than their muscles and brains, and even to those who talk of their little independency' there are tasks assigned, which, if properly understood, and still more, if properly discharged, will not leave them an idle day as long as they live." Let it be announced, however, that on the 1st January, A.D. 1900, there will be no further necessity for hard labour in this planet. The sweat need no more hang in thick drops on the brow of humanity, for the sinews of the race will be emancipated from the bondage in which they have hitherto been made to serve. The primitive curse being uplifted from the earth the soil will bring forth corn and fruits as spontaneously as it now produces thorns and thistles. Perhaps the day has come when, according to the prediction of Mercier, a French writer, chemistry has succeeded in "extracting a nutritive principle from all bodies," and it is "as easy for man to provide for his subsistence, as it is for him to draw water from the river." Or, let us suppose that like the magician in the Hindoo poem, who was requested by a young monarch to procure him a splendid coronation banquet, each man could mutter spells which would bring the antelopes to the door of his larder, drag the fish from the river and the ocean, darken the air with coveys of feathered game, and furnish him in a moment with all manner of dainty creatures, eager to be cooked and eaten. Food, in fact should be supplied so readily that people might almost make their dinneis as Thomson the poet made his dessert, by nibbling at the fruit suspended from the trees, whilst both hands were lazily buried in his pockets. It is further ordered that on the aforesaid 1st January, 1900, all mills and factories shall be stopped; the shutters of each shop shall be closed, and the apprentices released; all husbandmen and labourers shall be discharged; our armies and navies shall be disbanded, and the very functionaries of Government, upon whom fate has imposed the cruel duty of signing their names occasionally and receiving their salaries quarterly, will be permitted to rest from their herculean exertions. How this change could be accomplished-how any repeal of the great curse could be safely adopted-it would puzzle mortal ingenuity to explain. We might imagine, perhaps, that if the temperature of the earth were altered on the day in question, and its standard warmth fixed at some agreeable. point, all persons concerned in the manufacture of clothing, with the exception of a small body of fig-leaf tailors and milliners, might be dismissed from their occupations, though unquestionably it is difficult to conceive how our dandies could thrive in a world where there were no fashionable coats to be exhibited, or, still more, how our ladies could exist if there were no "loves of shawls," or "ducks of bonnets," or immeasurable expanses of crinoline to wear. We should still want cabs and trains even if the millennium were to set in to-morrow, for how could we fly about London, or take run down to Edinburgh, without their assistance, unless we were furnished with wings? and this is a stage of develop ment which even the authors of the "Vestiges of Creation" themselves would scarcely venture to anticipate. And if cabs and trains were needed in a millennial state, there must also be industrious cabmen and perspiring stokers and pokers to work them, as there are in the present anything-but millennial age. Let these difficulties pass, however, for the present. The question is, what changes would be produced in society after the 1st January, 1900? For a fortnight or a month, perhaps, the world would be right merry. The collier would emerge from his pit, and the weaver would bid goodbye to his loom; the sailor would run his ship ashore, and the porter leave his burden in the middle of the street; the clerk would fly from the desk to which he had been chained for years like a galley-slave, and the lawyer might even cease to make out his voluminous bills of costs, however unwilling, in general, to forego that labour of love. Pleasant state of things this! Would not the sons of toil toss their caps high in the air, and scamper to and fro like school-boys just released to enjoy some unexpected holiday! Not so fast, however. Long before the end of that fortnight or month many of these operatives would certainly ba drunk. Masons would be deep in liquor, and the tailoring craft would probably be rolling in the gutter. The first consequence of such a cessation would probably be that the planet would get tipsy and conduct itself so grossly that it would deserve to be committed to the house of correction. Grant, however, that the human race had "taken the pledge," and were living on total abstinence principles, still the question would be, how should we find employment for our time? There is a terrible bugbear known by the name of Ennui. Enter the house of some wealthy man, where you find everything that luxury can wish or money can procure. To see him at his stately meal, surrounded by flattering friends, attended by obsequious retainers, you would fancy that he at any rate-petted son of fortune!