perty of others, I keep or preserve my own individual property ?” Oh, shameful speech! The earth having been given in common to all men, nobody can be proprietor of anything which exceeds his own natural wants, amongst the things which he has taken away from, or keeps back from, the common fund or stock, and which force or violence alone can preserve for him."

(To be continued.)

SELFISH CO-OPERATION.

(To the Editor of the "Working Man.")

In many of the communications which have been invested in the pages of "The Co-operator," there are strong condemnations of the principal feature of mankind; namely, selfishness, as if to have it were injurious to the welfare of society, and degrading to the person influenced by it; in fact, that it is an abominable thing in the breast of everyone, and ought to be excluded from the agents of co-operators as well as the rest of mankind. For instance, the second paragraph of Mr. John Hough's otherwise excellent paper, read at the Prestwich Co-operative Society, begins thus-"Co-operation does not arise from any morbid or selfish feelings." Now, in this assertion there is both a truth and a falsehood. That co-operation does not arise from any morbid feelings is so self-evident that there cannot be a doubt that the proposition is a truth; but not so that co-operation does not arise from any selfish feelings. It is either the immediate or the prospective pleasure that our acts, whether individually or in co-operation, will afford us that impels us to perform them, and, calculated, constitute the motives of our actions. Man never thinks of co-operating till he cannot perform alone. Indeed, society arose by the protection that numbers cooperating afford to individuals of it.

The grand inducement held out to the oppressed, impoverished working man is, that, by the joint subscription, trade, and manufactures of his fellow-men, he may elevate himself from the poverty, weakness, ignorance, and slavery that he is now foundering in. It is his interest to find himself in co-operation, because he will accomplish that which he cannot do out of it. Then let us ask to whom is union and co-operation addressed. Is it to the comfortable owner of his dwelling, or is it to the poor, homeless, hard-working man that is dependent on the capability of his employer for the sale of the productions of the hands that are in that employer's factory?

Is it not man's necessity of ease, pleasure, and happiness--his selfishness— that is made the lever of his reasoning? The pleasure that he will receive is the promise to him for his co-operation, and the motive for his entering into it. Permit me to foretell that, unless the arrangements of association or society be in harmony with the selfish ease, pleasure, and happiness, of human nature, they will not be lasting, or even individually attractive.

These remarks may be distasteful to some of your readers who have not yet traced their actions, however benevolent they may have been, or however disagreeable to perform, to their bearing on themselves; but they should keep in mind that the effect of certain actions may be very pleasant, yet the performance to accomplish that effect may be quite the reverse of agreeable.

Would it not be more consistent with the facts of human nature to drop all the erroneous denying of selfishness in our actions and false condemnation of their lever, than to mislead and deny its existence, and to pretend to and require an excellence that is contrary to nature?

The moral aim of co-operation is to raise up our fellows by the regard to society of their actions, and to check their selfishness only where it becomes unjust or injurious.

Were we deprived of selfish pleasure and the power and knowledge how to increase it, would life be any benefit to us? Is it not our pleasure that we seek all day and even night? Sometimes, it is true, mortifying ourselves when we do so:ne things for others; but should we not be much more so by the pain of public or certain private opinion being against us for not having done that which may be expected of us?

It appears that the selfishness of man is one of the blessings which have been conferred on him at his creation, or mankind would be without that universal law of the will and action of man which makes him everywhere the same pleasure-seeking creature, experimenting continually to have it, but moderated happily by the control of his own sense, and that of his companions, of justice to others in the pursuit of pleasure for himself. G. R. SKENE.

NATIONAL REFORM CONFERENCE (?).

(To the Editor of the "Working Man.")

