"It's very dangerous," he explained to Mrs. Murray; "the wind blows out the flames." As he spoke he handed Maimie his toasting stick and retired to the other side of the fire, and began to attend to the boiling sap. But Ranald stood still, looking silently at the minister's wife. Then, as all eyes turned towards her, she said in a gentle, sweet voice, "I think we ought to give thanks to our Father in Heaven for all this beauty about us and for all our joy." At once Ranald took off his hat, and "He needn't be such a bear," pouted as the boys followed his example Mrs. Maimie. "My dear," replied her aunt, "what Ranald says is quite true. You cannot be too careful in moving about the fire." "Well, he needn't be so cross about it," said Maimie. She had never been ordered about before in her life, and she did not enjoy the experience, and all the more at the hands of an uncouth country boy. She watched Ranald attending to the fire and the kettles, however, with a new respect. He certainly had no fear of the fire, but moved about it and handled it with the utmost sang froid. He had a certain grace, too, in his movements that caught her eye, and she wished he would come nearer so that she could speak to him. She had considerable confidence in her powers of attraction. As if to answer her wish, Ranald came straight to where her aunt and she were standing. "I think it will be time for tea now," he said, with a sudden return of his awkward manner, that made Maimie wonder why she had ever been afraid of him. "I will tell Don," he added, striding off toward the group of boys and girls, still busy with their games under the trees. Soon Don's shout was heard: "Tea, ladies and gentlemen; take your seats at the tables." And speedily there was a rush and scramble, and in a few moments the great heaps of green balsam boughs arranged around the fire were full of boys and girls pulling, pinching, and tumbling over one another in wild glee. The toast stood in brown heaps on birch bark plates beside the fire, the baskets were carried out of the shanty bulging with cakes, the tea was bubbling in the big tin tea-pail, and everything was ready for the feast. But Ranald had caught Mrs. Murray's eye, and, at a sign from her, stood waiting with the tea-pail in his hand. "Come on with the tea, Ranald," cried Don, seizing a plate of toast. Murray bowed her head and in a few, simple words lifted up the hearts of all with her own in thanksgiving for the beauty of the woods and sky above them and all the many gifts that came to fill their lives with joy. It was not the first time that Ranald had heard her voice in prayer, but somehow it sounded different in the open air under the trees and in the midst of all the jollity of the sugaring-off. With all other people that Ranald knew religion seemed to be something apart from common days, common people, and common things, and seemed, besides, a solemn and terrible experience; but with the minister's wife religion was a part of her every-day living, and seemed to be as easily associated with her pleasure as with anything else about her. It was so easy, so simple, so natural, that Ranald could not help wondering if, after all, it was the right kind. It was so unlike the religion of the elders and all the good people in the congregation. was a great puzzle to Ranald, as to many others, both before and since his time. It After tea was over the great business of the evening came on. Ranald announced that the taffy was ready, and Don, as master of ceremonies, immediately cried out: "The gentlemen will provide the ladies with plates." "Plates!" echoed the boys, with a laugh of derision. "Plates," repeated Don, stepping back to a great snowbank, near a balsam clump, and returning with a piece of "crust.' At once there was a scurry to the snowbank, and soon every one had a "snow plate" ready. Then Ranald and Don slid the little kettle along the pole off the fire, and with tin dippers began to pour the hot syrup upon the "snow plates," where it immediately hardened into taffy. Then the pulling began. What fun there Wait a minute, Don," said Ranald in was, what larks, what shrieks, what rompa low tone. "What's the matter?" ing and tumbling, till all were heartily tired, both of the taffy and the fun. Then followed the sugar-molding. The little kettle was set back on the fire and kept carefully stirred, while tin dishes of all sorts, shapes, and sizes-milk-pans, pattie-pans, mugs, and cups-well greased with pork rind, were set out in order, imbedded in snow. The last act of all was the making of "hens' nests." A dozen or so of hens' eggs, blown empty, and three goose eggs for the grown-ups, were set in snow nests, and carefully filled from the little kettle. In a few minutes the nests were filled with sugar eggs, and the sugaring-off was over. There remained still a goose egg provided against any mishap. "Who wants the