Chapter XXI (6)

All of us are undoubtedly aware of the ease with which the sound represented by _ed_ can be reduced to a _t_-sound in vocalization. But even if the sound of _t_ is given at the termination of the words named, not much is gained by the "reform" in the actual use of the words. On the contrary, it adds another tangle in the skein which children at school must untangle. It either forms another class of regular verbs, or swells the already almost unmanageable list of irregular verbs. In either case it is shifting the burden from the shoulders of adults to those of children, already, as the reformers tell us, overburdened and overworked. When a man really and sincerely asks himself the question, "Do I pronounce _lashed_ as though written _lasht_?" and tests his own practice in that respect, it will not take him long to determine that he does not know. It requires a very delicate ear to make the determination. This may also be said of most of the words quoted above. The terminal _ed_ means something: it means what it purports to mean when used. The _t_ may have a meaning, but that meaning cannot accompany it when it acts as a substitute for _ed_. The common-sense view would be, in cases of doubt, to use letters with a significance you desire to convey by their use.

In the paper to which I have referred Professor March informs us that "what _the scholars_ want for historical spelling is a simple and uniform fonetic system, which shall record the current pronunciation." This assumption is not accidental, I think, nor is the spirit of the Pharisee confined to Professor March. Nearly all of the advocates of this special "reform" assume the prerogative of determining who are and who are not "scholars." In the same paper the professor says: "The _scholars proper_ have, in truth, lost all patience with the etymological objection. 'Save us from such champions!' says Professor Whitney: 'they may be allowed to speak for themselves, since they know best their own infirmity of back and need of braces: the rest of the guild, however, will thank them for nothing.'" Again: "In conclusion, it may be observed that it is mainly among _half-taught dabblers_ in filology that etymological spelling has found its supporters. _All true filologists_ and filological bodies have uniformly denounct it as a monstrous absurdity, both from a practical and a scientific point of view." The professor also quotes approvingly Professor Lounsbury as saying that the "spelling reform numbers among its advocates _every linguistic scholar_ of any eminence whatever." Of course, these statements, whether made by Professor March or by the distinguished scholars whom he cites, are strong arguments. That the professor so considers them is attested by the logical conclusion drawn from them in the very next paragraph after the one in which they are given. There he says: "It may be taken, then, as certain, and agreed by all whose judgment is entitled to consideration, that there are no sound arguments against fonetic spelling to be drawn from scientific and historical considerations."

We always forgive something to enthusiasts and reformers. They are expected to effervesce once in a while, and when they indulge in gush and self-appreciation it is taken as a matter of course. Whether or not it strengthens or weakens their arguments is yet to be determined. At any rate, the exhibit that is made of them and of their intemperance is furnished by themselves.

There is an illogical argument for the new spelling drawn from the published facts of illiteracy. We are told that the last national census reports 5,658,144 persons, ten years of age and over, who cannot read and write, and this number is said to be "one-fifth of the whole population." The census of 1870 reports a total population of 38,558,371, and a total of illiterates, ten years of age and over, of 5,660,074, which is only 14-1/2 per cent. of the total population. This is nearer one-seventh than one-fifth. This "one-fifth" the professor compares with the number of illiterates in other countries in order to bring discredit upon the English language, showing by the comparison that there is a larger percentage of illiterates where the English language is spoken and written than in non-English Protestant countries. He reports illiterates in England at 33 per cent. of the population. "In other Protestant countries of Europe they are comparatively few. In Switzerland, Denmark, Sweden and Norway there are none to speak of; in Germany, as a whole, they count 12 per cent., but some of the states have none." Professor March asserts that "one of the causes of the excessive illiteracy among the English-speaking people is the difficulty of the English spelling;" and his argument proceeds on the assumption that this is in fact the main cause.

Even if assent be given to the statement that the difficulty attendant upon the acquisition of correctness in English orthography is one of the causes of English and American illiteracy, the next step is to determine the force and efficiency of the cause in that direction; and this determination cannot be had on the basis of bald, unguarded and extravagant statements such as I have cited. The illiteracy of the American people must not be judged by the bare figures given above. The census returns furnish data for a more just discrimination. The statistician must not forget the item of 777,864 illiterates of foreign birth going to swell the grand total. This leaves 4,882,210 native-born illiterates--a percentage of less than 13. Of the native-born illiterates reported by the census returns, there are 2,763,991 reported as colored. This number is more than one-half the colored population, and also over one-half of the whole number of reported native illiterates. I think none of the reformers would insist that the illiteracy of the colored population ought to be charged to "the difficulties of English spelling "--I hardly need to state why: the reason will readily suggest itself to all.

