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tralized bureaucracy attempts to regulate everything, and that in its dispositions and operations it touches private life and invades the field of private activity at innumerable points, one can understand how unbearable must be the position of persons whose affairs are thus" regulated," and how intolerable must become the complete suppression of the right of free speech. The sufferer from the misdirected or tyrannically exercised power of a subordinate official cannot even protest. He must simply lay his hand on his mouth, bow his head, and submit.

I have been asked many times by friends in America why intelligent and liberty-loving Russians do not get out of such a country. Many answers might be given to this question, but perhaps the most comprehensive and cogent of them will be found in Sections 325-328 of the Russian penal code, which are as follows:

"SECTION 325. Whoever leaves the fatherland and enters the service of a foreign Government without the permission of his own Government, or becomes a subject of a foreign power, such person, for violation of his allegiance and his oath, shall be deprived of all civil rights and expelled from the limits of the empire forever. If he returns, he shall be

exiled to Siberia for life.

"SECTION 326. Whoever leaves the fatherland and does not return at the summons of the Government shall for this disobedience be deprived of all civil rights, and expelled from the limits of the empire forever-unless, within a period to be fixed at the discretion of a court, he shows that his disobedience was due to causes which were beyond his control, or which mitigate his guilt. Until he shall make such proof, he shall be regarded as missing,

European Messenger" (a monthly magazine), pp. 10-20, St. Petersburg, January, 1887.

and his property shall be controlled by the bureau of guardianship.

"SECTION 327. Any person who, without permission of the Government and without adequate reason, lives abroad beyond the period fixed by law for persons of his station shall also be regarded as missing [literally, 'absent without news '], and his property shall be taken in charge by the bureau of guardianship.

"SECTION 328. Any person who persuades a subject of the empire to emigrate to another country shall be punished with penal servitude in a convict company for not less than twelve nor more than eighteen months, or be banished to Siberia for life."

Under one of the above-quoted sections (326) Turgenief, while living in Paris in 1863, was summoned to St. Petersburg to answer before the Directing Senate for something that he had written or said. One can see from his letters to his friend, P. V. Annenkoff, how humiliating and exasperating obedience was to him, but he obeyed.*

The Government does not recognize the right of its subjects to go abroad or to live abroad without its permission; and if, therefore, a Russian takes refuge from oppression in a freer country, he must face the prospect of expatriation, outlawry, the loss of all the property left behind him, and exile to Siberia if he ever returns. Few people are willing to separate themselves for life in this way from friends, relatives, home, country, and all that man naturally holds dear. What alternative, then, is left to the oppressed when oppression becomes intolerable? They must either submit or fight; and if they are not willing to submit and are not able, under the provisions of this code, to oppose tyranny by peaceful collective action, they will inevitably resort to violence and fight, singly or in small groups, as they are now fighting, until they go to Siberia in leg-fetters or perish on the scaffold.

George Kennan.

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"The early death of a youth was frequently called in poetic language a seizure or theft by Aurora."

IND us the Morning, mother of the stars


And of the winds that usher in the day!
Ere her light fingers slide the eastern bars,
A netted snare before her footsteps lay;
Ere the pale roses of the mist be strown:
Bind us the Morning, and restore our own!

With her have passed all things we held most dear,
Most subtly guarded from her amorous stealth;
We nothing gathered, toiling year by year,
But she hath claimed it for increase of wealth;
Our gems make bright her crown, incrust her throne:
Bind us the Morning, and restore our own!

Where are they gone who round our myrtles played,
Or bent the vines' rich fruitage to our hands,
Or breathed deep song from out the laurels' shade?
She drew them to her; who can slack the bands?
What lure she used, what toils, was never known:
Bind us the Morning, and restore our own!

Enough, that for her sake Orion died,
Slain by the silver archer of the sky,—

That Ilion's prince amid her splendors wide

Lies chained by age, nor wins his prayer to die ;

Enough! but hark! our captive loves make moan:

Bind us the Morning, and restore our own!

