The Condition and Prospects of Australia as Compared with Older Lands.

The Right Worshipful the Mayor having introduced the Lecturer of the evening,

Mr. H. J. Wrixon said:—Mr. Mayor, ladies and gentlemen, I can assure you that it gives me great pleasure to appear before you this evening. Indeed, I esteem it a great honour to have this opportunity of meeting such a large assemblage of my fellow-colonists, and I venture to observe that it would be well for us if the institution of the public platform had a greater hold on this country than it has (hear, hear,) because we must bear in mind that in such a community as ours everything depends on the proper enlightenment of public opinion. The pulpit, the press, the political arena, our noble system of jurisprudence, are all great agencies furthering the one good cause; but I think that, in addition to them all, the public platform has its own particular merits. From it you can hear the views and opinions of men untrammelled by the restraints of etiquette, or by considerations such as may limit the expression of opinion in other arenas. I certainly venture to hope that as the progress of the country continues, and we get a class more and more identified with Australia, we shall find the public platform become one of our recognised institutions, doing its share of work in enlightening and directing the public opinion of the country. (Hear.) Now, Mr. Mayor, and ladies and gentlemen, I am going to speak to you to-night about our country. In any age, and in every clime, such a subject ought to be an interesting one to those who are settled in the land to be spoken about; but it seems to me that there are particular reasons why we should inquire into the condition and prospects of Victoria at the present time, because I think it must be noticed by all who pay attention to our public and social affairs, that we have a very considerable class of rather unreasonable critics among us. (Applause.) I do not at all make any imputation on the motives or the page 4 intention of those critics, but I only observe that it is a fact—which I think must have struck any of us who are attached to this country as a painful fact—that we have a considerable number of persons, intelligent persons, persons of position and rank in our land, who take the most gloomy and adverse view of the condition and prospects of Australia. Now, some of these critics feel, no doubt, that though with us they are not of us. They are looking forward to going home, and spending the evening of their days in scenes that are endeared to them by the recollection of childhood, and so they regard themselves as mere birds of passage, and not in any way particularly interested in maintaining the credit and character of Australia. (Cheers.) But there are others who are bound to this country,—men who have given hostages, as Bacon says, to fortune; men who are pledged to society, who have their families here, whose home this country is, and vet whom you will hear day by day expressing none but the most melancholy and craven views of this land, which is to be their home and the home of their children after them. It is, I can assure you, not a mere story, but a fact, that not very long ago, an acquaintance of mine—and a worthy, intelligent man, too, an educated man, and what is more, a young man, and not naturally entitled, therefore, to take very gloomy views of affairs,—it is not long ago, I say, that such an acquaintance of mine informed me that for a considerable period he had despaired of Victoria, but that when recent occurrences, more or less present to the minds of all, happened, he gave us up finally.

I think this, then, is a rather serious question for us who belong to this country. Possibly, I do not address many men who were born or, like myself brought up here; but I certainly do address a great many who are fixed permanently to Australia, who can look to no other country if this fails them, and who have no other prospect if this land proves unable to afford them a home such as they desire. It is therefore, I say, a serious question for us to inquire, if this gloomy view of our affairs is a sound one. It is an important matter for us, by a wise, careful, and critical consideration, to determine whether we really are all attached to a sinking ship; all inhabitants, as it were, of a city of the plain, doomed to destruction, and with no mountains of refuge to fly to. You will quite understand me, that I do not at all deprecate—on the contrary, I most highly approve of—having a healthy sense of our national defects. I think such a sense is a most important feature of national character, and one without which no nation can make real progress; but there is a great difference between being sensible of defects and having a keen sense of the dangers that may encompass us, and being possessed by that craven, abject, woe-begone spirit that marks too many of those who ought to take a prominent interest in our affairs. Nations, in many respects, are not unlike individuals. No single man can really become a worthy man, develop his character properly, or perform his duty effectually, unless he is page 5 conscious of his weak points, guards against them and endeavours to remedy them. That is necessary for every individual who wishes to become a real man. But what would you say if you saw an individual adopt towards himself that craven tone which some of our citizens adopt towards this country. What would you think of an individual if he went about among his acquaintances saying, "Well, I am certainly a most miserable fellow. I have no right principles, I am utterly without energy, my prospects are barren; and as for emulating my respectable parents,—why, the idea is absurd." I think you would be very apt to take such a man at his own valuation, and believe him to be quite as miserable a fellow as he said he was. Now, I say, before we give in—I speak as an Australian—to this abject tone of criticism, which misrepresents equally our institutions and our social tendencies, we ought in all seriousness to inquire whether such a view is reasonable or the opposite. Of course, if it is true, it will be a most melancholy fact, but we must accept it. But let us critically and carefully inquire whether it is so.

