Christopher Hollis
Two Nations



Chapter XI — The First Revolts

The verdict of history may be that Disraeli saved the world because it is not to be believed that the poor would have tolerated for ever this exclusion from the benefits of increased productivity. If political economy and the Parliamentary politicians had insisted on imposing this exclusion on them, then in the end it would have been inevitable that they should turn against party politics and the political economists. So there were the Chartists. But the years also saw the first articulate statement of a theory of history, more important than that of the Chartists, which challenged the whole basis upon which existing arrangements were made — or at the least appeared to do so. In 1848 appeared Karl Marx's and Friedrich Engels's Manifesto on Communism. In that manifesto, as in all his subsequent writings, Marx swept away with impatience the whole nursery-version of history, the record of the rise and fall of dynasties, or the mock-figures of party politicians. History's one reality, he claimed, was the unceasing struggle between rival economic classes. In every state the Government was necessarily but "an executive committee for managing the affairs of the governing class as a whole."  Minor differences within the governing class, such as those between Whigs and Tories, or Liberals and Conservatives, were secondary and negligible.

Eventually, he argued, every economic system collapsed through its own inherent contradictions, and out of the conflict between the exploiting and the exploited classes emerged a new system and a new society. Capitalism had thus emerged out of the societies of the past and would, in its turn, give place to communism, as soon as the proletariat understood capitalism's inherent incapacity to deliver to it the goods which it created. The leaders of the proletariat must then overturn the capitalist state, seize power themselves in the name of the proletariat and establish the dictatorship of the proletariat, to crush out from the memory and from the life of the country all relic of its bourgeois past. That task achieved, the dictatorship can automatically end. The new classless state has then come into being. The apocalyptic vision with which the first volume of Das Kapital ends has then at length been realized. The state, as Lenin put it, "withers away."  The problem of government is replaced by that of mere administration in a classless society. "Pre-history ends and history begins," as Marx himself put it.

Now there are surely few who would not agree that, while there is much that is sensible and suggestive in Marx's interpretation of the past and while his economic theory of surplus value is substantially true, yet his prophecies concerning the future are without basis in reason and purely mystical in the worst and most popular sense of a much abused word. Though all the facts of the past do not support his historical theories, at least there are facts in the past which do support them. It is true that the clash between rival economic classes has played a large part in shaping history. It is true that the official historical and economic text-books, written for the dominant class by their jackals, do, to a gross extent, simply take the riches of the rich for granted as an evident part of God's plan. It is true that the whole notion of progress only obtained currency because the dominant class, while but a small proportion of the country's population, yet provided almost the whole of the country's literature. The poor, whose standard of living was being forced down and down, were not asked for their opinions upon progress, but the few among them, such as Burns or Cobbett, who insisted on giving their opinions, whether asked or not, knew very well how little progress there had been. Of Marx's interpretation of history then one can fairly say that, as far as it goes, it insists upon a truth — an important truth, a neglected truth — a truth neglected indeed by the academic historians but as clearly understood by the free minds of the times such as Lingard or Cobbett or Disraeli, as it was understood by Marx himself. On the other hand, he quite misunderstood the nature of religion and entirely neglected its enormous power to compose the conflicts of classes.

Of Marx's prophecy of the future, however, we can only say that it is filled with contradictions even more gross than those of the capitalist system itself. Suppose, as has happened in Russia and as might well have happened in England had not Disraeli fought Sir Robert Peel, that the system of society has collapsed and that the dictatorship of the proletariat has been established. What then ?  What reason at all is there to believe that out of this dictatorship of the proletariat there will emerge a classless society ?  "Dictatorship of the proletariat" is clearly no more than a phrase. The proletariat cannot dictate; a few people dictate to the proletariat. No one has been more ready than Marx to pour scorn — largely merited scorn — on those bourgeois leaders who have sought to conceal from themselves and from others the essential selfishness of their motives by the pretence that they incarnate the people. Why is there a magic against original sin in the mouthing of the word "proletariat" which there is not in in the mouthing of the word "people" ?  And what is this classless world to be like — this world, where "pre-history" is no more, and "history" has at last begun — whatever that may mean ?  "The Marxists' answer is that they do not know," Mr. Cole tells us.(115) "It is enough for Lilith that there is a beyond," says Mr. Bernard Shaw.(116) It may be enough for Lilith, but it is not enough for me. If we are to be asked to suffer the inconveniences of a revolution, at least we demand to be told what we are revolting for. "The King is dead; long live the question-mark," is not an inspiring battle-cry.

