the efficacy of a system which begins, continues and ends in bewailing the fate which we have inherited from Adam and in despondently believing that the world is hopelessly wicked. If it is hopelessly wicked that ought to be the end of the matter, the question of reform should be dropped; if it is not, moral reformers ought to stop saying it is. The matter of reforming the world is not, like the reform of canal or whisky rings, a matter of policy; no zealous worker in the cause is to gain capital as a Presidential candidate. Why then make the task appear greater than it is by exaggerating the extent of the corruption? Surely treasure in heaven is not laid up in that way.

Most of our moral teachings and moral influences proceed from religious sources, and the church may in general be regarded, if we except a few eminent moral teachers outside its pale, as the "common reservoir" of morality. It is both natural and proper that the church should be the prime agent in works of reform, and it is more than likely that should it cease in its ministrations the work would be neglected altogether. But there is a lack of sympathy, a prejudice we may say, in the relations between the church and the world which, lamentable as it may seem, nevertheless exists and hinders a work of which the purpose at least is noble. The church requires too much of the world. It is not satisfied with mere goodness, it demands religion. In grasping after religion it throws away morality and says in effect to the sinner, "If you cannot accept the religion of Christ, experience the new birth and be baptized you can not be saved-you may as well be utterly wicked. There is no moral road to salvation, only the religious one which leads through our church door." Really, these are hard conditions to impose upon poor weak humanity and discouraging to a beginner. The prejudice against irreligious goodness may be a grand one, but it has its inconveniences. The prejudice which the world feels is not an unnatural one. Men are shy about having their souls discussed, do not like to "stand up for Jesus," relate their experience in public or even, we fear, to go to church.

It is a matter of profound mourning that it is so, but nobody will deny the fact.

It is barely possible that some impertinent reader is asking at this juncture, "Well, what are you going to do about it?—what remedy can you offer?" A fair question deserving an honest answer. The moral reformation of the world can never be accomplished so long as the church is the sole moral teacher and imposes such severe conditions upon its pupils. Morality, even without religion, must be valued higher. Religion, “pure and undefiled,” cannot be reached by the sinner per saltum, but he may grow up to it through a life of appreciated morality by the aid of conspicuous religious examples. Such we claim would be the normal workings of the true principles of Christianity, but the present distorted interpretation and methods of application of those principles can never accomplish the work.

Just a word now to those who would or should be moral reformers in our own number. You can do good, not alone by exhortations in prayer meetings, for we who need it most possibly would not hear you there; not by lamenting the wickedness of mankind and in your lamentation making yourselves conspicuous exceptions and boasting of personal safety, for we might not appreciate the comparison and might in a worldly way doubt the grounds of your self-congratulation; but by showing by your lives that a life of purity and morality is worth living, and, while it falls short of your conception of a perfect life and while you are striving to make it better, yet meets with your approbation and respect. Remember, too, that there is such a thing as religion without morality, and the loss is as conspicuous and deplorable as the absence of both.

The moral and religious critic lays himself open to the charge of "You're another," and "You yourself are no better than you ought to be." The truth of which the writer humbly acknowledges, but with the hope of getting his own glass house demolished he dares to throw stones.

C.

I

A MODERN CHAUCER.

NTENSE admiration for some deservedly great author, has often been the means of producing another. This admiration, if pure and entire, acts as a stimulus and generally urges a man forward in one of two different ways, entirely dependent upon his nature and talents. If he be dull or shallow it may cause him to desire to record the doings and renown of his great ideal, and thus it has aided materially in the production of some of our finest biographies. But if he possesses talent, if he not only is able to praise, but also to follow, admiration begets imitation, and directs his thoughts into a settled and familiar way.

A fault in the poetic literature of the latter part of this century seems to be too great a desire for originality, and too little respect for the formerly much honored schools. The success of the poets who lived in the lake region of England, established a bad precedent, and, though they merely rejected those flowery forms of expression which add nothing to beauty or sentiment, others went still further and violated almost every poetic rule, considering that, however rough the metre or uncouth the language, thought, underlying, more than compensated for the want. This feeling, though not so radical at first, steadily increased until it culminated in the so-called poetry of the "Dialect Rhymsters;" and for a time the "Jim Bludsoe " type ruled preeminent.

