tions. They go forth in the cause of civilization. They go forth for the betterment of man; they go forth, and the word on their lips is Christ and his peace-not conquest and its pillage. They go forth to prepare the peoples, through decades, and may be centuries, of patient effort, for the great gift of American institutions. They go forth, not for imperialism, but for the Greater Republic. Imperialism is not the word for our vast work. Imperialism, as used by the opposers of national greatness, means oppression, and we oppress not. Imperialism, as used by the opposers of national destiny, means monarchy, and the days of monarchy are spent. Imperialism, as used by the opposers of national progress, is a word to frighten the faint of heart, and so is powerless with the fearless American people. Who honestly believes that the liberties of 80,000,000 Americans will be destroyed because the Republic administers civilization in the Philippines? Who honestly believes that free institutions are stricken unto death because the Republic, under God, takes its place as the first power of the world? Who honestly believes that we plunge to our doom when we march forward in a path of duty prepared by a higher wisdom than our own? Those who so believe have lost their faith in the immortality of liberty. Those who so believe deny the vitality of the American people. Those who so believe are infidels to the providence of God. Those who so believe have lost the reckoning of events, and think it sunset when it is, in truth, only the breaking of another day-the day of the Greater Republic, dawning as dawns the twentieth century. The Republic never retreats. Its flag is the only flag that has never known defeat. Where the flag leads we follow, for we know that the hand that bears it onward is the un ours. seen hand of God. We follow the flag and independence is We follow the flag and nationality is ours. We follow the flag and oceans are ruled. We follow the flag and, in Occident and Orient, tyranny falls and barbarism is subdued. We follow the flag at Trenton and Valley Forge; at Saratoga and upon the crimson seas; at Buena Vista and Chapultepec; at Gettysburg and Missionary Ridge; at Santiago and Manila; and everywhere and always it means larger liberty, nobler opportunity, and greater human happiness, for everywhere and always it means the blessings of the Greater Republic. And so God leads, we follow the flag, and the Republic never retreats. GRIGGS E DWARD HOWARD GRIGGS was born in Minnesota in 1868; his boyhood was spent in Madison, Indiana, where he was educated in the public schools. At the age of fourteen he went into a wholesale business house in Indianapolis where he remained for five years. During this busy period he continued his education and prepared himself to enter the University of Indiana from which he was graduated in 1889. His further work at this University as instructor in English, and later as professor in literature, proved admirable training for his career as a lecturer. In 1891 he broadened his field of work by accepting the assistant professorship in ethics at the Leland Stanford Jr. University. While occupying this position he spent two years in travel and study in England, Germany, and Italy. When he resigned from the university in 1899, he was head of the department of ethics and education. From the early days in the Indiana University, Professor Griggs has had a growing power as a lecturer. He possesses an unusual gift of eloquence and a magnetic power which ensures for him a large and appreciative audience on all occasions. Covering a wide range of subjects, it has ever been his purpose to stimulate the soul to higher and nobler activities, both in intellectual and spiritual life. Since 1899 Professor Griggs has devoted himself mainly to independent public teaching in the large cities of the East. He is, however, staff lecturer to the American Society for the Extension of University Teaching and also lecturer to the Brooklyn Institute of Arts and Sciences. THE NEW SOCIAL IDEAL' HE modern world stands on the brink of the unknown. TH It is impossible to foresee adequately the developments of even a few decades, and changes of momentous importance are occurring in every direction. This must be true to some extent of all epochs, for each is modern to the men of it. They see the past completed in the present; but it is with difficulty that they can detect even a few of the organic filaments which are weaving the world of to-morrow. But in a singular way this is true of our own time. A new human ideal is taking possession of the world, 1 1 By permission. Copyright, 1899, by Edward Howard Griggs. the consequences of which will be limitless in significance. All past epochs of civilization found their justification in the few men who came to the surface and had some share in the ends of life. It was never dreamed that all men might have some part in these ends, and should have every opportunity to seek them. Ancient democracies were not democratic in the modern sense. They were oligarchies, where within the ruling class some measure of democratic relations prevailed. But this class stood on the backs of the mass of the people. Even Aristotle, humane and far-seeing as he was, assumed frankly that civilization must always rest upon slavery. Throughout the middle ages similar conditions prevailed. The vocations respected for themselves were, as in the ancient world, war and political life, with the addition of the priestly The fundamental activities of society, agricultural, commercial, industrial, were carried on by slaves, or men but little removed from the condition of serfs. career. In the art of the ancient and medieval world it is religion, the traditions of the ruling class, or war and chivalry that furnish the subject, never common humanity. In the literature of Europe in all centuries preceding the renaissance, there is but an occasional glimpse into the life of the people. Hesiod gives their despairing wail, and Langland an echo of their misery and their stubborn endurance, but these are isolated exceptions. Homer presents a rare Thersites only to make him an object of ridicule; and Dante sublimely and arrogantly ignores the existence of the untutored mass, whose destiny was not sufficiently interesting to him to find treatment in either hell or heaven. But the era of humanity has arisen. Art is transformed in every department. The sailor at the pumps on a sinking vessel, the fisher's wife moaning alone in the gray dawn, the physician beside the bed of the child whose agonized parents stand beseechingly in the background-these furnish worthy subjects for modern painting. I remember the impression of this thought which was made upon me by the modern gallery in the Academy at Florence. Weeks had been spent visiting the churches, monasteries, and galleries, studying the exquisite remains of renaissance painting; and on the last day of our stay in Florence, chiefly from curiosity, we found our way into the collection of pictures by modern Italian artists. The result was unexpectedly startling. There were very few worthy paintings among these; but those which did stand out possessed a meaning that is not found in the paintings of the renaissance. One represented the dying Raphael. At his feet knelt the woman he loved, tears streaming from her eyes; at his side sat the old cardinal, perplexed and grave, anxious if possible to sooth the painter's last moments. There was nothing unusual in the scene; it was but the common human tragedy; yet such a subject is not found in all the paintings of the renaissance. Another canvas represented the painter Fra Lippo Lippi making love to the nun who served as his model. In the woman's face was depicted the awakened struggle between the life to which she had consecreated herself, the old ideal she had cherished, and the world of new desires surging up into consciousness; not even Leonardo, of the painters before the nineteenth century, could have grasped and fixed that conflict. The third and most powerful picture represented a group of wandering musicians lost in the snow, with the pitiless winter night coming on. The instruments of their craft were huddled on the ground. The man was half-kneeling, with hands raised to his head in an attitude of abject despair. In |