We have beheld them whom we lost of old,

Among her choiring Hours, in sorrow bowed.
A moment gleam their faces faint and cold

Through some high oriel window wreathed with cloud,
Or on the wind before her they are blown:
Bind us the Morning, and restore our own!

They do her service at the noiseless looms

That weave the misty vesture of the hills;

Their tears are drink to thirsting grass and blooms,

Their breath the darkling wood-bird wakes and thrills;

Us too they seek, but far adrift are thrown:

Bind us the Morning, and restore our own!

Yea, cry her Thief! from where the light doth break
To where it merges in the western deep!
If aught of ours she, startled, should forsake,
Such waifs the waiting Night for us will keep.
But stay not; still pursue her, falsely flown:
Bind us the Morning, and restore our own!

Edith M. Thomas.




T is the pathetic feature of the early death of this man that his generation had little knowledge of him while he was of it. His name stands almost for a shadow. He was a great and substantial person to those who knew him well, but so secluded was his life, so unobtrusive was his character, so scant was his career of special achievements, that it is difficult to convey a distinct picture of him except by arbitrary assertion. Even then the terms employed produce conflicting impressions and leave an indistinct image. Never speaking in public; engaging in no controversies; heading no party; following no leader; identified with no school; touching here and there many creeds and philosophies but falling in with none; suspected by the reputedly orthodox, yet so evidently Christian that unbelief never claimed him; an Episcopalian by sincere preference, yet uttering no word for his church in any page of his writing; holding that schism is deadly, yet an ardent admirer of the Puritan and the Quaker; a good Catholic and yet a stout Protestant,-how shall such an one be rendered explicable to an age that cannot think of men except as ranged under some school or church or party.

Nor does he grow much clearer to the majority when his books are read. It is claimed that in "The Nation " he has presented a lofty and philosophical conception of the state: the book is opened to find it constantly asserted that the nation is a moral organism, with illustrations drawn from American institutions and nearly forgotten pages of Hebrew history, rising at last into the mystic allusions of the Apocalypse, which the author regards as a clear and substantial utterance of political wisdom. What relation can such a book have to American politics? Or take his "Republic of God": it is asserted that it is a scientific and rational presentation of Christianity. The book is found to consist of continuous assertion, without a suggestion of argument or formal proof, and even without quotation of Scripture except in way of illustration. What is there here scientific or peculiarly rational? Nothing, it must be confessed, unless one is able of one's self to discern the logic that is more than its forms. The majority fail to understand the book because they miss the

grinding logic, the theological wrangle, the defense of church or school, and the massing of texts; because also they fail to comprehend the attitude of a mind that looks directly at the faith and measures it by its own light.

The external life of Dr. Mulford does not throw much light upon him, yet there was a singular harmony between his history and his thought. He came of excellent lineage; the blood of his ancestry for two hundred years had been of a full Puritan strain. He was born in Montrose, Pa.; was prepared for college in Homer, N. Y., under Dr. Woolworth; and was graduated from Yale College in 1855.

One who had skill in discerning character might early have detected signs of the greatness that followed, and even the form it would take. His imagination—a large feature in his mental organization-led the way at first, and he seemed about to enter the field of belleslettres. But even before college days he had declared to himself that he would write great books, if any. He never lost his love for lit erature as a fine art and always responded keenly to a well-turned sentence or a fine verse; but his main concern, first and last, was with high thought. The two tastes led to what has not been fully recognized in him,namely, a double life, or rather, a life so broad that it had that appearance. His early indications as a writer and his constant habit of discussing literature and art in a critical way led many of his friends to underrate the solidity of his mind; but even in college, while neglecting his studies for the literature which was then being rapidly poured upon the world by Tennyson, the Brownings, Dickens, Thackeray, Hawthorne, and Longfellow, and also for the social life of college, then peculiarly brilliant, he was leading another life than that which appeared. He was not careful to prepare himself to meet in full the demands of the class-room, but he startled his classmates with disquisitions on the authors there read such as they did not hear from the tutors. That the college did not do more for him and that he did not get more from the college was not the fault of either, but was rather due to ill adjustment between a mind like his and the methods of education which then prevailed. The college furnished at least a good shelter while his powers were uniting and taking shape, and it provided him with a sufficient knowledge of Latin and Greek for practical purposes.

