AFTER many painful years I discovered that neither religion nor culture has very materially modified racial antagonisms. The years I spent in the gymnasium, sheltered by the arms of the church with the cross, were bearable, only because neither my face nor speech betrayed my racial origin. They were painful years and as they pass through the channels of my mind I realize that it would add little or nothing to the purpose I have in view, should I give a detailed account of them.
I learned my Latin astonishingly well, excelled in history, and lagged frightfully in mathematics. Science there was none, at least none worth mentioning. There were logic and rhetoric in which I did good work. In religion, which dominated the curriculum, I was a sceptic, demoralizing the classes. On the whole, I fear I was a disturbing element; for when I passed my finals and said good-bye to the rector, he muttered: “Praised be the Lord Jesus Christ!”
At the university, where nationalistic lines were closely drawn, I drifted towards the Slavicgroups, forming close and lasting friendships with a number of Russians whose idealism was contagious. They regarded man entirely from the standpoint of humanity, were delightfully impractical, always in debt, smoked cigarettes incessantly, slept until noon, and stayed awake into the morning hours, vehemently discussing everything under the heavens. I owe much to them; above all, my acquaintance with Russian literature and the personal friendship of Tolstoy, who has been the most vital factor in shaping my “Weltanschauung.”
When I started for Russia on my first pilgrimage, I had not much in my pocket besides the letter of introduction they gave me. I went to see the man who taught religion in terms I understood and which I thought I could accept and practice.
Of my journey there is little to say, except that I travelled a great distance on foot, that I was the recipient of much kindness everywhere and that the peasants shared with me their scant crust and cabbage. I have since tried to find the old woman who gave me some cold potatoes, and who in giving them bestowed more than those who now entertain me at their banqueting tables.
As for the many who offered me hot tea and a bed in the true spirit of charity—ah! if I were rich and could find them all! The only time I wish for money is when I try to repaykindness; but as our Slavic poor used to say: “Pan Bogh Zaplatz”—“God repay you.”
So let it be then—God repay you—you Russian sisters who have washed my weary feet and soothed them with mutton tallow; you brother who gave me your place on the cart while you trudged along beside your poor, shaggy horse, as thin and wretched and as kindly looking as yourself.
God repay you, you Jewish innkeeper with whom I pawned my silver watch, who kept it safe for a year or more and would take no usurer’s interest.
God repay you, too, you black-eyed, Jewish maidens who smiled at me. God repay you the smile, which was good stimulus for a lonely lad, to whom a kindly look was more even than bread.
God repay you, you Russian matron who took me into your beautiful home and tried to wean me from my “Tolstoy madness” by offering to keep me as tutor for your half savage children.
God bless them all, even the homely kitchen maid who refused to admit me when I knocked at the Count’s door, and after giving me a huge piece of black bread told me to “go in peace.” I ate the bread but knocked again, and when my letter reached the Countess she came to shield her husband from the intruder.
Yes, God repay you too, you guardian of this genius, standing between him and the world,which, acting upon his word, would have taken all he was willing to give away. I shall never forget your motherly kindness after I kissed your hand in greeting and you discovered my plight, nor the glorious days I spent under your hospitable roof.
Sometimes I thought you sheltered him too much, that wonderful man—your husband; that you slipped silken underwear beneath the hair shirt he wore, and made soft the hard bed on which he wished to sleep. He would have perished long ago had you not loved him so—and yet, what a death it would have been!
It is easy to glorify those who already wear a halo, and I felt all the emotions which one is likely to experience in the presence of one’s ideal; but the final, distinct impression which remained, strengthened rather than weakened by renewed acquaintanceship, was that I had met a man—not a Russian Count or the peasant he tried to be; not a cosmopolitan who has a touch of culture borrowed from the capitals of the world—but amanwho had thrown off all antagonisms and prejudices, and was able to meet all human beings upon a high and common level.
It was this rare quality in him which enabled me to tell him frankly and honestly all that brought me to him. I do not remember the words I used, I fear they were not simpleenough; but I know that all I told him was absolutely true. That is no credit to me though; for like all truly great personalities he is truth compelling. His remedy for my ills was disappointingly simple; the remedy for the greatest of the world’s ills was “in myself.”
