on the purse of the people. Unnecessary, because, although it is true that trusts have cheapened prices by the economies that they enforce, they owe the public the still cheaper service that can be secured by an upright administration.

Thus far no distinction has been made between trusts and incorporations. Practically there is little difference between them. Strictly a trust is an organization that controls a number of corporations, and is itself managed by a committee or board of trustees. These corporations surrender the control of all or a majority of their stock to the trustees, who issue to represent it, and as much more pro rata capital as may be agreed upon, certificates on which dividends are to be paid. Now it is the over-capitalization,—the gigantic sums that represent good-will-that does the mischief. To stagger under mountains of debt created not by borrowing, answering to no value received, these corporations or combinations are obliged to economize by shutting up factories, dismissing workmen, crushing out rivals, lowering wages, and, lastly, by advancing prices. Advance of prices is put last because it is a fact that it is last resorted to. The combinations, as a rule, grow bankrupt first. It is true that freights, passenger and telegraph rates, beer, sugar, whiskey, tobacco, etc., are cheaper since they have become controlled by pools and trusts than they were before, and they are likely to remain so, because if they do not, rival investments of capital are sure to ensue.

Again, it is heedlessly said that trade combinations are a restraint upon trade by putting an end to free competition. It is difficult to see how they restrain trade when they supply all its demands at prices so low as to prevent rivalry. As for competition, that is the very factor that gives rise to the trust. The last feat of competition is to cut its own throat. The combination is the necessary and certain, ultimate end of competition. Indeed, the late Professor J. E. Cairnes showed quite conclusively a quarter of a century ago, that free competition is misunderstood. "In any organized society," he argued, "there can hardly be the ready transfer of capital from one employment to another, which is the indispensable condition of free competition; while class distinctions render it

impossible for labor to transfer itself readily to new occupations." He regarded society "as consisting of a series of non-competing industrial groups, with free competition among the members of one group or class," that is, chiefly among wage-earners engaged in the same occupation. It is by cutting labor that men who have invested capital in industry beyond recall compete with each other; when there is no chance of rivalry here they combine.

A

We now reach a point where the elements of the problem become clear. trust is no more to be feared than a corporation, of which it is only an expansion. Historically, it does not raise prices, but cheapens commodities, and it is an inevitable development of industrial growth. To forbid it by law is arbitrary, for there is no moral wrong in combining, and what assumed wrong there is is only statute-made. To repress it, laws and courts must interfere with the free right of honest contract, and to move in that direction tends to State socialism and is revolutionary to the last degree.

Yet there are wrongs to redress — wrongs that violate eternal ethics and that no sophistry can whiten. They arise out of the misuse of corporate powers, and as these powers are conferred by law so by law they can be curtailed or amended. By jugglery with corporate credit, men have made themselves the menacing, powerful capitalists whose capacities for oppression are appalling. By it scrip and certificates which stand for no value, are put on the market and made current. It is like making paper legal-tender, or forty-cent dollars to pass for gold ones; only what even the government was forbidden to do last November, corporations freely and disastrously undertake. effort to make securities stand for a wealth that does not exist and is only prospective to make fictitious paper stand for what it pretends to be-in any court of morals is wicked. It is this that has bought upon the country great calamities. It has made a new plutocracy, enabled insiders to plunder corporations of their wealth, deranged industry, destroyed credit, made fiercer the strife of labor with capital, impoverished investors, driven us into the shadow of the most hazardous form of socialism, and estranged social classes.

The

What then? Shall we refuse to give any more charters of incorporation and suppress at the earliest moment those that are outstanding? That were folly, as well as impracticable. Let it be remembered, too, that joint-stock companies, because they have their capital in shares that may be easily purchased, afford a ready means by which the workman can become his own employer. can acquire stock in the concern for which he works and thus in time turn the corporation into a co-operative partnership. At least he could if the company were not over-capitalized so as either to be beyond the wage-earner's hope of control, or to render its stock worthless.

He

In the history of national banks may be found the remedies needed. Such a bank must have its capital paid in; it cannot have a funded debt; it must pub

lish sworn statements of its condition and report to a government official; it is liable to inspection of its accounts at any time. If all corporations were put under like restrictions, very many of our industrial troubles and fears would never have come upon us. A charter of incorporation is a statutory gift, a franchise. It is not granted for private gain, but for the public good. Being a creation of the State it should be amenable to the State, and that amenability certainly should go so far as to compel it to do its business honestly and soundly.

