A certain unaffected hopelessness characterises the mood of modern men, for which it is difficult to find an adequate cause. There is a pessimism rife to-day, which, far from being a pose or a pretence, lies so deeply imbedded in the hearts of most people, that it is their constant effort to conceal, rather than to proclaim it, when they are in the presence of their fellows. A cheerful smile, a laugh that sounds like merriment, a vivacious and buoyant manner--these outward signs of unruffled gaiety may now be simulated by men when they are in company; they may even be enjoined upon all as social etiquette; but when once he is left to himself, modern man smoothens out his laugh-wrinkled cheeks, compresses his relaxed lips, and abandons himself to that attitude of mind now perhaps as universal as it is secret, which for lack of a better term we may describe as settled despondency. Among the cultivated this attitude remains more or less a private concern of the individual. The thinking man, unlike the savage, does not beat his wife and children, or blame his immediate surroundings, if he feels hopeless. He knows the cause is probably more remote than the behaviour of his kith and kin, or circle of friends; and though he may be as incapable as the savage of finding the true cause, he withholds his anger, or postpones the expression of his gloomy thoughts until such time as their true cause becomes apparent to him. Among the uncultivated, however, this mood of gloom or of convinced despair, harbouring as it does in minds that are less inclined to be philosophical, renders them litigious and vindictive. Some one or some circumstance not too remote must be responsible, it is thought, for their peevishness; they therefore become irascible and angry, and seek to vent their spleen on that person or thing which, on the strength of its proximity alone, appears to be the immediate cause of their ill-humour. Conditions that satisfied them theretofore now become insufferable and must be changed; prospects that smiled upon them formerly now appear too black to be faced with calm. Pleasure--or rather distraction--is sought feverishly, gluttonously, until, since it leaves them still with the old langour at their hearts, it also is rejected as part of the general conspiracy to depress their spirits. Nothing pleases, nothing beckons. The same aching certainty of discontent always returns, whatever else may go. When a nation feels like this, when a [p155] whole continent feels like this, there arises what politicians are pleased to call a state of “social unrest.” By giving it a name it is hoped presumably that it will be explained away. Unfortunately, however accurate the terms of a description may be, they do nothing towards helping to remove the trouble they describe. But in this particular case it may be questioned whether the words “social unrest” form even an accurate description.