OF STAGE-ILLUSION

THERE is a strange kind of man who is never happy unless he be assisting at the passage of a resolution, who, permitted to hold up his hand and to hear the mystic formula from the chair," the ayes have it," really believes that he is doing some work in the world. Unable to distinguish between word and deed, he is perfectly satisfied to see his desires proclaimed aloud, or set forth and certified correct by a zealous secretary. For him it is not enough to work alone.

He must still be in the presence of a crowd, and keep up his courage or strengthen his conviction with the aid of others. Thus it is that the very end of his ambition is to attend a congress, where he may testify in public and assure himself that he is reforming flagrant abuses, or, as he would express it, "cleansing Augean stables," by the mere exercise of a halfarticulate voice. voice. Nowadays every subject, every profession, seems a valid excuse for a congress, and the dismal hours of autumn are rendered yet more dismal by the hurrying crowds of sallow, long-haired orators, who exchange their threadbare views without blush or smile. Politics and theology, literature and science, all claim their

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adherents, and neither at home nor abroad can you escape the presence of the bald-headed men and demure women, who find refuge from themselves and their tainty in talk. Perhaps it is the mere spirit of gregariousness which persuades them to sacrifice the delights of a holiday by the sea or on the mountains for the close air and dull twilight of a tin conventicle. Perhaps it is the vain desire of hearing their own voices or of seeing their solemn names in print, which drives them to their ineffective misery. Poor souls! They believe that the bald exposition of a fad is of itself a praiseworthy enterprise, and being unable to plumb the depths of their own folly, they return home no doubt in the proud consciousness of having nobly accomplished a noble deed.

But for all their brave words, all their vain boastings, it is to the middle-class emotions that the popular congress appeals. The respectability of a debating society, the unctuousness of a tea-meeting, cling about it.

Even while its participants promise to destroy the whole world that they may gain a small advantage for themselves, the Stig

gins touch is never The Congress of Trade Unionists, recently dispersed, is as good an example as we could find. It was a Congress, with a capital C, a Congress devoid of humour, devoid of meaning, devoid of result. Above all, it was middle-class in the worst sense of the phrase, middle-class in greed, middle-class in cruelty, middle-class in narrowness of outlook. The Trade Unionists speak with the same same voice of selfishness wherewith the Manchester School proclaimed their doctrines some fifty years ago. They have no faith in anything save in the brutal triumph of majorities. If Tories object to paying for the support of Socialists, declare these ardent souls, their objection carries no weight, since it is the objection of a minority. As for themselves, the Trade Unionists, they are numerous, and therefore above and beyond the law. If the law gives equal liberty of conscience to all the members of their Unions, then the law must be broken. Mr Keir Keir Hardie, speaking in the sympathetic atmosphere of Germany, promises us a fine spectacle in the near future. "I promise you," says he, "before the year is out, the impending struggles in England will have so developed that you will see the leaders of the Trade Unions sitting in prison; this we shall answer with strikes, by means of which the revolutionary spirit will attain its zenith." We are so well accustomed to the violence of those who would

The Congress of Trade Unions, however, was so rich in unconscious merriment and undisguised confession, that we know not to whom we should award the palm. All the members, save Mr Shackleton, whose native good sense has been improved by experience, spoke like angry children, and gave us little hope of that millennium in which these good folk promise to usurp the power of the State. Before they govern others they should learn to govern themselves, or at least their tongues. Mr Shackleton, being superior to most in manners and wisdom, naturally brought upon his innocent head the fury of them all. One of them, more intrepid than the rest, found for him a term of reproach which was priceless in its irrelevance. Walsh was his name, and after Mr Shackleton had made a speech of studied moderation, "Your remarks are those of a swashbuckler," he yelled; "I will not withdraw." We wonder what sense "swashbuckler" conveys to the brain of Mr Walsh ? Not much, perhaps.

The word was evidently used as a mere expletive, and could hardly, in the circumstances, be expected

and work without the limits of their tyranny. To those who belong to no Union, or who, being unskilled and in want, accept a lower rate than the despots have appointed, they are wolves. Their opposition to the Labour Exchanges, for instance, is clear proof of their violent egoism. They would rather that the unemployed, who profit by these Exchanges, should be paid no money at all, than that they should accept a less than the Union wage. They feel no indignation that others are "ground down" or that "their wives and children starve." At all hazards their own pedantry must be preserved from attack; they must be permitted to impose their rules even upon those who do not belong to their Unions. In vain Mr Shackleton pointed out, with excellent sense, that "it was absolutely impossible to insist on standard rates of wages and hours of labour being secured by Exchanges." The members of the Congress, fire-eaters all, are little interested in sense or justice. Keen in the pursuit of sounding phrases, they agreed with Mr Tillett that the Labour Exchanges "constituted the most fierce attack upon unskilled and casual Labour that the most malicious body of employers could devise," and by a large majority condemned the method of mitigating unemployment, for which they themselves had ardently clamoured.

The truth is, they know not what they want. High wages

and regular work would not content them. There is not one of them that does not cherish the ambition to exchange the mattock for the pen, and become an agitator. Meanwhile, for their appointed leaders they have nothing but contempt. Success in leadership arouses their wildest jealousy. "Ah, the scorn of the man," cried Mr Shackleton from his heart, "who does not know, whose daily life is spent in vilifying those who are doing the work!" We cannot withhold our sympathy from them who are sincerely attempting to better the lot of their fellows. At the same time we cannot too loudly condemn those members of the Congress, bourgeois in their habit as in their aim, who delight only in noise and bluster, and who would gladly bring others to misery and their country to ruin, for no better reason than that, being wholly devoid of humour, they must still indulge their taste for truculent eloquence.

But no Congress would be complete without its "hardy annuals," as one "Worker " described those academic resolutions which are passed year after year without effect, and to the great content of the popular leaders. There is, for instance, the well-known resolution concerning Oxford, Cambridge, and the public schools, the passing of which never fails to give satisfaction. Mr Thorne, M.P., clamours for a Parliamentary commission, or at least for a balance-sheet, and reveals incidentally how blindly