and State, but a subjection of the Church to the State. Politicians will henceforth control its destiny.

Such developments, such crises, reveal afresh, and more glaringly, the abominations of a State Church. It is to-day the curse of the continent of Europe. It displaces a living faith by a political tenet. It makes the very name of church and priest odious to the people. It transforms that which should be the messenger of peace and good will into an instrument of strife and bitter hate. It entrusts sacred things to

the unclean hands of reckless demagogues.

Its days, however, are numbered. The incubus will be lifted from the peoples. Events are marching rapidly on in the old world. The great question of Europe is the question of Church and State. It affects the internal peace of empires, and the attitudes of States towards each other. Through the irresistible logic of events will be severed the long-held and closelyknit bonds; and the voice of the people concerning the Church will go forth: "Loose it and let it go."

Charles Sumner,

THE eulogists have paid their tributes, and those tributes have been hearty, elaborate and eloquent. The American Press has been just and even generous in its praise of one who has occupied a place in the front rank of those who have wrought in American institutions and American politics a great revolution. Poesy has brought its flowers to smother in beauty and sweetness the great man's grave. He rests from Herculean toil; from the obloquy of enemies; from the fawning of friends; from forensic strife, and from the perplexities that addressed him from a turbulent future. It is not likely that his genius will be estimated at its exact worth during this generation, or that his work will be discriminatingly and impartially weighed. That he was a great man, there is no question. That he was a man of strong convictions, of honest and earnest purposes, of genuine patriotism, of fine learning and remarkable gifts is, we suppose, universally conceded. Still the question remains to be settled whether, in any proper sense, he can be regarded as having been a wise statesman or an astute politician.

As we remember him, throughout his public career, he seems only to have been a moral reformer, clothed with political power. He was only more powerful than Phillips and Garrison, in that he had a vote to give which they had not, and an opportunity which they did not possess, to discuss a question of common interest to the three on the floor of the United States Senate. That he did his work any better than his great anti-slavery compeers would have done it, in the same place, may legitimately be doubted. He was one of them, actuated by the same motives, driving first, last and always at the same thing. Slavery, to him, was the great crime of the nation and the age; and to its destruc

tion, and the destruction of the political power that was built upon it, he bent all the force of his powerful nature, and contributed all the wealth of his culture and his character. He subordinated everything to this. This was his mission, and by following it, with the exclusiveness and persistence that characterized his course, he voluntarily relinquished,— though unconsciously, that impartial consideration of public questions which characterizes the wise and comprehensive statesman, and that adaptation to conditions and emergencies that makes the politician. After all the credit shall be given to Mr. Sumner that of right belongs to him as a legislator, it will be found that to take out of his career all that he achieved within the lines of his great reform, will leave next to nothing on which to build a public reputation. General Wilson, with little of his power, and none of his erudition, was a better and safer worker in the ordinary practical affairs of legislation than he. We are aware that this is a point on which he was sensitive, and on which his most ardent admirers are not less so; but we believe the judgment we have rendered will stand. The truth is he could no more have been a statesman, or a politician, with a great moral issue before the nation, than he could have been a traitor. It was his nature to seize upon this and to hold to it, subordinating everything else to it. He may have been greater or less for this: that involves a question which each man will settle for himself.

The unlovely side of Mr, Sumner was exposed in Mr. Curtis's eulogy-by far the best, most comprehensive and sympathetic of all the eulogies that have been uttered. When the eulogist, on one occasion had ventured to suggest that the Senator had sincere opponents, and that there was some reason on the other side, he responded; "Upon such a question there is no other side." This response was

entirely characteristic. Mr Sumner was an enormous egotist-partly so by the superlative strength of his convictions, and partly by natural constitution. He saw but one side, he admitted that there could be but one side, and assumed that he held it. In his position there could be no greater despot | than he. It is no secret that with his compeers of the Senate Mr. Sumner was not a favorite, even among those who voted with him, and who acknowledged him in some sense to be their leader. He was arrogant, dictatorial, imperious. His bearing was that of a man who saw no peer. This, of course, rendered him unpopular with all those who felt such an assumption to be a personal insult. During a portion of his career,—the early portion,-this egotism was not without its good results. The North had been brow-beaten by a band of accustomed legislators, who understood the uses of arrogance, and were not bashful in employing it. To this Mr. Sumner had the privilege and power to oppose a nature and temper so wonderfully self-assured and self-sufficient that no headway could be made against him. He was a rock that not only stood unmoved by the waves of arrogance that beat against him, but hurled them back upon the angry sea, shattered into harmless spray. It was around him and behind him in this attitude that the strength of the North gathered.