If our troubles lie in the misuse of franchises and if there be an easy remedy to stop those abuses, it seems like "baying the moon" to throw away our true weapons of defense, and vainly denounce the swelling tide of inevitable developD. O. KELLOGG.

ment.

HE story of the colonization of America and of the War of Independence, says a writer in the current number of the London Quarterly Review," to whom we owe this paper, is one with which English readers are familiar. Yet hackneyed though it is, the books which we have named at the foot of this page show that it is still capable of fresh treatment. In each of the volumes devoted to 'Women of Colonial and Revolutionary Times,' and especially in 'Margaret Winthrop' and 'Eliza Pinckney,' we have pictures of American life, not as it was lived by explorers, statesmen, or soldiers, but as it was lived by women. The background to each portrait is rather social and domestic than political and public. English Puritans of sturdy build and determined character, who left the Old World for the New at the bidding of their consciences, cared little for hardships as compared with freedom and adventure. But for a woman like Margaret Winthrop the change from an agricultural county in England to Massachusetts, — a narrow strip of country hemmed in between the ocean and the forest, far more and cost a greater effort. The biography of Eliza Pinckney again pre

- meant

sents a picture of woman's life in a typical slave state in the eighteenth century, and shows how a South Carolinian gentlewoman worked and lived among her negroes in the same benevolent, beneficent spirit in which the best of her English contemporaries played the part of Lady Bountiful to their manorial dependents.

The five volumes cover the period from 1631 to 1849, from the date of Margaret Winthrop's landing in Massachusetts to that of the death of Dolly Madison. But the two biographies to which we shall confine our attention are those which best illustrate the distinctive feature of the series. They are the most feminine, and the least political in plan and detail. They not only span the period from colonization to independence, but they also bring out in the clearest fashion, by contrast or comparison, the

different characteristics of the two great groups of colonies, and thus exemplify the force of that patriotic ardor which could alone have fused such opposite elements into one national whole.

In 1618, John Winthrop, eldest son of Adam Winthrop, of Groton Manor, near Sudbury, in Suffolk, was thirty years of age, a widower, a justice of the peace for the county, and a prosperous London lawyer, having chambers in Temple Lane, near the Cloyster.' He was, in the best sense of the word, a typical Puritan. The materials out of which his character was built were of the massive kind that produces dignity, stability, and simplicity. He had little of the brilliance of intellect, or the quickwitted activity of mind, which distinguished the generation of men that was now passing away. He shows none of the geniality, the expansiveness, the rich sympathy, the effervescence of the Elizabethan temperament. But he was a man of solid worth, cautious of speech, just in all his dealings, temperate and frugal to austerity in his life. His grave and weighty endowments at once commanded respect and ensured sobriety of judgment. Self-restrained and self-reliant, he had that firmness and fortitude of mind which withstood difficulty and peril, like a rock against a tempestuous sea. Men of this stamp were needed to found a New England. The more brilliant Elizabethans were bold explorers of Eldorados, and daring freebooters on the Spanish Main; but they had not the tenacity of purpose which could alone create permanent colonies. Some higher object than greed of lucre, some more sustaining motive than the spirit of adventure, were needed before men could grapple with nature in that death-struggle in which the early colonists were compelled to engage.

Underneath this massive strength of character, there ran, as with most strong men, a deep vein of tenderness. John Winthrop proved himself to be a loving husband and a kind father. Though his love-letters are couched in Scriptural phraseology, he was also an ardent wooer. The following passage carries us back in its language to the days when the Puritan was a man of one book, and that book the Bible.' Yet in thought and feeling, beneath the borrowed phrases, there burns the steady flame of real

passion, which, alike in love or war, made the language of the Scripture no figures of speech, but words from the heart :

And now, my sweet Love, lett me a whyle solace myselfe in the remembrance of our love, of wch this springe tyme of acquaintance can putt forthe as yet no more but the leaves and blossomes, whilest the fruit lyes wrapped up in the tender budd of hope; a little more patience will disclose this good fruit, & bringe it to some maturitye: let it be our care & labour to preserve these hopefull budds from the beasts of the fielde, and from frosts & other injuryes of the ayre, lest our fruit fall off ere it be ripe, or lose ought in the beautye & pleasantnesse of it.'

The woman, to whom this letter (which we have abridged) was written in 1618, was Margaret Tindal, then twenty-seven years of age, the daughter of Sir John Tindal, one of the Masters in Chancery, who, two years before, had been shot dead with a dagge' by a disappointed litigant. In 1618 she married, as his third wife, John Winthrop. The marriage was discouraged by her relations; but she remained firm, and was rewarded in the complete happiness of their wedded life. She proved a true mother to her four stepchildren, as well as to her own sons and daughter.

