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and America finally decided to leave the question to five arbitrators, one of whom was chosen by the President of Switzerland. As a result of the arbitration Great Britain had to pay a large indemnity to our Government.

Then we all went to church in the beautiful chapel of the Machabées, which forms part of the Cathedral. The students were deeply impressed both by the service and by the noble sermon from Mr. Hamilton, of Edinburgh. Some of them told me afterwards that the hour spent in the chapel had been the best hour of the whole trip.

Of course we visited the Cathedral and admired the harmonious lines of its Gothic architecture. In order to explain the Cathedral to us M. Fatio did not hesitate to go up into the pulpit where Calvin used to preach! What is equally extraordinary, the Archbishop of Canterbury himself is shortly to preach from the same pulpit.

By this time the students were glad to partake of an excellent lunch offered to them by the National Protestant Church, after which we all went up the lake by steamer to M. Fatio's country place. The old manor-house, standing considerably back from the lake, was once inhabited by the original John Jacob Astor, of New York, but the present M. Fatio prefers to live in a small house which he built more directly on the lake shore. The students thus had the opportunity of seeing a splendid old property whose development was very characteristic of Switzerland. They also enjoyed a swim in the lake.

Then the steamer took us across to the park, La Grange, where the Mayor of Geneva received us officially. The view of the park, with its splendid trees and lovely old Louis XV mansion, in front of which was a long tea-table, was extremely picturesque, especially as the Mayor was accompanied by his macebearer, clothed, half of him in red and

half in orange, the colors of Geneva. The Mayor made a charming address to the students.

In speaking with the young men about their general impression of Europe I quickly discovered that the various countries, the various cities, and the general economic, social, political, and religious conditions had interested them keenly. But they had been interested even more in the distinguished men they had seen. For the students there were individual and distinct memories of the towns they had visited-of The Hague, Amsterdam, Cologne, Marburg, Göt tingen, Berlin, Dresden, Warsaw, Prague, Budapest, Vienna, Munich. But standing out with very sharp distinctness were the impressions of the men whom they have met-Wirth, Simon, Leschenfeld, Seipel, Benes, Stepanik, Archduke Joseph, Count Apponyi, Admiral Horthy.

The lads have already seen Holland, Germany, Poland, Czechoslovakia, Austria, Hungary-that is to say, one neutral country, two new nations, and three members of the Teutonic alliance. They will see France and England-two countries of the Entente for which we of America fought. They are seeing Switzerland to-day-or rather, Geneva, where are concentrated many international endeavors.

But what do they know of Switzerland who only Geneva know? For next summer's voyage why not have a few days in the cradle of Swiss Democracy-her eternal mountains?

For the rest, next summer's voyageso Dr. Gossard, the leader of the party, and Mr. Hoffmann, the Executive Secre tary of the European Student Relief, told me ought to be a little longer than this summer's voyage and comprise Italy and Belgium. If that is impossible, perhaps there can be two voyages undertaken at the same time, one for students who are particularly interested in east

ern Europe, and one for those who prefer to spend their weeks in western Europe.

In talking with these students I noted their truly American spirit of "I want to know." But I noted as well their superior qualities of manner and deportment. They were not noisy or boisterous or bumptious. They had a quiet serenity almost beyond their years. Their habits were really austere; not one of them used alcohol and few smoked. All gave the impression of having been well brought up. In speech they were simple, sincere, frank.

Some of them, however, were pretty provincial, as was indeed natural in those who had had little experience of the world. Consequently they were somewhat credulous. They constitute the kind of virgin soil in which good or bad seed quickly sprouts. The hospi. tality which they have received, and will receive everywhere, opens the way to propaganda of all sorts. It is not astonishing that they should be influenced by deception or be an easy prey for the disseminators of false reports.

But the desire of all the students to seek for truth is evident. Let us hope, then, that they will be able to rectify any misstatements which they may hear or read. They represent the coming generation: may the final impression of their sojourn in Europe have its proper influence whenever they debate questions of justice relating to the countries they have visited!

