erected by Brigham Young for the amusement of the saints. It stands in the midst of the business part of the city, and many, no doubt, have slipped into its open door on Sunday morning who would not have been attracted by a decorous church edifice. But we now feel that we have proved our right to exist; and we wish, as soon as the financial outlook shall justify us in doing so, to build a house of our own, and prove also our hope and expectation of permanence. REBECCA PALFREY UTTER.

Salt Lake City, Utah.

ROBERT COLLYER AMONG THE

QUAKERS.

The Intelligencer and Journal, the weekly paper of the Friends, published in Philadelphia, contains the following account of an address recently made by Rev. Robert Collyer at a Friends' meeting in New York. Says the writer :

It was pleasant to see the cheerful face of our friend Robert Collyer (the well-known Unitarian minister), sitting in the gallery of the meeting at Fifteenth and Rutherford Place, on First-day morning, the 2d inst. After a period of silence and a short message from Samuel B. Haines, Dr. Collyer arose, and in his sympathetic, winning manner said that he had followed a longfelt desire in being with us that morning, and making the confession and telling the story which followed. He wanted to confess to his belief in the great central truth that Friends, from the time of their "great apostle," George Fox, to the present date had held up as their fundamental principle,namely, the doctrine of the Inward Light; the light which enlighteneth every man which comes into the world. He said he accepted and endeavored to live by it, as it must necessarily be by each one of every denomination who wished to follow the teachings of the Master. This principle had not been taught to him in his childhood; but, when in his early manhood a time of darkness and deep tribulations came to him, he recognized the voice; and, leaving his mother church, the church of England, he followed its guidance, and became a member of the little Methodist church in his native village. They had the light there, he said, but not as he now saw it, or as quiet and clear as Friends held it. They showed it in manners we might not approve of, and waved it about; but still it was the Light.

He then told how, as he expressed it, the

as

bed was too narrow and the covering too short for him; that he felt limited, bound down, and if his work required a broader field. So, following the clear shining of the Light, he determined to come to America. His friends expostulated with him, not being able to see how, if he must go away, it should not be to Canada, where friends and letters of introduction would make his new life easier. But, without

being able to answer them with reasons, he kept his resolve, followed the Light, and arrived in New York in 1850, where he was immediately offered a good employment at his trade of blacksmith. But the Light shone on Philadelphia, he said; and with no other reasons, leaving good prospects in New York for none at all there, he went to that city, realizing his disadvantages, but feeling that go there he must. Soon after First Unitarian Church, asked him to conhis arrival Dr. Furness, the minister of the sider a proposition to go to Chicago to take charge of mission work there, and gave him a week to decide in. But he said he did not wish time to consider: he knew then that it was the thing for him to do, and thus commenced his twenty-one years in the ministry in that city. He pathetically told of his loss of home and church by the great Chicago fire, but how the voice had directed him not to falter, but to work on, and success would be theirs, how the Light had shone on the ruins of his church, where he called his people together and addressed to them words which came to his heart as he spoke. He told this story of his life, he said, to confess that it was by his recognition and obedience to this Inward Light he had been led along life's pathway to the joy and peace which surrounded him now in his old age.

After seating, he again arose and gave expression to an earnest prayer that in upholding this truth Friends might be "faithful as ever, steadfast as ever, brave, true, and strong, minding the Light and maintaining their testimony as to its efficiency." It was an interesting meeting, and one which will be long remembered by those who were pres

ent.

A DAY IN THE SCULPTURE GALLERIES OF THE WORLD'S FAIR.

I spoke in my last letter about saying a word some time in these columns concerning the wonderful exhibit of modern paintings in the Art Building at Jackson Park; but the best way to study this exhibit is from the central rotunda outwards through the four courts, named from the points of the compass,-beginning, that is, with the mis

cellaneous collection of sculptures in plaster, bronze, and marble here found. A better knowledge of all the buildings can be obtained and of the general arrangement of the exhibits they contain by following the architectural plan of each. Each is a complete part of a harmonious whole.

Passing, then, directly by the tempting displays on canvas that beckon through open doors on all sides from whichever entrance we chance to approach, and bending our steps sturdily to the centre of the great Art Building, we stand under the beautiful dome in the company of a huge statue in bronze of the Father of his Country, a part of the United States exhibit and the work of Thomas Ball. Behind is a painful piece of artistic modelling in the shape of a nude reclining figure, with agonized expression of countenance, torn by dogs, called Jezebel. It is not easy to study the sculptures of the World's Fair because of the incomplete way in which, thus far, the different works have been catalogued. Some have not yet been numbered at all, and it is impossible to guess at either artist or subject. This neglect is especially trying in the east court, which is filled with plaster reproductions of some of the world's most famous architectural creations, which it would be a part of a liberal education thoroughly to understand. But, though a full list of these works appears in the revised catalogue, they are still left unnumbered, and the visitor must piece out his information as best he can from his general knowledge of the subject. As this is a part of the French exhibit, and the French have proved themselves such marvellous systematizers in every other depart ment, it cannot but be that this oversight will soon be corrected. Massive doorways and façades, like those of the cathedrals of Amiens and Paris, are here represented with magnificent tombs and cloisters of the Middle Ages, lending marvellous richness and stateliness to the general effect, with nothing of Middle Age gloom or superstition.

