SENTIMENT IN POLITICS.

AN ideal Europe--what would it be in the eyes of perfect wisdom and goodness? To answer that question Christendom makes a pilgrimage of thought. The Frenchman leaves France, the Englishman leaves England, the German Germany (though not, of course, without his budget of historic doubts), wending together to Palestine and the Mount of the Sermon. And in that place they probably agree that an ideal Europe would be one wherein the nations lived side by side in unmenaced freedom and settled content--all of them, great and small, softened to the mood which one or two little States have been drilled into by conditions that subdue ambition without denying prosperity. Aggression on the grander scale having gone the way of cattle-rieving, "absorption" obsolete as piracy, even tariff-wars would be no more. most hostile contention between one nation and another would be that of craftsmen in the same workshop, merchants in the same port, colleges in the same university. The fine sentiment of equality which unites the poorer and the richer gentlemen of the same land would sweeten the relations of this small country and that greater one-countries which the pilgrims to Palestine would behold from on high as farm lying with farm in the tranquillity of a great estate.

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That is the ideal Europe; and there was a time when we Englishmen were persuaded, in our thriving little corner of the Western world, that Heaven had appointed the nineteenth century to bring it in. It was a mistake. The century is fast running to its close, and it turns out to be so complete a disappointment for the idealist that it will be long before he builds his hopes upon another, Nothing can save its reputation

now. The ideal Europe may not, indeed, be farther from expectation at the end of the century than it was at the beginning; but there have been many times since 1815 when the prospect of a well-balanced, uncontentious, satisfied community of European States seemed far nearer than at the close of the year 1896. It is rather as if Europe were ending an old dispensation of conflict, to enter upon another more fierce and unresting still.

No sensible man bemoans the disappointment of unreasonable fancies, and it happens that this of which we speak had no existence out of England. It was an English hallucination entirely; the after-dinner dream of an imperial Dives, mellow with the savour of newly-acquired vintages, and willing that all the world should prosper and share with him an everlasting peace. With equal reason for contentment any European nation might have dreamed the same dreams, and even have trusted to their coming true: England's error. But there was no State so fortunate in its possessions, and therefore no such dreaming anywhere in Continental Europe. The only exception is that which Socialism allows itself; and that happens to be hopeless though beatific in much the same way. First the ideal Europe as we have sketched it, and then, perhaps, the Socialist Utopia. Since Socialism, as an operative system, must either have a universal existence or none, this must be the sequence, which puts the Utopia very far off indeed. For the conflict of individualism among men of the same kindred has no such animus as the strife of nation with nation, race with race. This is a strife which, to the unrevolting consciousness of those who wage it, seems adjunctive to the universal law of Nature which for ever destroys in order to rebuild. But "seems adjunctive!" The truth is that what we call national rivalry is to all intents and purposes part of the universal scheme that makes Nature "red in tooth and claw." From days beyond record it has never ceased to work as if in compulsory obedience to that dread law; and there is no sign of emancipation from it yet. How little the rivalry of nations has escaped from it may be easily seen. Look to the monstrous machinery of destruction stored for the use of the competitors in every Christian land,

To the Continental readers of COSMOPOLIS it must seem entirely out of place to sermonise on this theme from the political pulpit; and so it is, for them. Whether German or French, Dutch, Russian, or Italian, they know it a theme which must be left to religion, and to the moralist who would redeem mankind altogether from the tooth-and-claw rivalries of the animal kingdom. That is the moralist's duty, and the wise politician will aid him in it by a determined preference for every peaceful means of keeping his country's head up in the struggle for free action in the front rank. But in nations where the actual sight of war is a recent experience no politician doubts that his own duty is of an entirely different kind. It is for him imperative to take the world as he finds it, "moral order" and all. Since the fact is not to be denied, and since it is not to be evaded either, he acknowledges that there is no emancipation of international relations as yet from the primal law of nature, which is, Subdue or be subdued; and he makes his plans and provisions accordingly.

