to add to the happiness and welfare of men, or if it fails to add to the welfare and happiness of those men that most need to have their happiness and welfare developed, then, in so far, the Church is a failure. Whether rightly or wrongly, this is a test which the democracy applies to preacher, to priest, to Church, to religious institutions of every kind. So long as we have a democratic America, so long it is certain we must have Churches that will serve the common people, or the Churches will cease to be supported by the common people. Democracy measures its institutions by their relation to human need. In the same way it measures industry. It tests every industrial organization by the question: Is it making good men and good women? It is democracy which has insisted that the law shall interfere with industrial enterprises which are not making good men and good women. It is democracy which has insisted that child labor shall cease, that woman labor shall be limited, and that hours of labor for all men shall be defined. It is democracy which protests against any system of labor which requires a man to work twelve hours out of the twenty-four, and seven days out of the week. It is democracy which insists on shorter hours of labor and larger wages; not merely for the sake of the larger wages, not merely for the sake of the shorter hours, but for the sake of such leisure as will make development of the workingmen's life possible. This is the meaning of the blind, groping, ignorant, often impracticable, and sometimes revolutionary, demands of labor organizations. This is the spur that drives them on; this the moral force that compels them. It is true that wages are better than wages ever were before; it is true that hours of labor are less than they ever were before. But it is also true that manhood is larger than it ever was before; that it needs more relief from toil and more opportunity for the development of the higher life than it ever did before. Democracy measures industry by its fruits on character. It counts that a poor industrial system which grinds up men and women in order to make cheap goods.

Democracy does not see so clearly the third principle which Christ inculcated, namely, that the secret of all life is God dwelling in man and inspiring him to an

ever higher life. And yet I think democracy already begins to see this dimly, if not clearly. And I cannot but think that if it fails to see this principle clearly it is partly because we ministers have ourselves failed to see it clearly, or to present it so that others should clearly see it.

Democracy believes in law; it believes in government for the protection of person, of property, of the family, of reputation. Democracy has organized a strong government; the old fears that the United States would be but a rope of sand are no longer entertained by any students of American history. history. Democracy is as far removed from anarchism as it is from socialism. But law must be either imposed and enforced by authority from without or imposed and enforced by authority from within. If the law comes from without, and is enforced by a power from without, the individual is, in so far, in subjection to some one other than himself; if the law comes from within, and is enforced by his reason and his conscience, the law thus within the man is a self-enforcing law, and when a man lives under a self-enforcing law he lives in liberty. Law according to the Christian conception, law according to the Old Testament conception, law as more and more democracy is coming to see it, is the law of man's own nature. It is not an edict issued by a king, nor a statute framed by a God; it is the law of man's own organism. The moral law is a part of his organism and a product of it. The laws of nature that bind men together in one great social organism are not made by man; they are made by the Creator of man; they are divine. And yet they are not external to man; they are not brought down to him at Mount Sinai; they are not brought down to him in the Sermon on the Mount. Mount Sinai and the Sermon on the Mount do but interpret them. This is the fundamental postulate of liberty: God appeals to the divine in man and finds in man himself the power to enforce all righteous laws. Thus the foundation of liberty is the recog nition-intelligently or unintelligently— of a divinely organized law; not getting its authority from any human will, but from a divine will, and from that will as it is manifested in the structure of the human soul, and finds its expression in the voice of the human reason and the

human conscience. That God is in man, that man is of kin to God, that law derives its authority from the divine Lawgiver, and not from the human Czar, or from Congress, or from a majority-this is the fundamental postulate of free institutions, this is the basic fact of democracy.

Christ not only declared that he had come to give human happiness to the world, and come to give it by the development of individual character, and come to develop that individual character by bringing men to a consciousness of the divine that was within them, but he taught them that when thus they were developed and came to the consciousness of this divine within them they would be brought together into a great natural organism. And he gave us a type and illustration which we should have perpetually before us, which should give to us our conception of the type of the organism and of the spirit which should animate it: "One is your Father in heaven, and all ye are brethren." The family is the type of social organism. The end of Christianity is a family or brotherhood of man.

The family is the first and oldest of organizations and the parent of all other organizations. Out of the patriarchal family grew the patriarchal church; out of the patriarchal church the patriarchal government. Governments are but collections of families; the church is but a combination of households. As the family is the first, and as the family is the parent, so the family is the type. "Our Father" is more than an acknowledgment of our relation to God, it is an acknowledgment of our relation to one another; and this relation which we bear to one another is the relation of brothers in a family, as the relation which we bear to God is the relation of children to a father. The first fact to be noticed is that in the family the ground of fellowship is in the parents. These are brethren, not because they think alike, not because they have similar temperaments, not because they are naturally congenial to one another, but because they are children of the same father and mother. Loyalty to the father and mother makes the family one. So loyalty to God makes the human race one; this is the first and fundamental fact. A brotherhood of man.