“Do not repay evil for evil.” “Do not hate anybody.” “Maintain the dignity of your own personality.” “Love everybody, even your enemies.” “Give everything and ask nothing in return.”
“Am I to set the world right?” I asked him.
“No, not the world, but yourself.”
“How shall I know that I am right?” I queried again.
“By living in obedience to the law of God,” he answered emphatically.
He read to me the words of Jesus, and for the first time I heard them without theological arrogance or ecclesiastical intonation. He read them, not with the tenderness one associates with the speech of Jesus, but as Moses might have read them from the tablets of stone, or John the Baptist might have preached them before he met Jesus by the Jordan. As a dictator might read the law, so he read the Beatitudes and he laid the same stress upon “Sell all thou hast and give to the poor,” as filled his commanding voice when he read those words of Jesus: “But I say unto you love your enemies.”
Very decidedly he pressed upon me the necessity of changing my whole attitude towards life, and it was not difficult in that atmosphere to persuade myself that I had changed it. I soon discovered, however, that for me, at least, this was no “once for all” task, but a continual struggle. I found the world always with me, my temper strong, and my passions stronger still; yet I am sure that my view-point had been modified at least, if not changed. I certainly felt my transgressions keenly, my repentance sincere and my conscience more sensitive.
I have tried since under different conditions to work for a permanent change, to reach some high level in which obedience might come without struggle; but that exalted plane I have never reached. The best I can say for myself is, that I left Tolstoy with less faith in the materialistic philosophy with which I had become inoculated, that I trusted less the things which can be demonstrated by touch or sight and that I felt a faint touch of the power of the spiritual.
This early acquaintance with Tolstoy helped me to understand rationally the doctrine of the New Birth which I have so often heard expounded since.
While Tolstoy’s rationalism forbade him to speak of his experience in terms of mysticism, the change which had taken place in him was fundamental, and Lyoff Tolstoy, the follower ofthe Man of Nazareth, was a totally different man from Count Tolstoy; nobleman, soldier, courtier and author.
I coveted the experience which brings about such results and I believe that it is not only rational but essential to an entrance into true discipleship with the Master. I know something of the pangs and pains of this new birth, this attempt to like the unlike, to love the unlovely, to regard wealth, place, honour, of no import, and to believe that the purpose of life is to do God’s will.
This conscious substitution of the “Alter” for the “Ego” is no light achievement, and but few men win victory in the struggle as calmly and serenely as did my host and teacher. Yet I am sure that the most valuable lesson I learned then and have since relearned from the same teacher is, that national and racial divisions are much more superficial than my professors in the university led me to believe.
“Alles ist Rasse” was the note which dominated the teaching of History in all its multitudinous divisions. I sometimes think that the opposite is true and that there is nothing in race; for I have experienced oneness with all sorts of people, both in the lower and the higher spheres of our nature.
This latter theory Tolstoy dogmatically affirmed. “You are a Jew, you say,” and he would grasp my arm so tightly that I could feel the pulsingblood in his sensitive hands. “I am a Russian; yet I feel no difference in the touch of your hands, in the look of your eyes, and hear none as you speak to me. There are differences in the colour of the skin, the shape of the nose and eyes, but beneath the surface we are all alike.”
So far as I know, Tolstoy has not changed these views, but I doubt that even the man who alters his view-point often has changed in that one fundamental belief.
To me this oneness of all men has become a conviction, the one religious doctrine which I hold with a scientific dogmatism; for I know Chinamen, whose slanting eyes do not prevent them from seeing the world just as I see it; Hindoos who, removed from their imprisoning system of caste, take this human view of man. I have met Japanese the travail of whose soul is akin to mine, and Negroes whose souls are so white that one might envy them their purity.
Knowing every shade of Slav, Teuton and Latin, the Aryan and Semitic peoples, I have found them all alike at their best and at their worst. Dissimilar they are in their various environments, reflecting all the differences of climate, food, religion and government; but let them climb the heights to which the soul aspires or let them sink to the level to which fleshly lust drags them, and they are brother angels or brother brutes.
Yes, one other thing I learned from Tolstoy and learned repeatedly; it is, perhaps, of more value than all the other things he taught me. It was the initial lesson and the hardest. “Give everything and ask nothing in return.”
