arbitrator, who immutably took the features of Mr. David Lloyd George.

Sometimes France had kind things said to her; sometimes she heard disagreeable words. But she never left the tribunal without having been obliged to make some.sacrifice, moral or material; be it a question of coal, of penalties, of money, of the reparations of her devastated regions, invariably she had to give up something.

This time things will be changed. At Washington there will be but one single arbitrator-the American people. And France willingly accepts its verdict.

On the other hand, those who this time will have to make sacrifices to peace, to harmony, and to the good understanding of all will be England and Japan in particular. This time the preachers of morals will also have to be the paymasters.

When the question of the Pacific is raised, we shall hear no more about French imperialism, French militarism, and French annexationism. We shall only have the great English disinterestedness and the great English moderation facing us.

And we shall be the better able to pay

STÉPHANE LAUZANNE SAYS:

"The study of disarmament by the League of Nations is a study in the clouds. But the study of disarmament by the three greatest naval Powers of the globe, and by one of the greatest military Powers of Europe, can eventually meet with something tangible"

a hearty tribute to that disinterestedness and to that moderation, as it will no longer be at our expense.

Whatever the case may be, the line of conduct of France at the Conference of Washington is regulated in advance. She will back up America with all her heart and power.

It is very probable that Prime Minister Briand will go himself to Washington, accompanied by Marshal Foch and Admiral Lacaze as his technical counselors. M. Briand desires particularly to go himself to place his statesman's authority in person at the disposal of the President of the United States for the good work which he has undertaken, and to get into touch with the American people, whom he loves and admires above all.

If, however, by some impossibility, M. Briand were to be detained in Paris through governmental duties, it would be M. René Viviani whom France would delegate to Washington.

In any event, America will have at the Conference in the person of the French delegates men who are only anxious to help her practically in her beautiful and useful scheme.

S Japan the victim of a gigantic international conspiracy of white nations? Is the invitation that she attend the Disarmament Conference to be called at Washington merely a diabolically clever scheme whereby she will be placed in a position where she must either make various concessions in respect to the present troublesome Asiatic and Pacific questions or must see herself forced into a position of absolute isolation as a nation? Ever since Japan received the inquiry from the United States as to whether she would attend the Conference these questions have been agitating the minds of all Japanese who think on international questions at all. If matters had gone no further than the delivery to the Foreign Office of the American inquiry, the results thereof would nevertheless have been tremendous when measured in the terms of its effect on Japanese thought.

For Japan has finally been brought to realize that she stands alone, in the position of a suspect; that the nations desire nay, may insist on her placing all her cards upon the table; that she must either play the game in Asia and the Pacific along the lines of the new world morality now followed by other nations, or must find herself an outcast with the hands of all others against her. Japan feels that she is at the parting of the roads, that her destiny is about to be determined-unless she may find some way to prevent or confuse the discussion

BY HENRY W. KINNEY

The note of surprise is predominant. Japan felt rather secure at the moment. Most of her public men did not believe that anything would ever come of the Disarmament Conference plans. At least they thought that nothing would happen for quite a while to come. Militarists felt sure that no conference, even if one should be called, could have any practical effect. They had seen too many conferences pass apparently allimportant resolutions which in the end only resolved themselves into smoke. So they did not bother to oppose disarmament talk very strongly. The Minister of the Navy even said that reduction of the naval budget might be considered, though the Japanese press itself accuses him of being very "lukewarm." The new Minister of War, in office only a few weeks, says bluntly that he can see no reason for either naval or army reduction. However, on the whole, even the advocates of armaments felt reasonably secure, first, with the thought that America was only bluffing, and would never actually call a conference; second, in the assurance that, even if such were called, the issue might easily be so complicated that nothing very tangible would result.

