revenge, and spent in the endeavor to satisfy them. What restraint is put upon the passions comes from thraldom to tribal customs, traditions, and prescriptions, or from fear of invisible beings invested by tradition with a sinister reality. Thus, the absolutely uneducated man is, in all directions, a slave. The educated man, on the contrary, just in proportion as he is educated, is freefree from bondage to physical needs, to passion, to institutions, to invisible powers. In dealing with nature and natural needs, he is a master, making them a means whereby he developes his power of will. He makes his passions the instruments of his rational insight; he finds institutions the outward expression and organ of his own rationality, and if they are not, he endeavors to make them so; and, finally, he knows that the Invisible Power is his own deepest self, that in which all selves have their origin and root, and his relation to it is one of reverence, love and free service. He knows that, in doing its will, he is doing his own, and reaching forward to his own end. Service to it is freedom.

We may make these three assumptions:

I. That the unity of the human being lies in his end, which is freedom, or self-realization.

2. That life, in so far as it is human, is the way to this end, the process by which it is reached.

3. That education is the guide of such life, and finds its unity in its end, which is individual freedom.

In order, then, to comprehend the unity of education, and see what element must enter into it, we mustn't begin by considering the nature of freedom. When may a man be said to be free? When three conditions are realized, I think. (1) When he knows his own end and the conditions under which it can be realized. Thus he obeys the Socratic imperative "know thyself." (2) When he sets their true value upon that end and upon the various conditions which are necessary to its attainment. Thus he obeys the command of Christ: Love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and thy neighbor as thyself. (3) When he acts strongly under the influence of this knowledge and this love. When all these three conditions are realized, a man is free; it one of them fails, he is a slave. If knowledge fails, he is a slave to blindness, to tradition, to prejudice; if love fails, or is falsely distributed, he is a slave to passion; if will to act fails, he is the impotent slave of weakness and indecision, as well as of the external world of things and institutions.

If these are the conditions of freedom, it is clear that they are the conditions which education must seek to make real in every man. Education, therefore, must give man knowledge, love and will, or, rather, it must elicit these in him. But, before these can be elicited a prior condition has to be fulfilled. Man depends for his development upon the 'external world, made up of sub-human means, and human ends, and with this he stands connected. through his bodily organs. The care of the body, therefore, the preservation of a healthy and growing condition as a means of communication, is the first department of education. This care naturally falls into three parts: care of the nutritive system, or therapeutics, care of the muscular system, or gymnastics and manual training; and, finally, care of

Four Forms of Emancipation

..

the sensitive system, for which we seem to have no special name. All three involve care of the nervous system.

At the present day, bodily education, though receiving more attention than it did some years ago, is still in a very backward state. The nutritive system is often shamefully neglected. Children are allowed to eat improper things, to eat at improper times, to contract injurious habits of digestion, and so on. Above all, they are allowed to eat for the pleasure of eating, instead of for the sake of health and freedom. Nor is the muscular system duly attended to. Though we are beginning to have gymnastics and manual training in our educational institutions, the former aim more frequently at establishing the athletic habit, which is too often nowadays an obstacle to true education, while the latter seeks to prepare the child for a definite calling rather than to enable him to coördinate the muscles of eye and hand. The sensitive system fares somewhat better. Thougn children are allowed to injure their eyes by sitting in rooms heated by steam or furnaces, a good deal is now done to train the ear by musical instruction, and the eye by drawing, painting anu manual training generally. The nervous system, which requires most care of all, is generally the most completely neglected. Children are allowed to be subjected to all forms of excitement, to get overtired, to go without sleep, to eat and drink things that irritate or numb the nerves, and so on. I remember no treatise on education that lays down a system of rules for the training of the nervous system, and yet more lives are blasted by untrained nervous systems than by any other one assignable cause.

It is needless to say that the training of the bodily powers will differ at different periods of life. What is demanded by the child of two years old will be unsuitable for the boy or girl of ten or sixteen. Nevertheless, the whole training must form an harmonious system, unified and determined by its end, which is to make the body a perfect instrument for the ends of free spirit. For we are fed, we move, we have sense-experience, in order that we may know, that we may love, that we may act beneficently. It is impossible, within the limits now assigned to me, even to outline a system of bodily training. I can only insist upon the crying need for such a system, and say that it must have for its aim the gradual shaping of all the organs and powers of the body into ready instruments of the soul.