I have ceased to demand brotherhood or even to expect it. I am giving it, and that is often hard. To yield to every man the fraternal feeling is even harder, I think, than it is not to feel slighted or hurt when one is left out; but even that is difficult enough. When one has finally yielded himself to all men of all races and classes, when one can be unconscious of hampering barriers between, when one does not feel anything but pity for the tainted, a desire to include the halt and the halting rather than to exclude them, then one has reached the highest point of spiritual experience. Towards that point I am travelling, and repeatedly that which has buoyed me has been Tolstoy’s words as he pressed my hand at every good-bye.
“Young man, you can’t make this world right unlessyouare right.” “The kingdom of God must be withinyou, if you want to hasten its coming into the world.” “Give everything and ask nothing in return.”
WHEN I saw fifty lifeless bodies of men, women and children, beaten into pulp, lying in a heap on the floor of the synagogue in Kishineff, I said to myself, “Blood is thicker than water”; for my breast laboured and I wept for the “slain of the daughter of my people.” But I felt these pangs no less when I saw three times as many native Russian youth put to death by fierce Kosaks as in their untamed fury they slew all who obstructed their path. I have felt the same terrible emotions when I tried to comfort Polish and Lithuanian women, who mourned over the shapeless bodies of their husbands and sons, mutilated by falling rock and burned by fierce fires.
I have watched by the bedsides of the dying of many races and have tried to guide the souls of men into some secure haven, feeling forallthat deep compassion which a brother’s heart alone can feel.
For the coarse, blatant Jew or Jewess, who offends against good taste at summer resorts in America, I have the same feeling of pity, bordering on contempt, that I have for the strident, irreverent,sharp-voiced Yankee who disturbs the quiet of picture galleries and cathedrals in Europe, and ispersona non gratawith all thoughtful travellers. I feel for all those who offend by accentuating or ridiculing race peculiarities, and am no less repelled by the vulgar caricature of the stage Irishman than by that of the Jew or the Italian.
I have long been protesting by voice and pen against the categoric judgment passed upon races, and feel keenly for the child, whether it is called in derision, “Nigger,” “Sheeny,” or “Dago.” In the steerage, the mine, and on the playground, I have stood between the bully and his victim, never asking which was Jew or which Gentile, and have tried to defend every “underdog,” no matter what his pedigree.
I count my friends among all races and classes, those nearest and dearest to me often being racially and historically farthest removed. A classmate with whom I could discuss the problems of Hebrew grammar most profitably, was a full-blooded Negro, and at a recent Student Conference I found a Chinaman of a certain group most responsive to my proffer of friendship.
For twenty years my work has brought me in constant contact with people of New England lineage; while among my hospitable hosts have been truly cultured Bostonians, the elect of society in the “City of Brotherly Love,” the mostrefined and the richest in New York, and people of all nationalities in Ghettos and slums.
There came a time, however, when, in spite of my cosmopolitan nature, I felt pride of race—felt the spirit of Israel within me; and this feeling was awakened by one who, like myself, had struggled against the current, but made for himself a permanent place in the history of the Jewish race.
When first I saw this prince among men, Theodore Herzl, he stood head and shoulders above his brethren, like Saul among the sons of Kish. Around him surged a mass of enthusiastic men who hailed him as the New Moses to lead them out of their manifold captivities. Banners of blue and white were waving wildly, and the double triangle, the shield of David, was everywhere; over the speaker’s desk, around the crowded gallery, on souvenir postal cards and decorating the cigarettes which the Russian delegates smoked continually.
Jews had gathered from “every nation under Heaven.” For an hour they waved flags and shouted their huzzas! hurrahs! and elyens! in a dozen languages. They broke through the cordon of ushers and carried Theodore Herzl upon their shoulders, up and down the great hall, until their frenzy of delight had exhausted itself. Then the founder of the Zionistic Movement began to speak. I quote a part of what he said:
“This century, through its technical achievements, has brought us among other things a splendid renaissance. But this magic progress has not been used for the humanizing of society. Although distances have been annihilated, we are still tortured by the miseries of great numbers of our brothers crowded into small space.
“In giant steamers, swiftly and without danger, we cross unknown seas; railroads carry us safely into mountains, which formerly we hesitated to climb. Events that happened in countries not yet discovered when the Jews were locked into Ghettos, are now made known to us the next hour.