Eliminating from the problem the foreign and colored factors, we find a native white population in 1870 of 28,121,816, and native white illiterates, of ten years of age and over, to the number of 2,102,670--less than 7-1/2 per cent. Of this number of native white illiterates, 1,443,956--two-thirds of the whole--are reported from the States lately known as Slave States. In these States, as is well known, there are peculiar reasons for the illiteracy of the white as well as of the colored native, outside of any consideration of the difficulty of mastering English orthography. This survey takes no account of the native children with foreign parents, as it would not materially disturb the percentage, nor of the populations of New Mexico, Arizona, Southern California and Colorado, all largely settled by Mexicans and Spaniards, among whom there is doubtless a larger percentage of illiterates than among the same number of native whites in the Northern States. If account be taken of all these elements, I think the percentage of illiterates proper to be charged up to the English language and American institutions would be reduced to about 3-1/4 per cent.

The next consideration is as to the cause of this large percentage of illiterates among the native white population of the United States. Professor March ascribes it in part to "the difficulties of the English spelling," and he adds: "We ar now having ernest testimony to this fact from scholars and educators in England." He names Max Mueller and "Dr. Morell, one of Her Majesty's inspectors of schools," and quotes from both of them. Dr. Morell states that in some examinations for the civil service, out of 1972 failures, "1866 candidates were pluckt for spelling; that is, eighteen out of every nineteen who faild, faild in spelling." Max Mueller, as quoted, bears testimony to the fact that in the public schools of England 90 per cent. fail "to read with tolerable ease and expression a passage from a newspaper, and spell the same with tolerable accuracy." This is the substance of the "ernest testimony" from "scholars and educators in England." All this testimony has been previously given by the same "reformer" and by others without variation or corroboration. The facts stated seem to be isolated ones, as well as "grand, gloomy and peculiar." One swallow does not make a summer, nor do one eminent philologist and one uneminent educator make "scholars and educators." But when the testimony is carefully viewed, what does it amount to? Some of the very elements necessary in the consideration of the testimony are wanting. What was the extent of the failures by the candidates for civil service? Did they miss one word or more? Were they more deficient in spelling than in other branches? Of the 90 per cent. of the public-school pupils who failed, what is the class composing those pupils? Were they as deficient in other branches as in spelling? What were the newspaper passages selected for trial? What is meant by "tolerable ease and expression" and "tolerable accuracy"? According to the testimony itself, the reference of Max Mueller is to the "new schools" established since the late extension of education in England. Confessedly, then, this applies to classes of pupils who had formerly been deprived of educational advantages and privileges. It is a wonder that 10 per cent. were successful. The testimony furnished is more "ernest" than valuable.

The state of education in Protestant countries where other languages than the English are spoken is taken as a conclusive argument for the efficiency of phonetic orthography. Denmark, Norway, Sweden and Switzerland are named as shining exemplars in this regard. It is because the languages of those countries are orthographic models that the people are so highly educated. The general fact is incontrovertible that among those people there is less illiteracy than among those who speak the English language. As Switzerland has no national language, the Swiss people should not have been named except in company with those others whose languages they use. But the bare fact of the smaller percentage of illiteracy among the people above named is not conclusive as to the retarding and depressing influence which the "difficulties of English spelling" have upon the spread of education among the American people. In Denmark attendance upon school for seven years by every child of school age is compulsory. The number of children of school age for 1876 was 200,761, while the number in attendance upon the public schools was 194,198, the attendance being 96 per cent. of the whole number of children of school age. In addition to the attendance upon the public schools, there were 13,994 in attendance upon private schools: some of these evidently were above or below school age. We thus see how efficiently the compulsory system is enforced. This system is not new to that country, but has been in existence for many years, and the results seem to justify the statement in the _Report of the Commissioner of Education for 1871_, that "even among the lower classes a remarkable knowledge of general history and geography, but more especially of Scandinavian literature and history," is found.

In Norway, as in Denmark, from the eighth to the fifteenth year attendance upon school is obligatory. In 1866, of a total of 212,137 country children of school age, 206,623, or more than 97 per cent. of the whole, were in attendance at school. In the towns and cities less than 1 per cent. failed to attend school. In Sweden compulsory attendance upon school is the rule. In 1868, of the whole number of children of school age, the average attendance amounted to 97 per cent.

There is no general or national system of common-school instruction in Switzerland. Each canton regulates its own schools. There, as in Denmark, Norway and Sweden, attendance upon schools is made compulsory. In 1870 the attendance of children between six and thirteen years of age was between 95 and 96 per cent. of the whole school population.

Now, what kind of a school system have we in the United States? Here, as in Switzerland, there is no general or national system of school instruction. Each State regulates its own schools in all details. In 1870 the total school population, excluding the Territories, in the United States was 14,093,778; the number actually enrolled in the public schools was 8,881,848, or 63 per cent. of the whole; and the average daily attendance upon the public schools was 4,886,289, or a little over 34-1/2 per cent. of the school population. An inclusion of the Territories in the computation does not vary the percentage in any appreciable degree. In the Northern States only, excluding the Territories, and excluding also Minnesota and Wisconsin, whose returns I have not at hand, there were 8,364,841 school population, while the average daily attendance was only 3,720,133, a trifle over 44 per cent.

