yet," the Rubio answered, and then, throwing the window open wide, the sunlight filled the room, falling upon the figure in the bed and on the group of doctors standing by expectantly. It filled the room, and through the window showed the mountains standing out blue above Tarifa, the strait, calm as a sheet of glass, except where the two "Calas" cut it into foam. It fell upon the cliffs which jut into the sea below Hope House; upon the hills of Anjera, and on the bird-like sails of the feluccas in the bay, filling the world with gladness that a new day was born. Still on his bed the Rubio lay, pale with his long confinement, and with The Saturday Review. his hands nervously feeling at his eyes. All saw that the experiment had failed, and with a groan the German man of science buried his head between his hands and sobbed aloud, the tears dimming his spectacles and running down upon his beard. With a grave smile the patient got out of his bed, and having felt his way to where he heard the sobs, laid his rough, freckled hand upon the shoulder of his friend, and said as unconcernedly, as if he had not suffered in the least, "Weep not; it was not written"; then, looking round, asked for a boy to lead him back again to his accustomed seat upon his stone. R. B. Cunninghame Graham. NOVEMBER, 1907: NOVEMBER, 1908. It is just twelve months since New York was shaken by the great crisis to which the present depression is primarily due. The year has been a troubled one, and even now there is not much in the situation from which we can draw encouragement; but we may at least be thankful that the political disturbances -the turmoil in the Balkans and the hubbub of the Presidential election in America-have come this autumn instead of last. It is not pleasant to think of what would have happened if the financial panic had coincided at once with the European political crisis and the oratorical campaigns of Mr. Bryan and Mr. Taft. The comparative ease with which the various Stock Exchanges passed through the recent war scare, and the fact that no English firm of any size was ruined by the slump in prices may serve to point the contrast between the position now and the position a year ago, when important people were "talked about," and cases of insolvency were common. How far would Consols have dropped if the New York depositors had started their run on the banks at the same moment that Austria threw down the glove to Turkey? The contrast between the two years, indeed, is so remarkable that, even at the risk of re-treading old ground, we may count the changes which have taken place, and recapitulate some of the main points of difference. To begin with the money market. At this time last year, as we showed in our money article a week ago, the stock of coin in the chief banks of the world was some £80,000,000, or 20 per cent., less than the sum held by them at the present time; credit was already extended to a dangerous point, and there was still the worst of the American crisis to be faced, and the heaviest demand of depositors to be satisfied. Our own Bank rate, which is now 22 per cent., rose in a week from 5 to 7 per cent.; the Reichsbank raised its rate to 72 per cent.; the Bank of France to 4 per cent., and the Austro-Hungarian Bank to 6 per cent. But in spite of these defensive measures the drain of gold to America continued, and it was an open question whether we should get through to Christmas without the declaration of an 8 per cent. minimum from the Bank of England. The strain entailed by these high monetary rates was naturally enormous, and reports which we published at the time from many representative British industries proved how severely it was felt, not merely by stockbrokers and financiers, but by commercial men in every walk of life. Thanks to the long warning that had been given and the admirable way in which the Bank of England met the crisis, actual failures in this country were comparatively few; but in the United States, in Germany, in Holland, and in South America a number of merchants and manufacturers collapsed because they could not borrow money enough to support their credit. Now money is something of a drug, and the difficulty is not to borrow but to lend; profits, indeed, are lower, but the strain has gone, and there is no feeling that the City is living from hand to mouth. But unhappily, though the strain no longer presses on the City it is still felt-and felt far more strongly-by the working classes, who are now in the worst position they have known for some years. In our own country the percentage of trades unionists unemployed was 4.6 per cent. in November, 1907; it is 9.6 per cent. now. In the Eastern States of America there are, according to friendly estimates, one and a half million men out of work, and in Germany the municipalities have been forced to the desperate remedy of starting relief works, and are spending large sums out of the rates to make a census of the unemployed and support the workmen and their families. Last autumn it was the financiers who were in trouble; this year it is the working men. The one evil is the necessary sequel of the other, and until we have learnt the art of avoiding panics we shall not master the secret of employment. In the industrial world the position has been enormously altered