As the smoke of the great conflict in which he bore so prominent a part has cleared away, and the animosities and antagonisms begotten of his imperious temperament are forgotten over his grave, it is delightful to find so many who loved him tenderly, to learn that to the distressed he was beneficent; to the humble, kind; to those who served him, gracious; and to his friends, genial and companionable. The tributes that have come to him from the humble walks of life are those which speak loudest of the fine quality of his manhood.

Mr. Sumner follows the rule of great men, however, in his personal friendships, and in the exhibition of the better, or more lovable, side of his nature. Very few great men are loved by their peers. There is only space in one room for one great man. Every great man is the center of a system, and the system is always made up of lesser orbs, which have no dispute with him as to preponderance or pre-eminence. This establishes the conditions of gracious intercourse and personal attachment. Mr. Webster, Henry Clay, and all the rest were like him in this. Mr. Webster's friends were his worshipers, and so were Mr. Sumner's; and the attitude they assumed was one which would have created amiability, even if it had not been already there waiting to be evoked.

To the young men of America, and particularly to those who are ambitious of political distinction. Mr. Sumner's life conveys a very important lesson. Whatever his friends may urge to the contrary, he was throughout his career, a doctrinaire: a theorist in politics, a moralist in statesmanship. When he came into political life, he saw one great wrong to

be uprooted, one malign institution to be overthrown, one political power to be destroyed. In this view, he beheld his mission; and apprehending it clearly, he assumed it. From that day to the day of his death, he devoted himself to this one thing, and on his death-bed the principal cause of his anxiety was an immature bill which seemed necessary to the completion of his work. That all his work was wise, we do not believe. That the closing measure which gave him so much solicitude was most unwise, in many of its features, we are certain. But it is easy to see that this work, so conscientiously followed through so many years, has made him immortal. While hundreds of his fellows have come and gone, with their intrigues and compromises and show of statesmanship and party expedients, he has won the laurel. He has carried a dominating moral principle into politics, and kept it there, in defiance of hate and spite and violence; and he carries off a crown. He was armed to do right, and to institute and organize right, for right's sake, and humanity's sake, and his country's sake. He has won the plaudits of more than a moiety of his countrymen, and if he has accomplished his great object, the years are not far distant when he will be universally regarded as one of the nation's greatest benefactors.

Prof. Swing.

THERE is one aspect of Prof. Swing's case that has failed to elicit the comment which its significance demands, and to this we purpose, briefly, to call attention. He has had, from the moment of his arraignment before an ecclesiastical tribunal, the sympathy, both of the Christian and unchristian public. Before the public knew definitely what the charges were against him, and after those charges were published, he had the open and outspoken good-will of all classes, all sects, and all free-minded individuals. It would have made no difference with the public if the decision în his case had been what Prof. Patton desired, except, perhaps, to have given him the unction of a martyr, and made him even more popular than he is. Why?

On the roughest Sunday of last winter the writer of this article was in Chicago, and responded gladly to an invitation to hear Prof. Swing preach. He went to a large, cold theater, and found it filled. We venture to say that not a church in that city had half as many attendants on that inclement day, as had eagerly gathered to this theater to hear Prof. Swing. The building was as cold as a barn-so cold, that the preacher was obliged to curtail his services somewhat, though not a soul left the house on account of the discomfort and the danger. man who could command such an audience, on such a day, became naturally an object of curious study; and the most the writer could make out of him was that he was a clear, vigorous, independent thinker. Orator he was not. Charlatan in any sense he was There was about him none of the clap-trap

not.

