nant, is more likely to have new emotions and new imaginings to impart to us, than a writer who lives just such lives as we ourselves, in our own day and land. And this brings us to the profit of studying old languages which, being dead, yet speak. For there is an immortality in language, and the bards of passion and of mirth have really left their souls on earth. This is the real reason for studying the classics. And in a few years we shall certainly include Sanskrit in our schools, as well as Latin and Greek; but I will not touch on that matter here. It is clear, though, that no amount of scientific education can in the slightest degree replace the true study of books, any more than a dinner replaces a bath. And this would remain perfectly true, even supposing science were all it claims to be and many things which we have seen that it is not.

Now there is another need for the study of old books, and books in foreign tongues, and it is this: Culture is the development of our sense of the human soul, in ourselves and in other people. But this sense of the soul can be extended in time as well as in space. We can find it in long past ages and in distant nations, as well as in the people with whom we come into actual contact. This sense of the human soul is a source of great and ever-increasing delight; it is even the sole basis of the satisfaction of passion, and lies within the instinct of greed, of avarice, of lust. We do not seek the envy of stones, the admiration of logs, the fear of trees, but of the human soul which we acknowledge, even while violating its dignity. And I think we have here the true measure of the morality of passion,-so long as the sense of the other human being dominates us and is our motive power, so long is passion moral; but when the sense of our own sensation dominates, whether as the sensuality of the man, or the vanity of the woman, then passion is evil; and, as a practical proof, this excess of our own sensation, whether of vanity or of sensuality, is the precise moment when infidelity enters.

Now if we look at the pursuit of wealth, we shall see of what enormous efforts the soul of man is capable, with regard to other souls, even when he bases his action on so mean a thing as envy; and we shall be prepared to believe that we should have proportionately greater results, throughout all our lives, if we took our stand on a higher ground. The poets, for instance, have taken a higher ground; at the very least, they have appealed to admiration, rather than envy, and so they have enriched the world to a proportionately greater extent than, say, the managers of some trust or syndicate. And if we could once get a sense of the souls of other people, of mankind at large, which should take their better qualities more into account, we should find our lives greatly enriched, and our wills greatly strengthened. And nothing but culture

can do this; and the most excellent results will come from a contact with the most excellent minds, and many of these are amongst the mighty dead. So that we come back once more to this: There is no perfect culture without a knowledge of the classics, using the word in its true sense, as including all the best books in the world, the best that has been thought and said, the record of the highest moments of the loftiest and most luminous human souls.

That, I think, is the true ideal of Culture. And I need hardly repeat that into this field scientific education does not, and cannot, enter. Science is based on the senses and the intellect, while human life, the sense of the souls of others, is based on the will and on intuition; that is, on something wholly different from either sense or intellect, and much higher than the senses or the intellect.

Hence I think I am justified in saying that the good people who took the "modern" side in the controversy of which I have spoken, failed to realize in the slightest degree what education is, and even more, what culture is; and I think that the classical advocates spoke more from instinct than from reason. Even when they talk of the training of the intellect by the study of the classics, especially in the matter of style, they do not speak clearly. A better way to put it would be to say that, by reading Virgil, or Sophocles, Plato, or Cicero, or some other master of style, I am brought into touch with his sense of the order and music of words, and that a new development of my soul and my own feeling for order is the result. And this brings up once more the question of language. A new language is a new world, a new country of the soul, and to learn it, if we know how to learn, is to enjoy all the pleasure of coming into a new world. By reading translations, we simply lose so much additional pleasure.

For the essence of the whole matter, the one motive of all our human life, is the pursuit of joy. We seek health and a vivid touch with the natural world, because this gives us the pure joy of keen natural life. We seek a higher joy and find it when we come into touch with another human soul, and everything that widens our sense of that human soul adds to the measure of our joy. And when we shall learn to come into contact with all living souls, not through envy and the lust of possession, but through the sense of common life, in unison and not in discord, then, and then only, shall we know what the true sense of power is; then, and then only, shall we be on the threshold of divinity, and begin to understand the enduring treasures of our life. Here, as everywhere, our guide will be the thirst of joy; for, as one of the wise old books of India says: «Who could live, who could move, if the heart of Being were not Bliss ?»

CHARLES JOHNSTON, M. R.A.S.

FLUSHING, N. Y.