“The Jewish problem, therefore, is an anachronism, and that, not because a hundred years ago there was a time of enlightenment which in reality existed for only a few noble souls.
“I do not believe that electricity was discovered to enable some snobs to illuminate their drawingrooms, but that by its light we may solve the problems of humanity. One of them, and that not the least important, is the Jewish question. In solving it, we do not act for ourselves only, but for many others who are ‘weary and heavy laden.’
“That the Jewish question exists, it would be folly to deny, and it is most difficult where there are the most Jews. Look at France or even England, where the poor Jews have carried anti-Semitism, as they are now carrying it to America.
“I think I understand this anti-Semitism. It is a complicated movement which I look upon from the standpoint of a Jew, yet without fear or hate. I think I recognize its component parts: A coarse joke, common commercial envy, inherited prejudice, religious intolerance and that which professes to be self-protection.
“I do not regard the Jewish question as a social or a religious one. It is a national problem, and to solve it, we must make it, first of all, a political world question whose solution must come through councils of all the civilized nations; for we are a nation! A nation!”
Many a time I have felt the lashing of emotions roused against the encumbering flesh; but never before as then, when thousands and thousands of men took up the cry: “We are a nation! A nation!”
What a tumult it was! A nation was born again and this was its parliament, ultimately to convene in its own Jerusalem, its historic centre and rightful home. Millions all over the scattered Jewries had their hopes awakened, and thought to see them realized in a not far distant future.
It was my privilege to know Theodore Herzl most intimately. He was a frequent guest in the Vienna home of my brother, who was one of his most trusted lieutenants.
After that Pentecost at Basel I saw thedevelopment of the Zionistic Movement from behind the scenes. I should like to say here that the largeness of Dr. Herzl speaks in the fact that when he was told of my changed religious and social views, he nevertheless took me into his confidence and shared with me his innermost thoughts.
Personally, he was one of the most charming men I have ever met. His presence was regal, and the rulers of great empires, recognizing in him the “stuff” of which they were made, treated him with consideration and respect. His cultural achievements were not superficial, in spite of the fact that he was extremely versatile; his literary style was brilliant, yet subdued, and he lacked utterly that assertiveness which too often characterizes the Jew.
His features were sensitive yet firm; as if cut from finest marble. He possessed in a large degree that quality so rare in leaders—disinterestedness, and he viewed the Zionistic Movement from an impersonal standpoint. He was a straight-forward, honest soul, without guile, and those who assisted him by their talents and means had to do it “für die Sache,” and not for any prize which he held out to them. Consequently, he gathered about himself great, apostolic spirits, in which Judaism, fortunately, is not entirely lacking.
Zionism—that is, a Jewish state, preferably inPalestine—as a solution of the Jewish problem, came to him after years of keen, personal suffering which were part of the problem.
He was a Jew in spite of the fact that he was a patriotic Austrian; a Jew, although he interpreted current events for the Gentile readers of theNeüe Freie Presse, which is undeniably one of the most influential German newspapers in the world; a Jew, although the faith of his fathers was only a memory, and, as he told me, he had struggled with the problem of race inheritance much as I had.
This is the way he put the case, speaking to his world-wide audience.
“We have honestly tried, everywhere, to lose ourselves in the people among whom we lived, and have asked only that we might retain the faith of our Fathers. That, however, is not permitted.
“In vain are we loyal, and in many cases, overenthusiastic patriots; in vain do we bring the same sacrifices which our fellow citizens offer; in vain do we endeavour to increase the fame of our Fatherland in art, science, trade and commerce. In every country where we have lived through many centuries, we are regarded as strangers, often even by those whose forefathers were not yet in the land when ours had long agonized and toiled for it.“Only the majority can decide who in a country are the strangers, and it is a question decided by force. I yield none of our rights when I say that in the present condition of this world, might goes before right. In vain, therefore, are we brave patriots, even like the Huguenots who were forced to emigrate. If our enemies would only leave us alone; but they will not.
“We have proved that we cannot be annihilated by oppression and persecution. Those means have won only our weaker brethren—the strong returned bravely to their people.”
This last phrase left its barb in my conscience and I struggle with it still. Is there a way which leads from the large human consciousness back to the narrow confines of race or tribe? Can I wipe out of my experience changes which seem to have affected the very cells and nerves out of which my body is fashioned?