When we pass from the body to the soul, we are passing from that which is a means to that which is an end. The powers of the spirit are trained for their own sake. We learn to know, to love, to will, in order that we may know more, love better and more wisely, will more freely and strongly.

For the soul, and as a means to its development, the world consists of two distinct parts, the world of means and the world of ends, the sub-human world and the human world. With respect to the human world this paradox is true: it can be used as a means only in so far as it is treated as an end. Only by treating my fellow-man as an end in and for himself can I make him a means to my own realization. Only in so far as I seek to develop in him knowledge, love and will can he become an

Man and Nature, End and Means

must not be allowed to withdraw into the mist and gloom of the past. It must be realized in the present. Every child must be made to feel: I am bound to be a hero or heroine, and a saint, equal to, or even greater than, the mighty of old. And he must be shown that the present type of heroism or sainthood (sainthood is simply the old Christian heroism) demands a comprehensive knowledge of nature and man, demands right love, and all that follows from love, demands a will unparalyzed by fear, sloth, or self-indulgence. The pagan hero was mostly a great warrior, who worthily defended. the institutions which make freedom possible-the family and the state. He was not necessarily or frequently a man of wide affections or much knowledge of man or nature. The Christian saint was usually, though not always, a man of thought and meditation, generally a man of great, though not well-distributed love, and sometimes even a man of strenuous action; but the last was not regarded as an essential of sainthood. The modern ideal man must be all that the pagan hero and the Christian saint combined were, and he must be more. He must not only defend the institutions of freedom in war, but he must labor to build them up in and through peace, and he must include all mankind in his efforts. Again he must not only be a man of thought and meditation, but he must be a man of wide and comprehensive knowledge; his love must be well-distributed, and he must not, like the saint, seek to flee from the world, and save his own soul otherwise than through the salvation of mankind.

If I were to say that it is just the want of a clear conception of this ideal man, this hero and saint in one, that is the chief defect and fundamental weakness of modern education, I should only be saying the truth. This conception is lacking, not only in our schools, but, what is far worse, in life itself; and it will not find its way into the former, until it has embodied itself in the latter. Parents and teachers have no ideal of education for their children and pupils, because they have no ideal in their own lives, beyond the beggarly one of a certain degree of respectability and physical well-being. The first step toward unity and efficacy of education must be the establishment of a new ideal of heroic sainthood in the general consciousness of the people—a sainthood including wide knowledge, deep, welldistributed affection, and strong, beneficent will, extending to all mankind. When this ideal has become a part of the general consciousness, and every boy and girl learns from the ordinary conversation of society that it is what he or she must labor to attain, then the means for its attainment will not be long in becoming apparent. But ideals that are to become part of the common consciousness, always appear first in the consciousness of some individual, and thence spread, by some degrees, through personal influence. Now, the future ideal of manhood and womanhood is already present, more or less clearly, in a considerable number of minds, who may thus fairly be said to possess the light of the world. From these must issue the education of the future.

instrument for developing them in me. If I try to use him merely as a means for my ends, I shall retrograde at once in one or another of these, and ultimately in all three.