This, which is the one completely sane rule of conduct in foreign affairs, obtained in England also till about the beginning of the present generation. It is different with us now, and though, perhaps, the difference mainly concerns ourselves, it gravely affects the whole European system, and therefore becomes a fit subject for consideration in a cosmopolitan review. The one sane rule of conduct being recognised as brutal in an age of greater sensitiveness to brutality, we correct it by an infusion of something finer which would perhaps be efficacious if it did not immediately change its own character. Dirt, which engenders disease, was said by a famous politician to be only "matter in the wrong place." Nothing can bring idealism into comparison with dirt; but we know that it is possible for idealism to get into the wrong place, and that when there it is as likely as dirt itself to do mischief. Now, this good thing, idealism, together with something less genuine called sentimentalism, was imported into English politics as a corrective, changed its character, and began at once to engender disease.

That statesmanship should always have an ideal to go by is true; but we must not allow any confusion between the

guidance of statesmanlike ideals and the introduction of an impracticable idealism into the actual conduct of affairs. The ideal of good statesmanship is in the line of reasonable endeavour. It never lies out of the range of hopeful accomplishment, or even far beyond the statesman's proper business, which is a stewardship; the special care of a particular State and its protection from trespass. When it is of that quality and limitation, political idealism is admirable. But we pass to an entirely different thing when we consider the extravagant idealism, the frenetic sentimentalism which have entered into politics in England, with matter-in-the-wrong-place effects of a very pronounced character. For there is no need of waiting any longer to learn that English politics have sunk into chronic disorder, and that, whether for a little time or for long, England is not the commanding Power that it was at so recent a date as the fiftieth birthday of Mr. Gladstone. As for the ideal Europe, we shall see, I think, that it has been put further than ever beyond hope by the same new wisdom which has proved so extremely disappointing in the land of its origination.

All British policy has been controlled of late by the Radical sentiment; and in England the Radical sentiment is intensely conservative as to one thing. Even when it is compelled to acknowledge a doubt about the effect of Radical doctrine, or the fortunate working of Radical ideas, the abandonment of them is considered quite impossible. The phrase is, “There is no going back": and, in fact, it must be allowed that the grand characteristic of British Radicalism is that its errors are irremediable. Although, therefore, it is interesting to review the means by which so much mischief has been done, it is less likely to serve us as a remedy than to supply any other nation that may need it with a warning example.

As the chief agents of the mischief we find two things, both of which are as admirable as idealism itself but, like that quality, only admirable in the right place. These two things are, impatience to escape from the more brutal necessities of national competition, and government by the popular will.

As a mark of advance from savagery, and as a means of

further advancement, the impatience would be feebly described as good. It is a leaven in the heart and mind of man which will change much that is evil if it is allowed time to propagate, and is not allowed to procure its own extinction by premature action. As a propaganda, revolt from the brutalities of national competition is admirable. As a policy it will remain a ridiculous form of suicide until the propaganda is nearly universal and pretty complete. This the moralist who preaches it is himself bound to admit; and he will do so unless he be of the order of enthusiasts who lately taught that to stake the fortunes of this great empire on a war of revenge against the Turks is a sacred duty to the Armenians and ourselves. That, however, is not even morality; or supposing it can be so called, whenever the people begin to throw away their heads in homage to their hearts the political leaders of the people have a plain duty before them. This is, to explain-since we are under government by the popular will--how fatal to sound, wise, and humane policy may be the dictates of a righteous sentiment.

But exactly because England is under government by the popular will that is hardly ever done, and never with the full and wholesome candour which the public good demands. It is not certain, however, that "exactly because" is the right expression, if taken to mean "only because." There is, indeed, reason to doubt whether the sentimentalism which may bear good fruit in the public mind, and yet would be a positive danger in the public offices, does not find admission to the counsels of English statesmen. In point of fact, we know that it does in the case of some of them. Mr. Gladstone may be cited as one, especially after that unfortunate speech of his. When Mr. Bryce--the Russian Black Sea fleet being then commissioned for immediate service-praised this speech as "prudent," echoing Mr. Gladstone's disbelief in interference with British coercion of the Sultan, we saw again the ascendency of feeling over judgment in a responsible adviser of the popular will. To be sure, such conquests are not very remarkable when recorded of a political school which finds in them something to be proud of: as truly they might in another world than this. The remarkable thing is, that the