It was in England that the voice was first raised in behalf of justice and humanity. In January, 1881, there appeared in the London Times a series of articles, carefully compiled on the testimony of eye-witnesses, and confirmed by official documents, records, etc., giving an account of events that had been taking place in southern and western Russia during a period of nine months, between April and December of 1880. We do not need to recall the sickening details. The headings will suffice: outrage, murder, arson, and pillage, and the result -100,000 Jewish families made homeless and destitute, and nearly $100,000,000 worth of property destroyed. Nor need we recall the generous outburst of sympathy and indignation from America. "It is not that it is the oppression of Jews by Russia," said Mr. Evarts in the meeting at Chickering Hall, Wednesday evening, February 4; "it is that it is the oppression of men and women, by men and women, and we are men and women." So spoke civilized Christendom and for Judaism who can describe that thrill of brotherhood, quickened anew, the immortal pledge of the race, made one again through sorrow? For Emma Lazarus it was a trumpet call that awoke slum*bering and unguessed echoes. All this time she had been seeking heroic ideals in alien stock, soulless and far removed; in pagan mythology and mystic, mediaval Christianity, ignoring her very birthright the majestic vista of the past, down which, "high above flood and fire," had been conveyed the precious scroll of the Moral Law. Hitherto Judaism had been a dead letter to her. Of Portuguese descent, her family had always been members of the oldest and most orthodox congregation of New York, where strict adherence to custom and ceremonial was the watchword of faith; but it was only during her childhood and earliest years that she attended the synagogue and conformed to the prescribed rites and usages which she had now long since abandoned as obsolete and having no bearing on modern life. Nor had she any great enthusiasm for her own people. As late as April, 1882, she published in the Century magazine, an article written probably some months before, entitled, "Was the Earl of Beaconsfield a Representative Jew?" in which she was disposed to accept as the type of the modern Jew the brilliant, successful, but not overscrupulous chevalier d'industrie. In view of subsequent, or rather of contemporaneous, events, the closing paragraph of the article in question is worthy of being cited: Thus far their religion [the Jewish], whose mere preservation under such adverse conditions seems little short of a miracle, has been deprived of the natural means of development and progress, and has redred years will, in our opinion, be the test mained a stationary force. The next hunof their vitality as a people; the phase of toleration upon which they are only now entering will provo wacther or not they are capable of growth. By a curious, almost fateful juxtaposition, in the same number of the magazine appeared Madame Ragozin's defense of Russian barbarity, and in the following (May) number Emma Lazarus's impassioned appeal and reply, "Russian Christianity versus Modern Judaism." From this time dated the crusade that she undertook in behalf of her race, and the consequent expansion of all her faculties, the growth of spiritual power which always ensues when a great cause is espoused and a strong conviction enters the soul. Her verse rang out as it had never rung before a clarion note, calling a people to heroic action and unity; to the consciousness and fulfillment of a grand destiny. When has Judaism been so stirred as by "The Crowing of the Red Cock" and "The Banner of the Jew"? The dead forms burst their bonds and lived again. She sings "Rosh Hashanah" (the Jewish New Year) and "Hanuckah" (the Feast of Lights), and "The New Ezekiel." Her whole being renewed and refreshed itself at its very source. She threw herself into the study of her race, its language, literature, and history. Those were busy, fruitful years for Emma Lazarus, who worked not with the pen alone, but in the field of practical and beneficent activity. For there was an immense task to accomplish. The tide of immigration had set in, and ship after ship came laden with hunted human beings flying from their fellowmen, while all the time, like a tocsin, rang the terrible story of cruelty and persecution horrors that the pen refuses to dwell upon. By hundreds and thousands they flocked upon our shores -helpless, innocent victims of injustice and oppression, panic-stricken in the midst of strange and utterly new surroundings. THE AUTHOR OF "ROBERT ELSMERE." Probably the most popularly effective plea ever made before the English speaking world for a rational Christianity as distinguished from the Christian ity of irrational dogma which has so long been in power, is that which has come to us from Mrs. Humphry Ward, in her novel "Robert Elsmere," which we are told has now reached a sale in England and America of over a hundred thousand copies. The great popularity of the book as well as the excellent work it is doing for the liberal Christian cause gives interest to the following facts concerning its author which we reprint from the Critic: With "Robert Elsmere," or, perhaps, to be more exact, with Mr. Gladstone's review of it in the Nineteenth Century, Mrs. Ward sprang into notoriety. To those who had no knowledge of her personally, her book made it clear that she was one who not only knew her Oxford well, but was intimate with Oxford life and Oxford people and Oxford traditions. It was, therefore, no surprise to learn that before she became Mrs. Ward, she was a Miss Arnold, and that she is the granddaughter of Dr. Arnold, of Rugby, the niece of Matthew Arnold, and the daughter of Thomas Arnold, the editor of many old books, the writer of "The Encyclopædia Britannica" article on English Literature, and the author of a well-known "Manual of English Literature." In 