Yet I do not think that we need greatly bother ourselves what this classless Marxian society will be like. It is Marx's own contention — a true contention — that class feelings are among the strongest of the feelings of the human soul. Such small unity as the exploited class has ever achieved, it has achieved only because it has been united in opposition to its exploiters. Once the exploiters have been "liquidated," what reason is there to think that the exploited will not fall out among themselves — miners against railwaymen, town against country, merchant against manufacturer, white against black, black against yellow ?  What reason, above all, is there to think that the dictators, using no doubt the Marxian phraseology to cloak their designs, will not form themselves into a new class of exploiters ?  The exploiters in each era of Marxian history have always been the leaders of the exploited in the class war of the previous era. Why should that oligarchy, the Communist party, be any exception to this law ?  As every day in the experience of Russia proves, it clearly is not. The careful investigation of Mr. Chamberlain in Russia, Without Benefit of Censor, brings us to the conclusion that between 4,000,000 and 5,000,000 people in Russia have died of famine — a famine due not to natural causes, but to a "deliberate withholding of food."  Were those 4,000,000 all capitalists ?  How can unity come out of such a policy?

All probability and all experience then unite to prove that the so-called transitional stage of the dictatorship of the proletariat will never pass and that Marx's gospel of hate does not contain within it the stuff out of which can ever emerge the classless society of Marx's apocalyptic vision. The great eschatological mystics have united to tell us how at the last day Almighty God will come riding to us upon clouds of glory. The belief of Marx, that he can get rid of the God and still have the clouds of glory, is really puerile. Mere hate and envy can never of their nature bring unity. Hate cannot create, and envy demands division in order that there may be somebody to be envied.

So clearly is this true that Marx's disciples have been constrained to admit that the living generation, corrupted by its bourgeois ideologies, cannot properly breathe the communist air. It is corrupted by the God-complex; it has foolish hankerings of respect for its parents. "Give us but time," they say. "With time and education and a few machine-guns we will produce a new generation, a communist generation, which will care nothing for God and its parents and care only for the community."  Then the classless society will be born.

Will be born — the new generation — but, if materialistic hedonism is the only sane philosophy, if motherhood carries with it no privileges and sex possesses no mysteries, why should there be a new generation at all ?  What motive can you offer to a woman why she should submit herself to the pains of childbirth ?  If you produce your new generation, how are you going to induce it in its turn to generate ?  It is true that up till now the birth-rate in Russia has not fallen — but then the bearers are still infected with the ideology of their degraded past — with a hankering, horrible, anti-social feeling for the glory of motherhood — a feeling that will soon be ruthlessly stamped out. The communist theory is by no means unanswerable. Indeed it is at some of its most important points so patently untrue that what is surprising is not that it has failed to conquer but that it has at all survived. It has survived because the answer to it is equally an answer to the orthodox theory against which it was erected. We still have communism because we still have capitalism, and communism will continue so long as capitalism survives. Take, for example, the vulgar and popular objections to communism. We are told that nobody will give of his best unless he is allowed himself to reap where he has sown; if it be true, what a devastating objection to the system of usury which offers as the reward of success the attainment of an "independent income"! We are told that the threat of poverty is necessary to save men from the demoralization of idleness; if it be true, what an indictment of a system that permits the inheritance of wealth! "We communists," Marx was able to say with unanswerable sarcasm, "have been accused of wishing to abolish the property that has been acquired by personal exertion.... We do not need to abolish that kind of property, for industrial development has abolished it, or is doing so day by day."(117) Malthus in a famous passage debates "what should be done with that class of people whose only possession is their labour" — a class whose existence he takes for granted as if he were speaking of the blind, or of men over six feet. It simply does not occur to him that a possible solution might be that of endowing them with some other possessions. Faced with such philosophizings, Marx has only to answer unanswerably, "You are outraged because we wish to abolish private property. But in extant society private property has been abolished for nine-tenths of the population."

