CHAPTER VIII

I served for four years under the energetic Rolph, and they were fruitful ones. Most of the plans inaugurated by the Taylor board were carried out, and materially the city made great strides. The Exposition was a revelation of what was possible, and of the City Hall and the Civic Center we may well be proud.

Some of my supervisorial experiences were trying and some were amusing. Discussion was often relieved by rare bits of eloquence and surprising use of language. Pronunciation was frequently original and unprecedented. Amazing ignorance was unconcealed and the gift of gab was unrestrained. Nothing quite equaled in fatal facility a progress report made by a former member soon after his debut: "We think we shall soon be able to bring chaos out of the present disorder, now existing." On one of our trips of investigation the City Engineer had remarked on the watershed. One of the members later cornered him and asked "Where is the watershed?" expecting to be shown a building that had escaped his attention.

A pleasant episode of official duty early in Rolph's term was an assignment to represent the city at a national municipal congress at Los Angeles. We were called upon, in connection with a study of municipal art, to make an exhibit of objects of beauty or ornament presented to the city by its citizens. We felt that San Francisco had been kindly dealt with, but were surprised at the extent and variety of the gifts. Enlarged sepia photographs of structures, monuments, bronzes, statuary, and memorials of all kinds were gathered and framed uniformly. There were very many, and they reflected great credit and taste. Properly inscribed, they filled a large room in Los Angeles and attracted much attention. Interest was enhanced by the cleverness of the young woman in charge. The general title of the collection was "Objects of Art Presented by its Citizens to the City of San Francisco." She left a space and over a conspicuous panel printed the inscription "Objects of Art Presented by its Citizens to the City of Los Angeles." The panel was empty. The ordinarily proud city had nothing to show.

Moses at Pisgah gazed upon the land he was not to enter. My Pisgah was reached at the end of 1916. My halls of service were temporary. The new City Hall was not occupied until just after I had found my political Moab; the pleasure of sitting in a hall which is pronounced the most beautiful in America was not for me.

As I look back upon varied public service, I am not clear as to its value; but I do not regret having tried to do my part. My practical creed was never to seek and never to decline opportunity to serve. I feel that the effort to do what I was able to do hardly justified itself; but it always seemed worth trying, and I do not hold myself responsible for results. I am told that in parts of California infinitesimal diatoms form deposits five thousand feet in thickness. If we have but little to give we cannot afford not to give it.

On the morning of October 18, 1850, there appeared in San Francisco's morning paper the following notice:

RELIGIOUS INTELLIGENCE There will be Religious Services (Unitarian)on Sunday Morning next, October 20th, at Simmons' Athenaeum Hall.Entrance on Commercial and Sacramento Streets. A Discourse will bepreached by Rev. Charles A. Farley.

San Francisco at this time was a community very unlike any known to history. Two years before it is said to have numbered eight hundred souls, and two years before that about two hundred. During the year 1849, perhaps thirty thousand men had come from all over the world, of whom many went to the mines. The directory of that year contained twenty-five hundred names. By October, 1850, the population may have been twenty thousand. They were scattered thinly over a hilly and rough peninsula, chaparral-covered but for drifting sand and with few habitable valleys. From Pacific to California streets and from Dupont to the bay was the beginning of the city's business. A few streets were graded and planked. Clay Street stretched up to Stockton. To the south mountains of sand filled the present Market Street, and protected by them nestled Happy Valley, reaching from First to Third streets and beyond Mission. In 1849 it was a city of tents. Wharves were pushing out into the bay. Long Wharf (Commercial Street) reached deep water about where Drumm Street now crosses it.

Among the motley argonauts were a goodly number of New Englanders, especially from Boston and Maine. Naturally some of them were Unitarians. It seems striking that so many of them were interested in holding services. They had all left "home" within a year or so, and most of them expected to go back within two years with their respective fortunes. When it was learned that a real Unitarian minister was among them, they arranged for a service. The halls of the period were west of Kearny Street in Sacramento and California. They secured the Athenaeum and gave notice in theAlta California.

It is significant that the day the notice appeared proved to be historical. The steamer "Oregon" was due, and it was hoped she would bring the news of favorable action by Congress on the application of California to be admitted into the Union. When in the early forenoon the steamer, profusely decorated with bunting, rounded Clark's Point assurance was given, and by the time she landed at Commercial and Drumm the town was wild with excitement.

