly devoured in the feudal castles into which it penetrated, contributed largely to the spread of this dubious species of mysticism. How far did people go in the path thus entered on? The character of knightly love has been the subject of much controversy. Perhaps no subject in the history of chivalry is as difficult or delicate. Each side has furnished proofs in support of its opinion. The testimony is voluminous and contradictory, and varies with the country, the time, and the national character, according as it was warlike and sensual, or chaste and pure. The literature of chivalry was always of a high character as compared to the depraved cynicism and low satire of the stories and the metrical tales of the troubadours. Two powers struggled to control this literature: the church, which, after vainly trying to suppress it, endeavored to make it its own and to use it in the interests of morality; and the world, which sought in it the interpreter of its passions. Whatever may be said on the subject, the prevalent looseness of morals can not be denied. Should the teachings of chivalry bear the undivided responsibility of these disorders? It would be unjust to say so. A portion of them is no doubt due to causes always in action, and another portion to the violence characteristic of that particular age, and which chivalry certainly contributed to temper. It introduced delicacy where it could not introduce purity. But it can not be denied that the amorous scholasticism, professed by poets and romancers, puerile subtlety and inordinate curiosity peculiar to the middle ages aggravated the evil and contributed to the deterioration of morals.

—We find chivalry heroic "and even a little barbarous" in the twelfth century; austere in Godfrey de Bouillon, brilliant and ornate in Richard Cœur de Lion. It attained the height of its development in the thirteenth century. Here we find all the graces, all the glories and all the virtues that adorn it combined in noble harmony and proper equilibrium. It began to decline in the fourteenth century. It was doomed, but died slowly. It passed away because it had no longer any reason to exist. It had become a useless instrument, out of harmony with the spirit of the times, not able to meet its requirements. The great national wars which developed a new patriotism entirely opposed to that of chivalry, the predominance of infantry, and the invention of gunpower, destroyed chivalry. When the knights, beaten at Courtray by the Flemish burghers, and at Creçy by the English infantry, fought on foot at Poitiers, Cocherel, Auray and Agincourt, chivalry had ceased to exist. The military hierarchy, with the king at its head, destroyed the hierarchy of chivalry. When the military organization of knighthood and the feudal system disappeared, the spirit of chivalry based upon them soon followed. The fading lustre of the great institution brightened for a moment before it passed away, and seemed to the inexperienced eye more full of life than ever. But this was a deception. The old rules were ignored. The rude discipline to which the youth had submitted who wished to carry the lance, and the tedious novitiate of knighthood, had long been neglected. The distinguishing badges of rank were no longer worn. Sentiment became false and a pretense for over-refinement. Devotion to the fair sex and gallantry turned to folly. When the great satirists who appeared at the beginning of modern times—Rabelais, Ariosto and Cervantes—treated with scorn or ridicule the beloved heroes of a previous generation, their shafts were aimed more at the degenerate literature of chivalry than at an institution that could never be resuscitated.

—But in the last period of chivalry heroes appeared whose great prowess and nobility of character might stand a comparison with any in former ages: Walter Manny and John Chandos, and, later, Talbot and Suffolk in England, Duguesclin and Boucicaut, and Lahire, Dunois, and Xaintrailles in France. With Bayard the list is about ended. Francis I., after just receiving the accolade from the knight "without fear and without reproach," on the very day of the battle of Marignan, excuses himself to the marshal of Fleuranges for offering to knight him. "I well know," said the king, "that after the many battles you have been in you do not care to be knighted, but I have been made a knight myself to-day. Please accept the same honor at my hands." Henry IV. of France, a little later, in 1590, seemed to seek an excuse to make Sully a knight, saying, "I wish to embrace you and declare you a true and faithful knight, not so much with the accolade, which I now give you, nor with the order of St. Michael, or of the Holy Ghost, as with my heartfelt and sincere affection." What need had a man to ask the king for what he could take himself? Any gentleman of ancient noble lineage who had knights among his ancestors had a generally recognized right to the title. The word knight had gradually come to be used to designate the lowest title of nobility, coming immediately after that of baron. The orders of court chivalry, coming into vogue during the fifteenth century, gradually took the place of the other; and the ribands and crosses which were its insignia, began to be eagerly coveted by the ambitious. We shall not discuss them here. We merely intended to treat of the militant chivalry in its general features.

A. RABUTAUX.

CHRISTIANITY.

CHRISTIANITY. Christianity is a religious and moral power which, in the course of ages, as history shows, brought about the dissolution of the states of antiquity; a power which has exercised and still exercises an incalculable influence on the public life of the modern world.

—To comprehend this power in its essential character, and to trace its development in its effects on the state, is, therefore, a task with which the thinking statesman must needs concern himself, whether he be greatly influenced by that power individually, or not influenced by it at all. A force which makes itself felt so extensively and so powerfully on the masses, as well as on the rulers of nations; whose influence after nearly two thousand years is still spreading, and keeps pace constantly with the achievements of civilized mankind; a force which is so grand a manifestation of the religious spirit, which enters into nearly all the details that make up the public life of the people, both in Europe and America, at present the ruling continents, and has become one of the fundamental conditions of modern civilization—can not, though misunderstood, be passed over with contempt.

—Christianity, viewed in its relation to the state, with that freedom of spirit which the nature of the very subject demands, and with the reverence due to one of the greatest and most important factors in the history of the world, is the subject of the present article. We admit that from the point of view of the state we are unable to fathom the depths of the Christian religion, and to comprehend the magnitude of its power to elevate and satisfy the soul. But this relation of Christianity to the state, its legal and political institutions. though of secondary importance so far as Christianity itself is concerned, is most important in its bearing on political science. Yet, while our limits constantly remind us not to trespass upon the domain of theology, we are aware of the great difficulties of the attempt to condense within a reasonable space, the wealth of thought which Christianity, from every point of view, suggests to the mind of the inquirer; and to comprehend in human thought what surpasses all limits.

—I. The Religion of Jesus. The religion of Jesus is usually confounded with the Christian religion, i.e., the religion of his disciples and followers; while the term Christianity is now applied indiscriminately to both, and the two expressions are not infrequently used as though they were identical. The statesman, least of all, can afford to overlook this distinction, for he must, from the very beginning, look to the reality of things. It is this very reality which separates distinctly what the mind endeavors to unite in thought. In the religion revealed in the life of Jesus, the primitive idea of Christianity is embodied in its perfect form. The religion professed and practiced by his followers frequently presents but a very imperfect image of the religion of Jesus. It is only by comparing the Christian religion with the religion of Jesus, that the defects and merits of the former as exhibited in its historical development, are seen in their proper light.

—If we would truly understand the fundamental idea in Christianity, we must look at the religion of Jesus; if we would comprehend its development among mankind, we must consider the religion of Christians.

—The religion of Jesus, as conceived by the founder of the Christian religion, is the immediate spiritual union of the mind with God, while the religion of Christians is the reconciliation with God through the Redeemer. The religious consciousness attained to its fullest purity and clearness in Jesus himself, while in Christians its purity is greatly disturbed by the admixture of foreign elements. The energy of the religious life, both in its relation to God and to man, reached a height in the doings and sufferings of Jesus, which it never afterward attained; a height which some few in a healthy manner and many in a morbid one sought to attain, but which the greater number have remained far below. The religion which Christ himself practiced ended with his life. The religion of Christians is still in process of development, and it evidently has not yet reached the culminating point in its history. The real primitive picture of the religion of Jesus has frequently been transformed into an unrecognizable caricature, when reflected in the imperfect mental mirror of his followers.

—All the religions of antiquity were distinctively national in character; and not only did they stand in a morally narrow relation to the state, but they formed one of its component parts. The Mosaic religion, above all, had preserved this national and political character in the most marked and exclusive manner. It was essentially the religion of the Jews, on which their undying hopes of seeing the universal kingdom of Jehovah established by the expected Messiah were based. It was the religion of the divine law which the Lord had revealed to his chosen servant, Moses, and of the covenant which bound the children of Abraham to God.

—When Jesus appeared as the teacher of a religion so unlike theirs, among these people with whom he was connected by birth and education, he must have felt entirely alone. He was conscious of his religious mission to mankind, and he saw himself hampered on all sides by the strong national prejudices of the Jews. He had thoroughly weighed the question whether or not he should encourage the expectations of his people, and with their aid establish the kingdom of God on earth, but only to repudiate the notion as a temptation unworthy of his divine mission. He understood, as no one else ever understood, that religion and politics are things essentially different; that he would violate the sanction of his divine mission, and render its success impossible, if he were to assume, along with it, the office of the statesman and kingly ruler. He drew a clear distinction between the kingdom of God and the kingdom of this world, and undertook to labor in behalf of the former and not the latter. He paved the way leading to the distinction between the state and the church, and their strict separation—a doctrine which, prior to his teachings, was entirely unknown, and but vaguely anticipated by the Buddhist religion in the doctrine inculcating the renunciation of all worldly enjoyments. He did not break loose from the old law of the Jews. Indeed, he even conformed to its petty ceremonial, though he never failed, when an opportunity presented itself, to point out the inadequacy of its application. But he broke up the religion of the law, by setting against it the higher ideal of his religious spirituality, and supplanted it by the religion of love. Though he was aware of his personal superiority which raised him above the religious precepts, laws and civil institutions of Judaism, and of his superiority over Moses and the prophets; and though he publicly expressed his knowledge of this fact at times, on certain important occasions in his life, yet he submitted to the religio-political tribunal of his enemies, and refused to approve the desire of his disciples to oppose the civil power of the state by the power of the people. Up to the very time of his painful death, he remained true to his purpose, not to defend his religion with the weapons of politics, nor to mix up with his mission, which was that of the religious Messiah, the mission of a political Messiah, of a political deliverer of his people.

—Of all his discourses and sayings which have come down to us, there is not a single one which has any direct bearing on law or politics. He expressed himself on the kernel of all morality and moral obligation, leaving little else to be said; while he failed to say anything on the political organization of the people, the system of the state, the problems of politics, the private rights and civil laws governing the conduct of the people. He simply referred to the laws of the Jews, in order to illustrate, by setting his own moral precepts against them, the fact that these laws were not mandatory upon those who conformed their conduct in life to his moral standard. The command, "Thou shalt not kill," he supplemented by the duty of brotherly love. To the law, "Thou shalt not commit adultery," he added the higher moral injunction not to covet one's neighbor's wife, even in thought.

—The legal restraint on the granting of divorces he rendered more imperative by the moral injunction against the very act itself, the separating of husband and wife. He rendered unnecessary all penal legislation against perjury and against the violation of an oath, by the moral precept which discouraged the taking of an oath under any circumstances, and preferred the simple statement of the truth—yes and no. He neither proposed nor established rules of law. While often referring to the principle of justice, and prophesying its fulfillment in the sentence to be announced on the judgment-day whose advent was near, and on which he himself would appear as the "Almighty Judge," he had in mind not the laws of man and the administration and execution of the laws by man, but justice before God, and the supermundane tribunal of the Lord who fathomed the hidden motives and thoughts of all men.

—It is inconceivable that Jesus should not have considered the nature of human laws and of the state. Since he does not express himself in relation to them, and when questioned concerning them, dismissed the question, we must conclude that he purposely avoided the expression of his thoughts concerning them. He did not wish to appear in the character of a human law-giver, in order to be able to purge and sanctify more effectually the inward motives and sentiments of man. He therefore simply announced the memorable principle, not fully appreciated even in this day, of the separation and mutual recognition of the provinces of religion and the law: "Render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's, and unto God the things that are God's." So far did he go in his abstention from the formality of legislation, that even in his own province he published no law. He did not embody great religious truths in the cold and definite form of scientific dogmas, but conveyed them in living language addressed directly to his audience. He lighted a light in the world, and blew the flame in order that it might illumine the minds of his hearers. In like manner, he did not choose, in order to enjoin his moral precepts the more forcibly on men, the imposing language of the law, as did Moses, who, from the height of divine authority, spoke to the awe-struck people below but he went down into the deepest depth of the human soul, and from its chords struck notes that will never be forgotten. He illustrated his precepts practically, so as to render them intelligible to every one who was willing to seize them with a true spirit. The ordinary man, even a child, might understand him by the intuitive faculty common to all men; while the most profound thinker and the man of practical experience has never failed to discover some new points in the inexhaustible wealth of his parables.

—The religion which was alive in Jesus, therefore, neither proceeded from the state nor led to the state; it was essentially non-state, non-political. But this did not prevent Jesus from fully discharging all his duties as a citizen: his religion was not anti-state. In proportion as Jesus recognized the mission of his whole life to be a religious one, the more resolutely did he avoid all interference in matters of a merely temporal or secular character.

—II. The Religion of Christians. We may now inquire what is the relation of the religion of Jesus to the religion of Christians? The answer to this question differs according to the different epochs in the development of Christianity. Every epoch in that development has a character of its own. It is but in individual cases and in matters of lesser importance that we find traces of previous epochs in the epoch following, while we may sometimes discover in earlier epochs the germs or indications of those which come afterward.

—The original disciples and followers of Jesus, as well as all his apostles, were Jews. We know how hard it was for them to free themselves from the Jewish law and the political hopes of their nation. During the lifetime of their Master, they clung to the hope that he was their political Messiah as well; and after his death, their expectation of his promised return as the ruler and judge of the world, continued unabated. It was only reluctantly and gradually that they entered into personal intercourse and into full Christian communion with the uncircumcised gentiles. Had it not been for the dreadful though purely political punishment which the Romans inflicted upon Jerusalem, the Judaizing Christians would hardly have freed themselves entirely from the narrowness of the Jewish-Mosaic law and of their views of the world. It was after the temple of Jehovah at Jerusalem, and the Holy City itself, had been reduced to ruins, that Christianity, more liberal than Judaism, removed from the minds of its disciples the last vestiges of a narrowly national Judaism. From this time all were Christians, and there were none who could be called Judaizing Christians.

—It was only in the case of individuals—often in the case of distinguished Christians of later times, and not always in the case of men in whose veins Jewish blood still flowed, although frequently in such—that the theocratic character which had so forcibly been impressed by Moses upon his people, again became manifest. And now and then we meet, in the history of the church and of the different sects, with repeated attempts at establishing a legislated religion, partly Mosaic and partly Christian.

—The great, universal empire whose sway the Jews could not resist, was at that time the Græco-Roman empire. The Christian religion took its origin in Asia, but the state by which all the primitive Christians saw themselves surrounded, and which had power over them, was the European state with its essentially Greek philosophy and its Roman law. To this state, with its intellectual culture and its legal institutions, the primitive Christians whose numbers were increasing among the Greeks and Romans, as well as among all nations governed by the empire, were obliged to try to define their position. Within the whole range of this empire, religion was recognized as an institution of the state; its worship formed a part of the public law which the government established by its enactments.

—We can attribute to the Romans neither the same narrow feeling of nationality, nor the same spirit of intolerance in religious matters, as to the Jews. Their spirit encompassed the world, and they tolerated the different national gods, provided the Roman Jupiter and the Roman law were duly respected. What chiefly incensed the Romans against the Jews and Christians, was that these monotheists were not willing to take their place in the spacious temple of the state religion so rich in gods, and that the one God of the Jews and Christians could not possibly agree with the many gods of the Romans.

—Partly in conflict with the Roman state and its civilization, partly in connection with them, Christianity in the early centuries had its growth. As a new intellectual power based on divine revelation and affording a profounder insight into the deepest truths, while satisfying the "poor in spirit" much more perfectly than the philosophy of the Greeks could satisfy its cultured adherents—Christianity arrayed itself in opposition to the philosophy of antiquity, and gradually wrung from it the supremacy it had enjoyed. Yet, while engaged in this struggle, Christianity adopted from the philosophy of the times a variety of ideas, and attempted to infuse a spirit of its own into them. The schools of learning of Alexandria were, above all, the seats of both this antagonism and connection. The creed of Christianity now took the form of a philosophical system. It was from a fusion of the Christian faith with Hellenic culture, that the dogmatic theology of Christianity took its rise. By this fusion Christianity indeed gained in scientific consciousness and formal durableness. Yet, in the cold form of dogma Christian charity was lost, and the love of violent controversy and denunciation of the schools was propagated like an original sin in Christian theology. The state of antiquity and the welfare of nations suffered very greatly in consequence of the controversies carried on about the dogmas of Christianity.

—Dogmatic Christianity became a religion very different from the non-dogmatic religion of Jesus.

—The primitive Christians were naturally opposed to Roman polytheism, and expressed their opposition to it with great zeal, on many occasions. The majority of Christians saw in those pagan deities, not the personification of the external forces of nature, nor of the intellectual faculties considered as infinite, nor the apotheosis and worship of great men after death, nor the mere phantoms of the imagination and the cunning devices of artful priests; but they hated and abhorred those gods as powers of darkness, as wicked demons and devilish beings. Hence it was quite natural that their opposition to paganism should be turned into contempt for the state whose religion was branded as the devil's own work. The marked antagonism between the one God of the Christians and the many national deities of the Romans, turned into bitter animosity. These many gods had to be wiped out completely, in order that the one God might reign supreme.

—In spite of the persecution to which, during their struggles, the Christians were now and then subjected, and which a great many of the faithful coveted because they were anxious for the crown of martyrdom, the superior spirituality and truth of monotheism proved triumphant, and the ancient faith of the Romans which had been long cast aside by the educated classes, had finally to make way for the new gospel. But during these struggles and victories, the new religion of the world again took up a great deal of what was peculiar to the paganism which it had overthrown. It tried to inspire with its faith the forms, rites and symbols it had borrowed from the heathen. In the place of the Roman deities, who to them were but demons, they frequently substituted Christian angels and saints. The reverence even, which the Roman world was wont to give its deified emperors, and to which the Christians had been so zealously opposed, that the reverence due to God alone might not be wasted upon man, was replaced in the economy of the Christians, by the worship paid to the head and ruler of their spiritual empire.

—Of all this we can find no trace whatever in the religion of Jesus himself. As the union of Christianity with philosophy had changed the spiritual nature of the former, so the contact of Christianity with paganism first changed its outward form, and then exercised its influence on Christian dogma. Much that was heathen passed over to Christianity. We must not absolutely condemn the powerful influence which paganism exercised on Christianity. It was quite necessary that the customs and opinions of the people should, in the beginning, be treated with a certain regard and moderation, in order to win them over; and in the old traditions of paganism there were important educational factors which might be used advantageously by the new church. Christianity, to be a factor in the world's history, had to be ingrafted upon the ancient tree of Græco-Roman paganism. The former might transform the sap which circulated in the latter, but it could not stop its course. The new religion thus gained in sensuous freshness, in beauty, and in corporeality calculated to check its spiritual evanescence. It also gained in extent and popularity Yet there was danger that the pagan element in the new religion might threaten its deep spiritual life. We know from history, down to our own days even, how far from imaginary this danger has been; how frequently the lower classes especially, though not exclusively, have been exposed to it and have suffered from it.

—The attitude of early Christianity to the Roman law and the Roman state, was precisely the same as to Roman heathenism. The extremely selfish character of both, and their leaning toward absolute rule, were strongly opposed to the feeling of brotherhood and the spirit of sacrifice, the ideal of Christian life. The Christians hated this selfishness and love of absolute away, as embodying the power of evil on earth, a power from which they hoped to be liberated and saved. To a great many of the Christians the kingdom of this world was the kingdom of the devil, which was doomed to destruction, and on whose ruins the kingdom of heaven was at no distant day marvelously and triumphantly to rise. A large number kept as much as possible aloof from all participation in the life of the state. The non-political character which we have seen in the religion of Jesus was at the present period encouraged and strengthened to such a degree, that it soon assumed a character at war with the state. Though not all Christians followed this tendency absolutely, the Roman government was justified in maintaining that their religion weakened the patriotism of the Roman citizen.

—Yet, though the ancient government was on the decline, its foundations were too deep and too broad, and its superstructure too solid and firm, to allow it to go to utter destruction. It outlived the philosophies and religions of antiquity; and the new gospel was, after all, willing to accommodate it self to it as best it could. Christianity itself began to imitate its forms. The beginnings of the canon law supposed the law of Rome as a necessary foundation even where it changed and developed that law; and the Christian church, as the organized body of the faithful, formed a new constitutional system which, in many essential points, reminds us of the constitution of the Roman state. Rome, the ancient capital of the emperors, in which the unity of the world's empire had had, down to the time of Constantine, its sole centre, came into the foreground more and more as the seat of the most venerated bishop whose primacy secured, from the first, the unity of the new spiritual kingdom of the church.

—To sum up: The new religion of the Christians whose first zeal tended to excess, sought in vain to break loose entirely from the philosophy and religion as well as from the laws and government, the fruits of Græco-Roman civilization. Violent as the struggle between the old and the new order of things was, and although the latter, in essential matters, overcame the former, the religion of the Christians took in a great many of the elements of ancient civilization; and while it transformed the ancient order of things, it was itself, by way of reaction, internally changed in turn.

—The old non-political tendency of Christianity was wholly altered when, with Constantine, the state power which until then had been looked upon with distrust and enmity, went over to Christianity. The old hopes of establishing a purely Christian kingdom seemed now to be realized, although in a different way from what had been expected. The state itself came to be a Christian state, and the religion of Christianity came to be the recognized religion of the state. Instead of being separated from each other, as they formerly were, religion and the law were now mixed up with each other and permeated each other. The transfer of the central government to Constantinople, and the preponderance of Greek culture in the eastern empire, promoted the philosophico-dogmatical tendency of the young church; and the emperors, as the protectors and defenders of the orthodox faith, were ready to enforce political absolutism by religious edicts, and to coerce the people, by the secular power, into unconditional obedience to the doctrines and discipline of the church From being a people who had been persecuted, the Christians turned persecutors themselves. The paganism of the old world was to be rooted out everywhere, and every sort of heresy, even that newly arisen, was to be exterminated. Dogmatic controversies divided and excited parties against one another. They hated, and waged war upon one another, even to the death, for questions of abstract theology, concerning the solution of which good men might differ, and bad men easily agree, as, for instance, on the equality or the likeness of the Son and the Father. The wrangles and hatred of philosophical schools were intensified into the wrangles and hatred of theological parties, who thought they could secure the rule of the religion of eternal love by the eternal damnation of their opponents.

—The first Christian state was nevertheless an imperfect image of the Christian ideal. In its political character the Christian-Byzantine empire was but the slow decline of the old and more glorious, though pagan, Roman empire. Christianity, indeed, contributed to decrease somewhat its mummy-like torpidity, and to enliven the aged body by new ideas and interests. But this did not prevent death. Christianity itself, in the form of the Greek orthodox state religion, grew gradually torpid. Its close union with the absolute state, which was at first looked upon as the triumphant development of its empire, was the cause of its destruction. As the Greek empire of the east broke up, and was gradually conquered by the less civilized but healthier people of the east, so Greek Christianity had to give way before the inroads of the creed of Mohammed. The early seats of Christianity were conquered by Islam, in which, as was in keeping with the character of its founder and hence in a more decided manner, the same intermixture of religion and law was found, and which, more disdainfully even than Christianity, rejected all polytheism. It is well known that Mohammed felt the greatest reverence for the person of Jesus, although he failed fully to comprehend him, and that he had a higher opinion of the religious mission of Jesus than he had of his own, though he fully believed in the latter. But his monotheistic feeling rebelled against the religion of the Christians, in the form in which it then appeared to him in the cast. He looked upon it as a degeneration of the religion of Jesus, irreconcilable with the unity of God, and as an alliance with paganism which he so intensely hated.

—The lesson of history taught Europe by this first Christian empire is a most urgent warning against all Christian-polemical and absolutist-orthodox politics.

—Christianity attained a higher degree of development in the west. Rome and the Germans saved the Christian religion for the subsequent civilization of Europe. The principal seat of the Christian religion was transferred from Asia to Europe by Rome and the Germans. It became, in the first place, the religion of Europeans, in order that from Europe it might conquer the world, in the spiritual and intellectual order.

—Rome had ceased to be the political mistress of the world, but on the ruins of its political empire there arose, in Rome, the new rule of the church. The old imperial spirit of the holy city, a spirit which encircled the world, called into existence a new form of life. The Roman empire could no longer be governed from Rome, but the Christian church found in Rome its visible head. The city had ceased to be the residence of the emperors, but it became the residence of the popes.

—Both the Roman-Christian and the Greek-Christian religion started from the same point; they were, in the main, subject to the same influences and the same changes. In its orthodox doctrine, in its constitution, in its practices and teachings concerning the means of salvation, the former differed at first but little from eastern Christianity. Yet in spite of this close relationship its further progress was essentially different, and it met with a better fate. An exceedingly important advantage it had in this, that it was more independent of the government of the state. Even the distance of the Roman state from the imperial court was of great value in its emancipation. By developing the church into an independent organization, it brought into relief the principle of the separation of the church from the state; and insured, by insisting upon this principle, its progress and its life. The dualism of emperor and pope was the cause, indeed, of the most frightful contests in the Christian European world. Italy and Germany, in particular, were shaken to their very foundations by these struggles, and at the present day are suffering from their after-effects. And yet it is a fact, that the moral and intellectual superiority of modern European civilization over that of the rest of mankind, is due to the energy with which, for centuries, these two powers struggled to determine their true relation to each other. In the end each asserted its own independence, in all essential matters.

—For this reason, the admixture of political and ecclesiastical law, of politics and religion, in the west was not so great as it was in the cast; and hence, torpidity was not so much to be dreaded in the case of Roman as of Greek Christendom. Roman Christianity, too, wished to permeate the life of the state. It demanded orthodoxy from the emperor and the meanest subject alike. It persecuted heretics with a hatred no less intense, and inflicted penalties upon them severer even than the Greeks. It was no longer a non-political religion as in the days of early Christianity. But the community of the faithful, in the Roman church, was not a state church as the Greek church had been. The antithesis of the temporal kingdom and the spiritual kingdom, the latter non-political and the former non-ecclesiastical, was, though not always with full consciousness and in all its consequences, maintained; thus giving greater freedom of action to both religion and politics, and a better chance for their progressive development.

—Yet this development of Christianity did not reach its height until it came in contact with the Teutonic races. Rome was called to undertake the religious and scientific education of the still rude but morally strong Germans, and the latter in turn were to regenerate and reorganize the old Roman empire. While the eastern empire defended itself with difficulty against the inroads made upon it by the advance of the Asiatic races, and Greek Christianity was obliged to retreat before Islam, Rome won new glory by the series of victories it achieved, and gained new life.

—The formal rigor of the Roman system and the unity of Roman authority were necessary to hold together the German tribes, naturally inclined to isolation and independence; and to prepare and qualify them for their great task—the assumption and further development of the civilization of Rome and the religion of Christ. The Teutonic people seemed, at first, more willing to accept the Arian creed which better suited their native spirit of independence and which their understanding could better grasp, than the Roman Catholic creed. But the fact that the latter won the final victory is only another evidence of the surpassing greatness of Rome. To Rome's ancient and unitary power the intelligence of the Teutonic nations had, during the middle ages, to submit in order that they might entirely fulfill their mission. If Arianism had continued to govern among the Germanic races, then, considering the general state of affairs existing at that time, neither the Roman papacy nor the Roman-German empire would have attained its full development. And it is very questionable whether, in that event, the Christian religion itself, deprived of the mysterious sanction of divine authority, would have escaped the fate of so many philosophical schools and sects of the past, and whether it would have maintained its supremacy as the religion of the world.

—However, the Teutonic races did more than simply receive their civilization and religion from Rome. They, in turn, imparted to Rome safety, power and vitality. All the Teutonic tribes, and the Franks in particular, were very grateful to their Roman teachers. The Christian religion, too, gained in ardor and intensity of faith, in the manly courage of self-sacrifice and in strength of moral purpose. All these qualities were deeply rooted in the minds of the Teutonic people. The sentiments of the Teutonic races were, from the first, more religious than ecclesiastical, and leaned more toward political freedom than toward obedience to the state. After they had become Christians, they bowed in humble submission before the revealed God and his sanctuary, but, at the same time, they felt the vigor and independence of men, and asserted their temporal rights with a degree of firmness and fortitude that even defied the threats of the church. The Teutonic love of freedom yielded, of course, to ecclesiastical authority, but it could not be wiped out or destroyed by it.

—During the middle ages all Romanic and Germanic states continued to be Christian states in the sense exclusively of Roman Catholic Christianity. But the authority to which, in religious matters, even the state had to submit, was decidedly external to the state, in the Roman church. The church had been emancipated from the state; but the latter was held in spiritual bondage by the former. This shows the progress made by western Christianity as compared with eastern Christianity; but it also illustrates the intellectual minority of the state during this period, as compared with the states both in antiquity and modern times.

—It was against Roman Catholic Christianity in Europe that Islam, advancing aggressively from the east and southwest, had long to fight. But on the soil of Europe Christianity was victorious: it made Islamism retreat forever, and again began to spread over strange countries.

—From the heart of the Germanic nations which had conquered Rome and succeeded to the Roman empire, came that vigorous opposition to Rome which for centuries has divided western Christendom. The reformatory movement of the sixteenth century had a religious rather than an ecclesiastical character. Roman Catholic Christianity had become too formal, too external, too much an institution of the law, to suit the Germanic mind; and the moral sense of the Teuton rebelled against the glaring abuses attendant on its increasing worldliness. The men above all who were strongest in faith and moral conviction turned away, with minds dissatisfied, from the church of that period, and plunged into the purer primitive Christianity. In the holy scriptures they sought and found an authority which seemed to them more worthy of respect than the authority of the pope and the councils of the church. They freed themselves from the supremacy of the canon law. Drawing their inspiration from the primitive source of Christianity, they demanded that the moral and intellectual nature of man should be regenerated and reformed. To them the visible organization of the religious community was of secondary importance. For this reason they more willingly submitted, in ecclesiastical matters even, to the authority and power of the state, in which they revered a divine power whose moral basis they most emphatically insisted on.

—The dissension in European Christianity viewed from the stand-point of Christian unity, may be considered the greatest misfortune which ever befell the church; in its effects on the state, the sufferings it brought it are of minor importance when contrasted with the benefits secured to the state by it. By this dissension the state was, for the first time, freed from the unworthy wardship to which the church had morally and intellectually subjected it. The emancipation of the state from the church, in the intellectual order, was acquired for some states, immediately, by the reformation; and the way to it was prepared for others.

—All attempts to remove this dissension and to re-establish unity have proved futile; and what men could not change, they were, in the end, obliged to put up with. The anathemas hurled against the new heresy by the old church were as ineffectual as was the passionate fury of the Protestant leaders who stormed against the papacy as against the kingdom of antichrist. The persecution of religious parties, one by the other, caused extreme suffering to individuals, to whole families, towns and districts. The religious civil wars, the most unchristian vindication of Christianity conceivable, devastated whole countries, and brought great states to the brink of destruction. No nation suffered from this more than the German empire. But persecution changed the result as little as the more humane attempts at conversion in later times have been able to change it. In southern Europe and among the Romanic races, the Roman Catholic religion maintained its preponderance; while in the north of Europe, and among the Teutonic nations, Protestantism came into permanent power.

—In our days a large number of the theologians on both sides still hope that the power of truth, inherent in their own particular creed, may in the end be able to overcome that of their opponents. How often has it been proclaimed by the one party that the dissolution and end of Protestantism was at hand, while the other asserted that the rotten structure of the Catholic church could not resist the slightest blast, and would go to pieces in a very short time. History thus far has proved the deceptiveness of all such expectations. Hence there is hardly a thoughtful statesman who still entertains such a belief. Neither the intellectual power nor the outward might of either communion is strong enough completely to overcome the other and keep it in subjection. If, in the history of the future, the whole of Christendom should become again united, it will not be before the incrustated forms have gone through a process of purification, in which the impure elements which have crept into both systems and forms of faith will be cast out, and what is best in both be preserved and combined. Yet our times do not favor such a development. The living generation will have to put up with the opposing Christian bodies as they are. History, however, teaches the important lesson that every effort to renew religious persecution and the religious wars of the past deserve just condemnation, not only because of their evils and terrors, but also because they are irrational and hence can not possibly be successful.

—By promoting peace between the different denominations, and thus rising above the mere denominational standpoint, the state maintains its moral and intellectual independence in relation to these denominations, and rewards, in the noblest way it can, the great services rendered by Protestantism and Catholicism in the education of nations and the humanization of politics.

—Protestant Christianity introduced no new idea of law, nor did it establish a new power as opposed to the state. In its jurisprudence and organization the old church remained far superior to Protestantism. But in successfully freeing itself from the authority of the canon law, Protestantism taught the state that the government itself was, in matters of law, the highest authority. And even the states, which remained Catholic in all else, began to realize their independence of the authority of the canon law, and asserted their own supreme authority, when necessary, as against the latter. While the Germans took the lead in those innovations which were religious, the French were the first to introduce those which were political.

—The Christianity professed during the last centuries by states, was entirely different from the Christianity of the middle ages. Though at first the majority of the states passionately favored denominational exclusiveness, some of their were, from the beginning, obliged to allow different denominations to assert themselves, and all of them learned in time and by experience, that in all confessions there was Christianity, but that in none of them exclusively did Christianity reside. The Christianity of the more modern states thus became more liberal, broader and more tolerant, and the state became less and less willing to draw the sword at the bidding of ecclesiastical authority. Religion was obliged to rely more on its inherent moral power. When we impartially compare this new development of Christianity with the religion of Jesus himself, we may confidently say that it corresponds to the real nature of the latter in a greater degree than any of its previous developments.

—A new phase of the relation of Christianity to the state and the law began during the course of the last century. The way was indeed prepared for it, in part, by the reformation; but in character it and the reformation are radically different. We may characterize it in a few words, by calling to mind Frederick the Great and the French revolution Frederick the Great who spared, indeed, the visible form of Christianity, but who, as a philosophical statesman, renounced not only all particular Christian confessions, but the Christian religion itself, and the French revolution which enthroned reason as the goddess of the future, and rejected Christianity as a despicable superstition and persecuted it as an unpatriotic religion.

—We may explain some of the closing events of the French revolution, especially the persecution of the Christian priests and the closing of Christian churches, by the state of insanity caused by the revolutionary fever which robbed the French people of their senses. Other events, however, such as the negation of Christianity in the state and the law, were certainly not the mere expression of violent excitement under which the people labored; but had, long before, been proclaimed in well-considered works embodying the sentiment of the age, by the leaders of French literature, by Voltaire, Rousseau, and the encyclopædists. Views like these, tempered sometimes by a poetical or traditional respect, we frequently find in the works of the best German poets. Not only modern philosophy, but all the other sciences asserted their independence of religious authority, and the state which encouraged this tendency shared the benefits of this intellectual freedom in science. People also began to grant political rights to the followers of other creeds. Everything in the olden laws which had assumed a specifically Christian form, was gradually expunged.

