ment.

and co-operative action through governBoth causes have contributed to our growing realization of the truth that a self-governing community is something very different from a community of selfgoverning individuals.

Many in our times look with apprehension upon this rapid extension of the function and powers of government. We are departing, they say, from the traditions of our fathers; and they are right. We are compelled to depart from the traditions of our fathers. They traveled in stage-coaches, we travel in Pullman cars; they communicated by mail, we increasingly communicate by telegraph and telephone; they used coin as a medium of exchange, or bank bills at their own risk, we use bank bills without any risk; they suffered from devastating epidemics, we are protecting ourselves from devastating epidemics by governmental regulation; they burned candles or whale oil, we illuminate our houses by kerosene or electricity; they had few books and poor schools, we have excellent schools and public libraries. Life in the twentieth century is very different from life in the eighteenth; government in the twentieth century must be very different from government in the eighteenth. It must be either more extensive in its function and operation, or far less effective in its protection of human rights and its enforcement of human duties.

The notion that a complex and extended government is inconsistent with freedom grows out of the notion that freedom is exemption from law; that liberty and independence are synonymous. But freedom and independence are not synonymous, and freedom is not exemption from law. Leonard Bacon, in his " Pilgrim Hymn," thus describes the cargo the Pilgrims brought with them:

Laws, freedom, truth, and faith in God

Came with these exiles o'er the waves." Laws Freedom! Can these live in the same ship? Can these flourish in the same community? What do we mean by law?

Austin, the famous writer on English law, has defined law as the edict of a superior who has the power to enforce his will by penalty, a power which confers on him his authority, and creates

in the subject a duty or obligation of obedience.1

It is true that power to enforce law is necessary to law; but more is necessary; the possession of power does not of itself confer authority or create duty. Authority is rightful or just power, and something more than the mere possession of power is necessary to give the possessor a right to command or create in the subject a duty of obedience. If the law is an unjust law, disobedience may become duty. King Darius had power to enforce by decree his command, but the plain duty of Daniel was to disobey. The Italian bandit has power to command his prisoners, but he has no just authority over them. If law is simply an edict issued by one who has power to enforce obedience by penalty, then law and liberty are inconsistent. The Puritans in their revolt against the Stuarts no less than the French in their revolt against the Bourbons refused such submission. But the Puritans were not a lawless folk; they put an unaccustomed emphasis on the sacredness of law.

I venture to offer my own definition of law, without, however, claiming for it any originality. It is Hebraic in its origin, although it is not formally stated, so far as I recall, in Hebrew literature. But it underlies the conception of law embodied in the Old Testament Scriptures. A striking illustration of it is afforded by the Nineteenth Psalm, which many Biblical scholars regard as two different psalms put together by some editor. I hesitate to dissent from them,

2

1"A command is an order issued by a superior to an inferior. It is a signification of desire distinguished by this peculiarity, that the party to whom it is directed is liable to evil from the other, in case he comply not with the desire.' If you are able and willing to harm me in case I comply not with your wish, the expression of your wish amounts to a command. Being liable to evil in case I comply not with the wish which you signify, I am bound or obliged by it, or I lie under a duty to obey it. The evil is called a sanction, and the command or duty is said to be sanctioned by the chance of incurring the evil. The three terms command, duty, and sanction are thus inseparably connected. As Austin expresses it in the language of formal logic, each of the three terms signifies the same notion, but each denotes a different part of that notion, and connotes the residue.'"-Encyclopædia Britannica, Vol. XIV, p. 356.

Charles Augustus Briggs, LL.D., "Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Psalms," Vol. I, p. 162. "Psalm 19 is composed of two originally separate poems: (a) a morning hymn, praising the glory of 'El in the heavens (v. 2-5b) and glorious movements of the sun (v. 5c-7); (b) a didactic poem, describing the excellence of the Law (v. 8-11), with a petition for absolution, restraint from sin, and acceptance in worship (v. 12-15). "

but in my judgment the psalm is by one poet, who saw what modern thinkers have often failed to see, that law is essentially the same in the physical and in the spiritual world. "The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament showeth his handiwork." That is the operation of law in the physical universe. Not less is it true that "the law of the Lord is perfect, restoring the soul: the testimony of the Lord is sure, making wise the simple." That is the operation of law in the spiritual realm.

