method be a symptom of our character, we are forced to acknowledge ourselves fartravelled on the road of decay. There is a hopeless extravagance even in the money we save. Those who are surprised by an enemy without men and without munitions of war must needs pay ten times its value for that upon which their national existence depends. They are no better economists than was Panurge, who burned great logs for their ashes and ate his corn whilst it was but grass. "Why," said he, "should I cut my wheat in the blade when from it you might make a good green sauce?" That is precisely what England is doing to-day; she is making a green sauce of her corn, and doubtless will feel a sad surprise when famine overtakes her. And, she errs not without warning. In a wise and witty speech, delivered at Edinburgh a month ago, Lord Rosebery, the most disinterested of counsellors, delivered a homily upon thrift, both public and private, which deserves a better fate than to be forgotten with the daily journal wherein it was reported. "I think," he said, "it is serious for those who have the governance of our affairs to remember that great nations and great empires live only so long as they are thrifty; that the moment they begin to waste or disperse their resources, the day of their end is at hand. That is a fact abundantly proved in history, ... and though I do not pretend to preach thrift from any exalted standpoint, I do beg

those who are here present and those outside these walls whom my words may reach, to remember that thrift is the surest and the strongest foundation of an empire-so sure, so strong, and so necessary, that no great empire can long exist that disregards it." These are words spoken with authority, and spoken none too soon. Our Government has proved itself thriftless both in what it spends and in what it spares, and if there be not a speedy return to saner methods, it will be as miserably bankrupt as Panurge himself, whom not even the lordship of Salmagondy could save from ruin.

As

Lord Rosebery has long held a unique position in the State. He shrinks from office, and is careful not to give an undue support to either party. an amicus curice he is without a rival, and you will hardly find his like in the annals of the past. Knowledge and judgment are his, and he speaks with the weight which is carried by one who has held the highest offices. His politics, moreover, are nicely tempered by the study of history and literature. He is always ready with wise saws and ancient instances. It would not be easy to name many statesmen with his literary equipment. Charles James Fox, when he took pen in hand, declined upon a stiff and arid style. Not even the most pious admirer could pretend that the late Mr Gladstone possessed Lord Rosebery's clear insight into life and letters. Nor does Lord Rosebery stint his eloquence because he has

left the strife of partisans. His knowledge and his irony are always at the service of the State. And he touches nothing save with a light hand and a gentle scorn. Thrift, for instance, is not the sprightliest subject upon which to discourse, and yet Lord Rosebery treated it even with a sort of gaiety. His treatment of it, too, is opportune. If it be not sprightly, nothing too much can be said in praise of that thrift, now hopelessly out of fashion, which purchases independence of philanthropy and patronage. This kind may flourish, and indeed does flourish, in circumstances of the direst poverty. Lord Rosebery described with a quiet humour the thrift of the Scottish peasant, who, in the eighteenth century, kept what he could, not for the sake of livelihood but for the sake of his funeral. (The Chinese in California are said to be inspired by the same ambition unto this day.) "This patient and self-denying people," said Lord Rosebery, "amassed enough for what, after all, is the most insignificant event in our life-toiled and spun, and spared themselves for that purpose."

And they thus toiled and thus spun, because they thought it shame to be beholden to the State-a reason which to the elector of modern times, eager for doles, must appear the last freak of folly.

This thrift, then, which is a guarantee of independence, is a golden virtue. There are other kinds of thrift, in praise of which nothing can be said. That which comes of fear, for instance, is

the determined enemy of enterprise and adventure. It is not the apostle of mere thrift who has gone overseas to found colonies and to enlarge the borders of the Empire. The man who will at all costs keep the little he has is doomed to a life of penury and discomfort, and may easily come upon the parish at last by some accident of fortune. And thrift, itself a virtue, becomes, when practised by a miser, the ugliest of the vices. From a vice it turns to a disease-a kind of madness which defies alike reason and ridicule. The expedients to which John Elwes, whom we have already cited, was reduced by his hatred of extravagance, would furnish forth a tragicomedy. At the time of his greatest wealth he would sit in an old greenhouse to save a fire, or with his servant in the kitchen. He spent his mornings in collecting chips and bones and crows' nests, which presently he might use as fuel. When he rode out he never left the soft turf adjoining the road, and so spared the expense of shoes, declaring in explanation that the turf was pleasant to a horse's foot. To save the cost of going to a butcher, he would have one of his own sheep killed, and eat mutton until it was finished, nor would he refrain from the stale meat, even if it were putrid. He would never allow his shoes to be cleaned, lest they might be worn out the sooner, and he thought the foulest rags good enough to cover his nakedness. From the pleasures of life he resolutely excluded

himself. Though a good scholar he would not incur the expense of books; and though he lived in the golden age of the drama, and might have seen Garrick and Mrs Jordan, Kemble and Mrs Siddons, he would never spend the few shillings asked for a seat in the theatre. He knew neither love nor hate, neither joy nor beauty. He was the wretched victim of the money that he amassed, and his example makes the very name of thrift hideous.