—There is no denying it: we have here to do, not with momentary impulses and the aberrations of individuals, but with a feature characteristic of the time. An entirely new epoch, in decided contrast with the whole period of the middle ages, toward the close of the latter, and following the reformation, dawned upon the world. And this is a fact which must be fully comprehended before we can judge its true character. Throughout the middle ages, although the church and the state were separated, religion and politics were closely and indissolubly united. The human law of the middle ages was derived directly from the law of God. From Heaven came the sword of the power which the emperor wielded. The unmistakable tendency of modern times, on the other hand, is to effect the separation of religion and politics, and to frame human laws with human freedom and with human consciousness of self. This separation and this giving of a new basis to law have already gone through various phases of development. It is no easy matter for nations to come to a clear understanding of fundamental principles; and it is still more difficult for them to put their ideas into practice. Hence, it is not surprising that we should meet with a great many errors, a great deal of passionate exaggeration. And we should not mistake extreme phenomena in history, to which the current of events may give rise, for the predetermined cause of history itself.

—The extreme hostility of the French revolution to Christianity is now generally understood and duly branded as devoid of all reason, and as highly unjust. But the emancipation of the state and the law from all compulsory authority of religion, not excepting even that of Christianity, continues one of the chief characteristics of all modern politics. The permanent tendency of the age, in the emancipation of the state and of law, is not anti-Christian as it would seem, if we single out certain isolated events which show opposition to Christianity. For this tendency is directed toward the assertion, in both law and politics, of the temporal and human. And to that extent the state is no longer Christian in the sense of the middle ages, though it more fully agrees with the primary idea of the religion of Jesus than the form of Christianity that succeeded it. To the great good of religion Jesus himself had effected that very separation which it is the effort of modern times to effect for the welfare of the state.

—The fear of many of the adherents and the hope of many of the opponents of Christianity, that this tendency of the state and the intellectual struggles connected therewith may be injurious to the Christian religion, have already been proved to be without foundation. We do not conceal from ourselves the fact, that among the part of civilized mankind within the pale of Christianity, the differences of denominations and sects is greater than ever before; though this fact is of little importance as compared with the great difference between Christians and non-Christians, which latter difference, since the days of early Christianity, has never been more marked. Yet an impartial view of the more recent development of the religious sentiment will show that the spirit of the Christian religion is strong enough to repel even the extreme dangers which probably might arise from this division, and that it has now more vitality to spread its influence among the nations than ever before.

—In consequence of these struggles the dormant energy of the faithful has again been awakened; and the nations of Europe, while they may, perhaps, not have become in the same degree more ecclesiastical, have certainly become more religious than they were about 80 years ago. Even the opponents of Christianity now speak in more respectful terms of its historical importance and its spiritual wealth, than was the fashion during the last and at the beginning of the present century. Though a great many matters of external detail, and other matters of minor importance had to be sacrificed, the religious depth and truth and moral forces of Christianity became apparent whenever attacked by criticism. And whatever progress the human mind made in other domains, domains peculiarly its own, admit it we must, that Christianity had the moral and religious capacity to keep pace with that progress. The opinion that modern civilization might dispense with Christianity, because it had outstripped the latter, was able for a time to deceive even reasonable and honest men; but it had, in the end, to give way to the evident truth that, in the primitive idea of Christianity there is a wealth and power which, vast as its development may have been, has not yet reached its highest expression, much less been exhausted. Christianity hitherto, from the time of the early churches down to our own day, has, on closer examination, shown itself far below its ideal, the religion of Jesus. This fact has renewed in the minds of a great many the hope that it is not in the present but in the future that true Christianity will be fully realized, and attain its full efficiency.

—The Christian population is estimated at about 30 per cent. of the population of the world.

—The spread of Christianity still continues through both Catholic and Protestant missions, through the influence of commerce and the political power of Christian nations. The most determined opposition brought against it is, besides that of Judaism—which in recent times, however, has shown some points of resemblance to Christianity—that of the religions of Islam and Brahma; the former conscious of its intense monotheism, the latter, of its pantheistic, speculative background, of its ancient traditions transmitted for thousands of years by its castes, and of great thought and institutions. But the course of Christianity through history is, after all, one of victory and glory. The fact that the nations enjoying the greatest political power and freedom, and the leaders of mankind, profess it, that they have both the power and the courage to subject all parts of the globe and all mankind to its supremacy—this fact encourages Christian missionaries, religious and lay, to overcome all obstacles, and aids them in raising Christianity above all other creeds, as the supreme and universal religion of the world.

—III. The Christian State. After this historical survey, we have no difficulty in answering the question which is so much a subject of controversy, concerning the Christian state.

—If the meaning of the Christian state be that it is a state whose true lord and sovereign is Christ, and which is to be governed by a hierarchy, according to the teachings of the Bible, or by religious traditions and inspiration, as illustrated in the Anabaptists of the sixteenth century, and the Mormons of the nineteenth century, then this theocratic idea of the Christian state, wholly at war, alike with the ultimate idea of Christianity and the historical development both of the Christian religion and the state, must be absolutely rejected.

—The mediæval idea also of the Christian state, which treated non-Christians as beings without rights, and which subordinated its legislation to the authority of the church, is no longer in keeping with the progress of civilization. The modern state recognizes the civil rights of non-Christians also. Their civil rights it recognizes completely, and it tends more and more to extend their political rights, while it maintains its attitude of perfect independence of all authority outside of it. What Christian governments demand of the Ottoman sovereign, that he should respect his non-Christian subjects as entitled to all the rights of citizenship, they must grant their own subjects who are not Christians. The modern state can, therefore, no longer be exclusively Christian. But, inasmuch as it is more humane, it is more in harmony with the primitive idea of Christianity than the exclusively Christian state. Our logic here, however, must not be pushed to the extreme of rejecting and condemning every traditional deviation from this principle, when that deviation is rooted in the minds or in the circumstances of the people. We can only point out the end toward which the modern state is tending; the way leading to that end is determined by the traditions of history.

—If by the expression Christian state is meant simply a state which is conscious that the Christian religion is the religion of its people, of the majority of its people, or of the nobler component part of its people; a state which recognizes, besides, that the Christian religion is a fundamental condition of its own development, and one of the chief elements of progressive civilization, and which lives up to and acts upon this consciousness: then we may unhesitatingly call all states which in former times were exclusively Christian in the narrow sense, Christian states. And in this acceptation, the expression Christian state has an important meaning. But in this acceptation of the expression, only the indirect importance of Christianity to the state, not the direct rule of Christianity in the state, is recognized.

—IV. The indirect influence of Christianity. This influence on the state is indeed most important and wholesome. The power and purity of this influence are rather increased than lessened, by the fact that Christianity seeks to exert no direct influence in the province of law.

—With the dogmatic differences of the different Christian denominations, the state in principle has nothing to do. Their existence is felt by the state, when the internal warfare of the churches and sects begins to threaten the public peace. When this happens, the state interferes, and maintains the order and dignity of the law, as in any other case. But it is of the greatest importance, when the action as well as the welfare of the government and its general relation to its citizens are considered, that the faith in a personal God and his government of the world which Christianity teaches, should be at work as a living agency among the people, and among those interested in the management of public affairs. This faith keeps together by its spiritual bonds what, but for it, would go to pieces. With this faith the unity of the order of the world and its dependence on God are recognized; without it, the resolving of the whole into its elements, and the anarchy of passion, are the threatening danger in the near future.

—Much greater, in many ways, is the direct influence of Christian morals on public law and the state. There are, indeed, certain percepts of Christianity applicable particularly, not to the political but to the religious conduct of the people, which are entirely outside the legal and political province of the state, and which the latter can not possibly acknowledge as rules and conditions by which it should be governed. The counsel, appropriate enough, in the case of Christian missionaries, "Take therefore no thought for the morrow," would be a very inexpedient rule when applied both to the political and private economy of man. The percept directed against the uncharitable condemnation of others, "Judge not that ye be not judged," should certainly not influence the courts, in their administration of public justice. The highest commandment of Christian love and humility, "Love your enemies; bless and pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you," * * * "But I say unto you, that ye resist not evil; but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right check, turn to him the other also "—can not, though sublime as characteristics of religious sentiment, be made to serve as a principle of public policy or political morality.

—The state must gratefully acknowledge its obligations to Christian morality for having purified and ennobled its own life. We would call attention to the following points: 1. It had a great share in awakening and spreading among the people the sense of human dignity and honor. Since it brought men, as the children of the Lord, nearer to the divine Father, the value and dignity of human nature could not so easily be disregarded as it was in antiquity, previous to Christianity. 2. Looking on men as the children of God, Christianity brought to men the consciousness of their equality and fraternity in relation to one another. Acting as a liberating force on all, even on the lowest classes, the slaves, it gave a new foundation to the liberty of all, and where it did not give such liberty a new foundation, it strengthened it. The liberty of Christianity is, indeed, different from that of the French constitutions. It does not do away directly with existing legal relations, but by its moral power it transformed the face of Europe, and had a large share in the progress of European civilization. 3. As it has raised the standard whereby the rights of the subjects in the monarchies of the old world were measured, without revolution, it also limited and refined the outward appliance of the governmental power, without weakening that power itself. And it has effected this by reminding rulers of their accountability to the Supreme Ruler whose judgment they can not escape, and by demanding of them that they should respect their subjects as their brothers in Christ. 4. Finally, it has revealed the affinity of all the races of the earth; and while it has, in opposition to the narrow spirit of nationality, insisted on the unity of the human species, it has become the source of a purer morality in the international law of the civilized world. In the humanizing process to which Christianity subjected legal institutions and relations, it preceded the state whose governing principle it anticipated and expressed in its religious creed. What the state learned gradually to understand and carry out as a human duty imposed upon it, the religion of Jesus looked upon from the first as a Christian duty. The Christianity of later days may sometimes have forgotten this duty, or may have tried to fulfill it in an improper way. But the consciousness of this duty was never afterward entirely lost.

—In all these respects, the purifying and refining influence of Christianity has shone conspicuously. In proportion as nations come to understand human nature, they will respect the religion which has guided them in their intellectual advance and infinitely promoted their civilization. On this account, the state, although now conscious of itself and grown independent, will, in the future, take into consideration the moral demands Christianity may make, and so far as its laws and power permit, try to grant them. The religion of mankind and the politics of mankind—each adhering to its own principles—will continue in close and friendly reciprocal relations, and thus united they will best promote the welfare of the human race.

MAX. EBERHARDT, Tr.

CHURCH AND STATE

CHURCH AND STATE. Church and state can occupy with regard to each other but one of these four positions: 1. Where the church governs the state; this is the theocratic régime. 2. Where the state holds religious affairs under its control and regulates them according to its pleasure; this is what may be called Cæsaropapacy. 3. When the church and state limit each other by common consent; this is the régime of concordats. 4. When religions, separate from the state, are entirely free, on the same conditions as all other associations.

—Let us examine one after another these four forms of relations between church and state.

—I. Theocracy. The domination of the state by the church constitutes an order of things well known and very frequent in history. In ancient Egypt, in India from the remotest ages down to our time, and in the greater part of Europe during the middle ages, religion was supreme, not only over consciences and in spiritual affairs, but also over all human existence and consequently over civil law and government. In a pure theocracy there is no legislation except the religious code. In the Christian states of the middle ages the theocracy never attained this degree of perfection, notwithstanding all the efforts which it made in that direction; but, imperfect as it remained, it has none the less weighed with a mighty pressure on the governments of western Europe. The canon law held at that time a considerable place at the side of the civil law, and ecclesiastical rules often took precedence of, and determined ordinarily the laws of the state. It is not without reason that it was possible in those days to compare the religious power to the sun and the civil power to the moon, which, obscure of itself, borrows its light from the sun.

—All nations without exception have commenced with this régime. There are none which have not been governed at first by a religious power; a small number only have succeeded in acquiring a social form more or less independent of primitive religious institutions.

—That the theocratic régime has always been the first form of civilized nations is easily explained when we consider that religion alone has had the power requisite to wrest nomadic tribes from their wandering life, to fix them to the soil and render them accessible to civilization, or to subject barbarous peoples to the yoke of law and bend them to a civilized life. This fact is beyond all dispute; we know in our day that all primitive governments were theocratic.

—They all have this character in common, of treating men like children, as incapable of guiding themselves in the difficult paths of life. In fact, they found them in a state of childhood and were obliged to trace out a detailed scheme of all the duties of civilized life, without leaving anything to their free choice which could not be relied on in the beginning. The chiefs were not treated differently from the multitude. They were as barbarous as their followers, as undisciplined, as little capable of civilized life. Theocratic legislation was obliged to put even them under guardianship, and to trace out for them the duties of each day, of each hour, with as much precision as for all the other classes of society. Diodorus Siculus informs us that the kings of Egypt were bound by ancient laws. The seventh book of the code of Manu is devoted entirely to the enumeration of the duties of sovereigns. In the middle ages, without being subject to such minute rules, the kings and princes of western Europe were watched with jealous and constant care by the popes, who spared them neither counsel, encouragement nor censure.

—Theocratic legislation is condemned to immobility by its very nature. It makes this, however, a title to glory. Human laws are modified according to the changes which take place in the ideas of the nation. Theocratic legislation, claiming rightly or wrongly a divine origin, lacks this elasticity; it must remain what it is. How could the scant wisdom of man modify, improve or correct the decrees which come from God himself? This is why laws made for the childhood of nations know no other condition and allow no other, and why their most positive effect is to maintain or seek to maintain forever the primitive civilization to which they related and for which they have been constructed.

—And if, in consequence of certain events, the level of culture among the people submitted to this régime rises, let no one ask legislation to follow the movement. It is not at Rome alone that non possumus will be given as answer. This refusal is the forced result of the principles of theocracy. Since it comes from God it can not be changed. It must be accepted as it is; the concessions proposed to it can only appear to it logically as infidelity to the divine will.

—It is scarcely necessary to call attention to the fatal consequences of such a government. It paralyzes life and condemns all progress; it confines the nations which accept it to a very narrow circle, since it embraces only the primitive elements of civilization. Science can not extend beyond the limits of the creed of the ecclesiastical faith; industry, commerce, the arts, social relations are maintained at the point at which they are produced by a nascent civilization; liberty of thought is suppressed; rights of individual reason are not recognized; individuality is smothered by rules which press it down.

—At a certain period of social development this régime, excellent so long as it had only to guide the first steps of undisciplined tribes in civilized life, becomes an unendurable yoke. Two methods are presented to render it less crushing or even to shake it off entirely. The civil power, according as it is more or less strong or is more or less subject to ecclesiastical discipline, take possession of religious authority and declares itself the religious head of the nation, or it seeks to come to an understanding with the ecclesiastical power, and establishes, by a sort of treaty, the limits between the temporal and the spiritual.

—In the first case we have what has been called Cæsaropapacy; in the second, the régime of concordats.

—II. Cæsaropacy. The word Cæsaropapacy gives a clear enough description of that order of things in which the prince is both temporal ruler and religious head of his dominion. In ancient times, the kings of Egypt and the sovereigns of India tried repeatedly to overturn the priestly caste which ruled them; but they never succeeded. It is probable that if victory had settled on their side, they would have declared themselves the head of religion, and that religious affairs would have been governed by their administration on the same basis as finance, the army, and all the other branches of government. The emperors of Germany were not more successful in the middle ages against the theocracy of Rome.

—At the commencement of the eighteenth century the Tsar got the better of the Russian church more easily. From the end of the sixteenth century the patriarchs of Moscow, supported by the Russian bishops, broke with the patriarch of Constantinople; thenceforth they aspired to obtain supreme power in the church. These attempts disquieted the Tsar. Nicon was deposed in a council held at Moscow, in 1667; this defeat did not prevent his successors from cherishing similar schemes. Peter the Great put an end to all these ambitious views by declaring himself head of the Russian church in 1791. The following year he established for its government a council called the holy synod, composed of archbishops, bishops and archimandrites. But the Tsar reserved to himself the presidency of this synod and the nomination of all the members; and no act of this assembly is valid until after it has received the approbation of the emperor; the latter is absolute master in everything concerning religious affairs—belief, worship and discipline.

—It is easily seen that the emperor has gained by this order of things. His double quality of absolute sovereign and head of the church has given him, in the eyes of his subjects, a prestige which puts him far above any other power on this earth. He has besides all the members of the clerical order at his disposal, docile and submissive instruments who render him service which could not be expected from the other employés of the administration. But it is undoubted that religion has not reaped the same benefits from this régime; it has become neither more enlightened nor more spiritual. Add to this that liberty of thought does not meet with fewer obstacles in this than under theocratic rule. The chief of the state, who is at the same time the head of the church, may, without doubt, be more accessible than a purely ecclesiastical chief to the progress of ideas and the changes which the growth of science introduces by degrees into modes of thinking. But, on the other hand, what can he do for the cause of free thought in matters of religion when his political interests advise him to maintain the established order of things and not yield up so powerful a means of domination as the management of ecclesiastical affairs?

—In Protestant states, the course of events at the epoch of the reformation put the management of worship in the hands of princes. But, on account of the principle of free investigation, which is really the essence of Protestantism, men became accustomed to respect the rights of conscience to a greater or less degree; and, at the same time, less through the force of law than of public opinion, a certain independence was established in those states with regard to dogma. It is none the less true that the civil power is the judge of controversies, that it holds religion in its power, and that even without having recourse to violent measures it has a thousand indirect means of acting upon it. This justice, however, must be rendered to the governments of Protestant countries, that they have had the good sense not to abuse their authority in religious affairs.

—III. Régime of Concordats.45 Concordats are treaties made between the civil and the religious power concerning ecclesiastical matters. Pacts of this nature can only be made when princes find themselves face to face with a powerful religious authority concentrated in the hands of one man. The count of Lanjuinais is mistaken when he assures us that they are unknown in all history outside of the Catholic church.46 The Conventions repeatedly concluded between the Dalaï-Lama of Thibet and the emperor of China are absolutely of the same kind as the concordats concluded in Europe in modern times between temporal sovereigns and the popes. Similar agreements were made in Japan on different occasions, from the end of the twelfth century between the adïris, spiritual chiefs of that country, and the djogoons or tycoons who were the temporal chiefs.47

—It is a remark not new that concordats are treaties of peace between the spiritual and temporal power. They have been brought about in reality only after long struggles between the papacy, which pretended to establish its rights to universal dominion, and the princes whose interest it was to restrict this action within the domain of ecclesiastical affairs. They had no object but to put an end to these disputes equally dangerous to both powers.

—Treaties of this kind can not in any way be reconciled with the principles of the Catholic church. Two powers of the same nature, whatever in other regards their respective importance may be, can of course terminate their disputes by mutual concessions. This can not be the case between the spiritual and temporal powers, because from the point of view of the Catholic church there is no equality between them, since the first was instituted by divine right to govern and direct the second. "If the holy see," says Gregory VII., "has received the right of judging in spiritual things, why should it not have the right of judging temporal things? Laymen perhaps believe that the royal dignity is above the episcopal dignity. The difference between them may be seen from the origin of the one and the other. The former was invented by human pride, the second established by divine goodness." Long before, St. Ambrose had proclaimed that the episcopacy is as much superior to royalty as gold is to lead. Such is the Catholic doctrine. It is not a question here of judging, but of stating it.

—I know well that there is a large number of persons who create for themselves a fantastic Catholicism, imagining they can rise above the Catholic church itself, and who flatter themselves they can convert the holy see to their theory. If history has not been able to disabuse them, it would be very useless to show them that they are the dupes of an illusion. Catholicism is an historical fact; it must be taken as it is; it is not in the power of any man to make it other than it has been made by a tradition which reaches back beyond the eighth century of our era; it could not itself modify itself, without perishing altogether.

—According to Catholic principles, princes and people have but to submit humbly to the decisions of the church, as to orders emanating from God. How under these conditions can the head of the church abandon a part of his rights to the temporal power? How can he let it judge what is good and what is not good for the church? Never, therefore, have the sovereign pontiffs asked for concordats unless to regain, under circumstances favorable to their interests, privileges which the misfortunes of the times had snatched away from them. Such were the motives which caused Leo X. to ask of Francis I. the concordat of the 15th of August, 1516, which abrogated the pragmatic sanction of 1438.48 They never acquiesced in those unfavorable to them except when constrained by force or by feeling the impossibility of obtaining better conditions for the moment. Thus Pius VII. declared that he would not accept the concordat of July 15, 1801, were it not for the extraordinary circumstances of the time, and in view of the advantages of peace and the unity of the church.49

—What is to be concluded from this, except that the holy see observes only those concordats which are advantageous to it, in order to advance to greater conquests, and that it observes those that are burdensome to it only on account of concessions made to it and to which it submits momentarily, waiting for better days and reserving all its rights. Treaties of this kind then have in the eyes of the contracting parties, at least in the eyes of one of them, only a provisional value, and can not constitute an order of things regular and constant.

—Would that concordats could, during their more or less ephemeral existence, eliminate the difficulties raised by the varied and sometimes opposing interests of the two powers. But they do nothing of the sort. The struggle continues under the régime of concordats in nearly the same forms as before the establishment of that régime. In France recriminations of parliament against the pretensions of the holy see have not been less lively since the sixteenth century than before it; they have been even more frequent. The opposition of the civil power has even been at a certain time so powerful that it might have provoked a schism. I refer to the declaration of 1682, the execution of which, though the contrary has been asserted, would have created an impassable abyss between the Catholic church in France and the court of Rome.

—Germany presents an analogous spectacle; in spite of the concordat of 1447 between Nicholas V. and Frederick III. and all those which followed, the German empire has not always lived on good terms with the holy see; and we have seen in these later times with what rapidity concordats were made and abolished in Austria.

—Concordats are not treaties capable of regulating disputes finally, because they never entirely satisfy either of the two contracting parties, each one of which thinks that it makes more concessions than it ought, and strives more or less openly for greater advantages. This takes place not only because they have no sanction and can not prevent one or the other of the two adversaries from obeying the principles on which its own authority rests, principles which ordinarily are in complete opposition, and which in any case have nothing in common; but still, and above all, because in the order of things which the régime of concordats supposes, and when there is a church in the case which like the Catholic church lays claim to universal dominion, it is impossible to fix the moral limits which should separate the two powers.

—This explains why no concordat can be final. In the countries where this régime has been adopted it has been necessary to modify unceasingly existing treaties by successive amendments, or replace them continually by new ones. Since the beginning of this century France has had three different concordats. It is by the twenties that those must be counted which were concluded during three or four centuries between Germany and the holy see. These incessant changes are a decisive proof of the impossibility of giving a fixed and solid basis to this régime. If we examine the relations of church and state from a general point of view we shall be brought to this conviction, that their alliance under any form whatever is an annoyance, a source of embarrassment as well for the state as for the churches.

—By putting itself under the patronage of civil government, a religion, whatever it may be, yields up its independence in whole or in part. Thenceforth it can no longer take counsel of itself alone; it commits a part of its interests to a power which has not precisely the same end in view that it has, it wishes in vain to be inspired only with its own principles, to have regard only for its own interests; it must take account also of the interests and the principles of the associate it has chosen, I was going to say of the master under whose protection it has placed itself.

—The ministers of religion, therefore, are placed by a concordat in an embarrassing, equivocal position between opposing views and duties. An emergency may arise which the state judges favorable to its interests and which the state church finds dangerous to the interests of religion. Must the wishes of the government be yielded to? Must they be resisted? The danger is perhaps equal on both sides. A decision, however, must be made, and either religious principles be sacrificed to the desire of remaining in the government's favor, or the clergy exposed to the displeasure of a powerful ally by obeying the voice of conscience. The bishop of Baltimore does not run the risk of finding himself in this difficult position. He has to think only of his religion and his flock. He has to take into account only spiritual interests.

—Even outside of the contingencies of which I have just spoken, contingencies more frequent than is believed, in the ordinary course of affairs, every state religion is bound to continual sacrifices. It has not the right to modify and extend, as it judges opportune, its rules of discipline and its dogmatic definitions. Almost everywhere the pope's bulls are only published at the good pleasure of the government; and changes of discipline are not permitted if such changes displease it. In France the council of Trent has been received only in so far as concerns faith; all the rest is considered invalid. The state thus becomes in reality the judge of controversies and the head of religious affairs.

—The Protestants of France have not been better treated. Far from it. The government itself changed the ecclesiastical organization which was peculiar to them by the organic articles of Germinal, year X., which it imposed without even consulting them. Despoiled of the right of consulting each other on their common interests by the suppression of the national synod which gave offense no doubt to the civil administration, their churches have passed, contrary to their will, from the synodal to the independent régime.

—There are many other sacrifices to which every church united to the state must resign itself. It must renounce the right of meeting without authorization and surveillance; the right of forming pious associations whose existence seems to it useful for the maintenance and development of religious feeling; the right of establishing centers of prayer where it thinks it necessary, and of placing ecclesiastical directors where it sees fit, even in the case where it asks no assistance of the state. In one word, it is no longer master at home; it divides an authority which can not be divided, with the government which is not a competent judge in religious matters, and which is guided by other principles than its own.

—And what does it gain by all these sacrifices? Bread for its ministers and a protection for itself of which it can scarcely be sure unless in so far as it is not an obstacle in the way of the interests of the state.

—On the other hand, a government is deceived in believing itself interested in protecting several state religions. We understand what importance it may attach to giving itself a support in the ecclesiastical power. There are very few princes who have not sought to render it favorable to them by the concessions of great temporal advantages. Is there a single one of them, at least in modern Europe, whose sacrifices have not been followed by the most deplorable disappointments? How could it be otherwise? Every church, no matter what it be, on which the state wishes to lean, looks upon the use of the public power as an instrument to rule if not to oppress its opponents or rivals whom it treats as disturbers of the public peace, as the price of it co-operation. We know in modern times, the hatred which a ruling clergy brings upon itself. When this hatred has penetrated the masses it includes both the clergy whose yoke is odious and the government which supports their cause.

—The alliance of church and state has not always had such fatal results for the latter; but we can assert that it is never of any real; advantage to it; that it is to it the cause of solicitude which turns the state from the end it should have in view, and which exhausts the living force which it has to dispose of and which obliges it to make more effort to live in harmony with the ecclesiastical power than it would have had to make for the public prosperity. It is not rare that in the union of church and state each one of the two parties cherishes the secret design of making the other an object of its domination. Under the appearance of an entente cordiale there arises between them a silent continuous struggle to deceive each other, and uninterrupted efforts to escape the traps which each side sets for the other. The state would succumb infallibly before an adversary long trained by acquaintance with the subtleties of scholastic theology in the art of overcoming difficulties, were it not, at least in our times, for the powerful support of public opinion.

—If we wish to become convinced of the reality of difficulties inherent in the union of church and state, let us look at the epochs of French history when the throne and the altar had the desire and felt the need of supporting each other sincerely. Surely the feelings of attachment which Louis XIV. had for the Catholic church will not be denied; but how often was he obliged to resist the holy see. In 1667 he forbade the publication of the decree of Clement IX. against the New Testament of Mons. The following year he prohibited the nuncio's publishing the papal ordinance of April 9th against the ritual of Alet. In 1673 began the long discussions between this prince and the court of Rome on the subject of the right of the crown to receive the revenues of vacant bishoprics. In 1688 the interdict of the church of Saint Louis at Rome raised a quarrel between France and the pope, a quarrel which led to the seizure of the district of Avignon. When Innocent XI. died, in the middle of the following year, there was a great number of churches in the kingdom deprived of pastors, because, since the assembly of the clergy in 1681 and 1682, the pope had refused his bulls to those who had been named to benefices. This state of things lasted till 1693.

—When such quarrels and many others disturbed the reign of a king who carried his condescension for the Catholic church so far as to promise bishops independence of royal justice even in case of the crime of treason,50 how should harmony between the spiritual power and the civil authority not be shaken many a time under the reign of princes who, however zealous they might be in the interest of religion, could never be supposed to make such astonishing concessions as Louis XIV.? We shall then witness the singular spectacle of a government believing that it ought to make every effort to save the church from its own excesses, or at least from those which seemed to merit that designation, while the church, caring little about being saved in spite of itself, looks upon the government only as on an imprudent friend plunged in profound error, and, consequently more dangerous than an open enemy.

—We can understand that as long as a state recognizes but a single church and proscribes all the others, it should bind itself by treaties with that church, and that in return for the preference which it gives it above its rivals, it should demand certain sacrifices of it, claim the right to take part in its affairs, and interfere partially in its administration. It would run too great a danger if it left complete liberty to this only church which, by the fact itself of representing alone the religious sentiment, exercises an enormous power over consciences still incapable of governing themselves. Whatever difficulty there may be in the way, it is its most pressing interest to exercise over the church a sort of control, endeavoring at the same time not to make it an enemy. But the face of everything changes entirely the moment liberty of conscience is proclaimed and admitted, at least in principle, and that the state recognizes and engages to protect, not a single but several different religions, lately enemies and still arrayed against each other. Such is the present state of things in nearly all the countries of Europe. How is it in countries where there is no longer, properly speaking, a state religion, and where several religious are authorized and protected? Can the government undertake, I will not say, to administer them with an equal justice, but in such a way that this justice itself shall not appear to each one of them an excess of favor to its rivals and a species of injury to itself?

—Would it be boldness to suppose that in this case strict impartiality is a pure fiction? I do not doubt the intention of the government to hold an equal balance between the churches. But will it not be drawn by the very force of things, by sympathy, by some public necessity, by some secret pressure of which it is itself unconscious to incline toward one, in preference to the others, probably toward the one which will seem to it the most powerful or the best fitted to favor its tendencies and enter into its views? It will not persecute the others, I admit; persecution is no longer the order of the day; but the government will not show them the same kindness as it shows to the one which seems most useful or the best. And the favors which it heaps on this one will be likely to alienate the others, while it may happen that the simple toleration which it accords them will be enough to displease the church which it wishes to gain over by its benefits.

—But let us suppose the state to have the most complete impartiality. Let us carry this supposition even to the point of impossibility, and suppose that all these religions live in peace side by side, that they are converted to the idea of liberty of conscience, that they have learned mutual respect and esteem. Even in this case the position of the state which protects them and administers their affairs would be false, full of embarrassments, if not of dangers, and would poorly serve the prosperity of these religions and consequently not effect the good expected of it. How could it manage them understandingly? How could it have an intimate acquaintance with their different principles often opposed, and accord to each one precisely that which belongs to it? Take an administrator reared a Catholic, an absolute stranger to the spirit and traditions of Protestantism; how could he manage the affairs of dissenters holding, as he does, opinions directly opposed to theirs; or a free thinker called to direct the different religions in a state. He will promise, no doubt, to set aside his personal opinions in his administration; but how far can he succeed? Will he not come to consider as an enormous demand that which is really but an unavoidable necessity for this or that church? In truth, each church only can understand what is fitted to it. A stranger to a church is lost infallibly in deciding what to do or to leave undone in respect to it. Although his intentions be the best in the world, if he is an administrator of religious affairs, he will make mistakes at every step which will deeply would the churches committed to his care.

—There is against the principle of church and state another consideration, which, though of a lower order, has nevertheless some value. Justice requires that every citizen should contribute only to the church to which he belongs. With what right, unless it be the right of the strongest, will you force him to maintain with his property a church which is hateful to him, which he considers harmful, which is perhaps to him a declared enemy? It is this, however, which takes place when there is a union of religious affairs with the state.

—For a long time the Protestants of France have paid, not only the clergy who preached against them but also the dragoons who cut their throats, burnt their houses, violated their wives and daughters and carried off their children. They have to fear these horrors no longer; but they pay for religion much more than the maintenance of their own church demands from the budget.

—There is, says Vincent, in Europe, a great people a living example of the excess to which this injustice may be carried and the evils which result from it: it is Ireland. The distress of this unhappy land, the abyss of misery into which it is plunged, an abyss from which the most expert do not know where to find an escape, its moral degradation and its invincible ignorance, arise far more from this source than from the nature itself of the religion to which its inhabitants are so strongly attached. It arises from the tithes with all their rigor, from the coalition of a fanatical aristocracy with a fawning clergy, which is the great and perhaps the only cause of the desperate suffering with which Ireland terrifies the nations. The Anglican religion appears as a vampire attached to this great body, sucking it unceasingly and leaving it just blood enough to live and go on producing. Thus the substance is devoured and the generous sentiments of his people are perverted to gorge with gold a clergy whom it does not want. The example is extreme, doubtless; it is unique, perhaps, but it exists; and it alone suffices to show us to what length vexation and injustice may go before the clergy will draw back.

—IV. Régime of the Liberty of Worship. The only régime capable of eliminating all these difficulties and in accordance with all the principles of liberty of thought, and which answers to the present multiplicity of religions, is that which leaves to all religious societies the care of managing and regulating their own affairs themselves, aside from all interference of the state. This solution is so simple that we can only blame habits and prejudices if it has not been generally accepted before now in all countries where any value is attached to liberty of conscience.

—The régime of entire liberty of worship is rejected either in the name of religion, which, it is said, will perish or at least decline as soon as it is left to its own resources, or in the name of the state, which will find itself continually menaced by the spiritual power the moment it ceases to weight directly upon it and keep it within just limits. These fears, inspired by sentiments which contradict and therefore mutually destroy each other, are entirely chimerical. A few hasty considerations prove this.

—People fear that the régime of liberty will be fatal to religion. They think, therefore, that it has no vital force of its own, and that it can only exist on condition of being sustained and protected by the civil authorities. This is indeed a poor idea of religion, and those who admit it seem to me little authorized to plead in its favor. If its case were such as they think, it would be merely a matter of convention, without root in human nature, invented, without doubt, to serve as an instrument of despotism and to lead the people on like a low herd. In such a case its loss should not excite very lively regrets.

—But we can not accept this idea. Even a superficial analysis of the spiritual nature of man shows that he has an unconquerable aspiration toward the ideal. This aspiration is exhibited under the most varied forms according to the degree of general culture, under strange forms among nations in their childhood, in pure and noble forms among men who have arrived at the maturity of reason; but it always appears under one form or another. It is an undoubted fact, that there is no nation and no people without a religion. If it is an integral part of human nature, it will not disappear under any régime.