flies in obedience to them. Man is not free to eat and drink as much as his gluttonous desires prompt. If he attempts to do so, he presently finds that he is not free to digest what he has eaten, and must make up for the one day's feast by several days of fasting. Liberty does not mean that the chauffeur may drive his automobile thirty miles an hour through the crowded streets of a city, for then the pedestrian has not liberty to cross the street. Liberty does not mean that the labor union may determine the conditions

By" the law of gravitation" we mean that it is the nature of material objects to attract each other in a certain definite ratio. By "the laws of health" we mean that the nature of the body is such that if one takes certain food, drink, air, baths, exercise, he will enjoy good health; if he does not, he will have disease. By "the moral law" we mean that the social or ganism is such that if we respect each other's right to person, property, the family, reputation, the community will be prosperous; if we do not, it will be unprosperous. The scientist does not make the law of gravitation; he finds it. The physician does not make the laws of health; he discovers them. Moses did not make the Ten Commandments; he interpreted them. They are not right because Jehovah commanded them; Jehovah commanded them because they are right.

If this be true, if law is the nature of things, the nature of man, the nature of society, the nature of the universe, the nature of God, there is no such thing as freedom from law. To escape from law it would be necessary to escape from the universe, to escape from God, to escape from ourselves. Liberty and lawlessness are not synonymous. Liberty is not escape from law.

independent laborer is denied liberty to work. Liberty does not mean that life insurance directors may invest their funds as they please, for then the bereaved widow has no liberty to get her money when her husband leaves her in poverty. Liberty does not mean that a railway may charge what it will and give what rebates it chooses, for then the town discriminated against has no liberty to grow and the trader discriminated against has no liberty to trade. Only that community is free which recognizes the sanctity of law-law written in the very nature of human society because in the nature of the men and women who constitute society and honestly and intelligently endeavors to conform its life to that inherent, immutable, eternal law. Law is written in the very constitution of the universe. Nothing is just law which is not so written. The power of a lawgiver does not make law just, whether that lawgiver be one or many-an aristocracy or a democracy. The consent of the governed does not make it just. Conformity to the nature of life-material and psychical, individual and social-alone makes law just. To discard law, put it aside, live as though it were not, accept it only so far as it accords with our own whims or inclinations, is anarchism. To submit to it only because there is lodged

It is the understanding of law, obedience to law, the use of law. A man is not free to jump off the roof of a house and fly like a bird. If he attempts it, he will find himself on the ground with a broken leg and not free to walk on the earth. He is free to fly when he understands the laws of aerial navigation and

the disobedient is submission to despotism. To recognize its sanctity, to see its value, to understand its purpose, to use it for the common welfare, is liberty. For law is the nature of the thing concerning which it is predicated; and liberty is voluntary obedience to self-recognized and self-enforced law.

A man's relation to law may be either

one of three relations: he may disregard law; he may submit to law; he may use law.

A boy grows up at home, where his health is not cared for; where he eats what he likes, exercises as he likes, sleeps when he likes; in short, is physically lawless. He is taken seriously ill. The doctor finds that he has undermined his constitution, and tells him that if he does not reform his life-eat, sleep, and exercise according to law--he has not long to live. The boy reluctantly abandons his imagined freedom and submits to the laws of health. He comes into the second relation to the law, the relation of submission. His health improves and becomes measurably normal. He goes to college and desires to join the crew. The trainer says to him, If you wish to join the crew, you must accept the conditions of the crew. He tells the boy what he must eat and what he must not eat; what he may drink and what he must not drink; when he must go to bed and what exercise he must take. The boy, ambitious to get on the crew, accepts these directions, loyally and even gladly. He is now not merely submitting to the laws of health, he is using the laws of health in order to equip

himself for the position to which his ambition calls him. Disregard of law is suicide, obedience to law is health, use of law is power.

