CHAPTER XV

"I walked the city streets to-dayWith the sombre ghost of Matthew Quay."

The best hope is that the swift intuition of women will enable them to see more quickly than men that the salvation of the democracies does not lie in political activity, but in the way in which every citizen attends to the little commonplace things of everyday life.

A point has been reached where I feel that I must write a chapter on psychology in relation to present-day affairs. Not that I know anything about it! Heaven forbid! But ever since leaving home I have been hearing about the psychology of this and that until the conviction has grown that an account of this dip into the world will not be complete without a chapter on the latest and most popular of our sciences. And it is not personal psychology that must be dealt with. It is mob-psychology—the most elusive of all subjects—that must be passed under review.

But there is no escape. The thing has been meeting me everywhere. In Toronto a hotel proprietor spoke lightly of the need of understanding the psychology of female help if one is to have good dining-room service. That centered my attention.

In Boston I had luncheon with a man who has made psychology his life-study and is widely known as an authority on the subject. We talked psychology, personal and general, for two blessed hours, and I was so much interested that I almost missed an appointment. I kept the appointment, however, and found that I had arrived "at the psychological" moment.

In New York a movie magnate talked about the psychology of people who patronize grand opera.

At an art auction-room I heard about the peculiar psychology of collectors of art objects, rare books, andet cetera, and of the need of understanding it if one is to deal with them successfully.

Presently I met a dealer in high-class stationery who was almost in despair through need of a phrase that may be used instead of "de luxe"—which is now outworn through too much use, though it was once "an excellent good word before it was ill-sorted." Hisurgent need was for a word or phrase that would "appeal to the psychology of women." As words are the commodity in which I deal he appealed to me for help. Apparently he had sized up my psychology properly, for I appreciated the compliment and racked my memory for something suitable. Finally I remembered a descriptive phrase that I had noticed in a catalogue while looking at the hangings and furniture of the Kaiser's throne-room, that were offered for sale while I was in New York. It was a melodious phrase that appealed richly to three out of the five senses. When he heard it he thanked me profusely and hurried away to have it patented as a trade name.

While a collector of Japanese prints was showing me his treasures we discussed Oriental psychology.

There is no doubt of it. If I am to make these hasty pages, even in a small way, a "mirror of the Passing World," I must grapple with psychology.

Psychology met me at every turn. Bellboys and Pullman porters who understood the psychology of the travelling public knew that a few ineffective passes with a whiskbroom would make us part with our small change. Restaurant waiters who were masters of psychology knew that showing an interest in the food they served and asking if it was entirely suited to our taste made tips imperative—no matter what our convictions and good resolutions on the subject might be.

There is no doubt of it. "Psychology" is now the master word of the world, and as mankind has at all times groaned under the tyranny of words and phrases the matter must be looked into. We have the historic example of "divine right" which tyrannized over the world for many centuries. But let us deal with those words that have influenced our own lives. First we were made to step lively (itself a modern phrase of much potency) by "the strenuous life." Then by a natural reaction we tried to recuperate with "the simple life" and "the rest cure." After that we hada period when "efficiency" hurried the joy out of life. Then came "propagandas" that were designed to enslave the world to all kinds of far-reaching schemes. Now we are up to the neck in "psychology."

The above instances are recorded merely to show the need of dealing with the question if I am to be right up to the minute. And I know practically nothing about it. Why, oh, why, didn't I read Le Bon more carefully, instead of treating his huge volumes as a new and amusing kind of fiction? Still I can remember a little.

The laws governing mob-psychology have been crystallized in the formula, "affirmation, repetition, authority, contagion." Affirm a thing strongly enough, repeat it often enough, have it thundered forth with authority, and finally a contagion of conviction will sweep the multitude. It might be shown that every leader and master of men from Moses to Lloyd George was a master of mob-psychology—for it is a curious fact that history alwayslends itself to interpretation by the theory that is popular at any given time. And contemporary life also invariably lends itself to the same treatment. Let us take a humble instance.

The successful promotion of a patent medicine follows exactly the best methods of mob-psychology.

The merits of the nostrum are affirmed strongly in advertisements of all kinds from the daily press to the bill-boards and scenic monstrosities. These affirmations are repeated everywhere and at all times. Then we have authoritative testimonials showing the before and after conditions of men and women eminent in all walks of life. Presently a swift contagion sweeps the crowd and we all begin taking "Pale Pills for Peculiar People" or "Dope Drops for Disgruntled Digestions." And the shrewd promoter of the nostrum acquires a great fortune, goes into society, and, if he lives in a country where titles prevail, buys a title by one of the many devious methods of securing such honors.

Certainly it is clear that humanity is at present prostrate before those who are masters of mob-psychology, either through learning or by instinct.

And yet it is only a few years since the majority of us knew no more about psychology than the Long Island fisherman who was beating his way against the wind to a favorite place for bluefish. A hasty motor launch passed him and he spelled out the name on the bow.

