of poverty, but seeking the remedy for those evils rather in the activities of a paternal bureaucracy than in the training of personal character under the discipline of liberty and self-help; a party setting high the efficiency and greatness of their country, but not often reflecting on the ultimate ethical justification for national greatness; a party, in short, in its better elements nobly pagan, in its worse somewhat sordidly self-interested. To such a party Unionist Free Traders neither could nor would belong. But I do not believe that either Mr. Balfour or the majority of Conservatives wish the Unionist party to change its general character. To them Tariff Reform is not a creed; it is a particular measure which they believe to be beneficial. Whether in the end the forces of opinion will not compel a cleavage between the two types of Tariff Reformers may well be doubted. But at present it is enough for my purpose to note the distinction, and to appeal to the great majority of my Conservative friends not to allow themselves to assent to a policy of exclusion which for the mere purpose of carrying Tariff Reform is unnecessary and unwise, and can only be justified, if at all, as a preliminary to transforming Unionism into a novel and alien shape.

It may be asked, from an opposite standpoint, whether Unionist Free Traders are justified in continuing to co-operate with the Unionist party even if their existence within it be tolerated. As I have argued, by doing so they endanger Free Trade. Is this patriotic? I would answer, first, that Liberals have forced us into some such position by their persistent subordination of Free Trade to Liberalism, and, secondly, that Free Trade can afford to run some risks precisely because it is a sound cause. By helping to turn out a Liberal Government we are, as I have said, labouring to give Tariff Reform a chance; but that chance will benefit it only if it be a wiser measure than we think. In the end, after all, the good cause tends to survive and the bad one to collapse, whatever may be the temporary effect of cross currents of opinion and the adroit management of political tactics.

And it is in this reflection that the good cause is better than the bad, and that it really matters to be right, that Unionist Free Traders must find comfort amidst the discouragements of their position. This must be our watchword to put to flight the fiends of depression and dismay: we are right. We are right when we deny that a great revenue can be raised from foreigners; when we resist as both wasteful and demoralising the manipulation by the State of the springs and courses of commerce; when we deprecate the folly of seeking to bind the Empire together by a quadrennial squabble between its members over profit and loss, and denounce the injustice of taxing the food of the hungry to add to the wealth of the thriving. We are right, again, when we cry out against the scandals of Irish disorder, and against the recklessness which would dismember the kingdom into different nationalities; when we shrink from entrusting

the whole legislative authority to a single chamber; and when we defend the ancient relations of Church and State. It is supported by this conviction that we are able to endure a position certainly neither gratifying to ambition nor agreeable to ease. And while our opinions remain unchanged, we cannot without baseness desert that position. We must keep our ears open to the counsels of reason, our eyes to the testimony of fact. A foolish obstinacy we must abhor. But what we cannot yield to reason or to fact we must not surrender to caresses or to threats. To the kindly remonstrances of our friends, to the ignoble menaces of those whom we have given no cause to be our enemies, to the impatience of partisans who have lost their value for independence, to the vehemence of reformers, who cannot balance in sober moderation one public interest against another, to critics of all sorts, harsh and genial, intelligent and ignorant, we have one answer, brief, sufficient, sustaining we are right.

HUGH CECIL.

1909

FORTY-FOUR YEARS AT THE COLONIAL OFFICE

It goes without saying that any institution of such a nature as a Government Department must undergo many and important changes in the course of forty odd years. But in the case of a Department the business of which must necessarily depend mainly on external communications, it is obvious that such changes will be of exceptional magnitude and importance.

When I entered the Colonial Office in 1864, ocean telegraphy was still in its infancy. The only existing cable was to North America; and South and West Africa, the Eastern Colonies, Australia, and the West Indies were still only accessible by mail. The result was that even in the case of a despatch of the utmost importance, addressed say to Hong Kong or Australia, the question at issue, so far as an answer to that particular despatch was concerned, might be put comfortably to sleep for the best part of four months. And as in those days even mails were few and far between compared with what they are now, the opportunities for communication of any kind with our Colonial Empire were necessarily somewhat infrequent. Apart moreover from actual correspondence with the Colonies, the circumstances governing what may be called the domestic life of the office were very different. Questions in Parliament, which now create endless work during the session for a large section of the staff, were then of comparatively rare occurrence. No one, with the exception of a few specialists-mostly self-constituted-knew or cared much about Colonial affairs; and the life of the Parliamentary Under-Secretary was dignified ease compared with what it is now. It indeed makes me quite uncomfortable to think of the consternation that would have been produced at that time if the office had woke up one morning to find a string of perhaps thirty odd questions-by no means an outside number nowadays-put down for that day alone. And when, added to all this, the gigantic development of the Colonial Empire in all directions during the last quarter of a century is taken into consideration, it is hardly to be wondered at that the atmosphere of the Colonial Office was characterised by a placidity to which the 'strenuous life'

