anything more, and recent investigations have revealed a state of poverty in some of our wealthier centres which is absolutely

appalling. It has been estimated by the well-known social statistician, Mr. Charles Booth, that in London, where the condition of about four millions of persons was inquired into,

about 1,300,000 live in a state of poverty, and nearly 100,000 in workhouses and other charitable institutions. There, and in many other metropolitan cities, the carriages of the noble and wealthy, as they roll along, serve but to reflect the shame of society, which allows its starving multitudes to herd in quarters unfit for human habitation. Neither is the public opinion of the city always as enlightened as it might be expected. "Jingoism," another word for rowdyism, was an invention of the music-hall; the lower, and not always the lower classes are ever ready to run after a new sensation, worthy or unworthy though it be; and that remark applies to many so-called centres of intelligence. The worst horrors of internecine war were perpetrated in polite Paris under the Commune, and the police courts of some of the largest seaports bear witness to the most degraded savagery of which human beings are capable.

On the other hand, it is in the great cities and industrial centres that the lamp of progress and enlightenment burns with the greatest brilliancy. There it is that the resources of civilisation have full play, and the ties which bind the cities of the world together are becoming closer and more and more advantageous. London can already converse orally with Paris as easily as with Manchester; and messages from any of those places may be despatched to Bombay or New Orleans, and answers received in an incredibly short space of time. The great schools of learning are increasing in number and influence, stretching out branches over the length and breadth of the land, and sending down roots deeper and deeper into the social strata. London, Oxford, and Cambridge send their ablest exponents of the arts and sciences into all the provincial towns and even villages, and the emulation of newly established colleges in the provinces is popularising knowledge as never before in the world's history. Large towns are becoming more and more impatient of control by one or two important but distant centres. They are no longer satisfied to carry their judicial appeals to the law courts of the Metropolis, nor to await the periodical visits of judges on circuit. "Home Rule" in various ways is daily becoming a louder cry in large towns, and there is little doubt that in the longrun decentralisation and local self-government will mean a steady improvement in the condition of all classes of society.

As we stated at the commencement of this short essay, our object has not been to institute a full inquiry into the social life of large towns, nor to treat of the special phases

For the precise figures we must refer the reader to Mr. Charles Booth's works on this subject, which are very instructive, and deserving of study.

of society in all or any of them, as that would necessitate a repetition of what has been said under various heads. But it must be apparent to all who have given the matter general consideration, who have observed the growth and multiplication of cities and towns in the older States, or their foundation and rapid development in newly colonised lands, that although such centres have always held a conspicuous place in the life and history of nations, they are assuming a new aspect, and are playing a much more prominent part in the general advance of modern civilisation.

PART IV

INTELLECTUAL AND RELIGIOUS

CONCLUSION

ESSAY XXII

THE POPULARISATION OF ART

THE glorification of mechanical inventions, characteristic of a certain school of politicians and philosophers dominant in the middle of this century, has given place, by natural reaction, to a disparagement of all such means of progress. We have not really advanced beyond our grandfathers, it is asserted, because we have the electric light in our houses, or because we know what has happened the day before, all over the world. From these extremes of opinion the truer view will emerge, that mechanical inventions, though they do not of themselves civilise, are often of the utmost importance as channels and occasions of civilising progress. No one denies that this is true of the printing-press; and though it is often affirmed that none of the innumerable inventions of this century are comparable to that one, it may well be urged that photography has done, is doing, and will do for pictorial art as much as printing with movable types has done for literature, and may claim, therefore, a rank as a factor of civilisation only second to that of printing, because of the inferior influence exercised by art on mankind as compared with the effect of literature. Literature has necessarily a far wider influence, for the obvious reason that the vast majority of books are not written for their own sake, but as instruments for the communication of ideas or knowledge; whereas pictorial art scarcely serves such purposes at all. Art gains by having, roughly speaking, only one language; but this goes very little way towards redressing the balance.

But what was the condition of Europe with regard to

literature before the middle of the fifteenth century? It was then the exclusive possession, for all practical purposes, of a single class, a luxury in which the people had no share. Without pressing the analogy, we may safely assert that the case was the same with art, in England at any rate, before the invention of photography.

One must never forget the conditions which restrict the painter's fame. Pictures cannot be brought to the spectator; he must go to them. Now, let us take the instance of a painter whose performance and rank can only be appreciated at a certain place, and who is scarcely represented elsewhere. Carpaccio might serve as an instance. Out of Venice it is impossible to realise the importance of this painter. Few indeed are the artists who are adequately represented in more than one or two galleries. Michelangelo must be seen at Rome; Velasquez, at Madrid; Tintoret, at Venice; and minor masters must often be sought in places still more remote.

Here is an immense difficulty in the way of a popular appreciation of the great painters, and till this century an insuperable difficulty. Young men of rank and wealth were accustomed to spend a year or two, before beginning their career, in making the grand tour on the Continent, but for the community at large any such education in art was impossible. There was no National Gallery, and the only means of study in these fields for those without access to private galleries were to be found in more or less costly engravings after certain masters. We shall explain presently how entirely inadequate such means were.

But, it may be said, it is not photography that has changed all this. It is the cheapness and ease of modern travel. No doubt the present generation of the middle classes, both upper and lower, travel to an extent that would have been thought preposterous by their grandfathers. And they become acquainted with some of the most famous modern galleries, and visit cities which an atmosphere, a tradition of beauty makes an illuminative contrast to the daily life of our manufacturing towns. But to hasten through the Louvre, or the Rijks Museum, or the Uffizi, is not of itself enough to have a vital influence on any but minds well prepared. A great picture does not reveal itself at a glance, any more than a great poem at one hasty perusal. It is probable that familiarity with a single gallery like the National Gallery does more towards the education of a Londoner than a dozen trips abroad. The institution of free public galleries, therefore, we consider to be of more importance in this regard than facilities for cheap travel. Yet travel, if not of itself of the greatest value towards this particular end,

X