for increasing the German navy, for getting ready for the "day." The Chamberlain policy put economic interest in Germany upon the side of big naval budgets, it gave support to the Prussian habit of aggression, and some shadow of reason to the dreams of the Pan-Germans.

In the second place, Mr. Chamberlain's policy not only set his own party by the ears, as we have seen, but caused the disorganized forces of the Liberal Party to join step again. For several years before Mr. Chamberlain's pronouncement in 1903 the leaders of Liberalism had been pulling different ways. About English policy in South Africa, indeed about the broader question of foreign policy, there were two camps set far apart. It was always possible that Liberal Imperialists might go where Liberal Unionists had gone. Over Home Rule for Ireland there was hardly less dissension. The rapprochement of 1902 had been more apparent than real. It was Mr. Chamberlain who did what neither Lord Rosebery, Harcourt, nor Campbell-Bannerman had been able to do: he brought into real harmony the various groups of the Liberal Party. Campbell-Bannerman might not agree with Lord Rosebery over Home Rule, Mr. Asquith might differ with Mr. Morley about foreign policy; about tariff reform they were all agreed in opposition. Mr. Chamberlain had demoralized his own party and united that of his opponents. Never had red herring been more successfully drawn across a political trail.

Mr. Chamberlain's proposal not only united the Liberal Party but eventually gave its control into the hands of the radicals and made possible the Lloyd George budget of 1909 and the socialdemocratic measures that followed it in rapid succession. It will be recalled that the Unionist Party, although they criticized features of it, did not oppose the plan for old-age pensions which was put through in 1908. But they were quick to call attention to the enormous outlay demanded. How was the expense to be met, they asked, and framed a ready answer.

The war alarm of

1908-09 gave them the chance for another question. The cry

prevailed.

"We want eight

And we wont wait"

Thanks to Conservative insistence, the Liberal leaders were forced, not without great reluctance, to give way

and to promise the eight dreadnoughts demanded by the music halls. The four extra warships thereby allocated would cost at least $40,000,000, in addition to the $60,000,000 for old-age pensions. The Chamberlainites, urgent in pressing for defence, were the first to ask: Where are you going to find the money? The regular means of taxation, said they, are played out. The poople can stand no more. Now, they said, you will have to impose a tariff. And in saying it they had the good precedent of the wheat duty levied after the South African war to fall back upon, and many another good precedent. More money had to be found; the colonies were demanding preference, and byeelections in favor of the Conservative Party were proof that the people were ready for a tariff. It was Lloyd George with the budget of 1909 who saved the day. It was the pressure of the tariff reform issue that gave Lloyd George the chance to bring in that budget. But would not the budget have come anyway? Had not the bell been rung for land and social reform? Undoubtedly the progress of the suns was sure to bring land taxes and social legislation of a radical kind. That they came so quickly is due, I believe, to the intrusion of the Chamberlain issue into politics. Everybody knows that there was a strong left wing of the Liberal Party ready and waiting for just such a policy. But it is sometimes forgotten that they had by no means persuaded the great moderate element in the party of its feasibility. The conservatism of the Liberal Party of 1906 will be apparent to anyone who will go over the campaign of that year. We are already so far removed from 1906 that we find it hard to realize how different the Liberal Party of that year was from the Liberal Party of 1914. Old-line Whigs still towered high. Lloyd George and Winston Churchill were as yet underlings. John Burns was an illustrious example of a workingman who had come up in the world, rather than a powerful influence for radicalism. Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman regarded himself as an advanced radical, but would have hesitated at some of the policies his party was later to take up. Masterman and Simon had not yet emerged. Not only the leaders but the centre of the party were Whig. They were not prepared for radical policies; they would have been a long time preparing,

had it not been that they saw the party embarrassed by the supporters of Mr. Chamberlain. In such a crisis they were willing to listen to new voices who would find a way out. Not only could the Welsh demagogue show them a way out, but he had a radical fighting issue to oppose to tariff reform, a fresh issue to offset one that had grown a little stale. The chance was too good and the Whigs capitulated.

Mr. Chamberlain, pleading for tariff reform, had involuntarily given a push to those forms of radicalism to which as a young man he had looked forward. What one has wished for in youth, says Goethe, in old age one has in abundance.