A community which disregards the four fundamental rights of man-the rights of person, of property, of the family, and of reputation-lives in anarchy and perpetual turmoil; the end thereof is social death. A community of individuals who yield obedience to these laws just in so far as they must and no farther may have a certain measure of social health, may at least be preserved from social death. But no community is strong, no community is on the highway to a great and common prosperity, which does not recognize in these laws the conditions of well-being, which does not by its united action promote the health and life of its members, the social purity of its members, the material prosperity of its members, and the reputation and honor of its members. Only such a community is a strong, self-governing community; only such a community is truly free.

Who should exercise governmental powers in such a self-governing community? is a question I shall consider in the next article in this series.

T

HE unveiling of a statue of Thomas Brackett Reed in Portland, Maine, once the city of his home, recalls an incident of our first meeting. It was at a supper given in Washington to Henry Irving in the winter of 1883-4. The company was small, and Irving, who had Garrick's taste for studying physiognomy, had fixed his eyes on one guest and another, but seemed to find most satisfaction in the faces of Thomas F. Bayard and Mr. Reed. Suddenly he inquired of Bayard if any one had ever told him how much he resembled George Washington. Bayard responded with evident pleasure that he had often

Reed,

heard comments on the likeness. with that inimitable nasal drawl which lent so much pungency to even his most commonplace remarks, said:

"Bayard, after this you'll have to try to live up to the character!"

Before the little wave of amusement called forth by this had fairly got started around the circle, Irving had turned upon Reed with:

"And you, Mr. Reed, might have sat as a model for the Stratford bust of Shakespeare."

Whether the sculptor of the Portland statue has done full justice to the intellectual dome of Reed's head will be one

of the tests by which his critics will measure the excellence of the work.

Later in the same evening, having moved my seat next to Reed, I drew him into conversation about the slow progress of things in Congress. Glancing across the table at John G. Carlisle, who was then serving his first term as Speaker, he observed: "Carlisle is not naturally ineffective; he is the ablest man they have on that side of the House. But no Speaker could do any better with his hands tied by the rules we are working under, and you will never see them improved by Democrats who regard the privileges of every backwoods member as of more importance than the rights of the whole body or of the people it represents. The people demand that Congress shall not waste an entire session on roll-calls and dilatory motions. They send us here. They send us here to do business; and if we can't do business with the rules we have, we ought to frame some others which will meet our needs."

There was a prophetic significance in these words which I did not discern till a half-dozen years afterwards, when I saw Reed, standing on the Speaker's platform, strike the desk a ringing blow with his gavel and call the House to order.

No one who was not personally present during that stormy first session of the Fifty-first Congress can have any conception of what it was like. What can be said in exaggeration of the picturesqueness of such a scene as that when, in the earliest days, a single vote might turn the scale for or against the plans of the Speaker, and a bedridden member was actually brought into the House on a litter to have his feeble "aye" recorded, at the risk of his life? Or of another, when a leader of the filibustering op sition stayed in the hall in order to aise the point of "no quorum," and then, when trying to escape from the roll-call, found all the doors locked against him? of the case of the. Democratic yeoman from Texas who, in a similar situation, kicked open a light lobby door with the toe of his number thirteen boot?

Or

As the correspondent of a newspaper which at the time had little sympathy with Speaker Reed's methods, I made it always a point to go to headquarters with

my questions. Far from resenting my often critical attitude, Mr. Reed was usually patience itself in showing me, not only the reasons for specific acts, but the general philosophy underlying his programme. One day, when he had resorted to tactics whose strenuosity was not clearly forecast even by his very radical rules, I called his attention to an instance of striking inconsistency.

"Well, did any one object?" he inquired, making no feint of an excuse.

"The Democrats did," I answered. "They are fuming about it now, and say that they are going to call up the matter again to-morrow and fight it through."

"I hope they will," was his imperturbable comment.

"What will you do?"

"Put it to vote, and prove to them once more the folly of obstruction."

"But where in your rules can you find anything that meets such a situation?"

"We don't need to. There is nothing sacred about conventional forms; a majority vote of the House will be rule enough. The same authority which established the rules is free to modify them at any time."