—It only remains to seek that which is most favorable to its purest manifestations. It certainly can not be the one under which it is fettered with hindrances, nor where it can not live except through arbitrary rules. Between a regulated religion and a free religion there is the same difference as between trees which the scissors of a stupid gardener, pretending to be an artist, gives the form of a fan or a vase, and the trees growing in the full liberty of the fields.

—Will it be said that we must save it from its own excesses and prevent it from degenerating into superstition and empty formalism? Without doubt; but it is not the hand of the state that will direct it best in its development. Irrespective of its unfitness to judge religious matters, the state is naturally led by its own interests to keep religion in what is called order, that is to say, in a fixed immobility. Governments are not fond of activity of thought and sentiment; they see in them elements of disorder. They are perhaps right in one sense and from their own point of view. But under this guardianship religion becomes a pure formality, with many ceremonies, few feelings, and still fewer ideas. The statesman is satisfied with this condition; the truly religions man is less satisfied; he prefers life to this state of somnolency.

—Add to this that the state which protects a church impels men to hypocrisy, without wishing it. There is no trouble and there may be some profit in professing the religion of the state. Even in France, under the empire, little calculations of this kind were made. What is more general, without being less fatal to religious life, is, that classification by religion becomes fixed in countries where the affairs of religion are in the hands of the government. A man belongs to this or that religion by birth and not by conviction. I know well that in the state of indifference which predominates in religious matters, men fear to appear singular by abandoning the religion in which they were born, to join one which they find preferable. But, besides, this general indifference constitutes a species of hypocrisy, since men continue to belong in fact to a church whose doctrines they reject and whose discipline they do not observe. This is a consequence of the desire of governments, protectors of one or several religions, to maintain that which is established. It may be that in truth these governments are very little concerned whether people are Catholics, Protestants, Jews, Mussulmans, orthodox or rationalists; but changes of religion would trouble the established order in some point, they would establish a bad precedent. Nothing of all this can please a well regulated governmental administration, and we can not find fault with it for this. We should be permitted, however, to blame an administration which of necessity produces such effects whether they are desired or not; and religion, it seems to us, has no reason to congratulate itself on an order of things which is in reality so fatal to it.

—To elevate religion, to make it a serious thing, an affair of conscience and not of expediency, make it independent! As soon as there shall be no more profit in belonging to one church rather than another, men will join a church only because they have adopted its principles sincerely. The profession of a religion will be a truth; the members of a church will belong to it in reality. Such a church may see the number of its adherents diminish, but what it loses in quantity it will gain in quality. This change, far from injuring it, will be entirely to its advantage. The lukewarm and unbelieving, which the church drags in its train, are only an inconvenient burden, which hinders its progress and chills the life in its breast.

—This condition of independence can alone enable each church to live and develop according to its own principles. Free from all restraint, being no longer bound by the sacrifices imposed on it by its connection with the state, it will have to take counsel only of its beliefs, and will decree doctrines as it understands them; it will impose on its members the discipline which is the consequence of its doctrines.

—The objections raised against the separation of church and state in the name of public order and great social interests, are not better founded than those raised in the name of the prosperity of religion. Far from being a danger to states, religious independence would be a great advantage to them. And first of all, it would free them from the embarrassments without end, brought on by the administration of ecclesiastical affairs. It is needless to insist on this point. It is but too well known how many false measures governments are engaged in, either through the desire to become popular with one or another religious party, or merely through the protection which they think themselves obliged to yield to one church or another.

—Let it not be said that even under the régime of religious independence the state will always have an interest in looking after the religion of the majority of its citizens. What is meant by that? That it should protect it to the detriment of others? But that would be to return to the union of church and state once more, and we have supposed this régime abolished. Let it be well understood what it is that the separation of church and state brings with it in the social order, and immediately all the objections will be seen to disappear which do not start from the point of view of the actual state of things. The régime of church independence supposes that the government will not interfere in religious affairs at all, neither to oppress, protect nor guide them. It will be for the churches to provide for their own wants as they understand them, while conforming, however, to the general measures relating to public order. I do not say that the cessation of the protection of religion by the state should not bring with it the cessation of many other kinds of protection, and many regulations which treat citizens as if they were incapable of struggling alone with advantage against the difficulties of life; we can not, however, but congratulate ourselves on this progress.

—The opponents of the separation of church and state repeat unceasingly that the result of this system would be to create a state within the state, and to incur a danger menacing to the public peace. Nothing could be more unfounded than these fears. It is not under the régime of liberty, it is under that of concordats, that a church forms a state within the state. The concordat itself is a proof of this, since the concordat is a treaty between two powers. The state, in treating with a church, recognizes publicly that it is a power similar to that which it represents itself. And this power is more formidable since the state lends it arms, puts itself as its service, and endeavors to increase its prestige.

—Separated from the state, the church commands only the resources that belong to it, and finds itself confined altogether to religions affairs. Willing or not, it can no longer do anything but practice the medicine of the soul, and if it has any desire to influence the course of affairs there are no other means of action for it than free discussion and persuasion.

—It will be said this is a great error; that a church, and particularly the Catholic church, will always have means of action which can not be possessed by a philosophical school or any other association. Very true, but, without stopping to discover whether in a state of independence it will not have to use all its activity in providing for the needs of worship and church administration, I ask what action it could wish to exercise on a government which has nothing to give it but what it gives all the rest of its citizens, that is to say, security and the opportunity of living without annoyance. Is it wished to consider it as a permanent conspiracy against the state? But why should it conspire? To get possession of the government and change the order of things to its own way of thinking? Let the world be at rest on that point. It is not in this direction that the breeze of modern civilization is blowing. In a state where liberty really exists, and with it education and prosperity, conspiracies are chimers; no one even dreams of forming them except among an enslaved people. Whatever may be the fickleness of men and the caprices of the crowd, change is neither sought for nor desired where every one is satisfied. There is a preventive, an infallible remedy against conspiracies from whatever side they come—to spread education and well being, to put each citizen in a position to think, to reflect, to judge soundly; and at the same time to encourage labor, to honor it, and to make it loved.

—But if a nation placed in these conditions does not know how to appreciate its happiness, and prefers slavery to liberty, ignorance to development of mind, misery to well being, the institutions of the middle ages to those of the age of independence and maturity of reason, I do not see how its loss could be regretted. Let such a nation perish, since it is not worthy to live.

—These extremes are not to be feared, however. We have not yet arrived at this era of despair. Everything is moving toward liberty, the church and the rest, although it does not seem very much inclined at this moment to follow the general movement. Its independence would give it better counsel than its present position. The régime of separation of church and state will bring about altogether a different order of things from that which has reigned for centuries in most countries. In Frances the continuous exclusive dominion of Catholicism has accustomed Frenchmen to think of only one church. Men will tell us that there is no other church but that of Rome. In reality there are as many churches as there are ways of understanding Christianity, and the ways of understanding Christianity are very numerous, I was going to say almost infinite. If they have not yet appeared in France, it is simply for want of freedom. There has never been liberty of worship in France, in the true sense of the word. But if religious affairs ever come within ordinary law, if it comes to pass that every man can express his opinions in religious matters, and preach them publicly, be sure the church will break up into a number of separate churches which will counter-balance each other, and have no more important occupation than to surpass each other in zeal, in morality and learning. In default of this breaking up, which, however, is unavoidable, the dissident religions, reduced to silence to-day, will be able to compete with the Catholic church in a way which will not be without danger for the latter.

—It is not that this church would be menaced in its existence by the separation of church and state, and would be unable to endure the régime of liberty. It represents the principle of authority in religion; there will always be men, and many of them, who, distrustful of themselves or little capable for one cause or another of venturing on the examination of difficult religious problems, will feel the need of a support and will be happy to find it in a church which, to the prestige of a pompous ceremonial, unites the prestige, not less imposing to certain minds, of a dogmatism absolute in its affirmations. It may happen, nevertheless, that this of all the different churches should be the one which by reason of the considerable expense of its worship, the princely habits of its high dignitaries, the difficulties in organizing the numerous personnel of the clergy, would lose the most by losing the support of the state; and perhaps this feeling has something to do with the repugnance with which the separation of church and state seems to inspire it.

—Men seem alarmed at the division which would naturally take place in religions institutions in consequence of an absolute liberty of conscience, of the discussions which would arise between different religions, and of the troubles which it is supposed would arise from these controversies. Let there be no alarms. Theological discussions become dangerous only when one party can invoke the aid of the secular arm. We do not see the public peace troubled in the United States by the controversies of sects, no matter how excited some of them are.

—You will see the door open to all follies, those will be sure to say who only understand order born of constraint. It is possible, indeed, that extravagant opinions may appear, but they will die out of themselves very soon. Follies do not last except where they are persecuted. The American revivals are only transitory, without influence on the public peace and the general course of affairs. The Tûrlupins, the Beghärds and the Flagellants excited storms solely because, instead of letting these feverish movements disappear of themselves, it was held a duty to rage against and repress them. Moreover, attacks of mental delirium are not without compensation. From time to time the youth of Sparta were treated to the spectacle of drunken men, in order to excite to them disgust for debauchery and love for sobriety. Religious follies will cause us to feel the worth of south doctrines and of a piety sanctioned by right reason.

—If we now draw right conclusions from the considerations which we have just presented we shall be able to establish, it seems to me, the following propositions: 1. The course of affairs itself always leads to the separation of church and state. In the beginning religion rules all human affairs; a second state follows when the state seeks to guard social interests against the encroachments of the church, either by submitting it to its own authority or by restricting it in a circle more or less contracted through an agreement with the church itself. The movement which is made in the sense of limiting the action of the church in the state, should naturally result in separating it altogether from public affairs. 2. The régime of state rule of religion takes away all independence from the religious sentiment, and in that way all dignity and real life. It is an unhappy system, because it completely stifles thought. 3. The régime of concordats is disadvantageous both to church and state. It keeps up a continual struggle between the two contracting parties, a struggle which exhausts without utility the forces of both, and prevents the state from devoting itself entirely to its mission, which is to labor for the increase of public wealth, by occupying it unceasingly with questions which have no relation to this end; which prevents the church from carrying on its work in peace which is to console, to edify and to spiritualize, by turning its attention toward plans of earthly power. 4. The only régime proper to the spirit of our time is the separation of the two powers, leaving to each its proper sphere. The objections brought against this system arise altogether from an erroneous conception of the order of things which it might produce. By placing one's self at the standpoint of this new régime all difficulties disappear, and at once is found, not absolute perfection, of course, which is not to be looked for in human affairs, but a just distribution of functions, a proper liberty left to the expression of religious opinions, the final suppression of importunate cares, such as the administration of ecclesiastical affairs has been to governments for centuries past; in one word, an organization in which the various interests will find all the satisfaction desirable without coming into collision and without injuring each other.

MICHEL NICOLAS.

CHURCH

CHURCH, Anglican. (See GREAT BRITAIN.)

CHURCH

CHURCH, Catholic. (See ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH.)

CHURCH

CHURCH, Greek. We shall not undertake to explain the origin and different phases of the operation of the Greek from the Roman church, but will confine ourselves to explaining as briefly as possible how the Greek or Oriental church is constituted. The Oriental church is divided into four patriarchates, with sees at Constantinople, Jerusalem, Antioch and Alexandria. Greece, before its emancipation, belonged to the patriarchate of Constantinople; since the war of independence, it has been freed from this subjection, and the constitution of 1844 has converted this fact into a principle. The supreme authority is vested in a permanent holy synod, composed of five members; this synod sits in the capital and is presided over by the metropolitan; the other four members are called counselors. The sovereign is represented in the holy synod by a royal commission, which attends all the sittings, and countersigns all decrees, but has not the right of participating in the deliberations. In what concerns purely religious questions the holy synod acts in the plenitude of its independence; in matters of a mixed nature it acts in concert with the government. It is intrusted with the censorship of books for the young; it sees that the religious holidays are celebrated according to the orthodox rite, and that the clergy take no part in politics. In applications for divorce the bishop declares the dissolution of the marriage, after the sentence of the court has been transmitted to him. The metropolitan's salary is 6,000 drachmas; each of the ten archbishops receives 5,000, but the bishops receive only 4,000. The bishops are named by the king, upon the presentation of three candidates chosen by the holy synod from among the clergy of the kingdom of Greece.

—Of the four great Oriental sees, that of Constantinople is the only one that has maintained its importance; the provinces subjected to Turkey and to Austria are subject to its direction in spiritual matters.

—In what concerns the Græco-Russian church it is well known that after the capture of Constantinople by the Turks the Russian clergy have considered themselves independent of the supremacy of the Oriental patriarch, and that his influence increased to such a point as to give umbrage to the Muscovite sovereigns. The accession of Peter I. Put an end to this state of things; he knew that his clergy were opposed to the reforms which he contemplated. He, by his own authority, deposed Nicon, the patriarch of Moscow (1681). He afterward suppressed this dignity and confided the direction of everything relating to ecclesiastical affairs to a college composed of bishops and civil counselors, called the directing holy synod, which sat first at Moscow, and afterward at St. Petersburgh. The members of this synod now take rank immediately after the senators. It is presided over by an archbishop, who can not quit the imperial residence. The sees of the four great dioceses are St. Petersburgh, Kief, Kasan and Tobolsk; but the holy synod has branches in Georgia, Imeretia, and Mingrelia, whose chief towns are episcopal sees.

CHOPIN.

CHURCHES AND RELIGIONS

CHURCHES AND RELIGIONS, Politico-economical Aspects of. Why place such an article in this work? What can churches have in common with political economy? This question will doubtless present itself to the minds of some readers, who, before examining the question, will censure us for having considered from the point of view of material utility a side of human life in which, to their thinking, calculation should play no part.

—Their censure would perhaps be well founded if, being imbued in regard to churches in general with that philosophic, or pretended philosophic indifference on which radical thinkers pride themselves, we should pretend to weigh the different beliefs in the worldly balance of material interests and assign to economic considerations any influence in the choice of religion by individuals or nations. But such is not our idea. We know very well that a church is adopted from conviction, on account of religious beliefs of which it is the external manifestation, and not in consideration of what it costs, or what it brings in; and we should consider the statesman senseless whose views on the question of public worship should be determined by motives of economy alone.

—Let religious men, therefore, divest themselves of prejudice in reading what we write, and they will not be slow in recognizing with us that churches come naturally within the domain of political economy, first as exercising an influence more or less direct upon certain economic phenomena, then as applying a part of the wealth produced to the satisfaction of a social want.

—Political economy does not embrace the totality of human interests; it does not undertake to indicate to man, individual or collective, the means of happiness, even here below. Its only object is to explain the phenomena of production, circulation and distribution of wealth, to discover the laws according to which these phenomena take place. Finally, its object is to formulate the general theories which should direct nations in their economic development, that is to say, in seeking the advantages which have wealth for their cause or principal element.

—Thus when exact data permit us to compare the economic condition of a country with the productive powers at its disposal, it belongs to political economy to decide in what degree the results of this comparison are in accordance with the general laws which preside over the development of wealth, and indicate the causes which might have accelerated or retarded the progress of this development in the country in question. If, among these causes, it finds certain precepts or certain usages forming part of religious worship; it takes note of them, with no other object than to explain the complex phenomena of which it must render account, without expressing any judgment at all as to the religious, moral or even simply political propriety of the practices of the observances in question.

—Now who can deny the influence which certain churches have exercised on economic phenomena at different times, notably on the quantity of productive forces set at work and on the direction which was given them? Must we not seek in the religious beliefs of the people of the east, and in the practices derived from these beliefs, one of the principal causes of the profound difference existing between the material civilization of these peoples and that of the western nations? Should we not attribute a considerable part, in many economic results in the political and social régime in France, to the precepts and usages of religion then dominant, especially to monastic institutions, to the celibacy of priests, to the great number of holidays, to abstinence in Lent, etc., etc.?

—We do not wish, however, to occupy ourselves here with these effects peculiar to certain churches and resulting from variable practices. Among the civilized nations of our time the economic influence of which we have just spoken has become, or tends to become, almost nothing or purely accidental. But between churches and our science there exist relations of another kind, to which we must call the attention of the reader.

—Religious beliefs common to a great number of individuals demand an external manifestation, collective and public; in other words, a worship more or less solemn. This is a universal fact in support of which any demonstration would be superfluous.

—It is another no less undoubted fact that this social want is one of those which the state is almost always obliged to provide for by means of an organization whose expenses are defrayed by society. From this two questions arise which evidently belong to political economy: 1. Are religious wants better and more completely satisfied by the intervention of the state than they could be by the spontaneous action of society itself? 2. Which of these two possible modes of satisfaction, all other things being equal, imposes the least material sacrifice on society?

—Before approaching the examination of these questions let us begin by stating that if we consider the two modes as equally possible, it is because they have both been tried. There exists in our time a great nation, highly civilized and at the same time very religious, in which churches are altogether private institutions. In the United States the state is absolutely a stranger, in law and in fact, to the external manifestation of religious belief. Religious wants are satisfied there, completely and liberally, without any intervention either of the public treasury or of the law. It was almost the same in France before the revolution of 1789, as the Catholic church had its own property at that time which relieved it of the necessity of asking anything from the state, and an organization which did not emanate from the civil power; while the other churches were not recognized.

—In political economy those who labor for the satisfaction of a social want are called producers, and those who make use of the product intended for this satisfaction consumers. When the state assumes the rôle of producer, it arrogates to itself a monopoly it excludes all competition in the kind of production to which it devotes itself. In the contrary case, that is to say, when the satisfaction of a social want is left to the free and spontaneous action of society itself, or to the parts of society which feel this want, it necessarily happens that the corresponding production is undertaken competitively by several individuals or several private associations. Sometimes it is manufacturers who thus apply their labor in view of an eventual pecuniary profit; sometimes consumers, who associate together to obtain, by their united efforts or their individual sacrifices, the satisfaction of the want which they feel in common. On both hypotheses each producer, individual or collective, is evidently interested in increasing his product, since he finds, on the first hypothesis, an increase of profit, and on the second, the combination of a greater number of individual efforts and consequently a more and more complete satisfaction of the wants which he intended to satisfy.

—Now the producer has two methods of increasing the number of consumers whose wants he provides for and of outstripping his competitors by increasing his production at the expense of theirs. The first is to improve the quality of his products; the second, to lower their price to consumers. The certain effect, therefore, of competition is to induce producers to improve their products and to furnish them at the lowest possible price.

—In the case of an absolute monopoly the stimulant of which we have just spoken does not exist, or, if it does exist, it is in a much lower degree and under certain exceptional circumstances, namely, when it is a question of material products, destined to satisfy the wants of luxury, the consumption of which may be extended or restricted indefinitely. We can affirm, then, that any social want will be satisfied more completely and economically in proportion as the competition of producers fitted to provide for it is freer and more extensive.

—Such is the general law laid down by political economy for the solution of the questions which occupy us. Does this law, evident in theory, and confirmed moreover by the daily experience of practical life, admit of exceptions? Are there special social wants which can be satisfied only through the intervention of the state? We do not hesitate to answer affirmatively, and we shall cite at once as special exceptional cases, the wants of security, justice, coinage, ways of communication for persons and things, etc., etc.

—Should religious wants be ranged among the exceptional cases or remain submitted to the general rule? This remains to be examined. But we must first establish a distinction which governs or whole subject.

—The Christian world from a religious point of view, has for three centuries been divided between two opposing principles, which we shall call the principle of unity and the principle of diversity. Those who admit the first, form but one single church, submitted to one single authority, practicing one and the same rite prescribed by this authority. Those who admit the second principle, form an indefinite number of distinct churches, capable of differing from each other in forms of worship, and, up to a certain point, in their beliefs.

—It will be seen that we describe Catholicism and Protestantism by their purely external and in some sense material aspect, because it is the only one, as we have already said, of which our science can take account.

—Examined under this aspect the principle of unity becomes identical with that of monopoly. Catholicism excludes all internal competition. Whether the state interferes or not, there is but one entrepreneur, one single producer charged with providing for the religious wants of Catholics. if it is not the state it is the church, a body exclusively monarchic according to some, mixed with aristocracy according to others, but whose will is always one and homogeneous with reference to what we may call religious production.

—There would be no further question then with reference to Catholicism than to decide which is preferable, the monopoly of the church or that of the state: a great question, which it is our duty to examine here only in its economic aspect, putting aside all political or moral motives which might militate in one sense or another. Now from this restricted point of view, the monopoly of the state appears to us preferable to that of the church for the following reasons: Among Catholics the acting church, the church which administers the worship and which disposes of the material means collected for this purpose, is not confounded, as among Protestants, with the religious community itself; it does not embrace the totality of believers; it is composed exclusively of members of the clergy, that is to say, of an organized hierarchy, which recruits its own ranks and which is consequently animated in the highest degree with the spirit of unity and perpetuity, of unity in time and space. The result of this, in the first place, is that the immovable property which the church has acquired, and the amount of which it is always interested in increasing, to assure its own existence more and more firmly and its means of action in the future, becomes inalienable in its hands and is withdrawn from circulation. Not only does it cease to belong to lay society; but it is withdrawn from its action, withdrawn from that commercial movement which, under the impulse of interest, tends to render the working of productive capital more and more profitable to the general interest, by causing it to pass through hands the best fitted to make use of it. The first consequence produces a second still more disadvantageous.

—If to satisfy the personal wants of its members and those of the church with which it is charged, the hierarchy had only the periodical contributions and casual offerings which laymen might voluntarily make, it would, although exercising a monopoly, be interested in arousing the zeal of believers in keeping up among them religious sentiments and habits. Can it be the same when once the church is possessed of considerable property which renders it independent of the zeal of the faithful? Evidently not. The stimulation of interest then becomes weaker, if it does not altogether disappear; and as that of duty, unfortunately, is not always of such constant efficacy, we may hold it for certain that the satisfaction of religious wants will become, under such a régime, more and more imperfect and insufficient for Catholic populations.

—The truth of what we advance was confirmed in a remarkable manner by the experience of France. Before the revolution of 1789, the church possessed one-fifth of all the territory of France and the rest was burdened with tithes for its profit, the annual product of which reached 133 millions francs. In this way a very great part of the soil of the country was either withdrawn from circulation, consequently from the fructifying and improving action of private interests, or weighted with a real burden, which, of all those that land can bear, is the most irrational, the most contrary to the progressive development of agricultural industry.

—In saying that all these ecclesiastical estates belonged to the hierarchy, that is, to the clergy considered in their totality as a moral body, we give expression to what was everywhere considered wrongly as of right, rather than what was really the law. We must agree with the greater part of the jurists who have gone to the bottom of this question, notably with the celebrated Savigny, that the subject of these rights of property, the real proprietor of these ecclesiastical estates, was the religious communities, the churches, in the primitive sense of the word (ekklêsiœ). In the sixth century this had not yet become a question, as is shown by the constitutions of Justinian, in particular the 26th in the code De sacrosanctis ecclesiis. But the influence of the canon law was not slow in introducing on this point a confusion of ideas which continued to grow and develop from that time.

—The error had become so general and so complete at the time of the first revolution that it formed the only ground upon which the partisans and the adversaries of the confiscation of ecclesiastical property met. When Mirabeau contended that the corporate existence of the Catholic clergy being once suppressed, the property of which this moral being had been the owner was left without a proprietor, and belonged, for want of an heir, by right to the state or to the nation as was then said, the Abbé Maury and other champions of the church opposed to this reasoning nothing but quotations and distinctions without significance. They did not think of disputing the principle, so eminently open to dispute, upon which the legality of the proposed secularization rested.

—The confusion in question results, as we have said, from the very essence of the Catholic organization; it is inherent in the institution of a sacerdotal hierarchy, and we think it will be necessarily reproduced to a greater or lesser degree wherever the church organized in this way preserves under any conditions and limits the power of acquiring property.

—It is not part of our plan to explain the principles on which the Catholic church has been successively reconstituted in France since the commencement of this century—principles which, to tell the truth, were vague enough in the minds of the legislators and statesmen charged with applying them. All we have to establish is, that the state as a rule undertook to provide for the religious wants of the Catholic population of France, and in fact substituted its own monopoly for that of the church. The direct grants of the state are not sufficient, it is true, for the entire support of the Catholic church in France; but the remainder is furnished either by subsidies from the departments or the communes; or by the revenues of church property; or by means of real property or capital, composing what several French laws, in consequence of the above mentioned error, very improperly called dotation du clergé; or by lands belonging to the state, the departments or the communes; or by property belonging to the congregations and authorized religious corporations. Now this last category of property is the only one really removed from circulation and subjected to ecclesiastical mortmain; all the rest is comprised in the domain of the state or administered under its direct control or by purely civil authorities.

—The territory of France, therefore, with the exception of a small fraction, is freed from that mortmain which had formerly covered so large a portion of it, and from those burdensome tithes which hindered the development of agricultural industry at every point.

—However vicious the French system of direct contributions may be in principle, it is impossible to compare it in economic results with those two plagues, the tithes and the mortmain which it has replaced. It must be recognized then that the country has realized a great economy in the satisfaction of its religious wants by substituting the monopoly of the state for that of the church.

—Are these wants themselves better or worse satisfied than formerly? If there is a fact generally admitted by all at the present time, it is this, that the Catholic clergy are better fitted morally and intellectually for the exercise of their functions, are more worthy in their private life, more zealous in the exercise of their pastoral duties, than they were in the last century. But, without wishing to attribute this amelioration exclusively to motives of material interest, we believe that it might have, in every case, and in the absence even of nobler motives, resulted from the insufficiency of the grants given by the state, the priests finding themselves in this way obliged to count on local assistance, as well as upon the liberality and the offerings of the faithful; that is to say, on resources whose product, essentially variable, must naturally increase and decrease in proportion to the degree of faith and religious fervor with which each minister of the faith may inspire his flock.

—Let us now apply the questions proposed above to churches governed by the principle of diversity, and we shall recognized at first that competition may exist in them and exhibit its effects in two ways.

—In the first place, as the churches established on this principle do not recognize any common superior, there is no reason to prevent persons professing the same belief and practicing the same rite separating into a number of communities distinct and independent of each other. This has taken place in all Protestant communions in the United States; also in Europe, especially in England among the dissenters, who are neither recognized nor salaried by the state. Now administrators and pastors of these competing associations would have to cease to be men were this state of things not to arouse among them a spirit of rivalry and emulation eminently fitted to stimulate their zeal and activity.

—In the second place, the separation and reciprocal independence of the churches which do not profess the same belief, or which do not practice the same rite, establish among them an inevitable competition the more active and efficacious in this, that the spirit of sect and proselytism adds its stimulating energy to that of simple rivalry.

—Are there reasons for thinking that the régime of free competition will not produce its ordinary effect in regard to worship? We do not know of any, and therefore we think we can affirm, that under such a régime the religious wants of a Protestant population will be as well and as economically satisfied as possible.

—The interference of the state can only tend to diminish this satisfaction. First, by organizing and paying the churches, the state places the administrators and the pastors of each church in a position which renders them independent, in all their material interests, of the zeal and faith of their flock. The parishes of the different churches being limited by law, the salaries fixed in consequence and subtracted from the mass of public revenue, religious production will in its growth merely increase the burden of producers without adding anything to their profits, or to the importance of their position.

—The principal inconvenience of state monopoly here is that, in organizing, at the expense of the entire nation and for all parts of its territory, a very limited number of recognized religions, it hinders, if it does not absolutely prevent, the manifestation of religious beliefs which can not be satisfied by any of the favored religions. Supposing even that dissenters enjoy the most complete legal toleration, it is impossible that their opinions should not labor under a certain disfavor; besides, they find themselves obliged to support alone the expenses of their own church at the same time that they contribute their quota to the dominant religious.

—The monopoly of the state, in other terms the system of established churches, can assure but a very incomplete and costly satisfaction of the numerous wants which arise from the liberty of examination. Religious production here is, in the case of the greatest number of believers, either of poor quality or too high a price; in a word, insufficient.

—The way in which sects multiply under the régime of free competition shows well enough that religious wants are various and tend to become more and more diversified when the minds of men have once shaken off the yoke of authority and broken definitely with absolute unity of belief and worship, of organism and of action, the idea of which, as well as that of liberty, does not cease to have a powerful attraction for the human mind.

—We might examine the case in which the two principles, of unity and diversity, meet among the same people; but we do not see how this circumstance could modify the theory which we have explained. In the countries at least where Catholics form a considerable portion of the population, above all, in those where they are in a great majority, as in France.

—In closing this article we think it our duty to insist once more that our readers should not forget the narrow and closely circumscribed province to which we have confined ourselves in the examination of the question which we had to solve. To conclude from our reasoning that economists, and particularly the writer, are absolute partisans of one system or another in the question of religious worship, would be to make us say something different from what we have said or wished to say. The problems of legislation and politics are always complex. Economic motives should be taken into consideration, without doubt, but together with motives of a nature altogether different; and if the error has often been committed of giving too small a place to the first, it would not be by giving it too great a place that the progress of our science would be favored, and injurious prejudices, which are still entertained by so many statesmen and administrators, dispelled.

A. E. CHERBULIEZ.

CHURCHES

CHURCHES, Protestant.51 The organization of churches is the only thing in religious matters which comes directly within the province of politics. It seems proper, therefore, to begin with a glance at the nature of Protestantism, the organization of a church naturally depending upon the principle on which that church is founded. And as Protestantism has given birth to many communions differing from one another in many respects, and founded upon different systems, it will also be proper to indicate the dogmatic differences which distinguish them from one another; we will therefore indicate, in their general traits, the constitutions which govern the principal among these churches.

—I. The Principle and Essence of Protestantism. Protestantism is not, like the Greek church, distinguished from Catholicism solely by differences of belief, ceremonies and ecclesiastical institutions. There is a more profound difference between them; it concerns the very principles which are at the foundation of the two religions. Both are equally derived from the teaching of Jesus Christ and the apostles, and consequently, in their final analysis, from the biblical books which contain this teaching. But while in Catholicism the interpretation of these books, and, consequently, all that concerns religious life, belong exclusively to the clergy united in council.52 and the faithful are bound to accept simply and without any more ample information, as positive declarations of the Holy Ghost, the decisions of the ecclesiastical body regularly assembled; in Protestantism, the interpretation of the Bible is of right for all the faithful, who, after surrounding themselves with all the light they may need, determine their own belief according to what they find in the sacred scriptures.

—This is the essential difference between the two forms of Christianity, and it is a radical one. It is in religious matters a system of authority in the one case, and a system of liberty in the other. Each has its advantages and disadvantages, and considering them from an historical and philosophical point of view, we may say they correspond to and agree with different states of culture and civilization. One imposes itself by the very force of circumstances upon nations too little developed to be able to direct themselves, as also upon individuals who, not wishing or not daring to accept the responsibility of their acts, their thoughts and their sentiments, invoke assistance to help their weakness; the other is introduced, naturally, at a time when man, more enlightened, aspires to maintain his individuality, and feeling himself capable of freely determining his own resolves, has no longer any need of a strange hand to guide him in the difficult paths of life. Considered from this point of view Protestantism and Catholicism may be compared, the former to a free state in which each citizen participates, in a certain measure, in the legislative power which makes the laws that govern him; the second to a state, monarchical by divine right, whose subjects have but to obey, and be silent.

—Hence it follows that Protestantism can not aim at that unity of doctrine, rites and institutions of which Catholicism boasts, and which it gives as a proof of its divine character. Freedom of investigation must necessarily lead to a great variety of opinions, and, as a consequence, give rise to a host of different churches; this is what has occurred within the pale of Protestantism. All Catholic controversial writers have, with Bossuet, offered these variations as a decisive argument against free investigation, and, consequently, against Protestantism, which is based upon it. Protestants themselves have believed in the validity of this objection; many still believe in it. Let Protestants reassure themselves. All the fragile scaffolding of Catholic controversy will fall to the ground the very day Catholics cease to confound, as they have nearly always done, religion and theology, and begin to distinguish the church from the school. Religion is an affair of sentiment; unity of sentiment is all it asks for. Christian sentiment necessarily ought to be common to all Christians. It is the mark by which they are recognized. Dogma, undoubtedly, is not an indifferent matter, since it is a need of the mind, and thus serves to nourish religious sentiment; but the object of our reflections is susceptible, like everything within the scope of our intelligence, of an infinite variety of appreciation and conception; for each man views abstract and metaphysical propositions in a different light.

—Unity of opinion is far from possessing the value attributed to it. It is also, and even more frequently, the mark of error than of truth. Witness the Mussulmans and Buddhists, among whom it obtains with no less intensity than among Catholics. It is, in all cases, the sign of spiritual death, as variety and versatility of opinion are the sign of spiritual life. As Leibnitz said, long ago, universal peace can be found only in the grave. Diversity of dogmatic conceptions in unity of Christian sentiment; this should be, this would be, in fact, the device of Protestantism if its followers had a clear conception of their own principles.

—But, be this as it may, to reproach Protestantism for the variety of opinions which divide it, is to reproach it for being Protestantism; to wish to impose unity upon it is to re-convert it into a new Catholicism, or, we should rather say, to suppress it. Without variety in dogma, there would no longer be any liberty in religion, which is the true manifestation of individuality from a religious point of view.

—It was not, therefore, for the sake of the mere theoretical principle of private investigation that the reformers rebelled against the Catholic church. In reality they proposed to themselves no other end than the re-establishment of Christianity in its primitive purity; as Zwingli expresses it, by freeing religious truth, such as it is taught in the sacred scriptures, from the alterations introduced by the failings of the church and the errors of tradition. Private investigation was in their eyes but an instrument. They even thought to abandon it when they would have re-established the true doctrine; but from the dogmatic point of view, from which they considered it, they could not imagine that any one could freely study the Bible, and not see in its precisely what they themselves saw. Matters did not, however, turn out as they expected. Most marked differences were discovered upon points which seemed to them to be beyond all question, and instead of admitting that variety of opinion was the consequence of the principle of private investigation which they had appealed to, and that the new dissenters did nothing, in reality, but follow the example which they themselves had set them, and use toward them a right which they had claimed for themselves against the Catholic church, they would recognize in them but perverse and rebellious spirits who must be compelled by the fear of punishment to render homage to truth. The reformation at once changed its language and its conduct. The constraint in religious matters which it had condemned and continued to condemn as an insupportable tyranny, when it emanated from Rome, it exercised immediately after, as a God-given right to itself, over those whom it had called to liberty.