Now, the only way you can inquire is by comparing our condition with that of older lands, because, let me say, I have noticed that these severe critics of ours seem to think that their case is made out when they point to this that is wrong, to that that is doubtful, and to a third that is dangerous in our state. They seem to think that then their case is made out; and that they are entitled, on pointing out certain defects, to profess despair of the country, and to separate themselves entirely from its service. But you must recollect that, in the whole of human society, in every age of the world for the last 6000 years in which we have been acquainted with it, in every clime, and among every people, there has been carried on a constant struggle between evil and good; as one of the most philosophical statesmen of our age has remarked—I allude to Guizot—"Evil and good appear to dispute for the mastery of society, because they simultaneously possess it, because they co-exist in it." And the whole of what is noble in human life depends on manfully maintaining the struggle on behalf of good influences against evil influences, and so evolving from that contest what is called progress. (Applause.) Therefore, I say, we will not allow ourselves to be borne down by gloomy anticipations because certain defects are pointed out, and certain difficulties shown in our social and political condition. We will recollect that there have always been difficulties to be met, always been dangers to be avoided, always been prevalent in human society not a little that good and honourable men cannot approve of; and what we will do before we despair of our future, give over this young country and renounce its service—as most of these gloomy critics do—is, we will look to other states of society in other countries and in other times, and see how they stand in comparison. And I venture to say that if you will follow me to-night in that inquiry, so far from having any reason to despond, so far from finding any foundation for a craven distrust of the destinies of Australia, you will feel page 6 more disposed than ever to regard cheerfully the present, and to look hopefully towards the future. (Applause.) You quite observe, Mr. Mayor, and ladies and gentlemen, the design of my argument. I want to show that, though difficulties and dangers encompass our present position—as undoubtedly they do,—they are not only not in a greater, but are in a lesser degree, than have faced men in other ages, and now face men in other lands. For example, take the good old times, for often critics, such as I have alluded to, look back with regret to "the good old times." If there is anything wrong in our condition, if anything bad happens in our political or social world, they advert at once to the good old times when such things could not happen. Let us look, then, at the good old times. Let us see how the good old times would have got on if those on whom it then devolved to maintain the struggle on behalf of good influences quietly despaired, said that things were too bad, and washed their hands of all trouble and responsibility. Let us look and see what kind of difficulties they had to contend with. Take a century ago as a fair test, because that period involves a remarkable and brilliant period of English history. Take a century ago, and look at the condition of England. At that time you know the aristocracy were at the head of affairs. They were not, as now, merely ornamental in the state. They were the real rulers of the nation. They led society; they governed in politics; they influenced the judicial department; and generally constituted and represented the enlightenment of Great Britain. Now, what was the condition of this aristocracy? Glance for a moment at the state of religious thought and belief among them. You find it forcibly expressed by Bishop Butler, in the advertisement to his great work—the "Analogy." He describes it as taken for granted that Christianity is not so much a subject for inquiry, but that it is looked upon as at length discovered to be fictitious, treated as such "among all people of discernment," and set up as a "principal subject of mirth and ridicule."

If you would take the moral condition of the aristocracy, refer to the literature of that day, and you get a striking picture of those who then led and gave the tone to English society. I cannot well go into the details which would be revealed by reference to that literature, but I might give you a simple illustration, by which you can judge whether we are much worse than the people who lived in that time. You have all heard, no doubt, of the marriage difficulty of our day. It is the principal theme of lectures and railings in newspapers of all kinds in the old country; and the fact that young men do not marry is regarded and represented as a clear proof of the bad tendencies of our age. As to why they do not marry, and what can be their objections, I am unable to say—it is not a subject I can speak of authoritatively, myself; (laughter), but if it is so, all I can say is that it is exceedingly wrong. But now look at the good old times. You will find if you inquire page 7 into the history of social life at that time, that they had then to contend with a difficulty which does not seem, as well as I can gather, to be felt in an equal degree now, viz., that the young ladies would not marry then, any more than the young men. You will find in the fashionable world, in the aristocracy of that day, just the same contempt for married life, for the honourable estate of matrimony and home life, that is now attributed to our young men. If you refer to the letters of Lady Mary Wortley Montague, you will find her lamenting this condition of affairs in the fashionable world. She says that she is extremely sorry for the forlorn state of matrimony, which is as much ridiculed by the young ladies as it used to be by the young men. This is not her opinion only, because in the letters of the Princess Dowager the same complaint is made. That shows how apt people are, dwelling on the disadvantages of the present, to magnify them unduly and think them worse than those of any previous age. They seem to think that the evils we meet are some strange thing that has happened to us. Look at the home press today, and you will find this neglect to marry treated as something new and extraordinary, and yet just the same evil in a much worse form characterised the aristocracy of England, at a time when that aristocracy influenced the whole of English society and gave a tone to the whole of English thought. Now, in the same way we complain in our community here—justly too, I think—of the spirit of gambling evinced. We say that our gold-mines propagate that spirit and give it scope: and there can be no doubt that when we take into account all the drawbacks, social and material, we pay dearly enough for our gold after all. But look at the good old times! We find that same evil present them in a greater and more aggravated form. Gambling was a main element in social life, not merely of the aristocracy but of the middle classes. If you take, for example, that notable instance of gambling and swindling, the South Sea scheme, you will see involved in that gigantic gambling fraud not a few speculators of doubtful character—men who live by their wits—but some of the foremost men in England. No doubt, most of you have in your minds the particulars of the history of that scheme; but I may say, for the information of the younger portion of the audience (I will not go into detail,) that it was something like what you see now and then done in this country. Often you will hear of a mine of extraordinary richness, somewhere in the Gipps Land ranges—in a very out of the way place, which people cannot easily get at. Numbers are induced to pay money for shares and calls to the enterprising directors, and to go on doing so, till at last they wake up to the fact that no one can make out where the mine really is, and all that they can learn about their money is, that it has gone into the pockets of the directors. That is exactly like what the South Sea scheme was. Perhaps you will say, "Oh, but that is against your argument, it shows that we are so bad as they were." I say, no. For this reason—in that South Sea affair there page 8 were mixed up the Chancellor of the Exchequer—he was one of the participators—two or three state ministers, several members of Parliament, and actually some of the favourites of the Sovereign himself. So that these gambling frauds in the good old times were not confined to a few gentlemen who, it is said may be seen "Under the Verandah" (laughter,) but were participated in by the leading statesmen and principal men of the country. Now, this aristocracy thus marked by the characteristics I have only glanced at,—because I cannot go fully into the matter—exercised absolute sway in the political world. It constituted the whole of the political world of Great Britain. It was not merely that it had influence, but it was everything. A considerable number of the aristocracy owned boroughs that gave seats to Parliament. These boroughs they sold just as people sell their houses or any other portion of their property. If you look at the journals and magazines of the time you will see in them advertisements from men wanting boroughs, and ready to pay for them. The aristocracy had thus not only the direct influence of their position, but they had the vast additional influence of commanding seats in Parliament, and it was only a few of the great towns that had any independent representation at all.

