But at home this is forgotten, you are in conversation with a philosophic mind, who takes broad views of God’s providence of nature’s laws, and human aims and efforts. Let me remind a few of a few of his opinions. I hazard the remark, that it a pity our best coal is being given away; that there is a limit to our coal wealth; that a time will come when our coal great mineral; fields will be exhausted; and then, what then? “First,” said he, if such coals as No. 3 Rhondda mould run out in a comparatively short period, others as useful will remain, and even at the lowest estimate our stores will last for I couple of thousand years. Quite long enough for us. Nations have a life, the same as individuals, and, judging from the past, and the past is always a guide for the future, for no nation has ever retained its greatness for two thousand years, the duration of our coal will be ample for that of our needs." "Would it not, however," I suggest, “be a politic course to improve prices for coal-owners to band in unison?"

"I don't want to use harsh expressions," he said, "but it would be simply damnable by any artificial course you name to force prices beyond that rate which is brought about by the law of supply and demand. It is a law of God's providence, as shown by wiser men than you or that the price of coal should be dependent upon that of demand, just as that of any or produce." "But should not coal be exceptional to that of corn?" I rejoin. He held manured and treated with alternate crops, dowered by the rain, the snow, and the sunshine, is literally inexhaustible; the gardens of Jerusalem, prolific in the days of Christ, are prolific now, but our coal is not renewed. "We have enough and to spare," he repeated; "the world is wide, and the mineral extent scarcely guessed at; besides, science advances yearly, and in my time, I have seen a wonderful limitation in the use of coal in iron manufacture."

I drift away from coal and iron and get into politics. "Have you seen Gladstone's last speech?" “No, I take little interest in politics; but your question reminds me of Roebuck's reply to the same query, ‘I wish to God I had!' I have no faith in the man," he continued, "or his class.” It is preposterous to think that, from beginning to end, the Conservatives have been always wrong. Their opponents do not deny them the possession of great mental power; and to think that such mental power is always systematically used not only foolishly, but against the best interests of our land, of England, is what no impartial reasoning mind will admit for a moment. The Liberals in their every-day social and commercial life, do not think so; but touch upon politics, and the men who, as friends, dealers, or manufacturers, are trustworthy, become other beings. Do not behave in it, Care little about politics. since the stream becomes so muddied and defiled." I agree with him, and lament that the Liberals should decry their countrymen as inhuman in their action against the Zulus. "Exactly," he said:

"Tis the mission of the white man to spread over the earth just as it is for the weak to give way to the strong. Read by the light of the past it is God's providence, and yet the preacher denounces it as sinful. What would America be if it had been left to the North American Indian, or New Zealand and Australia to the Aborigines? The black man and the red man must give way to the white. Certainly, individual instances of cruelty exist; you need not go farther than Merthyr tb find individual cases of cruelty also; but, generally speaking, they are exceptional, and are lost in the great survey of things."

I refer to the short-sighted notions of preachers of the Gospel, who support the ultra-Liberal and believe, or say they do, that the Conservatives have hounded on English soldiers to every species of imaginable wrong. “Have no faith in them,” he said, “Ministers as a rule are narrow men, and preachers more so. They look at the world as confined to a little circle bounded by the horizon;” and their God, I add, just such another as Jupiter in the clouds immediately over them, listening to the singing and pleased with the harps. He laughed, and the theme was changed.

At another time the conversation ran into another groove, and English literature became the subject. He admitted a hearty belief in Carlyle, “one of the few great men of the world." I submitted that he was over-estimated, that his ruggedness was an assumption in great part, as it was seen clearly in "Sartor Resartus" that lie could write pure and euphonious English if he liked. “Yes, by way of diversion," he said; but the rugged was his native speech. His words are concentrations of wisdom. The flowing language of some writers pass before the eye. but leave nothing to think about. It is not solid enough. Carlyle’s, on the contrary, makes you think. You cannot grapple it at first, but when you do, you find you have something worth holding." No one had read Carlyle more carefully than he, and yet the works of Carlyle, like those of Adam Smith, and of many a sober thinker, constitute only the amusements of those few hours of relaxation which the great duties of Dowlais Works entailed.. . cont'd. . .