goose egg?" cried Don, holding it up. "Me, me, me!" coaxed the girls on every side. "Will you give it to me, Don, for the minister?" said Mrs. Murray. Oh, yes!" cried Maimie, " and let me fill it." putting her arms round about her niece, and holding her tight, cried: "Thank God, my darling, for his great kindness to you and to us all. Thank God! thank God !" Her voice broke, but in a moment recovering herself, she went on, "And Ranald, too! noble fellow !" Ranald was standing at the back of the crowd, looking pale, disturbed, and awkward. Mrs. Murray, knowing how hateful to him would be any demonstrations of feeling, went to him, and quietly held out her hand, saying: "It was bravely done, Ranald. From my heart, I thank you." For a moment or two she looked steadfastly into his face with the tears streaming down her cheeks. Then putting her hands upon his shoulders, she said softly: "For her dear dead mother's sake, I thank you." Then Maimie, who had been standing in a kind of stupor all this while, seemed As she spoke, she seized the dipper, suddenly to awake, and running toward and ran for the kettle. He "Look out for that fire," cried Don, dropping the egg into its snow-bed. was too late. A little tongue of flame leaped out from under the kettle, nipped hold of her frock, and in a moment she was in a blaze. With a wild scream she sprang back and turned to fly, but before she had gone more than a single step Ranald, dashing the crowd right and left, had seized and flung her headlong into the snow, beating out the flames with his bare hands. In a moment all danger was over, and Ranald lifted her up. Still screaming, she clung to him, while the women all ran to her. Her aunt reached her first. 66 Hush, Maimie; hush, dear. You are quite safe now. Let me see your face. There now, be quiet, child. The danger is all over." Still Maimie kept screaming. She was thoroughly terrified. "Listen to me,” her aunt said, in an even, firm voice. "Do not be foolish. Let me look at you." The quiet, firm voice soothed her, and Maimie's screams ceased. Her aunt examined her face, neck, and arms for any signs of fire, but could find none. She was hardly touched, so swift had been her rescue. Then Mrs. Murray, suddenly Ranald she put out both hands, crying: "Oh, Ranald, I can never thank you enough." He took her hands in an agony of embarrassment, not knowing what to do or say. Then Maimie suddenly dropped his hands, and, throwing her arms about his neck, kissed him, and ran back to her aunt's side. "I thought you didn't play forfeits, Maimie," said Don in a grieved voice. And every one was glad to laugh. Then the minister's wife, looking round upon them all, said: "Dear children, God has been very good to us, and I think we ought to give him thanks." And standing there by the fire, they bowed their heads in a new thanksgiving to Him whose keeping never fails by day or night. And then with hearts and voices subdued and with quiet "goodnights," they went their ways home. But as the Cameron sleigh drove off with its load, Maimie looked back, and seeing Ranald standing by the fire she whispered to her aunt: "Oh, auntie! Isn't he just splendid?" But her aunt made no reply, seeing a new danger for them both, greater than that they had escaped. [TO BE CONTINUED] The Rights of Man A Study in Twentieth Century Problems By Lyman Abbott Chapter XV.-The Goal of De I mocracy HAVE assumed in these papers that the Hebraic Commonwealth was a democracy; I assume in this paper that Jesus Christ built upon the Hebrew theocracy as a foundation; that he came, not merely to save individuals from a lost world, but to save the world itself by founding here a new social order; and that in the principles of that order, as inculcated by him, the goal of democracy The limitations of is to be sought for. space do not allow me to argue these propositions: I therefore assume them. What were these principles which he inculcated? Most of Christ's instruction was conversational, colloquial, the talking But of a single man to groups of men. he did, in the course of his life, preach three or four great sermons, and these three or four great sermons we have a right to look to as containing, in themselves, the suggestions at least of his general teaching. The first of these sermons was one which he preached in Nazareth shortly after his baptism. The account of it is given in the fourth chapter of the Gospel of Luke. He went into the synagogue; the Book of Isaiah was laid before him; he read the words of the prophet: "The spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised, to preach the acceptable year of the Lord." And then he said, "This is what I have come to accomplish." This was the first great sermon of Christ; the object of Christ was to produce happiness on the earth. The second sermon-the Sermon on the Mount-began where the first sermon ended. It began with the