In the United States there is practically no compulsory attendance upon school. Schools are provided by the State, and the children attend or refrain from attendance as suits the convenience or wish of the pupils or their parents. That compulsory attendance upon school is productive of a wider and more thorough diffusion of knowledge is probably conceded by all. At least, educators so urge. What would Professor March have? Does he expect to find education as thorough and general among a people of whose school population less than one-half are in usual attendance at school, and less than two-thirds even enrolled as occasional attendants at school, as among a people with whom over 95 per cent. of the school population are in constant and habitual attendance? When we consider the published school statistics of this nation, it is no wonder that about one-seventh of the whole are unable to read and write. Shall we give no credit to compulsory systems of education, and still insist that the illiteracy of the United States is caused in any appreciable degree by the "difficulties of English spelling"?

Early in 1879, Professor Edward North assured us that the Italians and Spaniards have discarded _ph_ for _f_ in _philosophy_ and its fellows. Professor March gleefully records that "the Italians, like the Spaniards, have returned to _f_. They write and print _filosofia_" for _philosophia_, and _tisica_ for _phthisica_. Professor Lounsbury, in his elaborate articles in _Scribner_ lately, commends the Italians for writing _tisico_ and the Spaniards for writing _tisica_. These of course are commendations of those peoples for the simplicity of their orthography, and they are mentioned as worthy examples for us. Yet we are not advised by either of the three professors named that the Italians and Spaniards are for that reason gaining upon the English people in intelligence, educational progress and culture. No statistics are advanced disclosing the narrow percentage of illiteracy found in Italy and Spain, and a comparison made between that narrow percentage and the wide percentage already advertised as existing in English-speaking states. If "the difficulties of English spelling" be a serious cause of illiteracy in England and the United States, the simplicity of the Italian and Spanish spelling ought to be a cause of high proficiency in literary and educational attainments among the people of Italy and Spain. A commendation of those two nations for their taste in discarding "Greek orthography" to be effective ought to be supplemented with some evidence of the usefulness of that operation. Unless so supplemented, the commendation can have no weight as an argument. The Anglo-Saxon race has not been accustomed to follow the Latins in literary and educational matters. The past and present condition of those two countries affords no guarantee that their adoption of the so-called simpler spelling is commendable. There are persons whose corroboration of a statement adds no weight to it with their neighbors. It adds no force to the arguments of the "reformers" that the Italians and Spaniards endorse them.

The demand for "spelling reform" is based upon the assumption that the pronunciation constitutes the word--in other words, that the real word is the breath by means of which it is uttered. In the word _wished_ philologists assure us that the letters _e d_ are remains of _did_, as if it were written _did wish_; and it certainly has that sense. It is proposed to substitute _t_ for the _ed_, because, we are told by the "reformers," the _t_ represents the sound given to those two letters. Of course the _t_ stands for nothing: it does not represent any idea. It is only a character, and its pronunciation only a breath, without any significance. The new word cannot mean _did wish_. The "reformers" must contend that _wisht_ is the real word, or their position cannot be maintained for an instant. If the word still remains _wished_--"_did wish_"--though pronounced _wisht_, their proposition to conform the spelling to the pronunciation is laughable. There can be no conformation and the old words remain. Whenever a change is made in a single letter of a word, the word is broken: it is no longer the same word. The new form becomes a new word, and there can be no objection to any one giving to it any significance he chooses. In a certain sense, and also to a certain extent, letters are representative, and are not the real words. Before the arts of writing and printing were invented the sound of course constituted the representative of the idea sought to be conveyed. The invention of the arts of writing and printing brought into use other representatives of ideas. The cuneiform characters and the hieroglyphics were representatives of ideas, though there could be no pronunciation of them. Letters came into use as representatives merely. In an age of printing it is hardly correct to say that they are only used to signify sounds. They are now more than that: they have become more important than the sounds even. They are now representatives of ideas, and not of sound. Modifications of pronunciation are taking place, and there are variations in the pronunciation of many words, but the word as written and printed is the arbiter.