And what was the condition of the political world in such hands? We hear, unfortunately in our own time—and I am sorry to say, too, in our own country—of corruption, and a serious matter it is. But in that day it presented a different aspect—it was a regularly organised system, not struggled against and reprobated, as I trust it ever will be by the people of this country (cheers) not engaged in by a few men, the mere outcasts of political life (applause;) it was, I say, an organised system, and adopted as a recognised principle of political action. You find it permeating every part of the aristocratic House of Commons of the last century. Not merely were political votes openly bought for particular occasions, but members were regularly kept in the pay of the ministry of the day. We are told that from £500 to £800 a-year was the range of the allowances these gentlemen got, and they were expected for that sum to be ready to vote whenever they were called upon, to attend at any hour, and to go for whichever side they were told. On particular occasions, when the need was pressing, money payments were made directly and openly for votes, just as you would go into a shop now, and pay fur a coat or a pair of boots; and a striking feature about this corruption was, that votes were bought for questions on which, perhaps, the whole destiny and safety of the kingdom hung. It was not, as we sometimes hear, of votes being influenced on matters of small importance, but votes were bought and paid for, to be given on measures for, for instance,—declaring war or making peace at critical periods measures which might affect, perhaps, the very existence of the country. I could give you an example in point. When the question came before Parliament, in the last century, of ratifying the peace which had been made with Spain—a mea- page 9 sure strongly objected to by the patriotic party in England—in order to carry it through Parliament, a pay-office was opened under the auspices of Henry Fox. £25,000 were paid away in bribes to members of Parliament in one morning, and the gentleman who was paymaster on that occasion was afterwards made a peer for his services in that corruption, and his descendants figure now among the aristocracy of Great Britain, as the holders of a peerage bought by such public conduct. Lord Macaulay describes part of the period to which I refer as a time when anything short of direct embezzlement was considered quite fair in public men; and Lord Boling broke says, that not merely a pamphlet, but a regular treatise, "under distinct heads," could be written of the corruption, dishonesty, and fraud which tainted every part of the state, and to which (as he justly observes,) the principal men in the land had made themselves parties. Now, all this, you see, was done openly, and without rebuke: it was all done as using the legitimate and proper means of political warfare. Public opinion, then, was not alive to the guilt and shame of such transactions. That feeling was only beginning to tell towards the close of the century. Why, one great secret of the astonishing success and popularity of the two Pitts—Earl Chatham, in the first instance, and his son, William Pitt, in the second—was the simple fact that it was known that they were both above personal meanness or corruption. That was thought something so extraordinary—it so went home to the hearts of English people (I mean the humbler classes,) that they were each able to take the nation by storm, and, notwithstanding all their mistakes, errors, and defects of character, they have remained enshrined ever since in the memories of their countrymen, not, I am sure, merely on account of their talents, but because they were known to be above personal corruption, and to be animated by a patriotism pure as it was ardent. (Applause.)

But, indeed, I need scarcely further illustrate, in detail, this view of the condition of the political world of the last century. You all know that the stage and the players are the abstracts and brief chronicles of the time. I suppose a good many of you have gone to see the "Man of the World," in another place—to use parliamentary phrase. (Laughter.) I am, myself, acquainted with a gentleman—a very intelligent man, too, though not given much to literature—who went to see that play, and came away with the firm conviction in his mind that the play was expressly written with a view to our political defects, or at least that it was touched up for and pointed at our political evils. This friend of mine, I should say, looks at everything in the blackest way possible and takes the very worst view of our condition, so when he saw that play, he firmly believed that it referred to our difficulties. Now, I suppose, you are aware that it really was pointed at political wrongs, but at those of a century ago, when it was written for the express purpose of satirising and exposing the political abuses of that day. If you look at page 10 the original text of the "Man of the World," you will see in how much worse a condition they were in at that time than we can be supposed to be now. The "Man of the World" shows how to achieve success in the walks of political life. You will find that he described lords, members of Parliament, judges, generals, and bishops as suppliant appendages to the minister in power. He says, "The places of fashionable resort are crowded with purse-proud upstarts, who got their riches from lottery-tickets or gambling in 'Change Alley." He describes the distinction between a knave and an honest man as mere nonsense; and he lays down the principle of the "twa consciences," which it is necessary, he declares, for men to have in public life. He describes his own career in this way to his son, whom he is endeavouring to bring up in the way he should go:—"Sir, I bowed, and watched, and attended, and dangled upon the great man until I got into the very bowels of his confidence. Hah! got my snack of the clothing, the foraging, the contracts, the lottery-tickets, and all the political bonuses, till at length I became a much wealthier man than one-half of the golden calves I had been so long a-bowing to." So that you see members of Parliament in those days seem to have got rich by extracting "snacks" from contracts and lottery-tickets. He also describes to his son how he gained an election, viz., by bribing the electors all round. This, he says, begat a friendship between him and them which bore fruit on the day of poll. You will further find brought out in this play a conspiracy between two members of the bar, one a sergeant-at-law, in a position of dignity, to betray a client for a bribe; it is the sergeant-at-law who gets the bribe and betrays his client. One of the good characters of the play says, "that faction and public venality are taught as measures necessary to the prosperity of the Briton and the patriot;" while the "Man of the World," the successful man, significantly remarks that all these fine principles might have done uncommonly well for the old Romans, but were very ill-adapted for the modern Britons. (Laughter.) All this, you see, is about the good old times.^*