Thomas Starr King. San Francisco, 1860-1864

Eastern papers sold readily at a dollar a copy. All day and night impromptu celebrations continued. Unnumbered silk hats (commonly worn by professional men and leading merchants) were demolished and champagne flowed freely. It should be remembered that thirty-nine days had elapsed since the actual admission, but none here had known it.

The Pilgrim Yankees must have felt like going to church now that California was a part of the Union and that another free state had been born. At any rate, the service conducted by Rev. Charles A. Farley was voted a great success. One man had brought a service-book and another a hymnbook. Four of the audience volunteered to lead the singing, while another played an accompaniment on the violin. After the services twenty-five men remained to talk things over, and arranged to continue services from week to week. On November 17, 1850, "The First Unitarian Church of San Francisco" was organized, Captain Frederick W. Macondray being made the first Moderator.

Mr. Farley returned to New England in April, 1851, and services were suspended. Then occurred two very serious fires, disorganizing conditions and compelling postponement. It was more than a year before an attempt was made to call another minister.

In May, 1852, Rev. Joseph Harrington was invited to take charge of the church. He came in August and began services under great promise in the United States District Court building. A few weeks later he was taken alarmingly ill, and died on November 2d. It was a sad blow, but the society withstood it calmly and voted to complete the building it had begun in Stockton Street, near Sacramento. Rev. Frederic T. Gray, of Bulfinch Street Chapel, Boston, under a leave of absence for a year, came to California and dedicated the church on July 1, 1853. This was the beginning of continuous church services. On the following Sunday, Pilgrim Sunday-school was organized.

Mr. Gray, a kind and gentle soul, rendered good service in organizing the activities of the church. He was succeeded by Rev. Rufus P. Cutler, of Portland, Maine, a refined, scholarly man, who served for nearly five years. He resigned and sailed for New York in June, 1859. During his term the Sunday-school prospered under the charge of Samuel L. Lloyd.

Rev. J.A. Buckingham filled the pulpit for ten months preceding April 28, 1860, when Thomas Starr King arrived. The next day Mr. King faced a congregation that crowded the church to overflowing and won the warm and enthusiastic regard of all, including many new adherents. With a winning personality, eloquent and brilliant, he was extraordinarily attractive as a preacher and as a man. He had great gifts and he was profoundly in earnest—a kindly, friendly, loving soul.

In 1861 I planned to pass through the city on Sunday with the possibility of hearing him. The church was crowded. I missed no word of his wonderful voice. He looked almost boyish, but his eyes and his bearing proclaimed him a man, and his word was thrilling. I heard him twice and went to my distant home with a blessed memory and an enlarged ideal of the power of a preacher. Few who heard him still survive, but a woman of ninety-three years who loves him well vividly recalls his second service that led to a friendship that lasted all his life.

In his first year he accomplished wonders for the church. He had felt on coming that in a year he should return to his devoted people in the Hollis Street Church of Boston. But when Fort Sumter was fired upon he saw clearly his appointed place. He threw himself into the struggle to hold California in the Union. He lectured and preached everywhere, stimulating patriotism and loyalty. He became a great national leader and the most influential person on the Pacific Coast. He turned California from a doubtful state to one of solid loyalty. Secession defeated, he accomplished wonders for the Sanitary Commission.

A large part of 1863 he gave to the building of the beautiful church in Geary street near Stockton. It was dedicated in January, 1864. He preached in it but seven Sundays, when he was attacked with a malady which in these days is not considered serious but from which he died on March 4th, confirming a premonition that he would not live to the age of forty. He was very deeply mourned. It was regarded a calamity to the entire community. To the church and the denomination the loss seemed irreparable.

To Dr. Henry W. Bellows, of New York, the acknowledged Unitarian leader, was entrusted the selection of the one to fill the vacant pulpit. He knew the available men and did not hesitate. He notified Horatio Stebbins, of Portland, Maine, that he was called by the great disaster to give up the parish he loved and was satisfied to serve and take the post of the fallen leader on the distant shore.

Dr. Bellows at once came to San Francisco to comfort the bereaved church and to prepare the way for Mr. Stebbins, who in the meantime went to New York to minister to Dr. Bellows' people in his absence.

It was during the brief and brilliant ministry of Dr. Bellows that good fortune brought me to San Francisco.

