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one field of literature. The subject of both is man. The only important difference is the drama is written to be recited and the novel is written to be read.

Finally, we ask the question, What are the tendencies of end-of-the-century German literature? First, let us say a word on end-of-the-century German life. The three factors that are making themselves most felt in end-of-the-century German life are the university, the army and navy, and the proletariat. The German university has always played a great rôle. Today the most impressive of the four faculties is the philosophic, which does more work than the other three combined, and the particular work of the philosophic faculty that excites most attention concerns science and life.

The past three decades have made Germany the greatest military nation on the globe. How much a standing army of nearly six hundred thousand men means in German life only a residence of some time among the Germans can show. Germany has reached the stage of her development when she feels that to progress farther she must have colonies. The important question is, Will Emperor William be gratified by a realization of his ideals in his territorial aggrandizement ? He has a strong army, and hopes to have a strong navy. Whatever the end, one thing seems certain, and that is, the twentieth century will see the map of Europe as well as that of the world greatly changed. The most potent factor of German life is socialism, a movement of the German proletariat. This is the opposite of monarchism. We can do no better in this connection than to give the thought of a paragraph from Professor Francke's admirable book, Social Forces in German Literature: To-day we find two great classes in German life--the one represented by Bismarck, the other by Bebel; the one a wonderfully organized ruling minority, the other an equally well-organized ruled majority ; the one having a glorious past, the other anticipating a glorious future; the one believing in the sacredness of hereditary sovereignty, the other believing in the justice of individual liberty; the one devoid of larger sympathies, the other inspired with the vague ideal of a broader and fuller humanity, monarchism and socialism. That the twentieth century will witness a conflict between these two classes the signs of the times seem to indicate. Which will conquer the future alone can tell.

The foregoing enables us to answer our question. The tendencies of end-of-the-century German literature indicate that the literature of future Gerinany will deal preeminently with the German university, the German army and navy, and the German proletariat. To these three may be added the question of the German woman. That the literature of future Germany will therefore be more genuinely German than in the past present conditions show. The youngest school of fiction, which we have given no attention because it has produced only mediocre novelists, came into existence under the guidance of Zola, and the youngest dramatic school came into existence under the guidance of Ibsen. The former, it is to

. be hoped, will abandon its master. The two great members of the latter have already forsaken the standard of the celebrated Norwegian. Sudermann is to-day German to the core, and Hauptmann, principally because of his incomparable drama, “The Sunken Bell,” is called “the greatest figure in German literature-perhaps in all literature—to-day.”

E.I. Antrim,



A DEVOUT and orthodox theologian, known and honored in all lands and Churches, said: “If it had not been for the prologue to St. John's Gospel I should have been an atheist.” This does not persuade us that there is no proof of a divine Being outside of the gospels, but it impressively emphasizes the value of the Gospel by John, of which some thieving critics have vainly tried to deprive us.

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That John Fiske is a careful and critica, historian will not be denied. That he has no sympathy with wanton and hypercritical skepticism toward long-accepted records is quite distinctly seen in his defense of the old tradition concerning the rescue of John Smith from death by Pocahontas, when his head lay on the big stone and Indian warriors would have beaten his brains out with their clubs had not the chief's young daughter rushed up and embraced him and laid her head upon his to shield him; at sight of which her father ordered that the white man's life be spared. For two hundred and fifty years this story was universally accepted, it being found in the General History of Virginia, published in London in 1624, and written partly by Smith himself. In recent years some truth seekers of acute retrospective powers have guessed backward, through two centuries and a half, that John Smith was a liar, and that he invented this story for the purpose of magnifying his own importance by linking his name in a romantic manner with that of Pocahontas, when, in later years, she visited London and was lionized as a princess. Some critics of high repute for scholarship have made this skeptical view fashionable. Mr. John Smith, being over two centuries dead, cannot defend his veracity in any earthly court; but Professor John Fiske undertakes to show, and succeeds in showing, the utter flimsiness of the attempt to impeach the long accredited story. And he takes the trouble to do this in a very thorough manner, because, as he says,

“ In the interests of sound historical criticism it is desirable to show how skepticism, which is commonly supposed to indicate superior sagacity, is quite as likely to result from imperfect understanding."

THE SUPERVISION OF LABOR. THERE is a beautiful theory that we have developed a workman who needs no overseer, no whip, no driver, no watchful eyes upon him. If our workman has reached this high level of character he is a saint, nay, something more than a saint; for the virtue of the saint is that he realizes God's eye and works nobly because that eye supervises him. There is, to be sure, a patent saint who needs no divine oversight; but the patent has never produced any revenue of good deeds. The Northern man, however, is apt to pride himself upon the superiority of his white workman to the colored laborer of the South. The latter, child of a slave who worked under a hard taskmaster, had imperious eyes on him in the field, it is complained, needs constant supervision. The statement is true enough, but it is very nearly as true of Northern white workmen in similar situations. Practical builders allege that skilled workmen will do a fourth more work in a day under the eyes of his employer-on the average many will accomplish twice as much. The general belief in the capacity of workmen to do time work well without watching has grown up under our system of machinery. The steam engine is more imperious than the old slave driver. The organization of labor in mills, on railroads, in large stores, is of itself more effective than any whip could be. Perhaps we are puncturing the veil of an illusion, but the truth is always best. Many men work well, as well as they can, because they feel the divine supervision. There is no substitute for that inspiring oversight. Nothing is changed by calling it conscience. When a conscience does this kind of service it is truly “that God in man.” It is of no little importance that the machinery of our age-moral as well as physical enginery-does the difficult work of watching the workmen down to fine details that remind us of the minuteness of God's inspection. If, however, we consider the matter as it is related to character, many facts conspire to make us doubt the value of the machinery inspector. Away from his mill our workman is often as helpless as the slave without a master or the sailor away from his ship, probably quite as often as either. The habits produced by the engine inspector are good habits for the special work; but, like limited railroad tickets, they are “not transferable.” The divine way of making a perfect workman-perfecting him from within, outward-works perfectly, when free to work, on all workmen, even on sham workmen; and the method is essentially a divine supervision.


The appeal of the Bishops of our Church for a Twentieth Century thank offering calls for gifts, " over and above all ordinary contributions,” to be subscribed and paid within three years, beginning with January 1, 1899, to make up the sum of twenty millions of dollars. Of this ten millions are to be for the benefit of our universities, theological seminaries, colleges, and other schools, and ten millions for hospitals, orphanages, homes for the aged, and other charitable institutions of our denomination. The comments of the non-Methodist press on this call indicate the confident expectation of other Churches that the call will be honored and the amount raised. Methodism's faith in itself, its resources, and capabilities, ought not to be less than the faith which others have in it. Success in this noble effort is entirely feasible, if the right methods be adopted and energetically pushed with that unity of action which our denominational organization makes possible. One of the most experienced and fertile minds among the chief leaders of our Methodism offers a practical working plan which we here present to the Church, and the adoption of which we beg leave to urge:

We cannot do our full duty in raising this money unless we make for the rank and file of our members. It must be by the gift of the many that we succeed. The many cannot be reached without thorough organization-a plan of organization by which every individual will be under the eye and subject to the personal appeal of some other individual with authority to approach and persuade.

If we have not wisdom and enthusiasm enough to secure this organization we shall not be able to raise a tithe of the money we propose to secure. I believe it practicable to devise a plan by which all of our people—all of our people-old and young,


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