"P-s-y-c-h-e," he spelled. Then he spat into the brine and exclaimed disgustedly:

"Well, if that isn't the doggondest way to spell fish I ever seen!"

If that fisherman is still alive he probably claims to understand the psychology of bluefish and chooses with scientific exactness the right kind of bait to use in dumming for them.

"Surely this is not the sun-brightPsyche, hoar with years and hurledFrom the Northern shore of LetheOn this wan auroral world."

All of which goes to prove that the world isnow passing through a psychological phase—though it is infinitely more in need of potatoes than of psychology. "We that have good wits have much to answer for" if we do not correct this folly. But of course we must go about it in a proper psychological way. We must affirm the world-healing quality of potatoes, repeat it on all occasions in season and out, have our campaign endorsed by men of power and authority—and then perhaps everybody will be infected by a longing for potatoes and will see the need of planting and hoeing the potatoes themselves. If they will have psychology let them have a surfeit of it—and then perhaps they will get back to the simple, everyday things of life that alone are of importance.

Another Master Word that needs to be investigated is Loyalty. To say that a man is disloyal is to make him an outlaw. But what is Loyalty? It is certainly time that we knew. During the Great War there was a confusion of loyalties that has not yet been cleared away. Most of us have been overworked on the score of loyalty.

Personally I have been harangued to show unquestioning loyalty to:

Canada.The Empire.The Allies.The Protestant Religion.A political party.A corporation.My personal friends.

No doubt there were other loyalties thatwere urged on my attention, but the list given is sufficient. And all these loyalties conflicted at one time or another during the turmoil of the war. Though I tried, with all the earnestness of a soul face to face with the world's greatest crisis, to do the loyal things at all times, I have been accused bitterly at different times of having been disloyal to one or another of the great causes that demanded my support. But as this happened only while I was being loyal to one or another of them, my conscience is not troubling me. I am merely confused. No one could possibly be loyal to all of them at all times. Out in Vancouver I read in the papers that they were teaching the school-children to sing a patriotic song of which I remember these two lines:

"We love the land where we were bornBut we love the Empire more."

As the Empire is still a somewhat undefined aggregation of conflicting interests I cannot help wondering how those children may act in some crisis of the future. Suppose theImperial interests at some time became centred in Africa or India, would a Canadian be supposed to be more loyal to Africa or India than to Canada?

In the days when kings were absolute the matter of loyalty was quite simple. Unless one showed unquestioning fidelity to the king he might expect to hear the curt sentence:

"Off with his head!"

But now the people are supreme in all countries of importance, even though the institution of monarchy may be continued and properly venerated. In England, for instance, where monarchy is more firmly established than in most countries, loyalty is defined to the satisfaction of all good subjects in this popular quotation from Junius:

"The subject who is truly loyal to the chief Magistrate will neither advise nor submit to arbitrary measures."

This attitude is reflected in the phrase "His Majesty's Loyal Opposition." It is conceded that a member of Parliament who honestlyopposes Government measures is just as loyal to his king and country as one who supports the Government measures. The important attitude of his loyalty is honesty. If that is conceded, his loyalty is rated as high as that of any man.

During the war this kind of loyalty was largely in abeyance. To oppose the Government of the day even in its most appalling mistakes was regarded as disloyal. And apparently there are many representatives of the people who found that this simplified the business of government and would like to continue it. But governments in all countries achieved so much unpopularity during the war that this reactionary point of view is not likely to prevail.

At the present time one hears it said frequently that steps must be taken to educate people in true loyalty. This being the case it becomes necessary to know just what loyalty is. In a letter to a group of Boy Scouts Sir Robert Baden-Powell gave an explanationthat is helpful. Taking the case of a football player who had kicked a goal as an example, Sir Robert wrote:

He gets the applause, just because he had the luck to be in his place to put the ball through, when the whole team had had the work of getting it to him by hard and unselfish work in passing it on. They all deserved the applause.Well, that is how we get on and are successful anywhere, not by one fellow trying to win glory and prizes for himself, but by everybody bucking up and playing his best so that his side shall win. Do this for your patrol, do it for your troop, do it for your factory or business, do it for your country. If you stick to that you will be a true Scout—one who plays for his side and not for himself.

Well, that is how we get on and are successful anywhere, not by one fellow trying to win glory and prizes for himself, but by everybody bucking up and playing his best so that his side shall win. Do this for your patrol, do it for your troop, do it for your factory or business, do it for your country. If you stick to that you will be a true Scout—one who plays for his side and not for himself.

An analysis of this message from the man who has perhaps done more than any other to educate the future generation to loyalty shows that in his opinion loyalty is a high order of unselfishness.

This is excellent, but it makes it more than ever needful for us to be careful that this admirable unselfishness is not betrayed. Thoughloyalty sometimes appears to be the only necessary virtue, it may be abused to the point where it becomes a vice. Loyalty without intelligence may degrade a man to the level of a beast.