In the Sanscrit we find the verb _kan_ to see, and the later word _gna_, to know, as the result of seeing. The words are practically spelled alike, each beginning with a guttural sound. The latter could only have, at first, the idea of acquiring or possessing knowledge by sight. It is evident that the Greek [Greek: gignoscho] and the Latin _gnosco_ came directly from the Sanscrit _gna_, after the vowel between the guttural _g_, or _k_ and _n_, had been eliminated; and it is also evident that the _g_, or guttural sound, with which _gna_ and its Greek and Latin children began, was vocalized. The other branch of the Aryan family retained the vowel between the guttural sound and the terminal _n_. Hence we have the Gothic _kunnan, kaenna_, Anglo-Saxon _cunnan_, German _kennen_, to examine, to know. Hence, also, our _can_, to know, to be able; _cunning_, knowing, skilful; and _know_, to perceive, to have knowledge of. While we pronounce _know_ without the guttural sound, the word itself and the significance it embodies necessitate the continued use of the _k_. The sound of _know_, as we use it, gives no idea of sight or of knowledge or of ability. When we hear it articulated, and we understand that _know_ is the word meant, we then recognize the sense intended to be conveyed. We are able to do this because of our ability to construct and give arbitrary significance to new words, and to transfer the sense of an old word to one newly formed. When any word is used in speech of which the pronunciation does not correspond with the letters with which the word is written, we instinctively image the written or printed word in the mind, and others apprehend the sense intended. I am aware of a certain answer that may be made to this--namely, that illiterate persons are able to understand a word only from its sound as it falls on their ears; but I am speaking now of a civilized language as used by a civilized people, and illiterates and their language do not come under this purview.

The movement inaugurated by Professor March and his associates contemplates the displacement of the _k_ or guttural sound from _know_ and _knowledge_, both in writing and speaking. They say, in effect, if not in so many words, that because there is no guttural sound in the pronunciation, therefore there is none in the word. Some people say _again_, pronouncing the word as it is spelled: others say _agen_, as, I believe, Professor March does. These two classes mean the same thing, but it is quite evident that they do not say the same thing. _Ai_ cannot be the equivalent of _e_. To so hold would be to make "confusion worse confounded" in English orthography. By one class of literary people _neither_ is pronounced as though the _e_ were absent, and by another class as though the _i_ were not present. No one, I think, will contend for the identity, or even equivalence, of _i_ and _e_. If not identical or equivalent, they must be different. If _ai_ is different from _e_, then _again_ and _agen_ cannot be the same word, and if _i_ and _e_ are neither identical nor equivalent, _nither_ and _neether_ are two different words. The logic of the "reformers" would bring the utmost confusion into the language. It would make two separate words identical in significance. It would make into one word with four different meanings the four words _right, rite, write, wright._ The words _signet_ and _signature_ are formed from the stem _sign_, and yet the stem when standing alone has a different vocalization from what it has when used in the derivative words. By the logic of the "reformers" the word _sign_ when used alone is not the same as the same letters, arranged in the same order, when used in _signature, signet, resignation_ and the like. The word is changed, but the original significance remains. When a person responds, even in writing, "It is me," grammarians say he is incorrect--that he ought to say "I." But he means the person and thing he would mean if he said "I." He simply spells "I" in a different way. Is he not just as correct as he who writes _no_ when he means _know_? or he who writes _filosofer_ when he means _philosopher_?

But Professor March dogmatically says that "fonetic spelling does not mean that every one is to write as he pronounces or as he thinks he pronounces. There ar all sorts of people. We must hav something else written than 'confessions of provincials.'" This may be understood as modifying the idea expressed earlier in the same paper, that the proper function of writing "is truthfully to represent the present speech." But the difficulties to be encountered in an effort to make the present speech homogeneous will baffle the wisdom of the reformers. I will not answer the question now--I will only ask it: What is the present speech? Who is to determine that? "The scholars formally recognize that there is and ought to be a standard speech and standard writing." I do not quite seize the idea embodied in the above-quoted sentences about writing as we think we pronounce and about "confessions of provincials." We may agree that there ought to be, probably, a standard speech, both spoken and written. That we have the standard written speech must be confessed, or did have until Professor March and his colaborers began the publication of their ideas in "bad spelling." The spoken speech is far from homogeneity. Some of the most pretentious scholars assume that we have a standard of pronunciation. That the standard is not adhered to, and is therefore, to all intents and purposes, no standard at all, is evident. The learned or college-bred use one pronunciation, and for that class that is the standard. Those who are deficient in education do not follow that standard. As the educated seem to drift naturally to centres of population, there is assumed to be a city standard and a country standard of pronunciation. The professor tells us that the country standard must be abolished, the city standard adopted, and then the new era will open out in beauty. Or does he mean, as his words are open to this meaning, that a spoken word is not _the_ word unless it is spoken in accordance with the city or college-bred standard? But sound is sound, by whomsoever uttered, and if the word is mere sound a provincial can make words as well as any one else. The proposition is, _the_ word is the word spoken and not the word written, unless the word is spoken by a provincial. To be _the_ word, it must be intoned and articulated in accordance with the intonation and articulation of the _literati_. If this is the logical outcome of the position taken by the "spelling reformers," then we know our soundings.