—We must say of this inconsistency what a Geneva professor replied to a Catholic who reproached Calvin with the burning of Servetus' Reliquiæ papismatis; it was a remnant of the Catholic education of the reformers. Protestantism has been at great pains to free itself of these remnants, and even to this day it has not entirely succeeded, though it has labored without ceasing to this end. All its internal contests have been, in fact, but one long and constant effort to escape from the equivocal position of half-Catholic, half-Protestant, in which it was placed by the circumstances attending its birth, and to free from the yoke of tradition, which its founders had broken only in part, the religious liberty which they had called all Christians to enjoy. Under one form or another, even where the despotism of confessions of faith seemed most solidly established, Protestants have aspired to individual convictions, and have claimed the right to base their belief upon a personal study of the Bible. This tendency, always the same, and always active, should alone suffice to prove that private investigation is the soul of Protestantism.

—It is often said that Protestantism may be summed up in the doctrine of justification by faith. The orthodox sects in particular are pleased to present it in this light; and we must confess that they are in the right: their only fault is that they take a part for the whole. It was by restoring the doctrine of justification by faith, that the reformers combated the Catholic doctrine of justification by works, a doctrine which, as is always the case in the field of religious beliefs, becoming more and more materialized, was scarcely anything more in the sixteenth century than the doctrine of salvation by external observances. To this not very spiritual idea of Catholicism, to this belief that in practicing the ceremonies of religion one acquires mechanically, by a sort of opus operatum, a right to salvation, Protestantism opposes the far nobler idea, that salvation is the result of an interior labor of the soul under the influence of Christian sentiments; that is to say, of sentiments which are inspired in the believer by the thought of the love which God has manifested for us by sending us his Son, and allowing him to be sacrificed for us.

—But, though this doctrine may be the very heart of Protestant theology it does not constitute the entire work of Protestantism; it presents but one side of this work, an important side, no doubt, but not the most important. By this doctrine Protestantism speaks only to believers, and acts only in a purely religious field, while, in reality, it speaks to all men without distinction, and exerts a universal influence as well in the moral as in the social world, as well in the domain of philosophy as in that of literature; in a word, in the whole field of activity of the human mind, by making known the rights of individual liberty, and proclaiming private investigation, which, by an inevitable consequence, must extend, and in fact does extend, from religious questions to all that concerns human existence. By the dogma of justification by faith the Christian is freed from the spirit of religious mechanism which constituted Catholicism at the end of the middle ages; by private investigation, man, liberated from the empire of prejudice, of routine, and of every species of blind and unconscious servitude, is restored to himself, and to the legitimate exercise of his intellectual faculties.

—Nevertheless these two doctrines are most intimately connected with each other. Private investigation and the doctrine of justification by faith spring from the same source, and tend to the same end, and are, in reality, but the one same manifestation of the soul in two orders of action, different, yet connected together, like everything which really belongs to human nature. The latter is an internal principle of moral life. Calvin repeats incessantly, and not unreasonably, that justifying faith is at the same time sanctifying faith; the former is an intimate principle of individual intellectual life. It is, in the one case as in the other, my own individual activity, substituted for the state of passivity in which it is held as well by the faith imposed by authority, as by the Catholic doctrine of salvation by works. In the one case, we have the free inspiration of a soul purified by Christian sentiment, in opposition to the direction of consciences, which the Catholic church claims for herself; in the other, we have the individual action of the mind seeking for itself a solution more and more satisfactory of the great problem of human destiny, as opposed to a theory forever fixed, determined, decreed by an authority which allows neither contradiction nor control.

—II. Dogmatic Differences between the principal Protestant Churches. The Lutheran church and the Calvinist church. The opponents of Catholicism, outside the Auglican church of which we have nothing to say here (see GREAT BRITAIN), formed themselves, from the very earliest days of the reformation, into two great communions, that of the confession of Augsburg, so called from the celebrated document which the German reformers presented to Charles V. at the diet of Augsburg in 1530, and that of the Helvetic confession, which owes its name to the confession of faith drawn up at Basle in 1536, by the theologians delegated by the cities of Zurich, Berue, Schaffhausen, Saint-Gall, etc., and adopted by the Swiss cantons which had declared in favor of the reformation. The first is often called the Lutheran church, from the name of the great reformer who was in some sort its father, and who still remains its doctor par excellence; it is also styled the Protestant church, from the "protest" which some free cities and some states that had declared themselves for the cause sustained by Luther, entered in 1529 against the second diet of Spires, which placed restrictions upon the liberty of conscience accorded by the diet held in the same city three years before. The second is likewise known under the name of the Calvinistic church, Calvin having been its most eminent theologian, and having expounded its tenets with great talent, in his "Christian Institutions;" it is sometimes designated also the Reformed church, by a sort of opposition to the title Protestant church given to the Lutheran communion.

—The church of the confession of Augsburg established itself in the north of Germany, and in several other parts of the same country; that of the Helvetic confession in Switzerland. France, along the banks of the Rhine, in the Low Countries, and in Scotland.

—Of the points upon which they are divided, the most important is that which concerns the sacrament of the eucharist. The Reformed church, breaking away completely from the doctrine of the Catholic church on this point, sees in the sacrament only a symbol of the death and sacrifice of Jesus Christ; this was the belief professed by Zwingli Bucer, Œcolumpadius and Capito; this is more extreme than the teaching of Calvin, who, endeavoring to take a middle course, taught that Jesus Christ is present in the species of the holy communion, not only symbolically or spiritually, but really and substantially for the believer, who thus becomes, in the communion, a participant in the body and blood of the Saviour. The Protestant church ruled on this point by Luther, approaches still nearer than Calving to the Catholic theory. For transubstantiation it substitutes consubstantiation, that is to say, it admits that the species of the holy communion, without losing their own proper substantiality to be transformed into the real flesh and true blood of Jesus Christ, as the Catholic church teaches, and still remaining bread and wine, contain really the body of Jesus Christ, just as heated iron contains heat, without, however, ceasing to be truly iron, and without losing the substance which constitutes it. The reformers in vain endeavored to agree upon this point; the difference of teaching continued, and assumed very great importance, especially in the eyes of the Lutherans, who, for more than a century, regarded the Calvinists as nothing else than heretics.

—We may add that the separation was also maintained by differences in the forms of worship, which were more pompous among the Lutherans, and characterized by an extreme simplicity among the Calvinists; in the organization of the corps of pastors, who were in a certain sense hierarchical among the former, but absolutely on an equality among the latter; finally, in the administration of ecclesiastical affairs, in which the laity participate to a much greater extent among the Calvinists than among the Lutherans.

—Apart from these differences, which do not concern fundamental points, the teaching of the two churches was substantially the same. Identical in the main with that of the Catholic church in what concerns God, creation, Providence, the Trinity, it differed from it in what concerns anthropology, and the means of salvation; upon these points, it differed but very little in any respect from the system which St. Augustine used in combating Pelagianism. The starting point of this system is a profound sentiment of the sinfulness and moral misery of man. With St. Augustine, Luther and Calvin held that man was of himself absolutely incapable of doing good, or even of conceiving the wish to do good. This deplorable state is the consequence of the sin of Adam, which has corrupted morally and physically the entire human race. Without going as far as Luther, who taught that original sin is substantial, that is to say, that it constitutes a part of man's very essence, Calving thought that the divine image was completely effaced in us by the fall of Adam, that all religious and moral strength is taken from our souls, and that a radical perversity has invaded our whole nature. Eternal damnation would be the deserved portion of all human creatures, if Jesus Christ the Godman had not suffered in our stead the punishment intended for us, and by his expiatory death, satisfied divine justice. This satisfaction, however, effects nothing of itself as an exterior act, it is of value to the sinner only inasmuch as he applies it to himself by faith. But how can man, in whom all it evil, be able to apply to himself by faith the merits of the Saviour, and thus escape the condemnation he deserves? Even this does not come from him, but from the grace which gives him the desire to be partaker in the faith which justifies and sanctifies. Is this grace given to all men? By no means, but only to those whom God has chosen: as for the others, he abandons them to the condemnation, which is the necessary consequence of their perverse nature. And if you ask the reformers why God has destined some to salvation, and abandoned others to damnation, they will refer you, with St. Augustine, to the will of God, arbitrio suo, as Calvin says, adding, however, that the judgments and the ways of God are unfathomable, investigabilia judicia ejus, et investigabiles vius ejus.

—How could a doctrine, as offensive to conscience as to reason, and so opposed to the spirit of Christianity, be adopted by the reformers as the expression of absolute religious truth? Many different circumstances serve to explain their conduct here, to two of which we would for a moment direct the reader's attention.

—A task at once so considerable and so full of peril to its authors as the reformation of the church could be undertaken only under the influence of extraordinary religious enthusiasm. Now, of all religious systems, there is none more completely religious, if I may be allowed the expression, than that which does away with man entirely, the more to exalt divine action. If we reflect that religion is after all but the sentiment of our total dependence upon an infinite power which rules us, we will understand that the more profound religious sentiment is, the more ought he who professes religion to regard himself as a mere nothing in the presence of God. This system has been taught by all the mystics of all times and all places without any exception. It inevitably re-appears in all great religious crises. It could not but manifest itself in the great religious revolution of the sixteenth century.

—On the other hand, this system just referred to came as a necessary reaction, not so much from the sale of indulgences, which was less the cause than the occasion of the reformation, as from the general tendency of Catholicism, of which this scandalous traffic was, in reality, a consequence, remote no doubt, but still a logical one. Placed by her principles upon a slippery descent the Catholic church has been too often forced, so to speak, to accord to acts what belonged only to the feelings of which acts are only the internal expression and for which they can not be substituted. It has been too often forced in actual cases, to confound, if not in theory, at least in practice, penance with repentance. It was in view of this tendency, that the reformers protested, in the name of the religious feeling, against the efficacy attributed to acts which frequently had no merit. From the worthlessness of penance they inferred the insufficiency of repentance for the pardon of sins. Divine grace appeared to them the only refuge of the sinner; and, going from one extreme to the other, from opposing the Pelagianism of the Catholic church they denied the doctrine of Augustine.

—This system, a veritable metaphysical and religious drama, may be suited to an epoch of strife, or to ardent souls greatly agitated and distressed, to a St. Paul, an Augustine, or a Luther; it has no place in the ordinary course of life. But the doctrine of Luther and Calvin disappeared as rapidly as Augustinianism had, in the fifth century, been transformed into a species of semi-Pelagianism, and as Paulinism had been effaced in the beginning of the second century by a sort of eclectic system. Melancthon had already protested against it in the second edition of his "Loci Communes," after having upheld it in his first edition; and the Formula of Agreement (1579) held that God wishes to save all sinners who oppose no obstacle to the action of grace, and that those who are to be saved are not predestined to salvation, except inasmuch as God foresees that they will follow the inspirations of his grace, and that those who are to be lost are not predestined to damnation, but inasmuch as he foreknows that they will voluntarily persevere in evil. From that day to this the doctrine of predestination and that of unconditional salvation have never been without opponents in the Lutheran church.

—Arminian Church. Now it was that strife grew fierce in the Reformed church. The dogma of absolute predestination had given rise to scruples in the minds of many pastors in Holland, when J. Arminius (who died in 1609) proposed to explain or replace it by a theory which soon won numerous adherents. He held that election and reprobation could not be arbitrary, but that they had for condition the perseverance of the elect in good, and the persistence of the reprobate in evil, which God, from whose eyes the future is no more concealed than the past or the present, knows from all eternity. Moral liberty being thus given to man, there could no longer be any question either of irresistible grace, for those who had received it by way of salvation independently of, and even against their will, as Calvin maintained, or of the unconditional gift of this grace to some, and its equally arbitrary refusal to others. Hence it follows that the Christian has some part in the working out of his own salvation; that he depends upon his own efforts to maintain himself in the grace which is offered him, as he can also, after having received it, render himself unworthy of it by abandoning himself to evil. Finally, Arminius denied that Jesus Christ died only for the elect, the merits of the Saviour being imputable, according to him, to all who lay claim to them, and render themselves worthy of participating in them.

—It must be admitted that this doctrine is far inferior in force and logical sequence to that of Calvin, whose system forms a complete whole. But the inconsistencies with which it abounds are largely compensated for by the humane sentiment which pervades it throughout, and we could scarcely understand how it was that it did not gain the assent of all Christians if we did not know how difficult it is to change belief. The situation of Holland at this epoch opposed new difficulties to the triumph of Arminianism. Religious discussion became entangled with a political question. The partisans of Arminius, called from his name Arminians, and also Remonstrants, from a remonstrance in five articles which they presented in 1610 to the states of Holland and Friesland, as a summary of their doctrine, were sustained by the chiefs of the republican party; while their adversaries, the rigid Calvinists, who were styled Contra-Remonstrants, because they declared themselves against the remonstrance of the Arminians, or Gomarists, after the theology of Gomar, who was the principal antagonist of Arminius, had with them the great majority of both pastors and people, and were supported by the prince of Orange.

—The troubles to which this theological quarrel gave rise in Holland are well known. Barneveldt forfeited his life for his attachment to republican principles and Arminian opinions. Grotius would probably have shared the same fate if he had not succeeded in escaping from the prison in which he had been confined. The Arminians were abandoned to the fury of a people blinded by fanaticism. The persecution soon abated, however, and from the year 1625 the Arminians were tolerated in Holland; they there had separate churches and a theological school, at the head of which we find some eminent men, such as Episcopius, Courcelles, Limborch and John Leclere. Arminianism had many adherents in England, who professed its tenets without separating themselves from the Anglican church. It particularly flourished at Cambridge, where it was taught by Chillingworth, Tillotson, Cudworth and other theologians, whose influence combined to modify very greatly the intolerant spirit of the Anglican church. In France, the theologians of the academy of Saumur in the seventeenth century inclined toward this doctrine.

—Arminianism also made its way into Germany. A great number of Arminians, driven from Holland by persecution, took refuge in Holstein, where the king of Denmark allowed them to build a city, since grown into a place of considerable importance under the name of Friederichstadt. From there their principles were diffused over different parts of Germany. Still it was not to Arminianism that we must directly attribute the reaction which commenced in the first half of the seventeenth century in the churches of the confession of Augsburg, against the scholastic theology founded on the absolute authority accorded to the symbolical books. It was the result of a variety of circumstances, among the first of which we must reck on the syncretic tendencies of a certain number of theologians, especially of Callixtus. A liberal thinker, he, more than any other theologian of his time, undertook to establish between the different Christian communions a true religious peace, and to convert the hatred which they bore toward one another into mutual love and support. It was with this end in view he proposed to restrict the articles essential to Christian faith to the apostles' creed, and leave opinion free upon all other points. He claimed, and not without some show of reason, that the several churches had all preserved enough of Christian truth to enable their followers to attain salvation in them if they led upright lives. Considered from this point of view, they were to him but different members of the true church. This proposition looking to toleration and concord was premature; it was not accepted, but it found supporters, and certainly left its impress on the minds of men.

—A little later Pietism urged the same point. It boldly proclaimed that Christianity did not consist in an arid orthodoxy, and that it is less important to engrave dogmatic subtleties upon the mind than to impress Christian sentiments upon the heart. The leader of this party which never formed, as is often imagined, a separate church, did not aim at division, and never, at any time, dreamt of abandoning the Lutheran church. P. J. Spener was not exacting in matters of opinion, but was a very sever judge of acts. He devoted his attention to the cultivation of heartfelt piety, and to removing everything that might serve as an obstacle to its development. While combating the caviling spirit of the Lutheran theologians, he attacked with no less spirit and success the superstitious respect which they had for their symbolical books, and in this manner, labored in the cause of toleration and freedom of investigation. To-day the denominations Lutheran, Calvinist and Arminian have but an historical existence. The differences in point of dogma, which separated the churches, have disappeared. They together profess a common body of doctrine, which does not differ much from the Arminian theology, and which is designated by the vague but generally adopted name of orthodoxy. Their union goes still further; the Lutheran and reformed churches are distinguished from one another in France by their methods of administration, which are not precisely alike. But in Germany the two churches are almost perfectly united into one, which goes by the name of the Evangelical church. The duchy of Nassau set the example here. A general synod held at Idstein in August, in 1817, decided upon the union of the two communions. The king of Prussia, by a circular of the 17th of September of the same year, invited the Lutherans and Calvinists to reunite in one church. There was considerable opposition in different places, particularly in Breslau, but in general the fusion was easily effected. Since that time the union of the two churches has been brought about in the principality of Hanan, in the duchy of Fulda, and in Rhenish Bavaria in 1818; in 1820 in the duchy of Anhalt-Bernebourg; in 1821 in the principality of Waldeck and Pyrmont, and in the grand duchy of Baden; in 1822 in Rhenish Hesse; in 1823 in the principality of Anhalt-Dessau. In the other states it has been adopted in principle; the particular circumstances which are opposed to its immediate realization will disappear, either of themselves or under the pressure of public opinion which is nearly everywhere favorable to the measure.

—Socinians, Anti-Trinitarians, Unitarians. The reformation was from the beginning more radical in Switzerland and France than in Germany. On penetrating into Italy, it assumed a form more radical still, and immediately and unhesitatingly rejected such of the ecclesiastical dogmas as seemed contrary to reason, among others those of the Trinity, original sin, and predestination. The members of this sect are known by the name of Anti-Trinitarians, their denial of the doctrine of the Trinity being the most marked feature of their belief, as also the one which rendered them odious to all the other churches without exception. They are also called Socinians, Lelius Socinius and his nephew Faustus Socinius having been, if not the founders, at least the most eminent theologians of this sect, and the Polish Brethren, because it was in Poland alone that they were tolerated at first.

—The Socinians regarded Jesus Christ as a divine being, as the first-born of God, but not God in the exact sense of the word; and the Holy Ghost they did not regard as a divine person having a distinct existence, but merely as a virtue, an activity of God. Despite their anti-Trinitarian notions they did not desist from offering to Jesus Christ the worship of adoration, as all other Christians are accustomed to do. Faustus Socinius even wrote several treatises against those of the Anti-Trinitarians, who, more consistent than he, maintained that we should adore God alone. This opinion, however, as might have been expected, finally triumphed among them. In rejecting the Trinity they equally rejected, or at least greatly modified most of the other Christian doctrines, among the rest that of original sin, which they did not regard as an actual sin, that is, as an act for which we are responsible, but simply as a proneness to evil, which, however, is not such as to render us absolutely incapable of any good thought or good act, as the Lutherans and Calvinists hold. In conclusion let us add, that they admitted no other symbol of faith than the apostles' creed, and ever professed the greatest toleration for individual opinion.

—But this toleration was never practiced in their regard. Odious alike to Lutherans, Calvinists and Catholics, pursued on all sides as impious, they did not succeed in founding establishments anywhere but in Poland, and in 1658 they were expelled even from their. The only flourishing churches they have to-day are in Trausylvania, but their opinions continue constantly to attract to them new adherents. They are actually professed, with some modifications, by the Unitarians, whose influence is constantly increasing, especially among the enlightened classes of America. Like the old Socinians, the American Unitarians prefer the practical side of Christianity to metaphysical speculation; like them too, they wish to be guided in the interpretation of the sacred scriptures by the dictates of sound reason, whose rights they never cease energetically to defend.

—Unitarianism also numbers many disciples in England. The English Unitarian Society for the Propagation of the Knowledge of Christianity gave a résumé of its own faith in the preamble to its rules, in 1791. That résumé is substantially as follows: The fundamental principles of this society are that there is but one God, sole creator, preserver and ruler of the universe, the only true object of public worship, and that there is one mediator between God and man, the man Jesus Christ, who received from God the mission of instructing men in their duties, and revealing to them the doctrine of a future life.

—The Unitarians have organized churches in England as well as in the United States, and reckon among their number men estimable alike for their character and their talents. The celebrated chemist, Priestley, was one of their ministers in England, and in our times Channing and Parker performed the same function in the United States of America.

—Besides the great Protestant churches which we have now considered, there are several others of much less importance, but which however had, at the time of their origin, a reason for their existence. There is not one of them which does not correspond, in a certain sense, to a particular form of religious sentiment, and which has not produced, together with the lamentable disturbances which are inevitable in human affairs, some happy development of religion and even of religious science, although these churches are not specially distinguished in the latter field. We may consider them, in a Protestant sense, as playing a part analogous to that of the different lay congregations, which a devotion, venerable and profound no doubt, but in general puerile and unenlightened, has founded in great number in the Catholic church. It will suffice to mention here those which are the most important, namely, the Anabaptists, the Quakers, the Moravians, and the Methodists.

—Anabaptists. The Anabaptists date from the earliest days of the reformation. Their doctrine was an exaggeration of the principles of liberty preached by the German Protestants, and, at the same time, a violent, but almost inevitable reaction against the intolerable yoke which weighed down not only the consciences but the entire life of the lower classes in Germany. Their supporters were drawn mostly from the peasants and the laboring classes. Their history, from 1521 to 1535, is too well known to need to be repeated here. But what is not so generally known is that, after the bloody defeats which they sustained in 1535, they submitted to the reform which a pious and enlightened man, Menno Simonis, began in 1536, to introduce into their doctrines, their discipline and their morals. From that time, they have formed, under the name of Baptists, or Mennonites, a sect animated by a pacific and practical spirit, avoiding controversies, and attaching little importance to science, although they have produced some distinguished writers. They have some communities in Alsace, Holland, England, Prussia and Russia; they are still more numerous in the United States. Disagreeing among themselves on some points of discipline, they all agree in not admitting to baptism any but adults, believing, like the Catholics, that this sacrament has a hyperphysical virtue, that is to say, that it produces in the neophyte an infusion of divine grace, which renders him capable, thenceforth, of performing the good works necessary for the neophyte's salvation. They are likewise unanimous in condemning the taking of oaths, in refusing to bear arms, and in declining public offices. In the doctrines of original sin and redemption their belief nearly resembles that of the Arminians. Finally, they reject all authority in matters of faith, and admit the individual interpretation of the scriptures.

—Quakers. The Quakers were, at first, but a sect of fanatics. It was founded in 1647 by George Fox, a man devoid of education, but accustomed from infancy to contemplative meditation. His disciples combined the severity of the ancient Montanists with the mysticism of the Fraticelli, and gave themselves up to many extravagances. They were brought back to reason by the wise Robert Barclay (who died in 1690), who systematized their doctrine, and, together with the celebrated William Penn (who died in 1718), contributed to its diffusion.

—The system of the Society of Friends (it is by this name that the Quakers delight in styling their church) formulated by Barclay, was strongly imbued with mysticism. He placed by the side of the sacred scriptures the interior illumination, which alone can enable us to understand them. This interior illumination is not a new revelation, but the light of God manifesting itself by Jesus Christ in our hearts, and causing to spring up therein an irresistible inclination to good; this light of Christ in us, which illumines and sanctifies us, is the supreme law of faith. Christian life is all interior; it needs neither dogmatic formulas, nor ceremonies, nor even baptism, nor the holy eucharist: it consists in listening to the spirit, and following its impulses. In such an organization a clergy would be useless. No one presides at their religious meetings; each one is free to address his exhortations to the members present; it sometimes happens that no address disturbs the meditation to which each one devotes himself. In the system of Barclay, the life of Jesus Christ, as he is described in the gospels, was offered simply as an allegorical representation of the action of Christian feeling. The Quakers of to-day admit the reality of the gospel truths, and accord the Bible a greater importance than they did formerly. The proverbial mildness of their manners is well known. There remains of their primitive excess only a praiseworthy and extremely decorous religious zeal. They are renowned for their probity and philanthropy, and, like the Baptists, avoid public offices, condemn war, and refuse to take an oath. To the Quakers belongs the glory of having inaugurated liberty of worship at the same time with civil liberty in Pennsylvania, a colony founded in 1681 by William Penn.

—Moravians. Some descendants of the ancient Moravians,53 persecuted in their own country, took refuge, in 1721, in the territory of the count of Zinzendorff, and there founded the society called Herrnhut (Guard of the Saviour), by which name they are sometimes designated. Zinzendorff introduced among them the spirit of pietism, which he had imbibed from Spener, of whom he was an admirer, and, seconded by Watteville and Spangenberg, he made of the Moravian Herrnhuters a sect which he organized very much after the fashion of a monastery, and which soon had establishments in nearly every part of the world. Their tenets differed but little from those of the Reformed church, except that they insisted upon the doctrine of original corruption as the consequence of Adam's fall, and the expiatory sacrifice of Jesus Christ. Nevertheless, they made religious unity consist, less in a conformity of ideas, than in a unanimity of feeling. They appeal, in religious matters, rather to the affections than to reason. They have not a single eminent theologian, and the fact seems to occasion them very little uneasiness. Their piety, simple, but narrow, the uniformity of the education which they give their children, the monotonous rigor of their life, are little calculated to develop the intellect, and will always prove obstacles to any influence they might aim at exercising over modern society. But this is not the point in which they have manifested the greatest activity. Their zeal is particularly devoted to the spreading of religious and moral truths among barbarous peoples. At the beginning of this century, this sect, with comparatively very few adherents, had 29 mission establishments, and something like 150 missionaries.

—Methodists. The cradle of Methodism was a society of pious young men, who, urged by their religious needs, established among themselves in Oxford, in 1729, reunions for mutual edification. It has many striking points of analogy with the pietism of Spener. It has, like him, its conventicles (Collegia pietatis of Spener), wherein the faithful devote themselves to preaching, prayer, and the chanting of psalms. Like him it insists upon the corruption of human nature, redemption by the expiatory death of Jesus Christ, and salvation by faith. Like him also, it delights in exciting terror in the soul of the sinner by the most material and fantastic pictures of hell. The two can hardly be distinguished except by the disciplinary organization of Methodism, which is much more concise, and more perfect of its kind, than that which governed the colleges of piety.

—Methodism, as Haag remarks, (Histoires des dogmes, vol. I., pp. 124, 125), has not and can not have any scientific tendencies. Even its mysticism has nothing very elevated about it. Its sole merit consists in its indefatigable efforts to improve the morals of the lower classes, by preaching repentance in a tone and in an order of ideas not above the level of their intelligence. The adherents of Methodism are confined almost exclusively to England and the United States. Since 1741 they have been divided into two parties. The disciples of George Whitfield are rigid Calvinists; those of John Wesley are, in point of doctrine, identical with the Arminians.

—III. Different Modes of Organization of the Protestant Churches. Setting aside the churches of the Baptists, the Moravians, the Quakers, etc., which are not capable of any considerable development, we find in the churches born of the reformation of the sixteenth century only three systems of organization, the consistorial government, which may be regarded as an aristocratic system, adopted by the churches of the confession of Augsburg, and in our time by the Evangelical churches; the presbyterian or synodal government, which might be characterized by the modern name of representative, adopted by most of the Calvinist and Reformed churches; finally, the Congregationalist, or independent government, a system of more recent origin in use in several churches of different denominations.

—1. Evangelical Churches. Luther and Melancthon, as well as Zwingi and Calvin, were of opinion that religious society has the right to govern itself; that the holy ministry belongs to all Christians without distinction (omnes aequaliter esse sacerdotes); and that no one can exercise it but by the consent of the community, and by election (eligite quem et vos volueritis, qui digni et idonei visi fuerint). But, in practice, it did not seem to them either proper or possible even, to intrust the direction of religious matters to the ignorant and vulgar crowd. "The church," said Melancthon, "ought not to be a democracy. Everybody can not be allowed to come there to agitate dogmatic questions. It must be an aristocracy." (Corpus Reformatorum, Melancth. Opera, vol. iii., p. 470.)

—But of what elements should this aristocracy be composed? The German reformers here found themselves in great perplexity. They would have wished it were possible to preserve, by divesting it of its character of divine right, and considering it merely as a human institution, established simply for the maintenance of good order, the old organization, that is to say, the bishops with their council, and their retinue of priests. This was, in reality, what was done in Sweden and Denmark, where the Catholic bishops, having joined the reformation, continued, after changing their religious views, the exercise of their functions. But in Germany the bishops nearly every where declared themselves against the new doctrines; their withdrawal brought disorganization into the churches. How was order to be restored? There remained only the authority of the temporal rulers. To this authority it became necessary to resort. Civil authority became also, by the force of circumstances, ecclesiastical authority, and they adopted this direful maxim: Cujus est regio, ejus religio, the religion of the ruler is the religion of the land.

—Luther and Melancthon do not seem to have been deceived as to the consequences of this system. "Tyranny will, in consequence, become more intolerable than it was before," wrote Melancthon to Camerarium in 1530. These sad forebodings pervade a host of passages in his later writings. Luther expresses himself even still more forcibly: "If the courts wish," he wrote to Cresser of Dresden, in 1543, "to govern the churches in their own interests, God will withdraw his benediction from them, and things will become worse than before." "Either let them make pastors of themselves," he says of the princes and lords, "preach, baptize, visit the sick, administer communion; in a word, let them fulfill all the ecclesiastical functions, or, ceasing to confound the two vocations, let them occupy themselves with civil affairs, and leave the churches to those who are called to edify them, and who must render an account of them to god. Satan still remains Satan. Under the popes he made the church meddle in politics; in our time he wishes to make politics meddle with the church."

—As the jus territorii combined the jus episcopale, and also—as recognized by the peace of Westphalia—the jus reformandi, that is to say, the right of the prince to impose his own religion upon his subjects, the sovereign was by right the head of the church, and the ecclesiastical administration was, in Protestant Germany, but a part of the general administration of the country. This continues so even to this day. Fortunately, contrary to what is too often witnessed elsewhere, the German princes have been, as a rule, better than the laws, and real liberty of conscience has obtained in the very countries in which intolerance and constraint in matters of religion were recognized by law.

—The direction of ecclesiastical matters was early entrusted to councils called consistories. The first council of this kind was established at Wurtemburg in 1539. It was created to settle the numerous difficulties caused by dissolutions of the marriage tie; but it was not long before its jurisdiction was extended to all ecclesiastical matters. Similar councils were soon established in all the Protestant countries of Germany. They generally consisted of two theologians, two doctors of law, one public minister, and a secretary. All of the members were appointed by the civil power. One of the doctors of law was generally president. In places where there was a general superintendent the presidency was sometimes given to him. Each diocese had its consistory, which was supposed to take the place of the ancient councils of bishops.

—Under the consistories, acting as their representative and their agent in the province, was a superintendent, whose special duties were the inspection of churches and schools, as well as the looking after the different edifices used for divine worship, as residences for the pastors, and for primary schools. In Bavaria, the grand duchy of Baden, and some other countries of Germany, these functionaries bore, and still bear, the name of deacons, or elders. In the Lutheran church of France they are styled ecclesiastical inspectors. The superintendents, deacons, or ecclesiastical inspectors, are always the chief pastors of their districts. In some parts of Germany there were, and are still, general superintendents who are above the superintendents, and perform only some of the duties performed elsewhere by them, such, for example, as the conferring of ordination on young ministers. The general superintendents are always members of the consistory, and when they do not hold the presidency, are seated next after the president.

—This condition of things has been a little modified in our day, either by reason of the union of the Lutheran and Reformed churches, or on account of the continual complaints raised against a form of government, which, in theory at least, is a lamentable slavery of the church. Not that the Evangelical church has obtained autonomy; it has not ceased to depend upon the civil power; its administration still continues, after all, an affair of bureaucracy in the hands of the ministers of worship; but it has been placed, by the law, in possession of certain liberties, which must inevitably secure for it still others. It is besides helped on by public opinion, which is nowhere so independent in religions matters as in Germany.

—The movement originated in Prussia; but it was not there that its most marked results were manifested. In 1819 Prussia, feeling the necessity of allowing the churches a share in their administration, while retaining the supreme control of them all, called together the provincial synods, for the purpose of consulting them upon a plan of ecclesiastical organization, in which it had hoped to unite and conciliate the synodal and consistorial régimes. There was great diversity of opinion. Some of the synods demanded more than the government was disposed to accord, that is to say, the very establishment of the synodal systems itself with all its consequences. The government feared the ecclesiastics would aim at forming a hierarchy independent of the state, and confined itself to asking the churches to name councils of presbyters, whose powers were not definitely determined. The synodal system was allowed only in the duchies of Julich, Cleve and Berg, and in the district of La Mark, where however, it has been established since the earliest days of the reformation. We should also remark that the nomination of two bishops, in 1816, one for Berlin, the other for Köningsberg, worked no change in the former system. This title added nothing to the authority of those who received it, who are but general superintendents under another name. The supreme control of the churches of Prussia, therefore, still remains entirely in the hands of the government, of which the consistories, the bishops and the general superintendents are mere agents.

—In Bavaria, where the Protestants form nearly one-third of the population, the Evangelical church has been reorganized by an organic law of May 26, 1818, and the explanatory decrees of the same date. A higher consistory, established at Munich under the minister of the interior, is the organ through which the government exercises its supreme authority over all the Evangelical churches of the kingdom. Under this higher consistory are three consistories, one at Anspach, one at beyreuth, and one at Spires. Finally, each of these three consistories embrances under its jurisdiction the deaneries of its district.

—A diocesan synod is held every year in each deanery. It is made up of two-thirds ecclesiastics and one-third laymen. The latter are appointed by the consistory, from nominations made by the ecclesiastics. A general synod is held every fourth year in the sees of the consistories. Each deanery sends to this synod two ecclesiastics, the dean and one pastor, and one layman, selected by the ecclesiastics.

—This organization is a mixture of the consistorial and the synodal systems. But the synods are not a true representation of the churches, since they neither directly nor indirectly elect the members—This system has undergone some beneficial changes in the district of the consistory of Spires. They there organized councils of presbyters, the indispensable wheel-work of the synodal system, but, at the same time, accorded to the churches the nomination of the lay delegates to the synod. As a consequence of this last modification the lay delegates acquired considerable influence in these assemblies, although they formed only one-third of it. They are the true representatives of the churches; their voice has a great moral weight. This system, founded on a most rational basis, was not slow to produce its fruit. Taken together, the Evangelical churches of Rhenish Bavaria stand pre-eminently first, according to all reports. The consistory of Spires, composed, since 1832, of partisans of the old confessions of faith, has endeavored in vain to instill a different spirit into them; it has not succeeded in destroying the liberal tendencies of the pastors and churches of the province.

—In the consistorial circuits of Anspach and Beyreuth also they recognized the convenience of the councils of presbyters as the basis of the synodal system, and wished to follow the example of the Palatinate. Unfortunately some pastors, among others Lehmus, dean of Anspach, proposed to give to this council the right of inspection and the censure of the lives of the faithful. There arose one common outery against an organization which threatened to bring back the old ecclesiastical tyranny. In the face of this general opposition the decree establishing the council of presbyters was suspended. It was afterward determined to leave the churches at liberty to appoint councils of presbyters for themselves, or to follow the old system, as they chose. In the two circuits of Anspach and Beyreuth the churches have remained as they were, without representatives freely chosen by themselves in the religious synodal assemblies; and it is to this cause that Gieseler, in his Ecclesiastical History of the Nineteenth Century, not unreasonably attributes their relative inferiority.