But when we look more narrowly at it, John Elwes was in reality guilty of the vice which he most bitterly deplored. It was truly the spirit of waste to which he succumbed. He wasted with more than a gambler's recklessness the gold which he collected. There it lay in drawers and boxes, useless and untouched. It did him no more good than it would had he flung it into the sea. It brought him nothing that was comely or of good report. It did not reveal to him the amenity of life. And it may be said without paradox that the miser is the worst squanderer of them all. He wastes his money upon nothing. In very truth, waste is the worst foe of decent living, whether it comes from the extravagance of vulgar display or from a mean penuriousness. He is the wisest man and the thriftiest who puts his income to the best use; and if you would have an example to set against that of Elwes the miser, you could not do better than choose Peregrine Langton, who has found immortality in Boswell's

Life of Dr Johnson.' Probably no better economist than he ever made a shilling do the work of half a sovereign. He had no more than an annuity of £200, and he led the gracious life of a country gentleman. He lived in Lincolnshire, a county that was not more than moderately cheap, and he lived without stint or difficulty. "The servants," said his nephew, "were two maids and two men in livery. His common way of living at his table was three or four dishes; the appurtenances to his table were neat and handsome: he frequently entertained company at dinner, and then his table was well served with as many dishes as were usual at the tables of the other gentlemen in the neighbourhood. His own appearance as to clothes was genteelly neat and plain. He had always a postchaise, and kept three horses." And when all was paid he still reserved a tenth of his income for charity, and had saved at his death the better part of a year's income. Such an achievement is not common in the experience of life, and Peregrine Langton succeeded only because he paid for everything as it came. He knew neither interest nor panic. He was, in fact, the antithesis of Panurge and the British Government, who both, with very different motives, have eaten their corn in the green. And the sin of our Government is far greater than the sin of Panurge, because its thriftlessness may bring ruin upon millions.

THE Outlook in India is more hopeful now than it has been for some time past. Not because of Lord Morley's reforms. They have not been put forward to satisfy the cravings of agitators or in obedience to their threats. Neither have they been deferred in consequence of the revolutionary wave which has threatened to spread over India. For the restoration of peace and security to the people of India, and for the safety of our own people, other measures must be, and I am glad to say have been, now adopted. When the history of the past five or six years comes to be written, I think it will be said the spread of anarchy and disorder in Bengal especially has been due to the extraordinary slowness of the executive government to act: to want of foresight, alertness, and promptitude. If the measures now taken for curbing the press and for summary justice in the case of serious political crime had been taken three years ago, the Viceroy would not have had to deplore "a murderous conspiracy, a widespread conspiracy, aiming avowedly at the systematic assassination of Government officials, which is to discredit our administration, and expel the British Raj from India" (Lord Minto's speech in Council, Calcutta, December 11,

I.

1908); nor would a member of Council have had to support proposals for repressive legislation by a description of Bengal which would be a libel on Oudh under the worst of her Nawabs. It is the fashion. in quarters, some of which ought to be better informed, to attribute the disturbance in Bengal to the division of that province for administrative purposes. The Hindu leaders cleverly took advantage of that measure and used it for their own ends. But the widespread conspiracy is a purely Hindu conspiracy, closely connected, I believe, with the Cow Societies. In its methods it is as much fanatical as political, and is directed as much against the Masalmáns as against the British. Let those who doubt the wisdom of dividing Bengal read the following quotation from a letter from the Government of Eastern Bengal:

"The Mahomedans have a very profound distrust of the Hindus, whom they see at every turn exploiting them for their benefit, whether as landholders, as Mahujuns, as moneylenders, or in every turn of life where the Mahomedans are, so far out from lucrative employment. The as the Hindus find it possible, shut principal weapon- the boycott of European goods-is an intensely selfish weapon, by which the agitators compel the poorer people to pay the to bring to bear upon the Europeans cost of the pressure which they wish and it is carried out by tyranny and

con

oppression, and utterly regardless of the cost to the poorer classes, who are made to pay. The Hindus frequently also treat the Mahomedans with great contumely and tempt." (Secretary, Eastern Bengal and Assam, to the Government of India, March 14, 1908. Advisory and Legislative Councils Blue-book, vol. ii., Part II., p. 946 c.)

There are, we know from Sir Harvey Adamson's speech, some fifteen thousand "volunteers" in Bengal enrolled in the Samitis, against which the new laws have been designed. This admirable and amiable "Territorial force" is occupied in executing the measures described above, with a little murder, arson, and dacoity thrown in. The main hope of the degraded and downtrodden Muhammedan population is their formation into a province where they will be in the majority. Yet such is the perversity of human nature, we have Lord Macdonnell denouncing the partition of Bengal as if it had outraged the sacred soil of Tipperary, and assuring the House of Lords that, if it could be undone, all difficulties would vanish, and a noble province would reappear where the liberal measures of Lord Morley would take root amid a fine independent peasantry.

I do not know whether the salvation of the Muhammedan majority eighteen millions out of twenty-nine-was in Lord Curzon's mind when he divided Bengal. I believe not. But nothing more is needed to justify his action.

However, as I have said, the outlook is distinctly more hopeful since the legislative measures passed in the Calcutta

Council on December 11. If the Lieutenant-Governors of the two provinces are strong men and are allowed to act, there is a good hope that the revolutionary and anarchical

movement

checked. may be It is possible that as the real spring of the Government in India has been moved to London of recent years, a fact which the agitators who have hovered about the India Office for the last few months have been quick to recognise, so the headquarters of anarchy as well as of sedition may be transferred to this country. Be this as it may, the main point is to have strong executive governments in the Indian provinces. The trail of half-heartedness is over even the recent legislation. The Seditious Meetings Act was aimed at the orators who have been stumping India, exciting hatred and revolt; but "unfortunately, I think," says Sir Harvey Adamson, "it was surrounded by safeguards which rendered it somewhat difficult to put in operation." The Newspapers Incitement to Offences Act followed. It stopped short of sedition, and was hampered with an appeal to the High Court. Now has been passed the Summary Justice Act, which is excellent. But the local Governor, the authority directly responsible for the peace, is not allowed to move under it unless and until he can procure the sanction of the Governor-General in Council, which may mean the Secretary of State. There is much to suggest the hand of Lord Morley in all this.