No portrait of Margaret Winthrop exists. But in her husband's eyes, at any rate, she was a woman of great personal attraction. Years after they were married he speaks of his longing to see again that 'sweet face- that lovely countenance I have so much delighted in and beheld with so great content.' Her character, on the other hand, stands out clearly enough in her letters and her actions. tions. We see her in religious matters seeing eye to eye with her husband, intent upon her household duties, careful of his creature comforts, sending him, to his London chambers, the simple products of her country farm, obedient to his wishes even in matters of dress, and, for his sake, giving up 'the ornaments which for Virgins and Knights, Daughters, &c., may be comely and tollerable, wch yet in soe great a change as thine is, may well admitt a change also.' Yet though thus submissive to her husband's wishes, Margaret Winthrop was a woman of high mettle and undaunted courage. Her fearlessness in greater matters was all the more admirable, because, in smaller things,

she was not above a woman's tremors. Her husband's work compelled him to live in London, while she remained in Suffolk, counting the days for his return at the end of the law terms. The separation was irksome to both, and John Winthrop proposed to take a house on the Surrey side of the river.

'I must,' writes his wife, 'aledge one thinge, that I feare in your cominge to and fro, lest if you should be ventrus upon the water, if your passage be by water, wch I know not, it may be dangerous for you in the winter time, the wether beinge colde and the waters perilous. And so I shoulde be in continuall feare of you lest you should take any hurt. I cannot but with greefe beare yor longe abscence, but I hope that this will be the last time we shall be so long asunder, wch doeth sumwhat stay and comfort me.'

Yet this woman, thus submissive to her husband's wishes and timorous for his safety in crossing the Thames, did not shrink from encouraging him, at the bidding of his conscience, to face the perils of the voyage to America, or from herself following him to their home in the New World. Well might Winthrop speak of her in his Journal as a helpe and encouragement to her husband in his duties, wherein soe many wives are so great a hindrance to their's.'

To a man like Winthrop the times, in spite of his domestic happiness, were evil.

'This Land,' he says, 'growes weary of her Inhabitants. All Artes & Trades are

carried on in that deceiptfull and unrighteous course, as it is almost impossible for a good & righteous man to mainetayne his charge and liue comfortablie in any of them. The ffountaines of Learning & Religion are corrupted.'

His thoughts began to turn with longing towards the New World. In October 1629 the offer came to him from the Massachusetts Bay Company to go out as Governor. He did not hesitate. His mind was made up at once. In March 1630 he had taken leave of his wife, and embarked on board the Arabella,' bound for New England. With him sailed his two youngest sons. In the autumn of the previous year he had written to his wife, preparing her for their separation. Margaret Winthrop's answer shows the mettle of which she was made.

'I knowe not how to expresse my love to thee or my desires of thy wished welfare, but my hart is well knowne to thee, which will make relation of my affections though they be smalle in appearance; my thoughts are more on our great

change and alteration of our course heare, which I beseech the Lord to bless us in & my good Husband cheare up thy hart in the expectacion of God's goodnesse to us, and let nothing dismay and discourage thee; my grefe is the feare of staying behind thee, but I must leave all to the good Providence of God.'

A few days were spent together, and then husband and wife were parted, he to face the dangers of the voyage, she to endure the harder trial of waiting in suspense.

On board the 'Arabella,' riding at Cowes, Winthrop, on March 28th, 1630, writes a last letter after the parting was

over.

'And now,' he says, 'my sweet soul, I must once again take my last farewell of thee in Old England. It goeth very near to my heart to leave thee. Oh, how it refresheth my heart to think that I shall yet again see thy sweet face in the land of the living!—that lovely countenance that I have so much delighted in, and beheld with so great content. There

fore I will take thee now and my sweet children in mine arms, and kiss and embrace you all, and so leave you with God. Farewell.'

Seventy-six days later Winthrop landed in New England. He found the colony in a deplorable state. The winter had been severe and prolonged. Ill-fed, badly lodged, and scantily clothed, many of the colonists had died. The survivors were 'weak and sick,' and their provisions were well-nigh exhausted. Winthrop's first care was to send back the 'Lyon' for fresh supplies; his next, to house and shelter the new settlers, while yet the summer lasted. Winter was soon upon them. Pierced to the bone by the fierce east winds, and chilled to the marrow by frosts and snow, the colonists died by the score. Hemmed in between the ocean and the gloomy forests, they kept starvation at bay by gathering clams and mussels from the frozen shore, or collecting ground-nuts and acorns. When they were almost at death's door, and the Governor had scraped his last handful of meal from his only remaining barrel, a vessel dropped her anchor in the Bay. It was the 'Lyon,' laden with provisions from home, and bringing news of the birth of Winthrop's daughter Ann.