Why a brotherhood of man? I can understand why I am brother to a man who is congenial to me, who thinks as I think and likes what I like; I can understand why I am brother to the man who belongs to the same State or the same nation and has the same political interests that I have; I can understand even why I am brother to the man who is neighbor to me and with whom I come in perpetual contact. But why am I brother to all men? Why am I brother to the man on the other side of the globe? Why am I brother to the man against whom I brush in the street-car, whom I shall never see again? What basis is there for saying that I am brother to all men? Because deeper than consanguinity, deeper than race relationship, deeper than a common language is this sublime fact: that we, all of us, rich and poor, black and white, American and Filipino, are children of God, made in his image, or at least being made in his image. This it is, and only this, that makes us brothers. It is as infidel to deny the brotherhood of man as it is to deny the existence of God, and it is as inconsistent with any large human progress to deny the Fatherhood of God as it is to deny the brotherhood of man. Atheism never can be made to consort with democracy.

The second fact to be noticed is that the laws which govern the family in their inter-relationship to one another are the laws which are to be projected into society and to govern men in their relations with one another. Mark the contrast between the laws which we recognize as laws of the family and those which we generally have assumed to be the laws of the social organism. For example: “Hire labor in the cheapest market and sell it in the highest market;" this is the silverplated rule of industry; this is the basis on which it is supposed a harmonious social organism can be erected. Now apply it to the family: Seek the wife who will render you the greatest service and ask you for the least money; seek the husband who will pay the biggest pinmoney and ask of you the least service! What kind of a family will that give? Take another aphorism of science applied to the social order-" struggle for existence, survival of the fittest." Is this the rule of the family? The baby is laid in

the mother's arms, the unfittest infant on the face of the globe to survive, for there is no other infant that has not more capacity to take care of himself than the human infant. At once we all begin to study how this unfittest can survive. The boy must take off his noisy shoes when he enters the house, that he may not disturb this unfittest; the husband must be careful not to talk too loud in the adjoining room lest he awake the unfittest; he must get up in the middle of the night and walk with the unfittest, that the unfittest may be comforted and go to sleep. There is no service that we must not render for the little king, who is king because he is dependent, and only as we love him, and care for him, and give ourselves in unrequited service to him, will he survive. If we were to take these two principles of the home and carry them out into our industries, if the problem of the capitalist was, how large wages he could give and still keep his business. going, and of the laborer, how much work he could give and still maintain the time necessary for his own highest manhood; if the problem in our life was to help "bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ," which is also the law of democracy; if we really believed that he who would be greatest among us should be the servant of all, can any one doubt that the social problem which perplexes us would be solved?

Life is divinely organized for mutual service. The farmer gathers the raw material from the earth; the manufacturer converts it into objects which are useful to human life-the grain into flour, the wool into clothing; the railroad man takes this material, which is of no use where it is, and carries it across the continent to those regions where it is needed, from the overfed West to the underfed cities of the Atlantic border; the middleman takes what is transported and carries it to your house and to mine; the banker regulates the money through which all this system of interchange is carried on; the lawyer determines for us what are the principles of justice by which we are to be governed in our dealings one with another; the doctor cures us when we are sick, or, if we are wise and he is wise also, keeps us from getting sick; the teacher gathers out from all the experience of the past that which shall launch us into life

with something of the wisdom acquired by our forefathers; and the preacher gives the life and love of God to men to inspire them in all their labor. Life is organized for service, and the goal of democracy is the realization of that ideal in which every man shall "look not only upon his own things, but also on the things of his brother;" in which every man shall endeavor to help the weaker man through the hard places of life; in which every man shall recognize that his place in life, wherever it may be, is a place for the service of others, not for self-service. Such seem to me to be the fundamental principles of democracy: universal happiness, founded on the development of character, inspired by the indwelling of God, leading to the unification of the human race in one brotherhood, bound together by love, manifesting itself in mutual service.

In bringing this series of articles to a close, I sum up their results in a closing paragraph. The conflict of the centuries is one between the doctrine of pagan imperialism, that life and the world are made for the few, whom the many are to serve, and that of the Hebraic democracy, that life and the world are made for the many, and the great are to be their servants. This doctrine involves in politics, All just government is for the benefit of the governed; in political economy, The common wealth is for the benefit of the common people; in education, A fair opportunity for individual development should be offered to every individual; in religion, It is the right of every soul to learn for itself what it can of the Infinite, and to tell what it thinks it has learned. Of the Hebraic democracy the United States affords the best modern example; in the faithful application of these simple principles it will find the solution of its problems, both domestic and foreign. Its perils are great, but the grounds for hopefulness as to the final issue are greater. That issue, if it be successfully achieved, involves the material welfare of all the people, based on their intellectual and spiritual development; the freedom of the community, based on the recognition of a divine law enforced by reason and conscience; and a brotherhood of humanity, based on mutuality of service.

R

ECENTLY I made one of a party of

journalists who, in the course of conversation, discussed the relative merits of French, English, and American newspapers. It was a case of tot homines, tot sententia, but the opinion that attracted most attention, possibly on account of its epigrammatic form, was that of a grizzled veteran who had equal familiarity with English and French journalism. "The French papers," said he," are the least informed and the best written; the English the worst written and the best informed."

"And the American?" demanded a representative of the United States.