—In Wurtemburg there are two annual synods; but they are composed only of the presidents of the consistories, and the six general superintendents of the kingdom. These persons, being appointed by the government, are public functionaries, and not representatives of the churches. Thus all ecclesiastical administration depends upon the government, although article 71 of the organic decrees promises the churches independence in their private affairs. In the diets of 1833 and 1834 it was proposed to grant the Evangelical church a synodal and presbyteral organization; but to the present time these propositions have not been adopted.

—In Saxony, from 1831 to 1834, a synodal and presbyteral organization was earnestly petitioned for but without success. What seems most surprising is, that such enlightened men as Bretschueider, Krehl, Rudelbach and Jaspis should declare against the representative system in the church. Superintendent Grossman, on the contrary, undertook to defend the cause of the independence and liberty of the church, both in his writings, and in the upper chamber of which he was a ember.

—The grand duchy of Baden offers a far different spectacle. When the two communions were united in 1821 they gave the new Evangelical church a presbyteral and synodal organization. Each parish has a council of presbyters. The diocesan synods are made up of all the pastors of the district, and of half as many laymen chosen by the councils of presbyters. The general synod is composed of a certain number of pastors, elected by the ecclesiastics of all the parishes of the grand duchy, and of half as many laymen named by the lay members of the diocesan synods, and besides of two members of the higher ecclesiastical council, a member of the theological faculty of Heidelberg, chosen by the professors, and finally a government commissioner, who is its president.

—It is to be regretted, perhaps, that the laymen are not equal in number to the ecclesiastics in the diocesan synods, and in the general synod. But, aside from this defect, this organization is excellent, and accords with the spirit of Protestantism. At first, no time was set for the meetings of the general synod, but its convocation was left to the arbitrary will of the government; and after the synod of 1821, another was not convoked until 1834. But in this assembly it was resolved that the general synod should convene regularly every seven years.

—The ancient duchy of Nassau, which is actually an administrative province of Prussia, has enjoyed, since 1817, a presbyteral and synodal church organization very similar to that of the grand duchy of Baden. The churches there have at their head a bishop, who performs the duties of general superintendent—In Sweden and Denmark the Lutheran church is episcopal, and organized under a system similar to that of the Anglican church. In the first named country the bishops are reckoned as part of the consistories, which are subordinate to them, and in the second the title of general superintendent is substituted for that of bishop.

—The Lutheran churches haw a constitution, which scarcely differs in anything from the organic articles of the eighteenth of Germinal of the tenth year, which governed the Reformed churches of France before the decree of March 26, 1852. The most considerable, we might almost say the only, difference is, that the Lutheran churches of Holland have a general synod which meets every two years. It may not be amiss to add that this general synod has the good sense to occupy itself only with administrative affairs, and to leave aside all dogmatic discussions, which, in the actual state of things, can work only discord and dissension.

—In France the church of the confession of Augsburg is ruled by the decree of March 26, 1852, and the ministerial decisions of Sept. 10, of the same year. Each parish has a presbyteral council, composed of the pastor or pastors of the parish, and from four to seven lay members, chosen by a general vote, and elected one-half every three years. The consistories extend over several parishes, and look after their general interests. They are made up of all the pastors of the district, the lay members of the council of the principal town, and a certain number of lay delegates from the parishes. The consistories are, in their turn, grouped into various supervisory bodies; at the head of all the churches is placed a higher or general consistory, which constitutes the legislative power, and a directory, which is the administrative power. The general consistory meets at least once a year. It is composed of two lay deputies of inspection, all the ecclesiastical inspectors, one seminary professor and one lay member of the directory appointed by the government, who is, of right, the president of the consistory. The directory is a permanent body, and consists of a president, one lay member, one ecclesiastical inspector named by the government, and two deputies named by the higher consistory.

—This condition of things will undoubtedly be modified. Alsace having been taken away from France, there remain to the church of the confession of Augsburg only two inspection districts, those of Paris and Montbéliard. Will it receive a new organization? Will it unite with the Reformed church? The future must tell.

—2. Reformed Churches. In principles, the constitution of the Reformed churches is presbyteral and synodal. All their particular churches or parishes are equal. "Let no church pretend," says the ancient discipline of the Reformed churches of France, "to primacy or power over another, nor one province (the combined churches of one province) over another." Their pastors are likewise equal; there is no hierarchy among them. The presidents of the different assemblies, who are always pastors, are either chosen by the votes of the assembly, or owe this honor to their long service in the pastoral function; in some places all the pastors are called to preside, in turu. Each parish has a council, called either by the presbyteral council, or presbytery, or consistory; it is the last named which is used in the ancient discipline of the Reformed churches of France; these same churches now employ the first (presbyteral council). This council is composed of the pastor or pastors of the parish, and of a certain number of laymen, chosen by all the faithful who have attained their majority; the number of these laymen always exceeds, and frequently very much exceeds that of the ecclesiastics. A certain number of contiguous parishes form what is now called a consistory (it was formerly called a colloquy). It is composed of a number of laymen proportioned to the number of parishes represented, and equal number being allowed to each. The colloquies or consistories of a province, have over them a provincial synod, assembled annually, or semi-annually, at which are present at least one pastor, and one or two elders from each parish of the province, all of them regularly delegated by their consistories. Finally, a national synod or general diet of all these ecclesiastical republics, united, not merely by a common language and national sentiment, but also by a community of interests, memories and faith, crowns the whole edifice. To this assembly, which meets every year or at greater intervals, but always at a fixed time, and which sits in each province successively, each provincial synod sends two pastors and two elders. It is in this assembly that the general interests of all the churches are discussed, and the appeals and questions remaining unsettled in the provincial synods, settled.

—As we have seen, the lay element is found represented in every degree, and that element is drawn, in the first instance, from the parishes themselves. This is a true representative government. All the Reformed churches—except the independent churches, which we will consider presently—are, in general, organized after this model. It is adopted by the churches of Holland, by those of Scotland, and by the Presbyterians of the United States. It was in vigor in the Reformed churches of Frances, before the revocation of the edict of Nantes. During the persecutions, the national synods were absolutely impossible, but provincial synods were held as often as circumstances permitted. Upon the restoration of religion, the government, which has imposed upon them the organic articles of the eightienth of Germinal of the eighth year, without consulting them, suppressed the national synod. It allowed, it is true, the provincial synods, and the decree of March 26, 1852, has made no change on these two points. But the provincial synods being but a useless piece of machinery in the absence of the national synod, were almost entirely abandoned; hence, the reformed church of France can no longer be classed among those which have a synodal organization, and are transformed, in fact, into congregational and independent churches, with this difference, however, that they have not the liberty of governing themselves absolutely in all things, and that their direction is in the hands of the minister of worship, although, to tell the truth, they enjoy a great deal of independence in what concerns the private affairs of their parishes.54

—In Switzerland, where the Reformed churches are divided according to cantons, there is no need of either provincial or national synods; the consistory which meets in the capital of the canton takes their place, and forms a sort of permanent synod.

—We should add that, in this system, the parish itself chooses its own pastor or pastors, a right most precious and rational, and conformable in all respects to the spirit of Protestantism. The Reformed churches of France, Switzerland and Holland, and the Presbyterian churches of the United States, have always enjoyed and still enjoy it. It is not so, however, with the Presbyterian church in Scotland; there exists there, as in several countries of Germany also, what is called patronage—a most absurd system, of which it may be well to say a few words in explanation, and which caused in this church, about the year 1840, a division which it is important to know.

—At the time of the reformation, in pursuance of a principle founded on the feudal right, and somewhat similar to what in Germany is styled the territorial right (cujus est regio, ejus religion), the lords nominated the pastors in the territory which belonged to them, and from that time they have considered these nominations as pertaining to them, of right, turning a deaf ear to the continual complaints of the Scottish church. When the ecclesiastical government was altered, after the expulsion of James II. in 1690, patronage was abolished. It was re-established 22 years later, in 1712, under the reign of Anne, and from that time has continued uninterruptedly. One-third of the Presbyterian churches are under royal patronage; the patronage of all the others is in the hands of particular private individuals, and this privilege is acquired and lost just as any other property.

—When a pastorate becomes vacant, the patron presents a candidate. If the presbytery, that is to say, the synod of the district, raise no objection, the candidate preaches before the community. Some days later, a pastor, already exercising his functions, in turn ascends the pulpit and invites the parish to sanction the call of the candidate presented. This act of the assembly, which was, in principle, an acknowledgment of the right of the faithful to choose their spiritual guide, has little by little fallen into disuse. The signature of one single member of the church is made to suffice, and even this formality is not unfrequently dispensed with. It should be noted, too, that this custom of the nomination of pastors by patrons is even more objectionable than that practiced in the Episcopal church, for the Presbyterian pastors of Scotland are thus nominated in great part by men who are strangers to their church.

—In 1830 a most spirited opposition was inaugurated against patronage. Thomas Charmers, professor of theology at Edinburgh, was at the head of this movement. They at once addressed themselves to the house of commons, and demanded from it the repeal of the law of queen Anne. The general assembly (national synod) of 1834 decreed, by a decision known under the name of the act of veto, that the church had the right to reject every pastor presented by a patron. This decision found many upholders. Several parishes rejected the candidates presented by patrons, and would not even listen to their trial sermon, although they had no fault to find with the candidates. The Scotch church was thus divided into two parties, the adherents of the act of veto, or non-intrusionists, and the moderates, who sustained the rights of the patrons.

—Some of the patrons and rejected candidates entered complaint in the court of session (the supreme court of justice in Scotland). This tribunal declared in their favor. The general assembly persisted; it suspended a presbytery (synod of a district); which, conformably to the decree of the court of session, had accepted a candidate presented by a patron. Thus it became a contest between the highest ecclesiastical authority and the supreme court of justice. A decision of parliament became necessary. The case was, however, allowed to drag wearily along, with the hope that time would have the effect of claiming minds.

—The general assembly at length appealed to the queen, complained to her of the attacks of the civil court upon the rights of the church, and demanded the complete abolition of patronage. The address was presented in June, 1842. The government temporized for some time, still cherishing the hope that the movement would die out of itself. But the committee of the general assembly, complaining of this delay, and reproaching the government with a want of consideration for the church, James Graham replied, at last, that the decision of the court of session was perfectly legal. He, at the same time, remarked that the existing organization offered the church every desirable guarantee, since patrons could present only candidates whom it had already approved, and to whom it had accorded the right to preach; that, even after the presentation, the candidates were submitted to the approbation of the presbytery; and, finally, that the parish had a right to make good its objections before this body, which pronounced definitively upon the admission of the candidates presented.

—This did not satisfy the non-intrusionists, who demanded that each parish should nominate its own pastors, and the law sanction this order of things. The government persisting in its support of patronage, the general assembly which met at Edinburgh May 18, 1843, received, at the opening of its first session, the protest of the non-intrusionsts. In view, they said, of the pretensions of the civil power to regulate affairs purely ecclesiastical, a legal and free reunion of the Scotch church was impossible. And thereupon the non-intrusionist members immediately retired from the assembly, and founded the Free Presbyterian church, which renounced all the advantages of the National church. More than four hundred ecclesiastics ranged themselves on its side; upward of £250 were subscribed for the foundation of the new church, and it established 687 parishes (free church associations). In many places they encountered great difficulties in erecting church buildings, the land owners refusing to give their land to the new associations; but they were not deterred by these obstacles; they held their services under tents, and sometimes even in the open air. The Free church is now solidly established, and has proved to old Europe, on the one hand, that a religious society can live and prosper without the support of the government, and, on the other, that a free church is in no wise dangerous to the state.

—3. Independent or Congregationalist Churches. We call by this name all churches that are independent, not only of the state, but also of one another. In them every parish constitutes a body absolutely free, choosing its own pastors, maintaining itself by its own resources, and governing itself by its own laws. Several, even a great number, may have analogous doctrines and similar worship; nevertheless each one of them none the less preserves its independence; there are between them no ties but those of universal toleration and charity. This ecclesiastical form was that of the primitive Christian churches; but it was short-lived. As soon as the churches multiplied and acquired some stability, they established among themselves a sort of hierarchy, in imitation of that of the civil administration of the provinces of the empire. It was not until about two centuries ago that the congregational form of church government reappeared among some of the Protestant sects in the United States.

—A great many objections have been raised against this ecclesiastical system; nor can we presume to say they are all frivolous. It may be feared, among other things, that it is not best suited to engender those lofty ideas and sentiments which raise nations above themselves, and urge them toward a new ideal. It seems calculated to retain in men's minds the conceptions which are most readily accessible to the great majority, and which favor narrow-mindedness in religious matters. It may also engender petty rivalries among neighboring congregations, and make religion, if I may be allowed the expression, a matter of business. It might he possible, in fine, that it would, at certain times, create a state of excitement, not necessarily dangerous, but ridiculous, and therefore fatal to religious sentiment. But, without having recourse to the reflection, that in this imperfect world what is most beautiful is never without some defect, we must acknowledge, on the one hand, that these defects can be removed, at least in part, and, on the other, that they are counterbalanced by the advantages which this system unquestionably possesses.

—In places and ages in which a rational spirit of toleration and intellectual progress are found side by side, human thought not confined within the narrow limits assigned to it by a dominant church, would take a flight, the grandeur of which we can not now measure, because our prejudices do not permit us to do so. A complete liberty in religious life would create at once conditions of intellectual existence other than those by which minds have hitherto been surrounded. But let us not dwell upon this view of the question; let us confine ourselves, in conclusion, to indicating some of the practical consequences of the congregational system.

—It certainly is the only one which allows a real and unlimited liberty of conscience. Each one unites himself to the congregation whose doctrines, worship and principles best answer the needs of his heart and his intelligence. In this church he brings up his children; but they, when they have reached the age of reason, using the same privilege, may either remain in it, or leave it to join another, according to the promptings of their religious feeling. In this church, where no torture is inflicted upon the conscience, either by the laws, or by public prejudices, there can be no motive to entice one to disguise his opinions; there is no longer any room for that hypocrisy which traffics in holy things, which is inconsistent both with honor, piety and virtue. All other systems offer some temptations of this kind. Besides, where entire liberty reigns, ignorance and superstition, the said results of the slavery of thought, must soon disappear. In fine, under this system, religious life becomes a truth. One attaches himself to a church because he thinks it the best, or the least defective; and this is the only motive with which one can ever sincerely join a church. This choice being, moreover, rational, men are intelligently religious, and not blindly so, as it happens nearly always in official churches, in which men remain simply because they happen to have been born in them.

—It is needless to remark that this ecclesiastical form can not exist except where the churches are entirely distinct from and independent of the state. We would add also, that so far as we can judge, nations are progressing toward a final separation of church and state. We do not indeed pretend that it is the final form of the manifestation of religious sentiment, nor even the best in an absolute point of view. We merely mean to say that it seems to us the most in harmony with the marked tendencies and inspirations of society as it exists to-day.55

MICHEL NICOLAS.

CINCINNATI

CINCINNATI, Order of the (IN U S. HISTORY), a society founded by the officers of the revolutionary army just before their final separation. The name was taken from Cineinnatus, like whom the members had left the plow at the call of their country, and were now returning, to it when their services were no longer needed. Membership in the order was to be mainly confined to the officers, to their eldest male descendants, and, failing these, to collateral male descendants; and this feature stamped the order, in the popular belief, as an imitation of European orders of knighthood and an attempt to create an aristocracy. Ædanus Burke, a South Carolinian, published a pamphlet against the order; the governor of South Carolina denounced it in his address to the legislature; the legislatures of Massachusetts, Rhobe Isdland and Pennsylvania censured it by resolution; and those revolutionary leaders who had not been in the army considered the hereditary principle an unwise one. At the first general meeting, May, 1784, Washington persuaded the order to abolish the principle of hereditary membership, and with this modification it still survives, its membership being recruited by election.

—See 3 Hildreth's United States. 443; Mattox's History of The Cincinnati Society; 6 Pennsylvania Historical Society's Publications.

ALEXANDER JOHNSTON.

CIPHER DISPATCHES AND DECIPHERMENT

CIPHER DISPATCHES AND DECIPHERMENT. The art of deciphering secret manuscripts has at all times played an important part in political matters. If we are to believe Comiers d'Embrun, the Hebrews were acquainted with cryptography or the art of using ciphers, therefore with decipherment which is its immediate consequence. The early Christians, according to P. Alex. de Rhodes, used convention signs to keep a knowledge of their affairs from the curiosity of their persecutors.

—Suetonius informs us in his life of the first Cæsars that the emperors wrote to their generals and confidants, transposing the letters of the alphabet. If this be the case, it is quite possible that Julius Cæsar invented the system of ciphers which bears his name. The following is a sketch of the system: A number of conventional signs are made to correspond to the letters of the alphabet, or, better still, with these same letters arranged in a different order, for example:

Thus if we wish to write in cipher, "Put a vase of roses on your balcony; I shall see that it is time to march;" we should write: "bgf 1 hlep aq daepe az jagd mlxnazj; t eslxx epp fslf tf te ftyp fa yldns." The same result will be obtained by conventional signs corresponding to the letters of the alphabet. It is needless to add that in the first case the letters in changed order, in the second the conventional signs, form the secret of the cipher, which should always be known by the person who wishes to use this mode of writing.

—The Japanese and Chinese were instrumental in causing a further development in cryptography without knowing it. The signs used in the writing of these people run vertically from above downward and from below upward; from this originated the idea of the Japanese method, as calculated to puzzle Europeans, whose writing is horizontal.

—Here is as example of this method. "The liberty of man imposes on him as many duties as it gives him rights."

t	s	e	a	s
h	o	s	s	i
e	p	o	e	t	s
l	m	n	i	g	s
i	i	h	t	i	t
b	n	i	u	v	h
e	a	m	d	e	g
r	m	a	y	s	i
t	f	s	n	h	r
y	o	m	a	i	m

These are simply the letters used in writing the above sentence, placed in order after each other from above downward and from below upward. This cipher becomes, as we see, mere child's play unless it is complicated by some combination.

—In the steganography which he published, Scott considers the method of count Gronsfeld and that of lord Bacon as undecipherable by any one who has not the key to it. Of these two systems we shall take that of lord Bacon, whose originality strikes us, while at the same time we acknowledge its tediousness of execution. The following is its conventional alphabet, each letter of which answers respectively to the ordinary letters of the alphabet:

A...	aaaaa.	N...	bbbab.
B...	aaaab.	O...	bbbba.
C...	aaaba.	P...	bbbbb.
D...	aabaa.	Q...	baabb.
E...	abaaa.	R...	babba.
F...	baaaa.	S...	babbb.
G...	baaab.	T...	abbbb.
H...	baaba.	U...	aabbb.
I...	babaa.	V...	aaabb.
J...	bbaaa.	W...	ababa.
K...	bbaab.	X...	bbabb.
L...	bbaba.	Y...	abaab.
M...	bbbaa.	Z...	aabab.

If we wished to write this sentence: "The enemy is there, be on your guard," we would do it as follows: "abbbb baaba abaaa abaaa bbbab abaaa bbbaa abaab babaa babbb abbbb baaba abaaa babba abaaa, aaaab abaaa bbbba bbbab abaab bbbba aabbb babba baaab aabbb aaaaa babba aabaa."

—This style of ciphering is surely original. Besides, it has this advantage, that it can be carried on under the appearance of a document not having any importance, the letters of which, marked or not by a conventional sign, indicate whether they represent a or b; thence a grouping by fives, the translation of which becomes easy by the aid of the alphabet. This system has a certain resemblance to that attributed to Julius Cæesar, differing from it, however, essentially by the repetition and mingling of the letters a and b; this mingling is well adapted to puzzle the most careful research.

—It is not necessary to say that other signs may be substituted for the letters of the alphabet used in the method we have just mentioned, such for instance, as the Arabic numerals.

—Secret writings being of frequent use in political life, it is often important to be able to find the secret of the cipher which hides the thoughts or projects of its author. We can not here give the reader a complete treatise on cryptography; we must confine ourselves to placing at his disposition certain linguistic observations which become so many means of arriving at the understanding of the greater part of secret writing; the rest is an affair of sagacity and patience.

—Remarks on the construction of words. The German Language. The only letter standing alone is o; monosyllables are very rare; double letters quite frequent at the end of words: the e is often repeated especially in long words; i always in the middle of words of three letters; ck most frequent at the end of words; sch united to l, m, n;r united to e and a to bb in the middle of words; t united to ff;oth, ich, very often at the end; ch frequent; b, l, g, k, p, q, x, z, the rarest of consonants.

—English. The words of one letter are I, a, O;y often appears as final; o doubles and shares this peculiarity with e, from which it will be easily distinguished if attention be paid to the fact that it is always united to f in the word of two letters of; it is often found also with w;e is distinguished in cipher dispatches from double consonants, because it is repeated oftener than any other letter.

—Italian and Spanish. Italian has a strong resemblance to Spanish, but is distinguished from it by the length of certain words and by the frequency of double letters in the middle of words. O is oftener repeated than any other letter; e, i, next, the latter sometimes doubled, the same as o, u. In Spanish, o is very often followed by s;u by e; but the latter principally in the middle of words, the other chiefly at the end; the words of one letter are a, o, y.

—French. French words end most frequently in e, which is often followed by s or nt;ou is met in words of four syllables; the vowels, especially e, are repeated oftener than any other letter; there is no word without a vowel; a word of one letter is always a vowel, or a consonant with an apostrophe; q is always followed by u.

—It is evident that the process of deciphering without the key differs somewhat in each language, varying with its characteristics.

—Let us try to decipher the sentence: "bgf l hlep aq daepe az jagd mlxnazj; t eslxx epp fslf tf te ftyp fa yldns," according to Cæsar's method. We first make a list of the letters in the sentence, noting how often each recurs, as follows: b, once; g, twice; f, 6 times; l, 6 times; h, once; e, 6 times; p, 5 times; a, 5 times; q, once; j, twice; m, once; x, 3 times; n, twice; z, twice; t, 4 times; s, 3 times; y, twice; d, 3 times. Remembering that a and I are the only words (except O which would be rarely used in a cipher dispatch) of one letter in English, we know that l and t must be these two. Suppose l is a, then t is i;t being i, f must be n, s, or t in tf because these are the only letters which can follow i in a word of two letters except f which is the cipher letter. We shall call it t;e in te may be s;a in fa must be o, for only o can follow t in a word of two letters as may be seen by experiment; pp in epp is ee for e and o are the only vowels which can be doubled, and oo could not form a word after s. Now we know that l, t, f, e, a, and p are a, i, t, s, o and e. After making the changes the sentence becomes bgt a hase oq doses oz jogd maxnoxj i ssaxx see tsat it is tiye to yadus. In the word ssaxx it is most probable the xx is ll, for a double vowel could not follow a, and by using the ll and changing the second s to h we have shall instead of ssaxx, and that instead of tsat. In tiye y could in any connection be only d, l, m, n or r; here it is clearly m which gives time:q in oq whatever be the connection would be either f, n, r or x; here we shall use f: and the z in oz is either r or n; call it n. In the first word bgt g must be the vowel u, for we know the others; b is either c or p, let us use c; we have now cut instead of bgt and the word jogd becomes joud. Now d can not be n or t, for we know these; it is r, for this is the only letter left that could follow ou here; j is either p or y; let us take y. We have now your. Knowing or supposing that:

stand for

we make the substitutions and the sentence stands: "Cut a hase of roses on your malcony; I shall see that it is time to marnh." It is clear that h in the third word stands for v, that malcony is balcony, and marnh march; n being c, b can not be c, therefore the first word is put, not cut.

—If we wished to send the following dispatch in French; Placez un vase de fleurs sur votre fenêtre; nous saurons qu'il est temps de se mettre en marche, we would write it in this way according to the first cipher alphabet given above: "Bxlnpk gz hlep op qxpgde egd hafdp qpzpfdp zage elgdaze cgtx pof fpybe op ep ypffdp pz yldnsp."

—To decipher this we proceed as follows, remarking only that the reader, by study and experience, might find some other way to decipher it. We make a list of the letters contained in the dispatch, noting the number of times each letter is repeated, thus: b, twice; x, 3 times; l, 4 times; n, twice; p, 16 times; k, once; g, 6 times; z, 5 times; h, twice; e, 9 times; o, twice; q, twice; d, 7 times; a, 3 times; f, 6 times; c, once, t, once; y, 3 times; s, once. We may remark that p occurs 16 times, hence it is very likely a vowel, and probably the letter e. Let us see whether this hypothesis is well founded, and take the shortest words: op, ep, pz. If p is an e, let us suppose, to shorten our demonstration, that pz represents en, since it is one of the French words of two letters beginning with e; then z is an n;op, ep, will therefore be one of the words ce, di, je, le, me, te, se, the only words of two letters in French ending in e. But in the dispatch we see op, immediately preceding ep which has only two letters and de is the only word that can go before a word of two letters: therefore, if p is an e in the word op,o, must be a d.

—Let us now try to find out what e is in the word ep. It is not a vowel. As e is found at the end of many words in the dispatch, we may presume that it is an s;ep would therefore stand for se until proof to the contrary. Gz is another word of two letters, the last letter of which we know to stand for n, whence we conclude that g can be only a vowel, and consequently gz must be one of the following words, an, in, on, un, the only French words of one syllable ending in n. We may reject in which means nothing; in French, an never occurs after a word so long as bxlnpk; therefore, there are left only on and un.G is therefore either o or u; but which? We can not yet decide. Let us take a word in which it occurs, and select, as far as we can, a word which contains the letters presumed to be known. Say the zage. Substituting in this word the letters already known, we have naus;naus has a close resemblance to nous; we may conclude that g is u, and we may also add that a is o.

We Know		p,	z,	o,	e,	g,
To be		e,	n,	d,	s,	u.

—Let us take the little word egd: the third letter d is either a cor an r, for only sur or suc can have this form. We shall see this further on. In pef, the first two letters are es; we are led to think that the last is a t, for the word est is the only word of three letters in French beginning with es.

—Let us now take longer words, say hafdp. We know afdp which suggests otceor otre, but only the latter can be taken. Then the word becomes h...otre which has only two analogues in French, notre and votre. Now, as we have seen, n is represented by z, therefore h is necessarily a v. We may therefore add to the foregoing letters, instead of f, d, h, their values t, r, v.

—In the word ypffdp,y is the only unknown letter. Substituting the equivalents already known, we have y...ettre, which can mean only mettreor lettre: after se "lettre" does not mean anything. Everything leads us to believe that y is an m.

—The word we have just deciphered almost translates qpzpfdp, for we find q...enêtre or fenêtre; in like manner qxpgde becomes fxeurs or fleurs; in like manner also fpybe stands for tembs or temps.

—We have deciphered the letters p, y, o, d, f, z, a, e, g, q, b, h, x; with this key let us try to decipher the whole dispatch. By the substitution of known for unknown values we find pllnek un rlse de fleurs sur votre fenêtre, nous slurons cutl est temps de se mettre en marnse. This is not so obscure as it may seem at first. With a little study it becomes apparent that l, c, t, stand for a, q, i. And thus we have: nous saurons qu'il est temps. But pllnek un vase de fleurs stands, a priori, for placez, etc. No great effort of imagination is required to translate "se mettre en marnse," into se mettre en marche.

—What we have just explained will suffice to show the reader the possibility of deciphering. This methods is without doubt purely empirical, but it appears to have been sufficient for the cases presented up to our day.

—To prevent the deciphering of dispatches, combinations of every kind have been imagined, books of signs, even special dictionaries have been published by means of which the secrecy of a dispatch is guaranteed. One of these dictionaries, which seems well planned, has appeared in Paris, published by Berger-Levrault 8 Co., under the title of Dictionnaire pour la Correspondance télégraphique secrète, by a secretary of legation.56

HENRI LEGEAY.

CIRCULATION OF WEALTH.

CIRCULATION OF WEALTH. The word circulation (of wealth) is one of those politico-economical terms which has been most misused. The framers of systems have often employed it to build upon the data which it expresses airy castles in which nothing was wanting to make the world supremely happy but a basis on which the structure might rest. But the circulation of wealth is none the less an important fact well worthy of being observed, and one which has not been studied, perhaps, as much as it deserves. If utopists, while mistaking its law, have too often exaggerated its importance, this is no reason for extimating it below its real significance.

—The circulation of wealth, says J.B. Say, "is the passage of a thing having value from one hand to another."

—The passage merchandise from one hand to another is the first elementary fact which constitutes, by its repetition, the general phenomenon of the circulation of wealth. But it is necessary to give circulation a broader sense, and J B Say himself, in the sentence which immediately follows that which we have just quoted, gives it a broader one. He says: "Every article of merchandise is in circulation when it is ready to pass into another hand, that is to say, when it is offered for sale." It is evidence that here circulation means not merely the passage of merchandise from one hand to another, but the general movement of goods or values. It is even more than this; it is the readiness of merchandise to be moved. Mr. Fr. Skarbek, who has treated this subject at much length and with care in his Theory of Social Wealth, understands by circulation the general movement of wealth passing from one hand to another; but he adds that it is less the movement of things than the movement of values.

—Circulation, he says, is not a movement of the mass but a movement of the value of things; just as production is not a creation of things but a creation of values. Things which have value may undergo a rapid and continuous movement without circulation taking place. A sum of money, for example, sent by mail may pass through many hands without circu7lating; for then it is only transmitted or confided to several persons consecutively in order that it may be made to reach the one who has the right to dispose of it. The effect is the same as if the person who sends the money should deliver it to him to whom it is sent. All those who have served as intermediaries to facilitate the transmission of this sum have had no profit from the sum itself, and could not have been able to employ it as a productive force. Value may circulate rapidly and the thing which contains it remain motionless. Such is the circulation of the value of real property, the ownership and the enjoyment of which may pass from one to another, although it is not capable of undergoing any movement whatever. Even personal property may circulate without any change of place. A merchant who has paid a landed proprietor the price of wheat stored up in the granary of the latter, may resell this wheat without moving it. Thus this value will have circulated twice without taking the wheat from one place to another.

—In a savage state, when man works only for himself and is limited to the consumption of what he produces himself, there are no exchanges, consequently no circulation, though certain products may sometimes be transported from one place to another by a person who is both a producer and consumer. Circulation begins when men commence to exchange what they possess over and above what they possess sufficient to supply their own wants; but as long as they confine themselves to simple exchange of their superfluities, it is still inclosed within very narrow bounds. It is only really active and great when the division of labor, having become the common law of industry, brings men to exchange not only their superfluities, that is to say, the excess of what they produce respectively above their own wants, but almost all the values which they produce, for almost all those which they consume.

—In the state of civilization to which the greatest part of the peoples of Europe have advanced, division of labor having been introduced everywhere, circulation has become an important fact. There are few values in reality consumed on the spot and by those who produced them. They pass from hand to hand by successive exchanges, and sometimes it is only after a great number of transmissions or migrations of this nature that they arrive at their final destination. It is not only to pass from the hands of the producer to those of the consumers that products are exchanged and circulated. They circulate still and sometimes for a considerable period among their producers, when they need, as is generally the case, several successive preparations before being entirely finished. To say that in virtue of the division of labor each man connects himself with a particular industry the fruits of which he afterward exchanges, is not to say enough. It should be added that there is scarcely a producer from whose hands a finished product comes. Men confine themselves for the greater part to the execution of one or another of the articles which the product requires, turning it over afterward to other manufacturers who are to continue the work or finish it. Through how many changes has cloth passed, through how many hands has it gone, before the tailor converts it into clothing? A bale of cotton does not become printed cloth in a moment. It must first be converted into thread, then into texture, and between these principal manipulations how many intermediate ones there are; each one of these is performed not only by different hands but also in different places. The bookmaker, no matter how simple his work may appear, does not make a boot until the tanner has prepared the leather. A boot then is the result of several kinds of successive labor; it reaches its final condition only after several exchanges. It is the same with the greater part of other products and particularly with manufactured articles, some of which undergo so many different modifications and become the object of so many exchanges before coming to the condition of consumable values that it would be difficult to follow tem in their migrations. Thus, in a state of civilization exchanges are multiplied and circulation is widened, not only by reason of the various products which industry gives birth to, but also by reason of the vastly greater number of processes which these products demand.

—This circulation, we say then, becomes so important a fact that none of the particulars connected with it should be overlooked.

—It is, in the first place, easy to understand how important it is to society in general that this circulation should be carried on without trouble, without confusion, without disorder, and that no foreign obstacle should stop its course. Should its stoppage really take place for a moment, production, one of the essential conditions of which it has become, itself would stop, and society would find its very existence in peril. It is true that an absolute stoppage of circulation is almost impossible, for this reason alone, that it would be fatal; since if any cause should tend to produce it, there would be immediately, on the part of threatened society, such a general and powerful reaction against this cause that the obstacle would recede or at least behalf removed. But if it is not to be feared that circulation will ever be stopped entirely, it may sometimes be disturbed or retarded in its course. This happens in practice almost always in consequence of civil troubles, political revolutions, foreign invasions, and all serious disorders, whatever their nature may be. At such times there is generally a twofold obstacle to the easy circulation of products, one physical, the other moral. The first arises from material disorders which prevent products from journeying peaceably toward their respective destinations; the second, more serious and difficult to overcome, arises from the mistrust of producers toward others and the lack of credit which affects every one. In all these cases, if society does not perish it endures at least cruel suffering. Production is retarded for want of nutrition; consumption is narrowed, savings previously accumulated are consumed: in addition to the present evils endure men see the accumulated fruits of several years of labor lost in a few days.

—Commercial crises which so often afflict modern nations, and particularly those in which industry exhibits its greatest power, are nothing else, considered in themselves, than checks if not absolute stoppages of circulation. There may be a difference of opinion as to the causes, perhaps yet ill defined, of these calamitous accidents, but whatever their origin they have always the same character at bottom, that of retardation, more or less great, in the exchange and circulation of products. From this, and from this alone, come all the evils which these crises give birth to: so true is it that circulation is the life of modern nations.