IT IS now close upon two years since Henry Drummond, the Christian evolutionist, if the term may be allowed, died at Tunbridge Wells, England, in his forty-sixth year. Death, which resulted from a malignant growth of the bones, entailing great suffering upon its victim, terminated a most Christlike, as well as active and useful, life. It was a life, however, whose beneficent influences no one who knew Professor Drummond, or had read his writings, would measure by the few brief years of the author's earthly pilgrimage. It has been given to few men of our modern day to influence myriads of people as Henry Drummond, by tongue and pen, has influenced them. This was due, perhaps, as much to his methods as it was due to his enthusiasm, and the novel and interesting way he took to reach and impress his audiences. His was no "dried tongue," but a live coal that lit the sparks of the higher life within men, and brought them to realize the reasonableness and saving power of religion. It was also the fresh matter and manner of his address, and the effectiveness of his mode of reaching the intellect, rather than the emotions, of those to whom he appealed in sacred things, that attracted hearer and reader alike. In the methods of his address,

he represented a new, a scientific, age. In many respects, he was himself impatient with the older Christian orthodoxy, and was enamored with and adapted himself to latter-day intellectual movements. Especially was this the case in his taking up with Evolution, and in drawing upon it for the illustrations, and even for the scientific terms, of his address. As his biographer* remarks, he had "a quick eye for analysis between the physical and the spiritual laws of God," and Drummond himself has said that "there is a deeper unity between the two kingdoms than the analogy of their phenomena.» There is much, no doubt, that is purely fanciful in the line he took, in attempting to bridge over the natural and the spiritual worlds, but no one will deny the freshness, as well as the impressiveness, of his taking up natural law and dealing with it as “a mode of motion" in the spiritual as well as in the physical world. In the contest between science and religion, if we are ever to have an accepted, an accredited, solution of the great

*The Life of Henry Drummond," author of "Natural Law in the Spiritual World," "The Ascent of Man," "The Greatest Thing in the World," etc. By George Adam Smith, D. D., Free Church College, Glasgow. New York: Doubleday & McClure Co., 1898.

question of conciliation, it must be said that Drummond not only paved the way for it, in a very striking manner, but probably opened the very lines of approach, which some day may yet be effectual in harmonizing and unifying the domains of the two spheres.

Per

But it was not only as a writer on Apologetics that Henry Drummond made his fame, especially attractive and suggestive as was his work in that field. He was well known, also, and most influential, as an evangelist, a notable traveller, an accomplished scientist, especially in the region of physics and biology, and, above all, a man of distinction in the social and religious spheres. He had a genius for fellowship with his kind and a phenomenal power of attracting people to him in the bonds of friendship. His power of drawing men and youth to even religious meetings and to interest in the way of salvation, was also phenomenal. "I suppose," observes his biographer, "there are thousands of men and women who are sure that his was the most Christlike life they ever knew. In that belief they are fortified not only by the record of the great influence which God gave him over men, for such is sometimes misleading; but by the testimony of those who worked at his side while he wielded it, and by the evidence of the friends who knew him longest and who were most intimately acquainted with the growth of his character. . haps the most conspicuous service which Henry Drummond rendered to his generation was to show them a Christianity which was perfectly natural. You met him somewhere, a graceful, well-dressed gentleman, tall and lithe, with a swing in his walk and a brightness on his face, who seemed to carry no cares and to know neither presumption nor timidity. You spoke and found him keen for any of a hundred interests. . . . If you were alone with him, he was sure to find out what interested you and listen by the hour. The keen brown eyes got at your heart, and you felt you could speak your best to them. Sometimes you would remember that he was Drummond the evangelist, Drummond the author of books which measured their circulation by hundreds of thousands, yet there was no assumption of superiority nor any ambition to gain influence- nothing but the interest of one healthy human being in another. If the talk slipped among deeper things, he was as untroubled and as unforced as before; there was never a glimpse of a phylactery, nor a smudge of unction about his religion."