Man, then, with less intelligence, affections, and will, stands over against a world of means and a world of ends-a world of nature, and a world of culture and by means of these he is to realize himself as a free being. He must know both, as well as he may; he must love both, with affection distributed according to the value of each thing for the ends of freedom; he must use his will in order to make each thing in its degree contribute to these ends. He must know, love, and treat nature as a means, man as an end. Moreover, he must know before he can rationally love, and he must love rationally before he can will freely and justly. It is true indeed, that a human being loses before he knows; but such love is not rational, and the acts which flow from it are not based on free will. Education, then, in the sense of the way to freedom, begins with knowledge of the world of means and the world of ends. But, before he can reach either of these worlds directly, he must acquire four instruments of knowledge, viz., language, letters, numbers, and a certain degree of manual facility. These are presuppositions of education. Equipped with these, he is ready to attack both worlds, and both, indeed, should be dealt with at once, care being taken that they be, from the first, distinguished as means and end, and this distinction impressed upon thought, word and deed. While the child is beWhile the child is becoming acquainted with the world of nature, and learning, through interest and wonder, to realize and love its beauty and its aimfulness, his will should be exercised in strict attention. He should not be allowed to rove from one thing to another, or to find interest only in novelty. Whatever his attention is directed to, to that it should be held, and about that he should be made to Do something having a purpose and an end. His very games should have in them an aim, requiring the exercise of will, and that end should be rational, producing the good or the beautiful. Caprice and impatience should be ruled out from the first. During the first steps of this process, the child will not have altogether a "good time," as the immoral phrase is; but sentimentality must not be allowed to make this an excuse for stopping it. He will have a better time all the rest of his life for the little sacrifice at the beginning. And while he is becoming acquainted with nature, the means, he must also become acquainted with man, the end-man as a rational, loving, willing being. He must, through ear and eye, through history, biography and fiction, through painting and sculpture, be made familiar with heroic deeds and shown why they are heroic, namely because they assert freedom and pave the way for freedom. It must be impressed upon him that life, unless it is heroic, unless it is a growth in knowledge, in love, and in will, is aimless and valueless, that a life guided by caprice, or whose aim lies anywhere in the world of means, is an ignoble, inhuman life. And what he thus discovers to be noble, he must put in practice in his own life, in his own daily actions toward other children and toward older persons. The heroic world

In a later paper I hope to consider by what process these aims of life and education may be realized. THOMAS DAVIDSON.

Moreover, during the century and a quarter since the close of the Revolution, the influence of this state paper on the political character and the political conduct of the American people has been great beyond all calculation. For example, after we had achieved our own national deliverance, and had advanced into that enormous and somewhat corrupting material prosperity which followed the adoption of the constitution, the development of the cotton. interest, and the expansion of the republic into a trans-continental power, we fell, as is now most apparent, under an appalling national temptation—the temptation to forget, or to repudiate, or to refuse to apply to the case of our human brethren in bondage, the very principles which we ourselves had once proclaimed as the basis of every rightful government, and as the ultimate source of our own claim to an untrammeled national life. The prodigious service rendered to us in this awful moral emergency by the Declaration of Independence was, that its public repetition, at least once every year, in the hearing of vast throngs of the American people, in every portion of the republic, kept constantly before our minds, in a form of almost religious sanctity, those few great ideas as to the dignity of human nature, and the sacredness of personality, and the indesctructible rights of man as mere man, with which we had so gloriously identified the beginnings of our national existence, and upon which we had proceeded to erect all our political institutions both for the nation and for the States. . It was the preamble of the Declaration of Independence which elected Lincoln, which set forth the Emancipation Proclamation, which gave victory to Grant, which ratified the Thirteenth Amendment.

The writer of a piece of literature which has been neglected, need not be refused the consolation he may get from reflecting that he is, at least, not the writer of a piece of literature which has become. hackneyed. Just this is the sort of calamity which seems to have befallen the Declaration of Independence. Is it, indeed, possible for us Americans, near the close of the nineteenth century, to be entirely just to the literary quality of this most. monumental document-this much belauded, much bespouted, much beflouted document?—since, in order to be so, the obstreperous memories of a lifetime of Independence Days. . .

Had the Declaration of Independence been, what many a revolutionary state paper is, a clumsy, verbose, and vaporing production, not even the robust literary taste and the all-forgiving patriotism of the American people could have endured the weariness, the nausea, of hearing its repetition, in ten thousand different places, at least once every year, for so long a period. Nothing which has not supreme literary merit has ever triumphantly endured such an ordeal, or ever been subjected to it. No man can adequately explain the persistent fas

* A selected reading from The Literary History of the Revolution, by Moses Coit Tyler. G. P. Putnam's Sons, publishers, N. Y. 2 vols., each $3.00.

cination which this state paper has had, and which it still has, for the American people, or for its undiminished power over them, without taking into account its extraordinary literary merits-its possession of the witchery of true substance wedded to perfect form:-its massiveness and incisiveness of thought, its art in the marshaling of the topics with which it deals, its symmetry, its energy, the definiteness and limpidity of its statements, its exquisite diction-at once terse, musical, and electrical; and, as an essential part of this literary outfit, many of those spiritual notes which can attract and enthrall our hearts-veneration for God, veneration for man, veneration for principle, respect for public opinion, moral earnestness, moral courage, optimism, a stately and noble pathos, finally, self-sacrificing devotion to a cause so great as to be herein identified with the happiness, not of one people only, or of one race only, but of human nature itself.