Throughout this gloomy period Winthrop's resolution never faltered, though 'my much business hath made me too ofte forgett mundayes and frydayes (the days in which husband and wife

were in spirit to commune with each other). Writing to his wife, who was coming out to join him, he says:—

'It is enough that we shall have heaven though we should passe through hell to it. I thanke God, I like so well to be heer, as I do not repent my cominge; and if I were to come againe I would not have altered my course, though I had foreseen all these Afflictions. Í never fared better in my life, never slept better, never had more content of minde, wch comes meerly of the Lord's good hande, for we have not the like meanes of these comforts heer wch we had in England.'

A list of the stores which Margaret Winthrop was to bring with her might be compiled from the different letters written by her husband. From the contents of such a list may be gathered the wants of the infant colony. 'Ill diet at sea' had bred a fatal disease among the new settlers, and against this danger he specially warns his wife. For the voyage itself, fresh provisions were to be laid in.

She was to provide herself with cooking utensils, not forgetting

'a case to boyle a pudding in; store of linnen for use at sea; some drinkinge vessells & peuter &

other vessells.'

some

Among other stores are mentioned 'linnen, woollen, beddinge, brasse, peuter, leather bottells, drinkinge hornes, &c. Axes of severall sorts of the Braintree Smithe, or some other prime workman, whatever they coste,' Augurs great and smale,' 'candles, sope, and store of beife suett.' To his eldest son, who was expected in the same ship, he sends further instructions as to meal, peas, oatmeal, Suffolk cheese, sugar, fruit, figs, pepper, saltpetre, conserve of red roses, mithridate, pitch, tallow, and wine vinegar.

It is worthy of remark, that, with the exception of some sacke to bestowe among the saylors,' no mention is made of spirituous liquors of any kind.

In August 1631 Margaret Winthrop sailed in the ship 'Lyon.' With her went her little daughter Ann, who died at sea. After a voyage which lasted ten weeks, the Lyon' reached New England on November 2, and Winthrop describes the honors with which the Governor's wife was received on landing with her husband. A love of pomp and ceremony is one of those human failings in his character which make it more attractive. 'The ship gave them [salutes of] six or seven pieces,' as they left the side. On

shore, the captains, with their companions in arms, entertained them with guard, and divers vollies of shot and three drakes,' while the people flocked in from the country with stores of provisions 'fat hogs, kid, venison, poultry, geese, partridges, &c., so as the like joy and manifestation of love had never been seen in New England.'

The welcome was warm and kindly. But from the homely beauties of the rich meadows of Suffolk, then the best farmed county in England, the change to the wild forest lands of the New World must have been startling. have been startling. Margaret Winthrop was not, however, the woman to shrink from hardship, or lament the loss of comforts which she had deliberately abandoned. Her new home at Boston was a wooden structure, containing six rooms, besides offices and garrets, plain without and within, and barely furnished. It stood till the war of American Independence, when it was destroyed by the British soldiers for firewood. whole contents, at Winthrop's death, including the wearing apparel, arms, and armor, were valued at only 103/. 105. IId. The inventory is not without in

terest.

Its

On the ground floor were the hall,the living room of the house, the parlor and the study. The hall contained a table and cover, a cupboard, six chairs, a round white box, and a pair of snuffers. In the parlor were a standing bed with a down mattress, bolster, pillows, and coverlet, two trundle bedsteads, and two chests. In the study, filled with carpenter's tools, were probably ranged the thirty-nine theological books which Winthrop bequeathed to Harvard College. To a notable housewife, such as Margaret Winthrop had been in her own country, the contents of the kitchen were even more meagre.

The rooms above, the Hall chamber, the Porch chamber, and the Parlor chamber, were even more scantily furnished. The supply of linen was small. More than a fourth of the whole value of the contents of the house consisted of clothes. Among the latter three pairs of gloves are valued at 31. 7s. 6d.

Yet Margaret Winthrop never seems to have regretted the loss of the luxuries of her English home. She had 'passed the seas to inhabit and continue in New England,' and she made herself happy