Dr. Bellows was a most attractive preacher, persuasive and eloquent. His word and his manner were so far in advance of anything to which I was accustomed that they came as a revelation of power and beauty. I was entranced, and a new world of thought and feeling opened before me. Life itself took on a new meaning, and I realized the privilege offered in such a church home. I joined without delay, and my connection has been uninterrupted from that day to this. For over fifty-seven years I have missed few opportunities to profit by its services. I speak of it not in any spirit of boasting, but in profound gratitude. Physical disability and absence from the city have both been rare. In the absence of reasons I have never felt like offering excuses.

Early in September, Horatio Stebbins and family arrived from New York, and Dr. Bellows returned to his own church. The installation of the successor of Starr King was an impressive event. The church building that had been erected by and for King was a beautiful and commodious building, but it would not hold all the people that sought to attend the installation of the daring man who came to take up the great work laid down by the preacher-patriot. He was well received, and a feeling of relief was manifest. The church was still in strong hands and the traditions would be maintained.

On September 9th Dr. Stebbins stood modestly but resolutely in the pulpit so sanctified by the memory of King. Few men have faced sharper trials and met them with more serenity and apparent lack of consciousness. It was not because of self-confidence or of failure to recognize what was before him. He knew very well what was implied in following such a man as Starr King, but he was so little concerned with anything so comparatively unimportant as self-interest or so unessential as personal success that he was unruffled and calm. He indulged in no illusion of filling Mr. King's place. He stood on his own feet to make his own place, and to do his own work in his own way, with such results as came, and he was undisturbed.

Toward the end of his life he spoke of always having preached from the level of his own mind. It was always true of him. He never strained for effect, or seemed unduly concerned for results. In one of his prayers he expresses his deep philosophy of life: "Help us, each one in his place, in the place which is providentially allotted to us in life, to act well our part, with consecrated will, with pure affection, with simplicity of heart—to do our duty, and to leave the rest to God." It was wholly in that spirit that Dr. Stebbins took up the succession of Thomas Starr King.

Personally, I was very glad to renew my early admiration for Mr. Stebbins, who had chosen his first parish at Fitchburg, adjoining my native town, and had always attracted me when he came to exchange with our minister. He was a strong, original, manly character, with great endowments of mind and heart. He was to enjoy a remarkable ministry of over thirty-five years and endear himself to all who knew him. He was a great preacher and a great man. He inspired confidence, and was broad and generous. He served the community as well as his church, being especially influential in promoting the interests of education. He was a kindly and helpful man, and he was not burdened by his large duties and responsibilities, he was never hurried or harassed. He steadily pursued his placid way and built up a really great influence. He was, above all else, an inspirer of steadfast faith. With a great capacity for friendship, he was very generous in it, and was indulgent in judgment of those he liked. I was a raw and ignorant young man, but he opened his great heart to me and treated me like an equal. Twenty years difference in years seemed no barrier. He was fond of companionship in his travels, and I often accompanied him as he was called up and down the coast. In 1886 I went to the Boston May Meeting in his company and found delight in both him and it. He was a good traveler, enjoying the change of scene and the contact with all sorts of people. He was courteous and friendly with strangers, meeting them on their own ground with sympathy and understanding.

In his own home he was especially happy, and it was a great privilege to share his table-talk and hospitality, for he had a great fund of kindly humor and his speech was bright with homely metaphor and apt allusions. Not only was he a great preacher, he was a leader, an inspirer, and a provoker of good.

What it meant to fall under the influence of such a man cannot be told. Supplementing the blessing was the association with a number of the best of men among the church adherents. Hardly second to the great and unearned friendship of Dr. Stebbins was that of Horace Davis, ten years my senior, and very close to Dr. Stebbins in every way. He had been connected with the church almost from the first and was a firm friend of Starr King. Like Dr. Stebbins, he was a graduate of Harvard. Scholarly, and also able in business, he typified sound judgment and common sense, was conservative by nature, but fresh and vigorous of mind. He was active in the Sunday-school. We also were associated in club life and as fellow directors of the Lick School. Our friendship was uninterrupted for more than fifty years. I had great regard for Mrs. Davis and many happy hours were passed in their home. Her interpretation of Beethoven was in my experience unequaled.

It is impossible even to mention the many men of character and conscience who were a helpful influence to me in my happy church life. Captain Levi Stevens was very good to me; C. Adolphe Low was one of the best men I ever knew; I had unbounded respect for Horatio Frost; Dr. Henry Gibbons was very dear to me; and Charles R. Bishop I could not but love. These few represent a host of noble associates. I would I could mention more of them.