Then came President Harding's inquiry, with the information that various Asiatic and Pacific questions should be discussed as a basis for disarmament

Italy, and China-yes, China-had been invited to participate. No Big Bertha bombshell ever created greater consternation. What did all this mean? No longer might one rest secure in the prospect of a technical, academic conference; on the contrary, as the Japanese say, this event bids fair to be as tremendous in its effects as the Paris Conference, or even more so, and with the great difference that the questions to be taken up will practically all be those in which Japan has a vital interest. Japan feels that she will virtually be called upon to place on the table her plans for the future in respect to Siberia, China, and elsewhere.

While both politicians and press have been very guarded in their expressions, and while almost all the most prominent men have been careful to veil their utterances in anonymity, the undercurrent of resentment is too strong not to be very noticeable. First of all, Japan feels with disappointment and disgust that England, her ally, has tricked her. It is agreed that while the voice may be Harding's the hand is England's. It is believed to be plain that England, facing the impasse where she felt she must either terminate or emasculate the Anglo-Japanese Alliance or must lose the friendship, of America and face the opposition of Canada, to a large extent Australia and other parts of the Empire, by an extremely shrewd move brought

about the calling of a conference which, if the plans mature, will place Japan in the position where either she must outline and promise to maintain a liberal and satisfactory policy or she must place herself in a position of isolation as an out-and-out militarist nation, when she could not expect renewal of the Alliance.

Next Japan has looked upon the composition of the Conference. England has already shown where she stood by sidestepping renewal of the Alliance and by being instrumental-at least, so Japan thinks-in bringing about this extremely uncomfortable Conference. France and Italy both showed in the matter of the Yap question that they far preferred the friendship of the United States to that of Japan. China-well, Japan knows what she may expect from China, which has not forgotten the Twenty-one Demands, and which is an extremely interested party in the Shantung and other questions. "As a matter of fact, we have become isolated even before we enter the Conference," is a common cry. "If we take part, we will be one against all the rest. If we do not take part, we shall be condemned as confessed militarists. The position is impossible."

It seems hard to see a way out. Japan promptly indicated her willingness to take part in a Disarmament Conference, but, and this is the great question in Japan to-day, will she be able to prevent that body from taking up, or at least making decisions on, the various questions in which she is so vitally interested-Shantung, Siberia, the open door in China, Yap, and so forth? has seen that if she refuses to take part the other nations may arrive at agreements in respect thereto among themselves. The "Nichi Nichi" has already stated that a secret agreement has been entered into between the United States and Great Britain.

She

Japan is honestly nonplused at what

appears an inevitable call that she outline her Asiatic policy, for, in truth, she has none, or possibly it may be more correct to say that she has several, mainly that of the War Office and that of the rest of the Cabinet. Thus at the recent conference in Tokyo of members of the Cabinet, Japanese administrators, and officials on the mainland of Asia and others it was decided to turn a new leaf all around; troops would be withdrawn from Siberia and the Shantung Railway, and a more liberal policy followed towards China generally. This was not so very surprising, for the Hara administration has ever refused to follow the policy of its predecessors in respect to the great Republic just across the sea. But what has become of all these policies? Nothing. The General Staff refuses to withdraw the troops from Shantung unless certain conditions are agreed to, and, instead of taking troops out of Siberia, it has just sent in the Eleventh Division to relieve the Eighth. Under the circumstances, which is the Japanese policy-that of the Cabinet, with its good intentions, or that of the General Staff, which sardonically sits tight and controls the immediate situation?

This uncertainty, this lack of ability to guarantee a policy, the necessity of making a showdown, accounts to some extent for the quandary in which Japan finds herself. It is possible that to those who wish to follow an open, liberal policy the Conference may afford an opportunity to free themselves from the militarist yoke, for it seems inconceivable that even the reactionaries of the General Staff would dare to violate undertakings entered into in a conference of the world's leading nations; but, on the other hand, no matter how much they may resent the iron dominance of the militarists, they are first and foremost Japanese, and they cannot look with equanimity on what appears the

underhanded conduct of their ally, and they do not wish to have to treat with what seems a pistol at their head.