In a new way I have asked the Nicodemus question—“Can a man enter the second time into his mother’s womb and be born?”
“The strong returned bravely to their people.” Yes, I am one with the Jew. My heart leaps to him when he is down—hated, ridiculed, or forced to begin again the age-long march which has no ending—but it shrinks from him when he is up, and the other man, whoever he be, is held down by cunning, strength, or whatever the weapon may be.
I am not afraid to share his ignominy. I amnot running away from all those subtle cruelties practiced by society against him—for where the Jew is not welcome I do not care to go. And yet I cannot give up this liberating sense of kinship with all the human—not only with the ruling race or type but with all humanity.
Those who know anything about me know that I have not only preached this doctrine of the brotherhood of man dogmatically but that I have practiced it, and have suffered the consequences.
I cannot give up the name “Christian,” I cannot return to Judaism, although it betray weakness or even cowardice.
I feel myself born again, and I cannot undo so vital an experience unless I am overwhelmed by some great moral catastrophe.
Christianity is to me the real internationalism in which all the races and nations are one or are growing into oneness. In it the individual casts off that which is specific to his race, he becomes one with all men, and therefore one with the divine in them.
In this experience he rids himself of those great sins, prejudice and pride of race, and receives the blessing in store for those who believe and practice the teachings of the “Son of Man.”
It is difficult of course to say what would have been my view-point had I met Theodore Herzl twenty or more years ago. I might have returnedbravely “to my people.” But when one meets Jesus of Nazareth there is no way back; there are new marching orders, and they call “Forward.”
Theodore Herzl returned tohis peoplebecause theother peopledid not want him.
I cannot return, whether theother peoplereciprocate my feeling for them or not.
Into my sphere of relationship no rebuff nor insult can enter; because I ask nothing for myself; while for the other man, whether he be Jew or Gentile, I ask only that he shall have the opportunity to earn the respect of his fellow men, regardless of the faults of his race.
WHAT has my own race bequeathed to me? What do I owe to Slav, Magyar, German and Anglo-Saxon? What has the synagogue done for me, what the church with the cross, or the church with the weather-vane?
From somewhere I have a passion for the human. Shall I say this is Jewish?
I saw that passion demonstrated in my Jewish teacher, whose grave is level with the ground in the old God’s Acre; I believe that the Slavic candy-maker—the by-product of whose trade and the remnants of whose library I purchased—possessed it. I believe it shone out of the face of thePany’ssister, who kissed my blackened cheeks and put russet apples into my trousers’ pockets; the Lutheran pastor preached and lived it in his narrow environment. I have faith to believe that the Jesuit fathers and German savants had it, hidden behind pious phrases or bold rationalistic utterances.
Perhaps my race bequeathed this love of humanity to the rest of the human race; even then it proves that for which I am contending: Thatall a race or family can leave to its progeny which is worth inheriting, is not in the cell or nerve or blood, but is what is cast upon the waters of life, of which “whosoever will may come and drink freely.”
The sons of the prophets develop into the sons of Belial, and a poor, ignorant villager’s child ministers in the true spirit before Jehovah’s altar.
“Think not to say within yourselves, we have Abraham to our father!” cries the indignant John. “For I say unto you that God is able out of these stones to raise up children unto Abraham.” This is the great tragedy of races, nations and families; yet it is the great comfort of the outcast, the oppressed, the burdened and the heavy laden.
What else have I that is specifically Jewish? What shines from my eyes or manifests itself in gait and gesture, I do not know. Many of my characteristics, no doubt, are betrayed in these pages which are a frank revelation of my younger self.
I have no passion for barter or money; I am invariably worsted in a bargain and always accept unquestioningly the wage offered me. But even were I a Shylock, a veritable Shakespearean Jew, and worse, if that is possible, I could point to men of other races not unlike him.
I know very intimately men and women of many races who profess the Christian faith, yetlove barter more than prayer and mammon more than God; who preach or teach or write, “for revenue only,” and never for the glory of God; and who tenaciously hold to the letter of their contract, even to the cutting out of the very heart of their unfortunate victims.
Perhaps one of my Jewish traits is that I cannot hide my faults. What few virtues I may possess, I trust I do not flaunt in the market-places.