1872 Miss Arnold married Mr. Thomas Humphry Ward, an Oxford man, and at that time a tutor of Brasenose College. Since then Mr. Ward has given up his tutorship, and is now the art critic of the Times. His anthology of English verse, popularly known as "Ward's English Poets," is perhaps the best in existence. Mr. and Mrs. Ward live in one of the large, old-fashioned houses in Russell square, near the British Museum. The Wards count among their neighbors Miss Christina Rossetti and Mr. William Michael Rossetti. Whoever does not know his Bloomsbury has but to turn to "Robert Elsmere," where he will find the description of Bedford square, the London home of the Elsmeres, and but a two minutes' walk from Mrs. Ward's own house. Rumor now has it that Mr. and Mrs. Ward have found for themselves a summer home in Surrey, surely one of the prettiest counties in all England. The place they have lives several months of the year, and where bought is near Haslemere, where Tennyson Mrs. Gilchrist, the friend of Dante Rossetti and Walt Whitman, wrote many of the letters which have lately been given to the world. 66 Mrs. Ward has published two or three other books, less famous than "Robert Elshad been married for several years. The mere;" but none appeared until after she first was "Milly and Olly," a story for children, illustrated by Mrs. Alma Tadema. How strong is her love for certain parts of England is already shown in this very simple little tale. Her child hero and heroine come from Oxfordshire, and their summer journey, of which the story is the record, is to the Lake country, where Robert Elsmere Ward's personality can be learned from her first met Catherine. A good deal of Mrs. books. Milly and Olly" was published in 1881. In 1884 it was followed by her first novel, "Miss Bretherton," which made some talk at the time because the heroine, an actress, in certain ways suggested Miss Mary Anderson. There was just enough similarity to give people a chance to gossip. Many passages in "Miss Bretherton" clearly reveal Mrs. Ward's great reverence for, and sympathy with, French genius and French ideals. It was this, probably, that led her to the translation of Amiel's "Journal Intime," published in 1885. Besides her mastery of the French language, shown by this work, it is said that Mrs. Ward knows more about early Spanish literature than almost any woman living. AN ETHICAL CULTURIST ON "ROBERT ELSMERE." It is now some years since I first attended what by courtesy, I suppose, must still be called "a service" at South-place Chapel. Mr. Moncure D. Conway was then "the minister." The South-place Ethical Society -for that is the latest development of the "earlier" congregation and the later "institute"-now rejoices in having a regular leader or minister. This gentleman, like Mr. Conway, hails from "the States," but, unlike him, his speech does not betray him. No one looking at, or listening to, Dr. Stanton Coit would for a moment imagine that he has for some time been a leading man among the Ethical Culturists of New York. He is a young, slight, fair man, with a face somewhat of the Saxon type. Last Sunday morning, attracted to some extent by the fact that Dr. Coit was going to discourse on "Robert Elsmere," I wended my way to Fox's old chapel, and found myself one of a large audience, some of whom remained standing throughout the "service." This opened with the singing of an anthem by the choir, and then the first reading was given from Mrs. Ward's now famous novel. The passage selected was that where Robert first tells his wife of his doubts, and it was read with considerable effect and clear enunciation. Then followed a contralto solo from Spohr's "Calvary," after which a further reading from the novel, or rather a condensation of the scene where Robert initiates "the brotherhood," was given. An anthem was then announced, which proved to be a bass solo, the words being those of Lowell, beginning "God is not dumb." The old "meditation," which used to take the place of prayer in Mr. Conway's time, has now been abandoned, at any rate it found no place in the service last Sunday, and after the anthem had been sung, and a few "notices" had been given, Dr. Coit proceeded with his discourse. Before I deal with this, let me say a word as to the singing. Both the solos were well rendered, but it seemed to me somewhat incongruous to hear words ascribing power to God, and involving a belief in Theism, and then to hear from the preacher a discourse which, if it was anything, was a denial of the existence of God. This is one of those things which may be part and parcel of Ethical Culture, but which strikes the uninitiated as lacking in consistency, to say the least. Perhaps those who have the management of these services recognize this, and do not venture to ask the assembly to join, but only to listen. Certainly the "hymn," which was subsequently sung by the congregation, did no such violation to the sense of consistency. Dr. Coit's criticism of the novel, which owes much of its popularity to Mr. Gladstone's attack on it, was adverse and severe. So far from being likely to further the cause of free thought or to weaken the bulwarks of Orthodoxy, as some nervous Christians seemed to think, he regarded it as likely to strengthen the position of Orthodoxy. The two prominent types of free thought were of the most despicable character-Edward Langham, the weak and contemptible pessimist, and the Squire, selfish, immoral, and the inheritor of mental weakness. In addition there were Wardlaw, a vulgar Comtist, and the members of a Radical Club, who anticipated the pleasure of reading a comic life of Christ, or found it in studying pictures of a gross and obscene character illustrating incidents in the Bible narrative. These were the types of free thought which the book set up, and against these he protested as unfair representations. Then, again, it was an absurdity to make Robert give up his belief in miracles