the common chaos of Southern unsettlement. He is himself in part to blame because he has been afraid to assert his heritage from his apostolic ancestry. But the reason of his fear had its grounds. The politicians of our sorrowful period have resented his approach to public influence and the idea has been successfully grafted on to Southern public opinion that the field of politics is worldly or of the devil, therefore the preacher must keep well out of touch with it. The man in the South the truth will set free at once is the preacher. His message and meaning to our life as a public man is too important to be lost. Patriotism must be defined in terms that include him. He is more than a passive subsidiary social and political asset. He has a Gospel that saves both men and nations, and his priesthood is a priesthood of the public good. In the vestibule of the capitol of Georgia is the statue of Benjamin Hill, and in the marble are cut these words: "He who saves his country saves all things and all things saved shall bless him. Who lets his country die lets all things die and all things dying, curse him." I have pondered that incomparable definition of patriotism. It was written by a Southerner, and with reference to the South, in his "Notes on the Situation," printed in 1868. There is no saving of one's country so that all things are saved if the religious principle is omitted from the foundations. Industry will save from poverty and isolation, and help to save from morbid self-consciousness, but what will save industry from sordidness and greed? Education will save from ignorance, prejudice and the perils of liberty, but what will save education from unbelief and godlessness? The industrialist and the educator needs the preacher. The South needs all. I am not without hope that our newspapers which are powerful may become vehicles of the new spirit in the South, leaders and makers of public sentiment, not simply reflections of the hour. If great wealth were at my disposal, I can conceive of no truer service to the land I love than to use it in the promotion of an organized and well sustained propaganda to call the South to the great things and away from the narrowing absorption in the one single depressing issue of the negro problem. I would say to all reactionists, "You shall not press down longer this false and cruel crown upon the brow of the South. You shall not crucify the strength and hope of Southern manhood upon this African cross." We have no future conditioned upon a state of affairs which is surrendered to a permanent irritation; we have a future if we will put the negro problem aside and devote ourselves to the many and great duties which call for our best energies. The security of the South is not in self-protection. It is in self-elevation. It is a civic tradition in New Orleans that when the great flood in the Mississippi River had broken over the levees and wrecked the city, two citizens were ruefully surveying the debris and wreckage. One of them bitterly exclaimed, “Oh, if I had almighty power in this arm, I would build a levee here so high that the river could never get over it!" "I would not do that," quietly responded the other. “If I had almighty power in this arm, I would put it beneath our city and lift it up so high the old Mississippi would roll harmlessly at its feet." The safety, the progress, the glory of the South does not lie in the mouths of those who say, "Let the South alone,” but rests in that nobler, braver clarion, "Lift the South up. Develop her resources, educate her people, cleanse her thought of perilous stuff and ennoble her moral interests." Our love and our duty belong to the masses of our people who are confused by many voices. Let every man start where he stands to give his love and his loyalty a voice that will reach some other man. It is our own Southland that demands us. "Oft when this need lies on us to deliver Lift the illusions and the truth lies bare; Only as souls we see the folk thereunder Chained who should conquer, slaves who should be kings. Then with a rush the intolerable craving Shivers throughout us like a trumpet blast Die for their life, be offered for them all." The Personality of Froude BY JOHN SPEncer Bassett, Professor of History in Trinity College During the last half of the nineteenth century, Froude was one of the most striking figures in English literary circles. It was his fortune to divide the public into two camps, one of which stoutly assailed him and the other fought in his defense. His troubled career came to an end eleven years ago; and after the magazines pronounced their funeral discourses, the public ceased to discuss his actions, although they did not stop reading his books. Today, when most of the old quarrel is forgotten, we have from Mr. Paul, a competent, if apologetic, account of that career,* and we may review the old field of controversy with diminished prejudices and the clearer insight which comes with better perspective. Such a study is well worth our while; for there was in Froude's life something permanent in English literary history, and blessed is that writer of historical narrative in our own day who finds it. James Anthony Froude, an earnest, sensitive, and imaginative Englishman, was born April 23, 1818. He came of a family which was notable for strong minded men. His father was a hard spirited, cultured, dogmatic, and unsympathetic archdeacon, who possessed enough property to enable him to live in retirement from active ecclesiastical employment. Anthony's eldest brother, Hurrell Froude, was the brightest early leader of the Oxford Counter Reformation, a movement which was based on the idea that the great upheaval of the sixteenth century was an error and that the English church ought to be brought back, in a measure, to the position it occupied before the days of Henry VIII. Hurrell and his friends were going steadily toward a reconciliation with Rome, when he himself died and his place was taken by John Henry Newman, who did at last reach that goal. Hurrell *The Life of Froude. By Herbert Paul. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1905, pp. vi, 454. dominated his own family as he dominated the brilliant circle at Oxford: he gave the law in educational and literary matters to both his father and his younger brothers. Brilliant and self-assured he did not penetrate beneath the mask of diffidence which covered Anthony's early life, and he pronounced the boy a failure. The father acquiesced in this judgment, threatening to put the boy to learn the tanner's trade and finally leaving him to roam at will in an excellent old library. The results were not entirely unfortunate: the strong individualistic traits of the lad's nature were stimulated in a deep and constant communion with the best old books of the world; his mind developed wonderfully according to its natural bent; and his imagination and intense feeling for literature grew into passions. One important side of his growth, however, was neglected in this natural development; he failed to get that balance and self-restraint which comes from the best guidance under proper discipline with a master. Although in later life he had educational opportunity, nothing occurred in it to make up this deficiency; and he ever remained a one-sided man. One of his lacks was a training in accuracy of thought, a thing that a mind like his particularly needed, and the acquisition of which would have saved him from much criticism later in life. Out of this quiet self-education he was called in the autumn of 1836, a few months after the death of the fascinating Hurrell, to enter Oriel College, Oxford. He was received heartily into the circle which had loved the brother, Newman taking him under his special protection. To them he presented a remarkably attractive personality, a tall young man with fine dark eyes and gentle manners, and unusual conversational powers. It was never his lot, either now or later, to ask for friends-they came unsought. Oxford at that time was a place of idleness, and in the absence of stringent rules he continued the old habit of extensive self-directed reading; and again he got an impulse to undisciplined mental habits. But Froude's readings were no trifling matter. He read furiously, often sitting till the early morning absorbed in some favorite classic, as Herodotus, or Homer, or Dante. He took his degree in 1842, failing to get the highest honor, and in that disappointing those who had reason to know how great were his talents. He was soon elected fellow of Exeter and duly took deacon's orders; not because he felt any calling for the ministry, but because it was expected that a fellow should take orders. He even filled a short term of service as curate, but all his tendency toward a religious career was destroyed by the development of certain religious doubts. The first intimation of this change came about through writing a "Life of Saint Neot." Newman desired to bring out a series of popular Lives of the Saints, in the belief that such a narration of the miraculous acts of the holy men of the middle ages would stimulate the faith of the people of England of that day. He turned for help to Froude, whose powers of narration he well knew. His friend promised all that was asked without realizing what was expected. The story of Saint Neot, as it was turned over to his protector, was treated so rationally that it lacked the charm of credulity. The author could not idealize the medieval saints for the edification of modern believers, and he would not. He refused to write. further in the series, and the affair only served to show him how much he was out of sympathy with the Oxford Reformers, and how much skepticism had taken hold of his own mind. Through the immediately succeeding years this unbelief became more pronounced. Like many another educated young man, he sought as great a degree of verity in matters of faith as in mathematics. When his doubts became thickest, he wrote a book in which they were embodied. "The Nemesis of Faith," as he called it, appeared in 1849: it was fiction, but it deserves to be called neither novel nor romance. In Froude's own language it was "a cry of pain," and the terribly candid revelation by a morbid soul of all its self-created difficulties. It angered and disgusted the orthodox and even the sceptical would not recognize it as on their side. Oxford especially was outraged and forced the author to resign his fellowship in Exeter. Ten years later, when Oxford was become more tolerant and Froude more famous, a new rector asked him to allow his name to be placed on the roll from |