"The American journals," responded the sage, "oscillate between the two extremes."

And forthwith he produced from his overcoat pocket one of the greatest of the New York journals, and, amid roars of laughter, read to us the account cabled from Paris of a cab-horse who knew his way about the Ville Lumière so well that it was only necessary to whisper in his ear, "Gare St. Lazare," or "Moulin Rouge," in order that the animal should transport his fare to the required destination and by the shortest route!

The learned cab-horse is only a striking example of the ridiculous matter which finds its way into the greatest and most enterprising journals in the States. Among hundreds of incidents which I could cite I select that of a Paris corre spondent of my acquaintance, who, at a moment of considerable political tension, received a cable from his editor in New York: "Interview Delcassé on situation."

The vast and enterprising paper in question reproduced his prose with enormous and flamboyant head-lines. I may say that my confrère was totally unacquainted with Delcassé, and that he hardly knew the A B C of that very intricate and difficult study, French politics. Of what real interest to the American public, therefore, could his lucubrations have been, and even if, to make an absurd supposition, the "interview" had been authentic, of what possible value could have been the statements of such vague platitudes as an irresponsible reporter jotted. down with a half-hour's study of the subject? I believe I can speak with a certain impartiality of journalism in France, England, and America, for I have been a regular contributor to the press of these three countries, and I have at various times represented their leading papers as special correspondent.

It is customary in English-speaking countries to laugh at the somewhat "picayune" character and the lack of accuracy of the French papers, especially in reference to foreign affairs. There is, of course, much truth in these disparaging criticisms, and the matter is so important that lack of a well-instructed and interested public opinion forms one of the factors which have contributed to the decadence of France. French journalists as a rule know no other language than their own, and few of them have traveled abroad. It is not surprising, therefore, that the "directors" of foreign affairs, even in their principal journals, display a far

wondered how newspapers which speak

cassé?

"No."

foreign affairs of one of the "boulevard" papers a few notes on the American Presidential election. The notes were reproduced fairly exactly, but at the end of the article the director in question added a little of his own, concluding with the statement that the victory of McKinley seemed probable, unless at the last hour some "dark horse" appeared and beat both party candidates! The unfortunate director had learned the words 66 dark horse" only the previous day, and was burning with anxiety to show his knowledge of American slang.

But there are "buts." The Frenchman has a different conception of the function of a newspaper from that of an Englishman or American. There are several dailies which rank as important in Paris which are bought mainly on account of the articles of their editors. Such are the "Intransigeant " of Henri Rochefort, the "Libre Parole" of Drumont, and the "Autorité" of Paul de Cassagnac. There are few or none which are bought for the sake of the news, as the word would be understood in New York. With regard to news, moreover, it should be remarked that Paris looms so big to the Parisian in the perspective of things that a piece of gossip or an "echo" of Paris one of the most important of the French papers bears the name "L'Echo de Paris" -is of more importance than vast movements in foreign countries.

On the other hand, there is no city in the world so well supplied with publications having a more or less specialized or what might be called a technical character, not only in regard to science and industry, but also in all political, diplomatic, colonial, sociological, theatrical, artistic, and educational questions.

The newspaper therefore merely skims the surface, becomes the representative of Parisian conversation, and gives mere references to subjects of deeper study. The Parisian system of things therefore indicates, with regard to a certain aspect of the matter, a higher stage of evolution than that of other countries; for the degree of evolution is indicated by the differentiation's and specialization of functions.

The American newspapers have often excited my admiration by the energy and ability they display. But the intelligent

exposition of current topics, that sense which is conveyed to the reader of getting down to the "bed-rock" of things, if only for the purpose occasionally of misrepresentation-all this applies much more exclusively to American home affairs than to those which deal with other parts of the world, even in cases where American interests are large. In London certainly there are some talented correspondents of American papers, but the majority of these either know only very superficially the politics of the country-and, after all, properly understood, the politics are the business operations of the country-or else they become identified with the aims of a particular party.

In Paris I think that not ten per cent. of American correspondents possess the very first essential qualification, viz., a sufficient knowledge of the French language. It is true that in that respect the example is set in still higher quarters, for there have been American Ambassadors in Paris who were as ignorant of the language of Talleyrand as most French statesmen of the vernacular of Walt Whitman. I remember hearing a distinguished American official in Paris once say: "They generally send Ambassadors here to learn French, and when they have acquired a smattering they are taken away."

The remark illustrates the difficulty— almost invariably underrated-of "possessing" French, as they say here, so as to maintain a conversation in French company without fatigue to the listener. I have known journalists, even among those who have resided a few years in Paris, who speak a kind of language which "scorches" the ears of the Parisians. This is not a trivial matter, for the language is the only "open sesame" to a knowledge of French life.

Consequently most of the correspondents contrive to give to their journals a presentation of French politics, society, and of movements and events generally in France certainly not less absurd than the laughable blunders of French writers who attempt to describe American affairs.

But when a big "boom" in France, such as the Dreyfus affair, occupies the world's attention, it is then that the great American journals vie with each other in presenting to their readers the most outrageous caricatures of the French people;