Horatio Stebbins. San Francisco, 1864-1900

We all greatly enjoyed the meetings of a Shakespeare Club that was sustained for more than twelve consecutive years among congenial friends in the church. We read half a play every other week, devoting the latter part of the evening to impromptu charades, in which we were utterly regardless of dignity and became quite expert.

At our annual picnics we joined in the enjoyment of the children. I recall my surprise and chagrin at having challenged Mr. Davis to a footrace at Belmont one year, giving him distance as an age handicap, and finding that I had overestimated the advantage of ten years difference.

In 1890 we established the Unitarian Club of California. Mr. Davis was the first president. For seventeen years it was vigorous and prosperous. We enjoyed a good waiting-list and twice raised the limit of membership numbers. It was then the only forum in the city for the discussion of subjects of public interest. Many distinguished visitors were entertained. Booker T. Washington was greeted by a large audience and so were Susan B. Anthony and Anna H. Shaw. As time passed, other organizations afforded opportunity for discussion, and numerous less formal church clubs accomplished its purpose in a simpler manner.

A feature of strength in our church has been the William and Alice Hinckley Fund, established in 1879 by the will of Captain William C. Hinckley, under the counsel and advice of Dr. Stebbins. His wife had died, he had no children, and he wanted his property to be helpful to others. He appointed the then church trustees his executors and the trustees of an endowment to promote human beneficence and charity, especially commending the aged and lonely and the interests of education and religion. Shortly after coming to San Francisco, in 1850, he had bought a lot in Bush Street for sixty dollars. At the time of his death it was under lease to the California Theater Company at a ground rent of a thousand dollars a month. After long litigation, the will was sustained as to $52,000, the full proportion of his estate allowed for charity. I have served as secretary of the trust fund for forty years. I am also surviving trustee for a library fund of $10,000 and another charity fund of $5000. These three funds have earned in interest more than $105,000. We have disbursed for the purposes indicated $92,000, and have now on hand as capital more than $80,000, the interest on which we disburse annually. It has been my fortune to outlive the eight trustees appointed with me, and, also, eight since appointed to fill vacancies caused by death or removal.

We worshiped in the Geary and Stockton church for more than twenty-three years, and then concluded it was time to move from a business district to a residential section. We sold the building with the lot that had cost $16,000 for $120,000, and at the corner of Franklin and Geary streets built a fine church, costing, lot included, $91,000. During construction we met in the Synagogue Emanu-El, and the Sunday-school was hospitably entertained in the First Congregational Church, which circumstances indicate the friendly relations maintained by our minister, who never arraigned or engaged in controversy with any other household of faith. In 1889 the new church was dedicated, Dr. Hedge writing a fine hymn for the occasion.

Dr. Stebbins generally enjoyed robust health, but in 1899 he was admonished that he must lay down the work he loved so well. In September of that year, at his own request, he was relieved from active service and elected Minister Emeritus. Subsequently his health improved, and frequently he was able to preach; but in 1900, with his family, he returned to New England, where he lived with a good degree of comfort at Cambridge, near his children, occasionally preaching, but gradually failing in health. He suffered severely at the last, and found final release on April 8, 1901.

Of the later history of the church I need say little. Recollections root in the remote. For thirteen years we were served by Rev. Bradford Leavitt, and for the past eight Rev. Caleb S.S. Dutton has been our leader. The noble traditions of the past have been followed and the place in the community has been fully maintained. The church has been a steady and powerful influence for good, and many a life has been quickened, strengthened, and made more abundant through its ministry. To me it has been a never-failing source of satisfaction and happiness.

I would also bear brief testimony to the Sunday-school. All my life I had attended Sunday-school,—the best available. I remember well the school in Leominster and the stories told by Deacon Cotton and others. I remember nay teacher in Boston. Coming to California I took what I could get, first the little Methodist gathering and then the more respectable Presbyterian. When in early manhood I came to San Francisco I entered the Bible-class at once. The school was large and vigorous. The attendance was around four hundred. Lloyd Baldwin, an able lawyer, was my first teacher, and a good one, but very soon I was induced to take a class of small boys. They were very bright and too quick for a youth from the country. One Sunday we chanced to have as a lesson the healing of the daughter of Jairus. In the gospel account the final word was the injunction: "Jesus charged them that they tell no man." In all innocence I asked the somewhat leading question: "What did Jesus charge them?" Quick as a flash one of the boys answered, "He didn't charge them a cent." It was so pat and so unexpected that I could not protest at the levity.