If from the aristocracy we turn for a moment to the condition of the mass of page 11 the people, it is very hard indeed to say anything about them, because they were absolutely neglected and unknown. A competent authority—Phillimore—says that one in ten of the people of England was either a pauper or a felon. They were utterly debased and brutalised. It was only now and then that society got a glimpse of what they really were; when they broke out in riots, such as the Gordon riots, and then they displayed all the ferocity and debasement that could characterise a low grade of savages. It is almost impossible to depict in detail the social position of the people at this period, because they were so absolutely neglected that none cared or inquired about them. One indication of their condition, however, was encouragement they gave to crime. We have heard of bushranging in a neighbouring colony, and how the class of small settlers was supposed to favour the bushrangers. Now, in the good old times, highway robbers were an institution in England. The highwaymen were highly respected by a considerable portion of the people, were sheltered by them, and served by them as heroes. You will find in the newspapers of that day, that such a bold front were highway robbers enabled to show, not merely in the country—not in a distant bush—but in the middle of London, that it was necessary for people going to the opera, or to an evening gathering such as this, to have guards in order to see them safely home; and we read of highwaymen in the middle of London and other fashionable places successfully plying their trade. And this was not merely owing to the daring of the highwaymen, but because so degraded was a large proportion of the people that they regarded them as fine fellows enough till their time came and they were actually hanged. Sydney Smith, you know, once said of a neighbouring colony that no one was out of society there till he was hanged (laughter;) and so in the good old times, these highwaymen were in good repute enough among the people until they were taken from society altogether. The only way in which crime was at all kept in check was by this same Government that neglected the people and left them grovelling in ignorance and degradation, striking at it when it did come within their grasp with ruthless barbarity. You will find in the papers of that day painful details of the punishments by which it was sought to protect society. For example, in one year, at one place of execution—the Old Bailey—ninety-six persons were executed. In one day, in the Old Bailey, fifty-eight persons were sentenced to death, and nearly every morning, at the different places of execution in London, numbers of those miserable wretches were strung up; in addition to which wholesale butchery, all kinds of cruel and ferocious punishments, were freely resorted to, in order to hold in check crimes that were the result of a social state, that the institutions of the country left entirely without those remedial measures which in modern times occupy so much, and so justly public attention.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, I will not dwell further on this point. This page 12 part of my subject has been, I think, sufficiently put before you, and you see it is important for us in this way to look back, because when we are told of the difficulties which we have now to contend with, and the evils that now mark our political and social state, it is important for us to see whether any novelty has happened to us, and to consider whether we are much worse or better than men were in other times. Look back to those olden times, and you see that in every respect we are better. Why, just imagine the position some of our critics, those who take such severe views of our state and prospects would have been in had they lived in that day. What would they have said then? "Here," they would say, "is an aristocracy profligate and corrupt, dominant in politics, and surrounding state affairs with an atmosphere of corruption, while the mass of the people are neglected and brutalised. Why, the case is hopeless! It is idle for us to try and stem the torrent. We have nothing to do but fold our arms, sit down and criticise evils that we are not able to contend with." That is the tone our critics would have adopted in that day; but it was not by adopting such a tone that real progress was made. It was by a few good-hearted and good-principled men, proposing to themselves noble aims and just designs, uniting and struggling together with the ardour that is inspired by love of country, and continuing to struggle, too, in the face of difficulties, misrepresentation and reverses, struggling on, I say, bravely and persistently, knowing that though they could not look for complete success in that age, yet it was no small thing to maintain the good fight, and to hold aloft the light of truth and knowledge, certain as it is, though sometimes dimmed, to be caught up and reflected from age to age.

But now, Mr. Mayor, and ladies and gentlemen, it will be said that we ought to compare ourselves, not with a century ago, but with the present day. I think that is very true. I merely glance at these things to show you that when we hear people refer, in an authoritative way, to the good old times as something so admirable, they are talking of what they are not very well acquainted with. I quite agree that we ought to look for progress, and see how we stand in relation to other countries now. I suppose that it will not be expected of me that I should entertain comparisons with any other lands than the United States and the mother country. I think if we bear a fan-comparison to either one or the other we have no reason to despond. (Hear, hear.) Now with regard to the United States, I want to say at once that I think a casual glance will show that we are in a better and safer position. Not merely have they got some terrible problems to struggle with—for example, the negro question—but, it seems to me, that they have started on rather a false principle of democracy, and one which is bearing very bad fruits. I have no doubt they will recover the effects of their error, but they will have some trouble to go through before they settle down to a permanent and safe national life. I think they have adopted a false principle of democracy in laying down page 13 —as was laid down by Jefferson and since adopted by some of the most important political parties in that country—in laying down the principle, that the will of the people is not merely to be the rule of government,—all must admit that—but that the will of the people is, in fact, the rule of right and wrong. I think the laying down of such a principle has borne lamentable fruits in that country. (Hear, hear.) That principle labours under this disadvantage—it is not true; it is false. Not only no individual, but no number of people have the right to set up their will as the rule of right and wrong. Take the case of an individual. Has any man a right to say that he intends to guide himself by his mere will, and by it determine what is right and what is wrong? Not for a moment. If it is not right for him, it is not right for a million men, or twenty million men. (Hear.) Mind, I distinguish between accepting the will of the people as the rule of government, and laying it down as indicating the distinction between right and wrong. The two things are quite different. The United States have, I think, then, fallen into that radical error, and it will be found to entail—as it has already—some seriously bad consequences. No doubt, however, they will work through, and I would prognosticate for that country a great future; but I think they will have to pass through some severe public sufferings and difficulties, all owing to that false doctrine, which seems to have very much clouded in the popular mind the great truth that men, both individually and collectively, ought always to remember that they are subject to a Higher Power, and that no number of people have a right to disregard the dictates of honesty and truth, or to scorn the voice of wisdom. (Applause.)

Well, now, if we come to the mother country, I am equally ready to maintain the argument here; but, before we consider the condition of England, I have something which I wish to lay clearly before you. I think that, when we are considering the condition and prospects of Victoria, we ought to direct our attention, not so much to particular political difficulties or dangers, as to the general question of how we stand with regard to that great principle on which the safety of nations depends. Now, what is that principle? What is the great problem on which the success or failure of national life in our age depends? I maintain that it will be found to consist in combining the social tendencies of the age with its political tendencies, so that, instead of any antagonism being excited between them, they will act and react beneficially on one another, and by their mutual action assist the progress of both. Now, in so far as any nation does this, in so far as it combines the social tendencies of the age with the political, in so far it will be a success as regards national life. In so far as any nation fails to do this, dangers will be in its path. And I must be allowed to say that I think how to do this well is by no means an easy problem to solve. I do not at all agree with some politicians who are of opinion that they have nothing to do but let "everything take its course, and then everything will be right. I do not agree with that view, and I will page 14 tell you why. If we look at what we see going on about us we will notice two great tendencies at work in the world, particularly among the Anglo-Saxon race. One is the tendency of civilisation to heap up wealth, to the accumulation of capital, to the making of millionaires, and to the spread of luxury: the other is the tendency, which is visible everywhere, to democratic equality. Now, the first tendency, the tendency to the heaping up of wealth and the increase of luxury, is visible enough in England, America, and here. The second tendency towards democratic equality you may see throughout the world. It is dominant in England; it is powerful, though for the present held in check, in France; it is agitating the whole of the Continent; it is brooding uneasily over the face of Russia. There are, therefore, these two great tendencies working together, especially in Anglo-Saxon communities, and each is apt to run into a dangerous excess. The tendency to accumulate wealth—as will clearly appear from the mother country—is obviously apt to run into a perilous extreme, viz., by accumulating and leaving accumulated enormous sums of money in a few hands. The tendency to democratic equality is also apt to run into another dangerous extreme, viz., the attempt to realise in practice an ideal of absolute equality,—that, I am afraid, will be found in itself impossible. However, these are the two great tendencies, and I hope you will see clearly the view I wish to present to you. These are the two great tendencies most powerful in this age, and among the Anglo-Saxon race. Now, the grand problem for our time, and especially for a community such as ours, is so to combine these two tendencies that they may act beneficially on each other; that they may qualify rather than obstruct one another; that each may mitigate what may be faulty in the other; and that so you may avoid provoking between them a dangerous conflict which, once it is provoked, must end either in the throwing back of civilisation, as in Mexico, or the eclipse of democracy, as in France.