Take the dog, for instance. Loyalty is his most outstanding virtue. He may be useless in every other way, but he will be loyal to his master. Unfortunately he is just as likely to be loyal to Bill Sykes as to the finest man in the community. And if Bill Sykes wants to do it he can "sick" his dog on the finest man in the community or on any one in the community and the loyal dog will obey.

Dog loyalty of this kind is just what leaders and rulers of a certain type are always clamoring for. If they can get a sufficient following of dog-loyal people, they can grasp power and loot the treasury or do anything else they wish. By "sicking" dog-loyal people against other nations crafty leaders can win elections, raise tariffs, and provoke wars.

In a democracy dog loyalty is perhaps thegreatest enemy of progress and good government. Consequently it is very necessary for us to examine all loyalty cries and loyalty propaganda with great care. We should see to it that the loyalty demanded is of a kind that a self-respecting man may cherish and not a dog loyalty that will make him a tool of noisy and selfish leaders. Loyalty is the most generous of human emotions—the basic virtue of the Christian, the lover, the friend, the patriot. But just because the loyal-hearted man is so generous and unselfish he is constantly being preyed upon by the designing and the selfish. It was by educating the loyalty of a submissive people to one selfish end that the rulers of Germany built an empire that became a menace to the world. Loyalty is a force that builds nations, but it can also hurry them to destruction. If the world is to become truly democratic we must learn that loyalty to the State means loyalty to ourselves. If we are to realize Lincoln's democracy—"government of the people, for thepeople, by the people"—we must at all times guard it with Shakespeare's loyalty:

"To thine own self be trueAnd it must follow as the night the dayThou canst not then be false to any man."

One morning I rode down Broadway on a cable car and whiled away the time by reading the names on the business signs and windows. This led me to meditate on the evident failure of the Zionist movement as far as New York is concerned—but that is neither here nor there.

My meditations were presently interrupted by the man who sat next to me. He was visibly and audibly shivering. It was a cool morning in May, but I felt comfortable. At last he blurted:

"Say, I didn't expect to run into any weather like this. When I left Texas five days ago it was 105 in the shade."

He was evidently dressed for that temperature. While sympathizing with him, I admitted that I was from Canada and accustomed to cooler weather, besides being provided with heavier clothing. The reference to Canada started him going, and all I had to do was to sit back and listen. His people had gone from Canada to Texas. He had many relatives in the neighborhood of Montreal. He was of Irish descent. He had no sooner mentioned this fact than he began to express his hatred for England. Take her treatment of Canada in the war, for instance. She had used the Canadian army for the worst fighting and had saved her own troops. I hastened to assure him that his view was not in accordance with the facts and did not represent Canadian opinion. He listened incredulously, and fearing that I might stop his flow of opinion I did not make serious attempts to set him right. It was my business to find out what men of his type were saying and thinking, so I encouraged him to go on. And he went on. As I listened, my wonder grew at the thoroughness with which modern propagandas are carried on. This man from Texas—from thousands of miles away—had exactly the same kind of misinformation that I had heard whispered in Canada while the war was in progress. England—he always said England instead of Britain—had made no sacrifices compared with those demanded of her colonies. He expressed the deepest admiration for Canada—for the heroism of her soldiers and her spirit of self-sacrifice; and having done that he felt quite free to abuse the British Empire and especially England.

As this shows a lack of understanding of Canada's relations to the Empire that I had already noticed in other Americans, I shall deal with it briefly. It is as if a man who was on friendly terms with one member of a family felt himself at liberty to hate all the other members and especially the parents. There seems to be a need of a propaganda to let our American friends know that while Canadians are justly proud of their own country, they are also proud of the Empire to which they belong and have a filial feeling for the countries from which they have been derived. Through a natural evolution Canada has already achieved that form of loyalty without which A League of Nations will be useless. Canadians are loyal to their own land and to the group of developing nations comprised in the Empire. I know there are Canadians who call this a divided loyalty and regard it as impracticable. If this view is sound, then there is no future for the League of Nations, for a League that cannot command loyalty cannot endure. Unless we can develop loyalties beyond the borders of our own country, all efforts to abate the horrors of war are bound to be futile. In developing a loyalty that extends beyond the borders of their own country to the bounds of Empire, the Canadians are giving a leadership that the world needs. They have set their feet on the only path that leads to better things for humanity. And they have done this by a natural evolution rather than in obedience to the recently enunciated principles of A League of Nations. It is true thatimportant changes in her relationship to the Empire will be needed before Canada can claim complete nationhood, but when they have been effected by gradual evolution, her loyalty to the Empire will be strengthened rather than weakened.