There never sat in the House another so keen satirist; yet the shafts which flew right and left so recklessly were no more barbed with malice, I believe, than the sparks which fly from the iron when the hammer strikes it. Let his opponents apply the incentive, and the response was automatic. Thus, when Mr. Springer, in the heat of controversy, exclaimed heroically, "Mr. Speaker, I would rather be right than be President!" it was he and not Mr. Reed who was responsible for the instantaneous reply: "The Chair is convinced that the gentleman will never be either." Or, again, when a member who was notorious for his ill-digested opinions and his halting manner of expressing them began some remarks with, "I was thinking, Mr. Speaker-I was thinking-" and stuck fast amid the titters of the House, not a battery of artillery could have repressed Reed's appeal: "The Chair begs that no one will interrupt the gentleman's commendable innovation !”

His definition of a statesman as "a politician who is dead," and his description

of a particularly wrong-headed, irresponsible, and generally pesky Representative from the woolliest West as "the wild ass's foal of the Scriptures," were equally spontaneous. This inability to control a natural tendency manifested itself also in certain noiseless physical phenomena; for when the fight against him was hottest, and threats were flying about Washington most freely that the next hostile move would be to drag him by violence out of the chair and eject him from the chamber, I repeatedly noticed that he trembled in every muscle of his body. But any one who mistook for cowardice such involuntary revelations of the tumult which was going on underneath a cynical surfaceplay simply did not know "Tom" Reed. He would have marched up to the mouth of a belching cannon if he had set himself that task, with every fiber of his huge frame in a visible tremor, but without the slightest vibration in his purpose. The fact that he could stand in one place, day after day, calmly looking into the eyes of a horde of angry foes, and refusing to be lured by parliamentary tricks or unparliamentary insults into stepping for one moment aside from the path on which he had started, showed the stern mettle of the

man.

Probably the boldest of his Czar-like acts as Speaker occurred in June, 1890, when the so-called Windom Bullion Bill, having been passed by the House in a form which might have proved practicable, was turned by the Senate into an act for the free and unlimited coinage of silver. Even those of us who believed that we knew the strength of the freecoinage sentiment in the Senate were ill prepared for this sweeping measure, and, without waiting for the official announcement of the result of the vote, I hurried over to the House and burst in upon the Speaker with the news. He received it with an air which meant that, though surprised, he saw at once the emergency confronting him.

"What are you going to do about it at this end of the line?" I asked.

"That requires some consideration," he answered, and, seating himself at his desk, gave his mind over to silent thought. A few minutes later he was in consultation with a few of his most trusted party

colleagues. That afternoon the bill came from the Senate, but what became of it no member of the opposition could ascertain. The next day the newspapers disclosed the fact that it had been referred to the Committee on Coinage without having been laid before the House. Bland and other free-coinage advocates were very much incensed, and tried to get hold of the bill to bring it up for action, but it had disappeared. By pure accident I stumbled upon its whereabouts, but held my peace and watched the game, though never losing touch with the Speaker. After the excitement had almost died away, Mr. Reed said to me quietly one day: "The lost bill has been found. So have the absentees." It then came out that the wires had been freely used to call back those members who had been out of town and whose presence would be necessary to make up a majority to sustain the Chair and the honest money cause. That afternoon the bill emerged from its hiding-place and was disposed of, and the conference between the two houses which followed bore fruit in the Sherman compromise.

The point of the incident lies in the fact that the Speaker was taking no chances on so important a matter. If the bill had come before the House at any earlier stage, the motion to disagree with the Senate's substitute and request a conference would have been voted down, and the bill must almost inevitably have gone to the President. Though a veto might, and doubtless would, follow, the Speaker thought that the best way to avoid burnt fingers was not to play with fire.

That Mr. Reed had hopes at one time of becoming President was no secret. The professional President-makers of that day, however, passed him over in their calcula..ons because he was opposed to pretty nearly everything they wanted, had an unpleasantly trenchant mode of saying so, and too commonly managed to have his own way. Our only quarrel during an acquaintance of nearly twenty years grew out of my insisting upon his asserting himself publicly, in his good old fashion, at a crisis in political affairs which would have given him his one chance against the then swelling McKinley tide. He afterward indirectly admitted that he