because they did not satisfy his intellect, the inference being that if they had he would have be lieved them. It is not because they do not satisfy the intellect that miracles should be discarded: they must be brought to the test of worth. A thing may be scientifically true, and yet have relatively little or no worth. Of course, Robert's theism and devotion to the memory of Jesus came in for scathing criticism. His idea that we must reconceive Christ was a delusion, which was wholly unsuited to solve the problem of why the working classes are alienated from religion. They do not care about reconceiving Christ in the light of present day, and are little troubled with the question of miracles. The book itself showed this. Those who gathered round Robert in his brotherhood avowed their devotion to him, in consequence of his own personal goodness. Besides, such a brotherhood was impossible. He (Dr. Coit) had asked some man who had lectured for the last fourteen years among the working men at their clubs, and he had never heard of such an institution, and this, too, had been confirmed by a Church of England clergyman, who had also been asked if he knew of one such. No! workingmen were not to be made better by seeing the names Socrates or Jesus on the walls of a room. Of neither had they, in many cases, ever heard. Nor was it by a belief in a personal God that reform was to come, but rather by exalting humanity, and teaching men and women they were entitled to something higher than the gross life they were living. And so on, and so on. As will have been seen, the Theism of "Robert Elsmere" is a rock of offense to Dr. Coit; but as I listened to him I could not help thinking that he wholly failed to discern, that it was in Theism Robert Elsmere found his inspiration to do the work which roused the devotion of the little company at RAnd while he was wrathful with Mrs. Ward for depicting Langham and the Squire as types of Freethought, he made no mention of Grey, and the Unitarian minister, who had so much influence on Robert's later life. But then Freethought, in Dr. Coit's opinion, is prob ably not Freethought if it involve a belief in God. Without suggesting that Freethought necessarily produces such characters as Langham and the Squire, Dr. Coit must have been singularly fortunate if he has never come across such products of a revulsion from the older Orthodoxy. Dr. Coit's discourse was delivered with much animation, though it was read from MS., and judging from expressions I heard drop as I went out it seemed to satisfy many of his hearers. I cannot honestly say that it did me.- "Rambler" in the Inquirer (London). Truth is like the sun; whatever darkens it is but a passing cloud. For the wealth of pathless forests For the winds that haunt the branches, For the red leaves dropped like rubies We thank Thee, O our God! For the lifting up of mountains In brightness and in dread; For the peaks where snow and sunshine Whence mighty cedars nod; For the rosebud's break of beauty To bless the new-born day; We thank Thee, O our God! For Thine own great gift of Being, Not as I Will. MONDAY. Blindfolded and alone I stand, Lucy Larcom. With unknown thresholds on each hand, That doors are opened, ways are made, By some great law unseen and still, Blindfolded and alone I wait; "Not as I will "- the sound grows sweet More safe than light when this thought steals Like whispered voice to calm and bliss "Not as I will," because the One Who loved us first and best has gone The thing we long for, that we are Can make its sneering comment. To let the new life in, we know When we are simply good in thought, If We Knew. WEDNESDAY. J. R. Lowell. If we knew the woe and heartache For a time that ne'er can be? If we knew the baby-fingers Would the bright eyes of our darling Vex us then as they do now? Strange we never prize the music Till the sweet-voiced bird has flown! Never seem one-half so fair Let us gather up the sunbeams Let us find our sweetest comfort In the blessings of to-day, Making of the earth a heaven As we journey on our way. THURSDAY. Wilt Thou Not Visit Me? Wilt Thou not visit me? Anon. The plant beside me feels Thy gentle dew; Wilt Thou not visit me? The morning calls on me with cheering tone And every hill and tree Has but one voice, the voice of Thee alone. Come, for I need Thy love More than the flower the dew, or grass the rain: Come like Thy holy Dove, And, swift descending, bid me live again. Yes, Thou wilt visit me! Nor plant nor tree Thine eye delights so well, As when from sin set free, Spent in Thy presence will avail to make! What heavy burdens from our bosoms take, What parched grounds refresh, as with a shower! We kneel, and all around us seems to lower: We rise, and all, the distant and the near, Stands forth in sunny outline, brave and clear. We kneel how weak! we rise how full of power! Why, therefore, should we do ourselves this wrong, Man's spirit comes with Thine in peace to Or others, that we are not always strong, dwell. That we are overborne with care, That we should ever weak or heartless be, Anxious or troubled, when with us is THE SUNSHINE OF HOPE. It is a duty we owe to ourselves to live as much as possible in the sunshine of hope; and when clouds arise and darken the view, we should search for the silver lining until it is found — as "hope deferred always makes the heart sick." The most inspiring hope man can know is that of a better life "beyond the river," where the troubles and trials of earth are unknown, where tears are wiped away, and where the happiness of the entire human family will be consummated. If there be a hope more grand, beautiful or sublime than this, it has never been read to me in history, sung to me in poetry, nor whispered by angels in my sweetest dreams. truly believes this, will pass on to his final home as peacefully as one "who wraps the drapery of his couch about him and lies down to pleasant dreams." JAMES SHRIGLEY. Philadelphia. He who |