One thing has already been accomplished, which will in some measure make towards world peace, and that is that Japan has been made to realize that if she pursues a reactionary policy in the Far East she will stand alone, that the hands of all other nations of standing will be against her. She knows that now. She found it out during the first two or three days of surprised speculation over the vast potentialities indicated in the apparently rather innocuous Harding note. It will take some time before the effect reaches the masses, for these do not think, except on the very broadest and most puerile terms, on international questions. The question of what the effect will be presents one of the most interesting propositions which has ever arisen in the modern Far East. Some writers are already advocating a conciliatory attitude towards Russia, the forming of some sort of combination with Moscow, with Bolshevism left out. Undoubtedly others will advocate closer relations with Germany, for Japan has never forgotten her old love for the Kaiser's country. Many writers are sorry that Japan's high-handed methods of the past have made China inimical; they want to kiss and make up. However, these solutions are all too distant to be of any value at present. Russia in her present condition can be of no value as an ally, nor can Germany, and China's memory is not so short that she can forget the Twenty-one Demands.

It is certain that at no time has Japan been engaged in taking stock of her policies and her position in respect to other nations as she has during the few days following the Harding inquiry. History in the Orient will depend on what course she decides to follow.

T

HE fifth summer conference of the Pictorial Photographers of America took place at Canaan, Connecticut, the first week in August. Photographers from various sections of this country, and also a representative from the City of Mexico, were present to confer and to exhibit their work. Demonstrations of certain novel processes were given, most of them being of a somewhat technical character. No outstanding developments or inventions seem to have been produced during the year, or for several years for that matter, as the disturbing influence of the war and its aftermath has affected photography as it has so many other activities. The greatest inventions in recent years in connection with photography-those of color plates and motion pictures-still fall short of complete success. Color photography, to be fected, must include an easy method

of printing paper as well as the production of transparencies as in the Lumière process; and motion pictures still await the successful application of a simple and inexpensive process for showing figures and scenes in natural colors.

The bromoil process in photography, which was invented a few years ago, seems at present to be attracting the attention of the leading photographic pictorialists throughout the world. An example of this kind of work is shown on the opposite page. This is a complicated and laborious process, and while capable in expert hands of extremely pleasing results, it can never be a commercial rival of the older methods. It necessitates the patient development of each print by bringing it up with a brush held in the fingers, successive "dabs" finally producing the finished print.

At the Conference, which was pre

sided over by the well-known portraitist Clarence H. White, interesting demonstrations were given, consisting of the selection, from a given point, of the most available subject for a landscape photograph, by Mr. W. E. Macnaughtan, president of the photographic section of the Brooklyn Institute of Arts and Sciences; of the most effective methods of flower arrangement, by Mlle. Kichi Harada, of Japan, with accompanying photographic studies; of the use of kallitype, a process revived during the war, by Mr. Dwight A. Davis, of Worcester, Massachusetts; and of new methods in connection with the bromoil process, by Messrs. W. A. Alcock, of New York, and Bernard S. Horne, of Princeton, New Jersey.

The interest shown in the Conference indicates the increasing employment of photography as an art process.

HENRY HOYT MOORE,

H

BY LYMAN ABBOTT

ENRY F. DURANT, a successful lawyer in Massachusetts, was converted under the preaching of Dwight L. Moody in 1864, became himself a lay preacher, eleven years later set apart a large portion of his very considerable fortune to the foundation of a college for girls at Wellesley, a suburb of Boston, and thereafter devoted to the organization and management of the college most of his time and his thought until his death in 1881. The college building was erected on an eminence above a lake, on the opposite shore of which was the Durants' home. The ample college grounds, beautifully diversified, included three hundred acres -one, he once told me, for each pupil. When I visited Wellesley College, probably in 1879, Mr. Durant was spending much of his time in the College, holding and exercising a controlling influence in the conduct of its affairs, and Miss Alice Freeman was teaching history, and, if my memory does not mislead me, was also busy creating a library out of a growing collection of books.