Upon the whole, this is the most commanding and the most pathetic utterance, in any age, in any language, of national grievances and of national purposes; having a Demosthenic momentum of thought, and a fervor of emotional appeal such as Tyrtaeus might have put into his war-song; it is a stately and a passionate chant of human freedom; it is a prose lyric of civil and military heroism. We may be altogether sure that no genuine development of literary taste among the American people in any period of our future history can result in serious misfortune to this particular specimen of American literature.

On Monday morning, the fifth of September, 1774, four-and-forty gentleman, representing twelve "colonies and provinces in North America," quietly made their way into Carpenters' Hall, in Philadelphia, and there sitting down together began "to consult upon the present state of the colonies, and the miseries to which they are and must be reduced by the operation of certain acts of parliament respecting America." Thus came into life the first Continental Congress.

As they came out from that hall of anxious deliberation, some of them may have found, on stepping into Mr. John Dunlap's shop, not far away, a livelylooking little book, just come from the printer's hands, in which book they could read a graphic and indeed a quite tremendous history of the very events that had brought them together:

A

PRETTY STORY written in the YEAR OF OUR LORD 1774 by PETER GRIEVOUS, ESQ.

A. B. C. D. E.

Veluti in Speculo

PHILADELPHIA Printed and sold by John Dunlap M. DCC. LXXIV.

As this title-page, however, gave no clew to the real import of the book, the reader who should then seek for such clew in the preface, would find himself there decoyed by explanations which still failed to give him warning that he was about to peruse a tractate. "A book," gaily remarks Peter Grievous "is like a house. The grand portico is the Dedication; the flagged pavement is an Humble Address to the Reader, in order to pave the way for a kind reception of the work; the front door with its fluted pillars, pediment, trigliffs and modillons, are the Title-page, with its motto, author's name and titles, date of the year, etc.; the entry is the Preface-oftentimes of a tedious length; and the several apartments and closets are the Chapters and Sections of the work itself. As I am but a clumsy carpenter at best, I shall not attempt to decorate my little cottage with any out-ofdoor ornaments; but as it would be inconvenient and uncomfortable to have my front door open . immediately into the apartments of the house, I have made this Preface by way of entry.

"And now, gentle reader, if you should think my entry too plain and simple, you may set your imagination to work, and furnish it with a grand staircase, with cornices, stucco and paintings. That is, you may suppose that I entered very unwillingly upon this work, being compelled to it by a chain of unforseen circumstances; that it was written in the midst of a great hurry of other business, and under particular disadvantages of time and place, and that it was only intended for the inspection of a few friends, without any expectations of ever seeing it in the press. You may, kind reader, go on to suppose that when my friends perused my work, they were struck with the energy of my genius, and insisted that the public ought not to be deprived of such a fund of amusement and improvement through my obstinate modesty; and that, after many solicitations and powerful persuasions, I had been prevailed upon to bless mankind with the fruits of my labor. Or, if you like not this, you may suppose that the following sheets were found in the cabinet of some deceased gentleman; or that they were dug out of an ancient ruin, or discovered in a hermit's cave, or dropped from the clouds in a hail storm. In short, you may suppose just what you please. And when, by the help of imagination, you have seasoned the Preface to your palate, you may turn over this leaf, and feast upon the body of the work itself."

Here at last was a writer able to defend the colonial cause, and to assail its enemies, with a fine and a very rare weapon-that of humor. The personages included in A Pretty Story are few; its topics are simple and palpable, and even now in but little need of elucidation; the plot and incidents of the fiction travel in the actual footsteps of wellknown history; while the aptness, the delicacy, and the humor of the allegory give to the reader the most delightful surprises, and are well sustained to the very end. The wit of the author flashes light upon every legal question then at issue; and the stern and even technical debate between the colonies and the motherland is here translated into a piquant and a bewitching novelette. It soon became known that its author was Francis Hopkinson.