of the present day offers a somewhat remarkable contrast. Questions of importance there were at times, of course; but as a rule they were either settled by the man on the spot,' not then, be it remembered, merely ‘a man at the end of a wire,' or else resolved themselves into leisurely academic discussions on paper, which have long since found honourable sepulture at the Record Office. Looking at the matter, therefore, from the more modern standpoint, it can hardly be said that the work of the Colonial Office was in those days heavy. I well remember an official who was then about halfway up the office, and who had already made his mark, and afterwards became a distinguished Colonial Governor, offering to make a bet that if he were allowed to choose his day between mails, he would undertake for that day to transact the whole business of the office himself, beginning with the opening of the first despatches or letters, the registering and minuting of all papers, the drafting and copying of any despatches or letters that might be required in answer, the interviewing of all callers, and, in short, the carrying out of every detail of work down to the posting of the last letter. But no one could be found to take the bet; and, assuming that the necessary arrangements could have been made for him to carry out his object, there is very little doubt that he would have won it.

It is curious to look back to some of the easy-going arrangements that prevailed in those days. One well-known and talented head of an important department, who found that attendance at the office was not altogether conducive to the maintenance of his health, was allowed to live away from London altogether, and to do his work at home. Official papers were supposed to be sent to him every day, and these he certainly dealt with in the most capable manner, his writings, in the form of minutes, etc., being monuments of erudition; but any practical supervision of his department was of course under such circumstances out of the question. Another official who held a highly-paid appointment, the nature of which nothing should induce me to reveal, but which had then become practically a sinecure, never appeared at the office at all during the daytime. But an occasional belated junior clerk, hurrying away at what would then be considered an outrageously late hour for departure, would come across a mysterious and secretive looking individual, stealing along a passage to a sequestered apartment where he was accustomed to perform such work as could be found for him during the watches of the night; and would be informed on enquiry that it was Mr. the I only once, I think, caught sight of him myself, and I never knew of anyone who referred to him as more than a chance acquaintance; but there he had been for many years; and when one day, or rather one night, he quietly disappeared, and his place was not filled up, it was somehow felt that a good old institution had passed away.

But whatever little irregularities may have been permitted among

the senior officers, it was quite another matter in the case of the juniors. Not that their ordinary work could be regarded as severe; but it was considered desirable, and no doubt rightly, that their time should be fully employed. With this laudable object in view, it was ordained that whenever more pressing affairs of State were for the moment in abeyance, we should devote ourselves to the less elevating occupation of copying letters and despatches, entering them in books-a singularly elaborate waste of time, as the actual draft of the letter or despatch would always be found attached to the document to which it relatedand performing other mechanical and unattractive duties, that would very properly be regarded by a junior clerk of the present day with much the same feelings as would be experienced by a groom of the chambers who should be requested to clean the front doorstep or to assist the scullery maid in preparing the vegetables for dinner. But although this class of work was then considered an excellent thing for discipline, it had an important effect upon our enjoyment of life. In those days there were no fussy Orders in Council or inquisitorial Treasury Minutes respecting leave of absence; and by the traditions of the office everyone in the higher division, junior clerks included, was supposed to be entitled to two months' regular leave at a certain time of year, with as much more in the way of occasional days as he could get. The granting of this latter privilege was in the hands of the heads of departments; and it depended entirely on the views respectively entertained by these authorities whether a junior clerk got a good many odd days or perhaps none at all. I myself was so unfortunate as to be attached, on entering the office, to the department of an estimable but crotchety old baronet, who had no sympathy with holidays himself and was unable to understand any necessity for them in the case of others. Coming straight from Harrow, my ideas were, I am afraid, more centred on cricket than anything else; but it was only with the greatest difficulty that I was able to screw a very occasional and grudgingly bestowed day out of my chief during the summer, while I had the mortification of seeing those in other departments getting away pretty much when they liked. The exigencies of the public service could hardly be said to have stood much in the way ; but as long as there was any copying or entering' to be done, it was held that I should be there to do it. The office hours were certainly not long in themselves, for even my special bureaucrat was quite satisfied if we appeared punctually at 12 and remained till 5.30, at which hour, without fail, he himself would be tucked carefully into his brougham and driven home to West Kensington. And while enforcing strict discipline on his subordinates, the good old gentleman was careful not to impair his own constitution by overwork. It was his daily habit, after luncheon, to ensconce himself in a cunningly designed rocking-chair, and for exactly one hour to devote himself, ostensibly, to the perusal of old Quarterly Reviews, to which it was