'Thus as, in political affairs, anarchy invariably leads to despotism, so, in commerce, subversive competition always ends its disorderly and ruinous course in monopoly, which, whether avowed or tacit, individual or collective, is but despotism in a lower sphere. 'The cure for these evils lies in the competitive contract-system, which brings competition to bear _for_, instead of _in_, the field of supply, so as to obviate the reckless multiplication of establishments, and capitals, and staffs, for the performance of a service for which one would suffice. Evidence shews that the water-companies might be bought out, so as to clear the way for the consolidation of the water-supply with the drainage and other connected sanitary services, under a public authority, responsible to the rate-payers through parliament, and charged to supervise the due execution of the works by contractors competing freely, on open tender, in the public market--a system obviously calculated to secure for the public the best possible service at the lowest possible rates. By empowering such an authority to buy the companies out in full, with money borrowed at 3 or 3-1/2 per cent., we should come into possession of their works at an annual charge for interest, less, by nearly two-fifths, than our present annual payment to the companies; by consolidating the nine establishments thus acquired, we should save more than half the present working costs; and by the further consolidations referred to above, for which this first one would prepare the ground, we should still more reduce our annual charges, and still more improve our sanitary condition.' MICHAEL THE ARCHANGEL: A STATUETTE. My white archangel, with thy steady eyes Outlooking on this silent, ghost-filled room, Thy clasped hands wrapped on thy sheathed sword or doom, Thy firm-closed lips, not made for human sighs, Kisses, or smiles, or writhing agonies, But for divine exhorting, heavenly song, Bold, righteous counsel, sweet from seraph tongue-- Beautiful angel, strong as thou art wise, Would that thy sight could make me wise and strong! Would that this sword of thine, which idle lies Stone-planted, could wake up and gleam among The crowd of demons that with eager cries Howl in my heart temptations of world's wrong! _Lama Sabachthani_! How long--how long!