(Concluded next month.)

Existing evidence all negatives Mr. Acworth’s postulate “that State railway systems are incapable of vigorous life.”

An objection to national ownership, which the writer has not seen advanced, is that States, counties, cities, townships, and school-districts would lose some $27,000,000 of revenue derived from taxes upon railways.

While this would be a serious loss to some communities, there would be compensating advantages for the public, as the cost of transportation would be lessened in like measure.

Many believe stringent laws, enforced by commissions having judicial powers, will serve the desired end, and the writer was long hopeful of the efficacy of regulation by State and national commissions; but close observation of their endeavors and of the constant efforts—too often successful—of the corporations to place their tools on such commissions, and to evade all laws and regulations, have convinced him that such control is and must continue to be ineffective, and that the only hope of just and impartial treatment for railway users is to exercise the “right of eminent domain,” condemn the railways, and pay their owners what it would cost to duplicate them; and in this connection it may be well to state what valuations some of the corporations place upon their properties.

Some years since the “Santa Fe” filed in the counties on its line a statement showing that at the then price of labor and materials—rails were double the present price—that their road could be duplicated for $9,685 per mile, and the materials being much worn the actual cash value of the road did not exceed $7,725 per mile.

In 1885 the superintendent of the St. Louis & Iron Mountain Railway, before the Arkansas State board of assessors, swore that he could duplicate such railway for $11,000 per mile, and yet Mr. Gould has managed to float its securities, notwithstanding a capitalization of five times that amount.

BY CAMILLE FLAMMARION.

The human soul would seem to be a spiritual substance, endowed with psychical force, capable of acting outside bodily limits. This force, like all others, may be transmissible into the form of electricity or heat, or may be capable of bringing into activity certain latent energies while it yet remains intimately united with our mental being.

We propound questions to the table, already impressed with our nervous impetus, on subjects interesting to ourselves; and then we ourselves unconsciously inspire the responses. The table speaks to us in our own language, giving back our own ideas, within the limits of our own knowledge, conversing with us about our opinions and views, as we might discuss them with ourselves. This is absolutely the reflection—direct or remote, precise or vague—of our own feelings and thoughts. All my efforts to establish the identity of a stranger spirit, unknown to the persons present, have failed.

On the other hand, attentive examination of different communications leads us toward a conclusion as to their origin. When amidst the Marquis de Mirville’s revelations, one is in the full swing of Roman Catholic diabolism—demons, spirits, purgatory, miracles, prayers,—nothing is lacking. With the Count de Gasparin, we are in the bosom of Rational Protestantism, which is absolutely the opposite of the other. Here are no present miracles, no devils, but simply a physical agency, a fluid obedient to volition. In the experiences of Eugene Nus’s circle, we find the language of Fourier discoursing about the phalanstery, about racial solidarity, and socialistic religion. Therein are found earthly music chanted in space,—songs of Saturn and Jupiterdictated under the influence of Alyre Bureau, who was the musician for the spiritualist society of Allan-Kardec. Here we have disembodied spirits of all ranks, and this is the apostolate of their reincarnation.

In the United States, on the contrary, the moving tables declare that the hypothesis of reincarnation is absurd and misleading; and it may be assumed that none of the persons present, especially the ladies, would for one moment admit the possibility of being some day reincarnated beneath the skin of a negro. A brilliant imagination, like that of Sardou, will picture to us Jupiter’s castles; a musician may receive the revelation of a musical composition, more or less charming; an astronomer may be favored with astronomical communications. Is this physical auto-suggestion? Not absolutely, since the force goes outside of ourselves, in order to act. It is rathermentalsuggestion; yet an idea cannot be suggested to a piece of wood. This is, therefore, the direct action of the mind. I cannot find a better name for it thanpsychical force, a term, as already stated, which I have used since 1865, and which has since become the fashion.

The action of mind, outside the body, has other testimony, however. Magnetism, hypnotism, suggestion, telepathy prove this every day. It cannot be disputed that here also we encounter many illusions.

Some ten years ago a learned physician at Nice, Doctor Barety, the author of “La Force Neurique Rayonnante et Circulante” (The Radiation and Circulation of Nervous Force) devoted himself to ingenious experiments in the distant transmission of thought as observable in a magnetized person. In these experiments, in which I assisted, it seemed to me that the subject’s sense of hearing amply sufficed to explain the results.

Take one case. The subject began to count aloud, while the magnetizer was in an adjoining room, the door standing open between them. At a certain moment the doctor, with all his energy, projected his “nervous fluid” from his hands, and the magnetized subject forthwith ceased counting; yet the doctor’s linen cuffs made enough noise to indicate what he commanded, though no word was spoken. During the experiments at Salpétrière and at Ivry, to which Doctor Luys was kind enough to invite me, I thought I observed that a previous knowledge of the sequence of the experimentsfurnished a wide margin for the exercise of the personal faculties of the young women upon whom the experiments were made. These suspicions, however, did not prevent certain facts in regard to mental suggestion from being absolutely incontestable.

Here is one among others:—

Doctor Ochorowiez was attending a lady troubled with long-standing hysterio-epilepsy, aggravated by a maniacal inclination to suicide. Madame M. was twenty-seven years of age, and had a vigorous constitution. She appeared to be in excellent health. Her active and gay temperament was united with extreme moral sensibility. Her character was specially truthful. Her profound goodness was tinctured with a tendency toward self-sacrifice. Her intelligence was remarkable. Her talents were many, and her perceptive faculties were good. At times she would display a lack of willpower, and an element of painful indecision; while at other times she showed exceptional firmness. The slightest moral fatigue, any unexpected impression, though of trifling importance, whether agreeable or otherwise, reacted, although slowly and imperceptibly, upon her vaso-motor nerves, and brought on convulsive attacks and a nervous swoon. Writes Dr. Ochorowiez in his work on Mental Suggestion:

One day, or rather one night, her attack being over (including a phase of delirium), the patient fell quietly asleep. Awaking suddenly, and seeing us (one of her female friends and myself) still near her, she begged us to go away, and not to tire ourselves needlessly on her account. She was so persistent that, fearing a nervous crisis, we departed. I went slowly downstairs, for she resided on the fourth story, and I paused several times to listen attentively, troubled by an evil presentiment; for she had wounded herself several times a few days before. I had already reached the courtyard, when I paused again, asking myself whether or not I ought to go away.All at once her window opened with a slam, and I saw the sick woman leaning out with a rapid motion. I rushed to the spot where she might fall; and mechanically, without attaching any great importance to the impulse, I concentrated all my will in one great desire to oppose her precipitation.The patient was influenced, however, though already leaning far out, and retreated slowly and spasmodically from the window. The same movements were repeated five times in succession, until the patient, seemingly fatigued, at last remained motionless, her back leaning against the casement of the window, which was still open.She could not see me, as I was in the shadow far below, and it was night. At that moment, her friend, Mademoiselle X., ran in, and caught madame in her arms. I heard them struggling together, and hastened up the stairs to mademoiselle’s assistance. I found the invalid in a frenzy of excitement. She did not recognize us, but mistook us forrobbers. I could only draw her away from the window by using violence enough to throw her upon her knees. Several times she tried to bite me; but after much trouble, I succeeded in replacing the poor lady in her bed. While maintaining my grasp with one hand, I induced a contraction of her arms, and finally put her to sleep.When again in a somnambulistic state, her first words were: “Thanks!—pardon!”Then she told me that she positively intended to throw herself out of the window, but that each time she felt as if she were “stayed from below.”“How so?”“I do not know.”“Did you have any suspicion of my presence?”“No! it was precisely because I believed you away, that I proposed to carry out my design. However, it seemed to me at times that you were near me, or behind me, and that you did not want me to fall.”

