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those observers of passing events who are accustomed to judge the acts of men only as they may be seen from the dead level of the street, and whose views have no far horizon line; still less as it may be looked askance at by some Protestant scholastics who linger among us. But such is modernism as it may be known in the literature which it has created; as it lives in the thoughts, glows in the hearts, and transfigures the ideals of those who follow its call of the Spirit, whithersoever it may lead; although again it may prove true that the ecclesiastical foxes have holes, but the Son of humanity hath not where to lay his head.

bringing a healing virtue to our longsuffered divisions, and restoring to our reunited churches that larger religious efficiency which shall render their ministry once more worthy the devotion of vigorous youth. And not the least of the services which the New Catholicism may render to the rest of the Christian world, may be to lead us all to recover the meaning of that great word-Catholic; greatest of all words save one. Modernists, both Roman and Protestant, are learning to speak together that greatest of words-Love. St. Peter received the divine commission of it, thrice repeated. St. John gave the new commandment of it. St. Augustine beheld From such modernism we who are it reigning in the City of God. Martin Protestants have much to learn. Its ideas Luther saw it, and exclaimed, "Love concerning the historical development of blesses, belief curses." And the last of the Church, its dogmas and worship; of the Apostles, who put into our Bible the the worth of these as tested ever anew in inspired portrayal of it-himself the true the life of the world; its firm and constant prototype of the Christian modernist of grasp upon the great truth which Rome every age-added this line, "Love rejoiceth has never lost, that Christianity is a social with the truth." Because Christianity is fact, and not an individual act-these and true, it is no illusion to dream this dream other ideas of the modernists, if taken up of all the modernists, Roman, Anglican, and worked over in our native thinking, Protestant, that be it soon or late, the one may prove to be reconciling principles Holy Catholic Church throughout the among our denominational contradictions, world shall become visible among men.

THE LOST GUIDE

(C. E. N.-OCTOBER, 1908)

By C. A. Price

I KNEW a pine that topped an ancient hill,
A mark and beacon to the country-side,

Its head communed with heaven, its branches wide
Harbored the voyagers of the air, but still

Fast did its root in native soil abide.

It recked not much of winds small trees did kill,
Yet to each delicate breeze its leaves would thrill,
And murmurings sweet to the sweet air replied.

And it is fallen, and the wanderer now
Lost or belated on his homeward way,

Shall look for that uplifted head in vain;

How shall he miss that lofty guidance, how,

Through all the darkening paths that cross and stray,
Long to behold his beacon-pine again!

MILTON

By Henry van Dyke

I

LOVER of beauty, walking on the height

Of pure philosophy and tranquil song; Born to behold the visions that belong To those who dwell in melody and light; Milton, thou spirit delicate and bright!

What drew thee down to join the Roundhead throng

Of iron-sided warriors, rude and strong,

Fighting for freedom in a world half night?

Lover of Liberty at heart wast thou,

Above all beauty bright, all music clear: To thee she bared the splendor of her brow, Breathing her virgin promise in thine ear, And bound thee to her with a double vow,Exquisite Puritan, grave Cavalier!

II

The cause, the cause for which thy soul resigned
Her singing robes to battle on the plain,
Was won, O poet, and was lost again;

And lost the labor of thy lonely mind

On weary tasks of prose. What wilt thou find
To comfort thee for all the toil and pain?
What solace, now thy sacrifice is vain

And thou art left forsaken, poor and blind?

Across the years I hear thy firm reply:

"The cause of truth looks lost, but shall be won.

For God hath given to mine inward eye
Vision of England soaring to the sun.
And granted me great peace before I die,
In thoughts of lowly duty bravely done."

III

O bend again above thine organ-board:

Thy Master grants thee peace, but not repose!
He claims thy service still, but not with those
"Who only stand and wait" for his reward:
He pours the heavenly gift of song restored

Into thy breast, and bids thee nobly close
A noble life, with poetry that flows

In mighty music of the major chord.

Where hast thou learned this deep, majestic strain,
Surpassing all thy youthful lyric grace,

To sing of Paradise? Ah, not in vain

The griefs that won at Dante's side thy place,
And made thee, Milton, by thy years of pain,
The loftiest poet of the Saxon race!

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T

By Edward S. Curtis

ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR

HE average reader, when thinking of the American Indian, thinks only of the statuesque, picturesque, buffalo-hunting Indians of the northern prairies, or, perhaps, the gayly dressed warrior in his bark canoe travelling the waters of the lakes and streams of the forests. These characteristic types do form a good portion of our Indian people, but far from the whole, and decidedly not the most interesting.

When the mail-clothed Spanish soldiers

*See former articles by Mr. Curtis in SCRIBNER'S MAGA ZINE for May and June, 1906.

VOL. XLV.-18

of fortune forced their way into the desert lands of the South-west, the land that we now call Arizona and New Mexico, they found it dotted here and there with human habitations, habitations apparently as timeworn as those of old Spain. They were communal structures of stone, cliff-perched, their six stories or more towering high toward the blue dome, so high that when we look up to them from the plain they seem to be on the level with the high-soaring eagles. For miles across the outlying desert or along the valley stretched their farmlands. Peculiarly administered communities they were, with so advanced a

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form of government that the remnants of it, though shadowed by three centuries of white men's greed and politics, remain praiseworthy to the present day. To quote Lummis, in "Poco Tiempo," "There were many American Republics before the sailing of Columbus."

The booty-loving Spaniards, who first found this land, were in search of the seven cities of Cibola, with their fabled hoards of gold and portals of turquoise, the cities of the many-times-told and exaggerated tales of the Negro Estevan and the Friar Marcos. Rather than the expected riches, equalling those of the Incas in the Perus, they found no gold and little turquoise, only simple Indians without riches, but with a life far advanced from that of the nomadic tribes, possessed of many arts and crafts. They were tilling fields of corn and beans, and from wild cotton wove cloth which would do credit to any art-loom of to-day, and fashioning from clay utensils of superb workmanship, decorated with highly con

ventionalized designs; they were tanners, dyers and workers in gems, and beyond all the arts of their domestic life was the ritual of their ancient pagan one, a life exceedingly rich in religious ceremony; while their astronomical and astrological lore is even to-day a thing of wonder to the student.

The women held legally a higher place in the domestic scheme of life at the coming of the white man, three centuries ago, than is granted by the laws of many states to the white mother and wife to-day. The Pueblo wife was the owner of the home and the children. Descent was traced through her clan, not that of the father. In case of a defection of a husband, the wife could divorce him; if he returned to the home to find his personal belongings placed outside the door, it meant that her decree of divorce was sealed; in which case, if he saw fit to apply to the council in hopes of a reversal of judgment, he might secure sympathy and even assistance from her clan, but not from his own.

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