Beatitudes: "Blessed are the poor in spirit; blessed are the meek; blessed are the merciful The fourth sermon was addressed primarily to his disciples. In this sermon he set his own principles in clear antagonism to those of Phariseeism, and intimated some general laws of the new social order. They are all comprised in one metaphor: "All ye are brethren," he said; "call no man your father upon the earth, for one is your Father, which is in heaven." And what he meant by "all ye are brethren " he further explained by saying, "He that is greatest among you, let him be the servant of all." Mutual brotherhood means mutual service. I am far from saying that these four points which I have presented to you cover the whole of Christ's teaching: I will not even affirm that they cover the most important points of Christ's teach 873 ing, though I think they do. But we have a right to take four great discourses like these of a great teacher to ascertain what are the fundamental principles which he has come to inculcate. And we have a special right to do that when they answer the four questions which any man naturally asks of a reformer. Those questions are these: First, What do you propose to do? Secondly, How do you propose to do it? Thirdly, What is the secret of the power by which you propose to do it? Fourthly, What will be the final result when your work is done? These are the four great questions we have a right to ask of any moral reformer. To these questions the discourses of Christ make answer: I propose to make the world a happy world; I propose to do it by changing the character of the men dwelling in the earth; and I trust to the power of God dwelling in the individual man to accomplish this transformation of society; the end will be a family or brotherhood of man. These principles of Christ constitute the goal of democracy. In the first place, the aim of democracy is the extension and diffusion of happiness; it purposes to make happiness universal. The There are four great material enemies to human happiness: they are war, poverty, pestilence, and famine. Democracy is unalterably opposed to war; the military spirit and the democratic spirit are essentially antagonistic to each other. Wars may be sometimes necessary-I believe that wars are sometimes necessarybut if so they are a necessary evil. spirit that regards war as an advantage, that desires war for its own sake, that exalts and glorifies militarism, is in direct contradiction to the spirit of democracy. For war can only be carried on successfully under an autocracy. A nation which is armed and equipped for war is of necessity under a commanding general, and a commanding general must be an autocrat. War cannot be carried on by a committee; the experiment has been tried more than once, and always with failure. An army cannot by universal suffrage determine what shall be the movement against the enemy to-morrow morning. An army is necessarily an autocratic organization, and an armed nation-a nation which is an armed camp-is neces Thus sarily autocratic in its character. democracy is inherently, vitally, essentially opposed to the spirit of war, and if it accepts war it accepts it only as a dire and unavoidable necessity, to be escaped from as soon as may be with honor. It is for this reason that democracy has found its way to contrivances which lessen the danger of war. It is for this reason that the most democratic country, America, contrived that federation of States and invented that Supreme Court of the United States which has served as an arbitrator between different communities, and has substituted reason for force as the means of settling interstate controversies. It is for this reason that in Europe the uprising of democracy has preceded the creation and development of international law, and preceded the organization of courts of arbitration and that final consummation of the courts of arbitration-the creation of the court of arbitration at The Hague. Democracy is not only opposed to war, but democracy has invented or discovered the methods by which controversies between communities can be adjusted more rationally, more peacefully, and more in accordance with human happiness than by military. force. The second great enemy of human happiness is poverty. Democracy does not believe that poverty is a necessity. The fundamental tenet of democracy is that there is wealth enough in the world to make all men happy. This was certainly the tenet of Jesus Christ: "In my Father's house," he said, through one of the characters whom he portrayed, "is bread enough, and to spare." The world is the Father's house, and there is bread enough in the Father's house for all the Father's children. If any go hungry it is either their own fault or else it is the fault of a vicious social organization. "Come," said Christ, is another parable, "for all things are now ready: go out into the