One day, or rather one night, her attack being over (including a phase of delirium), the patient fell quietly asleep. Awaking suddenly, and seeing us (one of her female friends and myself) still near her, she begged us to go away, and not to tire ourselves needlessly on her account. She was so persistent that, fearing a nervous crisis, we departed. I went slowly downstairs, for she resided on the fourth story, and I paused several times to listen attentively, troubled by an evil presentiment; for she had wounded herself several times a few days before. I had already reached the courtyard, when I paused again, asking myself whether or not I ought to go away.

All at once her window opened with a slam, and I saw the sick woman leaning out with a rapid motion. I rushed to the spot where she might fall; and mechanically, without attaching any great importance to the impulse, I concentrated all my will in one great desire to oppose her precipitation.

The patient was influenced, however, though already leaning far out, and retreated slowly and spasmodically from the window. The same movements were repeated five times in succession, until the patient, seemingly fatigued, at last remained motionless, her back leaning against the casement of the window, which was still open.

She could not see me, as I was in the shadow far below, and it was night. At that moment, her friend, Mademoiselle X., ran in, and caught madame in her arms. I heard them struggling together, and hastened up the stairs to mademoiselle’s assistance. I found the invalid in a frenzy of excitement. She did not recognize us, but mistook us forrobbers. I could only draw her away from the window by using violence enough to throw her upon her knees. Several times she tried to bite me; but after much trouble, I succeeded in replacing the poor lady in her bed. While maintaining my grasp with one hand, I induced a contraction of her arms, and finally put her to sleep.

When again in a somnambulistic state, her first words were: “Thanks!—pardon!”

Then she told me that she positively intended to throw herself out of the window, but that each time she felt as if she were “stayed from below.”

“How so?”

“I do not know.”

“Did you have any suspicion of my presence?”

“No! it was precisely because I believed you away, that I proposed to carry out my design. However, it seemed to me at times that you were near me, or behind me, and that you did not want me to fall.”

Here is another experiment still more striking. Pierre Janet, Professor of Philosophy in the Havre Lycée, and Monsieur Gibert, a physician, selected as a subject for their observation a certain woman, a native of Brittany. She was fifty years old, robust, and moderately sensitive to hypnotic influences. On October 10, 1885, they agreed upon the following command:

To-morrow, at noon, lock the doors of your house.w.

To-morrow, at noon, lock the doors of your house.

w.

This suggestion Dr. Janet inscribed upon a sheet of paper, which he carried about in his pocket, not communicating its purport to anybody. Dr. Gibert made the suggestion by placing his forehead against the woman’s, while she was in a lethargic slumber; and for a few moments he concentrated his mind upon the mental command he was giving.

Writes Janet concerning this incident:

On the morrow we went to the house, at fifteen minutes before twelve, and found the entrance barricaded and the doors locked. Inquiry proved that madame herself had closed them. When I asked her, next day, why she had done such a strange thing, she replied: “I felt very tired, and did not want you to come in and put me to sleep.”She was greatly agitated at the time. She continually wandered about the garden, and I saw her pluck a rose, and go towards the letter-box, which was near the gate. These actions were of no importance; but it is curious to note that these last actions were precisely those the day before we had thought of ordering her to perform, though we afterwards decided upon a different suggestion, namely, that of locking the doors. Undoubtedly his first suggestion occupied Gibert’s mind while he was giving the second, and had a corresponding influence over the woman.

On the morrow we went to the house, at fifteen minutes before twelve, and found the entrance barricaded and the doors locked. Inquiry proved that madame herself had closed them. When I asked her, next day, why she had done such a strange thing, she replied: “I felt very tired, and did not want you to come in and put me to sleep.”

She was greatly agitated at the time. She continually wandered about the garden, and I saw her pluck a rose, and go towards the letter-box, which was near the gate. These actions were of no importance; but it is curious to note that these last actions were precisely those the day before we had thought of ordering her to perform, though we afterwards decided upon a different suggestion, namely, that of locking the doors. Undoubtedly his first suggestion occupied Gibert’s mind while he was giving the second, and had a corresponding influence over the woman.

Here is still another experiment, related by Doctor Dusart:

Every day, before leaving a certain young patient, I commanded her to sleep until a specified hour the next day. Once I came away, forgettingthis precaution, and I was seven hundred yards away before I thought of it. Being unable to retrace my steps, I said to myself that my wish might perhaps be felt, notwithstanding the distance, since a silent suggestion was sometimes obeyed at an interval of one or two yards. I therefore formulated my command that she should sleep until eight o’clock the next morning, and then kept on my way. The next day I called again, at half-past seven, and found my patient still asleep.“How happens it that you are still asleep?”“Why, Monsieur, I am obeying your orders.”“You are mistaken. I went away without giving any such command!”“That is so! but five minutes later I distinctly heard you tell me to sleep until eight o’clock.”As it was not yet eight, and as eight was the hour I usually indicated, the possibility suggested itself that her awakening was the result of an illusion, arising from habit, and perhaps, after all, this was a case of simple coincidence. In order to make a clean breast of it, and leave no room for doubt, I ordered the invalid to sleep until she should receive a command to awake.During the day, having a few spare moments, I resolved to complete the experiment. On leaving my house, seven kilometers away, I mentally gave the order for her to wake up. I noticed that it was two o’clock. On reaching the house I found her awake. Her parents, following my advice, had noted the precise time of her awakening. It was the very hour at which I gave the command.This experiment was repeated several times, at different hours, and always with kindred results.

Every day, before leaving a certain young patient, I commanded her to sleep until a specified hour the next day. Once I came away, forgettingthis precaution, and I was seven hundred yards away before I thought of it. Being unable to retrace my steps, I said to myself that my wish might perhaps be felt, notwithstanding the distance, since a silent suggestion was sometimes obeyed at an interval of one or two yards. I therefore formulated my command that she should sleep until eight o’clock the next morning, and then kept on my way. The next day I called again, at half-past seven, and found my patient still asleep.

“How happens it that you are still asleep?”

“Why, Monsieur, I am obeying your orders.”

“You are mistaken. I went away without giving any such command!”

“That is so! but five minutes later I distinctly heard you tell me to sleep until eight o’clock.”

As it was not yet eight, and as eight was the hour I usually indicated, the possibility suggested itself that her awakening was the result of an illusion, arising from habit, and perhaps, after all, this was a case of simple coincidence. In order to make a clean breast of it, and leave no room for doubt, I ordered the invalid to sleep until she should receive a command to awake.

During the day, having a few spare moments, I resolved to complete the experiment. On leaving my house, seven kilometers away, I mentally gave the order for her to wake up. I noticed that it was two o’clock. On reaching the house I found her awake. Her parents, following my advice, had noted the precise time of her awakening. It was the very hour at which I gave the command.

This experiment was repeated several times, at different hours, and always with kindred results.

This is really very interesting; but here is something which appears more extraordinary.

On the first of January I discontinued my visits, and my relations to the family ceased. I had not even heard them spoken of; yet on January 12, as I was making some visits in an opposite direction, ten kilometers away from my former patient, I found myself wondering if it was still possible to make her hear my mental commands, despite the distance separating us, despite the cessation of my relations to the family, and despite the intervention of a third party, the father himself, who was magnetizing his daughter. I therefore bade the patient not fall asleep. Half an hour later, reflecting that if, by some extraordinary chance, my command was obeyed, this might prejudice the mind of the unfortunate girl against me, I withdrew my prohibition, and dismissed it from my thoughts. On the following morning, at six o’clock, I was greatly surprised by the arrival of a messenger, bringing me a letter from the father of the young lady, in which he informed me that on the day before, January 12, at ten o’clock in the forenoon, he was unable to put his daughter to sleep, except by a prolonged and disagreeable struggle. When she at last fell asleep she declared that if she had resisted, it was because of my command, and that she finally fell asleep only because I permitted it.These declarations had been made before witnesses, whom the father had asked to countersign his report. I have preserved this letter, and have added a few circumstantial details thereto.It is, therefore, probable that, with an exact knowledge or phenomenal conditions, we may eventually be able to mentally transmit entire thoughts to distant points, as is done now by telephone.

