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day given to his little daughter, when she should be of years to understand and follow them. They are written with minute care, and though tender and solicitous, with perfect composure. His daughter is above all things to banish from her mind every revengeful sentiment against her father's enemies; to distrust her filial sensibility, and to make this sacrifice for her father's own sake. This done, he marched down-stairs, and having by an artful stratagem thrown Madame Vernet off her guard, went out at ten o'clock in the morning imperfectly disguised into the street. This was the Fifth of April, 1794. By three in the afternoon, exhausted by fatigue which his strict confinement for nine months made excessive, he reached the house of a friend in the country, and prayed for a night's shelter. His presence excited less pity than alarm. They gave him refreshment, and he borrowed a little pocket copy of Horace, with which he went forth into the loneliness of the night. He promised himself shelter amid the stone-quarries of Clamart. What he suffered during this night, the whole day of the Sixth of April, the night, and again the next day, there is no one to tell.

The door of the house in the Rue Servandoni was left on the latch night and day for a whole week. But Madame Vernet's generous hope was in vain ; while she still hoped and watched, the end had come. On the evening of the Seventh, Condorcet, with one of his legs torn or broken, his garments in rags, with visage gaunt and hungerstricken, entered an inn in the hamlet of Clamart, and called for an omelette. Asked how many eggs he would have in it, the famishing man answered a dozen. Carpenters, for such he had given himself to be, do not have a dozen eggs in their omelettes. Suspicion was aroused, his hands were not the hands of a workman, and he had no papers to show, but only the pocket Horace. The villagers seized him and hastened to drag him, bound hand and foot, to Bourgla-Reine, then called for a season Bourg-l'Egalité. On the road he fainted, and they set him on a horse offered by a pitying wayfarer. The prison reached, Condorcet, starving, bleeding, way-worn, was flung into his cell. On the morrow, when the gaolers came to seek him, they found him stretched upon the ground, dead and stark. So he perished-of hunger and weariness, say some; of poison ever carried by him in a ring, say others. So, to the last revolving supreme cares, this high spirit was overtaken by annihilation. His memory is left to us, the fruit of his ideas, and the impression of his character. If, as some think, the world will gradually transform its fear or love of unknowable gods into a devout reverence for those who have stirred in men a sense of the dignity of their own nature and of its large and multitudinous possibilities, then will his name not fail of deep and perpetual recollection.

EDITOR. (To be concluded in Mbruary.)

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POLITICAL ECONOMY AND LAND. VARIOUS as have been the schemes recently offered to public notice for the settlement of the Irish land question, one feature is noticeable as more or less prominently characterising them all—a profound distrust of Political Economy. Just in proportion as a plan gives promise of being effective, does the author feel it necessary to assume an attitude, if not of hostility, then of apology, towards this science. It is either sneered at as unpractical and perverse, or its authority is respectfully put aside as of no account in a country so exceptionally situated as Ireland. This state of opinion is perfectly intelligible. In its earlier applications to practical affairs Political Economy found itself inevitably in collision with numerous regulative codes, partly the remnants of feudalism, partly the products of the commercial doctrines of a later age, but all founded on the principle of substituting for individual discretion the control of those in power. It thus came naturally to be identified with the opposite principle ; and was known to the general public mainly as a scientific development of the doctrine of laissez-faire. The Free-trade controversy of course gave great prominence to this side of the system, and of late the idea that all Political Economy is summed up in laissez-faire has been much fostered by the utterances of some public men and writers, who have acquired a certain reputation as political economists, chiefly, it would seem, through the pertinacity with which they have enforced this formula, insisting on its sufficiency, not merely in the domain of material interest, but over the whole range of human life. If laissezfaire is to be taken as the sum and substance of economic teaching, it follows evidently enough that intervention by the State to determine the relative status of those holding interests in the soil, involves an economic heresy of the deepest dye; and it is not strange, therefore, that those who accept or defer to this idea of the science should, in attempting to deal with the Irish problem, evince some susceptibility in reference to Political Economy. In effect, it is very evident that two courses only are open to economists of this hue. Either they must hold by their maxims, and, doing so, remit the solution of the Irish difficulty to civil war and the arbitrament of armed force; or, accepting the plea of Ireland's exceptional condition, they must be content to put aside their science for the nonce, and legislate as if it were not. The latter is the course that fortunately has for the most part been taken. Economic laws, so it seems now to be agreed upon by thinkers of this school, do not act except where circumstances are favourable, and have no business in a country so unfortunately situated as Ireland. This is one view of the relation of Political Economy to such questions as that presented by the present state of Ireland. In my opinion, it is a radically false, and practically a most mischievous view ; one, therefore, against which, alike in the interest of the peace of Ireland and for the credit of economic science, I am anxious with all my energy to protest. I deny that economic doctrine is summed up in laissez-faire ; I contend that it has positive resources, and is efficacious to build up as well as to pull down. Sustained by some of the greatest names—I will say by every name of the first rank in Political Economy, from Turgot and Adam Smith to Mill—I hold that the land of a country presents conditions which separate it economically from the great mass of the other objects of wealth—conditions which, if they do not absolutely and under all circumstances impose upon the State the obligation of controlling private enterprise in dealing with land, at least explain why this control is in certain stages of social progress indispensable, and why in fact it has been constantly put in force wherever public opinion or custom has not been strong enough to do without it. And not merely does economic science, as expounded by its ablest teachers, dispose of à priori objections to a policy of intervention with regard to land, it even furnishes principles fitted to inform and guide such a policy in a positive sense. Far from being the irreconcilable foe, it is the natural ally of those who engage in this course, at once justifying the principle of their undertaking, and lending itself as a minister to the elaboration of the constructive design.

