The millstones of Capital and Labour, the upper and the nether, grind slowly but exceeding small

And Liberalism . . . Liberalism, with its fatal trust in compromise, had evaded the issue onc e again. But, slide and wriggle as it would, there was a doom which it could not evade. The millstones of Capital and Labour, the upper and the nether, grind slowly but exceeding small, and Liberalism was caught between them. It might put off the evil hour, poor slippery old faith, but they would crush it in the end.

G. Dangerfield, The strange death of liberal England (1936), 244

Something must certainly be done for them: not too much, of course, that would never do; but something

For Liberalism, after all, implies rather more than a political creed or an economic philosophy; it is a profoundly conscience-stricken state of mind. It is the final expression of everything which is respectable, God-fearing and frightened. The poor, it says, are always with us, and something must certainly be done for them: not too much, of course, that would never do; but something. The poor might reasonably be expected to have their own opinions about this; and, indeed, in certain periods of the Victorian era they gave vent to these opinions in a most disconcerting manner. But they, too, had been infected with the same disease. ‘Several toasts were given’ (so writes an observer of a workmen’s dinner during the prolonged erection, in the ’70s, of the Albert Memorial) ‘and many of the workmen spoke, almost all of them commencing by “Thanking God that they enjoyed good health”; some alluded to the temperance that prevailed amongst them, others observed how little swearing was ever heard, whilst all said how pleased and proud they were to be engaged on so great a work.’ (Lytton Strachey, Queen Victoria, p. 324.)

G. Dangerfield, The strange death of liberal England (1936), 181

He was strongly in favour of peace – that is to say, he liked his wars to be fought at a distance and, if possible, in the name of God

Whatever his political convictions may have been, the Englishman of the ’70s and ’80s was something of a Liberal at heart. He believed in freedom, free trade, progress and the Seventh Commandment. He also believed in reform. He was strongly in favour of peace – that is to say, he liked his wars to be fought at a distance and, if possible, in the name of God. 

G. Dangerfield, The strange death of liberal England (1936), 22