circle of bronze. It was thrown from behind a line and in a restricted space, a throw of 100 feet being exceptionally good. In at least three points of physical development, in his skin, in his foot, and in his trunk muscles, the ancient Greek was different from and superior to the modern Englishman. By constant exposure to sun and air, by massage, by regulated exercise, and above all by the use of oil, the Greek gained an elasticity of skin which meant health, vigour, and beauty. As Professor Bruecke says, 'The beauty of a delicate skin is the theme of universal praise, but the artist rejoices not 'so much in a delicate as in an elastic skin.' The various diseases and disabilities that come to us from closed pores and flabby skins the Greek escaped, because of the care he gave to the outer surface of his body. Again, in the form and structure of his foot he was different from us. The first three toes, far longer than ours, were thin and nervous like fingers and could get a real hold on the ground; the fourth toe was barely used, the little toe not at all. inclined to use our heels as the necessary security for balance, and even in our drill-books the command is that the weight of the body should be evenly distributed between the forepart of the feet and the heels. The Greeks, on the other hand, were trained from childhood in special movements on the ball of the foot, and with them the centre of gravity was just behind the toes instead of under the instep. As regards our feet and knees we have gone back, and are nearer the ape and the savage than were the ancients; the more perfect the human being, the smaller the heel and the little toe, the straighter the knee. Our feet are distorted by shoes whose heels disturb the natural balance; the second joint of the big toe becomes rigid, and then follows a state of paralysis for all the joints that are in line with it. The result is that our soldiers on the drill-ground have to be taught laboriously how to walk, while not one Englishman in ten has naturally a graceful carriage of the body; either he slouches or he is stiff.

But the most vital change of all is the alteration that has taken place in the waist-line and the front muscles of the body. It is at the waist that the lack of muscle tension is with us most apparent, for all the great central muscles of the diaphragm, abdomen, and back are now practically powerless. These are the muscles that Greek gymnastics aimed at develop

ing by means of jumping, wrestling, and throwing the diskos; and they became, as they should be, some of the strongest muscles in the human frame. In the present day they are the worst developed of all, and our bodies therefore fail to attain the beauty of the Greeks. It has often been said that the marvellous achievements of Greek sculptors were a result of their daily opportunities of seeing the nude form; but nudity alone does not suffice. The greatest sculptor of our time has tried the experiment of studying his nude models as they walk to and fro at their ease in his great room at the Hôtel Biron. We see the result: critics accuse him of a love for the grotesque and the uncouth, while Rodin himself is reduced to the theory that for the artist nothing is ugly. The truth is that the naked body of a modern grown man is not beautiful, and therefore a faithful transcription such as Rodin gives cannot be beautiful. But the Greek models were beautiful, because beauty of body had been developed by a system of gymnastics universally applied.

We moderns sit far too much and in wrong positions, while a Greek stood, walked, or lay, but seldom sat, and then never on a backed chair. Our clothing bunches round the waist and impedes the proper play of the muscles; the Greek loose single garment allowed a free current of air. Our clumsy boots produce clumsy feet. But all these are defects that even under our conditions of life can be largely rectified if once they are recognised and properly treated.

Our present indifference to physical training is a national disgrace. At Athens a law of Solon rendered gymnastic training compulsory for young people, and it was continued until the limit of old age. A good citizen regarded such exercises as a duty to himself and his country, and the wisest of the Greeks could say:

'It is a shameful thing to grow old in neglect, without having realised to the utmost such strength and beauty as your body is capable of. Strength and beauty will not come ' of themselves: the man who takes no care for them will never possess them.'

F. A. WRIGHT.

PATRIOTISM AND AGRICULTURE

Departmental Committee on the Home Production of Food (England and Wales). Interim Report. Cd. 8048. 1915.

AT

T the present crisis, and for the common good, the nation demands sacrifices from every class in the community. Those who do not respond to the demand fail in their public duty. Are farmers in this sense wanting in patriotism? This is a question which is widely asked, and, as a rule, it is unfavourably answered. A strong impression prevails that, as a class, farmers are not 'pulling their weight,' and that they are contributing to the cost and maintenance of the war less than their proportionate share of money, men, and munitions. A severe indictment is drawn against them. It is frequently said that, though the nation since the Napoleonic Wars has never run greater risks of real scarcity or of famine prices, they make but little effort to increase their production of bread and beef; that, as men of business, they are realising excessive profits out of the war; that, as a privileged class, most of them escape the income-tax on their swollen incomes; that, as parents, they prevent their sons from serving in the military forces of the Crown; that, as employers of labour, in spite of the increased cost of living, they pay inadequate wages to their men.