In the Sunday-school library I met Charles W. Wendte, then a clerk in the Bank of California. He had been befriended and inspired by Starr King and soon turned from business and studied for the ministry. He is now a D.D. and has a long record of valuable service.

In 1869 J.C.A. Hill became superintendent of the school and appointed me his assistant. Four years later he returned to New Hampshire, much to our regret, and I succeeded him. With the exception of the two years that Rev. William G. Eliot, Jr., was assistant to Dr. Stebbins, and took charge of the school, I served until 1914.

Very many pleasant memories cluster around my connection with the Sunday-school. The friendships made have been enduring. The beautiful young lives lured me on in service that never grew monotonous, and I have been paid over and over again for all I ever gave. It is a great satisfaction to feel that five of our nine church trustees are graduates of the Sunday-school. I attended my first Christmas festival of the Sunday-school in Platt's Hall in 1864, and I have never missed one since. Fifty-seven consecutive celebrations incidentally testify to unbroken health.

In looking back on what I have gained from the church, I am impressed with the fact that the association with the fine men and women attending it has been a very important part of my life. Good friends are of untold value, and inspiration is not confined to the spoken words of the minister. Especially am I impressed with the stream of community helpfulness that has flowed steadily from our church all these years. I wish I dared to refer to individual instances—but they are too many. Finally, I must content myself with acknowledgment of great obligation for all I have profited from and enjoyed in church affiliation. I cannot conceive how any man can afford not to avail himself of the privilege of standing by some church. As an investment I am assured that nothing pays better and surer interest. Returns are liberal, dividends are never passed, and capital never depreciates.

In the conduct of life we select, or have assigned, certain measures of activity upon which we rely for our support and the self-respect that follows the doing of our part. This we call our business, and if we are wise we attend to it and prosecute it with due diligence and application. But it is not all of life, and its claim is not the only call that is made upon us. Exclusive interest and devotion to it may end in the sort of success that robs us of the highest value, so that, however much substance we accumulate, we are failures as men. On the other hand, we take risks if we slight its just demands and scatter our powers on miscellaneous interests. Whatever its value, every man, in addition to what he primarily produces, turns out some by-product. If it is worth anything, he may be thankful and add the amount to total income.

The extracts of which this chapter is composed are selections from the editorial columns ofThe Pacific Unitarian, submitted not as exhibits in the case of achievement, but as indicating the convictions I have formed on the way of life.

THE BEGINNING

Thirty years ago, a fairly active Sunday-school was instigated to publish a monthly journal, nominally for all the organizations of the First Unitarian Society. It was not expected to be of great benefit, except to the school. After a year and a half it was adopted by the Conference, its modest name,The Guidon, being expanded toThe Pacific Unitarian. Its number of pages was increased to thirty-two.

Probably the most remarkable circumstance connected with it is that it has lived. The fact that it has enjoyed the opportunity of choice between life and death is quite surprising. Other journals have had to die. It has never been easy to live, or absolutely necessary to die.

Anyhow, we have the thirty years of life to look back upon and take satisfaction in. We are grateful for friends far and near, and generous commendation has been pleasant to receive, whether it has been justified or not.

CHRISTIANITY

We realize more and more truly that Christianity in its spirit is a very different thing from Christianity as a theological structure formulated by the makers of the creed. The amazing thing is that such a misconception of the message of Jesus as has generally prevailed has given us a civilization so creditable. The early councils were incapable of being led by the spirit of Jesus. They were prejudiced by their preconceptions of the character of God and the nature of religion, and evolved a scheme of salvation to fit past conceptions instead of accepting as real the love of God and of man that Jesus added to the religion of his fathers. Even the Christianity they fashioned has not been fairly tried. The Christianity that Jesus proclaimed, a call to trust, to love, and spiritual life, has hardly been tried at all. We seem just to be awakening to what it is, and to its application to the art of living.