Though he threw himself heart and soul into

the work of an evangelist, and spent himself in unwearied mission work among students and the "lapsed masses," and in England was even a fellow-laborer of Moody of Chicago, no man was freer from the professionalism of the preacher. This was owing in part, no doubt, to his scientific training, but perhaps more than all to his buoyant spirits, jocund mirthfulness, and hearty enjoyment of life. Few men could frolic more naturally than he, and whenever among friends he was usually the life and soul of the gathering, and was endeared to each by his wide sympathies, his constant thought for others, and his large humanity. And yet, though he could amuse, smoke, loaf, and play billiards, he was rarely frivolous, but lived, as it were, in the constant presence of the Master whom he served, as well as reverenced and loved. With all his geniality, and unaffected joyous nature, he could, however, feel the burden of sin, and sympathize with the depraved and abandoned, for whom he always said there was hope. His nature was essentially noble, and he had no affectations; and with all his zeal for religion he had not a particle of cant. He looked out on the universe of nature and man with the widest vision, and the riddles of existence that perplex and appall were for him no stumbling-blocks- so easy of solution were they all to one who interpreted Christianity by the scientific method and believed that the laws of the natural and the spiritual world were one and indivisible. Great was the intellectual interest he imparted to his unique gospel, and most fascinating were the gifts of enthusiasm, earnestness, and literary style with which he seasoned it. Nor was his message a mere novelty or fad of the passing hour, tricked out in evanescent attractions, that could not satisfy the hunger of his generation for spiritual food. His own faith was as a rock under his feet, and love, and the spirit of love, he believed, were "wrought into the very foundation of the world."

To Henry Drummond » (once more to quote his biographer) "Christianity was the crown of the evolution of the whole universe. The drama which absorbed him is upon a stage infinitely wider than the moral life of man. The soul, in its battle against evil, in its service for Christ, is no accident nor exception, thrown upon a world all hostile to its feeble spirit. But the forces it represents are the primal forces of the universe; the great laws which modern science has unveiled, sweeping through life from the beginning, work upon the side of the man who seeks the things that are above. I think it is in this belief, informed by a wide knowledge of science, but still more indebted to an original vision of nature, that, at least in part, we find the secret of the serenity, the healthy objectiveness, and the courage of Henry Drummond's faith."

From the rigidly orthodox point of view, it has, however, to be said that Drummond did not commend himself highly to all in his church. Many took exception to not a few of his evolutionary theories, which his biographer, to some extent, frankly, and we may say wisely, disowns; and it will be remembered

that his radical views on inspiration and on dogma generally prompted a movement to turn him out of his professorial chair. To what extent Drummond was amenable to the charge of heresy, and in how far his argument from Evolution was fallacious, Professor Smith clearly, though temperately, indicates. Distinctly, also, does the biography point out wherein Drummond erred in his attitude to the relations of science and religion, and in his views of the authority of the Bible. And yet it is unfair to Drummond to accuse him of treason to traditional Christian beliefs, and few will do so who read him as a whole, though he appears extremely radical in parts of his writings, especially where he is influenced by the results of modern biblical criticism, and by his study of facts in the varied departments of natural sci

ence.

In "Natural Law in the Spiritual World,» as we have already said, there is much overstrained analogy and not a little unsound deduction. Even Drummond, in later life, admitted this and, we are told, desired to recast the introduction to the work. There is danger, as Drummond confesses, in driving analogy too far, and in seeking to make a fresh case for the evidences of Christianity by applying too heedlessly the methods of science to illustrate and enforce the doctrines of revealed truth. Religion, he is himself careful to tell us, is not to be reduced to a problem of physics; nor can God be demonstrated by the laws of biology. There was a fascination, nevertheless, in the work referred to which few could resist feeling, and the novelty of his methods appealed irresistibly to thousands who felt the hunger of the time for "more light" on the deep problems of this world and the next. Besides the novelty of his argument, in much of his writings there is a rich suggestiveness and a unique record of spiritual experience. Added to these are the fascination of the author's literary style and an unfeigned earnestness.

A

But there is much in the volume before us dealing with the author's works other than the one-full as it is "of the germs and seeds of things" that first brought him into fame. chapter is devoted to "The Ascent of Man »— the Lowell Lectures delivered by Drummond at Boston in 1893. In this work, the author took care, while making use of the same biological method, to correct the heresies into which he had fallen in his earlier book; and though here, too, he had the critics down upon him, there is less open to objection. The volume stands on a decidedly higher plane than the "Natural Law," though, as has been pointed out, both books are the work of "a poetic translator of the science of the time rather than of an original scientific thinker." The biography also deals interestingly with the author's "Diaries of Travel - in East Central Africa, in the New Hebrides, in Australia,and in America,and especially with Drummond's visit to the Rocky

