“Voices call us—whither? Ah! whither?”

It is doubtful business to ascribe new ideas to a whole people. For change of ideas is more gradual than change of manners. We may go on for a long time acting under one influence and thinking that we believe in another. But from all that has gone before, I think we may assume a change in the governing beliefs and sentiments of the nation greater than any change since the time of Queen Elizabeth, when the old faith gave way to the new and with the new faith came new courage, new arts, new enterprise, a new literature.

As to our religion, that has indeed changed. The Calvinist, the old Evangelical, lingers yet here and there, but he is comparatively rare; even in the narrower sects there has been a broadening influence at work. In the Anglican faith—the Church of England—which is apparently destined to absorb all other forms, we have agreed tacitly to talk no more about the salvation of our souls, neither to talk about it, nor to think about it; to believe ourselves to be one flock in one fold, with one shepherd. Whether this change conduces to the higher spiritual life, I cannot venture to affirm or to deny; I am no theologian. That the world has become, through this change, through the cessation of the awful question which formerly poisoned life, far, very far happier than it was, I do declare without hesitation and from my own personal knowledge and experience. There was no very high spiritual life, formerly, so far as I remember, among those who sought the hardest to limit the mercy of Heaven; they led the common life of the lower slopes, with trade in their minds and trade on their souls. There is no very high spiritual life under the changed conditions; still the common folk live the common life. Here and there among the clergy is found a Stanley; here and there among the crowd one lights upon a saint. Always there is the common life for the multitude; always there is the saintly life for the chosen few, whether the leader is St. Francis or Calvin, whether the head of the Church be the Pope, or the Archbishop of Canterbury, or John Wesley. Let us teach men and women to live well, with full consideration for each other—which is the most comprehensive virtue; the life which thinks of others is the happiest.

Another ingredient in happiness is physical comfort. We are all much better fed than we were, better housed, better clad; all along the line the standard of comfort has been advanced. The huge barracks in which the working-classes of the great cities now live are not pretty, but consider how much more comfortable they are than the old court of tumble-down cottages with a street about four feet wide. The new barracks are fully provided with water, they are kept in a sanitary condition as good as any palace of prince or peer, they are light and airy. Go into any of the old courts—there are a few still at Westminster—and see for yourselves the dirty, dilapidated dens in which the people formerly lived. Then, while you think of the advanced standard of comfort, remember the cheap bread, the cheap tea, the cheap meat, the cheap butter, cheese, bacon, eggs, fruit, which are now offered to the working-man. Not only have his wages gone up, but their purchasing power has advanced as well. If instead of eighteen shillings a week he now gets thirty, and if a shilling now could buy twice as much as a shilling sixty years ago, the standard of comfort for this man and his family has been advanced indeed.

This standard of comfort, this increase in solid happiness, has by long custom and usage become the right of the people. They consider it as much their right as any of the liberties secured by Act of Parliament. This new right constitutes a danger, because a national disaster might run food up to famine prices, and then we should see, what we have not seen for a long time, the tigerish side of the Anglo-Saxon.

We have learned that the old revolutionary cry has quite died away and is almost forgotten. This also is partly the result of the increased comfort. At the same time the advance of democratic ideas has been most marked. Slowly but surely, the whole power in the country has passed into the hands of the Commons. The dominant idea at the present moment of our people is that the country must be governed for them and by them. This would have seemed a most terrible thing sixty years ago. That we should be governed by working-men! Incredible! It is, however, the fact; we are governed by the people. Only, what the prophets did not understand, the governing power is delegated by the people to representatives, who are not, as a rule, working-men; one or two working-men are in the House and doing well. The people, however, are very chary of electing one of themselves; they prefer to send to the House as their representatives such men as John Morley and James Bryce, scholars and students, responsible persons, whom they know and can trust; they will not send demagogues and wind-bags and political adventurers. You have seen how they treat the House of Lords; so long as it gives no trouble it may remain, but only on condition that it is recruited from new families. If it were to obstruct any really popular movement—which the House will not do—we should see what would happen. Meantime, the people look abroad and judge for themselves. They observe that the great colonies are all Republics, and are doing well under republican institutions. If we were not doing well under our institutions, it is quite certain that the revolutionary cry would be heard again.

