class of manufacturing operatives at that period. There appears to have been not a single case of an individual or a family being expelled for bad conduct; so that we are compelled to trace the marvellous improvement that occurred entirely to the partial application of Owen's principles of human nature, most patiently and skilfully applied by himself. They were necessarily only a partial application, because a large number of the adults had not received the education and training from infancy which was essential for producing their full beneficial results. Again, the whole establishment was a manufactory, the property of private capitalists, and the adult population suffered all the disadvantages of having to work for long hours at a monotonous employment and at low rates of wages, circumstances wholly antagonistic to any full and healthy and elevated existence. Owen used always to declare that the beneficial results at which all visitors were so much astonished were only one-tenth part of what could and would be produced if his principles were fully applied. If the labour of such a community, or of groups of such communities, had been directed with equal skill to produce primarily the necessaries and comforts of life for its own inhabitants, with a surplus of such goods as they could produce most advantageously for themselves, in order by their sale in the surrounding district to be able to supply themselves with such native or foreign products as they required, then each worker would have been able to enjoy the benefits of change of occupation, always having some alternation of outdoor as well as indoor work; the hours of labour might be greatly reduced, and all the refinements of life might have been procured and enjoyed by them.

On considering the whole course of Owen's life, the one great error he committed was to give up the New Lanark property and management, and spend his large fortune in the endeavour to found communities in various countries of chance assemblages of adults, which his own principles should have shown him were doomed to failure. He always maintained that a true system of education from infancy to manhood was essential to the best formation of character. His

infant schools had only been about ten years in existence, when, owing to some difficulties with his Quaker partners, who had always objected to the dancing and drill, he gave up the management into their hands.

This was a weakness due to his amiable temper, which could not bear to be the cause of difference with his friends. Under the circumstances he might well have refused to give up an establishment which was wholly his own creation, and whose splendid success was unequalled in the world. He possessed nearly half the shares, and the profits were so large that he could soon have paid off the remainder, and become the sole owner. If they had absolutely refused to sell, he might have sold his interest and started another community on improved lines, to which it is almost certain the whole of the inhabitants of New Lanark would have voluntarily removed in order to be under his beneficent rule. He would thus have had all the advantages of not losing the young people he had so thoroughly trained, and might have gone on during his life extending the establishment till it became almost wholly self-supporting, and ultimately, when the majority of the inhabitants had been trained from childhood under his supervision, self-governing also. Had he done this, his beautiful system of education, and the admirable social organization founded on his far-seeing and fundamentally true philosophy of human nature, might still have existed, as a beacon-light guiding us toward a better state of industrial organization. In that case we should not have now found ourselves, after another century of continuous increase of wealth and command over nature, with a much greater mass of want and misery in our midst than when he first so clearly showed the means of abolishing them.

Notwithstanding this one fatal error, an error due to the sensitive nobility of his character and to his optimistic belief in the power of truth to make its way against all adverse forces, Robert Owen will ever be remembered as one of the wisest, noblest, and most practical of philanthropists, as well as one of the best and most lovable of men.

I have a recollection of having once heard him give a

short address at this "Hall of Science," and that I was struck by his tall spare figure, very lofty head, and highly benevolent countenance and mode of speaking. Although later in life my very scanty knowledge of his work was not sufficient to prevent my adopting the individualist views of Herbert Spencer and of the political economists, I have always looked upon Owen as my first teacher in the philosophy of human nature and my first guide through the labyrinth of social science. He influenced my character more than I then knew, and now that I have read his life and most of his works, I am fully convinced that he was the greatest of social reformers and the real founder of modern Socialism. For these reasons I trust that my readers will not consider the space I have here devoted to an outline of his great work at New Lanark is more than the subject deserves.

The preceding sketch of his life and work is founded upon his "Life" written by himself, and accompanied by such a mass of confirmatory reports and correspondence as to show that it can be thoroughly relied on. It has, however, long been out of print, and very few people have read it or even heard of it, and it is for this reason that I have given this brief outline of its contents. The fine obituary notice of Owen by his contemporary and friend, Mr. G. J. Holyoake, together with the book on his life and times by his fellowworker, Lloyd Jones, show that I have in no way exaggerated either his character or his achievements.

It was, I think, early in the summer of 1837 that I went with my brother William into Bedfordshire to begin my education as a land-surveyor. The first work we had was to survey the parish of Higham Gobion for the commutation of the tithes. It was a small parish of about a thousand acres, with the church, vicarage, and a good farmhouse on the highest ground, and a few labourer's cottages scattered about, but nothing that could be called a village. The whole parish was one large farm; the land was almost all arable and the fields very large, so that it was a simple piece of work. We took up our quarters at the Coach and Horses public-house in the village of Barton-in-the-Clay, six miles north of Luton, on the coach-road to Bedford. We were nearly a mile from the nearest part of the parish, but it was the most convenient place we could get.

An intelligent young labourer was hired to draw the chain in measuring, while I carried a flag or measuring-rod and stuck in pegs or cut triangular holes in the grass where required, to form marks for future reference. We carried billhooks for cutting rods and pegs, as well as for clearing away branches that obstructed the view, and for cutting gaps in the hedges on the main lines of the survey, in order to lay them out perfectly straight. We started work after an early breakfast, and usually took with us a good supply of breadand-cheese and half a gallon of beer, and about one o'clock sat down under the shelter of a hedge to enjoy our lunch. My brother was a great smoker, and always had his pipe after lunch (and often before breakfast), and, of course, the chain

bearer smoked too. It therefore occurred to me that I might as well learn the art, and for a few days tried a few whiffs. Then, going a little too far, I had such a violent attack of headache and vomiting that I was cured once and for ever from any desire to smoke, and although I afterwards lived for some years among Portuguese and Dutch, almost all of whom are smokers, I never felt any inclination to try again.

Three miles north of Barton was the small village of Silsoe adjoining Wrest Park, the seat of Earl Cowper, whose agent, Mr. Brown, was known to my brother, and had, I think, obtained from him the parish survey we were engaged upon. A young gentleman three or four years older than myself who was, I think, a pupil of Mr. Brown's, was sent by him to learn a little land-surveying with us, and was a pleasant companion for me, especially as we were often left alone, when my brother was called away on other business, sometimes for a week at a time. Although the country north of Barton was rather flat and uninteresting, to the south it was very picturesque, as it was only about half a mile from the range of the North Downs, which, though only rising about three hundred feet above Barton, yet were very irregular, jutting out into fine promontories or rounded knolls with very steep sides and with valleys running up between them. The most charming of these valleys was the nearest to us, opening behind the church. It was narrow, with abundance of grass and bushes on the sides of a rapid-flowing streamlet, which, about a quarter of a mile further, had its source in a copious spring gushing out from the foot of the chalk-hill. On the west side of this valley the steep slope was thickly covered with hazel and other bushes, as well as a good many trees, forming a hanging wood full of wild flowers, and offering a delightful shade in the heat of the afternoon. About a mile to the east there was an extensive old British earthwork called Ravensburgh Castle, beyond which was another wooded valley; between these was a tolerably level piece of upland where the villagers played cricket in the summer.

My friend, whose name I forget (we will call him Mr. A.), was a small-sized but active young fellow, very good-looking,