est to be charged on the money thus advanced. The bill is voluntary, for the local authorities are not to be required to lend, and the landlords are not to be forced to sell; but, the principle having been recognized that it is the duty and business of the local government to lend money without interest to would-be homeowners, who doubts that the next step will be to make the measure compulsory? The Populistic sub-treasury scheme which figured in our own politics a few years since, and which proposed government advances at low interest rates on crops, was far less radical than this homeownership through government aid introduced and passed by a Conservative cabinet and parliamentary majority.

Two years ago the same cabinet and the same majority passed a so-called universal accident insurance or compensation act, which provided that workmen in certain industries (a considerable number, in fact) should be compensated for any accident, no matter how caused, or through whose negligence, so long as it grew out of the employment. No amount of care on the part of the employer, no degree of negligence and stupidity on the part of the workmen, was to relieve the former from paying compensation for disability, sickness, or death due to accident. The injustice, the paternalism, the class legislation here exemplified need not be dwelt upon; yet the Salisbury government passed this act and for over a year has enforced it, proposing now to extend the principle to industries and trades not covered by the original statute.

To these instances we have to add the growth in Great Britain of what has been not inaptly styled "municipal socialism" —that is, the assumption by the municipality of all manner of industrial undertakings that in an individualistic country ought to be reserved to private enterprise duly regulated in the public interest. Municipal tramways, municipal gas and electric works, municipal lodgings and tenements for the poorer classes, these and other innovations have been described too often to require more than a passing reference. We must also cite the measure for government telephones to take effect upon the expiration of the license of the present telephone company. Seeing that the government is prepared to go to such lengths, what wonder is there that labor and other organizations venture still

farther and demand state ownership and operation of railways?

Indeed, sober-minded British observers no longer deny that Great Britain has abandoned the teachings of Adam Smith and the classical economists, the ideas of Cobden, Bright, and the Manchester school of "let alone" political philosophers. A distinction has been attempted between "collectivism"-meaning municipal or state operation of "natural monopolies and quasi-public industries that do not admit of free and full competition - and socialism in the correct, strict, scientific sense-meaning state ownership of all the means of production and state management of all productive and distributive industries. It has been asserted that collectivism, though undesirable and injurious to national health and individual development, is a possible system in Anglo-Saxon communities, while socialism is something so alien and repugnant to their instincts, traditions, and cherished principles that its triumph need not be apprehended. This, however, is a delusive and fallacious belief. Logic, as well as experience, conclusively refutes it. Some of the examples just adduced cannot be brought under the narrower principle of collectivism, and must be recognized as coming within the definition of socialism. Collectivism would inevitably prove-indeed, is now proving -to be a stepping-stone to socialism. Once admit that where absolutely free competition is non-existent, state control and operation is proper and necessary, the foundations are laid for thoroughgoing socialism. For in these days of consolidation, centralization, and trusts, the ceaseless competition contemplated by the laissez faire economists is impossible. The socialists have long contended that the trusts are paving the way to state socialism, and to concede that private enterprise is no longer tolerable in quasipublic industries is to give away by obvious implication the entire individualist

case.

When we leave Great Britain and glance at the situation in the United States, what strikes us as the most remarkable feature of our present political phase? Indisputably, the trend toward municipal socialism. The most conservative cities are turning to municipal ownership and operation of "public utilities." In Michigan we see a law enacted by a Republican legislature to enable Detroit to pur

chase her street railway system and run it as a part of the city government, but the Supreme Court of the State has declared the act invalid. At Toledo, Ohio, an independent mayor pledged to municipal railways is triumphantly elected, while in a mayoral contest at Chicago, the second city in the country, the Republican and Democratic candidates out-Herod Herod in their positive declarations for municipal operation of street railways and other quasi-public services. Even in New York city, notwithstanding the influence of "Wall Street," we perceive a powerful public sentiment for municipal ownership and operation of public utilities. Governor Roosevelt and the Rapid Transit Commission, a body of distinguished and able business men, have declared with reference to the proposed underground railway system that "of course" municipal construction and operation is preferable to private enterprise, no matter how strictly limited and hedged about in the interest of the city. Grand juries are presenting reports against oppressive monopolies and demanding "municipalization» as the remedy. Limitation of franchises to short terms, such as twenty-five and twenty years, and compensation to the municipalities in the shape of a share of the profits or- as in New York under the new Ford lawa tax on the value of the franchise, no longer satisfy civic reformers. "The next step" in municipal "progress" is considered to be municipal operation.