What is the origin of this widespread impression? Is it well founded? Are the charges true? and, if so, Can the facts be explained, extenuated, or justified? This is the difficult and somewhat delicate subject that it is proposed to discuss in the following pages.

Farming is not philanthropy. It is business. Like similar industrial and productive enterprises, it is a commercial enterprise run for profit. A farmer is a trader whose private capital is embarked in a legitimate and useful trade. He is out for money-making, like any other manufacturer or merchant. He cannot reasonably be expected to sacrifice his livelihood, any more than an artisan can reasonably be asked

to give his labour for nothing. He is only unpatriotic, if he takes an unfair advantage of the national necessities by exacting extortionate profits, or shirks his fair share of the national burdens, or makes an unreasonable use of the land which is not only private property but a national asset. In common fairness, therefore, attention should be at first exclusively concentrated on the business aspects of the discussion. It is only in this way that prejudice can be eliminated, and justice done. Predispositions colour impressions. Many persons who, since the commencement of the war, have completely changed their attitude towards the agricultural industry, resent the slowness with which it adapts itself to their own changed opinions; others are unfavourably influenced by prejudices on the so-called land questions; others, by the political atmosphere of suspicion with which of recent years the farming community has been surrounded. An attempt should at least be made to eliminate these predisposing influences, if we really wish to discover whether the widespread impression of unpatriotic conduct is well or ill founded.

Some part of the unfavourable impression which has been formed of agriculturists is due to impatience that they have not at once realised the complete, though in all probability temporary, change in the national view of British agriculture. Under the stress of circumstances arising out of the war, the country is suddenly demanding from farmers something which it did not want a few months ago. To-day it asks for a large home-production of wheat, though for the last seventy years it has never troubled to consider where its food came from. Yet because there is now a necessary diminution in our exports, farmers are expected to redress the adverse balance of trade by the production of larger supplies at home. It is easy for those who have no financial interests at stake to change their opinions in a hurry on the conduct of any particular industry. But those whose money is in the business affected may well require time to count the cost of the change.

It may, however, be argued that the change is, after all, not so very sudden. For the last few years attention has been increasingly called to the neglected potentialities of British land by two different sections of the community. Before the war, practical agriculturists, who fully realised that higher yields can only be obtained from the land by greater expenditure,

urged that prices were rising to a point when that increased outlay would prove remunerative. The period of depression which justified, and indeed necessitated, the withdrawal of land from arable cultivation and the reduction of expenditure on the area still under the plough, was passing, if it had not passed. The high-farming methods of the early 'seventies would once more pay. But by far the most clamorous demand for the development of all the resources of the soil came from a more numerous body. Their point of view was, in the main, social and political. Their arguments were not based on any possible danger to the food-supplies of the nation, or on any necessity of redressing the balance of trade by increasing the home-production of bread and beef. They advocated the use of the land for the purposes which are best adapted to small holdings and to providing a livelihood from the soil for the largest number of persons. Heaths and moorlands were regarded as potential cornfields without regard to costs of cultivation; high yields were treated as always profitable; and the farmer's neglect to raise from the soil the utmost possible amount of produce was said to rob the country of a more abundant supply of food at a less cost both to producer and consumer.

On these and similar grounds the country was ready to think evil of the farmer. The seed-bed, so to speak, had been prepared. It is, therefore, the more essential to call attention to the business propositions involved. The farmer's position should be considered as a manufacturer of produce. From this point of view, the five heads of the indictment against the farming community may be conveniently discussed in the order given in the opening paragraph of this article.

The first count in the indictment is the familiar charge of under-cultivation--aggravated, as it now appears to be in the eyes of the nation, by necessities arising out of the war. Nothing illustrates more forcibly the change in the attitude towards agriculture than the different aspect from which this subject is now regarded. Only a few months ago the substitution of small holdings for large farms was the favourite panacea. The capacity of the land to give employment to a greater number of persons, profitably engaged in raising the minor products of agriculture and in the practice of horticulture, was the point on which attention was then concen