On the 20th and 21st, the Whittington Club-house was the scene of another of those gatherings whose "National representative importance is more pretentious than real, whose greatest crime is not that of reproducing itself. ̄In an age hardly passed, "Honour God and the King" was the great commandment. In this age, "Honour God and Humbug "holds the same place. Men have learned that the first contains a solecism; they are learning the same lesson of the last; and soon such galvanized assemblages will pass away, and thus prevent a nation's name and a nation's business being taken in hand in vain. We, who as earnestly desire (organic) "reform" as do any of the "Radical Reform " gentlemen who met on the above occasion have no faith in working for political party compromise. This was our reason for refusing to serve a "constituency by sitting on that conference, and our faith is stronger in the "conferences" of the unemployed operatives of Lancashire and Yorkshire for effecting political change, than in all the finely-drawn meaningless programmes of a collection of men accustomed to mere twaddle and routine. We can only adhere to our stupid notions and recognise man as a man, be he pauper, peer, or peasant, and if the "gentlemen" who pay for "getting up" these conferences were but true to their own doctrines of political economy, they would allow things-as surely they will to rectify themselves in this, as well as in other branches of human affairs. Their measure of political reform, like their political economy, we believe to be false and mischievous, hence their gratuitous palliation. As if to give casts to the proceedings, several M.P's. were present and talked as no other meu can talk. Mr. Baines said, "What he heard in the House of Commons was, that the country does not demand reform. It was for the conference to show that the country did demand it; for as soon as the constituencies spoke plainly, &c." Will the conference do this? We think not. Will the (present) constituencies do it? We believe not. It is the work of the country at large making a large and emphatic demand that will effect the proper "supply." Mr. Taylor (Leicester) said, "He believed reform must be attained progressively. What they wanted now was to get in the thin end of the wedge, and the rest would follow." This is worse than twaddle, it is delusion. What is progress? Is it a thing to be taught in our schools under the "Revised Educational Code?" and as to the "thin-end-of-the-wedge" parlance, this was said before the measure of 1831 and 2 was gained, and the consequence has been a worse "rest" to the unenfranchised. After all what is it the conference has undertaken to "show that the country demand!" Simply a "rating franchise," thus, then, a power is to be given to a power already too powerful for evil overseers and poor-law authorities. Will the people shout, "God bless them?" And does such an effete organisation merit the serious consideration and support of zealous reformers? For ourselves we prefer the right, and will continue to work, watch, and wait to obtain it.

G. E. H.

SLOWLY Curled the wreaths of white smoke above Mr. Angus's head as he sat late that night, after Helen had left him, to enjoy his accustomed cigar. He always liked to pass an hour alone in this way before retiring for the night. It was on occasions like this that many of his most extensive and successful schemes had been planned; and he had established a kind of fanciful theory, that as he sat and sent wreath after wreath circling towards the ceiling, he could identify them with his varied speculations, and could augur good or bad fortune according to the course pursued by these misty oracles. It was a childish fancy, but it is in methods such as these, that minds stretched to their utmost capacity of endurance in the restless struggles of ambition and aggrandisement seek to regain their equilibrium. The conqueror who decides the destinies of empires or the fate of millions, and the millionaire who rules the markets, whether of gold or labour-yield alike to the common weaknesses of humanity, and demand reaction and repose. The habit of linking the ruling thoughts of the day with the nightly recreation of his cigar forced itself on Mr. Angus now; but it was no longer the hard city speculator sending off his phantom fleets upon imaginary ventures, and watching their return, rich argosies with costly freights and countless gains; but it was the employer, the father, the man, awakened for the first time to the consciousness that others might have dreams in connexion with his speculations as well as himself, and that what to him had been the aim and end of life, ministering to his pride and self-confidence, and surrounding him with luxurious indulgences, might be the withering atmosphere, deadly and destructive to those compelled to waste their lives beneath its influence. Pale forms plying their midnight toil peered down at him from misty garrets, and the smoke of his Havannah, as it curled upward, spread itself out into broad sheets of calico, now assuming the forms of garments so familiar in his warehouse, but suddenly changed into shrouds and funeral palls. The scene which his daughter had so vividly described as having witnessed in the poor weaver's attic, rose suddenly before him, but it was Helen, not Mary, who sat pallid and exhausted over her needle. He tried to drive the hideous phantom from his brain, but it rose again more distinctly to his view. She uttered no reproach, but the silent, uncomplaining sadness with which she plied her monotonous task stung him to the soul. To think of his own child reduced to such a fate seemed a calamity too great for endurance, yet it was by such toil that he himself grew rich. Did the poor fever-smitten weaver love his daughter less, or was it possible that even a fraction of the anguish that rent Mr.

Angus's heart at the mere thought of such a doom for Helen could really le the Millicents' daily, hourly experience? Success had so long attended his efforts in trade, that the possibility of reverse, of disaster, of poverty, had never occupied his mind. He had been too busily and too pleasantly occupied in getting and enjoying wealth to think of building on any other foundation, and he stood appalled at the bare thought of the ruin to which, as a mere thing of money, he was exposed. A new and terrible, but wholesome truth, stood revealed to his soul; he felt that the only ties which had hitherto bound him to the world and to his fellow-men were those of sordid interest-he knew that he was looked up to and respected in the city only as a successful and prosperous tradesman-and that the measure of men's esteem for his character was proportioned precisely to the extent of his credit. He was envied by rivals, feared by dependants-he was loved by his daughter alone, for she was the only being whose happiness or welfare he had really made an effort to promote.