Beyond question the true explanation of these highly significant developments is that they are a natural reaction from the corruption and demoralization of city governments and the reckless tyranny and extortion of the franchise-owning companies. Deals and bribery and betrayal of the people's interests had so long oppressed the popular mind and taxed the popular patience that at last, and as a desperate remedy, municipal operation was hit upon, thanks to the example of English and Scotch municipalities. Honest and intelligent regulation, with adequate compensation for franchises, is a policy that has not been fairly tried, and, logically speaking, there is absolutely no warrant for pronouncing it defective. The thought that is behind every move in the direction of municipal socialism is that honest and faithful and efficient govern

ment is an iridescent dream and that consequently the method of regulation will never yield the desired results. As Dr. Albert Shaw says, under flabby and untrustworthy local government municipal operation seems the only safe retreat from corrupt alliances between unscrupulous capitalists and greedy and venal officials. We may deplore the fact that the pendulum has swung too far in the opposite direction, but recognize it we must. It must be admitted that municipal ownership and operation is now bound to gain wide acceptance and be tried on a large scale.

No greater mistake can be made than to assume that municipal socialism will not inevitably lead to state and national socialism in the United States. What was said above with reference to Great Britain can be repeated in this connection, The profound dissatisfaction with the methods of our railway, telegraph, and telephone companies is notorious, and even the Inter-State Commerce Commission has shown leanings toward something more radical than federal supervision. Municipal railways and gas works will suggest state railroads and national telegraphs. The movement for postal savings banks is certain to be revived, and it is safe to predict that, if the present tendencies are not arrested, the national government will in a few years go into the business of caring for people's savings and earning interest on them. And if national savings banks, why not national insurance against fire, sickness, and disability? Why not national life insurance? Why not national assistance to would-be homeowners or farm-owners; why not sub-treasury schemes?

Let those who doubt that this would be the necessary result, the unavoidable sequence, study the legislation of the Australian colonies. Australasia has become the home of socialistic and radical experiments. The "extension of democracy" is the phrase used by some to describe Australasian paternalism, but there is a fallacy and a piece of question-begging in this description. Democracy means simply popular rule, majority rule, and is opposed to monarchic, oligarchic, or aristocratic rule. It was long supposed to be specially conducive to individual liberty. What is now euphemistically called "extension of democracy" is really extension. of despotic interference with personal

liberty, extension of state intervention and control. There is nothing new or democratic about such interference, supervision, and regulation. All the old governments had practised these things, and their regulation extended to religion, manners, dress, food and drink, and what not. Is a revival of sumptuary legislation an "extension of democracy?" Is there anything new in benevolent despotism?

Books and essays galore have lately appeared on Australasian government and politics. We know that some of the colonies are on the high road to full-fledged socialism. A convenient summary informs us that the Australian railways, telegraphs, and telephones are almost without exception in the hands of the state; that several of the colonies lend money to settlers at low rates of interest; that New Zealand has a general old-age pension system and a government department of life insurance; that industries are subsidized by some colonies; that Queensland facilitates the erection of sugar mills; that in some colonies private manufacturers are rendered industrial services gratis by the government; that Victoria has recognized the "right to wages" by establishing a labor colony for the unemployed; that compulsory arbitration has been established in New Zealand, so that the right of free contract between employer and employed is practically abolished. These are only striking illustrations. The list of paternalistic and socialistic measures in force in those Anglo-Saxon societies is by no means exhausted.

Now, there are those who positively deny that the Australasian policy has undermined self-reliance and national health and vigor, who assert that this paternalism has been highly beneficial, stimulating, and helpful. The obvious reply is that all such conclusions are premature. There has been no time for a convincing demon

stration of the virtue or vice of the Australian politico-economic system. The colonies are young and favorably situated. Numerous factors may shield them from the consequences of a mistaken and unsound policy. Experience is, of course, the final court of appeal, but not the experience of one generation. If paternalism is enervating and demoralizing, Australasia is bound to discover it in the long run.