On the first of January I discontinued my visits, and my relations to the family ceased. I had not even heard them spoken of; yet on January 12, as I was making some visits in an opposite direction, ten kilometers away from my former patient, I found myself wondering if it was still possible to make her hear my mental commands, despite the distance separating us, despite the cessation of my relations to the family, and despite the intervention of a third party, the father himself, who was magnetizing his daughter. I therefore bade the patient not fall asleep. Half an hour later, reflecting that if, by some extraordinary chance, my command was obeyed, this might prejudice the mind of the unfortunate girl against me, I withdrew my prohibition, and dismissed it from my thoughts. On the following morning, at six o’clock, I was greatly surprised by the arrival of a messenger, bringing me a letter from the father of the young lady, in which he informed me that on the day before, January 12, at ten o’clock in the forenoon, he was unable to put his daughter to sleep, except by a prolonged and disagreeable struggle. When she at last fell asleep she declared that if she had resisted, it was because of my command, and that she finally fell asleep only because I permitted it.

These declarations had been made before witnesses, whom the father had asked to countersign his report. I have preserved this letter, and have added a few circumstantial details thereto.

It is, therefore, probable that, with an exact knowledge or phenomenal conditions, we may eventually be able to mentally transmit entire thoughts to distant points, as is done now by telephone.

Independently of magnetism, it is difficult not to believethat two persons, mutually dear to each other, although separated by certain circumstances, may remain united by their thoughts, with a tenacity which nothing can disturb, especially if the circumstances are grave. The thoughts of the one react upon the mind of the other, as if the beatings of one heart could transmit themselves to another heart. There is a certain psychical tie between the two; and at the time when one especially concentrates his voluntary force upon the other, it is not unusual for the latter to feel the reaction, and be plunged into a revery even more intense. The transmission of thought—or, to speak more exactly,suggestion,—is, under these conditions, a matter for observation, which might frequently be applied.

I shall not here consider the phenomena of telepathy or ghosts. Readers ofThe Arenahave been favored with Mr. Wallace’s excellent articles on this point, and it would be superfluous to reconsider it. No doubt our readers are also acquainted with the examples reported in my work called Urania, and have long been aware that I believe in the possibility of communications between invisible beings and ourselves. In the point of view at which I have placed myself in this technical and essentially scientific outline, I have taken care to carefully distinguish the things seen by myself from those which I have not seen.

I do not belong to the same class with those who say: “We have not seen it, and therefore it cannot be.” There are honest people everywhere. There are, perhaps, few exact observers, capable of reporting facts, without changing anything in their recitals; but there are witnesses we cannot well gainsay.

Here, for example, is a letter among many recently addressed to me, relative to certain extraordinary facts.

Your work, Urania, has prompted me to bring to your knowledge an event which I heard related by the very person to whom it happened,-a Danish physician, named Vogler, residing at Gudum, near Alborg, in Jutland.Vogler is a man of robust health, both in mind and body. He has an upright and positive disposition, without the least tendency (but quite the contrary) to nervous excitability.He related to me the following story, which I have often heard confirmed by others as the unadorned and exact truth.When a young man, studying medicine, he travelled in Germany with Count Schimmuelmann, a noted name among the nobility of Holstein, who was about his own age. They hired a small house in a German university town where they proposed to stay for sometime. The Countlived in the apartments on the ground floor, while Vogler occupied the next story; and the street door, as well as the stairway, were used by themselves alone. One night, when Mr. Vogler was reading in bed, he suddenly heard the door at the foot of the stairs open and shut; but he did not pay any attention to it, believing the Count had just come in. A few moments later he heard slow and tired footsteps ascend the stairs, and stop at his chamber door. He saw the door open, but nobody appeared. The footsteps did not cease, however, for he heard them on the floor, advancing from the door to the bed. He could see absolutely nothing, although the light was continuously burning; and he could not understand the affair, not recognizing the footsteps. When the steps had drawn very near the bed, he heard a great sigh, which he at once recognized as that of his grandmother, whom he had left in good health at their home in Denmark. At the same instant he also recognized the step, which was, indeed, the halting and aged step of his grandmother. Looking at his watch, which he had placed under his pillow, Vogler noted the exact hour, and made a memorandum of it, for he at once surmised that his grandmother might be dying at the very instant. At a later day he received a letter from the paternal home, announcing the sudden death of his grandmother, who particularly cherished him above the other grandchildren. This established the fact that her death occurred at the very hour indicated. In this manner did the venerable woman take leave of her grandson, who did not even know of her illness.Edward HambroCounselor-at-law, and Secretary of Public Worksin the City of Christiana.

Your work, Urania, has prompted me to bring to your knowledge an event which I heard related by the very person to whom it happened,-a Danish physician, named Vogler, residing at Gudum, near Alborg, in Jutland.

Vogler is a man of robust health, both in mind and body. He has an upright and positive disposition, without the least tendency (but quite the contrary) to nervous excitability.

He related to me the following story, which I have often heard confirmed by others as the unadorned and exact truth.

When a young man, studying medicine, he travelled in Germany with Count Schimmuelmann, a noted name among the nobility of Holstein, who was about his own age. They hired a small house in a German university town where they proposed to stay for sometime. The Countlived in the apartments on the ground floor, while Vogler occupied the next story; and the street door, as well as the stairway, were used by themselves alone. One night, when Mr. Vogler was reading in bed, he suddenly heard the door at the foot of the stairs open and shut; but he did not pay any attention to it, believing the Count had just come in. A few moments later he heard slow and tired footsteps ascend the stairs, and stop at his chamber door. He saw the door open, but nobody appeared. The footsteps did not cease, however, for he heard them on the floor, advancing from the door to the bed. He could see absolutely nothing, although the light was continuously burning; and he could not understand the affair, not recognizing the footsteps. When the steps had drawn very near the bed, he heard a great sigh, which he at once recognized as that of his grandmother, whom he had left in good health at their home in Denmark. At the same instant he also recognized the step, which was, indeed, the halting and aged step of his grandmother. Looking at his watch, which he had placed under his pillow, Vogler noted the exact hour, and made a memorandum of it, for he at once surmised that his grandmother might be dying at the very instant. At a later day he received a letter from the paternal home, announcing the sudden death of his grandmother, who particularly cherished him above the other grandchildren. This established the fact that her death occurred at the very hour indicated. In this manner did the venerable woman take leave of her grandson, who did not even know of her illness.

Edward HambroCounselor-at-law, and Secretary of Public Worksin the City of Christiana.

Here, as may be seen, is a fact, observed as precisely as a scientific experiment; and it might be added to those I have published in Urania.

I will adduce one more fact, which was observed very long ago, in 1784, by my great-grandfather, on my mother’s side.

It occurred in Illand, a little village in the county of Bar, which to-day belongs to the Department of Haute-Marne, not far from the native place of both my maternal grandfather and myself. In childhood I spent all my vacations there among the vine-planted hills, face to face with gracious landscapes, amid forests alive with bird songs. The house yet stands in which the incident happened. It is at the entrance of the village, on the right, and is called the Chateau. One evening my great-grandmother, on returning from her work in the fields, perceived, by the huge chimney-corner (which can still be seen), her brother, who had been dead several months. He was seated, and seemed to be warming himself. “My God!” she exclaimed in affright, “it’s our dead Rolet!” and then she ran away. Her husband, entering in his turn, also saw his brother-in-law sitting by the fireplace. At that critical moment one of the farm hands uttered an oath, and the apparition vanished.