I have tried to be humble in this New World environment, so garish and loud; which trumpets from the housetop the things that have been “spoken in the closet”; which “makes broad its phylacteries” and writes all about their length and breadth and cost in the society columns of our daily press.
The Christian virtue of humility is hard to practice in a land controlled by the publicist; a land in which the advertising value of a thing is regarded more highly than the thing itself.
If there are shreds of good in me, it is because by the grace of God (using that old phrase without cant) I have always met good people among the different races with whom my lot has been cast. I do not recall a single man, even those I have met in jails, penitentiaries, dives and gambling hells, who has retarded any progress towards the good that I cared to make. I could fill twice the number of pages I have written, recordingthe names and deeds of those who have inspired me to lead the better life.
Nor have I ever met a woman (and I have met women close to the bottomless pit) who ever used the art of her sex in an effort to drag me down; but I know very many women whose whole being radiates purity and in whose presence one cannot help being a man. I have never met a woman before whom I could not lift my hat in deference; and this feeling of reverence for womanhood I owe in large degree to my mother and my wife.
Within me are all possibilities of good and evil, and everything that lies between; yet these same tendencies I have found in other men of other races. Never all the good nor all the evil in any one man or any one race.
Every individual I know is an intricate and unfinished piece of curiously constructed mechanism in body and spirit; linked to the past, yet free to the shaping forces of each fleeting moment; never completed, never perfected, never, I hope, so totally ruined but that love can redeem it, and “set it again upon a rock and establish its going.”
I am a debtor to all the races that in varying degrees influenced my life during its most impressionable period.
From the Slav, I have a love for physical labour and a sense of its dignity.
The Magyar has given me a feeling for “the mere pleasure of living”; although I have never quite been able to abandon myself to it.
In the sphere of my intellect, I am Germanic. My mother tongue is German, as are my passion for intellectual freedom and my impatience with its restraint; while the inward look, which so easily leads to despair, bears the German stamp.
I came to America early enough in life to catch the passion for liberty and the love of democracy; but too late to be anything but an impractical idealist to whom “life is more than meat,” and human history more than a succession of economic facts.
I have not written an autobiography, or desired to write one; that would have been presumptuous; nor have I written a bit of purposeless fiction with which to burden the book-market; that folly I would not commit. I have honestly recorded certain influences which shaped the life of a child until youth, and I leave all deductions to my patient readers. Yet I should like to point out in which direction the most valuable lessons of my experience lie. I believe they are:
First, that racial characteristics are largely determined by environment.
Second, that race prejudice is an artificial product of the mind, induced by various influences.
Third, that in the highest and lowest spheres of thought and activity, all races are alike.
Fourth, that every human being, no matter what his colour, race, faith or class, has a right to earn the respect of his neighbour and his community, by virtue ofwhat he himself is.
Fifth, that the brotherhood of man will become an established fact as soon as each man determines to live like a brother in his relation to his fellows.
Sixth, that Christianity has in itsspiritthe solution of class and race problems; but that in itspracticeit is lamentably far from solving them.
Seventh, that he who wishes to enter into fellowship with the nation or race with which he lives must free himself from all isolating practices and beliefs.
Eighth, that entrance into such a large human relationship has to be “bought with a price” and that it is a price worth paying; for there is no loftier human experience than that of becoming one with all mankind.
To those who do not consider a book worth reading, unless it “ends well,” let me say this: If a good fairy were to come from the fairy-land of my childhood (of course I had a fairy-land) and were to ask me, as she always asked the children in the stories I used to read, that I make three wishes, and she would grant themall, I could make but one wish. Not for wealth, although I could use it; not for strength, although I need it; not for wisdom, although I lack it. My one wish, and this the fairies cannot grant me, would be, that I may have grace given me to be a man to the end, and to the end, love my brother man with all the passion of my soul.