THE PRODIGAL'S FATHER

What a difference in the thought of God and in the joy of life would have followed had the hearers of Jesus given the parable of the Prodigal Son its full significance! They would then have found in the happy, loving father and his full forgiveness of the son who "came to himself" a type of the Heavenly Father. The shadow of the olden fear still persists, chilling human life. We do not trust the love of God and bear life's burdens with cheerful courage. From lurking fear of the jealous king of Hebrew tradition, we are even afraid to be happy when we might. We fail of faith in the reality of God's love. We forget the robe, the ring, the overflowing joy of the earthly father, not earned by the prodigal, but given from complete love. The thing best worth while is faith in the love of God.

If it be lacking, perhaps the best way to gain it is to assume it—to act on the basis of its existence, putting aside our doubts, and giving whatever love we have in our own hearts a chance to strengthen.

WHITSUNTIDE

Whitsuntide is a church season that too often fails to receive due acknowledgment or recognition. It is, in observance, a poor third. Christmas is largely diverted to a giving of superfluous gifts, and is popular from the wide-felt interest in the happiness of children. Easter we can not forget, for it celebrates the rising or the risen life, and is marked by the fresh beauty of a beautiful world. To appreciate the pentecostal season and to care for spiritual inspiration appeals to the few, and to those few on a higher plane. But of all that religion has to give, it represents the highest gift, and it has to do with the world's greatest need.

Spiritual life is the most precious of possessions, the highest attainment of humanity. Happy are we if our better spirit be quickened, if our hearts be lifted up, and our wills be strengthened, that worthy life may bring peace and joy!

WHY THE CHURCH?

We cannot deny the truth that the things of the spirit are of first importance; but when it comes to living we seem to belie our convictions. We live as though we thought the spirit a doubtful matter. There are those who take pride in calling themselves materialists, but they are hardly as hopeless as those who are so indifferent that they have no opinion whatever. The man who thinks and cares is quite apt to come out right, but the mindless animal who only enjoys develops no recognizable soul. The seeking first is not in derogation of any true manhood. It is the full life, the whole life, that we are to compass—but life subordinated and controlled by the spirit, the spirit that recognizes the distinction between right and wrong. Those who choose the right and bend all else to it, are of the Kingdom. That is all that righteousness means.

The church has no monopoly of righteousness, but it is of immense importance in cultivating the religious spirit, and cannot safely be dispensed with. And so it must be strongly supported and made efficient. To those who know true values this is an investment that cannot safely be ignored. To it we should give generously of our money, but equally generously we should give ourselves—our presence, our co-operation, our loyal support of our leaders, our constant effort to hold it to high ideals. If it is to give life, it must have life, and whatever life it has is the aggregation of our collected and consecrated lives.

The church called Christian cannot win by holding its old trenches. It must advance to the line that stretches from our little fortress where the flag of Reason and Religion defiantly floats. Shall we retreat? No; it is for us to hold the fort at all costs, not for our sake alone, but for the army of humanity.

We believe in God and we believe in man. As President Eliot lately put it, "We believe in the principles of a simple, practical, and democratic religion. We are meeting ignorance, not with contempt, but with knowledge. We are meeting dogmatism and superstition, not with impatience, but with truth. We are meeting sin and injustice, not with abuse, but with good-will and high idealism. We have the right message for our time." To the church that seems to us to most nearly realize these ideals, it is our bounden duty, and should be our glad privilege, to present ourselves a reasonable sacrifice, that we may do our part in bringing in God's Kingdom.

THE CHURCH AND PROGRESS

Reforms depend upon reformed men. Perhaps the greater need isformedmen. As we survey the majority of men around us, they seem largely unconscious of what they really are and of the privileges and responsibilities that appertain to manhood. It must be that men are better, and more, than they seem. Visit a baseball game or a movie. The crowds seem wholly irresponsible, and, except in the pleasure or excitement sought, utterly uninterested—apparently without principle or purpose. And yet, when called upon to serve their country, men will go to the ends of the world, and place no limit on the sacrifice freely made for the general good. They are better than they seem, and in ways we know not of possess a sense of justice and a love of right which they found we know not where.

This is encouraging, but must not relieve us from doing our utmost to inform more fully every son of man of his great opportunity and responsibility, and also of inspiring him to use his life to his and our best advantage.

It is so evident that world-welfare rests upon individual well-being that we cannot escape the conviction that the best thing any one of us can do is to help to make our fellow-men better and happier. And the part of wisdom is to organize for the power we gain.