Just how Canada can aspire to nationhood, while continuing to be a part of the British Empire is a matter that causes confusion both at home and abroad. This is because of an imperfect understanding of the evolution of the British Empire. Critics of this relationship are led into error through clinging to the old meaning of the word "empire." They assume that it is used as when applied to the Roman Empire and the great empires of the past. In these the power was centralized in one supreme government. In the British Empire a new relationship has been evolving. Power is being decentralized. Each of the Great Dominions is practically self-governing while continuing to be a part of the British Empire. There are still some matters to be adjusted regarding thedecentralization of authority, but the whole tendency is toward the development of a league of British nations, each self-governing, but loosely held together in a family alliance. British statesmen have discovered, or have had it forced on their attention, that the ties of mutual trust are stronger than the centralized power of the old empires. They have found that the handclasp is stronger than the handcuff. The bonds of faith and friendship bind the Empire together in the face of danger more securely than any bonds ever devised by Imperial power. Canada's position in the British Empire cannot be better expressed than in the words of the late Sir Wilfrid Laurier, spoken shortly after the outbreak of the Great War:

We are a free people, absolutely free. The charter under which we live has put it in our power to say whether we should take part in such a war or not. It is for the Canadian people, the Canadian Parliament, and the Canadian Government alone to decide. This freedom is at once the glory and honor of Britain, whichgranted it, and of Canada, which used it to assist Britain. Freedom is the keynote of all British institutions. There is no compulsion upon those dependencies of Great Britain which have reached the stature of Dominions, such as Canada, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, and such Crown Dependencies as India. They are all free to take part or not as they think best. That is the British freedom which, much to the surprise of the world, and greatly to the dismay of the German Emperor, German professors, and German diplomats, caused the rush from all parts of the British Empire to assist the Mother Country in this stupendous struggle. Freedom breeds loyalty. Coercion always was the mother of rebellion.

At the present time the British Empire is really an evolving League of Nations—perhaps the only one the world will see for some time.

If a league of free British nations, with the same language, laws, and traditions, cannot work together in harmony, it is folly to hope that the diverse nationalities of the greater League can work together harmoniously. In working out the proper relationship amongthemselves the nations of the British Empire can set an example to the world that will be of more value than anything they can achieve by force of arms or skill in diplomacy.

Of course I said nothing of this to the shivering Texan. He was really more interested in heavy underwear than in national problems and was talking largely to keep his mind off his physical discomfort. And talking came easy, for there was little thought back of it. He was merely repeating what he had heard or had read. His mind had taken color from every propaganda with which it had come in contact. To what he had heard from his parents about Ireland and England he had added what he had learned in the public histories of the United States. Back of "The Ancient Grudge" exposed by Mr. Owen Wister in his recent volume he had a more ancient grudge. The Sinn Fein propaganda had found in him an eager disciple.

And yet he was a loyal American—so loyal that he did not need to mention the fact.He revealed this loyalty by asking if there was a ferry at the Battery that would take him to the Statue of Liberty.

The talk with the Texan gave me food for thought that will last me for a long time. How are we to get a better feeling between the nations of the world when we are all liable to have our opinions formed by histories and propagandas. Perhaps the most hopeful feature of the Texan's conversation was the frequent use of the remark, "If one can believe anything he reads in the papers." It is possible that the demands made on our credulity will defeat themselves. We may reach a point where we will treat histories and political campaigns as sensible people have learned to treat neighborhood gossip—as something on which one should not base opinions. In their neighborly relations civilized communities have got beyond the duel and the feud, and have learned to settle differences by man-to-man discussion, arbitration, and the orderly processes of law. It is asserted that the worldis now a neighborhood of nations, but we cannot have a neighborly world spirit until we make a bonfire of our histories and close our eyes and ears to propagandas. We are having altogether too much irresponsible world gossip, and if the paper shortage develops into a real famine it may be the greatest blessing that could happen.

One day I enjoyed luncheon with an old friend and we essayed a theme hard as high. I doubt if what we talked about would be intelligible to all readers, and I am none too sure that we understood ourselves, but as there seems to be a public craving for such intellectual flights I shall venture a brief digest of our talk.

But first a word about this friend. He is a finished product of an older civilization than that of New York. Whenever I walk with him in what Mr. Henry James carefully describes as "the Fifth Avenue," I feel as George Warrington did when he walked with Pendennis: "I feel as if I had a flower in my button-hole." His life moves entirely among the most precious objects of art and literature, among masterpieces of sculpture, painting, printing,book-binding, and what not. And withal he is very much alive and in touch with the world in which we live. After this introduction I shall let him rail at our wonderful civilization.

"Invention is the curse of the world. With our machinery and efficiency we are speeded up so that life has been spoiled. I wonder who made the first invention."

That led to a pretty discussion. After dealing with the subject back and forth, we decided that the most guilty man the world had ever known was the man who invented the first wheel—who discovered that something round could be made to revolve. That discovery was the starting-point of all our modern machinery and destructive speed. Take away the wheel and the world would come to a standstill. I joined him in reviling that far-off, long-ago inventor.