The direct opposite of this style, yet derived from the same source, since the "Excursion" of Wordsworth must be considered its parent, is the mystical, metaphysical and, to some, nonsensical poetry which greatly abounds at the present day, and of which Browning has written a large part.

Between these two distinct classes, and striving to hold what we consider the golden mean, the poetry of William Morris takes its place, and this position it owes to his unflinching devotion to the example and works of Geoffrey

Chaucer. This admiration is patent in all his writings, in his frequent mention of his great master, and in the general character of his poems. Like the "Canterbury Tales," the " Earthly Paradise," his best work, is composed of stories told by pilgrims; in one, traveling to the shrine of Thomas a Becket in hope of gaining their desires; in the other, searching over land and water for the blessed isles. Across the Western seas where none grew old."

But in the one, they journey a lightsome company sure to return with duty fulfilled; in the other, after many years, a few old men, with hopes disappointed, arrive at a haven where they may at least die in peace. In both, the duty of telling tales is enjoined upon the pilgrims, in one, to enliven the monotony of travel; in the other to instruct the people of the country which at last received them. These different circumstances cause the difference in the tales. Chaucer's pilgrims are for the most part still in active life and eager with desire. They are brightened by the ever-changing scenes about them, and by the gaiety of their companions. Their stories are filled with a joyous out-of-doors feeling which we miss in the recitals of the Seekers after the Earthly Paradise, who are more thoughtful than gay, and who have been taught by experience rather to distrust than hope.

But in the strength of pure, simple, imaginative narrative, Chaucer and Morris are similar. The latter sits at the feet of his master, and strives to learn his trade, but not his peculiarities. The difference in times and in the characters of the two poets makes it impossible to find many minor points of resemblance. Morris follows, but does not blindly imitate; he is taught, but does not cast aside as useless his own innate talent; his model is before him, but he adds many a new line, and rejects many a false touch. True imitation is not antagonistic with originality, it only guides and keeps it within bounds. In fact, the name, "A Modern Chaucer," has been applied to him by all critics, as much on account of contrast with his own contemporaries, as for any great similarity to his ideal.

We do not consider him equal to Chaucer or many of our modern poets, but think that he has gained a sweetness and simplicity from the former that most of the latter would do well to acquire.

A characteristic that few careful readers can fail to notice in the "Earthly Paradise," is a certain dreaminess. The stories seem reveries more than realities; so that one whose mind is only critically alive may be able to see many faults, but must lose all the beauties. A summer day so warm as to preclude all thought of exertion, an hour before a brightly-burning grate in winter, are times most suitable for old heroes to live again, fair maidens to be rescued, right become might, and true chivalry, omnipotent, through the power of Morris' writings.

Traditions would not exist were it not on account of a natural love of the people for them. The old stories of gods and goddesses who inhabited mossy glen and gloomy wood, and snow-capped mountains in ancient Greece, of the Paladins who wrought mighty works in sunny France under Charlemagne, and of the mediæval men who saw great wonders, and lost and won much in consequence, still live because they are dear to us all. And the choicest of these tales and fables, which possess such enchantment, in a more attractive form than ever, can be found in the dreamy, easy, gliding lines of the "Earthly Paradise." This, then, is our poet's chief claim for praise. He has taken from the vast store of half-obsolete traditions, the best, has infused new life into them, and given them a far more pleasing shape.

His faults are many. In describing passionate scenes, which most of our modern poets, like Swinburne, would delight in painting in the richest, most gorgeous colors, he fails to impart more than neutral tints. He gives us a photograph, perfect in every line, but lacking the essential of life. This, of course, some would say, is in keeping with the character of his story-tellers, to whom love is an exploded fable, and passion, a name. But when they show such an interest in all sports and vocations, such a love for nature, and such an appreciation of the beautiful,