To go a little deeper, all sane thought revolts from the doctrine that the laws of political economy are independent of religious control — but it was not Karl Marx but Lord Althorp who first taught that doctrine. The Communist denies that there is a God whose purposes can be opposed to Communism, but he only does so because the Liberals have already cornered that God and announced that he was "a force not ourselves, making for usury."  As Ruskin put it in bitter anger, the Liberal faith was: "There is a Supreme Ruler, no question of it, only He cannot rule. His orders won't work."(118) Between a God Who is not and a God Who does nothing there is a distinction without a difference. Again the experience of mankind teaches that the family is the fundamental human society and that a policy which attacks the family cannot bring happiness to mankind, but the family was attacked by the Benthamite Poor Law almost a century before it was attacked by Boishevist free love. Even to-day which is its worse enemy — Mayfair or Moscow ?  Admitting the strength of class divisions, we yet cling to the Christian doctrine of the equality of man and revolt from the exaggeration of the Communist teaching that economic differences have divided the human race into wholly different sorts of animals. Yet the class war was practised by eighteenth century noblemen a hundred years before it was preached by nineteenth century communists, and the only difference on this point between Adam Smith and Lenin is that Adam Smith took tacitly for granted what Lenin explicitly recognized. Unless the human race does consist of two sorts of animals, the theories of Adam Smith do not make sense at all. Yet again, we are moved a little to irreverent mirth by Karl Marx's baseless and apocalyptic vision of a rosy dawn ahead, but the myth of progress was popularized among the rich by Lord Macaulay long before it was popularized among the poor by Trotzky. All the technique of trick-education was perfected by Townshend two hundred years before it was invented by Lunacharsky.

It is clear then that the battle between capitalism and communism, so far from being the eternal struggle of our race, was in reality little more than a family quarrel between two Jews for the divine right to deceive mankind — between the Dutch Jew Ricardo and the German Jew Marx. And before the menace of a real challenge to the system — the challenge that has come in our day from President Roosevelt — even the family quarrel is forgotten, and the finance-ridden Western European countries and Communist Moscow come easily together. For in a way

"Marx does more than Malthus can
To justify Mammon's ways to Man."

For the very determinism of Marx, which sought to prove that the post-capitalist society must necessarily be communist, was compelled equally to argue that the pre-communist society had necessarily to be capitalist. And, therefore, in the Communist Manifesto of 1848 Marx, so far from underrating the achievements of capitalism, grossly exaggerated them. Its great achievement, according to him, was that "it has rescued a considerable part of the population from the idiocy of rural life."

Now every tradition of our race stands in opposition to the whole insolent plan for rearranging the poor and refuses to take sides either with Ricardo and his claim that the capitalist shall not be interfered with by the commissar, or with Marx and his claim that the commissar shall not be interfered with by the capitalist. To most of us these old bourgeois notions, so drastically to be rooted out, are utterly fundamental to human nature. Even if they be not so, at least men have held them for a very long time — so much so that the possession of them is an integral part of what we mean by a man — so much so that, when the Marxians propose to produce a man who is quite innocent of them they are in reality proposing to produce a new animal. As Mr. Bernard Shaw frankly admits, "Our only hope is in evolution. We must replace the man by the superman" — which is another way of saying that there is no hope at all — at least for us. For, if Man is replaced, we, at any rate, cease to exist. Other reformers in history have sought to change the constitution of society because it is not suited to the nature of man; the Communists seek to change the nature of Man because it is not suited to their proposed constitution of society. It is the belief of the present writer that their attempt is foredoomed to failure and that Man is possessed of a certain nature which in fundamentals cannot be changed. But suppose the Marxians to be right. Is it not clear that they lay themselves open to a devastating answer from the defenders of the old financial system ?  "Oh," says the ghost of Malthus with a smile, "if we can produce a new race of men, why then is it necessary to have a revolution with all its inconveniences ?  Instead of producing a communist race which is happy under communism, why not produce a slave race which is happy under capitalism ?  While we are "conditioning away" God and the family, why not "condition away" the sense of justice and the sense of equality, the love of children, and the yearning for a merry life as well ?  The only possible objection to my schemes was that the poor would not stand them. Why not breed a race of poor that will stand them?"

No one used to be more ready than the Malthusians with pompous lectures to the poor on the inevitable retribution which would follow upon their enjoyment of temporary and "artificial" prosperity. But the very strength of Malthus's language used to rob his followers of the right to use such language. If there had been a chance of enduring happiness, it might have been wise to have restrained oneself in order to enjoy it. But, if "the almost constant action of misery" is our inevitable lot, we might as well make hay while the sun shines, being very certain that it will never shine again; break into the lord's cellar and rob and rape and get gloriously drunk to-night, since it is the only night that we shall have. And now at the eleventh hour Marx has come along and set Malthus's argument on its legs again. He will breed Malthus a race that will not be miserable in misery.

