THE PROBLEM OF

The testimony of the numerous and unimpeachable witnesses whom we have mentioned, a testimony which might have been multiplied to any extent, has shown us that the mental and moral destitution of the people is equal to their physical misery; hence we cannot look there (in England) for the highest and best development of civilization.

But the advocates of free labour tell us that one of the evils of slavery is, that it prevents a rapid increase of the population. We freely acknowledge this, and we assert that this is an inestimable benefit. A large population is not a good per se. Beyond a certain limit it is a positive curse, as has been shown previously. The idea of the advantage of a very large population is a relic of barbarism. The warlike republics of antiquity and the monarchies of modern times, encouraged it; they gave premiums and pensions to the citizens who brought up large families, thinking thereby to multiply the numbers of the nation and consequently its strength. And they were consistent in this because the main point of view with them was capability for military defense or aggression; and the more citi zens a State possessed, the more soldiers it could bring into the field. But the progress of religion and civilization have led us to sounder views. The civilized nations of the world have found out that the earth was not intended as a great battle-field; that man was not created to be "food for powder;" that war is not the normal condition of mankind. And although they still resort to arms to de

VOL. XXVII-1

FREE SOCIETY.*

cide their differences, it is with a daily increasing reluctance due to their discovery of the fact that wars are ruinous follies, disastrous even to the conquerors. A swarming population, however favourable to calculations based upon the employment of brute force, cannot therefore be considered an element of happiness by the political economist.

We are told, however, that a very dense population increases the national wealth and developes the natural resources of the country.

This is no doubt true, but it proves nothing as to the advantage of such a density. National wealth and national happiness are not synonymous expressions. If a nation can with justice be termed happy, it is because the great mass of its citizens are so, individually. But the aggregate wealth of a nation may be immense, while its citizens are individually in the most abject poverty. Thus, the aggregate wealth of India is prodigious, while nearly every one of its hundred and eighty million inhabitants is on the verge of starvation. A tax of a few pence upon each produces a very large aggregate income, and we might think that population rich which is able to pay such a revenue; while the truth is that each is wrung to the uttermost to pay even his few pence. Again, the the wealth and resources of England may be termed infinite compared to those of any county in Virginia. Yet, what county in Virginia is not vastly superior to England in the average comfort and happiness of its inhabitants? The mil

lions of hunger-driven labourers of England are as little benefitted by the prodigious accumulation of riches in their country as if they were the subjects of a bankrupt power. There is little doubt that the condition of the masses of the Spanish and Portuguese people is preferable to that of the English so far as comforts and happiness are concerned.

With regard to the development of natural resources, the favourite phrase of the day, we do not underrate its value; and we do not deny that a certain density of population is necessary to carry it out. But yet it is possible to pay too dearly for it. Laying aside the idea of military power, or political preponderance which amounts to the same thing, is it not better that a country should possess a number of inhabitants too small to develope fully its resources, but all enjoying an abundance of comforts and of the means of subsistence, than that it should have its powers developed to the utmost extent, when at the same time these are insufficient for the support of its overgrown population? Is it not better that half the land should remain an uncleared forest, if its few inhabitans live in plenty, than that every inch of it should be made to render its utmost yield if this is inadequate to maintain the vast numbers of its citizens? What benefit is it to the Lyonese silk weaver, or the Manchester operative, dragging out his miserable existence and dying prematurely from the effects of continued privations, that his country is covered with an admirable net-work of railroads and canals, and that its mineral wealth has started into life thousands of industrial establishments? What advantage is it to the Chinese peasant that every foot of his native soil is cultivated with a skill and intelligence truly wonderful, when, out of the really prodigious aggregate of its products, the utmost that he can secure for his daily allowance is a handful of rice; and he is compelled to eke out his subsistence by having recourse to the most loathsome food? Better far that any country should be occupied by a few thousand citizens far above the reach of want, than by millions of beggars. It is possible that the more

rapid increase of population of the Northern States may augment their political preponderance; but in the superior standard of comfort and happiness of our people, we have an advantage far above mere political considerations.

The great problem of free society, and it is entirely independent of the form of government, is therefore this: How can the existing social evils be removed or mitigated?

The question is one of tremendous importance. Statesmen who see the toiling crowds, with rage and despair in their eyes, stand aghast and mute. Like the rash tourist who ventured too far on a reef uncovered at low tide, they see the swelling waves advancing with fearful certainty and there is neither retreat nor assistance. Yet a solution must be found, or society itself will perish in the awful convulsion.

What can-what should be done?

There is a large class of politicians who answer boldly: "Nothing. Labour is like any other commodity. It is worth just what it will bring in the market, and the labourer has no right to ask for more." We admit the truth of the assertion in the abstract. But suppose that the price of labour is not sufficient to enable the labourer to live, must he therefore die? Dare you tell—will it be safe to tell several millions of men, that whereas their labour is not worth enough to afford them a living, it is perfectly reasonable and in accordance with the sound principles of political economy that they should starve? and that they have no right to ask for relief at the hands of society or government? This may be true, but will they understand it and. submit to it? Will they not rather rise in ungovernable fury and take by force the relief which you refuse? Or do you rely upon brute force, cannons and bayonets, to compel their acquiescence? If you do, remember that force is on their side for they are millions, and you, the holders of property, a few thousand.

Is there, however, no remedy?

He who asks this question is like the magician of old, who having unwittingly uttered the cabalistic word, found him