since last November. Manufacturers have been relieved from the pressure of dear money and the high prices of commodities, but demand has fallen off proportionately, and in every great manufacturing centre abnormal activity has been succeeded by abnormal slackness. In the first seven months of the year British foreign trade declined by about 10 per cent., and American foreign trade by 17 per cent., while there is a corresponding loss in the figures of all the continental countries. Our index number of prices, which will be brought up-to-date in next week's issue, fell from 2,457 at the end of September, 1907, to 2,168 at the end of August, 1908, and although there has since been a marked recovery it is still impossible to say whether prices have returned permanently to the higher level. Last year the most sensational decline was, of course, in the price of copper, which fell by 40 per cent. in about three months, and touched £60 per ton at the beginning of the crisis. Since that time the quotation, though fluctuating from day to day and week to week, has been, on the whole, more steady, and is almost exactly the same now as it was twelve months ago. fact, many competent observers believe that commercial interests would have been better served if American speculators and producers-not merely of copper but of iron and steel-had held out less firmly for their high prices, and had allowed the value of metals to fall with the general decline in trade. For some months the managers of the Steel Corporation fought desperately to maintain their quotations, and as long as they fought the consumer, so long did their business decline; whereas now that they have recognized the ele In mentary rules of supply and demand their business is beginning to revive, and the quarterly reports show unmistakable signs of recovery. The truth is that in times of depression salvation lies in cheap prices of raw material and food, and a combination to render commodities artificially dear is the heaviest incubus that could be placed on industry. Fortunately the price of wheat is about 5s a quarter lower now than it was a year ago, and from the cheapening of this primary commodity, Great Britain, in common with every other country, should derive the greatest benefit. If only the American harvest had turned out as well as the Wall Street optimists anticipated, the prospect of a general recovery would be a good deal nearer. The changes with which we have hitherto been dealing-changes in the money market, in employment and in industry-all result naturally and inevitably from a breakdown of credit; given the crisis, they might all have been predicted in more or less of detail But on the Stock Exchange the year's events have been more obscure, and the course of prices more difficult to follow. The accepted theory that cheap money brings business to the stock markets has been partially confirmed, and the position of dealers and brokers is certainly better now than it was last autumn; but the change has not been altogether satisfactory, and the improvement in prices has come at unexpected points. American railways, which have been worse hit by the depression than any other, have risen The Economist. very rapidly, and the average price of twelve leading stocks is now 981⁄4, against 77% last November, so that there has been a change of 21% points, or 28 per cent. We have never understood, and we still do not understand, what justification there is for this sudden appreciation. Mining securities have also risen to a much higher level, but here there is a valid reason in the improvement of the industry, and the permanent reduction of working expenses. Consols, meanwhile, which ought to gain most from a 2, per cent. Bank rate, have risen very little, and stand only two points higher than at the end of October twelve months ago. At one time this year they rose as high as 88, but they have sunk back gradually and still show little signs of recovery. The weakness of the gilt-edged market is not easily explained, but in so far as it results from the fear of more issues of Irish Land stock it must continue until the finance of the Act has been satisfactorily arranged. This is a point that a good many of us overlooked when we prophesied a rising gilt-edged market on the strength of cheap money rates. Whether we are yet in sight of the trade recovery is a point on which no one is likely to dogmatize; but it is significant that the most recent trade returns of America, of the United Kingdom, of France, and of Belgium show a simultaneous increase, and we may hope that "the dim signs on the horizon," of which the Prime Minister spoke last week, will prove to be the dawning of a better day. HOOKS AND EYES. DISCURSIONS. She (entering). Charles! You'll be late again; and you know the Lampeters are the soul of punctuality. Now do try to be in time. He (testily). I'm trying as hard as I can, but I don't think you can help me, you know. I can beat the record right enough if you'll only leave me alone. (Proceeds to unbutton his waistcoat.) Do clear out. Why, you're not ready yourself Your dress isn't done up behind. She. That's just it. I want you to do it up. Poor Eliza's got a sick headache, and the other maids are so busy and so clumsy I don't like to take up their time. I wish you'd do