I give this narrative as it was related to me. No misgivings as to the reality of the vision existed in the minds of the personages in my grandmother’s household.

Allow me to mention another illustration. In February, 1889, I received from H. Van der Kerkhare the following communication, relating to an article I had published about this class of phenomena.

While in Texas, on August 25, 1874, towards sunset, I was smoking my after-dinner pipe in a room on the ground floor of the house I occupied. I was facing the wall, with a door on my right opening towards the northwest. Here is a diagram of the scene.Seat and door locationSuddenly I saw my old grandfather in the doorway. I was in that semi-conscious state of well-being and quietude natural to a man with a good appetite who has dined satisfactorily. I was not at all astonished to see my grandfather there. In fact, I was vegetating just then, thinking of nothing in particular. Nevertheless, I said to myself:—“It is droll that the rays of the setting sun should pour gold and purple through the least folds of my grandfather’s garments and face.” In fact, the setting sun was red, and threw its last horizontal rays diagonally athwart the doorway. Grandfather had a beneficent countenance. He smiled and seemed happy. All at once he disappeared along with the vanishing sun, and I roused myself as from a dream, but with the conviction that I had seen an apparition. Six weeks afterwards I was apprised by letter that my grandfather had died on the night of August 25 and 26 between one and two o’clock. Well, there is a difference of five and one-half hours between the longitude of Belgium, where my grandfather died, and the longitude of Texas where I was, and where the sun set at about seven o’clock.

While in Texas, on August 25, 1874, towards sunset, I was smoking my after-dinner pipe in a room on the ground floor of the house I occupied. I was facing the wall, with a door on my right opening towards the northwest. Here is a diagram of the scene.

Seat and door location

Suddenly I saw my old grandfather in the doorway. I was in that semi-conscious state of well-being and quietude natural to a man with a good appetite who has dined satisfactorily. I was not at all astonished to see my grandfather there. In fact, I was vegetating just then, thinking of nothing in particular. Nevertheless, I said to myself:—“It is droll that the rays of the setting sun should pour gold and purple through the least folds of my grandfather’s garments and face.” In fact, the setting sun was red, and threw its last horizontal rays diagonally athwart the doorway. Grandfather had a beneficent countenance. He smiled and seemed happy. All at once he disappeared along with the vanishing sun, and I roused myself as from a dream, but with the conviction that I had seen an apparition. Six weeks afterwards I was apprised by letter that my grandfather had died on the night of August 25 and 26 between one and two o’clock. Well, there is a difference of five and one-half hours between the longitude of Belgium, where my grandfather died, and the longitude of Texas where I was, and where the sun set at about seven o’clock.

It would be easy to cite a large number of similar cases. Let me end this section with the following conclusion of Ch. Richet, the learned editor of theRevue Scientifique:—

Unless we discredit the value of all human testimony, these stories are veritable and accurate. Whenever kindred incidents are reproduced by experiment, telepathy will no longer be disputed, but admitted as a natural phenomenon, as well proven as the rotation of the earth, or as the contagion of tuberculosis. To-day’s audacious theories will, in a few years, seem almost like infantile truisms.

Unless we discredit the value of all human testimony, these stories are veritable and accurate. Whenever kindred incidents are reproduced by experiment, telepathy will no longer be disputed, but admitted as a natural phenomenon, as well proven as the rotation of the earth, or as the contagion of tuberculosis. To-day’s audacious theories will, in a few years, seem almost like infantile truisms.

We have now come to the closing section of this already long essay,—namely, to the explanation of such phenomena as table-tipping, spirit rapping and dictation, and distant transmission of thought. Let us confess that it is much easier to unfold and discuss such facts, than to determine theirmodusoperandi. I will add that, even if in the present state of our knowledge, it is impossible to explain these facts, there is no shadow of a reason for rejecting them.

The theory with which we conclude has been anticipated by the preceding sections.

What is the universe? What is nature? What are beings? What are things?

From astronomy to physiology, everything constrains us to allow the existence of at least two elements—force and matter.

The order and laws of the universe, together with human thought and consciousness, lead us to admit (besides force and matter) a third element—intelligence; for speaking only of the constituency of our planet, no chemical combination whatever has ever been known to produce an idea.

Force directs. Matter obeys.

Force is invisible and so is matter.

All matter whatsoever is composed of atoms, too infinitesimal for our perception, and even invisible beneath the most powerful microscope but whose existence is demonstrated by chemistry, as well as by physics. The molecules of iron, gold, hydrogen, oxygen, carbon, appear to be groups of atoms. Even if we deny the existence of atoms, and admit only the existence of molecules, they also are invisible.

Matter, therefore, in its very essence, is invisible. Our eyes behold only motion and transitory forms. Our hands touch only appearances. Hardness and softness, heat and cold, weight and lightness, are relative, not absolute conditions.

What we call matter is only an effect produced upon our senses by the motion of atoms,—that is to say, by our unceasing receptivity to sensations.

The universe is a dynamic conglomerate. Atoms are in perpetual motion, caused by forces. All is movement. Heat, light, electricity, terrestrial magnetism, do not exist as independent agents. They are but modes of motion. That which actually exists is force. It is force that sustains the universe. It is force that projects the earth into space. It is force that constitutes living creatures.

The human soul is a principle of force. Thought is a dynamic act. Psychical force acts upon the matter composing our bodies, and actuates all our members to fulfil their tasks. Like all forces, psychical force can transform itself,can become electricity, heat, light, motion; for these are all modes of motion. Psychical force is itself in motion.

It can act outside the limits of the human organism, and can temporarily animate a table. I place my hands on a round table, with a firm desire to see it obey my will. I communicate to it a certain heat, a certain electricity, a certain polarization, or a certain other something we have not yet discovered. The stand becomes, so to speak, an extension of my body, and submits to the influence of my will. I look at a person. I take his hand. I thus act upon him.

More than this. If the brain of another person vibrates in unison with mine, or has at one in harmony with the keynote of my own brain, I can act upon him, even from a distance.

If I emit a sound a few yards from a piano, those piano-strings which are in harmony with my utterance will vibrate, and themselves send forth a kindred sound, easily distinguishable.

A telegraph wire transmits a despatch: A neighboring wire is influenced by induction; and it has been possible, by the aid of this second and separate wire, to read messages sent over the first.

There is still more to be said. The principle of the transformation of force to-day opens to us new views which might well be called marvellous. We every day make use of the telephone, without thinking that it is, in itself, more astonishing than all the occult facts considered in this paper.

You speak. Your voice is transmitted ten or twenty thousand kilometers, from Paris to Marseilles, and even farther away. You think it is your own voice which is heard and recognized at the other end of the wire; but it is not; your voice has not made the journey. Sound of itself, in its ordinary state, is not transmitted with anything like the rapidity attending this flight over the copper wire. If it were otherwise, we should have to wait seven hours and twenty-four seconds for a response, whereas there is no appreciable delay in the telephonic passage of sound. The usual vocal velocity becomes electric velocity, and the interval between the terminal stations of the wire is traversed instantaneously. On reaching its destination, the current again transforms itself into sound through its encounter with a medial, an environment like that at its starting-point.

Is the conductive wire indispensable? By no means! Isthere a connecting wire between the sun and the earth? Yet the spots on the sun occasion rebounds in the variations of terrestrial magnetism. In the photophone the conductive wire has already been dispensed with, and a ray of light is used in its place. You speak behind a mirror, and thus cause it to vibrate. These vibrations modify the reflection of light from the vibrating mirror, which thus bears along your voice, with which it becomes charged. Selenium, the chemical element used in the operation, transmits the sound to the telephone, and your spoken word is reproduced.