The

that so often accompanies popular pulpit gifts. The sermon was written, and was not thoroughly well delivered; but by its clear argumentation, and powerful and brilliant illustration, it made a profound impression upon the memory, and left a strong desire to drink again at the same fountain. It was a Christian sermon in spirit, purpose and effect; and differed only from many other strong sermons, from other lips, in that it left the impression that the preacher did his own thinking with perfect independence of all written formulas of faith.

This we believe to be the secret of his hold upon the people of Chicago, and upon the sympathies of the whole country; and the confidence in him at home, and the faith in him among those who do not know him, come from the popular conviction that he preaches the truths of Christianity precisely as he, in his individual judgment, apprehends them; that he preaches them purely in the interest of Christianity and humanity; and that he has the fortunes of no sect or party to serve. We believe this to be a fair exposition of the secret of his hold upon the people. There are, probably, others in Chicago with as much learning, as fine rhetorical and dialectical skill, and as pure a Christian purpose as Prof. Swing. There are preachers there of finer presence and greater eloquence than he; but there is something in him that draws the masses, alike of cultured and uncultured men and women, which those preachers do not possess. If that something be not the precise something which we have indicated, we should be glad to hear it named. Here is a good test case, and when it is thoroughly examined, we shall find that the people throng to hear Prof. Swing simply, or mainly, because he is a free man, saying nothing because his written creed requires it, and refraining from saying nothing because his written creed condemns it. He holds his reason and his common sense above the dogmatic theology of the schools, and takes his Christianity directly from the Gospels, unformulated by the hands of other men.

It is said that error, and what is called liberal Christianity, are attractive to the unchristian world. This is given as the reason why Theodore Parker and Mr. Frothingham and Mr. Collyer have attracted large crowds. The reason does not apply in this case. Those who have tried Prof. Swing declare that he is not guilty of heresy, and those who have heard him preach know that he is thoroughly true to what may be denominated the evangelical ideas of Christianity. He has preached a pure doctrine and a true Christian life. He has been reverent to the Scriptures, and true to the Master, and yet he has been, and is, as popular as any of those whose names we have written. And when we come to the real reason of the popularity of the men called heterodox, we shall find it precisely the same as that which makes Prof. Swing the popular favorite that he is. Their absolute freedom is their charm. There is, undoubtedly, something

deeper than the demand for freedom in our teachers which has had something to do with this case. It is coming more and more to be understood that the great end of Christianity is character,-to transform bad character into good character, to make good men out of bad men, to substitute benevolence for selfishness, as the rule of life,-this is recognized, more and more, as the mission of Christianity. More and more, too, is it seen that all the sects hold their Christianity in such form that in numberless instances this supreme consummation is reached. Therefore it is that dogmatic theology is deemed of comparatively little importance. A church may be orthodox, and by the confession of its own members, be cold, inefficient and even dead. Orthodoxy saves nobody; Christian love and Christian character save anybody. Therefore it is that when a useful, efficient, laborious and popular Christian teacher is pounced upon as a heretic, with the definite intention of curtailing his influence, the public heart rebels. Results are what the world wants. It is seen to be more important that men be saved and edified into a Christian manhood, than that maintenance shall be given to some nonessential dogma that has found its way into the creed of the sect with which the preacher finds himself associated. It is safe to say that any free Christian teacher in this country, who drives straight toward the true Christian end, will have hearers in plenty. If there is not something to be learned from this fact, among those who find their churches growing thinner year by year, then they are neither wise in reading the will of their Master, nor quick in interpreting the signs of the times.

The Struggle for Wealth.