9

The political satire of Freneau and of Trumbull is, in general, grim, bitter, vehement, unrelenting. Hopkinson's satire is as keen as theirs, but its characteristic note is one of playfulness. They stood forth the wrathful critics and assailants of the enemy, confronting him with a hot and an honest hatred, and ready to overwhelm him with an acerbity that was fell and pitiless. Hopkinson, on the other hand, was too gentle, too tender-hearted—his personal tone was too full of amenity-for that sort of warfare. A man who, in his private life, had so kindly and gracious a nature as to be able to establish intimate relations with a poor little Ishmaelite of a mouse which, on his taking his seat at table, would steal from its hiding-place and disport itself by him at his meals; or who could so prevail over the distrust and fugaciousness of a flock of pigeons, that they would wait for him daily in his garden, would flutter around him as he approached, and contend for places on his person, crowding upon his head and shoulders, and even clinging to the slopes of his arms-such a man was not the one to

make use, even against his worst political enemies, of the rancorous and acrid methods of literary strife. No one saw more vividly than he what was weak, or despicable, or cruel, in the position and conduct of the enemy; but in exhibiting it, his method was that of good-humored ridicule. Never losing his temper, almost never extreme in emotion or in expression, with an urbanity which kept unfailingly upon his side the sympathies of his readers, he knew how to dash and discomfit the foe with a raillery that was all the more effective because it seemed to spring from the very absurdity of the case, and to be, as Ben Jonson required, "without malice or heat."

Rev. Henry van Dyke, D. D., has been for years one of the best loved pastors and foremost preachers of New York City, but to the literary world he has been known as a critic, essayist, story writerin short a versatile prosewriter of exceptional powers. Charles Scribner's Sons have just published a volume of his poetry that will add to his wellearned reputation in other fields the fame of a poet,

HENRY VAN DYKE

for this collection is destined to be one of the most notable of recent years.

A glance at Dr. van Dyke's previous books is all that can be given, for it is our wish to reserve space for two or three of his beautiful lyrics, for a better idea of the charm of this collection can be given in this than in any other way. Dr. van Dyke's volumes of a distinctly religious character are The Reality of Religion, 1884: The Story of the Psalms, 1887; Straight Sermons, 1893: The Gospel for an Age of Doubt, 1896-lectures delivered a year before at the Yale Theological Seminary. These These books are all sound, clear, vital, catholic in spirit, brotherly in feeling, and to quote another, "the

work of a man who knows his time and loves it." The first book to win the author a wide reputation as a litterateur was The Poetry of Tennyson, 1889, which is not only a careful study of the technique of the poet, but in a much broader way an interpretation of the views of art and life with which the poems abound. This volume met with the warmest approval from the poet himself, who furnished the material to make the second edition more complete. In 1893 The Christ Child in Art-a commentary on the work of the masters in painting who have portrayed the Madonna and Child -appeared and was warmly welcomed. In 1895 Little Rivers-a volume of delightful out-of-door essays, now in its sixth edition-was published, and greatly strengthened a growing reputation. As Mr. Mabie well says, "the breath of the imagination stirs to rare music of speech in this series of papers which is likely to become a classic in its field." Last year a number of allegorical stories of unusual beauty of diction and most graceful in fancy were published under the title, The Story of the Other Wise Man.

Dr. van Dyke's new volume of poetry, The Builders and Other Poems, contains about two score of titles which are divided into four classifications: the ode which gives the title to the collection, Lyrics of Friendship and Truth, Songs Out of Doors, and Four Birds and a Flower. The Builders, an academic ode recited by Dr. van Dyke at the 150th anniversary of Princeton College, is smooth and stately in movement and well sustained from beginning to end, and will rank with the few American odes that have survived the occasions for which they were written. There are several poems of singular beauty among the "lyrics of friendship. and truth," but the finest is the short poem on the death of Tennyson, which is here reproduced from an autographic copy of the poem by the author.* It is not too much to say that it is the most beautiful of the many tributes evoked by the Laureate's death. One critic has said, and with truth, that the "elegist has caught something of his master's highest manner, so that in this one poem it may almost be said, as was said respecting Landor's Citation of Shakespeare, that 'only two men could have written it; he who wrote it and the man it was written

on.

The out of door songs contain as clear woodland notes as can be found in American poetry. The Angler's Wish, The Snow Song, and Roslin and

See page 65.