As regards work and wages, the people are firmly persuaded that they are entitled to be the dictators. They think that they have a right to exact what wages they think are fair, and to work for such hours as they think right. There have been desperate struggles, in which the employers have lost huge sums of money, while the men have suffered terrible privations. It is not for me to discuss in this place the right or the wrong of Trades Unions; it is enough to state that the working-men hold this belief, and are ready, whenever it is possible, to act upon it.

It is sometimes maintained that the British workman is a socialist; well, it is certainly true that socialism exists in his ranks; yet he is not a socialist. Out of the vague socialism which floats about everywhere are springing up ideas, not adopting the theory of universal equality of work and pay, whether to the able man or to the fool, but ideas as to the rights of labour, ideas as to the power and the share which should be allotted to Capital. That these questions should be discussed by the working-classes, whom they so closely concern, appears to me most wholesome for the State. Capital was formerly a despot; Capital took what it pleased, and tossed the workman what it pleased. Capital can do so no longer; Capital has now to reckon with a rival power, far greater than itself in strength as soon as it proves equally great in resolution. I believe so fully in the sense of justice which underlies everything in our working-man’s mind, that I do not believe that, however strong he will be, he will ignore the rights of Capital.

As to the educational and informing influences of which we have already spoken, they are only beginning to be felt. Everywhere is to be seen the working lad studying in the Free Library side by side with those who only read for amusement. The young fellow who studies is going to rise in the world; he will become an employer, or he will become a political leader. We may reckon upon seeing the House of Commons, in fifty years, filled with such popular leaders sent up by the constituents. They will not be necessarily demagogues; they will not be necessarily adventurers seeking fortune and place by politics (fortunately members of the House of Commons are unpaid, this discourages the adventurers); they will, however, be leaders of the people, sprung from the people.

Everything points, I repeat, to the advance of democratic ideas in all directions. For instance, most of the Civil Service is now open to competitive examination; the lads of the Polytechnics will get these appointments. There are some branches not yet open; these will also be thrown open. The law and medicine now require a five years’ training, at a cost of over a thousand pounds; these professions will be thrown open to the lads who can pass the examinations. It is now impossible for a poor lad to enter the army or the navy; by changes in the management and daily life of a regiment or a ship, poor lads will be enabled to win commissions.

These changes for the lads and working-men I foresee very clearly. With regard to the position of women I also foresee important changes. At the present moment there is a wild and insensate game of “grab” going on. Women admit of no restrictions, they claim everything. They are not satisfied with the whole intellectual field, they would overrun the field of physical labour. They take the men’s work at half the pay, they drive the men out of the country, they remove from themselves the possibility of marriage, they deny the country that increase of population which the country has a right to expect. This folly will presently cease; calmer and more sensible counsels will prevail. It will be recognised that Nature assigns limitations and prescribes certain kinds of work for men, and certain other kinds for women. Above all, it will be remembered that if a man owes himself to his country as a soldier or a workman, so a woman owes to her country the duties of maternity.

Such is the contrast between the English of 1837 and the English of 1897. I am not ignorant that there are still many, and great, improvements to be effected; but I hope that my readers who have followed me will acknowledge that we are not only advanced, but that we are advancing in new directions which will lead the country into paths hitherto unsuspected, or contemplated with dread. I regard these steps without anxiety; that is to say, I recognise the dangers if these lines are pushed out too far. In all human efforts there is danger; if we always thought of the danger we should effect nothing. There is weakness, unworthiness, among the best of men; yet, with my countrymen, the prospect which opens out before them is so splendid that it makes one forget the danger.

I would offer this book as a small tribute towards the reconciliation of the Anglo-Saxon race. It is not only with England that we have to do—not only with what Shakespeare called

We have to do with other nations, soon to become great nations: Canada, Australia, South Africa, New Zealand, all with the same language, the same laws, the same institutions, the same literature, the same ancestors.

You who read these pages who are not the Queen’s subjects cannot, perhaps, fully understand the depth and the reality of that loyalty of which I have spoken—it is a personal as well as constitutional loyalty. You do, however, understand, and you will acknowledge, that there has never lived upon the earth a woman who in her lifetime has created, and has inspired, and has possessed as much affection, respect, and confidence from all parts of the world.