it for me, there's a dear. Got him. Three cheers. Where He. Right. I'll do it; but it'll make me late, you know. Let's have a look. (He approaches her, takes the back of her dress in hand, and begins operations.) Hooks? Yes, I see the hooks, but I'm hanged if I can see any eyes. Yes, here's a little Johnnie all ready for his hook. the- No, that's the wrong one. Here he is. Missed him! Do, for heaven's sake, keep still! How do you expect me to do you up when you're wriggling about like an eel? Now you've got your front to the light. Turn round. (He seizes her violently and whirls her round.) She. I'm not a top, Charles. He. I don't care what you are, but I'm going to get this beggar of a hook in or She (faintly). Oh! He. Don't yell like that. It only puts me off. Now, then, all together. Whoo-ooNo, he's out again. Come back, you little Aha, would you? Plop! he's in. Stop! Stop!! STOP!!! (He stands off and contemplates his handiwork with a look of despair.) She. What is the matter? You'll have the whole house in here if you shout like that. He (wildly). They've all got loose again. As soon as ever I put number four in the other three simply romped out with a rush, and―(inspecting)—yes, they've taken number four with them. I must start again. (He does so.) That's one. (He places his thumb firmly on number one, and proceeds.) No, you don't. You'd better come quietly. There. She (looking over her shoulder into the glass). I knew you'd do it, Charles. You've missed the two top eyes. He (madly). Do you mean to say I've got to take 'em out again? She. Yes; look at the top. It laps over. D'you see? Oh, oh, oh! Don't put your knuckles into my backbone. I shall be black and blue, and what will they all think? Take it quietly, quietly, quietly. You'll tear it to strips. Oh! He (between his clenched teeth). Don't struggle. It's useless. I'm going to do this infernal job if it keeps me here till midnight. One! got him. Cheer up. They're coming along. Heave ho! Hooked, by Jove! Now we shan't be long. Want votes, do you? With dresses like that? Why She. Well, you 've got a vote. He (still working). What's that got to do with it? She. Fancy giving a vote to a man who can't get a hook into its own little eye. Charles, I'm ashamed of you. He. Oh, do be quiet. If you'll only shut up for half a minute-I've torn my finger on something. Get in, won't you, get in. (Screaming.) They're all out again! (He sits down on a chair and mops his face.) It's no use, old girl, I can't do it, and my finger's bleeding, and I've only got five minutes for dressing. You'll have to go down with your dress undone. Tell 'em it's the new style all the duchesses dine like that now-no self-respecting woman ever dreams of doing up her dresstell 'em any old story. (He rises painfully and takes off his waistcoat. is a little knock at the door.) There [Enter a little girl, aged about 8, in a pink dressing-gown. Little Girl. I thought I heard you call, mummy. Punch. She. Yes, darling, I did. I wanted you badly. Now stand on that footstool and fasten up mother's dress, just to show Dad how it's done. (The little girl does the whole business without a break in about half a minute.) Thank you, darling. (Kisses her.) Now come away back to bed. (To Him). Hurry up, Charles. There's a ring at the door. It's the Lampeters. I'll make an excuse for you. We're going now, unless you'd like Polly to stay and tie your white tie. He. Oh, do go, and let me dress. (They go.) He (alone). Now to bust the record. (He looks at the white shirt laid out for him.) No studs in it. Where are they? And that tie's no good. Must wear it all the same. Now for it. [Left struggling with his dressing, while the guests assemble downstairs. BOOKS AND AUTHORS The latest volume in the Popular Library of Art, of which E. P. Dutton & Co. are the American publishers, is devoted to that strange and whimsical genius George Cruikshank, and is written by W. H. Chesson. It is a wellproportioned study of the eccentric and imaginative caricaturist, fifty or sixty of whose drawings are reproduced in the accompanying illustrations. Mr. Augustus Thomas's "The Witching Hour," is a novel made from a play in which thought transmission is one of the chief agents; in which defects, thought to be hereditary and incurable, are removed by suggestion, and a strong-willed, able-bodied man is forced by suggestion to act against his own interest. The story is interesting, although the chivalric, brave, self-sacrificing gambler is anything but real. Harper & Brothers. The brief story of Hero and Leander has been extended by Professor Martin Schütze into a brief spectacular drama in which the Priest of Venus Urania in Lesbos figures as restraining Hero from deserting her duty to marry Leander, and from creating a scandal by lighting his way across the straits. The entire action is included in a few days, and the clearly written dialogue and the arrangement of the scenes would make the presentation of the play perfectly possible. As a reading drama it is somewhat fragmentary, but its ingenuity is undeniable. Henry Holt & Co. Badpai, otherwise Pilpay, is a sage known to all Southern and Eastern Asia, and for seven or eight centuries known to Europe, and the versions of his fables are countless, but his name is unfamiliar to most American chil |