traits persisted, but traditions were cast aside, slowly and almost imperceptibly in the Colonial period, but afterward with amazing celerity-especially social conventions and prejudices.

The English race in America was not merely transplanted, geographically projected, but translated. Its religious faith and its heroism were exalted and intensified in the vast Western solitudes, peopled only by alien savages. In such an environment the Powers of the Air haunted the imagination; conscience inhabited a field of mystery beyond the bounds of morality. Government in New England became the realization of a theocracy of which the Scotch covenanters had only dreamed. Witchcraft lived again as a kind of Hebraic renaissance, and there were engendered the human elements and atmosphere which Hawthorne re-created in his earlier weird romances. Generations afterward, when in the capital of the Puritans the intellectual reaction culminates in Emerson, we find in the Middle West, and notably in that region out of which Lincoln came, the same somber mysticism-a mysticism which blends with intensest practicalism.

Americans have always had that tensely forward look which betokens speculation, discounting the future and ignoring intervals of time and space. They have elearly foreseen what they desired, and ideally desired, and made directly for it, ignoring all obstacles, if, after the Colonel Sellers manner, they have not fancied it already in their grasp.

After all, this American forwardness, whatever of boldness or even of bluster it may have involved, is only the intensification of a British trait. It would be only that if the terms of its expansion involved the expectation of worlddominion. It was an English statesman, as Sir Edward Grey has recently reminded us, who suggested to President Monroe the policy which bears that President's name, and the Englishman seemed as oblivious as Americans have always seemed of any adequate visible means for the enforcement of this continental assumption.

Americans—that is, those Americans who have shaped the national characterhave always had the long view and acted as if it were the short one. The pro

jected end of an enterprise was instantly seized upon as something to be worked up to. In so vast a leverage their optimism was like their religious faiththe evidence of things not seen.

This speculation was a kind of transcendentalism, the hitching of one's wagon to a star; the projection of a nerve into space, waiting for bone and tissue to follow. Surely, in all this, the psychical dominance, rather than the materialistic, was manifest. Benjamin Franklin, with his kite in the clouds, tempting the lightning to disclose its identity with electricity, was more typically American than he was as the author of "Poor Richard's Almanac." Such practicalism as was characteristically American was large of scope, organically expansive. Matter, money, any means, was but the fulcrum for its lever. If it had been mere practicalism, sordid and plodding, it would have had no distinction, no alliance with the traits confessedly in a peculiar sense American-ingenuity, aptitude, quick invention, and masterly organization. What it lacks in discipline and thoroughgoing efficiency, as compared with the German during the last forty years, clearly proves that this practicalism is not primary or ultimate as an American characteristic.

Moreover, this practicalism was forced upon the American people, though its peculiar phases were due to native traits and impulses, intensified by the conditions of pioneer life, the horizon of which was always extending westward. Nature is indulgent to the savage even in his degeneration. But the civilized English colonist in America had no indulgence from any quarter. He was at war with nature, with Spanish, French, and Dutch competitors, and with the aborigines; and in this stress he had to devise expedients of every sort as well as institutions. The habit of improvisation was thrust upon him, and it remained with him. He became nomadic, shifty, and resourceful-thrifty only by compulsion. To the stranger his civilization seemed to have a mushroom growth. Not until a little after the middle of the nineteenth century had the Americans completed, and then at terrible sacrifice, a national fabric which bad the semblance of a sound integrity. They had never

had time to wait, but had been carried forward by the drift of necessity upon an unprecedented course, which they had charted as they traversed it, with a long and confidently optimistic look ahead. But, with little to show in art or literature, they had created an American humanism-of what kind they saw somewhat when they had the face of Lincoln to look back upon.

What has the last half-century done for this humanism?

Those who regard only the immense leap made in material progress during this period are likely to look back regretfully upon the American past, missing what seem to them more impressive ideals, and even the traditional narrowness, passions, and prejudices associated with them. The retrospect has for these a more heroic, romantic, and picturesque investment. But this wonderful halfcentury has been distinguished by psychical more than by mechanical triumphs.

Psychical reaction is indeed the keynote of the period which in both Europe and America has been the era of a new modernism, far advanced beyond that which was the issue of the Romantic revolt, because it was the result of disillusion. The prospect opened by science in its quest of real knowledge was but one of the fresh outlooks of the emancipated human spirit.