The real question, however, is whether Anglo-Saxon countries which still pride themselves on their love of personal liberty, on their jealousy of the state, and on their faith in individualism and the economic harmony resulting from the free play of apparently antagonistic interests, require new lessons, new proof, to convince them that socialism is a system involving both material poverty and moral slavery. It has been held that the desire for liberty was an instinct with the AngloSaxons, something bred in the bone, something that had the authority and strength of inherited tendencies. If the question of individualism versus paternalism in politics is reopened for debate, then the instinct of liberty is lost, the tradition forgotten. And if the supremacy of the Anglo-Saxon is due to his freedom of development, to his independence and selfconfidence, how can that supremacy be maintained under paternalism?

Those who still believe that economic justice is compatible with free competition, private enterprise, and laissez faire, those who have not abandoned the belief in liberty and are consistently opposed to socialism, should ask whither we are drifting and what means are necessary to counteract the present powerful tendencies toward the system which Prof. Huxley described as "regimentation" and Herbert Spencer as "slavery."

CHICAGO.

V. S. YARROs.

A

QUALITY of style that counts much

toward securing a new-author entrance into the columns of the magazine — and the hearts of the people — is suggestiveness. More and more comes the cry for writers who can transfer their ideas to paper as the impressionist, with a few skilful strokes, transfers his to canvas. Editors are busy, and so are the magazine-readers. Hence the author whose work gives the largest returns with the least expenditure of energy and time is the favored one. The young poet reads, "This is pretty, but we seldom publish poems of more than one or two stanzas." Another learns that her story will be accepted if it can be cut down one half, and she wonders how she can ever sacrifice that delicious description and those six pages of charming narration.

So the young poet and the novelist begin the process of "boiling down," which is quite as tedious in the field of writing as it is in the sugar-camp. However, the labor pays, for it is gratifying, after the froth and vapor have disappeared, to look upon the pure, concentrated product. Here the suggestiveness of the English language comes to the aid of the writer.

Some words, in themselves, sparkle with suggestiveness. The charm of many a master poem, such as "Excelsior" and "The Raven," lies in the ever-recurring refrain, consisting of or containing some suggestive word a poem in itself. The word "Excelsior" is said to have suggested Longfellow's poem, and "Nevermore » was the nucleus about which Poe's masterpiece took form. Indeed, these two refrains furnish us the key, respectively, to the character of these poets,- Longfellow, with his sunny disposition, delighting in the use of words that picture health and buoyancy; Poe gathering for his purpose those suggestive of sadness and gloom.

Again, words not so rich in suggestiveness may be so combined as to appeal to our deeper natures. Riley understood how to reach the heart when he wrote the little poem with the refrain,—

"As the little white hearse went glimmering by!" Kipling's "Recessional" shakes our very being as we pronounce those soulful words,

"Lest we forget! Lest we forget! » The quotation of words expressive of emotion, or the depiction of a simple act

that is significant, are frequent in the
world's masterpieces. Who can doubt
that Brutus loves Portia when he says,-
"You are my true and honorable wife,

As dear to me as are the ruddy drops
That visit my sad heart."

Tennyson was a master in this field. Notice this description of King Arthur's farewell to the guilty Guinevere, and observe how every line deepens the shame of the queen while it heightens the pure devotion of the king:

"And while she grovell'd at his feet,

She felt the king's breath wander o'er her neck,
And in the darkness, o'er her fallen head,

Perceived the waving of his hands that blessed." The stories of Maclaren, sweet as the breath of old-fashioned roses, would lose their charm were those suggestive touches here and there stricken out. Do you remember Dr. Davidson, as he took his last leave of Drumsheugh?- "Good-bye, Drumsheugh you have been faithful friend and elder."

a

In simple description, as well as in narration and the portrayal of emotion, this same quality is effective.

and

--

"Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste » are more vivid pictures than could be drawn with many pen-strokes by less skilful hands. Shakespeare's and Tennyson's descriptions of morning are as true as they are brief:

"The Morn, in russet mantle clad,

Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill."

