wrath and ruin.  Now is it not marvellous that, while the murderers were free, they were poverty-stricken and most wretched?  As soon as Cromwell’s voice had ceased to pronounce the doom on the unworthy, the great man began his work of regeneration; and under his iron hand the country which had been miserable in freedom became prosperous, happy, and contented.  There is no mistaking the facts, for men of all parties swore that the six years which followed the storm of Drogheda were the best in all Ireland’s history.  Had Cromwell only lived longer, or had there been a man fit to follow him, then England and Ireland would be happier this day.

In our social life the same conditions hold for the individual as hold for nations in the assembly of the world’s peoples.  Freedom—­true freedom—­means liberty to live a beneficent and innocent life.  As soon as an individual chooses to set up as a law to himself, then we have a right—­nay, it is our bounden duty—­to examine his pretensions.  If the sense of the wisest in our community declares him unfit to issue dicta for the guidance of men, then we must promptly suppress him; if we do not, our misfortunes are on our own heads.  The “independent” man may cry out about liberty and the rest as much as he likes, but we cannot afford to heed him.  We simply say, “You foolish person, liberty, as you are pleased to call it, would be poison to you.  The best medicines for your uneasy mind are reproof and restraint; if those fail to act on you, then we must try what the lash will do for you.”

Let us have liberty for the wise and the good—­we know them well enough when we see them; and no sophist dare in his heart declare that any charlatan ever mastered men permanently.  Liberty for the wise and good—­yes, and wholesome discipline for the foolish and froward—­sagacious guidance for all.  Of course, if a man or a community is unable to choose a guide of the right sort, then that man or community is doomed, and we need say no more of either.  I keep warily out of the muddy conflict of politics; but I will say that the cries of certain apostles of liberty seem woful and foolish.  Unhappy shriekers, whither do they fancy they are bound?  Is it to some Land of Beulah, where they may gambol unrestrained on pleasant hills?  The shriekers are all wrong, and the best friend of theirs, the best friend of humanity, is he who will teach them—­sternly if need be—­that liberty and license are two widely different things.

August, 1888.

EQUALITY.

One of the strangest shocks which the British traveller can experience occurs to him when he makes his first acquaintance with the American servant—­especially the male servant.  The quiet domineering European is stung out of his impassivity by a sort of moral stab which disturbs every faculty, unless he is absolutely stunned and left gasping.  In England, the quiet club servant waits with dignity and reserve, but he