Where then did hope lie ?  There was no hope save in an inquiry into "the mystery of things" by far more fundamental than any that either Ricardo or Marx ever contemplated. What was "creation's final law" ?  There are but two motives which have ever led anybody to invent or to make anything — necessity and love. God, a self-sufficient being, cannot have needed the world. Therefore He must have loved it and created it out of love. Love must have been before the world in order that the world might be created. But before the world nothing was save God. Therefore it must be that "God is love."  If that argument be sound, then there is a foundation on which the new society can be built; if it be not sound, there is no such foundation. For it is useless to preach of love if love be not the law of the world.

Now with such an argument Marx's mind never came to wrestle at all. For, whereas Marx was always pointing out with considerable truth how everybody else was a product of environment, he did not clearly see how he himself was also such a product. Yet, as Mr. Bernard Wall truly says(119) in an admirable article in the Colosseum, his "data and theory are the product of a particular and unique period of human history which is already passing away."  And, in particular, he judged religion not by its claims nor by the general record of its adherents through the ages, but by the record — or what he, with no very deep understanding, thought to be the record — of its adherents in his own particular day.

Now it was true that through unhappy accidents the Christian bodies had by no means played the part that they should have played in the battle against usury in the first half of the nineteenth century. The Church of England, which had boasted so splendid a record in the reign of Charles I, had been captured in 1688 by those very forces against which it existed to protest. It was now, in these matters, little more than the support of English nationalism. It was not Herr Hitler nor Signor Mussolini but Queen Victoria who wrote,(120) "It is natural that every one should have their own opinion, especially on religion, but, when the policy of Great Britain comes into consideration ... all private feelings should be overruled."  The Nonconformists had in their blood no traditions against usury. The Catholic Church was in a yet sadder and more curious case.

The Emperor Napoleon was by no means a model Christian. Yet the force which he challenged was the force of usury; the society for which he fought was a Christian society; the society which conquered him, if ever such a word may be used of any society, anti-Christian. It was a society, whose very fundament was usury, the eternal enemy of the Christian faith. The memory of Napoleon lived on as a dream in the minds of the poor.

"Long, long will they tell of him under the thatched roof.
In fifty years the humble dwelling will know no other history.
Children, through this village I saw him ride,
And Kings followed him."  [Béranger.]

That dream was in truth the immemorial dream of Christian freedom. Yet most unfortunately in the course of the struggle Napoleon fell into a quarrel with Pope Pius VII concerning the Papal States and treated him with great lack of proper respect and personal consideration. It is the unfortunate but clearly all but inevitable weakness of priests when they come into contact with the affairs of laymen, that their lack of experience is likely to cause them to judge these affairs in a simple-minded fashion. From time to time one comes across a Father Brown among priests, but Mr. Chesterton, I am sure, would be the first to agree that priests are not shrewd as a general rule. It is better that they should not be; it is better that they should be holy. Thus it was that the blunder of Napoleon gave to his enemies the opportunity of posing before the Papacy as the defender of the ancient traditions of Christendom. They were able to persuade it that after 1815 they were restoring the old world of 1789, and because Kings and Emperors sat once more apparently upon their thrones, the Papacy was persuaded that the old order had been re-established. Metternich and Stadion, it thought, were the rulers of Austria because they were called the rulers of Austria. But in reality, as Cobbett ceaselessly preached, what had been restored was the personnel of the ancien régime, weighed down by a burden of debt which made their creditors the effectual masters of policy. The Papacy saw Metternich and Stadion in their seats of office. They did not see Stadion pocketing the loans of the Rothschilds and Metternich creeping down into the Frankfort ghetto to learn their latest will.(121) For fifty years after Waterloo Papal policy was directed by pious and simple men. They preached sincerely the Church's doctrine against usury, but they did nothing to oppose the usurers, because in their innocence of the world they did not know that they were usurers.

Deluded by the trick of the new masters, who cleverly used the phrase "private property," they thought that in defending property in the Ricardian sense they were defending it in the Thomistic sense. But in truth the two doctrines of property had nothing at all in common. "Man should not consider his outward possessions as his own," St. Thomas had taught, "but as common to all, so as to share them without difficulty when others are in need." "All that the rich men hath," taught the author of the medieval Dives et Pauper, "passing his honest living after the degree of his dispensation, it is other men's, not his, and he shall give full hard reckoning thereof at the day of doom, when God shall say to him, 'Yield account of your bailywick.' "(122) "Every man has a right to do what he will with his own," answered Malthus [Essays, p. 445] — in flat contradiction. And to Althorp the exercise of charity was not only not obligatory; it was not possible.