It would seem that the church should be the most effective agency for promoting individual worth and consequent happiness. Is it?—and if not, why not? We are apt to say we live in a new age, forgetting how little change of form matters. Human nature, with its instincts and desires, love of self, and the general enjoyment of, and through, possessions, is so little changed that differences in condition and circumstance have only a modifying influence. It is man, the man within, that counts—not his clothing.

But it is true that human institutions do undergo great changes, and nothing intimate and important has suffered greater changes than the church. Religion itself, vastly more important than the church, has changed and is changing. Martineau's illuminating classification helps us to realize this. The first expression, the pagan, was based on fear and the idea of winning favor by purchase, giving something to God—it might be burnt-offerings—for his good-will. Then came the Jewish, the ethical, the thought of doing, rather than giving. Righteousness earns God's favor. The higher conception blossomed into Christianity with its trust in the love of God and of serving him and fellow-man, self-sacrifice being the highest expression of harmony with him. Following this general advance from giving and doing to being, we have the altar, the temple, and the church.

THE GENUINE UNITARIAN

Unitarians owe first allegiance to the Kingdom of God on earth. It is of little consequence through which door it is entered. If any other is nearer or broader or more attractive, use it. We offer ours for those who prefer it or who find others not to be entered without a password they cannot pronounce.

A Unitarian who merely says he is one thereby gives no satisfactory evidence that he is. There are individuals who seem to think they are Unitarians because they are nothing else. They regard Unitarianism as the next to nothing in its requirement of belief, losing all sight of the fact that even one real belief exceeds, and may be more difficult than, many half-beliefs and hundreds of make-beliefs, and that a Unitarian church made up of those who have discarded all they thought they believed and became Unitarian for its bald negations is to be pitied and must be patiently nurtured.

As regards our responsibility for the growth of Unitarianism, we surely cannot fail to recognize it, but it should be clearly qualified by our recognition of the object in view. To regard Unitarianism as an end to be pursued for its own sake does not seem compatible with its own true spirit. The church itself is an instrument, and we are in right relation when we give the Unitarian church our preference, as, to us, the best instrument, while we hold first allegiance to the idealism for which it stands and to the goodness it seeks to unfold in the heart of man.

Nor would we seek growth at any sacrifice of high quality or purpose. We do not expect large numbers and great popular applause. Unitarians are pioneers, and too independent and discriminating to stir the feverish pulse of the multitude. We seek the heights, and it is our concern to reach them and hold them for the few that struggle up. Loaves and fishes we have not to offer, nor can we promise wealth and health as an attractive by-product of righteousness.

There is no better service that anyone can render than to implant higher ideals in the breast of another. In the matter of religious education as sought through the ordinary Sunday-school, no one who has had any practical experience has ever found it easy, or kept free from doubt as to its being sufficiently efficacious to make it worth while. But the problem is to recognize the difficulty, face all doubts, and stand by. Perfect teachers are impossible, satisfactory ones are not always to be had. If they are not dissatisfied with themselves, they are almost always unfit. But as between doing the best you can and doing nothing at all, it would seem that self-respect and a sense of deep responsibility would leave no recourse. There is no place for a shirker or a quitter in a real Unitarian church.

HAVE WE DONE OUR WORK?

Now and then some indifferent Unitarian expresses doubt as to the future value of our particular church. There are those who say, "Why should we keep it up? Have we not done our work?" We have seen our original protests largely effective, and rejoice that more liberal and generous, and, we believe, more just and true, religious convictions prevail; but have we been constructive and strengthening? And until we have made our own churches fully free and fruitful in spiritual life are we absolved from the call to service?

Have we earned our discharge from the army of life? Shall we be deserters or slackers! We ask no man to fight with us if his loyalty to any other corps is stronger, but to fightsomewhere—to do his part for God and his fellow-men wherever he can do the most effective service.

We are not Unitarians first. We are not even Christians first. We are human first, seeking the best in humanity, in our appointed place in a civilization that finds its greatest inspiration in the leadership of Jesus of Nazareth, we are next Christians, and we are finally Unitarians because for us their point of view embodies most truly the spirit that animated his teachings and his life.

And so we appeal to those who really, not nominally, are of our household of faith to feel that it is best worth while to stand by the nearest church and to support it generously, that it may do its part in soul service and world welfare, and also to encourage it and give it more abundant life through attendance and participation in its activities.