—Without speaking of the accidental troubles to which circulation is sometimes subject, and which will be particularly treated under the words COMMERCIAL CRISES, looking at it only under its ordinary conditions, in that which forms in each country its normal condition, it still gives occasion to a large number of observations full of interest. Its conditions are not the same in every country; it is more or less general, more or less active according as local circumstances are more or less favorable to it; and we should hasten to add that it is the relative activity of circulation which constitutes, more than any other circumstance, the industrial superiority of this or that country.

—Under the word CAPITAL we spoke of the importance of the increase of capital to the industrial activity of nations; but at the same time we took care to distinguish active from dormant capital by adding, that the industrial superiority of one nation over another depends much less on the sum total of the capital which it possesses than the relative sum of its active capital. This is the place to insist on this distinction, which most economists have neglected, and which appears to us fundamental.

—If capital is useful, it is only in so far as it passes into the hands of those who can put it to work. While it lies idle, or, what comes to the same thing, while it remains in the hands of those who can not make use of it, it is of no real utility; it aids in no way the increase of production. M. Ganith, going a little further in this direction, says that idle capital is not capital at all, since it is useful to no man, not even to him who possesses it. He was wrong, no doubt. Idle capital is always capital, for it is at least a reserve, which can be of use later; often it needs but an insignificant circumstance to rouse it from its torpor. But it is true that a value at rest renders no actual service, and if there is much of such capital in a country no matter how great the sum of this real capital which the country possesses, labor will show little activity there.

—To say nothing of actual stoppages, if it happens that in a given country capital, or values intended for reproduction, occupy twice as much time in passing from one hand to another as would be necessary in a well ordered state of things, it is easy to understand that production would be less by one-half than it might be. It is important, therefore, that circulation be at once general in the sense of embracing all products, and of being active in the sense of causing products to pass rapidly from the hands which possess them to the hands of those who can give them useful employment.

—This truth, we say, has not always been adequately understood by economists. It must not be thought, however that they have entirely misunderstood it. Their only fault is in not having brought out its importance, nor given it all the attention which it merits. This, for example, is how J. B. Say expresses himself on the subject: "Values employed in the course of production, can not be realized in money and be employed in a new production until they have arrived at the state of a complete product and are sold to the consumer. The sooner a product is finished and sold, the sooner also can it, as capital, be applied to a fresh productive use. Capital used for a shorter time pays less interest; there is economy in the cost of production. Next it is of advantage that the transaction which takes place during the production should take place quickly. Let us follow the effects of this activity of circulation, in the case of a piece of printed calico. A merchant of Lisbon imports cotton from Brazil. It is of moment to him that his agents in America should make his purchases and shipments quickly; it is also important for him to send his cotton to a French merchant promptly, in order to be reimbursed for his outlay as soon as possible, that he may begin a new and equally profitable operation. Portugal, up to this point, has reaped the benefit of this activity of circulation. Now it will be France; and if the French merchant does not keep this Brazilian cotton in his storehouse long, but sends it promptly to the spinner; if the spinner, after having made it into thread, sends it promptly to the weaver, and if the latter sends the cloth without delay to the calico printer, and if he sends it to the retail merchant quickly, and the retailer to the consumer, this active circulation will have occupied for a less time that portion of the capital employed by the producers. Consequently there will be less interest lost, less expense, and the capital can be employed in new production."

—The utility of an active circulation is certainly indicated in the preceding lines, but we do not believe that it is felt strongly enough; and we are the more authorized to believe so, since the passage just quoted is the only one which J. B. Say has devoted to this important subject, at least in his treatise. There is certainly more to say on such a subject. It is true, that the relative activity of circulation is that which constitutes, more than any other circumstance, the industrial superiority of a people? This should have been examined first of all. Then it should have been inquired what the principal causes are which influence the rapidity or the retardation of circulation.

—Mr. Fr. Skarbek, who has treated this subject more at length and with care, is more explicit on all these questions. Instead of a few lines he devotes several chapters to the subject. He concludes the first chapter thus, "What we have stated up to the present concerning social wealth, authorize us to lay down the principle, that the mass of values and bases or sources of wealth possessed by a nation, do not in themselves constitute its wealth, because they are inert by nature and do not turn into a cause of well-being and improvement of a people, except in so far as circulation imposes on them a productive movement capable of bringing out all the advantages which society extracts from the values, before they become objects of consumption."

—The lines we have underscored in the preceding are also underscored in the original text, and it can be seen that the author there justly makes the circulation of products the sine qua non of their utility. Nothing is truer with regard to industry at the present time when exchanges and division of labor have become universal. It is not enough, however, that products should circulate; it is necessary, also, that circulation be as rapid as the work of production will permit, in order that there may be no interruption in the service they render. This, Mr. Fr. Skarbek brings out with much force in the following passage: "The advantage which society gets from circulation consists, as we have seen above, in this, that by each transfer of value, from one hand to another, a profit is gained by him who disposes of it, and a power of working is attained by him who acquires it. This advantage is all the more considerable in proportion as circulation becomes more extensive and rapid. From the moment that all exchangeable values are put in circulation, and circulate with the greatest rapidly possible, the inhabitants of a country make as much profit as they can possibly make from them. They are able to give continual employment to all the productive forces which they are able to put to work; and whatever be the mass of value produced by a nation, it is evident that in this case it returns all the advantages and all the services which can be expected of it. This is why national wealth consists not only in the great mass of values which can be produced in a country, but in the general productive movement, continuous and rapid, of these values."

—In the lines which precede, the activity of circulation is presented in all its importance, but it is perhaps still better done in the passage which follows, where the author supports his assertions by an example. We only regret that he has taken as his example the circulation of a piece of money; and we believe it our duty to remark in advance, that the same reasoning would apply to every productive value of whatever nature it might be. "Let us suppose that a one franc piece is given in the morning of the first day, by an inhabitant of the capital, to a milkwoman, in exchange for milk which she is taking to market; that she uses it immediately in buying an ell of cloth; that the cloth dealer lays in with this same piece of money his stock of meat at the butcher's shop; that the butcher spends it at a wine store; that the wine merchant employs it in buying bottles; that the bottle dealer spends it for bread; the baker for wood; and the timber merchant lays it up for future expenses and leaves it without employment during the next day. The difference of the services rendered by this piece of money in the course of two days is very considerable and may be expressed by figures; for it is as 7 to 1. During the first day the one franc piece performed the function of 7 francs because it served to make seven consecutive purchases, whereas on the second day, it represented only a unit in the hands of the timber merchant. If the latter made no use of it in the course of the second day, it might be said with truth that, for society in general, the differences of services rendered by the piece of money in the two days is as 7 to 0, because, having remained inactive in the hands of the timber merchant, it did not fill its office as an instrument of exchange, and the effect is the same as if it had not existed at all. Its value the first day is equal in services rendered to that of 7 francs, and it is easy to become convinced of this by collecting all the products which were brought by its means; for by estimating the value of the milk, the cloth, the meat, the wine, the bottles, the bread and the wood bought consecutively with the same one franc piece, we can easily see that it would be necessary to spend 7 francs in order to buy all these things at once."

—This reasoning, certainly exact in reference to a piece of money, is just as exact, as we have said, with reference to any other kind of value. Let us suppose, indeed, that any kind of raw material, iron, for example, which must pass, we will suppose, through the hands of 20 or 30 different producers, in order to receive as many different modifications before arriving at its final form, accomplishes this series of migrations in one month instead of 12; it is evident that in the 30 days it will have rendered all the services that it could have rendered in a year. It is not less evident, that if all the capital of a nation could be employed in this manner and with this relative activity, that the nation would have an immense advantage over all others. With an equal capital it would create 12 times as much wealth; or even with a much smaller capital, it would still succeed in surpassing them in the labor of production.

—But are such great differences in the relative value of circulation possible? Why not? In theory there is nothing simpler. As a general rule, for each producer, the work of production, which, properly speaking, consists almost always in a single modification to be given the material submitted to him, does not take long to accomplish. Generally he requires more time to sell his products than to finish them. The spinner who makes his thread in a few days, keeps it sometimes for several months in his storehouse before selling it to the weaver, who is to make it into cloth, and this is the case with nearly all other productions. Now these periods of stopping and waiting between the finishing and the sale of products being so many accidental stagnations, so many interruptions in the service of capital, it is easy to see that they may be and are more or less frequent according to the country; and in this way is explained in theory the enormous difference which may exist between one country and another in the productiveness of capital. As a matter of fact it is certain that these differences exist, as great at least as we have just supposed them to be. It seems to us beyond doubt, that capital acts more than 12 times as fast, for example, either in the United States, or in England, as in Turkey. Why? Because there are fewer delays in sales, as there is also an incomparably greater rapidity in the transportation or transmission of products; and it is this circumstance which explains, to our thinking, much more than the real abundance of capital, the extreme superiority of the first two countries over the other.

—Now what are the two chief causes which influence the activity or the slowness of circulation? Here again we find in the work of Mr. Fr. Skarbek more satisfaction than we have met elsewhere. Among the causes which, according to this writer, contribute to render circulation active may be mentioned the following, which are the principal: the extent of production and the abundance of products; the density of population and the concentration of population in a certain number of cities; the number and convenience of means of communication, such as roads, railways, canals, etc.; freedom of trade under all its forms, as well at home as abroad; security in all transactions; and, above all, confidence and credit, which alone render possible a rapid transfer of products for sale, and without which even all the other conditions are present in vain.

—That the extent of production contributes to hasten the circulation of products, is a truism. But this signifies particularly—and it is a truth which it is well to note—that activity of circulation does not increase simply in proportion to the extent of production, but in a greater proportion still, in the sense that it is always much greater where production is abundant and large than where production languishes. It is true that it is difficult, in this case, to distinguish the effect from the cause. If the abundance of production influences the activity of circulation, which is not at all doubtful, the activity of circulation in turn, and in a very energetic manner, influences the increase of production. The two circumstances are connected; they are at once cause and effect. But all this amounts to saying what is literally true, that products circulate in a more general manner and more rapidly in wealthy countries, provided with large capital, and which work on a large scale, than in poor countries which operate with small means and for medium results.

—That the density of population, and above all the concentration of population, in certain cities contribute also to quicken circulation, and consequently to increase the services which products may render, is another truth much less generally understood than the first, and consequently very proper to be mentioned. It is all the more important since it must be taken into account in the theory of population in which it is often ignored. It is beyond doubt, to our thinking, that dense populations, that is to say, those grouped in considerable masses on narrow spaces, have certain great disadvantages in comparison with scattered populations, and this especially that they obtain in less abundance, with less ease and at a higher price, certain products, and particularly raw material. But they enjoy this great advantage which compensates for many drawbacks, that the circulation of products among them is easier, more active, quicker, and that consequently every product which they obtain renders them incomparably greater service. This is rather a new view in political economy, which has not been sufficiently examined by men devoted to the science, and which merits, nevertheless, the most serious consideration. Mr. Fr. Skarbek seems to have realized it more than the greater number of economists before him, but perhaps no writer has thrown more light on it than Mr. H. Carey, of Philadelphia, in an important work published in 1848, (The Past, the Present and the Future; by H. Carey, Philadelphia, 1848). In this work the American publicist tries to prove, and in this he has succeeded in a certain measure, that the condensation of population in certain countries, far from creating for the men who inhabit these countries a relative disadvantage, is for them, on the contrary, extremely advantageous, through the facility and multiplicity of relations which it engenders; and that, taking everything into consideration, a dense population, other conditions being equal, should be richer and better supplied than one which is scattered over a vast space of land. We will not enter here into a minute examination of this question which would require a separate study, but in whatever way it be solved, the influence of the density of population on the activity of the circulation of products is none the less a demonstrated fact. As to the influence exercised by the number and convenience of the ways of communication, it is so easy to understand it that it suffices almost to mention it. Let us merely say that a good system of roads, canals and railways is itself the first fruit of an industry already powerful; that if it contributes to stimulate circulation, it is nevertheless the fruit of a pre-existing circulation, and that it supposes in the country where it is established a well understood public administration, well directed, well managed. It supposes also a great store of wealth previously acquired.

—Freedom of trade under all its forms is not less necessary to the activity of circulation than the other conditions.—"No matter what the primitive sources of a country's wealth may be, no matter what its population and its capital may be, no matter how powerful may be the influence of these bases of its wealth on circulation, the latter can be neither extensive nor rapid if there are not in the country circumstances favorable to exchange; or if the power of exchange is limited either by prohibitive regulations or the lack of outlets. For it is this power of exchange which exercises the most potent influence on circulation, since values circulate for the most part by means of exchange. Supposing then in a country a concurrence of circumstances favorable to the production of value, they will not be able to constitute the well-being of the inhabitants if there are causes which limit or hinder the exchange of products." The causes which may limit or hinder exchange are varied. Restrictive or prohibitive regulations at home and abroad, form one of the most serious. The absence of credit is another, not less powerful though less easy to define.

—Finally, we have as the last cause of the circulation of products, confidence or credit, which renders exchange possible whenever it is useful and can be carried on without danger. Let us hear again Mr. Fr. Skarbek, whose ideas on this matter fit in perfectly with ours.—"In order that exchange should become the motor of circulation, it is necessary, other things being equal, that it be accomplished with the greatest facility, that is to say, that all goods should find an easy and instant sale, and that all the inhabitants of a country should sell their goods on the shortest time possible. The sale of goods depends on three circumstances: first, a demand corresponding to the amount of goods offered; in the second place, on the facility and freedom of delivering the goods where they are demanded; and last, the power possessed by the purchaser to give always the equivalent of the merchandise demanded by him. Demand is more considerable in proportion as there are more purchasers, and as they are richer; the facility of sale becomes greater in proportion as commerce enjoys greater liberty and as there are easier means of transport and communication between the countries which maintain commercial relations with one another. But all this is not yet sufficient to give circulation the extent and degree of rapidity of which it is susceptible, for it is necessary besides that every value offered for exchange should be really exchanged at the moment it is offered and demanded: for this purpose it is necessary that the purchaser should possess a value which the seller consents to receive, in exchange for this merchandise, and that he should be in a condition to give it immediately and as often as he desires to make an exchange. As exchange is generally effected by means of money, it follows that if sale is to hasten circulation, it is necessary that the power of paying should always equal the extent of the demand. Now, as the value of the goods of every country surpass by far the value of the money which is found therein, it may often happen that a man who possesses a considerable fortune finds it impossible to make an immediate payment for the values which these means allow him to demand. The result of this is a species of stagnation which takes place in the circulation of values. The value of the merchandise demanded will remain inert until the person demanding it shall have acquired the power of paying, or he will be deprived of an enjoyment or of a means of employing his productive powers profitably. However, there is always a decrease of activity in the circulation and a loss of time and values to the national wealth. To remedy this drawback, to obviate a default in power of payment which does not come from a lack of revenue and fortune, and to facilitate exchange as much as possible, men have had recourse to a social virtue, confidence, which, applied to exchange, has given birth to credit; and credit to-day is the most powerful motor of exchange and the circulation of social wealth.

—By a sort of ultra reaction against the exaggerations of the utopists, many distinguished economists are only too much inclined to misunderstand the admirable power of credit. It is well therefore to put it before them whenever a natural occasion presents itself.

—Unfortunately these are the same ideas which have been misapplied to build up vain projects. Foreseeing vaguely the power of credit as well as the advantages of an active circulation, but without rendering to themselves an exact account of the nature of these two phenomena, a great number of men have endeavored to inflate credit, if it be permitted to say so, and to hasten circulation by artificial means.

—They did not consider, that after all, the practice of credit supposes confidence, and that circulation, no matter how active they may wish to have it, should not and can not run ahead of production. To complete the misfortune they have never imagined a better way to arrive at their end than to multiply without measure the instrument of exchange, money, or, in default of money, that which they call representative signs of its value, in other words, paper. The general examination of these different projects will find its place under the heads CREDIT and PAPER MONEY. Let us hasten to say, in a few words, that they rest ordinarily on a two-fold error, in this that, on the one hand, credit, such as they pretend to establish, would crumble quickly for want of a basis, and, on the other, circulation, such as they conceive it, even supposing that it could be established, would be still barren circulation. (See CRISES, COMMERCIAL.)

CHARLES COQUELIN.

CITIES

CITIES, Administration of American. When the constitutions of the Union and of the several states were framed, but few cities were already in existence the charters of which antedated the revolution. These cities are in this country the only exceptions, historically considered, to the rule of law to which all municipal administration is subject in the United States, and which received the sanction of two successive decisions of the supreme court of the United States—in the cases United States vs. Railroad Company, 17 Wallace, 329, and New Orleans vs. Clark, 95 U. S., 653—that a municipal corporation is a subordinate branch of the governmental power of the state; it is one of its creatures, made for a specific purpose to exercise within a limited sphere the powers of the state. The state may withdraw its local powers and government at pleasure, and may, through its legislature, or other appointed channels, govern the local territory as it governs the state at large. It may enlarge or contract its powers or destroy its existence.

—This doctrine distinguished American cities very widely, both in theory and in practice, from the cities of other countries. A retrospective glance at the political origin of other cities may be of service.

—When men were nomads, wanderers in search of food, their settlements, like those of our Indians, were made with a view to contiguity to fresh water and a hunting ground, located like tourists' camps, at some spot near fish or game. The city, if such it may be called, of the tribes, was not only the seat of government, but the gathering spot of the tribe, and wandered with the tribe when emergency called for its departure. The city, as such, first had its origin and became a permanent fact when agricultural pursuits attached men to a spot of earth for which they would fight and die, and to take them thence was to deprive them of the means whereby they lived. To protect this spot of earth and to provide a refuge, in the event of attack, for the agricultural settlers of the tribe, some elevated spot near their flocks and farms was selected which could be inclosed with a wall, and where cattle could be congregated in a moment of danger, and a common defense made against the common enemy. In the progress of civilization, whatever was deemed sacred by this community, or whatever was symbolical of its religious belief or æsthetic culture, was permanently inclosed within that wall. There the temple was raised; there the theatre was erected; there the government was administered; there within that wall could the freeman take his part in determining upon the persons who were to wield absolute sway over him. The city was the government the country around it was tributary to the city. Almost all cities of antiquity had this origin, this extension and growth; and the old republics were city governments which in process of time had become sufficiently formidable to conquer vast territories, both contiguous to the city and situated across seas. But all these territories were tributary to the city and to the institutions of the city. Even the empire of Rome was the government of the world by a city. There was no Latin nation, in the modern acceptation of the term, having its seat of government at Rome; but the Roman aristocracy, originally as citizens and subsequently as equestrians, centurions, senators, consuls and emperors, governed the wide world through the power placed in their hands in the small territory upon which the city of Rome was located. Rome was in no sense the capital of the ancient world, as Paris is of France or London of England.

—The cities of the middle ages owe their origin to the mark organization, and to harbor facilities. The location of a minister or cathedral is one of the causes of the origin and development of cities. As the cities of the middle ages grew in size, they became the homes of manufacturing and commercial industry which in turn developed wealth and which invited attack both from kings and warrior nobles. The guild, which is another term for combination, was the organization of each particular trade, by which the elders of a trade regulated the mode of its conduct and determined upon admissions to its mysteries and the rules which were to govern it. The only analogy between the trades union of the present day and the guild of the middle ages is, that they were both trade organizations for the government of hours of labor and methods of administration; but here the analogy stops. The middle age guild was an organization of employers as well as the employed; indeed, the employed could not become members of the organization until they had served a number of years as skilled workmen: the employers were the governing body and the rules of the trade were determined by them. The several guilds within a community would select eldermen of their own number for general conference with other guilds; and thus in time the guilds became formidable and powerful bodies of citizens within the cities, to the sturdy arms of the members of which, and their training and skill, the political government of the city, or the bishop of the town, if the origin of the city happened to be a religious seat, was compelled to look in moments of danger. The trained band of the guilds were the militia of the middle ages, and maintained the integrity of the city, prevented its capture and repelled attacks instigated by the desire for plunder or territorial aggrandizement. From mixed motives, therefore, of conciliating these guilds and humiliating the nobles, the cities could and did obtain, from time to time, large concessions—in Germany called freibriefe, and in England patents—by which a certain amount of local independent government was secured; and they were permitted to establish courts of leet, which had criminal jurisdiction within the borders of the city, and succeeded in obtaining the establishment of civil courts for the adjudication of questions involving smaller amounts, independent of the imperial or regal courts. At the time of Edward I. The ingenious device suggested itself to that politic prince, obtain the moneys which he needed as a free gift from the cities, boroughs and towns of England. He caused two deputies from each borough within the country to be sent to parliament along with the two knights of the shire, with power to consent to what the king and his council would determine; and this is supposed to be the origin of popular representation. The boroughs derived popular representation from the council called by Simon de Montfort in 1265, in the war with the barons against king Henry III. He also caused the knights of the shire to be accompanied by representatives of the boroughs; these boroughs included the cities, towns and incorporated districts which by that time had already grown to considerable proportions, and which wrested from the kings of England large concessions in the way of local government. London had, as early as Henry I., acquired a patent; many cities of England were chartered before the thirteenth century. The merchants' or chapmen's guilds, which were to be found throughout the towns and cities in the middle ages, were bound to each other by oaths and pledges; they paid a common contribution to the purse of the brotherhood; they built by their joint purse the guild hall, wherein they met to transact their affairs and occasionally to feast together; they punished fraud committed by one guild brother upon another; they assisted each other in times of sickness and adversity. When charters could not be obtained from the fear of kings and lords, they bought them out of the common purse. Being composed of freemen, and including all the more energetic and thriving and able inhabitants, these merchants' guilds became, by successive steps, what were subsequently called a corporation of boroughs. The courts leets were transferred from the barons to them, as an organized part of the community; they were the men who were styled, in charters and public documents, the "burgesses and good men of the town." In the "History of Leicester," by James Thompson, an account is given of the earliest days of these guilds, which opens up to us the functions and details of modern municipal officers. A meeting of the guild was originally known in the rules by the name of "Morwenspeche." As among the Germans, all consultations were connected with some convivial feast; a common building was constructed, in which the rude banquets and deliberations of the less wealthy freemen were held; and thus the Saxons brought the guild hall with their other customs into England. At their head stood the eldermen or aldermen; at the head of the aldermen stood the mayor or oldest aldermen. The form of the oath is preserved by Mr. Thompson, which is interesting as illustrating the fact that the guild is the primitive city government. It runs as follows: "This hear ye, Mayor and Brothers of the Guild: That I lawfully the laws of the guild will keep, and my guild in all respects will follow, whether among my brethren of the guild or whether I scot in the bishop's fee; and that I will warn my mayor and the good people of the commune if I know of any man who merchandises in the franchise who may be able to enter into the guild; and that I shall be obedient and observe all the commands of the mayor and his sons; and the franchises and the good customs of the town according to my power I will maintain. So God and his saints help me! Amen."

—The charters of the English cities were as various as their sites, but they all involved local self-government and wide suffrage in the selection of the government. At the time of queen Elizabeth, however, the courts held that, although the right of election was, by the original constitution or charter, in the whole assembly, still from usage, even within the time of memory, the by laws may be presumed giving the right of election to a select class, instead of the whole body. This decision was extorted from the judges by the crown with a view of establishing its own select classes in the various municipalities, the more readily to control the municipalities, which had by that time become formidable and had answered their purposes of checks against the nobles, but were intended to be shorn of their power to be checks against the prerogatives of the throne. As a result of this, the right of election being conferred upon a select few instead of the whole body, and the numerous changes which were brought about by the revocation of city charters in the reign of Charles II., the English municipal corporations, down to the great reform act of 1835, were close corporations, in which nepotism, wastefulness, ignorance and a considerable degree of venality governed the community; in which there was complete severance between the interests of the governors and the governed. There was no uniformity in their constitution or powers, the corporations was not the town or place, but a corporate body situated within it; and Glover says, in his historical summary of the corporate system of Great Britain and Ireland, as to the conditions of the municipal corporations prior to 5 and 6 William IV., chap. 76, that the number of corporators in some of these municipalities varied from 12 to 5,000, but usually averaged from 50 to 200. The titles to freedom citizenship generally comprehended those arising from birth, servitude, imperial purchase, gift or election.

—The governing bodies were formed by the close and corrupt system of self-election. In a great majority of municipalities the corporate officers, such as the mayor, or the other head of the corporation, the recorder, were frequently unprofessional, and the town clerks were appointed by the self-elected governing body from its own conclave. The most common and most striking defect in the constitution of the municipal corporations was, that the corporate bodies existed independently of the communities among which they were found. The most flagrant abuses arose from the perversion of municipal privileges to political objects. Thus the inhabitants had to complain, not only that the election of their magistrates and their municipal functionaries was made by a special class of citizens whose state in the community was no larger than their own, or by the persons unconnected with the town, but also of the disgraceful practices by which the magisterial office was frequently obtained, and wherein those who, by character, residence and property, were best qualified to control its municipal affairs, were excluded from any share in the election or management. The councilors were self-elected and held their office for life. When a death occurred, the remaining councilors supplied the place of the deceased. The commissioners, therefore, who were appointed by parliament to investigate the subject, reported that the municipal corporations of England and of Wales neither possessed nor deserved the confidence or respect of his majesty's subjects, and that a through reform must be effected before they could become what they ought to be—useful and efficient instruments of local government. During the same year of the report, lord Brougham succeeded in causing the passage of the municipal corporation act, already referred to. (Dillon of Municipal Corporations, 3rd ed.. p. 49.)

—This act of 5 and 6 William IV. inaugurated a general scheme of municipal government for all the cities therein named, exempting therefrom London city alone; which by reason of its immense size, multifarious interests and vast government machinery, to deal with that corporation—or rather, conglomerate of corporations—made a special act necessary for its government; which was passed in 1849.

—The administration of the cities of continental Europe bears an analogy whatever to either English or American conditions. The city is part of the imperial system, or it may be a free city, independent of the imperial system; in any event, it is not what the supreme court of the United States has declared. American municipal government to be, a subordinate branch of the state government, exercising, at a locality, in conformity with the American theory of the decentralization of power, the functions of the state government. While we still speak of city charters, it is clear that the weight of judicial authority in this country has crushed out all charted rights or special privileges on the part of the city; that the laws organizing a city government are precisely like other legislative enactments, subject to modification, change or repeal, as the will of legislations may direct; and that cities may be created or extinguished, as the legislative body of the several states may determine. This absolute right of the legislature is limited, of course, in many states, by the constitution of the several states imposing restrictions upon the legislature as to interference with local self-government. The constitution of the state of New York and the constitutions of various other states, recognize the country, town and city of the state as regular subdivisions of the state for purposes of government, and thus prevent their extinction. Certain officers are recognized and their election or appointment provided for within the different localities, and thus the legislature can not appointment officers for the localities or authorize their appointment or selection by any but the local authority, nor take away the election of the officers who are to hold away in the locality from the voters thereof. These are important constitutional limitations upon legislative authority, which, however, as we shall presently see, can be largely evaded and made nugatory for good, by devices but too well known to the members of our legislative bodies.

—There is, therefore, no longer any close corporate rights on the part of the city, as the middle ages presented to us, nor independent, sovereign existences, such as the cities of antiquity were. We have lost in fact, though not in name, our chartered privileges as binding contracts with the state; and the acts which, from time to time, are intended to secure our municipal self-government, although called charters, are constantly subjects to sinister and ill-advised legislative interference. On the other hand, however, we have gained a constitutional polity of state which, to some extent, secures decentralization of political forms of power, and immunity from having a foreign election imposed upon the city government.

—We shall briefly examine the New England town system, the forms of administration of American cities, the advantages of these forms of administration, the defects which flow therefrom, and the possible remedies for these defects.

—The most succinct account of the New England town system is to be found in the last edition of Dillon's Municipal Corporations. He says: "In the New England town proper the citizens administer the general affairs in person at the state or corporate or town meetings, through officers elected by themselves. The towns are charged with the support of schools, for the relief of the poor, the laying out and repairing of highways; and are given power to preserve peace and good order, maintain internal police, and direct and manage generally, in a manner not repugnant to the laws of the state, their prudential affairs. And for defraying these and all necessary and lawful charges, they may levy and collect taxes. The New England town affords, perhaps, an example of as pure democracy as anywhere exists; all of the qualified inhabitants meet and directly act upon and manage and direct the management of their own local concerns. These meetings are held annually in February, or March, or April, and other meetings at such times as the selectmen of the town may order.

—As the town, however, grew populous and large, the system of meetings of the electors in their original capacity became inconvenient and impracticable; and hence, in New England towns gradually merged into cities, and that which was done by the direct meeting of citizens is subsequently attempted to be accomplished by representatives.

—In the case of People vs Detroit, 28 Michigan, 228, we have presented to us a case showing the necessity for a representative system in a populous place. The legislature had provided that an important question should be decided by a vote of the citizens' meeting. Two meetings were held, but the noise, confusion and violence prevented discussion and determination; and this provision had to be repealed.

—In the case of Eastman vs. Meredith, 36 New Hampshire, 284, the distinctive differences between the New England town—indeed, it may be said the American city—and the English municipal corporations, was clearly and well stated by chief justice Perely, who says: "It is to be observed that municipal corporations in England are broadly distinguished, in many marked respects, from towns in this and the other New England states. There is no uniformity in the powers and duties of the English municipal corporations; they were not created and established under any general public law, but the powers and duties of each municipality depe3nded upon its own individual grant or prescription. Their corporate franchises were held of the crown by the tenure of performing the conditions upon which they had been granted, and were liable to forfeiture for breach of the conditions. They, indeed, answered certain public purposes, as private corporations do who have public duties to perform, and some of them exercised political rights; but they are not like towns (or cities) with us—general, political and territorial divisions of the country, with uniform powers and duties defined and varied from time to time by general legislation. Towns in New England do not hold their powers ordinarily under any grant from the government to the individual corporation, or by virtue of any contract with the government, or upon any condition, expressed or implied. They give no standing, in their corporeal capacity, to the laws which impose t6heir public duties or fix their territorial limits." And referring to the case then before the court, he added: "In all that is material to the present inquiry municipal corporations in England bear much less resemblance to our own in this country than to private corporations which are charged with the performance of public duties; and for these reasons the English authorities are but remotely applicable to the present."

—The charters of cities—charters so called, but really mere acts of the legislature of the various states of the Union—are frameworks of government made by the legislature for the city, as a necessity either of the city's growth, or as political party necessity may dictate. The general form is, investing the inhabitants of a particular territorial limit with corporate functions; defining the territory, dividing up the city into wards or districts; fixing the time for holding elections of city officers, setting forth who they shall be and what their functions respectively shall be; enumerating the powers of the city councils, and with more or less precision, the powers of the respective heads of departments; clothing the mayor, or the mayor and the common council, with power of appointment and removal of heads of departments, sometimes with and sometimes with and sometimes without nor, and sometimes with and sometimes without the forms of a trial; clothing the common council with power to punish infringements of its ordinances, and laying down regulations for the grading and opening of streets, and providing a method and machinery of taxation. In many of the states of the Union there are general acts for the incorporation of villages, towns and cities, and in some of the states there are constitutional requirements imposing upon the legislature of the state the passage of such general acts, instead of special incorporations. Ohio, Illinois, Tennessee, Missouri, Indiana, Pennsylvania and Michigan have such general acts for the incorporation of towns cities and villages. The constitutions of several states make provisions against too arbitrary interference with the rights of these localities, so as to secure decentralization of power. (New York and Illinois.) These provisions have, however, failed to accomplish their end.

—Two mistaken roads seem to have been followed in all legislation in this country as to cities, and which have resulted in disaster. Insufficient analysis has prevented our people from seeing that a city is at one and the same time a decentralized portion of the general government of the state and a co-operative organization of property owners for the administration of private property. The mayor, when he enforces an ordinance for the preservation of the public health, or when he sits, as he does in some of the cities, as a civil committing magistrate, punishing those who have committed a crime against the laws of the state and the rights of its citizens, performs a state function at a locality, and is a public state officer deriving his authority from the suffrages of the citizens in whose midst he holds sway. The mayor, when he signs an ordinance for the grading and regulating of a street between certain avenues, involving the payment by the owners of property on such street of an assessment covering the expense thereof, is a mere instrument to make and enforce a contract between property owners for mutual convenience as to such regulation of a street, which by reason of the diversity of interests and the perversity of some exceptionally ill-conditioned human beings, it is inexpedient to leave entirely in the hands of individual property owners; and therefore the law makes contracts through the instrumentality of the mayor for them. The police department of a city is part of the general governmental function of the state. The department of public works, except so much of the activity of that department as may be connected with the care of docks, water-fronts and the removal of encroachments from public highways, is mainly occupied with this general co-operative work for real estate owners in the city. Almost all the larger expenditures of a city government, the consequences of which are imposed as a burden upon property by way of assessment, were, in times not very remote, borne by property owners without calling upon the government to perform that function for them. Not a century ago most of the cities of Europe were not lighted, and persons who desired to enjoy the luxury of a light at night in the streets, either employed servants to walk before them with torches; or, if they wished to afford easy access to their houses at night, they employed servants to stand with torches or hung up lamps before their houses after sundown. When the desire for lighting became general, the character of this service or function was not changed, only instead of each particular property owner bearing his own expense, the city was uniformly lighted, and the expense, borne evenly between the owners of property. At first it was only a few streets that were thus lighted, and the expense borne by the inhabitants of those streets. And thus with paving, sewering and other matters strictly appertaining to the management of real estate, as contradistinguished from governmental functions.

—In applying the doctrine of universal suffrage indiscriminately to the management of mere property interests as well as to governmental functions, a state of affairs has been created in American cities by which the great mass of non-taxpayers and unthrifty inhabitants obtain the control of all these expenditures relating to property, in which they have, it is true, a remote interest, but no direct pecuniary interest, and which puts the tax payers at the mercy of the tax eaters. It gives the handlings of vast sums of money (in the city of New York upward of $30,000,000 a year) to the political organizations of the cities and state; makes the city offices the largest source of revenue to the various political parties; and makes the possession of the more important municipal offices largely the turning point of success or non-success of one or the other political party in the state. Hence, however carefully may have been framed the constitutional provisions intended to prevent the interference by the legislature or of the state officers with the city government, the American politician has found means to make such constitutional provisions almost wholly nugatory and waste paper. For instance, the citizens of a city elect a democratic mayor and a republican, at the head of its public works, and a republican common council. By the organic law of the city government the mayor is clothed with power to remove the chief of public works, and has a large amount of discretionary power in relation to the other departments of the city government, and he is the dispenser of patronage within the city. The republican legislature, determined to have in the hands of its own party the expenditure of the $30,000,000 raised and expended in a city like New York, thereupon passes a law amending the charter of the city of New York, by which, without changing in the least the names of the officers or depriving the citizens of New York of the right to elect their officers, they completely redistribute their functions, strip the mayor of all substantial power, place thenceforth the power of appointment and removal of officers in their republican common council, give to the head of the department of public works all the executive power which had therefore been possessed by the mayor; and while the people still have their mayor whom they have elected, he is a mere shadow, a political form wholly disemboweled, so far as the legislature could effect that result, and his whole vital force transferred to other departments.