Later in the century, after the happy loss of the Temporal Power, there came with Leo XIII a régime capable of penetrating these earlier misunderstandings and in our own day with the present Pope the battle has been happily joined where it should be joined. But it was not so at first.

Both Marx and Ricardo, children of their day, could not see beyond their day. Owing to his own insensibility to beauty and the weakness of his powers of observation of nature, Marx found life in the country boring. He therefore erected his own taste into a dogma and proclaimed the town to be the superior of the country. In the same way, finding that for accidental reasons the voice of religion was temporarily not raised loud against social wrong, he dismissed religion contemptuously as the mere handmaid of the governing class — " the opium of the poor."  Yet even such a phrase contained, as Mr. Chesterton has acutely pointed out, the refutation of his whole theory of economic determinism. For it means, if it means anything, that the proletariat refrains from revolt because it has been taught a lot of foolish tales about morality. Whether the tales be foolish or not is nothing to this immediate argument. What is important is Marx's admission that their conduct is influenced by such tales — by motives, that is, that are not at all economic.

Thus it came about that, allowing no place for that part of Man's nature that makes him mostly truly Man, both the Liberal and the Communist made of their disciples stunted, uncertain creatures, doomed for ever to proclaim a lack of faith that it is not truly within human capacity to feel. Every Benthamite and every Marxian, insecurely poised upon a half-belief, is therefore, like Mr. Bernard Shaw's atheist, always in danger of losing his faith. To them, as to poor Gigadibs,

"Just when we are safest, there's a sunset touch,
A fancy from a flower-bell, someone's death,
A chorus ending from Euripides —
And that's enough for fifty hopes and fears
As old and new at once as Nature's self,
To rap and knock and enter in our soul
The grand Perhaps ! We look on helplessly."(123)

Now, if it was two Jews, their minds confused with bogus Whig history, who were most largely responsible for imposing this desiccation upon mankind, it was a third Jew who saw most clearly the folly of it. Disraeli had the gift, more than any of his contemporaries, of putting himself outside the accidents of his age and of the country in which he lived. As the second title of his great work, Sybil, shows, he saw, as clearly as Marx saw it, that society had as a fact fallen apart into two nations. Disraeli, alive in the world, knew much better than Marx, shut up in the British Museum, the gulf between Alfred Mountchesney,(124) who "rather likes bad wine because one gets so bored with good" and the villagers of Marney, paid 7s. a week, because "people without cares do not require so much food as those whose life entails anxieties."(125) But he saw, too, that the gulf between these two nations could only be abridged by some great force utterly challenging the liberal laws of political economy and the communist doctrine of the class war. That great force was the gigantic, explosive force of real Christian faith.

We often tell one another that the Jew, as an alien, stands outside our Christian culture. And so he does. But he stands, too, outside all those elements in our culture that are most flagrantly opposed to Christianity. To a Jew the whole conception of a gentleman is unintelligible — a conception, comic if he be of a comedic turn, and, if he be serious-minded, almost blasphemous. To a Jew the very stuff of life is the binding force of a common faith and a common race. That a man should think himself to be of a different kind from others of his own race is to a Jew but the plainest nonsense.

I do not think that Disraeli was ever himself a Christian. But even where he had not the faith to believe he had not the folly to despise. He was a a highly intelligent man, and he did understand one simple and all-important historical truth, which even to-day is not sufficiently understood. He did understand that for three hundred years the poor of England had been driven down and down and down, that in his own day the rot had at last been stopped and that the force that had stopped it was the force of Christianity. There were, of course, then, as there still are, millions of professing Christians, who, through ignorance or indolence or bemusement at the sophistries of the economists, had played no part in the battle against Christianity's enemy. That was a deplorable truth, but it did not alter the counter-truth that the only effective blows that had been dealt to the system had been dealt by Christians, fighting for the sake of Christ. "Profiting by dissensions among the bourgeoisie, it compels legislative recognition of some of the specifically working class interests. That is how the Ten Hours Bill was secured in England," wrote Marx. Disraeli knew better. He knew that the Ten Hours Bill was secured by a handful of Christians who thought it wicked that their fellow-men should be treated as animals. If words had any meaning at all, there stood this blazing truth that it was impossible to believe both in Malthus and in the God whom Malthus worshipped, in what Carlyle called "pig philosophy" and in Christian philosophy.