In the south court a mammoth structure representing the quarrel of an eagle and two vultures over a dead bear first arrests attention. It is by Auguste Cain of Paris. A lion strangling a crocodile, near by, is also his. Onslow Ford's sitting statue, in bronze, of Irving as Hamlet, will bring the visitor's

feet to a halt. The French lead the world in sculpture, and their exhibit is particularly fine and interesting here. A Dante by JeanPaul Aube, a lean, silent figure, with face bearing marks of the painful workings of the "Inferno" within, symbolized in the floating, half-disclosed figure of some poor wretch in torment, at the base, is worth a study. A finely finished piece of marble by Blanchard is called "Tintoret's daughter." An allegorical statue of republican France is seen in a kneeling figure of Falguiere's, said to have been ordered by the French section, but whose significance I could not determine. A massive but tender and impressive piece of work is that of Edipus at Colonna, with Antigone at his side, in plaster, by Jean Hugues. Hector Lemaire is represented by a number of pieces in this and in the other courts, some of the pieces being somewhat fanciful, but all graceful and full of delicate meaning. Another piece of heroic size, and in plaster, is Lavasseur's "First Born," in which the young father, mother, and child are portrayed with equal strength and beauty. It is a matter of both surprise and encouragement that such beautiful effects can be produced from the common substance of plaster in which nearly all of the most effective things appear. Indeed, there is a rugged strength and force about these rougher creations that the exquisitely finished marble fails to convey. In many ways the plaster and its more serviceable ally, bronze, are better fitted to express the realistic spirit of modern art, though it would be a pity to think that the patience and unwearying labor that belong to marble were not also to be retained and made part of the new ideals. But, as one wanders through the sculpture galleries proper, and then supplements his impressions with the works scattered about in the picture galleries and the higher artisan productions in the French and Italian departments in the Liberal Arts display, it is impossible to escape the conviction that marble belongs to the past. It has so long been associated with the romantic and conventional in art that it will take long to make it the bearer of a new and plainer, but higher message to mankind.

The north court is in some respects the most interesting of all. In the centre is another mammoth creation in plaster by

Bush-Brown of New York, entitled "The Buffalo Hunt," flanked by two bronze pieces of nearly the same size, each an admirably wrought out conception,-the "Cider Press," by Thomas Shields Clarke, the model for a drinking fountain, and an Indian "Bear Hunt" by Douglas Tilden. But that which deservedly attracts most attention here is a work by one of our Chicago artists, Mr. Gelert, who also designed the beautiful rostral columns surrounding the Main Basin. It is the struggle for work, and embodies an English custom in which the employer in time of industrial stress and strain signifies the number of men he is willing to employ by scattering tickets among the hungry. waiting crowd of enforced idlers besieging his doors. Those who in the rush and scramble can snatch and keep hold of one of these tickets and present it at the door will receive the chance of a day's work. The struggle represents one brawny young fellow triumphant, standing upright with the piece of coveted pasteboard in his hand; but on one side another young man of smaller, weaker frame vainly tries to reach and snatch it away, and on the other an old man, weak with the years that should have placed him beyond all such needs, tremblingly implores the precious boon from the lucky winner, who is man enough to hesitate, his face showing a mixture of conflicting emotions. Beneath his feet a woman with her child in her arms has been trampled down in the pressure which deadly suffering makes worse than the conflicts of war. It is a terrible lesson in existing conditions, whose reality we would like to deny.

There are a number of interesting things from the Belgian department in this court. Near the door is a bronze figure of Dickens, heroic size, with little Nell at his feet, which wins the popular heart at once, while not far away is a colossal statue of Watts. French's bronze bust of Alcott, with the high, narrow forehead and dreamy look bespeaking his mystic thoughts, is here, and a number of things by that most suggestive of artists, William Ordway Partridge, whose idealistic qualities are so far removed from the artificial and affected, and who always gives you a real thought clothed in tender, picturesque guise. Conspicuous among these is his Christ, done in marble, modern in sentiment, but somewhat too smooth and fin

ished to quite satisfy the demand of a reverent rationalism in this direction,-a demand art has not yet realized. There are several animal pieces by Kemeys, and a noble Andromeda by the German artist, Joseph Hitt. In the corridor leading to the east court is Miss Potter's plaster bust of Prof. Swing, long familiar to Chicago people, and reproducing very successfully the strong, homely traits of our great preacher. Near by hangs a large bronze plaque depicting scenes from "Rip Van Winkle," with the figures of Dr. Pangloss and Bob Acres, commemorating that favorite artist of the stage, Joseph Jefferson.