The principal of the transformation of forces is undoubtedly one of the most prolific in modern physics. Heat can be transformed into mechanical motion; mechanical motion may be transformed into heat. Electricity is transformable into magnetism; and, reciprocally, magnetism may change into electricity, into light. The motion of the mill-wheel serves to illuminate your house. From Paris you can light a lamp in Brussels. When you act from afar upon another mind, it is not your thought which travels, as a mental condition; but your thought traverses the intervening ether through a series of vibrations as yet unknown to us, and only becomes thought again when brought into contact with another brain, because the last transference brings the impulse into a medium akin to that from which it started. It is therefore necessary that this second brain should be in sympathy with yours; that is to say, using one of Doctor Ochorowiez’s expressions, that “the dynamic tone” of the receiver should be in accord with your own. It is, moreover, noticeable that there are periods when veritable thought-currents affect thousands of brains at the same moment. At the bottom of all this there is but one principle, and that is identical with the relation existing between the magnet and the iron, between the sun and the earth,—namely, the transmission and transformation of motion. Herbert Spencer has said:—

The discovery that matter, so simple in appearance, is wonderfully complicated in its vital structure,—and that other discovery, that its molecules, oscillating with a rapidity almost infinite, convey their impressions to the surrounding ether, which, in turn, transmits them over inconceivable distances, in an inconceivably short space of time,—these discoveries lead us to the even more marvellous discovery, that any kind of molecules are affected in a special manner by molecules of the same kind, though situated in the most distant regions of space.

The discovery that matter, so simple in appearance, is wonderfully complicated in its vital structure,—and that other discovery, that its molecules, oscillating with a rapidity almost infinite, convey their impressions to the surrounding ether, which, in turn, transmits them over inconceivable distances, in an inconceivably short space of time,—these discoveries lead us to the even more marvellous discovery, that any kind of molecules are affected in a special manner by molecules of the same kind, though situated in the most distant regions of space.

It requires but one step more for the admission thatpsychical communications may be established between an inhabitant of Mars and an inhabitant of the earth.

We are often asked what all these studies amount to. That is still unknown. If they should end in a scientific proof of the existence and immortality of the soul, these investigations would forthwith surpass in value all other human sciences put together, without a single exception.

It must be acknowledged that this reason is a sufficient authorization for us not to despise this class of researches. But this argument is needless. These investigations relate to the unknown, and that reason is all-sufficient.

Did Galvani in examining the convulsions of his frogs, have any idea of the immense, the prodigious, the universal part which electric science was to perform in less than a century? Denis Papin and Robert Fulton, Benjamin Franklin and James Watts, Jouffroy and Daguerre,—all the inventors, all the searchers after truth,—were they wrong in losing themselves in their pursuit of the unknown? It is such men who cause the advance of humanity. It is to them mankind owes its progress.

If it were proved, we say, that there exists outside of us, and even within us, an immaterial and spiritual force, which eludes the known processes of nature, and the acknowledged laws of life,—and which reveals itself by other processes and other laws, which do not supplant the first, but take an equal place beside them, this new knowledge might enlighten somewhat the shadows which now conceal the great secret of the origin and destiny of such poor beings as ourselves.

First of all, let us seek the truth. To be sure, Taine has written very wittily: “I never thought that a truth could be of any practical use!” but we may not be of the same mind, and may think, on the contrary, that the search for truth is the prime object of men’s intellectual existence.

BY W. D. McCRACKAN.

The study of federalism, as a system of government, has in recent times become a favorite subject for constitutional writers. At present the United States and the Dominion of Canada on this continent, the newly constituted Australian Commonwealth at the Antipodes, and in Europe the German Empire, the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and the Swiss Confederation are all examples of the application of the federal principle in its various phases. What makes all researches into this branch of political learning particularly difficult, and perhaps for that reason also exceptionally fascinating, is the fact that federated states seem forever oscillating between the two extremes of complete centralization and decentralization. The two forces, centripetal and centrifugal, seem to be always pulling against each other, and producing a new resultant which varies according to their proportionate intensity. One is almost tempted to say that there must be an ideal state somewhere between these two extremes, some point of perfect balance, from which no nation can ever depart very far without either falling apart into anarchy or being consolidated into despotism. Whatever, therefore, can throw light upon these obscure forces is certainly entitled to our deepest interest.

But not all the different states mentioned above as representatives of federalism, possess an equal value for us in our search after improvements in the art of self-government. The study of the constitutions of the German and Austro-Hungarian empires can only be of secondary importance to us Americans, because these states are founded upon monarchical principles, quite foreign to our body politic. To a limited extent, the same objection may be made to the Canadian and Australian constitutions, since the connection of those countries with the monarchical mother country has not been constitutionally severed. But there is another federated state in existence, until lately almost ignored bywriters on political subjects, whose example can in reality be of the utmost use to us, for its general organization more nearly resembles our own in miniature than any other. This country is Switzerland. In her quiet fashion the unobtrusive little Confederation is working out some of the great modern problems, and her citizens, with their natural aptitude for self-government, are presenting object lessons which we especially in America cannot afford to overlook. It is true that political analogies are sometimes a little perilous, for identical situations can never be reproduced in different countries, but if there be any virtue at all in the study of comparative politics, a comparison between the Federal constitutions of Switzerland and the United States ought to throw into relief some features which can be of service to us.

To be perfectly frank, the Swiss constitution, when placed side by side with our own, at first shows certain decided short-comings. The Constitution of the United States is an eminently logical, well-balanced document, in which a masterly distinction is made between the executive, legislative, and judicial functions of government, and between matters which belong by nature to organic law, and those which may safely be left to the statute law. In the Swiss constitution, however, the line which separates these departments is not as clearly drawn, so that, in fact, a certain amount of confusion in their treatment becomes apparent. In the primitive leagues which were concluded between the early Confederates no attempt was made to draw up regular constitutions, and the one now in force dates only from 1848, with amendments made in 1874, 1879, and 1885, an instrument still somewhat imperfect, perhaps, but none the less suggestive to the student.

There are two institutions in the Swiss state which bear a very strong likeness to corresponding ones in our own. Both countries have a legislative system consisting of two houses, one representing the people numerically, and the other the Cantons or States of which the Union is composed, and both possess a Supreme Court, which in Switzerland goes by the name of the Federal Tribunal. It is generally conceded that the Swiss consciously imitated these American institutions, but in doing so they certainly took care to adapt them to their own particular needs, so that the two sets of institutions are by no means identical. The Swiss National Council andCouncil of States, forming together the Federal Assembly, are equal, co-ordinate bodies, performing the same functions, whereas our House of Representatives and Senate have particular duties assigned to each, and the former occupies in a measure a subordinate position to the latter. The Swiss Houses meet twice a year in regular sessions, on the first Monday in June and the first Monday in December, and for extra sessions if there is special unfinished business to transact. The National Council is composed at present of 147 members, one representative to every 20,000 inhabitants. Every citizen of twenty-one is a voter; and every voter not a clergyman is eligible to this National Council—the exclusion of the clergy is due to dread of religious quarrels, with which the pages of Swiss history have been only too frequently stained. A general election takes place every three years. The salary of the representatives is four dollars a day, which is forfeited by non-attendance, and about five cents a mile for travelling expenses. On the other hand, the Council of States is composed of forty-four members, two for each of the twenty-two Cantons. The length of their terms of office is left entirely to the discretion of the Cantons which elect them, and in the same manner their salaries are paid out of the Cantonal treasuries. There are certain special occasions when the two houses meet together and act in concert: first, for the election of the Federal Council, which corresponds in a general way to our President and his Cabinet; secondly, for the election of the Federal Tribunal; thirdly, for that of the Chancellor of the Confederation, an official whose duties seem to be those of a secretary to the Federal Council and Federal Assembly, and fourthly, for that of the Commander-in-Chief in case of war. The attributes of the Swiss Federal Tribunal, though closely resembling those of our Supreme Court, are not identical with them, for the Swiss conception of the sovereignty of the people is quite different from our own. Their Federal Assembly is the repository of the national sovereignty, and, therefore, no other body can override its decisions. The Supreme Court of the United States tests the constitutionality of laws passed by Congress which may be submitted to it for examination, thus placing itself as arbiter over the representatives of the people; but the Federal Tribunal must accept as final all laws which have passed through the usual channels, so thatits duty consists merely in applying them to particular cases without questioning their constitutionality.