"Our God hath blessed creation,
Calling it good."(126)

is the ringing challenge of the Christian faith. The two philosophies were, as Ruskin used truly to say, the direct opposite each of the other, the one saying black wherever the other said white. "I know," he added(127) truly, "no previous instance in history of a nation's establishing a systematic disobedience to the first principles of its professed religion."  There were a few men who were clearheaded enough and courageous enough to see the contrast and to prefer the latter faith. It was they who saved us.

The first effective attacks on the system had come from that noble and grossly underpraised man, Thomas Michael Sadler; his motive in attacking the system was purely religious. After Sadler, who was a Tory, had been defeated for Parliament owing to the Reform Bill by Macaulay, his work was taken up by the great Lord Shaftesbury (Ashley, as he then was) — inheritor of the title of that man who did more, perhaps, than any other to stamp an anti-Christian character upon the face of England — himself to do more than any other to break that anti-Christian character. His motive, too, was a purely religious one. It is by a paradox the very sovereign greatness of these two great men, the one a Methodist, the other a narrow Evangelical, that they were neither of them men of supreme intelligence. In Sadler's controversies with Macaulay, Macaulay sometimes had the better of it. In face of the sophistries of the economists, "the pests of society and the persecutors of the poor," as Sadler called them, they were not always able clearly to understand nor wholly to explain how it was that society could survive if the poor were raised above the level of starvation. It was their glory that this inability did not cause them to hesitate for an instant. They were Christians, and they saw clearly that the acceptance of Christianity as true in its nature implied also its acceptance as of overriding importance. A Christian world could not be a world of the Two Nations; it was a world in which "barbarian and Scythian, bond and free" were united in the transcendent unity of Christ and, if political economy knew nothing of such a world, so much, they said, with all simplicity and all humility, the worse for political economy. "The Son of God," said Lord Shaftesbury in a quaint meditation at the end of his battered life, "took upon Him all human sufferings save only that of being in debt."  It was Sadler who saw that the law of charity must be reintroduced as the law of life, even though it destroy society. It was Disraeli who saw that it would not destroy society but would save it from destruction.

There is a great similarity between the historical opinions of Cobbett and of Disraeli. Both knew the official praise of the Reformation and of 1688, of "Dutch finance and French wars," and both had for that praise the contempt which it deserved. But there could not well be a wider difference than the difference between the natures of the two men. Cobbett was first and foremost a great lover, the lover of England. Like Dante,

"he loved well because he hated,
Hated wickedness that hinders loving."(128)

Every turn of an English lane, every English flower, every English country sport was a thing of loveliness to this great man, who was essential England. And it was because he loved that he hated — hated the Wen and the Thing and the Botley Parson, and the whole machinery of greed that was crushing out so much loveliness from the world.

Disraeli could not feel like that. He saw it but he did not feel it. The accidents of his origin compelled detachment. He could not love. But deep down in his soul there was the immemorial teaching of his ancient race against usury — the teaching of Moses and the teaching which the traditions of the race take back beyond Moses to the identification of usury with the serpent's bite of Eden. There stirred in him the spirit of the great Golconda Jew of Ruskin's Unto This Last. Jews have been the world's usurers, but they have only practised usury when, like the Rothschilds and the Ricardos, they have been aliens in a society which they wished to destroy. They have always known that usury does certainly destroy a society. No Jew has ever fallen into the foolish carelessness of so many silly Christians who think that it does not greatly matter whether usury be tolerated or not. Where a Jew is a friend of a society, he will wish to save it from that which will eat it up. And Disraeli, though not an Englishman, was yet the friend of England, her grateful guest.



proceed !


115. What Marx Really Meant, p. 290.

116. Back to Methuselah, Epilogue.

117. Essay on Population (ed. 1926), p. 86.

118. Modern Painters, v. part ix, chap. 12.

119. Art., "Marxism and Man," September. 1934.

120. Disraeli, Buckle, vol. vi.

121. See Rise and the Reign of the House of Rothschild, by Count Corti, and Metternich, by Algernon Cecil.

122. Quoted by Cardinal Gasquet, Eve of the Reformation, p. 312.

123. Bishop Blougram's Apology, Browning.

124. Sybil, book i, chapter 1.

125. Ibid.. book iii, chapter 2.

126. Ballad of the White Horse, G. K. Chesterton part iii.

127. Unto this Last.

128. One Word Move, Browning.