OF FIRST IMPORTANCE

It is well for each soul, in the multiplicity of questions besetting him, to deliberately face them and determine what is of first importance. Aspects are so diverse and bewildering that if we do not reduce them to some order, giving them rank, we are in danger of becoming purposeless drifters on the sea of life.

What is the most important thing in life? What shall be our aim and purpose, as we look about us, observing our fellows—what they have accomplished and what they are—what commends itself to us as best worth while? And what course can we pursue to get the most and the best out of it?

We find a world of infinite diversity in conditions, in aims, and in results. One of the most striking differences is in regard to what we call success. We are prone to conclude that he who is prosperous in the matter of having is the successful man. Possessing is the proof of efficiency, and he who possesses little has measurably failed in the main object of life. This conclusion has a measure of truth, but is not wholly true. We see not a few instances of utter poverty of life concurrent with great possessions, and are forced to conclude that the real value of possessions is dependent on what they bring us. Merely to have is of no advantage. Indeed it may be a burden or a curse. Happiness is at least desirable, but it has no necessary connection with property accumulations. They may make it possible, but they never insure it. Possession may be an incident, but seldom is a cause.

If we follow this thought further we shall find that in the accepted methods of accumulation arise many of the causes of current misery and unhappiness. Generally he who is said to succeed pays a price, and a large one, for the prosperity he achieves. To be conspicuously successful commonly involves a degree of selfishness that is almost surely damaging. Often injustice and unfairness are added to the train of factors, and dishonesty and absence of decency give the finishing touch. Every dollar tinged with doubt is a moral liability. If it has been wrested from its rightful owner through fraud or force of opportunity, it would better be at the bottom of the sea.

THE BEST IN LIFE

The power and practical irresponsibility of money have ruined many a man, and the misuse of wealth has left unused immense opportunity for good. It has coined a word that has become abhorrent, and "Capitalism" has, in the minds of the suspicious, become the all-sufficient cause of everything deplorable in human conditions. No true-hearted observer can conclude that the first consideration of life should be wealth. On the other hand, no right-minded person will ignore the desirability and the duty of judiciously providing the means for a reasonable degree of comfort and self-respect, with a surplus for the furtherance of human welfare in general, and the relief of misfortune and suffering. Thrift is a virtue; greed is a vice. Reasonable possession is a commendable and necessary object. The unrestrained avarice that today is making cowards of us all is an unmeasured curse, a world-wide disgrace that threatens civilization.

In considering ends of life we cannot ignore those who consider happiness as adequate. Perhaps there are few who formulate this, but there are many who seem to give it practical assent. They apparently conform their lives to this butterfly estimate, and, in the absence of any other purpose, rest satisfied. Happiness is indeed a desirable condition, and in the highest sense, where it borders on blessedness, may be fairly termed "the end and aim of being." But on the lower stretches of the senses, where it becomes mere enjoyment or pleasure, largely concerned with amusement and self-indulgence of various sorts, it becomes parasitic, robbing life of its strength and flavor and preventing its development and full growth. It is insidious in its deterioration and omnivorous in its appetite. It tends to habits that undermine and to the appropriation of a preponderating share of the valueless things of life. The danger is in the unrestrained appetite, in intemperance that becomes habit. Pleasure is exhausting of both purse and mind. We naturally crave pleasant experiences, and we need a certain amount of relaxation. The danger is in overindulgence and indigestion resulting in spiritual invalidism. Let us take life sanely, accepting pleasures gratefully but moderately.

But whatisbest in life? Why, life itself. Life is opportunity. Here it is, around us, offered to us. We are free to take what we can or what we like. We have the great privilege of choice, and life's ministry to us depends on what we take and what we leave.

We are providentially assigned our place, whatever it is, but in no fixed sense of its being final and unalterable. The only obligation implied is that of acceptance until it can be bettered.

Our moral responsibility is limited to our opportunity, and the vital question is the use we make of it. The great fact of life is that we are spiritual beings. Religion has to do with soul existence and is the field of its development. It is concerned primarily with being and secondly with doing. It is righteousness inspired by love. It is recognition of our responsibilities to do God's will.

Hence the best life is that which accepts life as opportunity, and faithfully, happily seeks to make the most of it. It seeks to follow the right, and to do the best it can, in any circumstances. It accepts all that life offers, enjoying in moderation its varied gifts, but in restraint of self-indulgence, and with kindly consideration of others. It subordinates its impulses to the apprehended will of God, bears trials with fortitude, and trusts eternal good.

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