Premising that view, let us come now to the mother country; and I am sure I need not tell you, that I would not for a moment desire to say a word in depreciation of that grand country from which we spring, with which we are identified, and with which also we all trust to be long and long connected. (Loud and continued applause.) That country, by the service it has rendered to the cause of progress, has established claims to the gratitude of mankind, which will never be forgotten so long as civilisation and enlightenment exist among men. You will not for a moment imagine, that, in criticising the condition of our loved motherland, I have any other object or desire than to consider seriously and reasonably whether it is true that our condition is so bad in comparison. I want to consider whether it is true, that when you take our social state, and compare it with that of the mother country, we have any cause to despair, and whether these severe criticisms we frequently hear launched against our country are justified by fact or not. Now, take the great page 15 feature of English business life—the great system of factories, and the wealth that springs from that system. If you look closely to the actual working of that which produces such great results as regards the accumulation of capital, I think you will see that it is eminently unsatisfactory and dangerous. You have millions of people in the old country toiling away in the factories, engaged in sustaining that industry that has spread its results all over the world, that has achieved such wonders and accumulated such wealth, and yet this people themselves, these millions of toilers, are to a great extent in a state of semi-barbarity, (hear, hear) all day long working away, the living appendages to the great machines that human ingenuity has invented. They have no idea of home life or home virtues—at least, the great majority of them have none, and can have none. The places where they sleep are not entitled to be called homes;—places where men, women, and children congregate for short intervals of sleep in their life's toil at the mill,—the men frequently resorting to stimulants, or to debasing pleasures to give them some change from the ceaseless monotony of labour, and the women and children of the family left unheeded and degraded. You think that is strong language, perhaps; but just allow me to read an extract from an authority which you will not suspect of over-statement—a short extract as to the condition of those millions of Englishmen who are working this great system of factories. I read from the report of Mr. Baker, inspector of factories for 1865, an official, you will see—a man who looked into the question merely as a matter of business, and of course with no wish or desire to exaggerate what he might see. He says:—"Most of the workshops of this great commercial country have fallen into the inevitable track of competitive industry when unrestricted by law, namely, to cheapen prices by the employment of women and children—in the first instance, to increase production by protracted hours of work, without regard to age, sex, or physical capability, or to the need of social requirements. Thus we have thousands of the working-classes in a state of semi-barbarity—parents who appear to have little or no natural affection, fathers who are wholly sensual, mothers who are without domestic knowledge, children utterly ignorant and without obedience, and masters who are not perhaps regardless, but who have never duly considered the consequences of congregations formed of such materials." And another equally good authority, the Quarterly Review—the great conservative organ of England—for April, 1866, says that there are a million and a-half of children, young persons, and women engaged in manufacturing employments, &c., "subjected to an excess of physical toil and an amount of premature exertion ruinous to their health, fatal in many instances to their lives, and depriving them of every opportunity of relaxation, and of the means of education and mental improvement." Now, as you may well imagine this dangerous state of affairs, millions of the working classes in such a condition on the one hand, and men making rapid fortunes by page 16 the toil of those millions on the other; all this is not going on without some serious movements in the popular mind—in the minds of these people—as to what the meaning of it is, and as to whether this condition of things is altogether a fail one. And you may guess the intensity of that feeling—you may form some idea of the depth and force with which a sense of injustice has penetrated the minds of the masses in England by the revelations of the "Trade Unions' Commission," of which we all heard a little time ago. You had there proved on undoubted evidence that the intelligent working people of England, steady English workmen, in large numbers, deliberately engaged in schemes for assassinating and murdering men whom they supposed they had grievances against. This "Trade Unions' Commission" revealed that a system was adopted by the working classes in England which was compared, and not inaptly, to the Thuggism of India. But the real explanation—nobody would say justification—of such things is to be found in the shocking inequality of the social state in which these men find themselves. (Applause.)

Now, if you turn from the manufacturing population of England to the agricultural population—if you turn to the smiling fields of England which form such an admirable topic for poets, and on which so much beautiful poetry has been written, I venture to assert that there are few among us who really know what the condition of the agricultural population in England is. However, if you refer to works of undoubted credit—in particular, I allude to the treatise on "Political Economy" by Professor Faweett, a book of unquestionable authority, you will find the condition of the English labourer there described to be that of penury and semi-starvation for the whole of his life, he and his family struggling from morning to night for the sake of getting a mere living, and that not a living such as the people of this country would call a living (cheers,) but enough just to keep body and soul together. That eminent master of political economy strikingly puts the condition of the agricultural classes of England when he says, that if those classes were made slaves to-morrow it would be for the interest of their masters to feed them better than they are now fed. (Hear, hear.) This is not all. There is one feature of the condition of the agricultural population of the mother country which really passes belief, or certainly would pass belief, unless it were evidenced by testimony which does not admit of doubt. Political economy, you know, has declared against small farms; at least, the point has been much disputed among political economists, but the weight of authority seems to be against small farms in the mother country The result is, that the peasantry in the agricultural counties of England have gradually, for some years back, been subjected to the process of being driven off from their cottages and homes, and turned into what are called open villages, where they live congregated together in wretchedness, to be trooped out every morning to till those smiling fields. Now, I say, you would scarely believe that state of affairs without page 17 testimony that did not admit of doubt, and I will read you a short extract from the same authority I gave you before, I mean the Quarterly Review, this time for July, 1867. You will recollect that the Quarterly Review is not merely the great conservative authority of England, but is the organ of the landed gentry, and also a publication of undoubted weight and respectability. Now, let me read to you a description which this Quarterly Review, at so late a period as July, 1867, gives of the condition of millions of the agricultural population of England:—