We speak of _progress_ in connection with intellectual, moral, religious, social and political matters and civilization. In the use of the word we discard its true meaning, "stepping forward" in a physical sense. We cannot have an idea that the mind or the morals or the manners take steps. So when we say we will consider a matter we do not necessarily mean that two or more of us will _sit together_ about the matter. When we meet for _deliberation_ there is no process of weighing intended, no proposal to use the scales, in arriving at a conclusion in the matter we have in mind. We _say_ "stepping forward," "sitting together" and "weighing," but we _mean_ something else. When Professor Whitney, in the quotation I have given in the early part of this paper, says of the spelling conservatives, "They know best their own infirmity of back," he has no idea that the back has anything to do with their refusal to follow him in his chimerical ramble after an ideal orthography. When Professor March, in the paper from which I have quoted, says that "a host of scholars are pursuing the historical study of the English language," he means something more than, and different from, what his words indicate, and he certainly doesn't mean what his words do indicate. The matter of pursuit is altogether one of physics. These words of an intellectual significance which I have noted are so used because we have no words in our language which have meanings such as those we attach to them. We are obliged to take words of a physical and material significance and use them as intimations of the sense we wish to convey. As men take a material substance--gold, silver, ivory, wood or stone--and use it as an image or symbol of the deity they worship, so we use words of a material sense to express, in some faint degree, the intellectual and moral ideas we desire to disclose.

The bald statement, expressed or implied, that the sounds we produce in our attempts to utter a word constitute the true word, requires some material modification, but to what extent it is not for me now to discuss. When that necessity for modification is admitted by the reformers, it is for them to survey its limits. They are the aggressors in the contest that is precipitated. They must outline and define their own case.

There are many considerations favorable to a modification of the present spelling of several classes of words. A reform is needed, and must come, but it will not come, and ought not to come, with the character and to the extent desired by the "reformers." A reform that shall make the spelling better, and not merely make it over, should be aided by all admirers of the English language. The just limitations of that reform have not been indicated yet by any of the "reformers." That those limitations will soon be surveyed and marked I do not doubt.

M. B. C. TRUE.

AN OPEN LOOK AT THE POLITICAL SITUATION.

Macaulay, in describing the rise of the two great parties which have alternately governed England during the last two centuries, traces the division to a fundamental distinction which "had always existed and always must exist," causing the human mind "to be drawn in opposite directions by the charm of habit and the charm of novelty," and separating mankind into two classes--those who are "anxious to preserve" and those who are "eager to reform." It seems to us extremely doubtful whether this theory, so neat and compact, so simple to state and so easy to illustrate, would suffice to explain all the struggles, great and small, that have agitated society, varying in character and circumstances, and ranging from fervent emulation to violent collision--from the ferment of ideas which is the surest sign of vitality to the selfish and aimless convulsions that portend dissolution. Applied to that condition of things by which it was suggested, the theory may be allowed to stand. The history of parliamentary government in England, in recent times at least, presents a tolerably fair example of a contest between two parties composed respectively of men who desired and men who resisted innovation--of those who looked forward to an ideal future and those who looked back to an ideal past. That the former should triumph in the long run lay in the very necessity of things; but, whatever may be thought of the changes that have taken place, no one would venture to assert that the contest has ever been conducted with purely selfish aims; that no great principles were involved in it; that the general mass of the voters have been the mere tools of artful leaders; that appeals to the reason, or at least to the interests or the prejudices, of the whole nation or of different classes have been wanting on either side; that at any crisis there has been no discussion of measures, past or prospective, no talk of any question concerning the honor or welfare of the country; or that victory has ever been achieved or contemplated by the employment of mere cunning or fraud. But in a state of things of which one might assert all this without fear of contradiction the existence of two parties, however evenly balanced, could hardly be accounted for by the sway in opposite directions of the charms of habit and of novelty and the natural antagonism between men who are anxious to preserve and men who are eager to reform. That such a state of things may actually exist there can be no doubt, since, if history had no example to offer in the past, one which is equally undeniable and conspicuous is presented by the United States at the present moment. Here is a people divided into two great parties, neither of which is anxious to preserve what the other would seek to destroy, or eager to reform anything which the other would leave untouched; no principle involving any question or policy of the present or the future is inscribed on the banner of either; no discussions are held, no appeals are put forth, with the object of convincing opponents, stimulating supporters, creating public opinion or arousing public sentiment: a great struggle is at hand, and all that any one knows about the nature of it is, that it concerns the possession of the government, and that the chiefs of the winning faction will reward as many as possible of their most active adherents by confirming them in office or appointing them to office--this being the one feature of the matter in which the "charm of habit" and "the charm of novelty" have a visible influence.