As regards the main ground on which the distinction between land and other forms of wealth depends, little more needs be done than unfold the argument contained in a few weighty sentences in which Mr. Mill has summed up the case :~"Movable property can be produced in indefinite quantity, and he who disposes as he likes of anything which, it can fairly be argued, would not have existed but for him, does no wrong to any one. It is otherwise with regard to land, a thing which no man made, which exists in limited quantity, which was the original inheritance of all mankind, and which, whoever appropriates, keeps others out of its possession. Such appropriation, when there is not enough left for all, is, at the first aspect, an usurpation on the rights of other people.” Where wealth is provided by human industry, its having value is the indispensable condition to its existence-io its existence at least in greater quantity than suffices for the producer's own requirements; and: the most obvious means of rendering this condition efficacious as a stimulus to industry is to recognise in the producer a .right of property in the thing he has produced. This, I take it, is, economically speaking, the foundation on which private property rests, and is, if I mistake not, the most solid and important of all the reasons, for the institution. It is one which applies to all the products of human industry—a category comprising (with some unimportant exceptions) movable wealth in every form, as well as some forms of immovable wealth, but which obviously can have no application to a commodity which “no man has made." It has been urged, indeed, that this reasoning is not rigorous, and that strict logic would require us to extend the description given of land to every form of wealth, movable as well as immovable, elaborated by the hand of industry or still lying crude in the earth, since, in the last resort, all is traceable alike to materials furnished by nature—which “no man has made.” But this is to fall into the error of the Physiocrates, and to confound wealth with matter. The street and palace, the corn and cotton, the goods that fill our warehouses, whatever be the form imparted to them by industry, all, no doubt, derive their material existence in the last resort from things which no man has made ; no man has made the matter of which they are composed ; but, as xealth, as things possessing exchange value, they exist, not through the liberality of nature, but through the labour and enterprise of man. According to the economic formula their value (omitting the, in most instances, infinitesimal portion of it which covers rent) corresponds to their cost of production. It is not so with land, which possesses value, and often high value, even in its crudest form ; with respect to which, therefore, whatever other reasons may be urged in favour of giving it up to private ownership, that reason cannot be urged which applies to the mass of the other objects of wealth—namely, that this mode of proceeding forms the natural and most effective means of encouraging industry useful to man.

It will be said, however, that the fact in question is after all pertinent to the controversy only while land remains in a state of nature, and that my argument ceases to have practical force as soon as the soil of a country has been brought under cultivation and is improved by industry. This exception, I admit, is to a certain extent well founded-only let us carefully note to what extent. Of the labour employed on land, all that is directed to the raising of the immediate produce, and of which the results are realised in this produce--that is to say, the great bulk of all the labour applied to the land of a country-finds its natural remuneration in these results, in this immediate produce. Such labour, recompensed as it is by the immediate returns, and leaving the soil substantially as it found it, cannot form a ground for rights of property in the soil itself. No more can labour employed, not upon the cultivated soil at all, but in extrinsic operations—in making roads, bridges, harbours, in building towns, and in general in doing things which, directly or indirectly, facilitate the disposal of agricultural produce. It is very true indeed that labour thus employed affects the value of land; and

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there are writers who have relied upon this fact, as identifying in principle landed with other property, showing as it does a connexion between the value of land and labour expended. Unfortunately for the analogy they seek to establish, the labour that is expended is expended, not upon the land whose value it affects, but upon other things; and the property which results, accrues, not to those who exert or employ the labour, but to other persons. The fact, instead of making, good the analogy, brings into sharp contrast the things compared. A bale of cloth, a machine, a house, owes its value to the labour expended upon it, and belongs to the person who expends or employs the labour: a piece of land owes its value—so far as its value is affected by the causes I am now considering—not to the labour expended upon it, but to that expended upon something else—to the labour expended in making a railroad, or in building houses in an adjoining town; and the value thus added to the land belongs, not to the persons who have made the railway or built the houses, but to some one who may not even be aware that these operations are being carried on-nay, who perhaps has exerted all his efforts to prevent their being carried on. How many landlords have had their rent-rolls doubled by railways made in their despite ? In considering the above exception, therefore, we must put aside as irrelevant to the question all the industry expended upon land, of which the effects are limited to the immediate crop, as well as all that employed in the general material development of the country, apart from the cultivation of the soil; and we thus narrow the argument to the effects of the labour directed to the permanent improvement of the cultivated soil itself, to rendering this a more efficient instrument for productive purposes than nature gave it to us. So far as this has been done ; so far as the productive qualities of the soil have been permanently improved; so far, undoubtedly, the value added to the soil by such operations, and property in this value, when it vests in the producer, rests economically upon the same foundation as property in corn, or wine, or houses. The transformation of the Lincolnshire fens and the lagoons of Holland into tracts of golden wheat land has been referred to by Lord Dufferin: the reclamation of bog and hill-side by Irish peasant occupiers, equally illustrates the principle; and the mention of this last instance will at once indicate what a very short way the analogy in question will carry those who have urged it towards the goal they seek. On the assumption that property in land were measured by the value added to land by human labour—to land as distinct from its products—and that this property vested in the person who created the value, landed property would, thus conditioned, be assimilated in principle to property in other things. As matters actually stand, I need scarcely say none of these conditions is fulfilled. Property in land is not measured by the

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