An American lady has just asked, "Do you suppose those boys appreciate all that has been done for them' in Geneva?" I had to reply, "No." But, just the same, I had to add: "For most of the lads, the weeks in Europe, spent as these two days in Geneva have been, ought to be worth a year in college. The boys appreciate that already. They told me so."

Geneva, August 13, 1922.



HE motto of life in America in our twentieth century would seem to be: Speed-more speed-top speed. For speed is impressed and drilled into our youth. The boy is pushed ahead into school, on into and out of college, and finally into the hurly-burly of business, where more speed is required if he is to succeed. The goal of his ambition reached, top speed must be maintained or the man just behind him will jump into his saddle. Result-thousands of broken-down men, or men "gone stale" at forty-five, or fifty at the most.

It has been often said that American business men are gamblers at heart. The lodestar isn't the American Eagle served up on a gold piece, but rather the power and position which it brings and the thrill of the game.

When one stops to analyze life and


its values, what profit is there for a man to gain millions and boundless power, if in so doing he loses his sense of things worth while in life, to say nothing of his health?

Indeed, to run over the list of men one knows who are close to fifty or have passed it is somewhat of a shock. Jones has grown stout and flabby, Brown is as nervous as a race horse, Green has chronic indigestion, Smith has diabetes, and so on. One in ten is fit and trim as nature intended him to be at that


But still more deplorable is the limited capacity of these men for any intellectual enjoyment outside their chosen field. They can talk golf, baseball, racing, yachting, and automobiles, but beyond that they are dumb as an oyster.

When one realizes the vast field of

interests apart from business, one is tempted to suggest to successful business men that they retire and take up some worth-while hobby with all the zest they threw into business, perhaps something that will keep them outdoors. It might be yachting, possibly a trip around the world, or angling, or shooting, or developing a place in the country-in short, any one of fifty different things which would also allow leisure for reading, quiet thinking, a broadening of sympathies, as well as bringing one into a closer touch with nature.

The writer knows a chap who at the age of fifty-one found himself "going stale." and, after talking things over with his wife, decided to break loose and change his whole mode of existence. His two sons were of age, one of them being married. The younger elected to


join his father should he decide to live in the country.

After considerable search a comfortable remodeled farmhouse with all improvements was found on thirty acres of land, within one hundred miles of Manhattan and east of the Hudson River. The property had been previously owned by a retired merchant, who had spent considerable money in its development. There were some beautiful old trees of many varieties, a most attractive flowergarden with a stream running through it, a well-planned vegetable garden, as well as lawns and a tennis court. The outbuildings were well built and ample for all purposes. The location itself was charming, the country being high and rolling, with several small lakes and many streams in the neighborhood. It was about a mile from the railway station and just on the edge of a pretty little New England village.

The head of the family undertook the growing of fruit and the breeding of dogs; the wife assumed charge of a flower-garden, and, with the aid of a small portable greenhouse, provided flowers for the house during the winter, and soon became much interested in growing mushrooms for market.

The son at first found his pleasure in



N the little valley of Dorset, Vermont, there is on informal exhibition this summer a group of paintings by an artist as yet unknown to the world at large. He is a son of the valley, untraveled (save in the sense in which Thoreau once said he had traveled widely in Concord) and utterly untrained in the traditions and theories of painting. His story is such an interesting one that the editors of The Outlook have asked me to relate it to their readers.

Some years ago a number of landscape painters came to the valley and took board in the family of a craftsman named John Lillie. They were an enthusiastic, industrious lot, and they soon filled the carriage-house of their host's big barn with sketches and canvases. Also they were genially friendly, as painters are apt to be, and established the happiest relations with their host himself.

They found him a thoughtful, intelligent man, with a strong, rather rugged face and meditative blue eyes. As carpenter, mason, and plumber he had been in demand ever since he could remember, and the quality of his work was renowned through the neighborhood. Especially was he valued by the "summer people" who were coming into the valley and who wanted their houses built or remodeled skillfully. He had an instinctive eye and touch for the finely harmonious.

