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very vast. The Church can co-exist with any form of government, but it is not equally at home and congenial with all, for God's will should be done in earth as it is in heaven, and if earthly politics are to fit us for our heavenly citizenship they ought, if possible, to resemble the celestial pattern shown us, as Plato dreamed of his ideal commonwealth.

We can only then, in conclusion, lay down a few main principles to which a State consisting of Christian people should conform. First, it should be a true common weal, i. e., (since "self-government "must mean majority-government), it should aim at the welfare of the whole community, and not of a part of it, though especially tender and solicitous for the weaker members. Secondly, although the primary end of human society, which is God's glory, cannot be put forward in a modern State hopelessly divided in belief, yet, while we still speak of the "majesty of the law," it ought to be acknowledged that this is the reflected majesty of Almighty God himself. Thirdly, the "will of the people," deserves honour so far as it strives to base itself upon the Will of Christ. But the phrase vox populi vox Dei means usually that the popular voice is in itself Divine and eternally right. Similar flattery has often been addressed to monarchs, as when Herod's ear drank in the cry, "It is the voice of a god and not of a man. And immediately the angel of the Lord smote him because he gave not God the glory." But monarchy has this characteristic; that, even apart from solemn rites and awful consecrations, the common instinct sees in that to which we bare our heads, in the divinity which doth hedge kingship" a very sacred, lovely name," John Wesley called it the mirrored authority of Heaven itself, a sanctuary of religous devotion and allegiance. "The pageant of earthly royalty," exclaims Newman, "has the semblance of the Eternal King." It is not easy to feel anything of the kind about impersonal law, depending on the ebb and flow of fluctuating majorities. No doubt the homage now being paid to popular sovereignty is not mere adulation of the rising sun. It is held quite honestly as a moral axiom that no human being, however wise or exalted,

should direct the lives and actions of others, except for the prevention of disorder. I would urge, however, that the complement of liberty is not order, but a much sweeter, nobler and more spiritual thing-authority. Authority does not wield a policeman's baton, but sits on a throne. And a "free community" which contains no temples of heaven-descended governance tends inevitably to materialism and secularism. A civilization which moves in an atmosphere of unceremoniousness, which has no place for awe and mystery, for obedience and dutifulness, a flat, featureless state of society, without lights and shadows, without solemn heights and depths, one wherein all thought and morals are cheap, facile and superficial, appealing, as the kinema appeals, to a kind of thin, widely-diffused picture-palace sentimentality -such a social state may not be openly antagonistic to the Unseen, but it will be a poor rehearsal for the "glory" of Eternity, a depressing milieu for Catholicism.

But thank God, the Holy Ghost moves and breathes in the affairs of men. Let us do justice to all seemingly opposed idealisms, and endeavour to blend them. Then, in these anxious times, though we know not our future, we can pray, "Take not Thy Holy Spirit from us."

Douglas Macleane.

THE

THE CHURCH AT WORK

A Missionary in Western Canada

HE trans-continental train on the Grand Trunk Pacific pulled into a little town three hundred and fifty miles west of Winnipeg at about half-past five o'clock in the morning of a June day and I, the only sleeping-car passenger booked to get off at that point, looked out with great interest upon the group of buildings, of which the grain elevator was the only imposing one. No other west-bound train passed through the town during the day and the single east-bound train would not be due until half an hour after midnight. In midsummer and

so far north, however, the sun was well up and I was able to see at once that during the night we had passed from the prairie to a section of low, undulating hills, in fact the very country mentioned by Stewart Edward White in his fascinating story

Conjuror's House." The town nestled down among the Touchwood Hills picturesquely and I was able to pick out the Church of St. David and the Vicarage where I was to be the guest of a young priest who had been a student and friend in College and Seminary and whom I had last seen, so far as parochial work was concerned, in a great and wonderful parish in London, England, worked by a staff of eight clergy, equipped with a fine modern Church, parochial schools, and Mission Church and hall. What a contrast between the English metropolis and the diminutive Canadian village! But there was the Vicar on the platform to welcome me, in cassock and flat English hat, just as he would have been dressed in the London parish.