In America what was most conspicuously apparent at the beginning of this era was the momentum of material progress, responsive to the impetus imparted by the new scientific knowledge translated into practical terms through inventive ingenuity. Instead of a Darwin, or Spencer, or Lord Kelvin, America developed an Edison, as in a previous generation it had developed Henry and Morse and Fulton; and in the study of economic problems it kept far in advance of Great Britain. But there were not wanting signs of creative genius in fields of disinterested activity— in art and literature and philosophy. The modern psychical trend was apparent in our new fiction, the old didactic habit yielding place to the interpretative. If we did not have a Meredith we had a Henry James, as, in other fields, while we had no profound interpreters to match Pater and Symonds, we had in place of a

Huxley the still more versatile John Fiske, and, in place of a Canon Liddon, Bishop Brooks.

In a survey of the more recent field, right at the beginning of our twentieth century, we find American life and culture more distinctly defining themselves against the background of the past. The traces of old antagonisms have disappeared, and with them a great deal of the old boastfulness. Americans have come to have a sense of their shortcomings, past and present, and especially of their prodigal wastefulness of natural resources and of the ruinous waste of competition. If it is theirs, as the ful filment of their now manifest destiny, to carve into perfect form a statue of Liberty, the final lineaments of its countenance will express Peace. The waste of war is the most shameful, because the most wanton, of all wastes in an age like ours, an age characterized by psychical reaction, which does not involve inimicalness of any sort; and the shame of it should be the ground of the ideal most fitly to be entertained by a democratic commonwealth.

Our speculative expansion having reached its utmost scope, having before the last century's end even assumed a kind of imperial grandeur, and, in all its course, having, in some ways, illustrated our heroism and, in others, the magnificence of our incapacities, has been followed by a more reflective and intensive culture, developed under conditions of greater freedom-such as release the creative faculty. While American humanism thus more nearly approaches the European, it more clearly illustrates its distinctive character for what in it is essential rather than accidental or eccentric.

The dynamic character of industrial and social organization, on a large scale, involves not merely greater efficiency; it renders possible the realization of collectivist ideals, the substitution of harmony for irrational antagonisms, and, eventually, the consummation of a real democracy.

The alchemy of a living experience determines our American humanism, which has thus a creative evolution. We have faith to believe that it is not the alchemy of the witches' caldron.

H

UNNEWELL is eighty-five miles from the nearest large city. It will thus be seen that when the ladies of the Hunnewell Ethical Society, intent upon reducing the increased cost of living, made an agreement to wear no dress costing more than fifteen dollars and no hat costing more than five dollars (with the exception of wedding hats and gowns) the place afforded unusual opportunities for carrying out the idea. The ladies of Hunnewell started work at once, and the lords of Hunnewell looked on in wondering approval.

Suddenly, and as if by magic, the Merry Widow hat disappeared, the Peach Basket retreated, the Princess dress abdicated, and the Moyen Age effect returned to its medieval resting place. Ostrich feathers became a memory. Velvets suffered the same fate. Silks were seldom seen, and were eyed askance. Silk braiding became a lost, an unregretted art. "Real lace" collars, cuffs, jabots, and insertions were seen no more. And rising triumphant from the ashes of sacrifice appeared the shirt-waist, the simple skirt, and the businesslike little hat. Evening dresses were fashioned exclusively from lawns and dimities, and Hunnewell became famous in the land.

"My dears," began Mrs. Pembroke at a meeting of the Ethical Society, "it is unnecessary for me to dwell upon the success which our movement has achieved here. But do you know that we have received thirty-six letters

"To reply to all these letters in detail," continued Mrs. Pembroke, "would put too great a tax upon our corresponding secretary. I therefore move that the proceedings of our historic meeting be printed, together with a copy of the Agreement; and I also move that these thirty-six inquirers, together with all others, be advised that the foregoing literature will be mailed to them upon receipt of one dollar, and that all the receipts be placed in a special fund to

from other associations throughout the country asking for full information? The secretary will read you a few of these."

A proud silence ensued while the letters were being read.

VOL. CXXIII.-No. 735.-60

be used in the Cause!"

The motion was being carried, when the door opened and Mrs. Jenkins entered, impetuous and breathless.

"There!" she exclaimed, "I knew I would be late, but I could not help it. What do you suppose I have been doing? .. Packing!"

The regular order of the day was temporarily suspended.