Then we followed the first wheel—was it perhaps a potter's wheel?—and followed its deadly evolution. The oldest wheels recorded in art are the wheels of chariots—war chariots, of course. There you see the earliest tendency of the war spirit that culminated in our great war of machinery. The warrior used the wheel to make a chariot to give him an advantage over his enemies. The development of the wheel has been involved with war from the chariot wheel to the whirling propellers of aeroplanes.

This line of thought led us to realize that war is the great stimulator of invention. Such inventions as the aeroplane were perfected more completely in the four years of war than they would have been in centuries of peace. We found that it would be easy to hold a brief for war as the force that has been perfecting our civilizations of many inventions. (Solomon said, "Man was born upright, but he has sought out many inventions.")

But what does it profit us if the highest use we make of our inventions is to increase our efficiency in battle? If we invent long enough and cleverly enough, we may yet start a war in which we will destroy the human race.

That awful possibility is the present preoccupation of scientific research.

We are told that the next advance of science may be the discovery of how to release atomic energy. Molecular energy, brought under control through the unstable equilibrium of certain artificial compounds, has given us the gun, the cannon, the bomb, the mine, and all the other infernal masterpieces of high explosives.

What would atomic energy give us?

Sir Oliver Lodge has told us that the amount of atomic energy in one ounce of matter would be sufficient to raise the fleet that was anchored in Scapa Flow to the top of the highest mountain in Scotland. Then what would happen if we released the atomic energy in tons of matter? It is certain that if man ever masters the secret he will go in for quantity production of atomic energy. And what then?

To realize the dire possibilities of this thought we must digress and approach it from a new angle.

Those of us who date our meagre scientific knowledge from reading done in the last quarter of the past century had our imaginations fired by the nebular hypothesis. I do not know whether it has current authority, but it was a wonderful theory and will serve our purposes to-day. I quite realize that if I am to avoid destructive scientific criticism, I should consult some up-to-the-minute scientist and get my facts right, but a care-free conversation between friends is not to be "cabined, cribbed, confined" in that way. If I let the public overhear our talk I shall expect them to listen with unquestioning courtesy. I have purposely avoided asking the aid and leading of a scientist in this matter because most of the scientists of my acquaintance live wholly within three dimensions and have put a padlock on the third. But the conversation of friends demands the freedom of a fourth dimension in which our Space and Time are but points on the superfices of a comprehended Infinity and Eternity. Now will you be good!

To return to the nebular hypothesis. According to it the planets were flung from the whirling mass of the sun as it was in the process of shrinking. Neptune was naturally the first to be thrown off and the others followed in due order. Would it not be reasonable to suppose that the oldest of the planets—the one that was first thrown off from the sun and is farthest from it—would be the first to cool and become habitable? But it is known that all the outer planets except Mars are in a gaseous state. Is there any possible explanation of this curious state of affairs—this apparent contradiction of logical results which gives us the last planets solid and the earlier planets gaseous?

If the earlier planets cooled to solid form and developed life analogous to ours, it is probable that they lived by war and invention. If these forces developed as with us, it is probable that a day came on each of the old planets when its puny inhabitants got control of atomic energy, started a last war, and blewtheir planet back to its constituent gases. Atomic energy is probably a force of the fourth dimension and if released in three dimensions would have about the same effect as that of a high-explosive shell passing through a piece of tissue paper and exploding as it passed.

The destructive discovery progressed across the ecliptic until only four planets are left in solid form. Mars may now be preparing for the last proud war and we are on the verge of a culminating discovery of the disruptive force of atomic energy. Unless something checks our rage for discovery, and war is within reasonable possibility, the whole planetary system may be blown back to chaos—and so fulfil Poe's amazing figure of the alternation from Chaos to Order and from Order to Chaos as "the systole and diastole of the heart of the Infinite."

After this exhausting flight my friend faced the High Cost of Living in the form of the waiter's check, passed me a cigar that cost a dollar, and in a humble taxi we joined thewhirling civilization that speeds on wheels along "the Fifth Avenue," and doubtless whiles away its idle time in discussing the war and who won it.

One afternoon toward the end of my trip I made a mistake—for which I am now duly thankful. Through weariness, or carelessness or over-confidence or a human desire to talk frankly to somebody, I dropped my pose of the Affable Stranger and freely admitted to an American whom I had engaged in conversation that I was gathering material for a book. I also went as far as to indicate the nature of my investigations. At once he assumed an attitude of helpfulness. All that he knew about the subject of international relations was at my disposal—and he knew a surprising lot of things that were of no importance. You meet men of this kind wherever new books are discussed—or any kind of human achievement. Parasitic helpers attach themselves to every kind of work from farming to statesmanship. In fact this characteristic must be universal, for Fabre has a passage on it in his description of scarabs. When one of them finds a treasure others help him in just that way. I am being explicit on the point, for the theme of this chapter is modesty as it affects the relations between countries. Being somewhat modest in my claims to modesty I feel competent to discuss the matter with the necessary intellectual aloofness.