"The system (that system of turning people off the farms) to which we refer is that peculiar organisation of rural industry known as the Agricultural Gang, and which prevails extensively in Lincolnshire, Huntingdonshire, Cambridgeshire, Norfolk, Suffolk, Nottinghamshire, and in a more limited degree in the counties of Bedford, Rutland, and Northampton. * * * * In this reclaimed portion of England, farm-houses, barns, and stables, sufficient for all the requirements of a prosperous agriculture, were erected. The cattle of the farm were housed in comfort, but no thought was taken of the labouring man. No cottages were built for his accommodation, and, as he could not reside on the land where his services were required, he had to submit to the hard necessity of rising an hour or two earlier than he otherwise would, and of walking, perhaps, miles to his work. On those estates on which the tenant was so fortunate as to secure some humble tenement to shelter him, he was dispossessed of it as speedily as possible, lest he should one day become a pauper and a burthen to the parish, and he was driven to find a home where and how he could. One of the worst results of this mistaken policy on the part of some great landed proprietors is the existence of these large 'open' villages, common to the midland counties and eastern parts of England. The aspect of these villages is generally repulsive in the extreme. The result is an aggregation of wretched hovels; the houses are low, the rents high, and they afford the most miserable accommodation. These villages constitute what may be termed the penal settlements of the surrounding neighbourhood, and to them the scum of the country flows as by a natural affinity, and they afford a natural asylum for every man who has lost his character, and for every woman who has forfeited her virtue. The faculty of making little children work is the peculiar art of the gang-master, and he obtains his living by pressing his gang to the very utmost of their strength, his object being to extort the greatest possible quantity of labour for the smallest possible remuneration. He is thus, by the very condition of his occupation, a hard task-master; for he must realise a profit on every woman, young person, and child, whom he employs. The gang-master is frequently stigmatised as a slave-driver, and the system has been denounced as little better than negro bondage. If the whip is not employed, other modes of compulsion are resorted to; and one of the most painful facts elicited by the Commissioners' inquiries is, that children are page 18 occasionally compelled to work in the gangs for two or three hours longer than adults." I should tell you that this is a comment upon an official document presented to Parliament, so that we have not merely the high authority of the Review, but the fact that it is based on official reports to Parliament. "Gang-masters are generally men of indolent and drinking habits, and not unfrequently of notorious depravity. They are described as having almost the entire control of the children in every district where the system prevails. These men collect their gangs very early in the morning, and the scene when 500 or 600 women, boys, and, girls assemble at early dawn, to be marshalled by their respective gangs-men, and led off in different directions to their work, is described as most revolting. There are to be seen youths who have never known the restraints of parental discipline, or the humanising influences of a respectable home; girls depraved by constant association with some of the worst characters of their sex; married women who prefer the rude independence of the fields to the restraints of domestic life; little children who should be receiving their first lesson in the village school, instead of imbibing those of premature and certain vice; and, above all, the gang-master, often hoary with years, too, certainly profligate in character, 'corruptas simul et corruptor,' and, therefore, more disposed to encourage obscene language than to check it. As it is important to the gang-master that the whole of his flock should arrive at the scene of their labour quickly and simultaneously, the pace at which the gang drives is trying to the strongest. When driving is found ineffectual, the younger children are tempted to over-exert themselves by the promise of sweetmeats. The ages at which young children commence work, and the distances they have to walk, or rather to run, before they begin the labours of the day, are astounding. Eight appears to be the ordinary age at which children of both sexes join in the common gang, although seven is not unusual, and instances are mentioned in which children only six years of age were found regularly at work." (Cries of "Hear, hear!")