We shall probably be told in reply that this state of things is only momentary; that there is now a suspension of arms preparatory to the decisive conflict; that on each side, while the great host of warriors is at rest, the chiefs are in consultation, counting up their resources, preparing the plan of battle--above all, selecting the generalissimo; and that when these arrangements are completed and the time of action draws near the trumpets will give forth no uncertain sound, banners emblazoned with the most heart-stirring devices will be advanced, and we shall fall into line according as our temperaments and sympathies incline us to join with those who are "anxious to preserve" or with those who are "eager to reform." It is of course certain that a few weeks hence the aspect will have changed in some respects: we shall have been told the names of the "candidates" whom we are to support or oppose; we shall hear all that can be learned or imagined about their characters and acts, and see them painted by turns as angels and demons; we shall also be reminded of the traditions which they represent or are figured as representing, and shall be assured that certain shibboleths and watchwords should be the objects of our veneration and certain others of our abhorrence, and that on our choice between them will depend the ruin or salvation of the country. But we shall be no wiser then than we are now in regard to any one measure or set of measures affecting the welfare of the nation, and tending either to preserve or to reform, which one party proposes to carry out and the other to reject. The proclamations of each will be full of promises and disavowals, but these, it is very certain, will not touch a single principle of the least importance which will be disputed by the other. Each party will parade its "record," its glorious achievements in the past, when it carried the country triumphantly through dangers in which the other party had involved it; but on neither side will any distinctive line of policy be enunciated, for the simple reason that on neither side has any distinctive line of policy been conceived or even thought of. Finally, it is not at all certain that the battle will be decided by the usual and regular methods of political warfare--that "the will of the majority" will be allowed to express itself or suffered to prevail--that fraudulent devices or actual violence may not ultimately determine the result.

The inquiry naturally suggests itself how this state of things has been brought about--above all, whether it is, as many intelligent persons seem to suspect, an unavoidable outgrowth of democratic institutions. This, indeed, is a question important not only to us, but to all the civilized nations of the world, for there is nothing more certain in regard to the present tendencies of civilization than that they are setting rapidly and irresistibly toward the general adoption of democratic forms of government. The oldest and greatest of the European nations, after trying almost every conceivable system, has returned, not so much from a deliberate preference as from the breakdown of every other, to that which had twice before failed as an experiment, but which now gives fair promise of successful and permanent operation--a republic based on universal suffrage. In many other countries what is virtually the same system in a somewhat different form seems to be firmly established, and in these the ever-potent example of France may be expected at some more or less remote conjuncture to bring about the final change that shall make the form and the name coincide with the reality. England, which at one time led the van in this movement, has been outstripped by several of the continental nations, but its constant, though somewhat zigzag, advances in the same direction cannot be doubted, while community of race and former relations make the comparison between its condition and prospects and those of the United States more mutually interesting and instructive than any that could be instituted between either and another foreign country.

We are aided in making this comparison by a lecture delivered recently before the Law Academy of Philadelphia, and since published as a pamphlet, in which form we hope it may obtain the wide circulation and general attention which it well merits. In a rapid sketch of the development and present working of the English constitution the author, Judge Hare, shows how the government, which, in theory at least, was originally a personal one, has come to be parliamentary and in the strictest sense popular, that branch of the legislature which is elected by the people having raised itself from a subordinate position "to be the hinge on which all else depends, controlling the House of Lords, selecting the ministers and wielding through them the power of the Crown." Hence a complete harmony, which whenever it is broken is instantly restored, between the executive and the legislature, the latter in turn being the organ of the public sentiment, which acts through unobstructed channels and can neither be defied nor evaded. In America, on the other hand, to say nothing of those organic provisions of the Constitution which render the executive and the two branches of the legislature mutually independent, and sometimes, consequently, out of harmony with each other, divergent in their action and liable to an absolute deadlock, the method by which it was directly intended to secure the result that has been fortuitously obtained in England--namely, the selection of an executive by a deliberative assembly chosen by the people--has been practically subverted and its purpose utterly frustrated. The Electoral Colleges do not elect, but merely report the result of an election. This, on the surface, is a change in the direction of a more complete democracy. What was devised as a check on the popular impulse of the moment has broken down, and the people have taken into their own hands the mission they were expected to entrust to a small representative body. But, while thus assuming an apparently absolute freedom of choice, they virtually, and we may say necessarily, surrendered to small, nominally representative, bodies the designation of the persons between whom the choice must be made. These bodies, unknown to the Constitution, not elected or convoked or regulated by any processes or forms of law, have taken upon themselves all the functions of the electors, except that it is left to the people to throw the casting vote. Now, whatever may be thought of the actual workings of this system, it seems to us to be in itself the result of a change as natural and legitimate as any that has taken place in the practice of the English constitution. The Electoral College was one of those devices which are theoretically simple and beautiful, but which have never worked beneficially since the world began; and we have perhaps some reason to be grateful that it was virtually superseded before it had time to become the focus of intrigue and corruption which was otherwise its inevitable fate. Since the choice of a President could not be remitted to one or both Houses of Congress--which would have been the least objectionable plan--and has devolved upon the people, some previous process of sifting and nominating is indispensable in order that there may be a real and effective election; and we do not see that any method of accomplishing this object could have been devised more suitable in itself or more conformable to the general character of our political system than that which has been adopted. Conventions representing the great mass of the electors and various shades of opinion might be counted upon to select the most eligible candidates--eligible, that is to say, in the sense of having the best chance amongst the members of their respective parties of being elected. For a long period this system worked sufficiently well. If the ablest men were not put forward, this was understood to be because they were not also the most popular. If the mass of the voters were not represented in the conventions, this was attributed to their own indifference or negligence. If a split occurred, leading to the nomination of different candidates by the same party, this was the result of a division of sentiment on some great question, and might be considered a healthy indication--a proof that the interests, real or supposed, of the country or some section of the country were the objects of prime consideration.