"The trouble with Canadians," said the candid and helpful American, "is that they are too cocky!"

That made me tingle to my last pin-feather, but fortunately I am of Scotch ancestry and the obvious witty retort did not flash back instantly. In fact I was rather dazed, but somewhere deep down in my consciousness I felt the need of taking the criticism in a friendly spirit, for if a man starts out to promote harmonious relations he must not be quick to take offence. Not knowing what else to do I smiled affably, which was quitein keeping with the rôle I was playing. Evidently my smile had the proper blend of modesty and humble enquiry, for my mentor at once fluffed up his feathers and proceeded:

"As a matter of fact we get along much better with the English than we do with you."

That gave me a flash of insight. Evidently this man had never fathomed the deep guile of much English modesty. The course for me to pursue was clear. At once I became a shrinking violet. As a matter of fact there have been times when I have wanted to knock a man down for being half as modest as I must have looked at that moment. But the effect on the American was all that the most Machiavellian subtlety could desire. It would hardly have been surprising if wings had sprouted on his shoulders and he had flapped them and crowed.

"The fact of the matter is that Canada is still a colony of Great Britain and not a nation, and no amount of boasting or assertionto the contrary will change the actual status."

Wholesome truth this, but not to be borne patiently were it not for the rising tide of laughter within. Every moment the American was becoming more and more cocky and exhibiting the very quality he was condemning in Canadians. The temptation to egg him on was irresistible.

"Still," I ventured modestly, "it would be kind in Americans to overlook this youthful folly of ours. At the present time there is a growing bitterness between the two countries that may become serious unless a great deal of wise tolerance is shown."

"Oh, it can't become serious. Perhaps it might a hundred years from now, when Canada may have a population approaching ours, but just now—" And he made a large "shoo fly!" gesture that dismissed the whole matter as unworthy of consideration.

There was no question about it. I must go away from there or there would be an explosion that would reduce my gravity to a totalloss. And when I finally got away from the flood of kindly candor that was sweeping over me I got the finest thrill of all.

I had mastered the art of that exasperating English modesty that had always been my despair! This was more than an intellectual triumph! It was balm to a bruised and wounded spirit!

One time in my salad days two London club-men entertained me kindly and provoked me to entertain them. By making the customary modest deprecatory remarks about Great Britain, they induced me to unbosom myself with honest candor. After two months at the seat of the Empire I felt competent to tell them many things that were amiss. And being a native-born Canadian I was able to astonish them (my word!) with my accounts of the resources and possibilities of Canada. Almost twenty years later I admit freely that most of my criticisms and boasts have been proven true, but that is not the point. The point is that those two Englishmen got me toturn myself inside out for their amusement, but it was not until I had suffered several more experiences with English modesty that the truth dawned on me with humiliating force. Knowing how they must have chuckled over my expansiveness afterwards, I used to writhe every time I thought of it. Sometimes in the stillness of the night I would remember the incident and be tempted to jump from bed, dress, hunt up those Englishmen, and beat them with a coarse colonial directness. But now the hurt is healed. Having had that American at my mercy—as the chauffeur of the borrowed car would say, "I owned him for a few minutes"—I felt a new sense of power in expressing national egotism and meeting it. Come to think of it, Canada must have a national status or I could not have achieved it—but let that pass. Ever since meeting the charge of national "cockiness" with modesty, I have been in the mood to wave my hand at those two Englishmen through the mists of memory and confess a bond of Imperial brotherhood. I have proven that on occasion I can be as modest as they are.

But pshaw! what am I doing? I am boasting about my modesty! That is the trouble with even the most excellent virtues! They must be practised in moderation. True modesty is the crowning grace of high achievement. But conscious modesty is an offence to all who are forced to endure it.

However, there is a test of modesty which may be worth having in mind. When the rewards of achievement are within reach, if you find the modest person shrinking in the limelight and taking everything he can lay his hands on, you may appraise his modesty at its true worth.

All who feel that their withers have been wrung by this chapter are at liberty to think this out in its varied implications and apply it as they choose.

Before leaving home I had a conference with my own private Mahatma.

"What is the greatest need of the world to-day?" I asked.

"Sunshine."

"You mean—?"

"Sunshine. Just the ordinary, everyday sunshine that you can get at this blessed minute on the south side of the straw-stack. Not moral or spiritual or intellectual sunshine, but the kind that is making the hens cackle—just listen to them—the kind that the red cow over there is soaking into her skin. Just let the brand of sunshine that is spilling over the world to-day work its way into your system and you will forget all your troubles. Get into the sunshine and keep there."

