not be quite freed from tuberculosis, nothing better could happen in their own interest and the interest of the sound cattle than that they should be put into the fields and kept there. The expense upon the State of getting rid of all diseased animals, either by slaughtering or treating them, would not be intolerable. In two or three years most of the animals at present diseased would in these ways be accounted for, and as there would be but few fresh cases of tuberculosis and these would be getting fewer year by year-after the cause of infection had been removed, and the animals allowed to live under good conditions, we would soon have such mastery over the disease as would render it no longer a terror to us, and soon thereafter it would entirely disappear.

This then, broadly, is the mode of procedure: Separate the unsound from the sound animals; get rid of the unsound cattle as quickly as convenient, either by slaughtering or treating them; keep the sound animals under proper conditions, and they will remain sound. Thus an end would be put to this troublesome matter, and at a cost light in comparison to the good that would result.

It is sometimes said that farmers have been hardly dealt with, in that Free Trade, which has been such a boon to the community at large, has almost ruined their calling. Here is a way in which the general community can repay agriculturists and stock-owners in some degree. Let the expense of freeing our herds from tuberculosis be borne by the nation in the interests of the farmers, and in the interests of the nation itself. Any one can see that all the money spent in such a cause would be returned many times over in a few years, if we take into account the numbers of cattle that would thereby be saved. But besides, there are the thousands of human lives that would be spared yearly; this alone would surely be justification for our spending considerably, even if such spending were commercially unsound.

Perhaps one-third of the cattle in this country are affected with tuberculosis, and the proportion is increasing. Of these affected animals the vast majority are cows, and it is certain there are many byres the cows in which would all be found to be tuberculous. Are we to go on allowing these animals to infect others, and they in turn others still, ad infinitum, when all that is necessary to change this is the expenditure of some energy and money? Are we to stand inactive, lest we should trample on the supposed liberties of a few? What of the liberties of the many? Recently I saw at the

found to be healthy. A herd of thirty-eight cows confined in a shed day and night, every one of which looked the picture of health, proved to be over 30 per cent. tuberculous. The owner could not believe this result to be correct, and had two of his best animals slaughtered; in both instances the lungs and their adjacent lymphglands were found to be in parts crowded with tubercles in all phases of growth and degeneration."

Edinburgh abattoirs a carcase the lungs and certain glands of which were masses of corruption from tuberculosis. The cow had been killed but half-an-hour before, and the probability was that the milk from that cow had been sold the previous day. It is interesting and instructive to note that in Edinburgh, where every diseased carcase, however slightly affected, is condemned, the number of tuberculous cattle received for slaughter has dribbled down to a minimum, owners taking them to neighbouring towns where the regulations are not so stringent.

If measures such as are here indicated cannot be adopted in full, Government should, at least, make it compulsory for all affected animals to be marked, separated, and kept apart from those that are sound; and should permit such tuberculous cattle to be sold only for slaughter. This in itself would be a long step in advance, and would result in a marked decrease of fresh cases; it would also tend to the extermination of affected animals, as their saleability would be impaired, and the having them on the premises undesirable for the stock-owner.

JAMES ARTHUR GIBSON.

DEPRESSION: THE DISEASE OF

THE TIME.

It is generally admitted that the disease of mental depression is a very common one at the present time, especially with what are usually called the educated classes. It is proposed in the present article to discuss the causes of this malady and, if possible, to suggest a remedy.

No doubt in all ages there have been many people who suffered from depression from various causes, more or less personal to themselves; but the wide extent of the disease in modern times seems to suggest that there must be some general cause or causes of the phenomenon. Mr. Albert Chevalier's well-known song, "Wot's the good of anyfin? Vy, nuffin!" expresses a really not uncommon state of mind, and its popularity is probably due to its striking a sympathetic chord in the breast of the hearers.

What, then, is lacking to this generation, the want of which causes this peculiar feeling of depression? Is it physical energy, or moral principle, or will-power, or religious faith? Some or all of these are probably more or less deficient. We have been told so by various prophets, notably by Carlyle and Emerson, whose main object was to put some kind of faith and energy into their fellow-men; and it must be admitted that, in individual cases at any rate, they have succeeded. A better tonic for the mind than Sartor Resartus, or Emerson's Essay on Self-Reliance, could hardly be imagined, and many distinguished men have borne eloquent testimony to the bracing effects of those two great writers.

While, however, the lack of all the qualities named may be more or less responsible for the depression which we have to consider, the great desideratum, in the opinion of the present writer, is physical energy directed by active intellectual power. Physical energy itself is by no means deficient, but it is frequently divorced from intellect; and even where it is accompanied by mental ability, this latter is frequently paralysed by the collapse of religious faith and the consequent confusion of ethical standards.