We do not, therefore, agree with those who hold that our institutions have deteriorated, or with those who think that democracy has proved a failure. On the contrary, we believe that a simpler democratic system, with fewer checks and balances, would be an improvement on our present Constitution. The framers of that Constitution had two apprehensions constantly before their minds--one, that of a military usurper overthrowing popular freedom; the other, that of an insurrectionary populace overthrowing law and government. Experience has shown that neither of these dangers could be realized in a country and with a population like ours: the elements of them do not exist, nor are the occasions in the least likely to arise. The two great evils to which we are exposed are a breakdown of national unity and a decay of political life. The former evil--resulting from the magnitude of the country, the conflict of interests in its different sections, the State organizations and semi-sovereignty, and the consequent lack of that strong centralization of administrative powers and functions which, however much of a bugbear to many people's imaginations, is indispensable to a complete nationality--has threatened us in the past and may be expected to threaten us in the future. The latter evil threatens us now.

If we turn to England, we see political life in its fullest vigor. The recent election called forth nearly the entire force of the voting population, and the contest was carried on with well-directed vigor and amid almost unparalleled excitement. Questions affecting both domestic and foreign policy, and felt to be vital by the whole community, were ardently, persistently and minutely discussed in public meetings and at the hustings; and the general nature of the issue indicated with sufficient clearness the maintenance of the old division throughout the bulk of the nation between a party anxious to preserve and a party eager to reform. Men of the highest character and distinction in every walk of life were among the most ardent participants in the struggle; but no crowds of office-holders and office-seekers opposed each other _en masse_ or were prominent in the struggle, the former having as a class nothing to fear, and the latter as a class nothing to hope, from the result. So far was the leader of the opposition from being suspected of a mere selfish desire to grasp the position to which in case of victory his pre-eminent ability and activity entitled him that it was altogether doubtful whether he would be willing to accept it. He and all the other men who marshalled or exhorted the opposing lines stood forth as the acknowledged representatives of certain principles and public measures, and in that capacity alone were they assailed or defended. The contest was decided by strictly legal methods; no suspicion existed as to the inviolability of the ballot-boxes or the correctness and validity of the returns; and the cases in which corrupt or undue influence was charged were reserved for the adjudication of impartial tribunals.

No one supposes that the impending struggle in the United States will be of this nature. There is no question before the country involving the policy of the government or the interests of the nation. There are no leaders who are the representatives of any principle or idea. The ardor of the contest will be confined to the men whose individual interests are directly or indirectly at stake: the management of the contest will be wholly in their hands, and no security will be felt as to the legality of the result. Whatever display of popular enthusiasm may be made will be chiefly of a factitious nature. Such excitement as may be felt will be to a large extent of the kind which is awakened by a "big show" or an athletic contest. The general mass of the voters will no doubt fall into line in response to signals and cries which, though they have lost their original meaning, still retain a certain efficacy, but a great falling off from the old fervor and discipline will, we venture to think, be almost everywhere apparent. More intelligent persons will either stand aloof with conscious powerlessness or strike feebly and wildly from a sense of embitterment. The energy put forth will indicate disease rather than health; the activity exhibited will be not so much that of a great organism as of the parasites that are preying on it.