His love for his native mountains

sports which were to be had at a near-by country club. In the spring he "flivvered" over to the Catskills for the trout fishing, and in the autumn, when the air was keen and crisp, he could be found almost any fine day tramping the hills and dales with his gun and dog.

An unexpected visit to the Madison Square Garden Poultry Show a few years ago, however, converted this youngster into an enthusiastic poultry fancier and to-day he is the possessor of many blue ribbons, while the sales of thoroughbred stock pay him a handsome profit.

During the summer months these country enthusiasts fill their home weekends with friends, while the winter months are broken by frequent trips to town. It is a safe bet that this chap would never go back into business again, for he has found other and far more absorbing interests to occupy him, as well as an amazing renewal of his bodily vigor.

Of course for the restless man there is always the fun and thrill of adventure in travel to be had, by automobile, for example. What could provide more fun or interest than a modern camp trailer which has two comfortable beds with springs, an oil stove, ice-box, and an

electric light? Surely one may be absolutely independent and go where one wills with such an outfit; yet it is doubtful if one business man in twenty would be capable of looking out for himself and his wife for a week on the road. The joy of the open road is a sealed book to the average town man. One has but to make such a trip and meet the voyageurs to realize the truth of this, for these knights of the road are usually artisans, or proprietors of small shops, or teachers who have become independent and resourceful from necessity.

In a recent number of an outdoor magazine is an account of a man who traveled ten thousand miles in an open canoe, from Chicago to New York City by way of the Mississippi, the Gulf, and inland waterways. It proved a wonderful trip, filled to the full with adventure, but also required plenty of courage, self-reliance, and skill. Would one business man in a hundred at the age of fifty venture in a canoe for one-quarter of that distance? It would prove interesting to collect a few answers to that question. None the less this is an excellent time for the fifty-year-older to̟ break away from stale habit, for business is not over-active, and thus the absentee might not even be missed. Try it!



commended him particularly to the painters who sojourned with him. He seemed to know all about the hills, just where to go for their noblest views, just

Art is the genuine democrat. It appears as cheerfully in the palace as on the green hillsides of Vermont. In next week's issue H. G. Leach tells of the work of a Swedish Prince who wields a brush as skillfully as his ancestors have wielded scepters. The story of Prince Eugen will be illustrated with examples of his remarkable work.

what atmospheric conditions would make them look most beautiful; and he was never too busy to stop and stand gazing off at them. The interest was unusual. Most Vermonters take the loveliness of their environment pretty much for granted.

Until the summer of which I am speaking he had never seen an oil painting, and he was immensely interested in the productions that piled up in his carriage-house. Feeling himself not unwelcome, he spent a good deal of time with his boarders, watching them at their work and pondering. Finally, one day, when they were all off at a safe distance on the mountainside and he was securely alone, he got out an assortment of house paints for which he happened to be an agent, made a selection of house painter's brushes, augmented by a shaving-brush, found a smooth, thin strip of board, and went to work. When he had finished, he hung his picture, a narrow, oblong panel, beside the others on the wall of the carriage-house.

The next morning there was great excitement among the landscape painters. "Who in thunder painted that?" the chief of them demanded. "Not I." "No, nor I." "Of course not!" exploded the chief. "You couldn't. That begins where you leave off." It was not very long before their host was found, and, being challenged with questions, made his surprising confession, and thenwell, one can better imagine than describe the sensation he caused. For.

receiving it.

"Hands off!" was the instinctive slogan in face of the miracle that had been worked among them. Suddenly, without any effort, he painted landscapes as if he had spent his life doing nothing else. In the autumn the painters gave an exhibition in a studio in the village, and John Lillie had more canvases hung than any one.

During the following winter he made his first-and, up to the present writing, his only-trip to New York. He was invited by his painter friends, and by them was taken to the current exhibitions and the Metropolitan Museum. His judgment was unerring. He knew how to go straight to the best picture on a wall and how to point out its peculiar excellence. He was quite unswayed by the opinions of others, although he listened respectfully to them. He knew what he knew, why he knew it, and how to abide by it. When he came back to the winter valley (and he was very glad to get back), he had a store of impressions, some of which he cherished and many of which he let slip.