In the fourth place, the Chamberlain movement, if it failed to gain its end, put English thought in solution about colonial questions for ten years, gave the colonies a new sense of their importance in the imperial system, and led in consequence to closer ties between the colonies and the mother country. It has often been said that the Conservative Party enacts what the Liberal Party fights for. In this instance the syllogism may be reversed. When Mr. Lewis Harcourt, after the Colonial Conference of 1911, was able to indicate that the Colonies would aid in the matter of defence, he was announcing the realization of what Mr. Chamberlain had most at heart. Mr. Chamberlain desired an imperial Zollverein because he believed economic ties the strongest ties. He hoped to bind Great Britain and her Colonies in the most secure way not only for commercial advantage but for protection against foreign aggression. When in his years of seclusion he saw Canada planning to build dreadnoughts, and Australia and New Zealand laying them down, he must have realized that part of his aspirations were on their way to fulfilment.

WALLACE NOTESTEIN.

University of Minnesota.

HAPPINESS

Did anyone ever go out of life declaring himself totally unacquainted with happiness? And was there ever a human being who did not desire happiness? Man looks upon happiness as his natural heritage. Always he has been dreaming of some Utopia, always been searching for a Promised Land. Even with no expectation of lying on flowery beds of ease, he looks forward to some sort of felicity. His hope of Heaven is based on this belief in happiness. Though his craving for happiness has sometimes led him far astray, driving him to killing excesses, impelling him to fearful deeds, it has oftener been a restraining influence, an impetus to right-doing, an incentive to advance

ment.

At the beginning of human existence, man, to maintain life, was forced to secure for himself certain comforts,-food, shelter, warmth. These comforts were essential to happiness, no less than to life. Even the rudest mortal is sensible to comfort; and the greater one's refinement the more will one's comfort, and therefore one's happiness, be made or marred by one's material surroundings, the more will one demand an environment of perfect neatness and cleanliness, the more will one crave the sight of beauty. An ugly, dingy wall-paper may be positive torture, bringing one, it may be, to the point of tears. And yet, if one's days are spent in joyful labor and one's windows frame a glory of hill and vale, even the dingy walls may be endured.

Appetizing food, we have said, is a contributing factor in this matter of happiness. There is reason in the common saying that a man is good-natured after a good dinner. No man can go about his day's work with any vim or joy on an insufficient breakfast. The housewife who feeds her family well, catering thoughtfully to individual tastes and needs, is much more likely to have a happy, contented household than the woman who finds the planning of meals a trouble and leaves everything to servants. Ruskin's mother, we are told, was a consummate housewife, and we know that her gifted son counted it among his blessings that

he was early taught the meaning of peace. We may take as a good sign the present popularity of the domestic economy courses in the schools and colleges. There is hope in this revival of interest in household matters; for it is an indisputable fact that good housekeeping and good cooking are an aid to efficiency as well as a promoter of happiness.

Companionship is essential to the happiness of most people, though inability to content one's self in solitude is usually an indication of poverty of soul, and the dislike of being alone springs most often from a kind of vanity, a desire to have one's self-love gratified, a need of being constantly assured that one is a good fellow. A man like Thoreau can even delight in solitude, finding a sweet and beneficent society in nature, rejoicing when an early twilight ushers in a long evening in which many thoughts have "time to take root and unfold themselves." Even humble, patient, unlettered souls have sometimes possessed the secret of contentment in solitude. The matron told of by Wordsworth in the Excursion is an instance. This woman, an inhabitant of a remote hill farm, left alone through the three mid-winter months from the dark of early morning to the dark of evening, finds many sources of comfort and companionship,her wheel, her fire, the ticking of the house-clock, the cackling hen, the tender chicken brood, the wild birds that gather round her porch, the sheep-dog's honest countenance. "And above all," she is made to say, "my thoughts are my support."

A life may be poor in happiness and yet rich in enjoyment. Ruskin's was such a life. The soul most susceptible to pleasure is often the least destined to happiness. The nature having the largest capacity for happiness may be the most sensitive to suffering. Happiness, moreover, is always something exquisite, and it is the nature of things exquisite to be fleeting, evanescent, easily dispelled. A settled happiness is as rare as a rhapsody of happiness; and when it exists it is usually a hard-won, wellearned calm.

We delight in the pleasure that comes seldom. When a busy, hard-working man declares that to play cards in the day-time is his idea of happiness, we know he means that the rare treat of doing something unusual gives him genuine pleasure; he does