streets and lanes of the city and bring in hither the poor and the maimed and the halt and the blind." And the servant did so and returned with the statement, "Still there is room." He repeats the lesson in more than one parable. We have given to these parables a spiritual interpretation, and doubtless they deserve a spiritual interpretation, but they deserve the other interpretation also. On their face they carry with them this great economic truth, that there is in the world ordered by the Father enough for all his children, so that none need go in want save through either their own fault or the fault of a vicious social organization. Granted these two principles-granted that war can be avoided and pauperism can be avoided-and the other two great evils disappear themselves, for pestilence and famine are the children of war and pauperism. Christ's parables are full of joyousness; dancing, singing, festivity, happiness ipple over the surface of his instructions, and they are phases of happiness not for the few but for the all. Democracy has already made some approximation to this broad diffusion of wealth and happiness. We have not in America as many splendid palaces as in the Old World, but we have many more comfortable homes. We have not in America the great and lordly parks, but, save in our great cities and a few of our factory towns, we have a little plot of ground around the home of each individual tenant. The second principle for which democracy stands is the development of character. It seeks this universal happiness by the development of the individual. In this respect democracy differs radically from socialism. Socialism, Christianity, democracy, all seek the same end-such a reorganization of society as will make human happiness universal. But socialism begins by seeking to change the organization, Christianity begins by seeking to change the individual. Socialism aims first at changing the social order, and through the social order improving the individual; Christianity (and democracy catching the spirit of Christianity) seeks to improve the individual first, and to change the social order through the improvement of the individual. Thus socialism would make the State the owner of all wealth; democracy would make the State the protector of individual wealth. Socialism would have the State carry on all the industries and would make every individual the servant of the State, doing the State's bidding; democracy would make the State a protector of individual industries and the State the servant of the individual. Socialism puts the organization first, the individual second; democ racy puts the individual first, the organization second. Socialism expects to develop the individual, but chiefly through a change in the organization; democracy expects to develop society, but chiefly through the development of the individual. Thus, these two working to the same ends work by diametrically opposed methods. The end of democracy is, first, protection of the rights of the individual, then development of the character of the individual, and then teaching of the individuals how to co-work together to a common end. It is because democracy lays this stress on individual character that it lays stress on the institutions which develop individual character. It is for this reason that so soon as a State becomes democratic it establishes a school system for the education of the individual. For the same reason it develops individualism in religion. With imperialism goes naturally one Church, one creed, one ritual, one ecclesiastical order; with democracy there goes naturally a variety of Churches, of creeds, of rituals. of ecclesiastical organizations, because democracy insists on the development of the individual, and therefore on the right of the individual to frame his own creed, to worship according to his own ritual, to organize his own Church. The innumerable variety of sects into which the Church in America is divided is no accident; it is the inevitable result of the individualism which it is the object, deliberate or unconscious, of democracy to promote. Democracy believes that it is better to have great men and little Churches than a great Church and little men. For this reason democracy tests everything by its relation to character-not always consciously, not always wisely, but intuitively and instinctively. It is thus to-day testing the Churches in America. The workingmen are asking, Will the Church help us? Will it make us better men? Will it make us happier men? Will it enlarge and enrich our life? I do not think they find altogether the right answer to their question, but I justify them absolutely in asking it. The function of the Church is not to be an organization by which men can add to the glory of God; it is an organization by which the glory of God can add to the happiness and welfare of men. And if the Church fails |