Mountains with Sir Archibald (then Professor) Geikie, the Scottish geologist. There is, moreover, an interesting account of a later visit to this country, at the request of Mr. Moody, the evangelist, and of his student mission work in American colleges. The student movement, indeed, forms a large part of the space devoted in the biography to a record of Drummond's activities. In the account given of Drummond's devotion to this evangelizing work, the biographer draws felicitously from personal narratives furnished by fellow-students and his own colleagues, as well as from those who profited in their own lives by the wise counsels and ready helping hand extended to them by Henry Drummond. No part of Professor Smith's work will be read with more avidity than the opening characterization of Drummond, in the chapter entitled "As We Knew Him." It is throughout admirably penned, with sufficient sympathy and warmth of feeling to give life and reality to the portraiture, but with a sane restraint which nowhere descends to mere laudation. Nor does the biographer place his subject outside the region of criticism, where criticism and the corrective of a critical judgment are needed. The human interest is, however, predominant, and we see the man as well as the author. -a man whom no fame could spoil, and who was consumed with zeal for the spiritual well-being of his kind.

The tributes are many in the volume that give expression to the charm of the man and the singular winningness of his disposition, felt by everyone who came in contact with him. He was always the same gentle and kindly being, says his friend Sir Archibald Geikie. "His success," Sir Archibald adds, "never spoiled him in the very least degree. It was no small matter to be able to preserve his simplicity and frankness amidst so much that might have fostered vanity and insincerity in a less noble nature than his. I have never met with a man in whom transparent integrity, high moral purpose, sweetness of disposition and exuberant helpfulness were more happily combined with wide culture, poetic imagination, and scientific sympathies than they were in Henry Drummond. Most deeply do I grieve over his early death.»

Like testimony to the attractive qualities of Professor Drummond appears in the biography from numerous sources, the perusal of which heightens the reader's admiration for the man and compels sincere respect for his work. Mr. Dwight L. Moody, with whom he was associated for a time in his evangelizing labors, and who had, as the biographer truthfully states, "as much opportunity as perhaps any man of our generation in the study of character, especially among religious people," contributes this estimate of Drummond: "No words of mine can better describe his (Drummond's) life and character than those in which he has presented to us The Greatest

Thing in the World.' Some men take an occasional journey into the thirteenth of First Corinthians, but Henry Drummond was a man who lived there constantly, appropriating its blessings and exemplifying its teachings. As you read what he terms the analysis of love, you find that all its ingredients were interwoven into his daily life, making him one of the most lovable of men I have ever known. Was it courtesy you looked for, he was a perfect gentleman. Was it kindness, he was always preferring another. Was it humility, he was simple and not courting favor. Nor was this love and kindness only shown to those who were close friends. His face was an index to his inner life. It was genial and kind, and made him, like his Master, a favorite with children. No man has ever been with me for any length of time that I did not see something that was unlike Christ, and I often see it in myself, but not in Henry Drummond. All the time we were together he was a Christlike man and often a rebuke to me."

The extracts from diaries and personal letters add greatly also to the portrait, and confirm what has been said of the nobility of Drummond's character and the purity and elevation, as well as the perfect naturalness and goodness, of the evangelist's life. Until near the end of his career, Drummond, it seems, had known little of sickness, and had not often seen the approach of death in a loved one's face. On his return from America, in 1887, he found his father dangerously ill and near the gates of the other world. It is thus, in one of his letters, that he writes of his father's deathbed: "The thing that crushes is to look on silently at the unalleviable pain of those we love. But God knows the end; and it is His natural order that generation after generation should pass away.

How suddenly the water deepens sometimes in one's life! How fast the bottom shelves, and yet how little one knows the depths that lie beyond -or whether the currents are to be swift or still! Well, I suppose it must be better, this deeper sea, than the shallows where the children play. But living or dyTrouble is

But it is to me,

ing we are the Lord's.' not such a new thing to you. and I hear it saying many things. Some I never knew before; others one has heard, but never believed; others one has heard often, and as often forgotten. But the great benediction of it seems to lie less in the personal elements than in the larger views one gets of what is permanent, eternal, and most worth living for. My father lived for these things if ever man did.»