That was an unusually long speech for myMahatma—proof that he was very much in earnest. To the ordinary, unilluminated eye he was simply a farmer—"a goodly, portly man i' faith, and a corpulent." It was just for these qualities that I chose him as my Mahatma. At the present time everybody who can afford a ouija-board—or is worth fleecing by a medium—is trying to get in touch with the next world. All sorts of fakirs with unhealthy complexions are reaping a harvest from the credulous. But the passion of my life is to get in touch with this world—with the dreary, wonderful, tragic, exhilarating, proxy, poetical world that we have been born into. And I find it just as hard to get in touch with this world as the seekers find it to get in touch with the next. That is why I chose a good, fat, material Mahatma who is quite obviously in touch with such gross things as food, shelter, clothing, the sunshine, the fresh air, and the good brown earth. While others are trying to establish communications with outlying planets, I am trying to get into communication with the planet on which I live. Instead of trying to lease a private wire to the Invisible, I want, as far as possible, to learn a little about the visible and tangible and audible, and smellable, and tasteable world in which I am obliged to sojourn. In this humble quest my Mahatma is a great help. He does not say cryptic things or babble trivialities in the name of the mighty Dead—the mighty Damned or the mighty Blest. He tells me the right way to plant potatoes and prune apple-trees, and our communion is blest with eupeptic content. So when he pointedly directed my attention to sunshine as the greatest need of the world, I felt it was my duty to listen.

Though the business of life drives me to the city from time to time, my soul has been smitten by a claustrophobia that makes it impossible for me to become a slave of the streets. Though I seem to leave the sunshine behind when I leave the country, I can always find refreshment in the parks. Because of this, though I have travelled across the continent,visited great cities and met many men, my happiest and most vivid memories are of the parks. In Stanley Park, Vancouver, I sat under the giant firs and cedars and wondered if the world would ever again know the leisured centuries needed to bring such trees to their royal perfection. In Lethbridge, Regina, Saskatoon, and other cities of the plains I sat under transplanted trees that are struggling for beauty in spite of inclement winters. I have enjoyed the sunshine and shade on Boston Common and in Madison Square Garden, and all have left me memories of the tonic and healing powers of sunshine.

My most vivid recollection is of a park in Regina, and that is because of a glimpse I caught of far-away sunshine. A letter from France had caught up with me at Regina and I read it in the park. It was from a boy in the trenches, and among other gossip of the battle-line he told me how he and a chum were sunning themselves by a muddy dugout one morning when the German drive was at itsfiercest. Things were looking gloomy for the Allies and the boy had been going over the bad news.

"Oh, well," said his chum as he puffed at his pipe, "in spite of all that the sun is shining and the leaves are coming out."

So when my Mahatma spoke of the need of sunshine I remembered what it had meant to two boys facing death in Flanders, and his advice seemed good. But I wanted to sound him out on other matters.

"What you say may be true, but the great demand of the present time is for laughter. Everybody wants to be amused."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Well, editors want amusing articles and stories, publishers want amusing books, theatrical promoters want amusing plays and scenarios—lecture bureaus want amusing lectures—and so it goes all the way along the line."

"That only goes to prove that amusing people has become a business without any morespontaneity in it than the manufacture of breakfast foods. And the people who want to be amused are the people who have easy money to spend. Have you noticed that mothers who have lost sons want to be amused, or that any of the millions who have been touched by the cruelty of the war are eager to laugh?"

"The prevailing opinion seems to be that we should forget the war."

"Certainly. Let those who made profits out of the war laugh and forget that they were enriched by the world's agony—that they piled up wealth while brave young men were being mangled, smothered, drowned, shattered in the war. If they remembered such things they could not enjoy their profits. By all means make them laugh and take your wages for your hireling mirth. Make the laborers shut their eyes and open their mouths with laughter so that they cannot see the disasters towards which they are hurrying. Make the young laugh so that they will not realizethe heritage that is being passed to them by the older generation whose pride, greed, and folly have come near to ruining the world."

"The press dispatches say that all the capitals are mad with revelry. It is even said that tourists have been dancing on the battlefields."

"Quite so. And do you know what it all looks like to me? It reminds me of the wakes that used to be held around the coffins of the newly dead. Humanity is now holding a hideous wake over a dead civilization."

"So bad as that?"

"Oh, it may not prove to be so very bad a thing. The sun is still shining. The forces that have produced all the good there ever has been in the world are still at work. It is just possible that in the new world at least the unrest and turmoil that have been troubling us are but the first movements of a change for which we have been preparing with words if not with actions."

"I do not understand."

"We have been calling the new world a crucible in which all nationalists have been thrown to produce the true American or the true Canadian. Have you ever watched a crucible and noticed what takes place in it?"

"I once saw a copper crucible in British Columbia and a silver crucible in Massachusetts and iron crucibles here and there, but I never studied them carefully."