THE WORKS OFNORMAN DUNCANBilly Topsail and CompanyMore Adventures of Billy Topsail. 12mo,Illustrated $1.50.Norman Duncan has opened a land abounding inperils, excitements and hazardous experiencesperfectly irresistible to young folks.The Adventures ofBilly Topsail12mo, Illustrated, $1.50.A rippling story of adventure by sea—a northernsea, full of ice and swept by big gales—a tale thatmoves like a full-rigged ship with all sail spreadto a rousing breeze.The Suitable ChildIllustrated by Elizabeth Shippen Green.Gift Edition. Handsomely DecoratedBoards, printed in colors, net $1.00.Popular Edition. 12mo, cloth, net 60c.The MotherA Novelette of New York Life. 12mo,cloth, $1.25. de Luxe, net $2.00.Dr. Luke of the Labrador12mo, cloth $1.50.“Norman Duncan has fulfilled all that was expectedof him in this story; it established himBeyond question as one of the strong masters ofthe present Any.”—Brooklyn Eagle.Dr. Grenfell’s ParishIllustrated. Cloth, net $1.00.“He tells vividly and picturesquely many of thethings done by Dr. Grenfell and his associates.”—N.Y. Sun.
THE WORKS OFNORMAN DUNCAN
Billy Topsail and CompanyMore Adventures of Billy Topsail. 12mo,Illustrated $1.50.Norman Duncan has opened a land abounding inperils, excitements and hazardous experiencesperfectly irresistible to young folks.The Adventures ofBilly Topsail12mo, Illustrated, $1.50.A rippling story of adventure by sea—a northernsea, full of ice and swept by big gales—a tale thatmoves like a full-rigged ship with all sail spreadto a rousing breeze.The Suitable ChildIllustrated by Elizabeth Shippen Green.Gift Edition. Handsomely DecoratedBoards, printed in colors, net $1.00.Popular Edition. 12mo, cloth, net 60c.The MotherA Novelette of New York Life. 12mo,cloth, $1.25. de Luxe, net $2.00.Dr. Luke of the Labrador12mo, cloth $1.50.“Norman Duncan has fulfilled all that was expectedof him in this story; it established himBeyond question as one of the strong masters ofthe present Any.”—Brooklyn Eagle.Dr. Grenfell’s ParishIllustrated. Cloth, net $1.00.“He tells vividly and picturesquely many of thethings done by Dr. Grenfell and his associates.”—N.Y. Sun.
By Robert E. KnowlesThe HandicapA Novel of Pioneer Days. Net $1.20.A story of a life noble in spite of heredity and environment.The Attic GuestA Tale of the South and North. Net $1.20. Robert E. Knowles has struck a fresh, rich vein which will undoubtedly be pronounced his most conspicuous success.The Web of TimeA Romance of the Human Heart. Cloth, $1.50.“Rich in warm, human sympathy, and its interest dependable upon the reader’s own capacity for responding to the joys and sorrows of the simple folk who inhabit its pages.”—Record-Herald, Chicago.The Dawn at Shanty BayA Christmas Story. Decorated and Illustrated by Griselda M. McClure. Cloth, boxed, net $1.00.“A moving tale in which strong appeals are made to the deepest feelings of human nature.”—Denver Republican.The UndertowA Tale of Both Sides of the Sea. Cloth, $1.50.“What is really the best part of the author’s work is that which has to do in bringing out so finely and strongly the sharply defined characteristics of a Canadian-Scotch home.”—Chicago Evening Post.St. Cuthbert’sA Parish Romance. Cloth, $1.50.“What Ian Maclaren has done for his Scotch parish and what Barrie has done for Thrums, that Robert E. Knowles has done for his Canadian church folks.”—Albany Argus.
By Robert E. Knowles
The HandicapA Novel of Pioneer Days. Net $1.20.
A story of a life noble in spite of heredity and environment.
The Attic GuestA Tale of the South and North. Net $1.20. Robert E. Knowles has struck a fresh, rich vein which will undoubtedly be pronounced his most conspicuous success.
The Web of TimeA Romance of the Human Heart. Cloth, $1.50.“Rich in warm, human sympathy, and its interest dependable upon the reader’s own capacity for responding to the joys and sorrows of the simple folk who inhabit its pages.”—Record-Herald, Chicago.
The Dawn at Shanty BayA Christmas Story. Decorated and Illustrated by Griselda M. McClure. Cloth, boxed, net $1.00.“A moving tale in which strong appeals are made to the deepest feelings of human nature.”—Denver Republican.
The UndertowA Tale of Both Sides of the Sea. Cloth, $1.50.“What is really the best part of the author’s work is that which has to do in bringing out so finely and strongly the sharply defined characteristics of a Canadian-Scotch home.”—Chicago Evening Post.