If there is a certain resemblance between the Federal Assembly and our Congress, and between the Federal Tribunal and our Supreme Court, there is on the other hand a striking difference between the Federal Council and our presidential office.

The Swiss Constitution does not intrust the executive power to one man, as our own does, but to a Federal Council of seven members, acting as a sort of Board of Administration. These seven men are elected for a fixed term of three years, out of the ranks of the whole body of voters throughout the country, by the two Houses, united in joint session. Every year they also designate, from the seven members of the Federal Council, the two persons who shall act as President and Vice-President of the Swiss Confederation. The Swiss President is, therefore, only the chairman of an executive board, and presents a complete contrast to the President of the United States, who is virtually a monarch, elected for a short reign. Sir Henry Maine says in his book on “Popular Government,” that somewhat exasperating but always instructive arraignment of democracy: “On the face of the Constitution of the United States, the resemblance of the President of the United States to the European king, and especially to the King of Great Britain, is too obvious to mistake. The President has, in various degrees, a number of powers which those who know something of kingship in its general history recognize at once as peculiarly associated with it and with no other institution.” In truth he is vested with all the attributes of sovereignty during his term of office. He holds in his hand the whole executive power of the government; he is Commander-in-Chief of the army and navy; possesses a suspensory veto upon legislation and the privilege of pardoning offences against Federal law, and finally is intrusted with an appointing power unparalleled in any free country. With all this authority he is still a partisan by reason of the manner of his election, so that he cannot possibly administer his office impartially, and must, from the necessity of the case, forward the interests of one political party at the expense of the rest. It is certainly worthy of consideration whether the Swiss Federal Council does not contain valuable suggestions for reformers who desireto hasten the triumph of absolute democracy in the United States.

The institution of the Referendum has no counterpart in our own country, unless we except the somewhat unwieldy provisions in various States for the revisions of their constitutions by popular vote. It is undoubtedly the most successful experiment in applying the principles of direct government which has been made in modern times. Having already written more fully upon this subject in the March number ofThe Arena, the writer will here confine himself to reminding the readers of this review that the referendum is an institution by means of which laws framed by the representatives are submitted to the people for rejection or approval. It is significant of the interest which the referendum is already exciting in this country that a committee of gentlemen recently presented themselves at the State House to urge the adoption of this principle in local matters.

There are, besides, a host of minor differences between the Swiss and American Constitutions, of more or less interest to students of politics and economics.

The central government in Switzerland maintains a university, the Polytechnic at Zürich, and by virtue of the constitution also exerts an influence over education throughout the Confederation. Article 27 prescribes that the Cantons shall provide compulsory primary instruction to be placed in charge of the civil authorities and to be gratuitous in all public schools. In practice these provisions have been found difficult to enforce where the spirit of the population was opposed to them, as in Uri, the most illiterate of the Cantons, where the writer found educational matters entirely in the hands of the priesthood. Fortunately, however, the Swiss people at large have a very keen appreciation of the value of education, so that illiteracy, as we have it in this country, among the negroes and the poor whites of the South, as well as amongst certain classes of our immigrants, is really unknown in Switzerland. Someone has jestingly said that there “the primary business of the state is to keep school,” and really, in travelling through the country which gave birth to Pestalozzi, one is continually impressed with the size and comparative splendor of the schoolhouses; in every village and hamlet they have the appearance of being the very best which the community by scrimping and savingcan possibly put up. On the subject of import duties, the Constitution lays down in Article 29 as general rules to guide the conduct of legislators, that “materials which are necessary to the industries and agriculture of the country shall be taxed as low as possible; the same rule shall be observed in regard to the necessaries of life. Articles of luxury shall be subjected to the highest taxes.” From this set of principles it will be seen that Switzerland levies her duties for revenue only, as the phrase is, although it must be confessed that there is a perceptible tendency now manifested to raise the duties in consequence of the high protectionist wave which is sweeping over the continent of Europe at the present moment. When the statistics of Switzerland’s general trade, including all goods in transit, which, of course, make a considerable portion of the whole, are compared with those of other European states, it is found that she possesses a greater amount of general trade per head of population than any other country, more even than England. The telegraph and telephone systems are managed by the central government, as well as the post office, with excellent results. Not only are these departments conducted in an exemplary manner upon cheap terms, but a respectable revenue is also derived from them which makes a good showing in the annual budget. Everything which is connected with the army, from the selection of the recruits to the election of the Commander-in-Chief, also possesses exceptional interest, because Switzerland is the only country in the world which has so far succeeded in maintaining an efficient militia without the vestige of a standing army. An attempt was made in 1885 to deal with the evils of intemperance, by establishing a state monopoly of the manufacture and sale of spirituous liquors, the Revenue thus derived being apportioned amongst the Cantons according to population, with the proviso that ten per cent. of it be used by them to combat the causes and effects of alcoholism in their midst. It is too early to speak of the final results of this legislation, but for the moment there seems to be a decided falling off in the consumption of the cruder and more injurious qualities. Amongst other matters which the Federal authorities have brought under their supervision, are the forests, river improvements, ordinary roads, and railroads, and bridges, etc., not managing them all directly, but reserving the right to regulate them atwill. Even hunting and fishing come within the jurisdiction of the central government, this constitutional power having been used to preserve the chamois in certain mountain ranges where they were threatening to disappear completely, but where, thanks to timely interference, they are now actually on the increase.

Apart from these constitutional provisions, the general drift of legislative action seems to have set in very strongly towards a mild form of state socialism, somewhat after the form of the Prussian system, but with this difference, that in the case of Switzerland it is the people who unite to delegate certain powers to the state, while in the latter country this policy is imposed upon the people from above by the ruling authorities. The altogether exceptional clauses in the Swiss Constitution referring to the exclusion of the Jesuits, a survival of the war of 1848, to the so-called Heimatlosen, or those who have no commune of origin, and to the police appointed to control the movements of foreign agitators seeking the asylum of the country, all these have a purely local interest, and need not be especially examined.

What, then, is the peculiar mark and symbol of the Swiss Constitution, taken as a whole? When all has been said and done, the most characteristic provisions are those which introduce forms of direct government or of pure democracy, as the technical expression is. The supremacy of the legislative branch, as representing the people, the peculiar make-up of the Federal Council, the limited powers of the Federal Tribunal, and above all the institution of the referendum, are all evidences of this tendency toward direct government. In the Cantonal governments the same quality is still more apparent, for it is from them that the Swiss Federal Constitution has borrowed the principles which underlie these characteristic provisions. In point of fact, representative democracy has never felt quite at home in Switzerland; there has always been an effort to revert to simpler, more straightforward methods; to reduce the distance which separates the people from the exercise of their sovereignty; and to constitute them into a court of final appeal.

In view of the marvellous stability which the pure democracy of Switzerland has displayed, there is something comical in the horror of all forms of direct government expressedby most constitutional writers. De Tocqueville, whom we honor for his appreciation of our own Constitution, declares “that they all tend to render the government of the people irregular in its action, precipitate in its resolutions, and tyrannical in its acts.” Mr. George Grote also condemns the referendum, and of course one cannot expect pure democracy to be praised by Sir Henry Maine, who believes that “the progress of mankind has hitherto been effected by the rise and fall of aristocracies.” On the other hand it is refreshing to hear Mr. Freeman and Mr. Dicey actually discussing the practicability of introducing the referendum into the English political system.