"Well, the only crucible I ever saw was the little one, made by the blacksmith, that I used for running bullets when a boy. I used to get big wads of tea lead from the grocer and melt it in the little crucible. When the heat got to the lead it would sink down to a pool at the bottom. The top would be covered with gray scum and blazing scraps of paper. Then I would pour the bright, clean metal into the bullet moulds. When it was all poured there would be left behind the gray scum from the top and some slag at the bottom. And I am thinking that when the good metal of nationality is ready to be poured we will leave behind the scum of parasites at the top and the slag of agitators at the bottom."

"That sounds good, but when will it happen?"

"It may happen this year and it may not happen for a hundred years but of one thing I am sure, and that is that there is plenty of good metal in our crucible."

Whereupon my private Mahatma knocked the ashes from his pipe and walked home across the fields through the glowing sunshine that he loved.

It is all very well for men like William Lloyd Garrison to exclaim, "My country is the world." I cannot lay claim to so broad a humanitarianism. Though I do not see the need of hating any other man's country, there is one country that means more than any other to me. How could I reprove the people of the United States for loving their own country—for being jingos, if you will—when I know that their home love cannot exceed mine?

Let me confess. Often and often I have thought of writing something about the love of my native land, but was restrained by the feeling that it was too intimate and personal to be exposed for the entertainment of the public. Goodness knows I have gossiped about almost everything in the most shameless way, but there was something about love of theland that seemed too sacred to reveal even to intimate friends. But now I am emboldened to hang my heart on my sleeve and talk to those of my readers both in Canada and the United States who have felt the love of the land and know what it means. I have the good fortune to be living on the farm on which I was born—the farm which my father cleared. Although I was born too late to take a hand in the work of clearing, I learned the history of every acre before an open fireplace many years ago. The history of the clearing of the land, the first crops, the names and characters of the horses and cows on the place, are so interwoven with my youthful recollections that I seem to remember them all as if I had taken part in the battle with the wilderness myself, and had shared in all its triumphs and sorrows. Something of this farm struck a tendril into my heart which neither time nor distance could break. It is the only spot on earth that ever gave me the feeling of home. Even after being away for years I have satdown in New York or London, England, and have been as homesick for this farm as a little boy who makes his first journey away from his mother's side. At any time I could close my eyes and see the quiet fields, and I would wonder what crops they were sown to. At all times it was my place of refuge, and, when I finally returned to it, it was with a feeling that my wanderings had ended, and that I could settle down and enjoy life where I belonged.

At the present time this love of the land appeals to me as being especially significant. The turmoil in the world to-day recalls to me the great purpose which moved my father and mother to undertake the task of making a home for themselves in the wilderness. They wanted to establish a home where their children and their children's children could be free. I know the oppression and hardship from which they escaped in the old world, and the toil and hardship they endured in the new before their dream was realized. It is high time that we who are native-born realized theprice that our parents paid for the freedom and liberty we have enjoyed. The freedom that they won by their toil and sacrifice is a heritage worthy of our sons who did battle so that it may endure.

There have been times when I thought that the men of my own generation were escaping too lightly in the work of establishing a Canadian nation, but I think so no longer. This new nation was founded by our freedom-loving and infinitely patient fathers, and defended by our freeborn and heroic sons. It is true that we came too late to take part in the pioneer work, and were too old to take our place in the trenches. But on us there rests a heavy responsibility. It is for us to pierce through the confusions and selfishness of political strategy and establish the truth and justice that alone can make a nation endure. We must be true to the great purpose of our fathers and the splendid courage of our sons. Here is something that strikes deeper than party politics, that demands the best that isin us of wisdom and sanity. If we fail to do our part nobly the whole fabric of nationhood will fall. Love of the land carries with it a responsibility that may try us as sorely as the wilderness tried our fathers or as the battlefront tried our sons. And for us there is no escape. The future of Canada is in our keeping.

Whenever I read history, even the history of Canada, I feel like the American soldier who was wallowing through the mud after the battle of Spottsylvania Court-house. Saluting his officer, he exclaimed bitterly:

"If ever I love another country, damn me!"

History, as written, is largely a record of crimes and blunders that are exposed or whitewashed according to the political bias of the man who is writing the history. Historians, as a rule, are more given to the use of whitewash than a political investigating committee. Fired by a patriotic desire to picture for us a country worth loving they suppress much, glorify everything that seems worth glorifying, and give us something that is no nearerthe truth than the crayon portraits you see in many country parlors. If historians told the simple truth, every nation with a scrap of decency would be trying to live down its history, just as a convict tries to live down his past. And yet—and yet I confess to a love of Canada that is not simply a patriotic emotion, but a passion to which my whole being vibrates. To me Canada is a living soul—a Presence that companions me in the fields—a mighty mother that nourished my youth and inspires my manhood. Whenever I think of Canada I remember Carman's wonderful lines:

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