-ought to enjoy a calm and comfortable mind. But look more narrowly at his countenance. There hangs a shadow on his brow, there is sadness deeply seated in his eye. Why so? If your vision were opened so as to to discover the spectres of the mind you would observe a horrible phantom, not intruding for the moment like Banquo's ghost and then vanishing as suddenly as it appeared, but mounting guard over its victim with merciless pertinacity, and poisoning every joy with its foul presence. To escape its persecutions he has galloped over the Continent, made a yacht voyage to Spitzbergen, crossed the Sahara, clambered up Mount Ararat, and sat through several sessions of Parliament. But having no settled pursuit, his energies have turned acid in his breast, and now he has become the prey of a pitiless goblin, which dogs his steps wherever he goes, and thrusts its marrowless form into his company at the very banqueting board. What, then, would become of mankind if, in imitation of some Socialist dreamers, we were to pass an Act for the universal abolition of labour? Some of us would play at chess, some at cards, some at cricket. Others would hunt, fish, shoot, go to India to kill tigers, or to Africa to bag elephants. Inspired by a strong craving for sport, which would necessarily increase in intensity when the mind had no set occupation to tax or interest its powers, we should fly to any species of amusement, however cruel or frivolous, in order to keep the demons of melancholy at bay. For this reason cock-fighting, badger-baiting, bull-battles, and even gladiatorial massacres, might soon become the pastimes of the most polished nations, To few persons, indeed, would a life of pure recreation be a benefit; whilst to the majority of mortals, it would operate as a fatal incentive to the wickedness which lurks in the soul, but is kept down by the iron necessities of labour. Some people, of course, would turn their leisure to valuable account. Good men who have made over their hearts to humanity, and who live as her devoted vassals, and great men who hold their genius in trust for their fellow-creatures, would undoubtedly avail themselves of their discharge from toil, to work for mankind in the most excellent way. But the good and great are comparatively few. Thirdly, however, if society escaped for a time the miseries which idleness or unemployed passions would naturally produce, it must ultimately suffer to such an extent that its return to barbarism would be inevitably compelled. Granting even that the claims of that important viscus, the stomach, could be met in some magical way, so as to relieve us from the drudgery which it imposes, still there are hundreds of arts and occupations which would be ruined if the race were to strike work. Man does not live by bread alone. He must be educated, for example; but if you wanted to send your children to school, would you not be disappointed to find that the master had locked his doors; that all the private tutors in the kingdom had taken the benefit of the Act of Abolition, and that no governesses could be had for your girls, capable of teaching every accomplishment, at the low charge of twenty guineas per annum ? You wish to read your Times as usual; but editors, sub-editors, penny-a-liners, compositors, and their attendant demons, have all disappeared; the world, in fact, is coming to a rapid end, for how could the planet subsist if Printing-house Square were closed? You are passionately fond of music, and long to listen to a concert or an opera. But unless you can depend upon the services of amateurs, your chances of indulgence are small; for every orchestra disbanded as soon as the doom of labour was pronounced, and all your professional songsters may plead an eternal cold if they think proper. The peace of a respectable community must be maintained; and when your pocket is picked, your person assailed, your house invaded, you call for the police; but now, alas! it is of no use, for these functionaries are dancing and frolicking in all the joys of emancipa tion. It makes you ill to think of it, but you must take care to keep well, for there are no more doctors to come at your call, no apothecaries to compound your medicines, no solicitors to draw your will. And if the more respectable occupations are thus abandoned, what is to become of the meaner? Who will sweep your chimneys, wash your linen, empty your privies, or clean your cesspools? Who will make you a coffin, dig you a grave, figure as a mute at your funeral, or lower your body into its resting-place? If, in short, the world were legisla tively released from the obligation to labour on the 1st January, 1900, every good man would pray that the old régime might be restored before the 1st January, 1901. Even Charles Lamb, with all his animosity to the “desk's dead wood," would have revoked his stanzas on Leisure when he saw what mischief must ensue : "But might I, fed with silent meditation, No; labour is a burden in many respects; a curse in some, but for creatures like ourselves it is still the "better strife," the "strife that is good for men;" for it is the promoter of ingenuity, the parent of thought, the great stimulator of industry, the source of innumerable benefits to our race. Like the cloud which looks so gloomy and lowering to the eye, it drops showers of fertility on the needy earth. The very malediction which the Almighty pronounced upon the ground is fragrant with blessings, if we could only interpret it aright. S SUBJECT: Diversity of Opinion a Necessity of Being. "Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind.”—Rom. xiv. 5. SOCIETY owes much to the friction of mind, as it does to the friction of feelings. Imagine a planet so constituted that the intellects of its inhabitants always reasoned after the same fashion, and, therefore, invariably deduced the same conclusions. A perfect Paradise, the reader will exclaim! No quarrels-no dissensions-no misunderstandings-no wranglings with the lips or the pen; the tongue itself deprived of all controversial aliment, and compelled to keep the peace -what could be more delightful than such a spot ? Now, unanimity of sentiment may be very good in a general way, but in some respects it would prove extremely annoying. Let us see how the matter stands under the existing regulations of mind. Jones and Robinson, two gentlemen bound for Australia, meet on board the same vessel, and are thrown into close companionship during their voyage. Both are men of strong logical powers, but Jones is passionately |