The moral and intellectual confusion is naturally most keenlyffelt by the finest minds. People who live by rule of thumb, or by accepting the conventional ideas of their neighbours, and who never

think things out for themselves, are hardly aware of the extent of the collapse of the traditional creed. It is only the intellectual people who are troubled.

Without going into theological questions, few competent authorities will be disposed to deny that a great deal of Christian theology, which was once firmly believed in and made the basis of Christian ethics, is now no longer tenable. The dropping of a few theological articles would perhaps matter little if we could be sure where we would stop, and if it could be shown that the overthrow of the theological structure of Christianity would not effect its moral authority. That, however, is just what cannot be shown. The ethical authority of a religion can hardly survive the theology which constitutes to so great an extent the religion itself—which is, at any rate, the skeleton or framework upon which the religion is built. The Christian religion cannot afford to be brought down to the level of that of Confucius, which is simply a collection of moral apothegms, without any ultimate authority beyond their inherent merits.

The authority of Christian ethics must necessarily stand or fall with the truth of Christian theology. The most logical minds cannot help seeing this and appreciating the consequent chaos in ethics. Hinc illa lachrymæ.

The real moving force in the world of to-day is Science. While it is not meant to be implied that religion is no longer believed in, it is certainly not held with the unwavering faith of the Middle Ages, nor even with the somewhat less settled faith of the Puritans. While in the Middle Ages everybody believed in religion and knew little or nothing of science, to-day everybody believes in science, simply because he cannot help it, and only the second place is left for religion in the intellectual microcosm.

While science has thus largely displaced religion and shaken the authority which Christian ethics formerly exercised over us, she has not so far succeeded in furnishing us with a satisfactory system of moral philosophy to take the place of supernatural ethics. Various attempts in this direction have been made, but no signal success has yet been achieved. At all events, no scientific ethical system has yet succeeded in commanding any great degree of popularity even among the best educated classes.

It has almost become a commonplace to say that we are in an age of transition. The present age bears a considerable resemblance to the declining days of Paganism, when the philosophers were undermining the old religion with their criticism and the new religion was struggling into life. While Christianity is not perhaps being destroyed as Paganism was destroyed, it is undoubtedly going through a very critical evolutionary phase, and it seems inevitable that it will issue from the ordeal a very different kind of religion from what it was, say, a century ago.

Such ages of transition are frequently periods of melancholy. Men's minds are unsettled, and there is a general spirit of uneasiness abroad. When the Roman Empire was under the government of the Antonines, although the period was one of great material prosperity (just like our own Victorian epoch in that respect), it was yet tinged with a kind of intellectual sadness. A beautiful picture of the dying Pagan world has been given to us by that wonderfully delicate writer, Walter Pater, in his Marius, the Epicurean.

It is in such times that intellectual men are led to search for the foundations of moral principles. If an ordinary man is asked why any particular act is wrong, he will perhaps reply that he feels and knows it is wrong, and that that is enough for him. An intellectual man, however, even if his feeling corresponds with that of the ordinary man (which may very likely not be the case), will yet ask himself why he feels in that particular manner, and further, what validity can his or other people's feelings have in settling moral questions. He will bear in mind that different people feel very differently about ethical questions; how, then, can the feelings be a sufficient guide for settling what is right and what is wrong? He will see the necessity of probing the matter more deeply in order to put morals in an authoritative position; and, failing to find a rational basis for them, it is possible that he may conceive himself at liberty to discard them altogether. At any rate, his capacity for resisting temptation is bound to be weakened.

Thus in such ages there is a want of a definite moral standard and of moral restraints. People are inclined to ask themselves, "Is there really any reason why we should not do as we choose? They may come to think of virtue as Marcus Brutus is said to have spoken of it in his dying moments: "O virtue, I have ever followed thee, and find thee at last but an empty name!" Yet, when those who are capable of better things discard virtue, they find little pleasure in self-indulgence.

What we want is greater simplicity and more freedom in discussing vital questions. A great deal of the pessimism of which we hear so much to-day is bred by the impatience which thinking men cannot help feeling at the shallow optimism of popular authors. In our opinion the proper attitude of mind is neither pessimism nor optimism, but what may be described as meliorism; that is to say, the view that, although the world is doubtless bad enough, it is quite capable of being mended, and that it rests mainly with ourselves to make it a very happy place indeed. What we suffer from nature is, after all, very small in comparison with what we suffer from one another. It is true that a hurricane, an earthquake, or a shipwreck may cause serious and undeserved loss of life. True that disease may assail us, and that death is bound to be our portion sooner or later. These things have to be borne, and would be far