"We are leaving Hunnewell!" Mrs. Jenkins burst out. "Leaving for good! Oh, my dears, if you only knew how I feel! But Mr. Jenkins has received an offer to go to Chicago. So he has sold his interests in the Hunnewell National Bank, is resigning as president, and we are leaving for Chicago on Saturday morning! I can only stay a minute. The Willets arrive on Friday to take possession of the house, and I have to arrange a reception for them, and-oh, my head is just spinning!"

"The Willets?" asked Mrs. Pembroke. "Are they new people?"

"Yes. Mr. Willets has bought the bank, and will be its new president. They have leased our house-furnished, you know-an awfully nice man. I haven't seen Mrs. Willets. I am having cards printed for the re

ception-our good-by and their introduc

you know of course you must all come I must run now-Friday eveningdon't forget-but when I think of leaving dear ld Hunnewell-!"

And SO it happened that on Friday evening all Hunnewell assembled at the Jenkins mansion to meet the new bank president and his wife, and to give their predecessors God-speed.

They will be down in a few minutes," whispered Mrs. Jenkins to each of the new arrivals. "They missed a train, or it was late, or something. They are up-stairs now, getting ready. They won't be long. . . ."

A stir was heard in the hall and Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins appeared with the guests of honor. The ladies of Hunnewell looked at each other, looked at each other's lawns and dimities, and then looked back at the radiant group which surrounded their hostess.

Mrs. Willets, undeniably autocratic in her appearance, was attired in ruby red satin, studded with ruby beads.

Miss Willets, a distinguished brunette, was attired in pale apple-green silk, bordered with gold fringe, and embroidered with apple blossoms. Around her throat was a loose necklace of pearls.

Miss Anne Willets, a charming blonde, wore pink mousseline de soie over changeable-blue taffeta, adorned with lace and with clusters of rosebuds.

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men smiled after them. Favored messengers brought them ices. One lucky man shut a window for one of the Misses Willets. Another favorite of fortune was commissioned to go for a lace shawl. All the other ladies of Hunnewell were dressed faithfully, even sternly, according to the Agreement. But as for Mrs. Willets-! And as for the Misses Willets-!

At eleven o'clock, Miss Ainsworth, looking from her chair and seeing Mr. Denny dancing his second waltz with a dazzling girl in pale apple-green silk bordered with gold fringe and embroidered with apple blossoms-Miss Ainsworth, seeing all this, decided to go home. She smiled pleasantly, even merrily, at all beholders, and sauntered toward the cloak-room.

Almost simultaneously Miss Spencer, watching Dr. Bishop waltzing with a dreamyeyed girl in soft mauve satin and foamy mauve chiffon-Miss Spencer, seeing this, also smiled joyfully at the company, and also strolled toward the cloak-room. There she met Miss Ainsworth. They helped each other with their wraps. Other girls came in, and began putting on their wraps. The silence was very ominous.

The regular weekly meeting of the Ethical Society fell due the following afternoon. The members gathered early, and the order of the day was accomplished with unusual despatch. It was noticeable that when the treasurer reported an item of one hundred and sixteen dollars in the treasury "received from sales of Agreement literature," there was no applause.

"Is there any other business?" asked Mrs. Pembroke.

Miss Ainsworth arose. She was a Barnard graduate, and possessed a winning manner which served her well in her capacity as chairman of the Committee for Improving Front Lawns, and she had, moreover, a charming idiosyncrasy of talking in capitals. The members watched her with hopeful eyes.

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Some time ago," she began, "we placed our signatures to a certain Agreement." An emphatic nodding of businesslike little hats showed that no one had forgotten the circumstance. "Recent Developments," continued the speaker, over which we have had No Control, lead me to believe that the Agreement is only Beneficial when it is Universally Observed. We have nevertheless signed a Covenant agreeing to do certain definite things, and surely an Ethical Society is the Last Place in the World where one would look to see an Agreement wilfully broken for the Mere Reason that it no longer seemed Expedient to Keep it."

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But I don't understand-" Mrs. Thomas was beginning, when Mrs. Pembroke silenced her.

"Let us turn to the Agreement, therefore, and consider its Terms," continued Miss Ainsworth. "We find that we have Bound ourselves to wear no hat costing over Five Dollars "-a sigh arose from many-" and no dress costing more than Fifteen Dollars " -a sigh arose from more-" but, and mark this well, an Important Exception is made in favor of Wedding Hats and Gowns. The question now arises-What is a Wedding Hat and what is a Wedding Gown?"