Here, then, you have undoubted testimony of what the condition of a large portion of the agricultural population of England is. I must just glance, before I leave this topic, at another striking proof of what the condition of the mass of the people is. It is a very short fact—a very small one; it is based on a few figures very short and precise, but terribly telling. It is found by careful inquiry, and statistics kept for a series of years, that the children of the upper classes in Great Britain die at the rate of twenty per cent, under the age of five. But you must, of course, recollect that children of the upper classes often do not come of a very healthy stock, and are not as much in the open air as they ought to be; therefore, they have difficulties of their own to contend with. But the children of the working classes of Great Britain, taken as a whole, under the age of five, die at the rate of fifty per cent., or more than double the rate of the children of the upper classes. I need not point out to page 19 you the significance of that fact. It means that double the number of children of the humbler classes die through sheer want, misery, and neglect. It is found that in ten years, according to calculation, 1,150,000 children die, which if they had been taken proper care of, if their parents had had the proper means to look after them, would have lived. This most pregnant fact I take from Professor Faweett. It is, indeed, a most startling fact, hut still, more startling is it to find that political economists say, that after all it is not of so very much consequence, and not really to be very much deplored, because if they lived there would be nothing for them to do. (Applause, mingled with laughter.) Is not the fact significant? If you could get a detailed account of all the misery and wretchedness, vice and recklessness, fathers driven to despair, mothers broken-hearted, children languishing in neglect—if you could get all drawn out before you that that short fact indicates, I think you would be apt to be more contented with this country of Australia. (Cheers.) I have quoted from a political economist just now, and I will trouble you with one more short extract from another authority on the same subject. I am going to quote to you an observation of Dr. Arnold, late head master of Rugby school, a divine of eminence, a scholar of great accomplishments, a man not accustomed to take violent or extreme views, but who looked fairly at things as they were presented to his notice. He says:—"Men do not think of the fearful state in which we are living; if they could be once brought to notice and to appreciate the evil, I should not even yet despair that the remedy may be found and applied, even though it is the solution of the most difficult problem ever yet proposed to man's wisdom, and the greatest triumph over selfishness ever yet required of his virtue It seems to me that people are not enough aware of the monstrous state of society, absolutely without a parallel in the history of the world, with a population poor, miserable, and degraded in body and mind, as much as if they were slaves, and yet called free men. And the hopes entertained by many of the effects to be wrought by new churches and schools, While the social evils of their condition are left uncorrected, appear to be utterly wild" And there is one further consideration about the condition of this miserable population who are toiling away in the manner I have indicated, and it is this, that these people, through all their life's struggle, have no hope. Now, a man in this and any other country may and will, I have no doubt, have difficulties to contend with; he will here as well as elsewhere require the exercise of energy and industry to succeed in life—but at least he has hope. In all his struggles, toils, and labours he can look forward to something. When he thinks of his wife and family, he feels that by working for them he can secure something for them—some end. But the great majority of the working classes in the agricultural districts of England have no hope whatever but the work-house. They barely keep themselves alive by their toil so long as they are able to work, and they have no refuge—nothing to keep life in them when they page 20 become past work and are decrepit with old age—no refuge but the workhouse. And this is such a recognised institution in the old country that it is quite a matter of careful business inquiry to determine to what particular parish a pauper belongs, so that paupers found in one parish to which they do not belong are at once shifted over to that on which they can be saddled. They are regarded as encumbrances to be disposed of Somebody must keep them—they cannot help that—but it is a strict business matter to say where they can be put away best, and the greatest efforts are made by each parish to get rid of as many as possible. Now, do you know what kind of homes these union workhouses are, to which such numbers of persons go in their old age? Have you any idea of what they are? Just let me read a short account of the subject, but before I do so let me give you a few figures, for it is important to bring the circumstances clearly to mind. The average of paupers annually maintained in this way in workhouses in England, for the ten years ending in 1860, was 1,109,275. That is the yearly average, and the sum paid for keeping them alive was from £6,000,000 to £7,000,000 a year. The total spent in those ten years, in keeping this host of paupers from starvation, was £92,285,965. Here let me read you a short extract, to show what kind of home these people have, and from an authority as good as any I have hitherto given. And in selecting authorities to bring before you, I have been anxious to get such as could not be suspected of any bias, or of presenting any unreasonable or enthusiastic views one way or another. I read to you now from The Times, the leading journal of England, and not given to depreciating that country:—"There is hardly in all the earth a sadder sight than the multitudes of from 300 to 1000 shut up in workhouses. Broken hearts and fortunes, high spirits still untamed, minds in ruin and decay, good natures corrupted into evil, cheerful souls turned to bitterness, youth just beginning to struggle with the world, and vast masses of childhood are there subjected, not to the educated, the gentle and the good, but to the rude, the rough, the coarse, the ignorant and narrow-minded. The qualifications for the governor of a workhouse are those we expect in a gaoler or a policeman, or the keeper of wild beasts." And, Mr. Mayor, and ladies and gentlemen, just think for one moment of there being in that condition, subject to that bondage—with such places for their home for life—a number of the people of England equal to the number of the whole populations of Victoria and South Australia put together. It is a terrible fact that you have, in the condition thus described by the leading journal of England, a number of people equal to the whole populations of those two great and flourishing communities. (Applause.)

And now, ladies and gentlemen, to hurry on. Perhaps, you will say to me, "But has not wealth greatly increased of late in England ? Do we not hear of the wonderful expansion of trade; the vast growth of industry?" That is all, undoubtedly, true; there is not a doubt about it. But that is one of the page 21 most serious facts in the whole matter. The increase of wealth all the time has been, on its side, almost incredible. For example, in the year 1849, the exports of England amounted in value to £60,000,000; in 1861, just twelve years after, those very exports reached to £120,000,000, so that, in these twelve years the commerce of the country had doubled; and, indeed, in the united Kingdom on every side you see evidence of the accumulation of capital and heaping up of wealth, in a manner and to a degree unprecedented in previous ages. In the last century, when Pitt proposed his legacy duty, he only provided for fortunes up to £1,000,000. No provision was made for fortunes beyond a million, because it was impossible that there would be any beyond that sum: but now, every year you read of men in the old country leaving fortunes of a million, and beyond a million. In the great cities of England, you see on all sides evidence of the accumulation of boundless wealth, and the growing up of luxurious classes who weary themselves only in the effort to spend their riches. The country is brimful of capital—running over. They scatter it abroad—to build railways in Russia, for public works in Canada, or to tunnel the Alps, They would send any quantity of it to us here if we would only give them their own terms, and take it as they like to give it. (Laughter.) They do not know what to do with their wealth, and so it goes on year after year heaping up; but the serious point is, that pauperism, misery and degradation go on increasing unceasingly as well. Refer to the best authorities and you will find that pauperism in England is greatly on the increase latterly. Indeed, the conflict between the two social influences thus at work, is strikingly illustrated by the telegrams that from time to time convey to us the mail news; the same mail that tells us that money is so plentiful that the owners do not know what to do with it, also tells us that the people are rioting for bread. Lately, we read of money being cheap beyond precedent,—but, at the same time, we also read of people being found in the garrets of London starred to death. Why, at this very time when we here are living in comparative independence, comparative wealth, and with plenty of good employment, it has been calculated that there will be, in one district of London alone, some 180,000 heads of families, not only without work and without means of living, but utterly without hope of getting either one or the other to keep their families from starvation. And this in the midst of all the wealth!