In the presence of such thoughts as these the proud, self-confident man of the world was overthrown, and Mr. Angus felt that there were relationships between himself and the great human family, and between his soul and God, the claims of which he had too long neglected; a sense of the misery of others had for the first time reached his own heart, and a feeling of its bitterness touched him with the keenest remorse, not only in the recollection of opportunities neglected for lightening the woes of others, but in the consciousness that his own prosperity had been too much built upon the grinding depression of those who laboured in his employ. His natural energy of character, however, saved him from yielding to mere idle regretshe had long been accustomed to meet and overcome every difficulty that obstructed his path in the pursuit of his business schemes-he had now a new purpose to occupy his thoughts and to tax all his resources. To discharge his scantily paid work-people would only precipitate the entire ruin of many-to pay them all at once remunerating wages might bring ruin on himself. The competition of the times must be met as much for the sake of the employed as the employers. He resolved that it should be met no longer with cold and heartless reference to his own profit, but that he would identify in future his own interest, as far as practicable, with that of his toiling dependants; and this resolution kindled in his heart emotions of pleasure which he felt to be incomparably richer than those springing from any selfish triumph he had ever known.

"Well, Helen," said he the following day at the breakfast table, "I have been planning with Donald this morning, and he thinks they can rig up a bed for poor Millicent at their cottage, and they will try to make room for Mary too, to wait upon her father, so we must see about getting them down here this afternoon, if you think you can get your preparations complete so soon. You had better run down to the cottage after breakfast, and see what things Jessie will want; she will very likely grumble at Donald for agreeing to turn her house out of window, but if she knows that it is done to please you, she will make light work of it, even if you bid her turn the house topsy turvy."

Donald was Mr. Angus's gardener, and held undisputed sway over the gardens and grounds of Athol Lodge. He had grown grey in the service, and was a privileged person in the establishment. Like most Scottish

gardeners, he was thoroughly skilled in his profession, and a knowledge of his own superiority made him a somewhat opinionated and dictatorial personage. Mr. Angus he looked upon as the most wonderful man of business and the most pitiably ignorant gardener in existence, and he treated him accordingly with an amusing mixture of deferential respect and compassionate tolerance. The only authority to which he paid the slightest deference in his own department was Helen's. She had been his pupil from a child, and he often

boasted that he had made her pretty nigh as good a gardener as himself, and in matters of taste, were their opinions sometimes clashed, she carried her point with so much gentleness and tact, that even Donald would acknowledge her superiority, and declare that she had "some spell o' her ain that wad mak a fairy land out o' a desert."

Mr. Angus undertook to arrange for the removal of the Millicents in the course of the day, whilst Helen busied herself in preparing for their reception in Donald's cottage, and as his daughter flung her arms around his neck and thanked him with tearful eloquence for his generous sympathy in behalf of this poor family, he felt that even in those emotions which subdued him to the momentary weakness of tears himself, there was a glow of pure and holy joy that he had never known before.

Great was Mary Millicent's astonishment and alarm as she opened the door of their attic in answer to Mr. Angus's knock, and recognised in him so unexpected a visitor. Dropping a hasty curtsey, she sought hurriedly the only chair she had to place for Mr. Angus's accommodation, whilst she vainly strove to quiet the violent beating of her heart, whose rapid pulsations almost threatened to deprive her of consciousness. The tones of Mr. Angus's voice assured her, however, that he came not in anger to reproach her, as she feared, for her application to his daughter. How great was her surprise, when, in a few kind and cheerful words, he explained to her the object of his visit, and gave her directions to prepare for the removal of her father at once into the country. She could only sob out her mingled apologies and thanks, whilst her father, in a voice husky with emotion, exclaimed, "God be praised for that sweet angel's visit yesterday. I haven't been like the same cretur' ever since, it seemed to put a new heart in me, sir, and now you've come to take us out of this hole, I feel as tho' I may get to be a man again, and do something for my own flesh and blood once more. My poor girl was breaking down fast, Sir; she couldn't ha' stood it much longer. May God reward her and you, Sir, and that sweet young lady, for all that you have done by me."

Mr. Angus talked long and kindly with the weaver and his daughter. He learnt much that was new and painful to him of the condition of large numbers of the industrious poor, and was shocked when told by Mary the number of hours, from early morning until late at night, occupied not only by herself, but by all those dependant upon their needles for a livelihood-in earning the scanty pittance which they received from such establishments as his own. He now learnt, however, for the first time, how much the sufferings of this wretched class were augmented by the intervention of middle-men and middle-women, between the operatives and employers. He knew that this system had been adopted to lessen the trouble of superintending large numbers of workpeople, but he had no idea of the heavy per centage deducted from the scanty earnings of the workwoman in consequence of this arrangement, and he saw in a thorough personal revision of this system one immediate source of relief for those whose interests he became increasingly anxious to consult.

Having made inquiries into the immediate necessities of the family, he left a sum of money to discharge some small arrears of rent and other trifling debts, and promised to send a conveyance to take them down to their new lodging the same evening. He arranged with the landlady of the house to take charge of the weaver's loom and few articles of furniture until he was able to resume his work, and then pursuing his way into the city, he entered his counting-house with a new sense of pleasure derived from the power of doing good.

(To be continned.)