No one can settle down in a European city or village for a month, and observe the laboring classes, without noticing a great difference between their aspirations, ambitions and habits, and those of corresponding classes in this country. He may see great poverty in a continental town, and men and women laboring severely and faring meanly, and a hopeless gap existing between classes; he may see the poor virtually the slaves of the rich; but he will witness a measure of contentment and a daily participation in humble pleasures to which his eyes have been strangers at home. There is a sad side to this pleasant picture. Much of this apparent contentment and enjoyment undoubtedly come from the hopelessness of the struggle for anything better. An impassable gulf exists between them and the educated and aristocratic classes-a gulf which they have recognized from their birth; and, having recognized this, they have recognized their own limitations, and adapted themselves to them. Seeing just what they can do and cannot do, they very rationally undertake to get out of life just what their condition renders attainable. There is no far-off, crowning good for them to aim at, so they try to get

what they can on the way. They make much of fête-days, and social gatherings, and music, and do what they can to sweeten their daily toil, which they know must be continued while the power to labor lasts.

In America it is very different. A humble backwoodsman sits in the presidential chair, or did sit there but recently; a tailor takes the highest honors of the nation; a canal-driver becomes a powerful millionaire; a humble clerk grows into a merchant prince, absorbing the labor and supplying the wants of tens of thousands. In city, state and national politics, hundreds and thousands may be counted of those who, by enterprise, and self-culture, and selfassertion, have raised themselves from the humblest positions to influence and place. There is no impassable gulf between the low and the high. Every man holds the ballot, and, therefore, every man is a person of political power and importance. The ways of business enterprise are many, and the rewards of success are munificent. Not a year, nor, indeed, a month, passes by, that does not illustrate the comparative ease with which poor men win wealth or acquire power.

The consequence is that all but the wholly brutal are after some great good that lies beyond their years of toil. The European expects always to be a tenant; the American intends before he dies to own the house he lives in. If city prices forbid this, he goes to the suburbs for his home. The European knows that life and labor are cheap, and that he cannot hope to win by them the wealth which will realize for him the dream of future ease; the American finds his labor dear, and its rewards comparatively bountiful, so that his dream of wealth is a rational one. He, therefore, denies himself, works early and late, and bends his energies, and directs those of his family into profitable channels, all for the great good that beckons him on from the far-off, golden future.

of a laboring class with unprecedented prosperity and privileges, and unexampled discontent and discomfort.

There is surely something better than this. There is something better than a life-long sacrifice of content and enjoyment for a possible wealth, which, however, may never be acquired, and which has not the power, when won, to yield its holder the boon which he expects it to purchase. To withhold from the frugal wife the gown she desires, to deny her the journey which would do so much to break up the monotony of her home-life, to rear children in mean ways, to shut away from the family life a thousand social pleasures, to relinquish all amusements that have a cost attached to them, for wealth which may or may not come when the family life is broken up forever-surely this is neither sound enterprise nor wise economy. We would not have the American laborer, farmer and mechanic become improvident, but we would very much like to see them happier than they are, by resort to the daily social enjoyments which are always ready to their hand. Nature is strong in the young, and they will have society and play of some sort. It should remain strong in the old, and does remain strong in them, until it is expelled by the absorbing and subordinating passion for gain. Something of the Old World fondness for play, and daily or weekly indulgence in it, should become habitual among our workers. Toil would be sweeter if there were a reward at the end of it; work would be gentler when used as a means for securing a pleasure which stands closer than an old age of ease; character would be softer and richer and more childlike, when acquired among genial, everyday delights. The all-subordinating strife for wealth, carried on with fearful struggles and constant self-denials, makes us petty, irritable and hard. When the whole American people have learned that a dollar's worth of pure pleasure is worth more than a dollar's worth of anything else under the sun; that working is not living, but only the means by which we win a living; that money is good for nothing except for what it brings of comfort and culture; and that we live not in the future, but the present, they will be a happy people—happier and better than they have been. “The morrow

be an accepted maxim in political economy, but it was uttered by the wisest being that ever lived in the world, whose mission it was to make men both good and happy.