I have often thought that from one scene in London you may get an apt picture of the social state of England. In the great cities at home you always may find a number of persons who are outside the pale, as it were, of all the agencies of relief,—the very outcasts of civilised life, they are not reached by the hand of mercy at all. In London there is a large number of such persons; they keep prowling about all day to live as best they can, and they slink away at night to sleep wherever they can. Go any night into St. James's Park and page 22 you will find some two or three hundred of these miserables trying to find a refuge till morning. There they are, the disowned of the social state; broken-down old men, boys and girls, young in years but long familiar with wretchedness,—miserable women—nestling under the shrubs or crouching beneath the scats or behind the trees—somewhere to rest and wait for morning. And all around them rise the noble palaces of the proudest and wealthiest aristocracy of the world, lit up with splendour and dazzling with all the brilliancy that the resources of a luxurious age can impart. In that little scene you have an apt illustration of the condition of English society—the mountains of wealth and depths of poverty by which it is distinguished. And it is these extremes that constitute the difficulty of England; the difficulty of England in working out that problem which I have stated, namely, how to combine the social with the political tendencies of the age. For when you come to add, as the mother country has added and must have added, democracy to such a state of society, you surely propound a tremendous problem for any people to solve. If there is truth in the view I have endeavoured to present of what will constitute the success or failure of national life in our age, which country, I ask you,—England or Australia—has the best chance of working through? Not that I would at all wish to indicate any despair of the condition of the mother country; but yet, seriously, when we find people pointing to our difficulties, exaggerating our dangers, telling us that they despair of our country, and that they long to take their children away to the old country, I think they show that they are not aware of the real difficulties that old country has to contend with, or the real immunities which we enjoy. (Cheers.) For you must recollect, that there is this wide distinction between our condition and that of England, viz.,—that let them there do their best, as no doubt they will, act as energetically as they please, let all classes unite to face their social difficulties in the best way, yet the fact remains—there are those crushing difficulties formed and matured among them—difficulties that with all their efforts they may possibly not be able to adequately solve—while at the same time we are free from those difficulties. No doubt they will gradually present themselves here; but it is one thing to have precipitated against one another two hostile tendencies, each fully developed, and it is another thing to deal with them as they are both growing up together. It will, I imagine, be not impossible, by a wise foresight, to indirectly mitigate the tendency to that alarming extreme of social fortune that is so dangerously manifest in England. We have the matter to some extent at least in our own hands. We have our destiny a good deal under our own control, and if we do go wrong and do fail, it will not be because of difficulties that we cannot overcome, but because we ourselves are wanting, and do not bear ourselves in a manner becoming the citizens of a free country. (Cheers.) It will, I say, be entirely our own fault, and owing to a want of patriotic feeling on the part of our own people. Surely page 23 there is a great difference in being in a country so situated, surrounded by the elements of success, where all we want is to evoke a sound tone of public feeling (cheers,) and having our lot cast where, be as patriotic as we please, we would still be paralysed by social difficulties such as I have adverted to.

Now, you see, Mr. Mayor, and ladies and gentlemen, the view which I endeavour to present to you. If I had time, I ought now, by right, in order to complete my subject with exactness, to go into the condition of Victoria. (Loud cries of "Go on.") Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have now been engaging your attention for nearly an hour and a-half. (A voice: "Never mind that—take another hour and a-half," and cheers.) I am sure I am very much flattered at the attention you have shown; but, perhaps, Mr. Mayor, and ladies and gentlemen, I had better not go into detai ls on this part of the subject, for two reasons. One is, that for the purposes of my argument—which you see is as to the relative prospect of our national success as compared with England—you know of yourselves enough of our condition. You see our elements of prosperity. You know that any man with energy, industry, and honest conduct, in any position, can, relying on himself, achieve not only competence but wealth. Not one of us is doomed to live outside the pale of citizenship and society. We all know enough to support my argument. And further, if you will look at our programme, you will see that the reverend gentleman who is to follow me on this day fortnight will deal with the question of "The Land we Live in," and you will probably hear from him in detail, and with greater ability than I possess, a discussion of the aspect of the question that you desire. But though I do not enlarge on our condition, you mast not at all imagine that I believe we are without dangers and difficulties. I believe nothing of the kind. We have considerable difficulties facing us, and dangers which demand prudence and care to avoid. I think that to indulge in a blind spirit of self-Congratulation would be as dangerous for the community as it would be to give way to that craven tone of distrust that, by a considerable number, is made a mere excuse for want of patriotism and public spirit. I do not wish you at all to believe that I mean to say that we have no difficulties, in fact nothing to do, but to do as we like. On the contrary, I think it behoves us, if we are at all concerned for Australia and the prospects of those who come after us, to look closely to our weak points and endeavour to face them.

And what is the greatest difficulty we have to meet? I fully believe it is that which I have glanced at more than once. It is not that the evil elements among us are of themselves so dangerous. There are such in every age and among every people. But the real difficulty is, that we have not got yet, I am afraid, a class of men who are interested in the state, who have a patriotic regard for it—who really feel for Australia what men in other lands feel for their country. If that were not so, we never could have these heartless criticisms and satires on our condition that a portion of the public seem page 24 absolutely to enjoy. But these men look upon Australia as merely a resting-place. They regard some other land as their country, and while they claim here the rights, they scorn to undertake the duties of citizenship. That is a real difficulty—a real danger in our condition. And to whom, now, do I chiefly look for the remedy? I must say—though yet a young man myself—that I mainly look to the young men of the country—those who, if not born here, have been bred here, or at least are fixed here with their families, and who do not look beyond Australia for a home. I look forward to this class as forming a real body of Australian citizens, who will safely guide this land through dangers that may beset us. I believe I am now addressing some such, and let me say that it is but rarely in the world's history that men have an opportunity of taking a part in shaping their country's destiny. Generally, men find their nation with history made and fate fixed. In older lands, when they would excite the patriotic feeling of the people, they remind them of their ancestors. But we are the ancestors here. (Cheers.) We are the ancestors of this country, and when I say this, I speak of the whole people of this Australian continent. With us it lies to make or to mar the future of Australia. Never was there an opportunity so grand, nor a responsibility so serious. A great Grecian orator and statesman has said, in a moment of enthusiasm, that the whole world was the monument of great men. The idea is grand, though perhaps a little exaggerated. We may give it a limited application here, and say that if we of this generation would only excite some patriotic feeling, and strive to leave to those who will come after us good institutions, just principles, and a sound social state, we may look forward to the whole future of Australia forming a noble and abiding monument to the labours of us, its real citizens. (Loud applause, during which the lecturer resumed his seat.)

On the motion of Judge Bindon, seconded by the Rev. A. F. Ornstein, a vote of thanks to the Lecturer was agreed to by acclammation.

It was duly acknowledged, and, after a vote of thanks to the Right Worshipful the Mayor for presiding had been similarly carried and acknowledged, the audience dispersed.