—A notable instance of these devices was performed by the charter of 1870. A contest was then waged to dethrone the infamous ring which held sway in the city of New York. The ring became apprehensive that the people might, under the leadership of what was called "the young democracy" oust them from power, toward which the first step had been taken by the removal of Mr. Tweed, who was then deputy street commissioner, by the then street commissioner, Mr. George W. McLane. The loss of his office threatened, of course, his political influence. The Tweed charter was immediately thereupon passed by a legislature subservient to the ring, vacating the office of street commissioner, annihilating the Croton department, vesting all the powers in the commissioner of public works within five days after the passage of the act, and requiring Mr. A. Oakey Hall, the then mayor and one of the ring, to appoint that commissioner. The term of the new commissioner was to be for four years, two years, therefore, beyond the time of the mayor's own election. The common council was stripped of all legislative function, the power of the governor to remove city officers on charges was repealed, and all powers of removal were taken away from the city government. Impeachment was restricted by the condition that the mayor alone could prefer charges; a trial could only be had if every one of the six judges of the common pleas were present; the offices of three of the five heads of departments were granted for five years under the form of appointment by the mayor, and of course it was prearranged who the appointees were to be, to Peter B. Sweeney, Thomas C. Field and Henry Hilton thus superseding Mr. Green and removing Messrs. Stebbins, Russel and Blatchford. The department of police was remodeled and the terms extended to from five to eight years, with the power of the mayor to appoint; and he accordingly appointed Messrs. Henry Smith, B.F. Manierre, Bosworth and Brennan. The departments of health, fire, excise, charity, taxes and building, by an amendment passed a few days later, were also remodeled. Mr. Connolly and Mr. O'Gorman, who had already been respectively the comptroller and corporation counsel, were reappointed for terms extending long beyond the period of the mayor's term for which he was elected. Of the men who were thus appointed many of them proved public thieves. The Mayor, Tweed and Connolly were a board of special audit for the purpose of determining the validity of outstanding bills against the city; and the first result of the amendment to the charter was a meeting on the fifth day of May, 1870, at which an order was made for the payment of six million three hundred and twelve thousand five hundred dollars ($6,312,500) of which only about 10 per cent., as was subsequently shown in evidence in the trials against the ring, had any valid basis whatever. Of these six millions of dollars, Tweed got about 31 per cent., a brother of Sweeny, 10; Watson, 7; 20 went to other parties in the interest of the ring; 33 nominally went to mechanics, but two-thirds of the nominal amount of their bills was inflation and was again subdivided with other knaves. During the year 1870 these public officers of the city of New York stole not less than $15,000,000 outright, and the amount could not have aggregated less than $25,000,000 or $30,000,000. If to the amount stolen outright is added the amount extravagantly and wastefully expended in sinecure offices, the performances of unnecessary work, fraudulent contracts, and what not, it is safe and within the mark to say that one-half of the city debt of $130,000,000 represents absolute plunder. This would have been largely impossible if the line of demarcation had ever been strictly adhered to, of intrusting to the property owners who were immediately to be affected thereby, the expenditure of public moneys relating to property only. Many of the more mischievous legislative interferences with municipal government would have been impossible had the powers to be wielded by public officials, as well as their mere official names and a description of the locality of the voters who are to elect them, been intrenched and imbedded in the constitutions of the states.

—The ills from which New York suffered were borne by other cities of the Union to a lesser extent, but still to some considerable degree. The United States census of 1880 exhibits the startling fact that the total bonded indebtedness of the cities of the United States is $682,096,460, of which the amount created before 1860 is $51,222,598; adding to that sum the whole total of $71,071,140, represented by the refunding of accruing indebtedness during the 20 years, and we have a total of $122,293,738 of indebtedness in 1860, as against $682,096,460 in 1880, "a trembling contribution" not appreciable counterbalanced by either increase of population or increase of wealth during the past 20 years.

—The commission appointed in 1877 by the governor of Pennsylvania say, in their report, "that a carefully prepared table, showing the increase of population, valuation, taxation and indebtedness of 15 of the principal cities of the United States from 1860 to 1875, exhibits the following result: increase in population, 70.5; increase in taxable valuation, 156.9; increase in debt, 270.9; increase in taxation, 363.2." Every increase in population of a city and enlarged area of assessment should normally result in a decrease of debt per capita, and a decrease in taxation: because both the natural increase of the population and the increase in taxable valuation of properties would naturally create economies in all the services rendered to a great city which the municipal administration undertakes to supply.

—To cite a few examples of the growth of debt from 1867 to 1875, we shall take such cities only the public works of which were, in the main, already constructed before 1867. The debt of New York in 1867 was about $33,000,000; in 1875, about $123,000,000. The public debt of Philadelphia in 1867 was $35,000,000; in 1877, $64,000,000. St. Louis, in 1867, about $5,500,000; in 1877, $16,500,000. Pittsburg, in 1867, $3,000,000; in 1877, $13,000,000 Chicago, in 1867, $4,750,000; in 1877, $13,456,000.

—In 1876 a commission was appointed in the state of New York to consider the evils incident to city administrations, and to device a plan for the government of the cities of the state of New York. The commission were unanimously of opinion that some radical change in the method of selecting officers and giving fixity of power in the hands wherein it was lodged for city government, must be made, and that nothing short of constitutional amendments would reach the evil so as to prevent this mischievous legislative interference from year to year. The commission drew attention to the fact that the debt of the city had grown from 1850, when its population was 515,000 and its indebtedness $12,000,000, to $18,000,000 in 1860, and to upward of $100,000,000 in 1871. The expenditures of the city were, in 1853, $3,230,000; in 1870, about $30,000,000. Of this debt, the commission says, "the larger part of it represents a vast aggregate of moneys wasted, embezzled or misapplied." The cost of opening and improving highways or for putting sewers in streets is, of course not included in this vast aggregate of moneys annually levied and debt rolled up, because the cost of those improvements are by way of assessments levied directly again upon the land, and they never figure as part of the ordinary expenditures of the city. The main causes of the existing evils, the commission found to be, first, incompetent and unfaithfully governed boards and officers; secondly, in the introduction of state and national politics into municipal affairs; thirdly, in the assumption by the legislature of the direct control of local affairs. To prove to what proportions the evil of the multiplicity of laws relating to the city of New York had grown, the commission quoted a remark made by chief justice Church in a judicial opinion: "It is clearly unsafe for any one to speak confidently of the exact condition of the law in respect to public improvements in the cities of New York and Brooklyn; the enactments with reference thereto have been modified, superseded and repealed so often and to such an extent that it is difficult to ascertain just what statutes are in force at any particular time." (62 N. Y. R., 459.)

—The remedies suggested by the commission were contained in a series of section of a proposed article of the state constitution, by which the legislature was prohibited from passing any law for the opening, making, paving, lighting or otherwise improving or maintaining streets, etc., and all such authority was conferred absolutely upon the city government; and except by vote of two-thirds of all the members elected to each legislative chamber it could not impose any charge of any kind on any city or civil division of the state. The proposed amendments required that all local work or improvement in any for a city, before it becomes a charge upon the city, shall be passed by the board of aldermen of the city. The legislature was intended to be made powerless to make any change in the organization or in the distribution of powers in the city government or in the terms of tenure of office, unless by an act passed upon the application of both the board of aldermen and of the board of finance, respectively, to be first approved by the mayor; or, in lieu of such application by the city authorities, the act making such a change was to receive the sanction of two successive legislatures. The commission, recognizing the fact that a city administration was in part the administration of private property and in part a government, sought to organize a board of finance, to be elected by payers of upward of $250 rent a year, or owners of $500 worth of property on which taxes are paid. This board of finance, however, was to have no initiative as to expenditure, but simply to exercise a veto power on proposed expenditures by other departments of the city government and a confirming power as to the appointment of the two officers only, the comptroller and the corporation counsel, who, by their combined acts of mal- or non-feasance, might heavily charge the city with debt. The commission, recognizing the fact that the passions engendered by the annually recurring party strife for the election of state officers prevented its citizens from calmly considering the merits of city officers who may at the same time be voted for, recommended and framed a section of the proposed article to secure spring elections, so as to separate city politics from state and national politics. Restrictions were imposed on the creation of debt, and an amendment to the state constitution was suggested, by which minority representation could be fairly tested in city government. This effort at reform failed, because the legislature for 1878 neglected to submit the constitutional amendment to the people. In the interim between the submission of the report, which had been received at the time of its issue with considerable favor, and its proposed submission by the legislature, a demagogic cry of "disfranchisement" had been raised against the scheme, because of the creation of a board of finance; and politicians of both parties were apprehensive that any step taken by them to forward the commission's plan by voting for it in the legislature or aiding in having it submitted to the people might result in harm to them; they therefore united in ignoring the work of the commission in the legislature next succeeding the submission of the report; and it thus failed of adoption.

—Other states, notably Pennsylvania and New Jersey, moved by the same pressure, (Elizabeth, N. J., having actually become insolvent in consequence of the load of its public debt), appointed commissions to devise a plan for the general government of their cities. Both these commissions, warned by the cry which had been raised against the plan of the New York commission by politicians and demagogues, refrained from making any recommendation involving a discrimination, if not a limitation, of the suffrage, as to the financial officers of the city, but in other respects dealt with the subject very much in the same spirit as the New York commission, and the labors of which unfortunately met with the same disastrous result.

—The other mistaken step which has been taken is, that in changing from the pure democracy of the New England town to the representative system, we have not in the representative system preserved the pure democracy by the representation of the whole community, instead of a mere majority.

—The mistaken course here referred to is one from which our representative system suffers as a whole, the most injurious consequences of which are, however, felt where population is most dense Modern democracies must use the representative system for the taking of the sense of the community, for reasons already referred to. While in the representative body so selected, the majority, of course, should govern, it by no means follows that the majority only should be represented; but on the contrary, no true majority government can be had by means of the representative system unless all are represented. All the varieties of minority representation which, since the labors of Mr. Fisher in this country, and Mr. Hare in England, have been suggested, the cumulative plan, the list system, the single vote, the preferential plan, etc., with which students of political economy and government are more or less familiar, have in view the representation of the whole of the community instead of a part; so that taking the sense of the whole instead of a mere majority. Had, by any accident, such a system prevailed in our cities, so that common councilmen and boards of aldermen had been elected upon a general ticket, and each voter had been permitted to vote for but one, or each voter to have as many votes as there were persons to be elected which he could cumulate and distribute as he saw fit, the tax payers could at all times, even without exclusive representation, have secured from among their number a proportion of representatives to sit in the board of councilmen or aldermen. This would have injected into the boards of aldermen or councilmen of cities as conservative element sufficiently powerful to have checked the reckless extravagance and peculations which have marked the administration of American cities within the past generation. Such a reform would not create the prejudice and opposition that is awakened by the suggestion of a limitation of the suffrage; indeed, it is more thoroughly democratic than is the prevailing system, and in all probability American cities will have to look to this method of representation as the only practicable way of securing a reasonably adequate representation in the municipal representative bodies of tax payers or men who have a stake in the community. The tentative efforts that have hitherto been made in the way of minority representation, by giving to the majority party two out of three aldermen to be run in a district and the minority the remaining one, is, on the whole, worse than the prevailing majority system; because it makes a nomination equivalent to an election, and makes the party caucus supreme, as they have nothing to fear from the adverse votes of the people. This system has been tried both in Illinois and in New York, without real success, to reach the deeper seated evils of our municipalities. Every sincere advocate of the reform known under the general term of "minority representation," should repudiate such party representation schemes, as in fact minority representation, and refuse to have the failure consequent upon such efforts laid to the door of totality or minority representation.

—In the New York charter proposed by the committee of seventy for the government of the city of New York, and which failed of adoption by the interposition of governor Hoffman's veto, the plan of minority representation proposed was to create a board of 40 aldermen, electing eight in each of the five senatorial districts in the city of New York by the cumulative plan, giving to each voter in the district eight votes and allowing him to cumulate them upon one or to distribute them among the eight, as he saw fit. This plan was intended to give freedom of election within party lines and would have enabled, had it been adopted, the tax paying voters in the district, independent of party lines, to get together and secure the nomination of at least two or three aldermen in each district: this result would have so disintegrated the political machines that, in all probability, within a short time after its adoption municipal politics would have been independent of federal and state organizations, by the introduction of a set of independent officers in the administration of the city, whose positions were acquired and held independent of the political machinery of both parties.

—The defects of administrative machinery of American cities lies generally, 1. In the appointment of departments not responsible to a central authority. The mayor, though made nominally responsible for the good conduct of the city government, is generally so hampered as to appointments and as to removals from office, that no true responsibility for malfeasance and malversations can be said to attach to him, if the nominally subordinate but really independent officers fail to perform their duty. The objection that is ordinarily raised against clothing the mayor with sufficient power to hold the subordinate officers responsible, is that by means of such power he can secure his own reelection. This evil, formidable as it is, is less mischievous, however, than the one which has been created in its place, the existence of a set of officers elected or appointed without direct responsibility to anybody. 2. The failure to intrust to the legislative body of the city sufficient legislative power. The city of New York is an illustration of this, where the chiefs of any one of the seven principal executive departments have larger discretionary power, greater patronage, and are more important officials than the whole board of aldermen. 3. The arbitrary interference of the legislature with city affairs and city officials, actuated in the main by purely party considerations, or personal interests. This creates such a multiplicity of laws in relation to the city administration that the legal condition of all the departments is one of hopeless confusion, and imposes debt charges one after another upon the inhabitants of a city, upon the assumption or necessity of which they have never had an opportunity to express an opinion.

—The course to be taken to reform these evils is: 1. Constitutional limitation upon the power to create indebtedness; 2. Constitutional inhibition on the legislature to interfere with the cities' administration, unless such legislation is demanded by the inhabitants of a city in some formal manner; 3, Remodeling of city charters so as to center responsibility in the mayor and the board of aldermen, and to subordinate the executive heads of departments to the central executive and to the legislative department of the city; 4, The introduction of minority representation, by which all the citizens may be fully represented in council or aldermanic chambers, or the creation of a board of tax and rent payers in lieu of minority representation, to act as a check upon extravagant expenditure.

—In the cities of Australia, where the democratic spirit has had almost as free scope as in the cities of the Union, a plan has been recently introduced by which, although all citizens are permitted to vote, additional votes are given to the larger tax payers in proportion to the amount of their ratable property. In an elaborate report on this plan made by Sir Charles Dilke and Mr. Ware to the Cobden club in 1875, it is claimed that this system works admirably. It is proper to add, however, that the additional votes arising from increased wealth have been limited to four at most in any one individual, so that the community has no reason to complain of any very serious discrimination in favor of the richer as against the less fortunate citizen.

SIMON STERNE.

CITIES AND TOWNS.

CITIES AND TOWNS. I. How towns originate—Circumstances which determine choice of location or lead to its abandonment. Towns are aggregations of people and of industries, and they are formed under the natural impulsion of certain wants. Their development is in no way arbitrary. Sometimes rulers have entertained the illusion that they had only to pronounce a magniloquent fiat, to make a new city rise and flourish; but experience has rarely failed to convince them that they had presumed too much on their power. Without doubt, a monarch may, by changing the seat of his empire, as did Peter the Great, for example, create a center of population and wealth. The public functionaries of all grades and those who aspire to these positions, being obliged to live in the capital and to expend there their salaries or incomes, necessarily attract around them a population of tradesmen, mechanics and menials; but, unless the new city presents a location favorable for certain branches of production (and in this case the intervention of the government is not necessary in order to found it) there will be no considerable development. Here, however, one exception should be made. If the government continually enlarges its functions, if it centralizes power at the expense of the liberties of the country, and, in consequence, increases the number of persons in its employ, the town where it has established the seat of its power will not fail to grow and to acquire wealth: but it is questionable whether the country will have a reason for self-gratulation, in this case, at the prosperity of its capital. If, on the contrary, the government has only limited powers, if it has but few persons in its employ, its capital, in case no other industry can be advantageously established there, will be forced to occupy a very modest position in comparison with the centers of manufacturing or commercial production. Such is the case with Washington, the capital of the American Union. J. B. Say has clearly shown in his Traité this powerlessness of governments to establish cities and towns and make them prosperous. "It is not sufficient," he says, "to lay out a town and to give it a name, for it to exist in fact, it must be furnished by degrees with industrial talents, with implements, raw materials, and everything necessary to maintain the workmen until their products may be completed and sold; otherwise, instead of founding a town, one has only put up theatrical scenery, which will soon fall, because nothing sustains it. This was the case with Yekaterinoslav, in Taurida, as the emperor Joseph II. foreshadowed, when, after having been invited to lay in due form the second stone of that town, he said to those around: 'I have finished a vast enterprise in one day, with the empress of Russia; she has laid the first stone of a town, and I the last.'

—Nor does moneyed capital suffice to establish a large manufacturing business and the active production necessary to form a town and make it grow: a locality and national institutions which favor that growth are also necessary. There are perhaps some deficiencies connected with the location of the city of Washington, which prevent its becoming a great capital; for its progress has been very slow in comparison with what is common in the United States. While the situation of Palmyra, in former times, rendered it populous and rich, notwithstanding the sandy desert by which it was surrounded, simply because it had become the entrepôt of the commerce of the Orient with Europe. The prosperity of Alexandria and Thebes in Egypt was due to the same cause. The decree of its rulers would not alone have sufficed to make of it a city with a hundred gates and as populous as Herodotus represents it. The key to its importance must be sought in its position between the Red sea and the Nile, between India and Europe. (Treatise on Polit. Econ., by J. B. Say, book ii., chap. 11.)

—Let us now attempt to give a brief outline of the necessities which have determined the establishment of towns and the choice of their location. The necessity of providing a place of security must, more than any other cause, have originally prompted men to create towns. They comprehended that by combining together in fortified places, they would be more secure than while scattered over a vast extent of territory. To this necessity, which was felt by mankind in the earlier ages, were joined the special advantages of manufacturers and commerce. While agricultural production extends, from its nature, over a considerable surface, most of the branches of industrial and commercial production require, on the contrary, a certain concentration. Let any one examine them in the various civilized countries, and he will find they have collected about a few centres. Thus, in France, the silk industry has its principal seats at Lyons and Saint Etienne; the cotton industry at Lille, Rouen and Mulhouse; the wool industry at Rheims, Elbeuf, Sédan, etc.; and the fashions are at Paris. What particular causes have determined the establishment of any industry in any particular locality rather than another, is of itself an interesting subject of investigation. Sometimes it has been the vicinity of the raw material, or of a market, sometimes the special aptitudes of the people, and again a combination of these various circumstances.

—The localization of the industries does not stop here: in the towns where they become established, we see them select certain quarters and certain streets as their centres. This sub-localization by quarters and streets is notably observable in Paris; and one may find some interesting remarks on the subject in the "Investigations (Enquête) in regard to Parisian Industries," undertaken under the auspices of the chamber of commerce.

—"When the industries are destined to provide for daily consumption," we read in the Enquête, "they are located within reach of the consumers; when they contribute their products to commerce, they are situated with especial consideration of the means of production. The industries which supply food are almost all of the former class; those which are devoted to the manufacturer of articles known in trade as Parisian articles—articles de Paris—are in the second. Among the furniture industries there are also certain ones whose work is offered directly to the consumers, and others which are more particularly devoted to manufacture. Consequently we find upholsterers in all parts of the city, while the manufacture of furniture is situated, on the contrary, almost exclusively in the eighth arrondissement, as the making of bronzes is located in the sixth and seventh. Of 1,915 cabinet makers, doing a business of 27,982,950 francs, 1,093, with 19,679,835 francs, are in the eighth arrondissement. And of 257 markers of chairs, doing a business of 5,061,540 francs, 197, with 3,373,950 francs, are also in the eighth arrondissement. To the same arrondissement belongs also the preparation of pelts and leather. The tanneries and the places for dressing leather are nearly all situated in the quarter of the Gobelins, on the banks of the little river which takes this name, on entering Paris. Chemical products are not manufactured much in the heart of Paris, but those which are made there and which require space, water and air, come from the eighth and twelfth arrondissements. Of this number are starch and facula, and candles of wax, spermaceti and tallow. The manufacture of pottery is also found there. Work in the metals and in the construction of machinery is found especially in the eighth, sixth and fifth arrondissments. As to the manufacture of what are generally known as articles de Paris, it extends through the whole of an important part of the city, on the right bank of the Seine, to the north of the streets of Francs-Bourgeois and Saint Merry, and in the belt comprised between the streets Montorgueil and Poissonnière on the west, and the Place des Voges and Roquette street on the east. It is there that are made articles of gold and silver, fine jewelry as well as imitation; there are manufactured the work boxes, reticules, brushes, toys, artificial flowers, umbrellas and parasols, fans, fancy stationery, combs, portfolios, pocket books and all the multitude of various small articles." (Statisque de l'Industrie à Paris. Introduction, pp. 43, 44.)

—The same fact is observable in civilizations which have little analogy with ours. To cite only one example: a Spanish traveler, Don Rodrigo de Vivéro, who gave, in 1608, an interesting description of Yeddo, the capital of Japan, mentions this distribution of the industries through certain quarters and streets as the most salient feature which had attracted his attention. "All the streets," he says, "have covered galleries, and each one is occupied by persons of the same business. Thus the carpenters have one street, the tailors another, the jewelers another, etc. The tradesmen are distributed in the same manner. Provisions are also sold in places appropriated to each kind. Lastly, the nobles and important personages have a quarter by themselves. This quarter is distinguished 57 by the armorial bearings, sculptured or painted over the doors of the houses." (Memorials of the Empire of Japan in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, edited by Thomas Randall.) With the exception of a few slight differences, is not this description applicable to most of the capitals of Europe? Thus the same economic necessities are felt in the most varied civilizations, and give them a common impress.

—Numerous causes, however, are constantly at work, to change the location of industries, and in consequences, of the centres of population supported by these industries. The ordinary result of every industrial or commercial improvement is to change the place of production. When the route around the cape of Good Hope was discovered, Venice lost much of her importance. Later, the invention of machines for spinning and weaving cotton built up the prosperity of Manchester at the expense of that of Benares and other cities of India, which had previously been the centres of cotton manufactures. In like manner we to-day see steam locomotion give rise to new cities or communicate an impulse to old ones which were remaining stationary. The city of Southampton, for example, acquired in a few years considerable importance, because its port was thought well adapted to be a center to some lines of ocean steamers. Let a new system of navigation appear, and perhaps Southampton will be abandoned for another port whose situation is more in harmony with the particular requirements of the new system. Thus cities and towns experience, to their advantage or detriment, the influence of causes which modify from day to day the conditions of existence and production.

—We said above that governments have only in a feeble measure the power to create new towns, and, above all, to render them prosperous. We might add that neither do they possess to any higher degree the power of destroying existing towns or changing their location. In vain did the victorious barbarians employ fire and sword in the cities they had conquered; in vain did they plow up the ground of these proscribed cities and sow salt thereon: as it was not in their power to destroy the natural advantages which had led the people to center there, in a few years the mischief was repaired and life circulated more freely than ever in the very places that a foolish pride had devoted to eternal solitude. Trammels on the free circulation of men and things have unfortunately been more efficacious than projectiles or incendiary torches, in destroying the centres of population and wealth. Many a flourishing city has been transformed into a veritable necropolis by restrictions depriving it of its commerce or of a market for its products. In the seventeenth century we find a notable instance of this. The Dutch, jealous of the prosperity of Antwerp, succeeded in obtaining the closing of the Scheldt and this barbarous measure, which was continued in force for two centuries, gave a mortal blow to the commerce of Antwerp and to the industries of the Flemings, of which the Antwerp merchants had been the active intermediary agents. More recently, we have seen the port of Bordeaux, formerly one of the most frequented in France, deserted in consequence of the prohibitory system.

—Population and wealth are not alone changed by transference from one town to another; they change from place to place in the same town. New quarters arise within the towns or in their suburbs, while the old are abandoned and fall to decay. These local changes are brought about by causes, manifest or latent, whose action modifies in course of time the necessities or conveniences which had determined the choice of the first location. General advance in security may be considered the most important of these causes.

—Let us dwell a moment on this point.

—The old towns of Europe were, for the most part, built on elevated plateaus or on hills more or less steep; so that their inhabitants had constantly to ascend and descend, which occasioned a considerable waste of force in the daily transportation. Besides, these towns were usually restricted to a narrow enclosure, the dwellings pressed upon one another like the cells in a hive. Why was it that our ancestors dwelt in a manner so devoid of economy, so uncomfortable, and sometimes so unhealthy? To explain this curious fact we must take into account the condition of Europe after the invasion of the barbarians. Insecurity was then universal. The conquerors had built retreats for themselves in the most inaccessible places, and they darted forth from these vulture nests, over the neighboring regions, to pillage or levy contributions. Too weak to resist, the former inhabitants of the country, who were the victims of their depredations, compounded with them, as one compounds with bandits in countries where the government is without power. They secured the protection of the most powerful bands by paying them a regular tribute, and they had their dwellings as near as possible to their protectors. They generally settled around strong castles, so as to be able to take refuge in them in case of danger. The first houses were situated just below the castle, and the others were disposed lower and lower in succession on the slope, like an amphitheatre. As soon as the inhabitants became sufficiently numerous, they surrounded their city with walls and towers to complete their system of defense. Thus were built most of the towns which originated in the middle ages.

—When we consider the necessities of the times, the narrowness of the streets is also explicable. It was due to the fact that the fortifications had been made within as restricted a circle as possible, in order to make the defense more easy and at less cost. When the population increased, they were consequently obliged to build their houses higher and to diminish the width of the streets, in order to keep within their original limits. Sometimes, indeed, they moved the walls back; but it was only as a last resort that they submitted to a measure so costly.

—But by degrees general security increased. The feudal system disappeared, and with it intestine wars ended. Then began a movement which resulted in changing the location of the city population. From the heights to which care for their safety had obliged them to confine themselves, they descended to the plains, where they could dwell more comfortably and at less expense. The faubourgs owe their origin to that increase of security which allowed peaceable men engaged in the industries to live henceforth outside of fortifications. This progress has not yet been realized everywhere. The Calabrian peasants,58 for example, instead of dwelling in the open country, are obliged to remain in the towns, to be safe from the bandits who infest the country. We select the following fact from the correspondence of Paul-Louis Courier: "In Calabria at present," he says, "there are woods of orange trees, forests of olive, hedges of lemon. All these are on the coast and only near towns. Not one village, not one house in the country: it is uninhabitable, for lack of government and laws. But how do they cultivate it? You will say. The peasant lodges in the city and tills the suburbs; setting out late in the morning, and returning before evening. How could anyone venture to sleep in a house in the country? He would be slain the first night." (Paul-Louis Courier, Correspondence. Letter to M. de Sainte-Croix, dated at Miletus, Sept. 12, 1806.)

—Accelerated, moreover, by another cause, which we shall consider later, this displacement of the town population has become generally more and more general: everywhere we see the inhabitants of the old towns leave the abodes they have dwelt in for ages, to occupy new homes, less expensive, more commodious and more healthful.

—II. Of the proportion between city or town and country population—Causes which determine and modify it. The foundation and choice of location of cities and towns are determined, as we have just seen, by the state of civilization and of the arts of production. The same is true of the proportion between the population and wealth of towns and of rural districts. This proportion is essentially diverse and variable. It differs according to the countries and the time. When production has made little progress, when men are obliged, in consequence, to employ the greater part of the productive forces at their disposal in procuring for themselves the necessities of life, the industries which provide for less urgent wants can not be developed, for lack of consumers. The towns where these industries center because of their nature and their special fitness for them, progress in that case only with extreme slowness. It is then in countries and at times when production, and especially agricultural production, has realized the most progress, that the town population must be, and in fact is, the greatest.

—Let us take for examples two countries whose positions in the scale of production are very unlike, viz., England and Russia. In England, where the town population exceeds by far the rural population, the number of families engaged in agriculture was estimated in 1840 at only 961, 134, while that of families engaged in manufactures, commerce, etc., was 2,453,041. The 961,134, families engaged in agriculture furnished 1,055,982 effective laborers, who produced enough food to sustain the greater part of the English people. In countries where agriculture is less advanced, two or three times as many hands, relatively, are required to give an equivalent product: and the natural result is that the town population can not be so numerous. The backward state of Russian agriculture is certainly the primary cause of the small growth of urban population in Russia. The peculiar organization of the industries there has also had somewhat to do with the result.

—"The manufacture of small articles," says M. Tegoborski, "such as are made in the various trades, is located, in Russia, in the rural districts rather than in the towns: it is carried on by village communities, which take the product of their labor to the fairs: this is why the fairs in Russia are of more importance than in other countries. In other countries the workmen in the towns, for the most part, supply the demands of the rural districts: with us, it is often the reverse, and the shoemakers, joiners, and locksmiths of the villages provide for the wants of the townsmen. * * * Any one may obtain convincing proof of this lack of artisans in Russia, in most of our towns, by examining the statistics of the trades of other countries and taking some of the most common as a basis of comparison. Thus, for example, in Prussia, the trades of shoemakers, glovemakers, joiners, wheelwrights, glaziers, blacksmiths, locksmiths and braziers numbered, in 1843, 322,760 masters and journeymen for a population of 15,471,765, being 21 workmen to 1,000 inhabitants: and when we take the statistics of the towns, this proportion rises in the large towns, to 40 workmen, masters and journeymen, belonging to these various trades, to 1,000 inhabitants of the total town population, which is three, four, or even more times the proportion we find in the towns of Russia." (Etudes sur les forces productives de la Russie.)

—In our day improvements which effect an economic change in production result in a rapid increase of the town population. From what has heretofore been said we may conceive that it would be so. "In France, for example," says M. Alf. Legoyt, "the population increased, from 1836 to 1851, 6.68 per cent. For the entire period, or 0.44 per cent. per annum. In 166 towns having 10,000 souls and over, the increase in the same interval was 24.24 per cent. or 1.616 per cent. a year. In 10 years the increase of the town population was then 16 per cent., while that of the total population was only 6 per cent. (Mouvement de la population de la France pendant l'année 1850, par Alf. Legoyt. Annuaire de l'Economie politique et de la statistique pour 1852.

—The case is similar in England. According to the tables of the last census, the town population of Great Britain (England and Scotland), which was in 1801 only 3,046,371, attained in 1851 the number of 8,410,021. This is an increase of 176 per cent., while the total increase of the population in the same period, was only 98 per cent. And if we observe in what towns the increase has been the most considerable, we find in the first place the great manufacturing towns and the commercial ports. While the population of the county towns increased only 122 per cent., that of the manufacturing ones increased 224 per cent., and that of the seaports, London excepted, 195 per cent. In the towns devoted especially to iron industries, the increase was 289 per cent., and in the centres of cotton manufacture, 282 per cent. Every improvement in the arts of production can only accelerate this increase of the town population. Should we lament it, or rejoice at it? This is a much contested question, but the economists agree in deciding it in favor of the cities. Adam Smith and J. B. Say, notably, prove that the multiplication and the enlargement of towns are desirable, even looking at the matter with reference to the interests of the rural districts. Adam Smith, who examined this subject with his usual penetration, concludes that the rural districts have derived three principal benefits from the development of manufacturing and commercial towns. "1. By affording a great and ready market for the rude produce of the country, they gave encouragement to its cultivation and further improvement. This benefit was not even confined to the countries in which they were situated, but extended to all those with which they had any dealings. 2. The wealth acquired by the inhabitants of cities was frequently employed in purchasing such lands as were to be sold, of which a great part would frequently be uncultivated. Merchants' are commonly ambitious of becoming country gentlemen; and when they do, they are generally the best of all improvers. A merchant is accustomed to employ his money chiefly in profitable projects; whereas a mere country gentleman is accustomed to employ it chiefly in expense, etc. 3, and lastly. Commerce and manufacturers gradually introduced order and good government, and, with them, the liberty and security of individuals, among the inhabitants of the country, who had before lived almost in a continual state of war with their neighbors, and of servile dependency upon their superiors." (Wealth of Nations, by Adam Smith, book iii., chap. 4. How the commerce of the towns contributed to the improvement of the country.)

—The development of the town population is not then a fact at which we need be troubled. Doubtless temptations are greater and bad examples more numerous in town than in the country; but how much more abundant and within the reach of all are the means of enlightenment and moral improvement! The statistics of criminal justice show, that the town population does not furnish a proportionally greater contingent of criminals than the rural population; and yet it is worthy of note that the police is much more effective in towns than it can be in the rest of the country.

—The following are the statistics in regard to this matter, of the administration of justice in France, from 1826 to 1850: "More than three-fifth of those charged with offenses had a domicile; 612 in 1,000 resided in the rural communes; 388 dwelt in the town communes. In the entire population, the proportionate number of the inhabitants of towns is not perfectly ascertained; but approximate estimates put it at only one-fifth of the total population. The preceding proportions differ according to the nature of the crimes. Of 1,000 charged with offenses against individuals, only 566 were inhabitants of the rural communes; 434 dwelt in towns. If we investigate the various kinds of crimes, we find variations still greater. Among those charged with incendiaries, the highest number, relatively, is found to be from the inhabitants of the rural districts; next come those charged with poisoning, infanticide, false testimony, parricide, and obtaining titles and signatures by compulsion. These are probably the only crimes in which the country people have a larger share than they should have, considering their total number in the whole population. The proportion of country people charged with political crimes, abortion, robbery, forgery, counterfeiting money, violation of the person and criminal outrages upon children, is, on the contrary, very small. (Report of the minister of justice, Annuaire de l'Economie politique et de la statistique pour 1853, p. 108.)

—The same improvements which increase the town population, tend also to improve their dwellings. Under the influence of improved security, we have seen towns descend from the summit of plateaus and the sides of hills, to the plains: we shall see them, according to all appearances, extend over a wider and wider surface, as means of communication become less expensive and more rapid. Great improvements have already been realized in this direction. As well as in the cleanliness and repair of streets, and the internal comfort of dwellings and economy in their management. Who can predict what the future may yet have in store for us?