After a college life that could hardly be called earnest, though in no way open to grave charge, the real seriousness of his nature became apparent in the choice of theology as a profession. In this choice the true man was disclosed, for Dr. Mulford was preeminently a theologian. He spent two years in Andover, but, as in college, saw more truth than he heard, and ended his studies with undisguised protest against the theology then taught in that institution. He was perhaps the first Protestant of his kind in New England, after Dr. Bushnell and Dr. Washburn. Heretofore those who dissented from the prevailing theology had turned towards Unitarianism or Universalism, but Mulford did not feel himself shut up to these somewhat beaten paths, discerning another that has since become well known and is much used. The separation from Andover was wide and thoroughly mutual. The year in which he was buried found Andover busily engaged over points that then were clear to his mind, and in substantial accord with his views of humanity and the reach of Christ's work. After leaving Andover he spent a year in Europe, traveling, and hearing lectures on theology, but chiefly brooding,- for such was his life-long habit,- and returned home, hurried by the outbreak of the war. He was in no way fitted to become a soldier: a better task awaited him, to which he was drawn by an inward voice which was also a divine call. He took orders in the Episcopal Church, not merely because there was no other place for him, but because upon the whole he thought along its lines, or rather, as he then believed, it suffered him to think in his own way. The point of contact, however, did not reach far within. Esthetically he felt with his church and could easily have gone into some lengths of ritualism; no excess of it would have troubled him so long as it did not involve dogmatic assumption. He prized the catholicity of the Episcopal Church as to doctrine, but its rubrics had little interest for him, and the lines that separate it from other churches had for him no existence. Only in a very limited degree is he to be regarded as belonging to the Episcopal Church. He never violated her canons; he served obediently at her altars; he taught theology under her name; but he wrote no line in her support, received no honors and but the barest recognition from her hands. There was repeated in him the story of all ages, the prophet is never accepted by his age, and a great man is always greater than any institution that holds him.

Dr. Mulford took a parish in New Jersey, and immediately found himself face to face with a congregation disposed through business interests to sympathize with the South VOL. XXXV.— 121.

in the war then raging. It is at this point, perhaps, that a certain aspect of his character can be best explained. To a certain extent he did not make the impression of a man of courage. His manner was calm but was not strongly charged with assurance. He almost never pointedly disagreed with any, but indicated his variance by suggesting another view of the subject, leaving the other to find out the difference. His intense sympathy and absolute courtesy held him back from controversy and made him over-tolerant in conversation, so that dull persons often suspected him of weakness and mental dishonesty, not discerning the delicacy and fineness of his dissent. He also carried any difference into the region of principles often very remote and general, and apparently of slight consequence to any save himself. But if he differed in principle he differed all the way through, and saw little need of formal explanation. His real character in this respect is seen in his position as a preacher. The influences about him would have led him to remain silent; no man more yearned for sympathy or more hated a wrangle; he seemed incapable of living without one or of enduring the other. But, contrary to his superficial disposition, he carried the war into his pulpit, overcoming all opposition by simple weight of utterance and solemnity of conviction. It is here that his character offers itself in one of its finest lights; his general attitude throughout his life was taken and held in opposition to much in himself. He had no great endowment of natural courage; he was not born with the clinched fist of a reformer or a polemic; he was sensitive in the highest degree to human sympathy and was made for fellowship; but his thought led and kept him apart, and his path through life was for the most part solitary. His divergences were not great enough to call out denial or denunciation, but were sufficient to awaken suspicion. He was not impeached, but he was made to feel a mild, ill-defined ostracism; there were no blows and wounds, but there was a fretting irritation; no turning of the back, but a somewhat doubtful offering of the hand. This sort of treatment, which is the form persecution takes in these later ages, being restrained by law and public opinion from any other, calls for a finer and more spiritual courage than that demanded by the grosser forms.

His retirement from parish labor, brought about by the claims of private business and by a growing deafness, seems now a divine shaping of his life to the high end in store for him, but along a path not then easily traced. The close of the war found him in his native county, living in the ancestral home of his wife twelve miles distant from Montrose.