The west court contains several miniature copies in plaster of famous architectural structures, like the German Parliament House at Berlin, the memorial church to Emperor William, a Japanese pagoda which required the continued labor of thirty-seven workmen one year to construct, a part of the Vanderbilt mansion in New York, celebrating the architectural genius of Hunt, etc. Here also is to be found Mr. French's "Sculptor and Death," which wins many admiring plaudits. There is a good piece of Swedish workmanship in bronze, entitled "Brothers," and a couchant lion of the same nativity facing the entrance. A group of reliefs by Max Bachman of Boston placed on the reverse of Mr. French's "Sculptor and Death" is well worth study, and an ideal conception of a "Dream," in which a face is faintly disclosed through the marble, is especially beautiful.

This is a most imperfect list, having the additional disadvantage of being selected with only the average sight-seer's deficient skill and knowledge of the subject to assist. When to the treasures of the Art Building in this line are added the sculpture ornamentations of all the buildings and grounds and the numerous other special works scattered about for general decorative effect, it will be seen there is enough to study and delight in. But what I like best of all in this art exhibit, just prefacing our entrance into the twentieth century, is the spirit characterizing it, its thoroughly modern character and scope. Of this I shal have more to say when we come to that other and larger feature of the exhibit, the jaintings. CELIA P. WOOLLEY.

Chicago.

DARING TO HOPE.

"On the evening gate of this century," said Richter, "stands written, 'Here is the way to Virtue and Wisdom.'" These are the words of a man who dared to hope, not that somehow, in some way, the wrong would be made right and the sorrows of life be assuaged, but that to society as to the individual the best things will eventually come, and that the noblest dreams of the noblest men are but faint prophecies of the divine realities of the future. There is a place for the pessimist who believes that the present is full of evil and ought to be made better. Every man ought to be a pessimist in that sense; but, if there is a God, there is no place for the man who is a pessimist as regards the ultimate issues of life and time. Hope is not simply an amiable and cheerful quality of character: it is the convincing evidence of faith. To lack it is to doubt God: to possess it as a deep and powerful impulse is to believe in God as the most real of all realities. Carlyle was right when he said that in every age the critical conflict is between the believer and the unbeliever, between the man who sees in all life the manifestation of a divine Purpose and the man who sees nothing beyond the tangible and material order and movement about him; and this conflict is critical and fundamental, because the ideas which dominate society are determined in the end by belief or disbelief in God. There are good men who do not accept any formal statement of the existence and nature of Deity, but the real atheists are few. Atheism in theory or in practice is the root of all evil; and vital belief in God is not only the loftiest attainment of the human mind, but it is the necessity of society. Without it society would disintegrate.

But to believe in God is not always to realize his presence in the turmoil of human strife and struggle. The working faith of a multitude is expressed in the comment once made to Carlyle by his mother, "Thomas, the world is a lie; but God is true."

With all his marvellous endowments, Carlyle never got beyond this frightful contradiction, a contradiction which has its root in atheism. There are lies in this world because there are men in it who make and utter lies; but, if God is true,

the world must also be true. The difficulty with most of us is that we believe as far as we can see, and we doubt the rest of the way. When we come to the great mystery of pain, sin, sorrow, and waste, we invoke the devil, and divide the government of the universe between him and God. This is an easy and deceptive solution of the mystery; but to the thoughtful man it is no solution at all, either in religion or philosophy. No compromise is possible between faith and theism, however often theology may have tried, in its intellectual blindness and spiritual faintness of heart, to make one. There is a God or there is not. If there is no God, no man can think evil enough of this world and the life men live in it. If there is a God, nothing is too good to believe, because, as Paul has told us in one of his most impassioned statements, no man can comprehend the resources of a divine creation in the final development of blessedness. In a God-made world there is no room for the pessimist, -for the man who believes in God as far as he can understand what is going on around him, and then takes refuge in the devil when he gets beyond his depth. To really believe in God in the world to come, one must believe in him in the world that now is; and there never was ranker atheism than the feeling of doubt often expressed by good people about the outcome of the struggle going on about us.

To hope is, therefore, not a privilege, but a duty; for hope is the temper that grows out of belief. If God is really with us, and humanity has not defeated his purpose nor the world slipped from his grasp, then we are bound to hope. Men forget how much fear they have outlived and how far the black shadow which once rested on the landscape of life has receded. Primitive life was enveloped in mystery and dark ened by fear. There was fear of the dead, of the malice of evil spirits, of possession by demons, of monsters in the sea and hateful existences in the forests, of blight, of envious stars, of magical influences. All existence was encircled by shadows, and every unexplored place was peopled with enemies. One by one these grosser fears vanished, to be followed by intellectual bogies and monstrosities not so tangible, but even more disheartening; and now these