THE CONGRESS OF WOMEN.

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Coming Race,” says: “The primary condition of mortal happiness consists in the extinction of that strife and competition between individuals which, no matter what form of government they adopt, render the many subordinate to the few, and annul the calm of existence.

The social dream of co-operation, like the clouds of sunset, has changed form and name since the time of Plato to Bellamy, and there is some reason to believe that the clouds are becoming the reflection of an actual future; that all the various social reforms, nihilism in Russia and nationalism in America, must present some perma­nent idea, some just complaint, as the rock lies beneath the torn seaweed and the shivering foam on the beach. What, then, is the message, the soul of good, the impel­ling spirit and inspiration in these things that seem so evil? Nihilism in Russia alone has given to prison, to Siberia, and to the executioner genius enough, self-sacrifice enough, and love enough to have inspired an hundred epochs in the history of the world. It may be said, What is the use of pursuing the impossible, however bright the dream may be; but the answer is, That we have never yet discovered what the impossible may be in social problems, and that we cannot say, in the light of past experience, what may or may not be true, as the history of the world is a history of derided dreams. A large number will thrust the subject aside as disagreeable or dan­gerous, and say: “ It is no business of mine;” which may mean, “ It is not to be helped, and that it is natural for the weakest to go to the wall.” These weird reformers reply that it is not nature, but that

“ Man’s inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn.”

Mr. Bellamy presents a bright picture of a social democracy, giving to all the greatest advantages and the highest civilization, and obliterating corruption, degra­dation and poverty, which, he says, is demanded by increasing civilization and the laws of evolution, in order to prevent the people from being handed over to the rapac­ity of a feudal system of capitalists, and that we must either choose nationalism or despotism.

I must acknowledge that the personal history of Edward Bellamy is unknown to me. It is inevitable in the world of letters that an author must be at rest in his mau­soleum before the doors of his earthly home are thrown open and the public admitted to the hallowed hearthstone. There are instances where authors are permitted to read their own biographies, and to enjoy the doubtful pleasure of “ seeing themselves as others see them;” but if Mr. Bellamy occupies a place in this coterie I am not pos­sessed of the evidence.

There is thus only one other way for me to become acquainted with him, and that is his writings. We judge a tree byfits fruit. In this instance the fruit hangs very high, by almost like the apples of Hesperides, in the region of Allegory, and surrounded:— the mists of a century of time in advance of us. It promises to be luscious to the taste, having for us all the enchantment that distance is said to lend.

Mr. Bellamy has, in his most interesting book, “ Looking Backward,” stationed himself on the heights of the twentieth century, and through the magical medium of a dream has looked back on the nineteenth century with the eyes of a philanthropist who would see us all bestowed in an earthly elysium, where fraternity and equality go hand in hand, “ the one being a flower growing on the soil of the other;” where love enters all the doors and poverty has been relegated to parts unknown, and where plu­tocracy has been banished to its own Plutonian shores. This is a delightful dream, a beautiful vision of a possible better condition than existing surroundings, free from selfishness, and where the relations of mankind are perfectly harmonious. It is really the dream of a noble and very sympathetic type of man, guided by the hope that the greatest good will eventually prevail.

Mr. Bellamy’s “ Looking Backward ” has not only attracted the most marked attention of the literary world, but has also been subjected to the most vigorous criti­cism and condemnation.