—III. The administration of cities and towns—What it is, and what it ought to be Towns have commonly an administration of their own. Sometimes each quarter even has its own. This administration emanates sometimes from a superior authority, in other cases from the inhabitants of the city. This latter mode of choice, which obliges the administrative body to answer for its acts to those under its jurisdiction, is ordinarily the better. As to the course to pursue in order to govern a city well, it does not differ from that which should be pursued in the government of a nation. A city government, like a national one, should exercise only such functions as can not be left to the competition of private citizens. Now these functions are not numerous, and they become less and less so, as progress causes the obstacles to disappear which either prevent or obstruct the action of competition. In fact, whatever the zeal or the devotion of a municipal administration, it is not in the nature of things that the services which are performed by the common organization of a city should be of as much importance as those which are left to private individuals. Doubtless the desire to merit public consideration should incite those who administer the government to do well: but does this motive ever prove as powerful as the interest which stimulates private enterprise? We may prefer the intervention of municipalities to that of the government for the organization of certain branches of service, and the establishment and maintenance of certain regulations of public utility; but it is well, as far as possible, to dispense with both.

—Unfortunately, municipal administrations have the defect of all governments; they like to assume importance, and, with that view, they are constantly enlarging their powers and, in consequence, the amount of their expenses. In our times they are especially possessed with a mania for undertaking public works and buildings. They appear convinced that by demolishing old quarters at the expense of new; by raising edifices upon edifices; by giving, on the least pretext, balls, concerts, and grand displays of fire works, they contribute effectively to the prosperity and greatness of their cities. Need we say that they are going directly away from the end they wish to attain? These public works, these edifices, these sumptuous entertainments, cost dear, and recourse must always be had at last to taxes, to cover the expenses. Then they tax a multitude of things which serve to feed, clothe, shelter and warm the population, among whom exists a class, unfortunately the most numerous, who barely possess the means of providing for the absolute necessities of existence. In a word, the expense of city living is artificially increased. And with what result? Population and manufactures remove as far as possible from a locality where lavish public officers have permanently established high prices: they settle in preference outside the limits where that economic pest rages. And (and it is a point worthy of note) this change of location, so fatal to landowners in the old towns, has become more and more easy. At a time when lack of security forced people to concentrate in localities which nature had fortified and where art came to the aid of nature, when, on the other hand, the difficulty of constructing artificial ways of communication and maintaining them in good condition rendered the natural ways, such as navigable rivers more valuable, the number of locations suited to become centres of population, was very limited. At the same time the slowness with which private dwellings and public edifices were constructed, (years were sometimes devoted to the building of a house, and centuries to the construction of a cathedral), condemned the people who changed their location, to endless privations and discomforts. Circumstances combined to give existing towns, considered as places of residence, a veritable natural monopoly. But, influenced by the progress already mentioned, this monopoly is disappearing more and more, and as a result, it daily becomes more easy for the people to rid themselves of the burden which a bad administration imposes upon them. Nor do they neglect to do so; for we see them abandoning towns where the expenses of living is too great, (commencing in the quarters less favorably situated), and enlarging the faubourgs or creating, farther away, new centres of activity and wealth. Thus, by drawing largely on the purses of tax payers and unscrupulously issuing any number of bills of credit on future generations, prodigal executives, far from adding to the prosperity of their cities, end by precipitating them into inevitable ruin. Economy in expense should be the supreme rule in the government of cities, as well as in the government of nations. By observing this rule, much more than by increased demolitions, constructions, and festivities, municipal administrations may acquire serious and lasting claims to public gratitude.

E. J. LEONARD, Tr.
G. DE MOLENARI. [original reads "Molenari" but probably typo for "Molinari".—Econlib Ed.]

CIVIL ADMINISTRATION

CIVIL ADMINISTRATION. In its broadest sense, in public affairs, administration means the carrying of the government into effect, by the practical exercise of its authority, through the several officials for which it has provided, and in conformity to the constitution and the laws. But according to a usage quite general, administration only refers to those functions of government which are exercised through the executive and judicial department. "The administration" is a phrase used, popularly, in this country, to designate, collectively, those officials—being the president and the members of his cabinet—who advise together in the conduct of the executive department. In Great Britain the phrase is used in much the same sense, except that there—the members of the cabinet, of which the number is not fixed by custom, having seats in parliament, and the usage being in other respects somewhat different—the administration takes the lead in the most important measures of legislation as well as in executive affairs. And, generally, its members resign in case of an adverse vote of parliament upon one of those measures.

—The constitution of the United States vests the executive power in the president alone, and also makes him commander-in-chief of the army and the navy, and of the militia when in actual service. Neither the constitution nor laws of the United States, or those of Great Britain, make provision for members of a cabinet, or for any meetings of officials, in the nature of the cabinet meetings which regularly take place in both countries. Yet these meetings consider the most important questions, and practically guide the executive policy, both foreign and domestic, of both nations. No official records are kept of these meetings, and they are without formal legal sanction of any kind. In legal contemplation, the paramount responsibility, in matters of administration, with us, rests upon the president alone, and in England upon the king. The constitution of the United States, however, authorizes the president to require the opinion in writing of the principal officer in each of the executive departments upon any subject relating to the duties of their respective offices, which strongly tends to harmonize efficiency of administration. But, on the other hand, large and varied authority has been conferred by law upon the heads of the respective departments, which such offices exercise directly, if not quite independently of the president: a course of legislation which has tended to impair the harmony and vigor of the administration, and to augment the influence of congress at the expense of the executive.

—In the civilized states of modern times public administration is carried forward under three divisions—civil, military and naval—each directly in charge of officials, in legal contemplation at least, selected in reference to their special fitness for their duties. Convenient and salutary as these divisions are proved to be, they have been fully developed only in modern times and as the ripest fruits of political civilization; Greece, Rome, and the other great nations of antiquity, having established them only in a very limited degree. In fact, these divisions are not complete nor can they be made so, in the most enlightened states; the provisions of our constitution, under which the same legislation body makes laws and the same executive gives orders for each of the three divisions, mark their essential limitations and their ultimate union in every country.

—The division of civil administration into three great departments—the legislative, judicial and executive—is equally the result of a slow development, which has been made complete only in the most enlightened states of modern times. In no state of ancient times did these divisions exist, except in a very imperfect form; and everywhere at the present time the completeness of these divisions measures the degree of liberty and justice which government secures.

—In Russia and Turkey, for example the separation exists only in rudimentary form; the executive department subordinating both the others. Even in Great Britain the appellate judicial power of the house of lords and the union of judicial and executive functions in the lord chancellor are strikingly incompatible with the principle of separate departments.

—No-where is this separation theoretically more complete than under our constitutions, both state and federal. Yet we allow several striking exceptions. The consent of the executive, in analogy to that of a king, is necessary to give validity to a legislative enactment, except that the legislature may give the force of law to its acts by a two-thirds vote over an executive veto. The senate and the executive co-operate in the making of treaties and in appointments to office, (see CONFIRMATION BY THE SENATE), and the senate, with the chief justice of the supreme court acting as presiding officer, is the judicial body for the trial of impeachments; thus following the analogy of the British house of lords. The legislatures of various states in earlier years were authorized to grant divorces. In the same spirit congress is authorized by the constitution to make rules for the government and regulation of the land and naval forces—a power, perhaps, essentially executive, and easily brought in conflict with the constitutional authority of the president as commander-in-chief. The same observations might be extended to the power claimed and exercised by congress of making rules and regulations—and of authorizing heads of departments to make and enforce them—for the government of the civil service. These rules and regulations may readily be made to impair the essential functions and independence of the executive, and they have constantly tended to that result.

—It hardly need be pointed out that all the reasons which, in their creation, required these three great departments in the government, also required that, in the development of the administration, their due proportion and counterpoise should be maintained. Upon the preservation of the equilibrium in which they stand in the constitution the strength and perpetuity of the government depend.

—While there have been no deliberate changes under our system, which have materially affected the relative influence of the departments, the administrative methods, which have prevailed since Jackson's presidency, have steadily tended to subordinate the executive to the legislative department. More and more, members of congress have usurped the control of appointments and removals in the executive departments; and more and more the members of the senate have used their authority in the matter of confirmations, for the purpose of coercing all appointments, for service in the states they represent, in their own interests or that of their political party. (On these points see CONFIRMATION BY THE SENATE, SPOILS SYSTEM, PATRONAGE, CIVIL SERVICE REFORM.

—Under no form of government is civil administration, in its principal arrangements, so complicated as under a republic like that of the United States; though the criminal and repressive methods under despotic institutions are far more complicated than under our institutions. The greater liberty enjoyed in a republic is incompatible with those centralized, direct and coercive methods which exist under despotic systems. But beyond these facts, the existence of state governments leads to a duplication of departments and to administrative methods unknown under other forms of government. Not only is the official force thus vastly increased, and the sources of responsibility multiplied, but all questions growing out of the relations of public offices to political parties are made more complicated and embarrassing. True, partly issues are national, and yet there is generally something like a state party; so that both state and national officials are subject to duplicate, if not incompatible claims of allegiance and duty. These facts have also greatly facilitated that partisan despotism and that vicious dealing with appointments and removals which have disgraced our administrative system. (See SPOILS. SYSTEM CONFIRMATION BY THE SENATE.)

—Regarding civil administration in the United States, even in that limited sense which excludes the legislative department, it falls under three classes—federal, state and municipal; and, in addition, there are the systems of country and town administration.

—In each of these classes, three fundamental divisions—legislative, judicial and executive—exist, though in an imperfect form in most municipalities. In each of these classes and divisions, and in dealing with the great variety and vast number of official places, all the perplexing and unsettled questions of administration arise. How far are political opinions of officeholders material? To what extent, if at all, may an officer use his official influence in aid of his party? What qualifications for office should be insisted upon? How shall fit qualifications for office be ascertained? How long should be the official terms of the various offices? (See TENURE OF OFFICE.) What should be regarded as good causes of removal? (See REMOVALS.) Should officials be protected against political assessments? (See ASSESSMENTS.) What officers should give security for their good behavior? What claims has a political party, in the majority, to have its opinions represented in official places? To what extent are our administrative organizations and methods the best that are practicable under our constitutions and in the present state of political intelligence and virtue?

—The last question is a great and vital issue in administrative affairs, and it raises inquiries as scientific, philosophical and important as any that can arise in politics. Yet it has not been discussed in our literature; a fact which, taken in connection with the diverse tenures of officers having the same functions, and the discordant methods of doing public work of the same kind in the different states and municipalities, furnishes the most decisive evidence of our neglect of administrative problems, and of the need of making them the subjects of our discussions and of the teaching in our institutions of learning. The judges of our state courts, for example—some of them elective and some appointive—hold under a motley variety of terms, varying from a single year in some states to good behavior in others. There is the greatest variety in the organization and methods of our city governments, and in their official service; yet the subject has received no thorough or scientific discussion. There is probably no people, equally enlightened, who have given so little thoughtful attention to administrative questions, and no statesmen who have so much neglected them, as those of this country. And, as a natural consequence, the people of the United States, while they are better satisfied, perhaps, than any other with the principles of the government under which they live, yet complain more than any other free people of the character of the administration they tolerate. Our history suggests a belief on our part that republican institutions have saving virtues which supersede the need of the thoughtful attention of statesmen and patriots being given to administrative methods; a belief as delusive as it is foreign to the convictions of our early statement. Washington, expressing the views of his contemporaries, felt the need of a national university, of which he declared, in a message, "a primary object should be the education of our youth in the science of government. In a republic what species of knowledge can be so important?" he asks. And in his last will, he left a bequest in aid of such an institution, in which instruction, "in the principles of politics," were to be taught. Such convictions gave birth to the military school at West Point and to the naval school at Annapolis, which have prevented those branches of the public service from becoming the prey of partisans; but the principles of civil administration having never been the subject of instruction, the civil part of the administration has readily become the spoils of party warfare. Our youth inclined to politics have drawn their theories of public administration from the caucus, the convention, and the secret councils of spoils system politics, while our thoughtful men have neglected administrative affairs altogether, holding them to be ignoble or unimportant. In the meantime these affairs have developed a potency and a corruption, which, while almost revolutionizing the character of the government, have deprived character, attainments and true statesmanship of their just influence in political and official life.

—As a people we are beginning to comprehend that the practical benefits of a government are far more dependent upon the manner in which it is administered than the last generation believed. We are taking notice, more than ever before, that some great principles underline the sphere of administration which deserve the attention of statesmen and thinkers, because they involve the conditions of political morality and national safety. The more advanced nations of Europe have earlier apprehended these vital facts. For quite a century—from Burke to Gladstone—nearly every eminent English statesman (and much the same have been the facts in France and the other leading states of Europe,) has given careful study to administrative problems. But in this country, since the framers of the original constitutions, hardly a statesman, except Mr. Jencks of Rhode Island, has made a study of such subjects. It is therefore a hopeful sign that many thoughtful minds now (1881) turn to them as involving the prosperity if not the life of the nation. Two of the higher institutions of learning—Columbia college, New York city, and Michigan university—have, with in the present year, taken measures for opening a course of instruction in political science, in which the methods of good administration are to have a leading place. And, within the last six months, associations for creating a more enlightened public opinion on this subject have been formed by patriotic citizens in as many as fifteen different places, including the larger cities, in eight different states of the Union, beginning with New York, where the greatest abuses have existed.

DORMAN B. EATON.

CIVIL LIST.

CIVIL LIST. This expression, by which is meant the sum allotted for the annual expenses of the crown, is of English origin, and goes back to the reign of Charles II., when parliament assigned him a revenue of £1,200,000. The civil list exists only in constitutional states, where financial measures are submitted to the vote and control of the people's representatives. An absolute sovereign has no civil list, and needs none, since he disposes of the public revenues at will. But even absolute governments, when they permit the publication of a budget, have to include a special provision for the private expenses of the prince. The civil list is usually a fixed amount for the whole duration of the reign; and if it is voted every year, this is simply a formality. The prince is not obliged to render any account of the use he makes of his civil list.

—The amount of the civil list, or the allowance for the prince, is naturally in proportion to the importance of the state. The relative proportion is, however, not always the same, because, on the one hand, more or less account is taken of the revenues of the national domains or of the crown, which are at the disposal of the sovereign, and on the other, because all countries are not equally rich.

—According to calculations made for 19 countries the proportion of the amount of the civil list to the net amount of the budget varies from 0.86 to 18 per cent. For great nations, such as England, Austria, France, Prussia, the Netherlands and Belgium, the proportion does not reach 3 per cent.

—The first civil list in France dates from the time of Louis XVI., and was fixed, in 1790, at 25,000,000 francs, this sum being confirmed by decree of May 26, of the following year. Under Louis XIV. the expenses of the court had reached 45,000,000 francs. Nevertheless, Versailles, together with Trianon and Marly, constructed for the pleasure of the king, had cost fully 157,000,000 francs, from 1674 to 1690. Article 10, of the constitution of Sept. 3, 1791, (part III., chap. ii., sec 1) which contains the principle of a fixed civil list, is couched in the following terms: "The nation provides for the becoming maintenance of the throne by a civil list, whose dimensions shall be determined at each change of reign for the whole duration of such reign by the legislative body." Napoleon, as life consul, had only 500,000 francs per year to defray the cost of representation. When emperor, he received 25,000,000 francs, the sum paid Louis XVI., plus 3,000,000 francs for the appanage of his family. These sums do not include the summer residences and other domains of the crown. To the civil list maintained at 25,000,000 francs under the restoration, there were added 8,000,000 francs for the royal family. The law of March 2, 1832, gave Louis Philippe only 12,000,000 francs. The duke of Orleans, heir apparent, obtained an annual allowance of 1,000,000 francs, which was doubled after his marriage. Besides, the law stipulated that in case the private list was insufficient, the allowances of the sons and daughters of the king should be regulated by special laws. In this manner a portion of 1,000,000 francs was given the queen of the Belgians. The civil list of Napoleon III. reached the old figure of 25,000,000 francs, in virtue of a senatus-consultum, Dec. 11, 1852. As under the first empire, certain expenses of the civil list may be met by special funds.

—Upon the £1,200,000 of England's first civil list, in 1660, the sovereign was obliged to maintain the army both by land and sea, so that there remained to him but £462,115, the amount in 1676. The same system was pursued, with more or less modification, under the following reigns. Since 1831 the civil list, however, has only to provide pensions and relief outside of the regular expenses of the crown. Its receipts during 1855-6 were £396,457 plus the patrimonial revenues of Lancaster and Cornwall, estimated to be £50,000. The allowance of the late Prince Albert, husband of the queen, was £30,000. "It is established by 1-2 Vict., c. 2, that during queen Victoria's reign, all the revenues of the crown shall be a part of the consolidated fund, but that a civil list shall be assigned to the queen. In virtue of this act, which received the royal sanction Dec. 23, 1837, the queen has granted to her an annual allowance of £385,000 'for the support of her majesty's household, and of the honor and dignity of the crown of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.' By the same statute the application of this allowance is limited in a prescribed form. The lords of the treasury are directed to pay yearly £60,000 into her majesty's privy purse; to set aside £231,206 for the salaries of the royal household; £44,240 for retiring allowances and pensions to servants, and £13,200 for royal bounty, alms and special services. This leaves an unappropriated surplus of £36,300, which may be applied in aid of the general expenditure of her majesty's court. It is provided that whenever the civil list charges in any year exceed the total sum of £400,000, an account of the expenditure, with full particulars, shall be laid before parliament within 30 days. The queen has also paid to her the revenues of the duchy of Lancaster, which in the year 1879 amounted to £76,186, being £498 less than in the preceding year. The salaries, law charges, taxes, charities and other disbursements in 1879, amounted to £30,900, and the payment made to her majesty for the year was £41,000, or £3,000 less than in the preceding year. The payment to her majesty in 1867, amounted to £29,000; in 1869-71 to £31,000; in 1872 to £40,000; in 1873 to £41,000; in 1874 to £42,000; in 1875 to £41,000; in 1876 to £43,000; in 1877 to £45,000; and in 1878 to £47,657.

—The annual grant of £385,000 to her majesty is paid out of the consolidated fund, on which are charged likewise the following sums allowed to members of the royal family; £25,000 a year to the duke of Edinburgh; £25,000 to the duke of Connaught; £8,000 to Prince Leopold, £8,000 to princes Friedrich Wilhelm of Prussia; £6,000 to princes Christian of Schleswig-Holstein; £6,000 to princes Louise, marchioness of Lorne; £6,000 to the duchess of Cambridge, £3,000 to the grand-duchess of Mecklenburg Strelitz; £5,000 to princes Teck, formerly princess Mary of Cambridge; and £12,000 to duke George of Cambridge.

—The heir-apparent of the crown has, by 26 Vict., c. 1, settled upon him an annuity of £40,000. The prince of Wales has, besides, as income, the revenues of the duchy of Cornwall. Previous to the year 1840 these revenues amounted to between £11,000 and £16,000 per annum; but since that period they have greatly risen. The income of the duchy of Cornwall in the year 1879 was £96,781, the salaries and other expenses came to £28,054, and the sum of £65,258 was paid over for the use of the prince of Wales. In 1867 the sum paid over amounted to £54,927; in 1870 to £62,547; in 1871 to £62,484; in 1873 to £62,515; in 1874 to £65,901; in 1875 to £67,141; in 1876 to £70,375; and in 1877 to £96,860. The princess of Wales has settled upon her, by 26 Vict., cap. 1, the annual sum of £10,000, to be increased to £30,000 in case of widowhood. Both the parliamentary grants of the prince and princes of Wales are paid out of the consolidated fund, which bears a total yearly charge of £156,000 for annuities to members of the royal family."59

—In the German states, where the feudal system took deepest root, the expenses of sovereigns and their families were chiefly defrayed by the income from allodial estates. These amount to considerable sums, in certain countries, even to-day. In Austria a wealthy nobility, surrounding the sovereign, compose for him a brilliant court at small cost to himself. His civil list is 7,300,000 florins. In 1862 it was 6,127,200 florins, and before 1856, 6,420 623 florins. 1,500,000 florins of the present amount (1872) are for the allowance of the royal family, and nearly 500,000 florins for unforeseen expenses.

—In Prussia, as in Bavaria, Wurtemburg and a few duchies, the amount for the civil list is raised almost entirely from the income of domainal estates In the first of these kingdoms it is 4,495,278 thalers. Any real property that the king may acquire returns to the crown, as in France. Frederic II. himself fixed his civil list at 220,000 thalers, not only for his private expenses, but also for whatever presents he might have to make. In consequence of the creation of the German empire and the annexations of 1866, the allowance of the king of Prussia has been increased by a million since 1871, but for the German emperor no provision is made on this score.

—In Bavaria, a law of July 1, 1834, fixed the civil list permanently at 2,350,580 florins. But there are appanages, allowances and dowries, regulated by the family statute of Aug. 5, 1819. The civil list and appanages amount to 3,156,807 florins in the budget of 1873. In Wurtemburg the civil list is 913,059 florins per year (1872). In the kingdom of Saxony the domains of the crown constitute a trust committed by the king to the government in return for a civil list amounting, in 1862, to 864,000 thalers or 23 per cent. more than in 1831; 570,000 thalers constitute the civil list properly so called, and the surplus is composed of 30,000 thalers for the queen's private purse, 235,000 for appanages of the royal family, and 29,000 for the expense of maintaining public collections. In the budget of 1872-3 we find the figures to be only 675,000 thalers.

—In the grand duchy of Saxe-Weimar the domain assigned to the crown and directly maintaining it gives the sovereign a civil list of 250,000 thalers, nearly half the budget of the state. The duchies of Saxe-Gotha and Saxe-Altenburg have respectively civil lists of 115,892 and 100,700 thalers. As in the case of the grand duchy of Saxe-Weimar, the grand duke of Oldenburg and the duke of Brunswick are supported by the domains of the crown.

—In the budget of 1857 for the grand duchy of Baden, the civil list amounted to 985,419 florins, and in the following year to 1,085,226 florins, whereas we find it reduced to 838,204 florins in 1872. The grand duke of Hess has a civil list of 777,057 florins (1872). As for the two Mecklenburgs, since there are no budgets in these states there can of course be no civil list.

—The civil list of the king of Sardinia was 4,000,000 lire (francs) in 1856, not including appanages and royal residences. After Italy became a kingdom, a law of June 24, 1860, made the king's allowance 10,500,000 lire, augmented to 16,254,000 life by the law of Aug. 10, 1862, in consequence of the incorporation of the kingdom of the Two Sicilies. It amounted to 12,250,000 lire in 1872, or to 13,850,000 lire, including appanages. The specification of the crown's domain includes, among other things, some 20 royal palaces at Milan, Monaz, Cremona, Modena, Reggio, Parma, Coloruo, Florence, Pisa, Arezzo, Lehorn, Siena, Lucca, Naples, Caserta, Palermo, and Messina.

—Spain's civil list, budget of 1853, was 47,350,000 reals ($2,377,917). King Amadeus', in 1872, was 6,000,000 pesetas ($1,205,280). That of Portugal is placed at 590,000 milreis, (1854—5,) and at 612,000 milreis, budget of 1871—2, but with a contingent fund of 87,400 milreis.

—In Russia the annual revenue of the crown is derived from vast domains, and from patrimonial estates. Conformably to a family law of Paul I., 1797, always in force, a tax, which weighs upon the peasants of the crown, serves to support the widows, princes and princesses of the imperial family. In the accounts for 1870, the household expenses of the emperor figures for 10,317,000 rubles, and in the budget of 1872, for 8,953,000 rubles.

—In Turkey the sultan has a civil list of nearly 18,000,000 francs, besides his private treasure, composed of sums amassed, and objects of great value left by his predecessors. He alone provides for all the expenses of his court, of which the personnel has been greatly diminished. The total allowance presented in the budget of 1873 is 383,353 purses, of 112½ francs each, or more than 43,000,000 francs.

—The civil list of Otto, of the house of Bavaria, first king of Greece, was fixed, conformably to article 35 of the constitution, at 1,000,000 drachmas per year, (one drachma equals $0 16¾), for a term of 10 years, and without the appanages. The civil list of the second king (George, of the house of Denmark,) was fixed, in 1864, by the national assembly, at 1,125,000 drachmas, not including: 1, £10,000 per year, which was to be paid by the Ionian isles after their reunion with Greece; 2 £12,000 per year, the sum guaranteed by France, England and Russia, to be deducted from the interest of the Greek loan due these three protective powers, all in conformity with protocol No. 3 of the conference held in London, June 5, 1863.

—The two civil lists of the king of Norway and Sweden amount to the following sums, voted in 1860: 630,000 rixdalers for Sweden and 64,000 for Norway, plus the appanages of the members of the royal family (respectively 400,000 and 33,000 rixdalers), the maintenance of the palaces (203,400 and 9,000 rixdalers), and the royal stables (45,000 rixdalers) in Sweden; total, 694,000 rixdalers of the civil list proper, 433,000 in appanages and 257,400 for palaces and horses. The grand total, 1,384,400 rixdalers, shows an increase of 83,000 rixdalers over that of 1857. The figures in 1872 were 1,417,000 dalers riksmynt, ($0 26 each).

—In Denmark the civil list in 1872 was 713,524 rixdalers ($0.52 each). Besides, the king has at his disposal, for his private use, all the palaces and royal dwellings belonging to the state. The appanage of the princes and princesses of the royal family is regulated by law, and paid from the state treasure.

—The civil list of the reigning king of the Netherlands, fixed by the law of Aug. 10, 1849, is 600,000 florins ($0.39 each), plus 50,000 florins for the maintenance of the summer and winter palaces. The allowance of the hereditary prince amount to 100,000 florins and to 200,000 florins when he marries. The queen-dowager receives 150,000 florins per year.

—The civil list of the king of Belgium and the allowances of the princes, his sons, have already been indicated elsewhere (See BELGIUM.) At the marriage of the princess, daughter of the king, to a prince of the imperial family of Austria, the legislature voted her a wedding portion of 258,000 francs.

—In Brazil the emperor's allowance (law of Aug. 28, 1840,) is 800 contos de reis (2,400,000 francs); with the allowances of the imperial family, the civil list reaches a grand total of 1,083 contos de reis (3,249,000 francs).

XAVIER HEUSCHLING.

CIVIL RIGHTS BILL

CIVIL RIGHTS BILL, The (IN U.S. HISTORY), was introduced in the senate Jan. 29, 1866, and passed Feb. 2, by a vote of 33 to 12. In the house it was passed March 13, by a vote of 111 to 38. An abstract of its several sections is as follows: 1. All persons born in the United States and not subject to any foreign power, excluding Indians not taxed, were hereby declared to be citizens of the United States, having the same right as white citizens in every state and territory to sue and be sued, make and enforce contracts, take and convey property, and enjoy all civil rights whatever. 2. Any person who, under color of any state law, deprived any such citizen of any civil rights secured by this act was made guilty of a misdemeanor. 3. Cognizance of offenses against the act was entirely taken away from state courts and given to federal courts. 4. Officers of the United States courts or of the freedmen's bureau, and special executive agents, were charged with the execution of the act. 5. If such officers refused to execute the act, they were made subject to fine. 6. Resistance to the officers subjected the offender to fine and imprisonment. 7. This section related to fees. 8. The president was empowered to send officers to any district where offenses against the act were likely to be committed. 9. The president was authorized to use the services of special agents, of the army and navy, or of the militia, to enforce the act. 10. An appeal was permitted to the supreme court.

—There is a curious likeness, mutatis mutandis, between some of the sections of the bill and the fugitive slave law of 1850.

—The bill was vetoed March 27, and again passed, over the veto, in the senate April 6, and in the house April 9. The constitutional objection to the bill was that the power to pass it could be found nowhere in the constitution except in the 13th amendment (prohibiting slavery), and that this in no way involved the assumption by congress of the duty of protecting the civil rights of citizens, which had always belonged to the states; and, further, that, while the decision in the Dred Scott case stood unimpeached, Negroes might be freed but could not become citizens. Various amendments were proposed in February and March, 1866, for the purpose of overturning the Dred Scott decision. April 30, after the conflict between congress and the president had become flagrant, Thaddeus Stevens, of Pennsylvania, in the house, reported from a joint committee that which was afterward modified into the 14th amendment. Its first section contained the gist of the resolutions above referred to. It was passed in the senate June 8, by a vote of 33 to 11, and in the house June 13, by a vote of 138 to 36. (See CONSTITUTION, IV.; RECONSTRUCTION)

—Senator Charles Sumner, of Massachusetts, was the special champion of an amendment to the preceding act which should prevent common carriers, inn-keepers, theatre-managers, and officers or teachers of schools, from distinguishing blacks from whites; should prevent the exclusion of Negroes from juries; and should give federal courts exclusive congnizance of offenses against it. A bill to this effect was offered by him as an amendment to the amnesty act in 1872 (see AMNESTY), but failed by a single vote, 29 to 30. The same bill was introduced in the house Dec. 9, 1872, and referred. April 30, 1874, shortly after Mr. Sumner's death, it passed the senate, but failed in the house. In February, 1875, the bill finally passed both houses, and became a law March 1. (See RECONSTRUCTION, FORCE BILL.)

—See 14 Stat. At Large, 27; 16 Wall., 36; 92 U. S., 542; 1 Hughes 536; 92 U. S., 90; 100 U. S., 310, 345.

ALEXANDER JOHNSTON.

CIVIL SERVICE REFORM

CIVIL SERVICE REFORM. I. In its general and most comprehensive sense, civil service reform means the removal of abuses in the public service—federal, state and municipal—and the enforcement therein of such just and sound principles and methods as will most contribute to good administration.

—This reform, therefore, has a double aspect and two somewhat separate spheres of duty; the one being destructive and prohibitory, relating to the best means of eradicating existing evils and of preventing their repetition by the exercise of public authority; the other, being constructive and educational, relating to the development of such a public opinion and adoption of such methods for doing the work of public administration as will be effective for purity, efficiency and economy. The principal abuses and evils referred to appearing in the articles on the SPOILS SYSTEM, CONFIRMATION BY THE SENATE. POLITICAL ASSESSMENTS REMOVALS, PATRONAGE, PROMOTIONS, and TENURE OF OFFICE, it is unnecessary to repeat them here. This article will therefore deal mainly with remedies.

—A complete civil service reform would have to deal directly with the abuses connected with our elections, our legislation and our elective and partisan judiciary. Since, however, civil service reform has thus far been treated as specially referring to matters which, with some few exceptions, pertain to the executive department of government, this article will explain it in that sense. In general the offices referred to will be those which are filled by appointment; of which those in the federal service number about 100,000, and perhaps there are a much greater number under the state and city governments. But there are not adequate statistics, the census not having attempted the enumeration of officials.

—It should, however, be borne in mind that the same methods and principles, applicable to the selection and promotion of appointed officers in the executive department, are appropriate and should be applied to the selection and promotion of the appointed officers in the houses of congress, in the state legislatures, in the courts and in the municipal departments; though they can not, from their nature, be applied to the selections of officers by the ballot or any form of election. Still, it should be noticed that a thorough civil service reform, by leaving few offices to be filled by favor or to be won as spoils, would effectively suppress bribery at elections through the promise of places and promotions. It would also leave but little opportunity for members of congress or of legislatures to barter places for votes, or to coerce executive appointments in their own interest. It would, in other words, determine the bestowal of nearly all the official places which have been at once the capital of the partisan chieftain and the fuel of his machine.

—Though penal and prohibitory laws are in their nature but imperfect and inadequate agencies of reform, yet with reasonable support from public opinion, they may be made highly beneficial. Intrinsically, there is no reason why a wise law, in aid of good administration, shall not be as effective as any of the numerous wise laws in aid of good morals; and such has been proved to be the fact in Great Britain, where a reform of the civil service, quite as difficult as that needed in this country, has been greatly strengthened by laws upon which several of the following suggestions of those we need are based.

—1. The exaction of political assessments from public officials and employés, enforced as they are by fears of losing their places, is a flagrant act of injustice, a degradation of those who submit to it, and an insult and disgrace to the government itself.

—If practiced by those in office, it is a corrupting and oppressive exercise of usurped authority, and if by those representing the power of great parties, it is extortion through conspiracy and intimidation; and, in either event, it should be prohibited by law. A prudent bill for that purpose, introduced by Mr. Pendleton, is now pending in the national senate.

—2. The use of official authority or influence for controlling elections or coercing political action in any form is both a breach of a public trust and an invasion of private right and public safety, which should be made penal.

—3. The willful removal of officials known to be worthy and the willful appointment of those known to be unworthy, for mere personal or partisan reasons—the former of which Madison held would justly subject an officer to impeachment—are despotic and demoralizing abuses of official power, as well as acts of gross injustice to the persons removed or to the people; which, by extending the provisions of section 1705 of the revised statutes of the United States—a law forbidding certain removals without good cause—should be made a criminal offense. In morals, there can be no more right to use the public authority of appointment and removal for selfish and partisan ends than there is to use the public money for the same purpose.

—4. Carefully guarded legislation, in the same spirit and sanctioned by the same reasons, might, perhaps, be extended to combinations on the part of members of congress, in the use of their authority, to coerce nominations or removals, and to the prostitution of the trusts of their offices on the part of senators, in the matter of confirmations in obedience to what is called the "courtesy of the senate." (See CONFIRMATION BY THE SENATE.)

—5. The bribery laws, which now only make penal the use or promise of money, or of something of pecuniary value, to induce the violation of official duty, should be so extended as to clearly cover the much more frequent and pernicious abuse of giving, or promising to give, appointments in the public service for votes or influence.60 —6. The laws of 1820 and later statutes, which reduced the constitutional tenure (which was during efficiency and good behavior) of collectors, postmasters, surveyors and various other officers, to a term of four years—and thereby added to the spoils to be won in every presidential election and increased the evils connected with confirmations—should be repealed, and the constitutional tenure be thereby restored. The military school at West Point and the naval school at Annapolis were established to prepare for the public service those who should bring into it mental and physical qualifications of the highest order. Every consideration of duty, justice and public interest requires that selections for these schools should be made on the basis of free public competitions of merit, which are most certain to disclose those qualifications. But members of congress have made nearly all selections for those schools a part of their own official patronage. That abuse should be prohibited, and such competitions be established by law for the selection of military and naval cadets as they are now established by regulations for selecting cadet engineers for the navy.

—II. In considering the educational and constructive work of reform, there are some fundamental facts and principles, a clear apprehension of which is important both for the removal of misconceptions and for opening the way to those sound practical methods without which no adequate res

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CIVIL ADMINISTRATION

CIVIL LIST.

CIVIL RIGHTS BILL

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