internal development, not to foreign exploitation. We had been discovering that we could produce wealth enough if only we could learn to distribute and use it wisely. Our interest had been shifting to internal problems, social questions of all sorts as contrasted with international ones. America came into being scarcely knowing that there were such things as international problems. Throughout Europe west of the Russian border democracy in the last half of the nineteenth century had been making long strides, and democracy was turning its attention, with no small promise of success, to solving the internal problems of the industrial state. Amid all

the tumult and confusion and shouting could be discerned the steady onward movement as the mass of the people slowly became better fed, better educated, better fitted to rule themselves.

The democracy gave little thought to foreign affairs, trusting them largely to the secret diplomacy of statesmen supposed to be expert in such matters. In recent years, however, there had been growing up among the people in all the western countries and in Japan a type of internationalism rich with promise for the future. Intelligent, scientific, broadly patriotic, it recognized that national isolation was a thing of the past, and that the world civilization of the future must be a coöperative task, enlisting the energy of all nations. This "international mind" that was just coming into being was not jealous of a progressive neighbor; it rejoiced in that neighbor's contribution to the common stock. The small nations no less than the large had their place in its scheme of things. Underneath all, it was recognized that machinery had given the world the basis for peace and plenty. No longer need the nations spring at one another's throats in order to get a chance to snatch their own insufficient share from the world's too scanty stock. Then came the colossal tragedy of 1914. With the first roar of the cannon, democracy abandoned its tasks,

and sprang to the defense of country. And magnificently has the peace-trained citizen played his part in the face of the machine gun and the flying shrapnel. But the tasks of social reconstruction have been laid aside, and popular thinking has been turned in large part toward international relations. Here the ordinary man finds himself in a field to which he is unaccustomed. Bewildered by the sweep of the forces that the war has let loose, emotionally stirred to the very depths, he finds himself thinking as his ancestors thought two centuries and a half ago. His leaders, under the same emotional stress, have for the most part spoken no word of protest. The whole world seems in danger of being carried back to a place where its international relations will be determined by the ideas of 1650, however different may be the conditions of 1916.

No better illustration can be offered than the proposals of the economic conference of the allies held at Paris in June last.

The measures proposed for the war period, already largely in effect before the conference, may be passed over with the mere mention of the blacklist of neutral firms "under enemy influence." The sequestration of property owned by enemy aliens is likewise not without significance.

The really important plans are those proposed for the period of reconstruction after the war. Countries devastated by war are to have restored to them their agricultural and industrial plant and stock and their merchant fleet. This sounds like indemnity. For a period of years after the war enemy subjects in allied countries will be excluded from certain industries and professions which concern national defense or economic independence. The proposal of course means the exclusion of Germans from business in the allied countries, and it has been suggested in Great Britain that the period covered be twenty

years.

Further, and more important, the allies agree during the whole reconstruction period to conserve their raw materials for one another before all others, and to make special arrangements to facilitate their interchange.

This amiable design for starving German industries by depriving them of raw materials is to be supplemented by a far reaching plan for cutting off German markets. During a period of years to be fixed by agreement, the allies resolve that none of them will grant the Central Powers most-favored-nation treatment; this will leave the allies free to do exactly as they please regarding Teutonic commerce. Yet more striking in phrase, “in order to defend their commerce and industry and their agriculture and navigation against economic aggression resulting from dumping or any other mode of unfair competition," the allies will fix a period of time during which commerce of the enemy countries "will be subjected either to prohibitions or to a special regime of an effective character" (evidently tantamount to prohibition), and Teuton ships will be subject to special agreement.

As permanent measures the allies propose to render themselves economically independent of the Teutons as regards both raw materials and manufactures, considering not only sources of supply, but also financial, commercial and maritime organization. To this end the governments concerned may adopt whatever methods they choose subsidies, grants in aid of research and industrial development, customs duties or prohibitions, the various countries "having regard to the principles which govern their economic policy". - a recognition of British free trade as the rock on which the whole scheme is likely to split. It is also agreed to facilitate mutual allied trade by the development of shipping facilities, and communication by post and telegraph, as well as the assimilation of the laws of patents, trade-marks and copyright.

Putting the whole thing in a nutshell, the allies propose

after the war to boycott Germany, cutting off her raw materials, closing her markets for manufactured exports, and hampering her shipping all they can. They propose to make themselves as a group economically independent, and interdependent only among themselves, though they profess a tenderness for neutral trade. In view of existing economic relationships these proposals are startling enough; it is doubtful whether more astonishing suggestions were ever seriously put forward by responsible statesmen. This extraordinary document was signed by the representatives of France, Belgium, Italy, Japan, Portugal, Russia and Servia. The British government later approved the resolutions, which may accordingly be taken to represent the collective wisdom of allied statesmen as applied to the future conduct of economic affairs.

The sweep of the proposed policy is really even wider than appears on the surface. What a large part of its advocates really desire is a policy of economic separatism like that demanded by the association of chambers of commerce of the United Kingdom, advocating for Great Britain a tariff with four levels of rates, rising successively, against: (1) All parts of the British Empire; (2) the allies; (3) present neutral states; (4) present enemy countries. Every protectionist in Europe, needless to say, is in full cry on this scent, and the echo of their cry is heard on our side of the water, where the demand for retaliation for anticipated injuries is already becoming vocal.

The more the Paris proposals are studied, the more do their mercantilist preconceptions and purposes assert themselves. "The present war," says the editor of the Edinburgh Review in discussing them, "has revealed to the world the fact that Germany regards commercial enterprise as a form of preparation for military action. . . It is the combination of a highly efficient industrial organization with an aggressive military state that we have to fear." The preconception of relative power could it be more clearly expressed? The idea

of an innate hostile rivalry breathes through every syllable of the Paris proposals and every word of their supporters. From the resolutions themselves we learn that the allied representatives "perceive that the Central Powers of Europe, after having imposed upon them their military struggle, in spite of all their efforts to avoid the conflict, are preparing to-day, in concert with their allies, a struggle in the economical domain which will not only survive the reëstablishment of peace, but at that very moment will assume all its amplitude and all its intensity. They cannot in consequence conceal from themselves that the agreement which is being prepared for this purpose amongst their enemies has for its evident object the establishment of their domination over the production and the markets of the whole world and to impose upon the other countries an intolerable yoke [presumably by selling those countries certain goods cheaper than the countries can make them themselves]. In the face of such a grave danger" the allies propose "to secure for themselves and the whole of the markets of neutral countries full economic independence and respect for sound commercial practice." Stripping the matter of its rhetoric, the allies fear the economic efficiency of Germany, and propose to cripple it if they can. This is stark mercantilism.

Even the methods proposed are those of the seventeenth century. Depriving a rival of raw material, prohibiting his goods from your market, excluding his subjects from trade in your country, limiting the movements of his ships in your ports one can match these devices measure for measure in the laws of Cromwell and Colbert and the great Frederick. One almost turns the page in expectation of finding some recommendation for burying in woolen, in order to encourage the consumption of woolen goods, or for eating fish on Friday, to aid the fishing industry measures of ancient mercantilist policy that might well be expected to recommend themselves to these modern mercantilist statesmen. The new mer