Greater seclusion could hardly have been found, but the appointments of his life were generous and appropriate. Most men in his circumstances would have drifted into politics or turned to money-making, but Dr. Mulford was not fitted for one and for the other he had no taste. The nature and force of his intellectual gifts in no way more clearly appear than in the life he now entered upon. So far as books, reading, and daily occupation were concerned, he might have been living in New Haven or Cambridge. I have never met a person the current of whose intellectual habit flowed in so steady and strong a stream as his. Nothing diverted or lessened it, or apparently added to it, being always at the full. No variation in his intellectual register could be discovered. Whether in the woods of Pennsylvania or in the streets of Cambridge, the same themes engaged his attention, and his sense of them was always about the same. No separation from men and books dulled him, nor could I discover that any contact with them greatly quickened him. The reservoir of his thought was within himself and sprang from fountains that seemed to be inexhaustible.

Dr. Mulford carried with him to Friendsville a purpose, conceived in college days, of writing upon political themes. He had read Aristotle and had been profoundly moved by his political wisdom. He early noticed the fact that the German theologians found themselves led to write on the constitution of society. His own theological conceptions from the first carried him into the same field. His mental cast was of such a character and so ample that it was simply impossible for him to keep away from such subjects. But these influences were as nothing compared with those of the civil war just closing. Here was a most weighty fact in history to be accounted for. A great, prosperous, Christian nation, one by every consideration of nature and self-interest, suddenly breaks itself in two and appeals to war to enforce the unnatural action. That such a thing should happen seemed to him to indicate a defective consciousness of itself in the nation. Slavery and sectional ambition and party heat were not enough to explain so mighty a revolt of the nation against itself; its sense of itself must be at fault.

Thus his mind worked on the problem, and hence those years of thought and writing and re-writing that produced "The Nation." His object was not simply to explain the civil war, but to teach the people the nature of the state and the grounds of their government. Hence his book bore the sub-title, "The Foundations of Civil Order and Political Life in the United States." His argument with himself was: If I can reveal to the people

the nature of the nation so that they shall see how divine a thing it is, it will be forever sacred in their eyes. Such was the aim of this young scholar, conceived and entered upon before the smoke of battle had cleared away. He provided himself with all needful books,— leisure and a free mind were already provided; his theological conceptions formed a nourishing atmosphere for his purpose, and the fresh memory of the war keenly stirred his interest. Everything was favorable except the solitude in which he worked and the greater solitariness of the path he was opening through the tangle of history; for it may safely be said that if Dr. Mulford's conception of the nature of the nation is not new, it has never been so fully worked out, nor has it ever been presented with the illustration of a nation that reflected the conception; for never before in the course of history has there been a nation whose political order bore out the divine plan of a nation. While Dr. Mulford's conscious aim in "The Nation" was to unfold the lesson of the civil war, we now see that he was working on a larger plan. Society is now making the dangerous transition from the aristocratic to the democratic idea of government, and with the change there is danger lest that truth be lost which alone makes any government real and binding,—namely, that it is by the grace of God. Kings planted themselves on this truth, and hence had power and majesty. The pomp of courts is not the reflection of human pride, but of the divineness of government. In passing from one form to the other the insignia of power and majesty are largely dropped, and with them there is danger lest the conception of government as a divine thing be also given up and it come to be regarded, even as it already is by some schools of social science, as a mere matter of police, a negative check on crime, with the result of resolving society into nearly absolute individualism, the idea of humanity as a social fact lost, and progress reduced to a go-as-you-please scramble for the most that can be got, or to selfish combinations that turn society into a war between labor and capital—a condition already existing in part and sure to prevail unless it is checked by the conception of gov ernment as existing by the will of God and for righteousness, and as God's own instrument for blessing humanity-not an instrument merely, but a creatively ordained order, in which men must live if they would live at all. Dr. Mulford, whose work was always constructive and at heart conservative, saw the necessity of unfolding the truth that a democracy not only rests on the grace of God, but, beyond all other forms of government, is so grounded and must be so interpreted. Hence

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