It cannot be denied that there is in this country a natural tendency toward political stagnation. With the exception of slavery and the questions arising from it--which fill, it is true, a large space in our history, but which must be considered abnormal in their origin--there has never been any great and potent cause of dissension, such as rises periodically in almost every country in Europe, setting class against class, changing the form or character of the government and shaking the foundations of society. In England a gradual revolution has been always going on, and there have been several struggles even in the present century where a popular insurrection loomed in the background and was averted only by concession. Our institutions, on the contrary, have undergone no change and been exposed to no danger in any fundamental point. They were accepted by the whole people, and their stability was a subject of national pride. There were two great parties, each of which scented in every measure projected by the other a design to unsettle the balance between the States and the general government, but both claimed to be the guardians of the Constitution, and their mutual rancor was founded mainly on jealousy. But for the existence of slavery, and the inevitable antagonism provoked by it, there must have been a constant decrease of interest in political questions as it became more apparent that these could not affect the freedom and security which, coupled with the natural advantages of the country, afforded the fullest scope and strongest stimulant to industrial activity. The extinction of slavery was the cutting away of an excrescence: the wound under a proper treatment was sure to heal, and even under unwise treatment Nature has been doing her work until only a scar remains. Painful, too, as was the operation, its success has given the clearest proof of the health and vigor of our system, thus increasing the tendency to political inactivity and an over-exertion of energy in other directions. This in itself seems not to be a matter for alarm: if the latent strength be undiminished we can dispense with displays of mere nervous excitement. And, in point of fact, the latent strength is, we believe, undiminished; only, there is no general consciousness that it needs to be put forth, still less any general agreement as to how it should be put forth.

What has happened is, that not only has the stream of political activity been growing languid, but its channel is becoming choked. The noisome atmosphere that exhales from it causes delicate people to avert their nostrils, timid people to apprehend a universal malaria, and many people of the same and other classes to assert that the sluices are not merely defective, but constructed on a plan totally and fatally wrong. Some bold and sagacious spirits have, however, taken the proper course in such cases by examining the obstructions and determining their nature and origin. According to their report, the difficulty lies not in any general unsoundness of the works, but in the failure to detect and stop a side issue from certain foul subterranean regions, the discharge from which becomes copious and offensive in proportion as the regular flood is feeble and low. In plainer words, we are told that the mode in which places in the public service are filled and held has made the active pursuit of politics a mere trade, attracting the basest cupidities, conducted by the most shameless methods, and putting the control of public affairs, directly or indirectly, into impure and incompetent hands. This view has been so fully elaborated, and the facts that confirm it are so abundant and notorious, that further argument is unnecessary. It is equally clear that the state of things thus briefly described has no necessary connection with democratic institutions. The spread of democracy in Europe has been attended by a gradual purification in the political atmosphere. The system of "patronage" had its origin in oligarchy, and wherever it is found oligarchy must exist in reality if not in name. Instead of being an inherent part of our institutions, it is as much an excrescence, an abnormal feature, as slavery was; but, unlike that, it might be removed with perfect safety and by the simplest kind of operation.

Here, then, is a question worthy to come before the nation as an issue of the first magnitude. Here is a thing affecting the interests of the whole country which some men are anxious to preserve and which others are eager to reform. It remains only to consider how it can best be brought before the nation.

We shall perhaps be told that it is already before the nation; that the account we have given of the nature of the approaching contest is incorrect or incomplete; that on the skirts of the two parties is a body of "Independents," carrying the banner of Reform and strong enough to decide the contest and give the victory to whichever party will adopt that standard as its own.

Now, we have to remark that the tactics thus proposed have been tried twice before. Eight years ago the Reformers allied themselves with the Democratic party, which accepted their leader--chosen, apparently, because he was neither a Reformer nor a Democrat--and the result was not only defeat, but disgrace, with disarray along the whole of the combined line. Four years ago they adhered to the Republican party, having secured, by a compromise, the nomination of Mr. Hayes. Apart from the fact that Mr. Hayes was not elected, but obtained the position which he holds through, we will say, "the accident of an accident," his possession of the Presidency has not advanced the cause of Reform by a hair's-breadth. We do not need to discuss his appointments or his views or his consistency: it is sufficient to say that he has had neither the power nor the opportunity to institute Reform, and that no President, while other things are unchanged, _can_ have that power and opportunity. The truth is, that there is a great confusion, both as to the object they have to aim at and as to the means of accomplishing it, in the minds of the Reformers. They talk and act continually as if their sole and immediate object were to secure the appointment to office of men of decent character and ability, and as if the election of a particular candidate for the Presidency, or even the defeat of a particular candidate, would afford a sufficient guarantee on this point. They are "ready to vote for any Republican nominee but Grant," and, in case of his nomination, to vote, we suppose, for any Democratic nominee but Tilden--certainly for Mr. Bayard. It may be safely admitted that no possible candidate for the Presidency enjoys a higher reputation for probity and general fitness for the place than Mr. Bayard--one reason, unhappily, why he is not likely to be called upon to fill it. But, supposing him to be raised to it, what is one of the first uses he may be expected to make of it if not to turn out the solid mass of Republican office-holders and fill their places with Democrats? If Mr. Hayes, with whom the Reformers have been at least partially satisfied, had succeeded to a Democratic administration, can it be doubted that he would have made a similar change in favor of the Republicans? Is not every President bound by fealty to his party, consequently by a regard for his honor and reputation, to perpetuate a system which the true aim of Reform is to abolish?