After that for a long time nothing particular happened. The landscape painters did not return to the valley and the local excitement over John Lillie's pictures died down. It had never been an altogether sympathetic excitement, anyway, so far as his fellow-townsmen were concerned. Picture-making seemed a childish waste of time to most of with canvases, and took him with them them, especially when a man was skilled on their sketching trips-or, rather, he in a useful craft and had a family to took them with him to the choice spots support. Summer homes increased, and he knew among the hills. They were John Lillie had all he could do planning very cautious about offering him counsel, and building and remodeling. Gradually and he was more than cautious about his brief burst of landscape painting


indeed, his entirely unprecendented picture betrayed great and mature ability.

During the rest of that summer he was the constantly courted companion of the landscape painters. They gave him proper brushes and colors, supplied him

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came to seem to his neighbors a unique, amazing episode.


Not to him, however. No, although he loved his craft and reveled in the beauty of the fine old houses which he was asked to reclaim, he never forgot the greater joy of the creative impulse he had known. When such an impulse once grips a man it never lets him go. Little by little, during the long winters and when at times work was slack in the summer, John Lillie accumulated a store of canvases which he kept in his hen-house and concerning which he mostly held his peace. Now and then, when the thrill of catching some particularly lovely effect was unendurable, he tried to share it with a neighbor; but the neighbor did not always understand -as why, indeed, should he? So he said less and less and went his hidden way. If it had not been for the coming of yet another landscape painter to the valley last autumn, the hen-house might have kept its secrets.

But when the landscape painter did come! He was a temperamental soul, and, as the vivid phrase runs, he went right up in the air. "Why, this is a genius you have in your midst!" he scolded the valley folk. "What do you mean by asking him to come and mend your kitchen sinks? Kitchen sinks! John Lillie! I tell you, we're none of us fit to wash his brushes for him."

Of course it was extravagant, but it was immensely effective in waking the valley up, and soon John Lillie's name was on every lip and all the lingering summer people who cared anything about pictures were making pilgrimages to the Lillie hen-house. John Lillie received them cordially, not in the least bewildered by the sudden limelight which had been turned on him, not too much elated, but very truly pleased and gratified. The artist paints his pictures for himself and something outside him which we may as well call God; but the sympathetic approval of his fellow-man is needed to make the trinity complete. On the outer wall of the hen-house, against the soft gray background of unpainted boards, he slipped canvas after canvas into a studio frame which had been given to him. In the clear autumn light the paintings showed to great advantage.

They were strange pictures. On general principles, one would have expected an untrained painter to see and reproduce things photographically. But Lillie's Dorset was not at all the Dorset of his neighbors and of most of the summer people. It was a big, elemental world, simple, rather bare, sometimes austere, sometimes instinct with a poignant loveliness, always high and remote and full of romance. In the significant words of the landscape painter who had un

earthed them, his pictures had "the unreality of all great things." One of the canvases held nothing but the golden crest of a big, bare autumn hill against a gray sky. Not a bush, not even a rock broke the noble curve, and only a faint rift in one corner broke the monotony of the sky. Yet it was a picture which one could ponder and search indefinitely. Another showed a white winter world, blurred and indistinct, with a thin line of wind-blown trees staggering across it. All the pictures had mystery and imagination. They were amazing productions on the part of a countryman whose only training had lain along the precise and accurate lines of carpentry.

Well, what to do about them and him? That was the question. If a genius had been discovered, he must be treated worthily. The visiting landscape painter went back to New York and talked so convincingly to one of the Fifth Avenue picture dealers that the latter sent for a number of Lillie's canvases and kept five of them to show his patrons. The rest were taken by a young lawyer and his wife who lived in the East Seventies, and who set aside one of their big rooms to serve as a gallery during the season. Three of these pictures were sold. And now a new crop of them is on exhibition in their home valley.

What will come of it all? That is a

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