St. Cuthbert’sA Parish Romance. Cloth, $1.50.“What Ian Maclaren has done for his Scotch parish and what Barrie has done for Thrums, that Robert E. Knowles has done for his Canadian church folks.”—Albany Argus.
By HUGH BLACK, M.A.Comfort8vo, de luxe edition, cloth, gilt top,deckle edge, boxed, net $1.50Work8vo, de luxe edition, cloth, gilt top,deckle edge, boxed, net 1.50Friendship8vo, de luxe edition, cloth, gilt top,deckle edge, boxed, net 1.50In full morocco binding, net 3.0012mo, cloth, in two colors, net 1.25The Friendship BookletsSeparate chapters from “Friendship”in handsomely decorated bindings,Each, net .351Miracle of Friendship2Culture of Friendship3the Fruits of Friendship4Choice of Friendship5Renewing of Friendship6the Higher FriendshipThe Gift of InfluenceAmerican University Addresses12mo, cloth, net 1.25Listening to GodEdinburgh Sermons12mo, cloth, net 1.25Christ’s Service of LoveCommunionSermons12mo, cloth, net 1.25Culture and Restraint12mo, decorated cloth, gilt top, net 1.50The Dream of Youth12mo, decorated boards, net .30
By HUGH BLACK, M.A.
Comfort8vo, de luxe edition, cloth, gilt top,deckle edge, boxed, net $1.50Work8vo, de luxe edition, cloth, gilt top,deckle edge, boxed, net 1.50Friendship8vo, de luxe edition, cloth, gilt top,deckle edge, boxed, net 1.50In full morocco binding, net 3.0012mo, cloth, in two colors, net 1.25The Friendship BookletsSeparate chapters from “Friendship”in handsomely decorated bindings,Each, net .351Miracle of Friendship2Culture of Friendship3the Fruits of Friendship4Choice of Friendship5Renewing of Friendship6the Higher FriendshipThe Gift of InfluenceAmerican University Addresses12mo, cloth, net 1.25Listening to GodEdinburgh Sermons12mo, cloth, net 1.25Christ’s Service of LoveCommunionSermons12mo, cloth, net 1.25Culture and Restraint12mo, decorated cloth, gilt top, net 1.50The Dream of Youth12mo, decorated boards, net .30
W. J. DAWSON’S WORKSMasterman and Son12mo, cloth, $1.20 net.A Soldier of the Future12mo, cloth, $1.50.A Prophet in BabylonA Story of Social Service. Cloth, $1.50.Makers of Modern English3 vols., leather, boxed, per set, $6.00 net.Makers of English Poetry.8vo, cloth, gilt top, $1.50 net.Makers of English Prose.8vo, cloth, gilt top, $1.50 net.Makers of English Fiction.3d edition, 12mo, cloth, gilt top, $1.50 net.“Mr. Dawson is an informing and delightful critic and his is the work of a real critic and a master of style.”—N. Y. Evening Sun.The Threshold of Manhood12mo, cloth, $1.25 net.The Empire of Love12mo, cloth, $1.00 net.The Forgotten SecretArt binding, 50 cents net.The Evangelistic Note12mo, cloth, $1.25 net.The Reproach of ChristWith an Introduction by Newell Dwight Hillis. Cloth, $1.00 net.
W. J. DAWSON’S WORKS
Masterman and Son12mo, cloth, $1.20 net.
A Soldier of the Future12mo, cloth, $1.50.
A Prophet in BabylonA Story of Social Service. Cloth, $1.50.
Makers of Modern English3 vols., leather, boxed, per set, $6.00 net.
Makers of English Poetry.8vo, cloth, gilt top, $1.50 net.
Makers of English Prose.8vo, cloth, gilt top, $1.50 net.
Makers of English Fiction.3d edition, 12mo, cloth, gilt top, $1.50 net.
“Mr. Dawson is an informing and delightful critic and his is the work of a real critic and a master of style.”—N. Y. Evening Sun.
The Threshold of Manhood12mo, cloth, $1.25 net.
The Empire of Love12mo, cloth, $1.00 net.
The Forgotten SecretArt binding, 50 cents net.
The Evangelistic Note12mo, cloth, $1.25 net.
The Reproach of ChristWith an Introduction by Newell Dwight Hillis. Cloth, $1.00 net.