WHEN you sit near the fountain in the square in the evening, eating strawberries from a brown paper cornucopia, and a belt of lights stretches across the view, about one-third of the way up from your feet to the stars-lights of the windows around the square, lights of the theater and hotel entrances, of the drug stores and the bar-rooms, and the lights of the fruit-stalls; when two or three green flags among those that grow at the edge of the water flutter and dance crazily all by themselves; when the crashing street noises grow softer; when people do not hurry by so fast, as if only taking the square in their race for the boarding-house; when a gentle breeze stirs among the branches and flurries about the fountain; when the fountain itself makes a gentle dark gray against the sky (perhaps that is the gentlest thing of all); when the man in his shirt-sleeves, with a stick in his hand, walks around on the curb and will not let you catch cold by sitting on the stones, and will not let you pick the forget-me-nots just inside the basin; when you wonder whether, as your Philistine friend approaches, you shall hide your strawberries or offer him some; when you take a simple pleasure in looking at the young men and young maidens who do not mind your looking at them while they hold each other's hands and talk audibly, though not ostentatiously, about their sincere affection for each other; when you refuse to have your boots blacked by any one of seven; when you are surprised to see a couple get up and go away, for it seems so much like a play or an opera, with reserved seats, and you are not prepared to have people leave suddenly; when men begin to fall asleep here and there, and the policeman shakes them up and makes them move on; when you begin to think it is getting a little cool, and perhaps you had better go in, and therefore every moment is a stolen sweet-there, in the queer, glimmering, splashing half-darkness; when you cannot see but feel afar off the fatherly, outstretched hand of General Washington on horseback-" Bless you, my children-don't stay out too late;" when the very air seems to be burdened with the fragrance of the words carved around the base of the Lincoln Monument-then it is perplexing beyond description to think of your friend Judas Iscariot, and know that in your heart you have for him, now and here, malice and not charity. If I say your friend Judas Iscariot, you will understand that I do not mean any person of that name, mentioned either in sacred or profane history, but a gentleman of this century and city, for whose intellectual and moral attributes you have always had the most supreme and just contempt. And if I say "you" when I mean "I," neither will you be long deceived by that merely introductory euphemism.

VOL. VIII.-32

It is true that this is a man of whom his biographer will say that he stood high in the community. His biographer has, indeed, already said it in the Biographical Dictionary, where you will find a paragraph containing all those details upon which a man lovingly lingers when called upon to write a sketch of his own life. The newspapers have also said it. To-morrow morning's "Reticule" will say it again. I speak with confidence, for I saw J. I. himself coming out of the local editor's office at a late hour this very afternoon. Some of his latest acquaintances will, doubtless, declare that I malign an agreeable gentleman-a gentleman of polished manners and refined sensibilities. They see no connection between the person mentioned, and him of the thirty pieces of silver-which only means that there is nothing large, adventurous, or tragic in this man's baseness. He has no soul for a great crime. He is small in his treacheries, ridiculous in his pretensions, hollow as to his reputation, underhand and petty in his dealings with his washerwoman, his wife, his neighbor, and his God; false at heart; a fawner; a flatterer; a self-seeker, and a sycophant. If I should drop into tautology in describing his contemptible qualities there would be no excuse for me, because there are a thousand sides to his character, and they are all unpleasant. I have known other mean and disagreeable persons; I have even known persons who had every one of his vices, and not a single redeeming virtue. But this man has so to speak, a patent on the combination. I have believed from childhood that the Lord loves every human being he has made; but how the Lord can love this creature of his is almost as great a mystery to me as the origin of evil. Perhaps if I could understand one, I could understand the other.

I intended, when I began this essay, to sketch the characters of two or three other persons towards whom I find it difficult to be charitable. But I am afraid they would look like pigmies beside this giant of respectable iniquity. I have played my best card.

Yes, you are right, my Biblical friend-"The greatest of these is charity." Here I sit with the most pleasant surroundings imaginable; having not an enemy on earth that I know of; with pleasant prospects in life; with my heart running over with good-will toward all mankind—until suddenly some one happens to pass by who reminds me of Judas Iscariot; and all at once, morally speaking, I bebecome a ravening lion-a malicious and uncharitable monster. O Abraham Lincoln-Salvator Patria-how could you do it! And if you couldn't do it, how did you have the face to say it!