After all, is not this very quality of directness a great recommendation, when we consider the rubbish which at present clogs the wheels of our political machinery, the complications which confuse the voter and hide the real issues from his comprehension? The very epithets pure and direct satisfy at once our best aspirations and our common sense. If monarchy is the government of one, oligarchy that of a few, and democracy that of many, surely there will some day arise the rule of all. The United States seems to be standing at the parting of two ways, one of which leads back in a vicious circle to plutocracy and despotism, while the other advances towards a genuine pure democracy. No nation can stand still. Which way shall it be?

BY REV. FRANCIS BELLAMY.

Dr. Whewell observed that the acceptance of every new idea passed through three stages: 1. It is absurd; 2. It is contrary to the Bible; 3. We always believed it. Change the second stage to, It is unscientific, and the diagram may apply to socialism. We have certainly emerged from the period when it was considered a valid argument to call socialism somebody’s dream. It is now treated with a scientific earnestness which betrays its progress in general thought. This serious grappling with the subject is noted in the recent “Plea for Liberty,” by some of Mr. Herbert Spencer’s disciples, for which Mr. Spencer himself has written an elaborate introduction.

The same earnestness is felt in the masterly editorial, “Is Socialism Desirable?” inThe Arenafor May. This is a solid contribution to the permanent literature of the subject. It is not a surprise that it has commanded such wide attention. Its deep thoughtfulness, its strategic selection of only vital points for its attack, and, not the least, its kindliness and chivalry, mark it as a notable production. I truly appreciate the honor of being chosen by this knightly antagonist to face the attack on his own sands.

It is not without some question, however, that I accept the generous challenge. For I am not sure that I myself believe in the military type of socialism which the editor seems continually to have in mind. The book, which more than all others combined has brought socialism before American thought, has also furnished to its opponents a splendidly clear target in its military organization. It cannot be repeated too often, however, that the army type is not conceded by socialists to be an essential, even, of nationalistic socialism. Democratic socialism differs considerably from military socialism, and may be fully as national in its reach. In so far as Mr. Flower’s arguments apply to democraticsocialism, the following paragraphs may be taken as a rejoinder.

To bring the chief counts of the editor’s indictment again clearly before the readers, it will be well to summarize them:—

(1) National socialism means governmentalism, which is tyranny over the individual.

(2) National socialism means paternalism, which, exercised by all the people, is the most hopeless kind of tyranny.

(3) National socialism means the arrest of progress, because the majority will surely tyrannize over the small “vanguard of human progress.”

(4) National socialism will be needless when the people are educated to the fraternalism which alone could temper the inevitable despotism of the majority.

There is a period in every agitation of a new idea when the most prosperous weapon against it is a thumping epithet. The name must be apt enough to stick. Furthermore, no matter how misleading, it must be suggestive of sinister things.

“Governmentalism” is such a word. In its etymology it is harmless enough. Governmental is the adjective of government, and means “exercising the powers of government.” Governmentalism, therefore, means the exercise of the powers of government considered as a principle. But the word when made the bogy of socialism is supposed to mean the principle of the exercise of the powers of government raised to thenthdegree, and separated from the people. It suggests a shadowy somewhat of officialdom; a Corliss engine of functionaryism; all of which is thought of as apart from the people, yet pressing upon the people. In other words, the name “governmentalism,” while intended as a word of opprobrium for socialism, really indicates the amazing misconception which the critics have of the nation itself, and of the relation of the nation’s life to its self-direction.

The nation is not an aggregate of the Smiths, and Joneses, and Robinsons. It is a favorite formula with the opponents of the new school that the nation is but a multitude of individuals. So is a sand-heap. But in the nation the individual atoms are linked by mutual obligations. They are members one of another. No individual can claim isolation and independency. Let him make the most of his individuality;yet, as Aristotle said, “Man is a political animal;” his nature apart from the nation is incomplete; sundered from that to which he belongs he seems a freak.

The nation, then, is not an artificial binding of units; it is a natural relationship. The ideal nation is not entered as a result of reflection and choice. A man is born into the nation as into the family. To belong to the English nation when born an Englishman is not usually considered so “greatly to his credit,” except in the case of Mr. Gilbert’s naval hero. The very term “naturalize,” with which we denote the initiation of a foreigner, is a confession that the nation is not a social contract but a natural relation. It is this natural relation which makes the nation worth dying for; it is fatherland.

Still further, the nation is an organic being. The scattered atoms of a sand-heap are as perfect as before they were dislodged; not so an amputated arm. When the nation is disunited, the detached segment becomes a different kind of body. “The man without a country” begins to be another sort of man. The nation is not a mass of independent individuals, but of related individuals, who, moreover, are so closely related that they make together an indivisible organism; this organism develops according to orderly laws; this organism has perpetuity, never disjoining itself either from its past or future; and this organism has also self-consciousness and moral personality. This is the nation in which we live, and move, and have our being.

When we look this high conception of the nation squarely in the eye, much of the talk about governmentalism seems at once irrelevant. For government in America must ever mean the nation directing itself. Here are no hereditary governing machines; no bureaucracies created by a power apart from the people. In Europe, government is fastened on the people. But in America, if government is not of the people, by the people, and for the people, it is their own fault. The worst abuses of power in a government actually emanating from the people, do not put it beyond their reach. It is still the nation governing itself. It will one day become conscious of its strength, and will direct its efforts more wisely. But so long as it is the living, organic nation governing itself, no mere multiplication of functions, no straightforward increase of powers, are a discrowning of the people.

Socialists believe in the fearless extension of government because they have a clear and high idea of the nation as an organic relationship, apart from which the individual cannot realize himself. As the nation becomes more self-conscious, it perceives more clearly its own responsibility for the development of each individual. The self-governing nation extends its governmental powers solely to give a better chance for development to the largest number of individuals. “All individualism,” says Mr. Flower, “would be surrendered to that mysterious thing called government.” But there is nothing mysterious in the expression the nation makes of its own will; and it is hard to discover what individualism is surrendered, except bumptiousness, when the rounded development of the greatest number of individuals is the nation’s motive for extending its governmental functions.

There is also another kind of reason for being undismayed at the threat of governmentalism. Nationalism is but the very distant consummation of local socialism.

I suppose it is not strange that the hostile critics occupy themselves almost entirely with this keystone of the arch, since that has given the name to the whole tendency. They delight to picture the superb riot of corruption if nationalists could have their way at once. They will never listen, they will never remember, while nationalists declare they would not have their way at once if they could. A catastrophe by which nationalistic socialism might be precipitated would be a deplorable disaster to human progress.

Socialism properly begins with the municipality; or more properly still, with the town-meeting. The Hon. Joseph Chamberlain is a practical State socialist; and he outlines in theNorth American Reviewfor May how English cities are laying the foundation of more general socialism. The popular representative government of the municipality, he says, “unlike the imperial legislature, is very near to the poor, and can deal with details, and with special conditions. It is subject to the criticism and direct control both of those who find the money, and of those who are chiefly interested in its expenditure. In England, at any rate,” he continues, “it has been free from the suspicion of personal corruption, and has always been able to secure the services of the ablest and most disinterested members of the community.” Thepractical socialism of Birmingham, and other cities of Great Britain, enthusiastically supported by multitudes of citizens who do not call themselves socialists, is an example of the first numbers on the socialistic programme. The intellectual leaders of socialism are in no hurry. They have all the time there is. It may take years to persuade American cities that they are business corporations themselves, whose aim is the well-being of all the members. The extension of municipal control over all natural monopolies may be decades off. No matter; there is no use in being hot-headed because hearts are hot at the miseries of the poor. Municipalization ought to precede nationalization. The members of the community must learn to trust each other before the East and the West will trust one another. It must be proved in American cities, as it has been already in English cities, that the extension of municipal powers is itself a force to drive out corruption and purify politics, before the nation as a whole will deem it safe to make great enlargements of the civil service.