From the first she fascinated me.

Whether a sculptor would consider her features beautiful I do not know. Beauty of features has never much appealed to me. But through her always expressive face shone a beautiful spirit. Native refinement, scholarly culture, intuitive imagination, unhesitating courage, womanly grace, and spontaneity of life combined to make that beauty.

Profoundly interested in the movement to widen the intellectual horizon of women and open to them the long-locked doors of opportunity to public service, she was then and always feminine. This, my first impression, I want to impress upon my reader, because if I fail to do so I shall lamentably fail to interpret the subject of this portrait. If I am asked what I mean by feminine, I reply frankly that I do not know. No man can define feminine. For to man the charm of woman is that she keeps him guessing. For this reason novelists fail in their heroines. The masculine reader of "David Copperfield" approves of Agnes, though she rather bores him, but delights in Dora, though he disapproves of her. On the other hand,

Portia in the "Merchant of Venice" is a delightful heroine to the masculine mind because the Portia of the casket scene is so different from the Portia of the judgment scene. Alice Freeman Palmer seemed to me, I think from that first introduction to her, like an opal; you can always be sure to find a wonderful light in it, but with what changing colors it will glow when you next look at it you cannot tell; no one can tell.

I think it was because she was so feminine that she exercised over Mr. Durant an influence which no one else exercised and no one else could quite comprehend. This influence inspired him to select her, at the age of twentysix, to be President of the College. He was a Puritan Christian. Prompt obedience to law was to him the sum of all virtues. One day as he and Miss Freeman were consulting together on some college business, a college girl passed by the open door. The following colloquy took place:

Mr. Durant.

Miss Freeman, I wish you would speak to that girl about her soul's salvation. She is in need of such counsel as you could give her.

Miss Freeman. I will make it my business to get acquainted with her. What is her name?

Mr. Durant. No! no! I want you to speak to her now. She has just passed by.

Miss Freeman. I can't do that. I can't talk on this most sacred of subjects with a girl I have never known.

Mr. Durant. Yes! Now! Now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation.

Miss Freeman (after a little longer parley). Why, Mr. Durant, it is impossible. You don't know anything about girls.

Mr. Durant. I don't know anything about girls! Why, I have founded this College for girls; and I have been meeting them every week, almost every day, for the last three years. Why don't I know anything about girls?

Miss Freeman. Because you have never had a daughter; your wife is not like any other woman that ever lived; and you've never been a girl yourself.

Mrs. Palmer, who told me this incident, which I have here for brevity's sake put in dramatic form, added that often afterwards when in their conferences she could not agree with him he would bring the conference to a close by saying: "Well, I suppose I don't understand girls; I've never been a girl myself."

I do not think that I am mistaken in the opinion that Mr. Durant was more eager to make missionary Christians than to make ripe scholars. The incident already narrated illustrates his

spiritual eagerness. Miss Freeman (I use the name she bore during those college days) was not less spiritually eager. But she did not think that Christian character and ripe scholarship were separate goals to be reached by separate roads, or that either was to be used merely as a means to attain the other. She habitually thought of the Christian religion in New Testament terms as "life;" to inspire her pupils with life was always her inspiring purpose. Professor Palmer, in his delightful biography of his wife, brings out this characteristic very clearly:

"Why will you," I said, "give all this time to speaking before uninstructed audiences, to discussions in endless committees with people too dull to know whether they are talking to the point, and to anxious interviews with tired and tiresome women? You would exhaust yourself less in writing books of lasting consequence. At present you are building no monument. When you are gone people will ask who you were, and nobody will be able to say." But I always received the same indifferent answer: "Well, why should they say? I am trying to make girls wiser and happier. Books don't help much toward that. They are entertaining enough, but really dead things. Why should I make more of them? It is people that count. You want to put yourself into people; they touch other people; these, others still, and so you go on working forever."

