of ground three feet by seven and bury him; he has earned it."

Tolstoy came honestly by his stories. The books tell us that even the folklore, the peasant stories of Russia, are not the stories of knights and lords and ladies, but of men of the soil, helpers of the poor.

These tales suggest something of the tremendous wealth of Russia, the Russia of Tolstoy and the Russia of Verestchagin, the Russia of the peasant mass that has cherished for us such searching parables.

WEST AND EAST

The naked West, of mists and shadows reared
The little infant of the mystic East,

And countless years and ages rolled away;
The little infant grew to womanhood.

Proud of her western virtues she saw not
The beauties of her sister of the East,

Coiled in the web of many creeds outworn;

But revelled in her own, and so forgot

Her orient birth and faith that sprang from love.

To them who higher soar and see aright,

The world's delights and sorrows are but one,

The mystic caverns of the Eastern Saint,

The laughing bowers of the Western Sage;
And in the lisping of the child they see

Life's ecstasy, and its serenity

In tott'ring sounds of age, with equal love;

And oft in visions of despair they saw

The ever-separating East and West.

The God that gave the rose its hue gave, too,
The odor to the lily of the East.

"And let us weave with loving hands," they said,
"A garland of the lily and the rose."

At last, with joyful hearts, they looked around,
And saw one world, the World of East and West
Enfolded in each other's loving arms!

"One fatherhood, the fatherhood of God,

One brotherhood, the brotherhood of Man,

One creed, the creed of Love and Righteousness.”

-T. Rama Krishna (Madras, India)

Read at the Races Congress, London, 1905.

VII.

Why Love Turkey

Turkey challenges our admiration as does anything vast, mysterious, inscrutable, and whatever challenges the admiration moves the heart, quickens it with love. I love Turkey as I love the Muir Woods,-the mystic forest that nestles at the foot of Tamalpais, out there by the Golden Gate. I penetrated that forest but a little way; I felt its sombre shadows but for an hour. The paths that lead out from the rustic road are soon lost in the depths. I could not count its trees. I did not measure its area; I was not able to calculate its antiquity. Those ancient trees overwhelmed my imagination, but they appealed to it profoundly, and ever since my visit they have thrown athwart my life thrilling, quickening and inspiring shadows. Just so does this vast, weird, and, to me, unexplored and inexplicable country we call Turkey, affect me. There is something profoundly significant in the story of this people, whom we first discover away back there in the fourth or fifth century emerging from the dim far East, a people made brave by tyranny, a band of fugitive slaves faring westward. About the middle of the fifteen century, inspired by a great, new faith, made coherent by humble adoration, and led, as they thought, by a prophet of God, they took possession of the capital city of the Christian world and established a vast empire into whose crudities was poured the highest learning of the age. These people are still the conservators and administrators of much