would be left overwhelming. It is to be remembered by those who would restrain such interference within the narrowest possible bounds, that they by so much increase individual responsibility. Responsibility can, happily, by no scheme, be made to vanish. Wherever a signal evil exists, a duty lies somewhere to attack it. Suppose a district, for instance, in which the state of mortality is excessive, a mortality clearly traceable to the want of sanitary regulations. In a despotic government it may be enough to mention this to the central body. In a free state, where the duties of a citizen come in, more is required from the individual; and if there is no fit body of any kind to appeal to in such a case, the burden lies upon all men acquainted with the facts, to endeavour conjointly, or separately, to remove the evil. While, on the one hand, we must beware of introducing such interference, whether coming from the State or other bodies, as might paralyse individual exertion, we must at the same time remember that the weight to be
removed may be left overwhelmingly disproportionate to individual effort, or even to conjoint effort, if unauthorized, both of which may thus be stiffened by despair into inaction.
In the instance we have just been considering, we must not say that the people immediately interested in removing the evil will do so themselves. It is part of the hypothesis that they will not. Ages have passed by, and they have not. They do not know what is evil. It has been observed that savages are rarely civilized by efforts of their own. A vessel from civilized parts comes and finds them savages. A generation passes away. Another vessel comes, how differently propelled, how differently constructed; manned by sailors who have different costume, food, ways of speech and habits from the former ones; but they are able to recognize at once the savages described by their forefathers. These have not changed. The account of them is as exact as if it were written yesterday. In such a land, we must not look for
the germ of improvement amongst the miserable inhabitants themselves. It must come from without, brought thither by hopeful, all-sympathizing enterprize.
CHAP. IV.
In what Spirit the Remedies are to be effected.
Whenever the condition of the labouring people becomes a general topic, some erroneous modes of discussing it arise which deserve notice. In the first place, there is a matter which, in all our friendly efforts for the working classes, we must not forget, and that is, to make these efforts with kindliness to other classes. The abuse of other people is an easy mode of showing our own benevolence, more easy than profitable. To alleviate the distress of the poor may be no gain, if, in the process, we aggravate the envies and jealousies which may be their especial temptation. The spirit to be wished
for is sympathy; and that will not be produced by needless reproaches. Besides, it is such foolish injustice to lay the blame of the present state of things on any one class. It is unpractical, unphilosophical, and inconsistent with history. If we must select any class, do not let us turn to the wealthy, whom, perhaps, we think of first. They have, in no time that I am aware of, been the pre-eminent rulers of the world. The thinkers and writers, they are the governing class. There is no doubt that the rich and great have in most cases a large sphere of usefulness open to them; and they are fatally blind, if they neglect it. That is, however, rather a matter for them to think of, than for those who are under them. And I feel quite certain that the evils we are now, as a nation, beginning to be sensitive to, are such as may be more fairly attributed to the nation, in its collective capacity, than to any one class, or even to any one generation. I notice the error of the opposite opinion, believing it to be a signal hindrance to improvement.
Let us not begin a great work with bitterness. I am not, however, for the slightest concealment of the truth, and can well understand the righteous indignation that will break out at witnessing the instances of careless cruelty to be seen daily. Still, this is not to be done by a systematic and undistinguishing attack upon any one class: if it requires a bold hand, it requires a just one also, under a reasonable restraint of humility. I suspect that those men, if any, who have a right to cast the first stone at their neighbour in this matter will be among the last persons to do so.
It is a grievous thing to see literature made a vehicle for encouraging the enmity of class to class. Yet this, unhappily, is not unfrequent now. Some great man summed up the nature of French novels by calling them the Literature of Despair: the kind of writing that I deprecate may be called the Literature of Envy. It would be extreme injustice to say that the writers themselves are actuated by an envious or malignant spirit.
It is often mere carelessness on their part, or ignorance of the subject, or a want of skill in representing what they do know. You would never imagine from their writings that some of the most self-denying persons, and of those who exert themselves most for the poor, are to be found amongst the rich and the well-born, including of course the great Employers of labour. Such writers like to throw their influence, as they might say, into the weaker scale. But that is not the proper way of looking at the matter. Their business is not to balance class against class, but to unite all classes into one harmonious whole. I think if they saw the ungenerous nature of their proceedings, that alone would stop them. They should recollect that literature may fawn upon the masses as well as on the aristocracy: and in these days the temptation is in the former direction. But what is most grievous in this kind of writing, is the mischief it may do to the working people themselves. If you have their true welfare at heart, you will not only