But imperfect must be all excerpts from this volume which are intended to impress on the reader's mind any adequate conception of the beauty of Drummond's character and of the radiance that emanated from his personal life. And yet he was not what one might call a saintly man, for he was too human for that,

and his religion was too joyously, yet reflectively, a social religion. "It is true," remarks his biographer, "he never bated by one jot his insistence upon the personal origin of all religion; yet he so greatly extended his sympathy and his experience, he so developed the civic conscience, as to become one of the principal exponents in our day of the social duties of religion. Thus his career is typical of the influence upon the older Christian orthodoxy of the three great intellectual movements of our time -historical criticism, physical science, and socialism (in the broad and unsectarian meaning of that much-abused term)."

As he was in life and in health, so was he when his work was done and he drew nigh to the grave. The malady that killed him caused him, we are told, intense agony. "Except for some moments of wandering-and these only during the last weeks-his mind was unclouded. He retained unabated the vigor, and even the brilliance, of his intellect. His weakness reaped the harvest of the love he had so richly sown in the years of his strength. No man," relates his biographer, "had such friends or more devoted physicians. And so he sank slowly down a long slope to the last edge, racked with pain, and unable to move, but in clearness and peace of mind, with faith and love and humor undiminished, and with his friends about him to the last. .. He did not speak of religion more than he had done in the days of his strength; yet you felt it was there, as natural and unforced in the face of death as it had been in the fullness of life. Sometimes," concludes Professor Smith, "he asked us to pray and to read the New Testament. That

is the book one always comes back to.' And sometimes he asked for music. Oh, anything you like a hymn for preference, or a Scotch song'; and once he named The Land o' the Leal' and 'Crossing the Bar.'

-

To a

friend who was leaving, after a visit at Christmas, he said: You may see little difference upon me in a week, but in three months I shall be another man.' This was not to be in the sense in which he uttered it. The constant pain was now telling on his heart. Through February (1897) he grew weaker, and on the 7th of March Drummond lay feeble and languid. In the afternoon Dr. Barbour played to him the music of the tune, 'Art Thou Weary, Art Thou Languid?' and other hymn tunes, with no response. Then he tried the old Scots melody of Martyrdom,' to which Drummond beat time with his hand, and joined in the words. When the hymn was done, he said, "There's nothing to beat that.' It is a paraphrase of the words of Paul: I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him, against that day. On the following day he rallied, but on the next day was weaker again. His mind wandered upon old themes. He talked, half-dreaming, about John's Gospel."

Human Im- "If a man die, shall he live mortality again?» This is the fundamental question of all ages, and the modern world, while deeply divided on this problem of problems, is perhaps even more keenly interested in it than was any earlier epoch in history. Controversy without end takes place on this theme, and no wonder, since all other subjects of thought sink into utter insignificance beside it. It makes all the difference to us if you and I are in a few short years to be extinguished like a candle, to be as though we had never been, or if, on the other hand, we are, after the the accident of death, to begin our true life, of which these few troubled years are but the prelude. Our belief on this momentous subject will inevitably mould our lives. As Browning has it in "Christmas Eve and Easter Day," we shall, if we believe in the future life, treat this world, not as the palace, but as the vestibule to the palace; we shall not care for the bubble called fame, for what is the fame even of a thousand years compared with the endless ages of eternity? We shall not concern ourselves with the ordinary objects of earthly ambition, any more than a grown man would concern himself with the toys of a child. We shall not even worry ourselves over the evil and the crimes and the failures of the world, for we shall view things in a grand perspective, and shall understand that nothing can really be judged here. shall not allow mere secular civilization to dominate us, as it dominates at the present moment a world which has lost for the most part its sense of the divine. So that not only our sublimest hopes, but even the course of our actual life, hangs largely on what is our view as to the scale on which our life is to be built,- on whether it is an ephemeral affair, a little gleam of consciousness between two black abysses, or whether there is that in us which will surmount the barriers of space and time, and which will escape corruption. Modern science, from its narrow point of view, sees naught in man which is not derived from lower forms of life; it explains so much of man as comes within its purview from a materialistic hypothesis, and consequently has insensibly depressed the idea of immortality. It has not denied the idea, for it cannot do that, but it has discountenanced the idea, and in the mouths of some of its distinguished votaries has even gone further. Altogether, without definitely settling anything, we may say that science has in the main accustomed men to think of themselves as cunningly arranged matter and nothing more, and as therefore doomed to extinction as conscious entities, although, the actual matter of which they are composed is assumed to be indestructible.❞— London "Spectator." (To be continued.)

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