As that day approaches, it will be found that nationalism is a much simpler thing than it now seems. Nationalism does not begin in a paper constitution and work downwards. During the upheavals of the French Revolution Abbè Siéges is always coming forward with a new constitution. But in America institutions are rather an evolution. The last numbers on the social programme may safely be left blank. Nationalism is neither a city let down, of a sudden, four-square from heaven, nor are its working plans yet to be found in any architect’s office on earth. We certainly want no nationalism which is not an orderly development. We may agree with Mr. Spencer that the course of political evolution is full of surprises. It is quite possible that the nationalism which seems so full of menace as a military despotism may turn out to be but a simple federation of industrial and commercial interests which find they require a single head.

In other words, it seems to me, nationalism is only a prophecy. It is too distant to be certainly detailed. Present day accounts of it will one day be, as Horace Greeley said of something else, “mighty interesting reading.” We may be inspired by it as the end towards which present movements are tending. But each age solves its own problems; and the passage into that promised land is the issuefor another generation. A nearer view alone can determine where the passage is, and whether the land is truly desirable. We may justly put some faith in the common sense, as well as in the political ingenuity of those who come after us. If military socialism, whatever it is, should ever be the issue, this American people can be trusted to vote against it if it is undesirable. Meantime, what our people must vote upon in the present year of grace, is whether great private corporations shall control legislatures and city councils, and charge their own unquestioned prices for such public necessities of life as light and transit. There is an issue between tyranny and liberty which is to the point. The future is in the hands of evolution.

Another opprobrious epithet is “paternalism.” This is the most familiar of the titles of reproach. It suggests an idea of government made pestiferous by old abuse. The most atrocious despotisms both of king and church have planted themselvesin loco parentis. The welfare of the people has been the hoary excuse for the cruelest outrages of history. Mr. Flower goes a step further and avers that, with the good of the people for a pretext, tyranny has always been in exact proportion to power and authority.

Without stopping to query as to this last rather sweeping statement, it will be enough to check ourselves while the editor leaps to his induction; namely, that because the monarchical and ecclesiastical governments have tyrannized in proportion to their power, nothing less is to be expected if our Republic becomes affected with a greater sense of governmental responsibility for the welfare of her citizens. If our nation, it is claimed, allows this specious excuse to commit it to the doctrine of State interference, we are drifted into the despotic paternalisms of the old world.

But a paternalism must have a parent, a royal sire, or a priestly grandmother. In the antique paternalisms there is invariably this parental personality at the top; down beneath it are the puppet children. “My soldiers are my children,” says Napoleon; and he orders a charge for their benefit; an hour afterwards the dying address him as Sire as he walks over the field. “The German people are my children,” says Emperor William; and he issues the edict for the compulsory life-insurance of workingmen; an undoubted blessing. Both are instances of paternalism; andthe principle in one case is as obnoxious as in the other. The principle of paternalism is an irresponsible authority above the people, mastering the people, with their welfare as a pretext.

But this essential of paternalism must be lacking in the republic. Whatever powers democracy may assume, it recognizes no authority outside itself. Democratic government, however socialistic it may become, is nothing but democracy expressing its own will. If the individual is led to surrender certain of his freedoms for the good of all, he surrenders to a paternalism of all the people. That were better called, once for all, a fraternalism.

It is not enough, however, to show that the title is in our case a grave misnomer. The editor adduces several recent instances which he considers exhibitions of the increasing tyranny of all the people. He believes the tyranny of all the people, if they are as selfish as they are now, would be more hopeless than the despotism of an individual; for the single tyrant is after all amenable to revolution, while the whole nation as a tyrant is accountable to nothing. To his view, indeed, the occurrences I am about to repeat prove the new tyrant is already created. They exhibit a “tyranny which shows that persecutions are only limited by the power vested in the State.”

Let us examine the data for this astonishing conclusion. My limits will not allow more than a bare reference to the incidents which are fully described in the May editorial.

Case I. is the incarceration in Tennessee of a Seventh-day Adventist for working on Sunday. Of this it may be remarked that had it happened two centuries ago it would have been symptomatic; to-day it is a curiosity.

Case II. is the arrest of a Christian Scientist in Iowa for practising contrary to the rules of the State. I presume this cannot be fairly disposed of by suggesting that there has been some aggravated occasion for such stringency. But it is certainly true that the State has the right to prevent malpractice—a right none of us would wish renounced. And as soon as there are sufficient data to convince an intelligent public opinion that the theory, with its perilous repudiation of all medical skill, is not fatal to human life, it will receive an ungrudged status.

Case III. is the arrest of a minister, of pure life and unquestionedstanding, for sending obscene literature through the mail. The sole charge was the publication of an earnest and chastely worded article on marital purity; but the real cause was supposed to be his severe criticism of the Society for the Prevention of Vice nearly a year afterward. If these facts are verifiable this is a monstrous outrage. But unhappily it is not the first instance where revenge has been taken on the innocent by due process of law. Without doubt the people ought to be more aroused by it than they are. Yet such a sporadic instance of miscarried justice is scarcely a reason why the State should cease its efforts to check by law the present alarming increase of lascivious printing.

Case IV. is an election bill in California which prohibits independent nominations except upon petition of five per cent. of the voters, and thus disfranchises four per cent. of the voting population. If this mad device proves anything, it proves that the leaders of the old parties are in such consternation at the uneasiness of the people that they have lost their heads. It proves no more than the denial of the right of petition in Congress during anti-slavery days; and it proves as much as that attempt to ignore the voice of reform. Earthquakes are not far off when such things happen.

Case V. is the suit for damages which one Powell brings against Pennsylvania. Under a statute authorizing the manufacture of oleomargarine, he had undertaken the business, to find himself ruined by a later legislature making its manufacture a misdemeanor. This is very noteworthy, for it proves too much. It shows a vested money interest controlling legislature and voting a rival business into outlawry. This is a kind of instance socialists like to get hold of.

Yet these instances are used to illustrate “a growing spirit of intolerance” in our country; they are said to exhibit a State tyranny which is already blossoming under paternalistic legislation; they emphasize, it is claimed, the fact,—“That all the majority wishes is the sanction of law to make its crimes against the minority assume a show of respectability. All that retards persecution is the limit of the sanction of law; and I submit that, in the light of history, and in the face of the wrongs of the present, all increase in governmental power menaces the liberty, the happiness, and the growth of the individual.”

This is a pretty large indictment to hang on such debatable evidence. Its audaciousness fairly takes one’s breath away. Our heaviest battery is turned against ourselves. Every cherished dream of the good time coming goes up at a blast. Instead of freedom at last to do that for which we are made, and to fit into the niche where we belong, we are shown a State’s-prison. Instead of an age of joy and of elastic step, we are pointed to an iron rule of repression and cheerlessness. Instead of leisure to ripen, of a full summing of our powers, of the exhilaration of new truth, we have disclosed to us a stunted individuality treading a dull and monotonous round of existence. And all this, because if the people are trusted with more power they will tyrannize life down to this paralyzing reaction.

The logic of this bold pessimism is:—Human nature is tyrannical; the majority have always tyrannized in proportion to their power; increase their power and they will increase their tyranny. This is the syllogism which has dignified the foregoing collection of occurrences into grave symptoms of an increase of popular despotism.

It might be fair to meet dogmatic pessimism with dogmatic optimism. Or, it would be legitimate to follow the logic to its end in a general abandoning of all the powers of government which, it seems, has only hurt when it tried to help humanity; to go back honestly to Jefferson, and beyond him, to

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