In two or three minutes from the the railway station we reached the vicarage, consisting of three rooms, directly connected with the Church, all very simple frame structures. Here the vicar lives with his sister to keep house for him. Two ponies were stabled near by (now supplemented by a Ford car) to carry him about to the different stations under his charge. But humble as was the vicarage from the outside, the study into which I was ushered was most attractive and beautiful-a long low-ceiled room, the walls lined with cases filled with books, theological and miscellaneous, and covered with pictures and other souvenirs of the vicar's travels on both sides of the Atlantic. I have little doubt that the collection of books is among the best private theological libraries west of Winnipeg and probably unsurpassed in that locality in the department of Liturgics, the vicar's favorite branch of theology. A blazing fire in an open fire-place gave a touch of warmth and hospitality that chilly June morning which added to the attractiveness of the house and the welcome.

After a few moments of conversation, the vicar turned to his guest and extended the true hospitality of a priest. "Would

you not like to say Mass at once? And then we can talk." What more fitting beginning could there be to the resuming of friendly intercourse? Ah, I must pause to digress for a moment to recall how two weeks later in the large town parish of another former student, I was met, much in the same way, in the early hours of the morning, and for the first time and only time joined in the celebration of the Holy Mysteries, on the Feast of St. John Baptist, with a splendid fellow who since then has laid down his life while Chaplain to the Canadian forces over-seas. What stronger bond and truer hospitality can there be between priest and priest, in country or city, than this hospitality of the Altar!

My host, the vicar, ushered me into the tiny Lady Chapel opening out of his study and into the Church. In the chapel the daily Eucharist is pleaded, and there we realized again our "communion and fellowship in the mystical Body of Christ our Lord" as we done before in many lands. This Canadian town three years ago counted a population, I believe, of seventy-three people, with a surrounding population of farmers and ranchers much larger, about one-third belonging in some sense to the Canadian Church. A very small number of parishioners at best, but the daily Eucharist is maintained there, simply because the vicar cannot think of doing his work without it. Where there is the will, there will be found the way. The only reason why there are not more places with a daily Eucharist is because there is no will to have It.

The cure of souls of which I am writing is no different from hundreds of others, in extent of territory to be covered, variety of people to minister to, difficulties and hardships to be faced. Those fine young priests out there, of whom I met several, never complain of these things. Full of the love of God and for souls, carried away by enthusiasm for the Church and eagerness to bring others to the full knowledge of the truth and all the privileges the Church has to give, the only situation that causes them genuine distress is indifference and neglect towards the opportunities afforded.

The next day was Sunday, eagerly anticipated by both of us.

I was there to help an over-busy young priest and to learn myself much in the department of pastoral theology-pastoral in a two-fold sense- which can never be learned except from experience. The day began with an early Mass, at which were two communicants, one of whom belonged some little distance away. Then we said Mattins together and at eleven came a second Eucharist. The congregation once asked, I believe, for Mattins at eleven o'clock, but their enthusiasm soon moderated when their request had been acceded to for a time. The Eucharist at eleven was a very simple Low Mass with hymns, at which the visiting priest had the privilege of being both preacher and organist, to say nothing of singing his best as leader of the choir. The full ceremonial was in use, the colored vestments and the Lights. The building itself, of excellent proportions and most tastefully, if simply, arranged received just the needed touch of warmth and richness from the colors at and about the Altar. Everything betokened the best welcome that could be afforded to the King of kings. The proportion of men in the congregation was noticeable and encouraging, and they were the sort of men who do not mind but, I am convinced, really prefer straight talk. They got it, for the vicar had indicated the lines of difficulty in deepening the spiritual life of his people and their grasp of the Church's teaching, and while he was perfectly capable of taking care of the matters himself, yet to have the same truths set out through the personality of another always tends to deepen an impression already made.

After a hasty mid-day meal off we drove behind two sturdy Indian ponies, Tommie and Queenie, to another station and Church, much older than the town Church, but distant from the railway, where the work had originally grown up around a Hudson Bay Post, now long abandoned. Here the Church is not in a village but in the centre of a farming community and the members of the congregation came driving and walking to the service. A noticeable element in the congregation was a group of Indian half-breeds. They are really, I was told, quite faithful to the Church and in making their communions. But of all the depression sets of listeners I have ever faced these Indian

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