"Morn, in the white wake of the morning star, Came furrowing all the orient into gold."

The art of simplicity in style depends upon the ability to grasp essentials, and it is the acquirement of this ability that probably dooms many to years of struggle. An astute old minister, being asked to make a five-minute speech, smiled and replied, "If you want me to talk five minutes, I will want an hour to study, but if you ask me to talk an hour, I can do so on a moment's notice."

There is one danger in cultivating compactness of style: one is apt to run to extremes. Tennyson is suggestive, and so is Browning, but the latter is criticised as obscure. Happy for us if we can attain unto the art of using little ink, and, withal, making no blots!

NEW ALBANY, IND.

FRANK INGOLD WALKER.

N PIONEER days maple sugar was manufactured as a household necessity and not as a luxury, as at present. "Boughten" sugar could not be indulged in to any great extent, and the mapletree was made to furnish the household "sweetening" from year to year. In localities where sugar-maple trees were scarce the little that was made was supplemented by a thick syrup made by boiling down the juice of sweet apples, when they were to be had.

"Maple drip" was greatly appreciated, and was made by packing the sugar in kegs or wooden buckets with holes in the bottom to allow the unevaporated or uncongealed sap to drip away. These drippings were seldom used, but the sugar became more condensed and lighter in color and was called "maple drip." It was considered first-class sweetening for most purposes, tea and coffee excepted on account of the flavor imparted by the

sugar.

We have been unable to learn the origin of maple-sugar making. It is known that certain tribes of Indians manufactured it in a crude way, but whether the Indians learned the process from the Puritans or the Puritans from the Indians we are unable to say.

The tree mostly drawn upon for its saccharine sap is botanically known as Acer barbatum, and in English is called hard maple or rock maple. Trees are not considered fit for tapping until they are thirty-five to forty years old. With the exhaustion, destruction, or decay of natural forest growths there has arisen a necessity for setting out maple groves or «< sugar bushes," as they are often termed.

It has been estimated that the average product of sugar per tree is about three pounds, though a yield of forty pounds of sugar has been claimed for a single maple. When it is remembered that from fifteen to twenty quarts of sap are required to produce one pound of sugar, the flow of sap to supply such a yield must be enor

mous.

The appliances for its early manufacture were very different from those used at the present time, and the dark-colored sugar produced bore but slight resemblance to the refined product of to-day. It is related of certain Western dealers

that they refused the first consignment of evaporated maple sugar as not being genuine, but they were satisfied with the "black jack," or settlings that were boiled down and sent to them.

The Indians tapped the trees by cutting a V-shaped notch with their hatchets in each tree and inserting a hollowed-out chip to conduct the sap into some vessel below. In time this notching process killed the trees. The early settlers bored holes in the trees with an augur, and inserted alder spiles instead of notching the tree as the Indians had done. They also made troughs by cutting logs two or three feet long, splitting them in halves, and chopping out the middle portion, thus furnishing a receptacle that would hold three or four gallons.

The sap was conveyed to the boilingplace in buckets, narrower at the top than at the bottom, which were made at the cooper shop. These buckets were hung at either end of a yoke made to fit the shoulders of a man or boy, whose task of gathering the sap was very laborious. Much sap was wasted by spilling from the buckets, or by the troughs running over when the men were hurried or tired.

The sap was boiled down in huge black iron kettles holding from forty to sixty gallons each. A stout crotched stake was driven solidly into the ground, upon which was placed a hickory sapling, one end of which protruded a few feet beyond the stake; upon this end was hung the kettle, much like the bucket at the end of an oldfashioned well-sweep. The long end of the sapling rested on the ground and was used to swing the kettle on and off the fire. Into this kettle was poured the sap with all its accumulation of leaves, twigs, and dirt, some of which was skimmed off with a shallow gourd after the sap reached the boiling-point.

Later on, the kettles were hung on a stout sapling suspended between two crotched sticks, a rough shed of boughs and slabs being built above them for protection. Occasionally a crude stone arch Iwas built in a hillside for the kettles, but the huge affairs were more awkward to handle in that way than when a hickory sapling was made to bear the weight of lifting. The more shiftless sugar-maker who depended on a couple of logs for