"It is people that count." That I think is one of the keys to Alice Freeman Palmer's character. She was not especially interested in themes or theories; but she was tremendously interested in people. I was once told by a friend of a young graduate who had just taken up teaching, and who, asked by a companion, What are you teaching? replied, "Twenty children." When I first knew her, Miss Freeman was teaching three hundred college girls. They absorbed all her attention. She had especially prepared herself to teach history. But my guess is that she could have given points to any teacher in her Faculty. She probably did not know mathematics as well as the professor of mathematics or philosophy as well as the professor of philosophy or Greek as well as the professor of Greek, but she knew girls and she could have shown any specialist in her Faculty how to get the girl mind open to any truth the specialist wanted to get into that mind.

Walking through the College corridors with the President, her personal familiarity with her three hundred pupils filled me with ever-increasing amazement. She not only seemed to know them all by name; she knew their families and their interests. She asked one about the sick mother, another whether her father had yet returned from Europe, another whether her younger sister was getting ready to come to College. "How ever do you do it?" I asked her. "I never could." "Oh, yes," she replied; "you could if you had to. It is simply that you never had to.

Brown Bros

Whatever we have to do, we can always do." In narrating after her death this conversation to her husband, I added, what I venture to quote here: "This quiet confidence in the ability to do what needs to be done seems to me one of the secrets of her power. She leaned on her necessities, instead of letting her. self be broken by them; and that simple disclosure of her method has greatly added to the power of my life."

No doubt this power to carry in her busy mind these details of the lives of others was in part a native gift; but it was one which she assiduously cultivated, and she told me once what she did to cultivate it. She kept a memorandum book in her bedroom in which were the names of all the freshman class. Under each name she wrote whatever information she from time to time acquired. These notes of her pupils' charecters and experiences she studied as they studied their notes of the lectures of their instructors. Thus while her students studied their lessons she studied her students, and she put no less painstaking into her studies than the most studious of them put into theirs. And this was no compulsory or professional study. She delighted in it. She wished to know every pupil that she might better befriend every pupil. It was true for her then, as it was true for her always, "It is people that count."

She had not only interest in her pupils and affection for them. She had faith in them, believed in them, and by her faith inspired them to have faith in themselves. Little beginnings of desire, mere seeds, sprouted in the sunshine of her appreciative faith. It often happens that our deeper desires are hidden even from ourselves by some superficial wishes, our enduring purposes by some temporary inclinations. Miss Freeman saw these subconscious forces and gave

645

them power. She could control by authority when necessary; but she much preferred to call into life the power of self-control. Her life was full of such incidents as the following, narrated by her husband:

Amusing stories are reported of girls who came to ask for something, and went away delighted to have obtained the opposite.

One of them says: "In the spring of my senior year I had an invitation to spend the holidays in Washington, and my family strongly urged me to arrange the visit. Overjoyed, I went to Miss Freeman to obtain permission to leave college several days before the vacation. She was very warm, envying me the prospect of seeing the Capitol for the first time. She promised to ask the Faculty for permission and to state to them how great the opportunity for me was. But she inquired how many examinations and written exercises I should miss, incidentally calling my attention to the fact that the professors would have to give me special ones in the following term. Gradually I felt the disadvantage of this irregularity. Still, there was Washington! And I asked if she herself would not be tempted to go? Indeed she would, she said, but college work was the nearest, the first business. A Washington invitation might come again: a senior year in college, never. So. quite as if my own judgment had been my guide, I decided that I did not want to go to Washington. A little later, when the office door had closed, I stopped on the stairs and asked myself if this was the same person who had passed there half an hour before, and what had induced me to give up the coveted journey when there was no hint on Miss Freeman's part of compulsion, much less of refusal."

In laying emphasis, as throughout this article I am doing, on Miss Free