rvice, often standing firm upon a scruple;... everywhere some
virtue cherished or affected, everywhere some decency of thought and
courage, everywhere the ensign of man's ineffectual goodness,--ah! if I
could show you this! If I could show you these men and women all the
world over, in every stage of history, under every abuse of error, under
every circumstance of failure, without hope, without help, without
thanks, still obscurely fighting the lost fight of virtue, still
clinging to some rag of honor, the poor jewel of their souls."

[R] Across the Plains: "Pulvis et Umbra" (abridged).

All this is as true as it is splendid, and terribly do we need our
Tolstois and Stevensons to keep our sense for it alive. Yet you remember
the Irishman who, when asked, "Is not one man as good as another?"
replied, "Yes; and a great deal better, too!" Similarly (it seems to me)
does Tolstoi overcorrect our social prejudices, when he makes his love
of the peasant so exclusive, and hardens his heart toward the educated
man as absolutely as he does. Grant that at Chautauqua there was little
moral effort, little sweat or muscular strain in view. Still, deep down
in the souls of the participants we may be sure that something of the
sort was hid, some inner stress, some vital virtue not found wanting
when required. And, after all, the question recurs, and forces itself
upon us, Is it so certain that the surroundings and circumstances of the
virtue do make so little difference in the importance of the result? Is
the functional utility, the worth to the universe of a certain definite
amount of courage, kindliness, and patience, no greater if the
possessor of these virtues is in an educated situation, working out
far-reaching tasks, than if he be an illiterate nobody, hewing wood and
drawing water, just to keep himself alive? Tolstoi's philosophy, deeply
enlightening though it certainly is, remains a false abstraction. It
savors too much of that Oriental pessimism and nihilism of his, which
declares the whole phenomenal world and its facts and their distinctions
to be a cunning fraud.

* * * * *

A mere bare fraud is just what our Western common sense will never
believe the phenomenal world to be. It admits fully that the inner joys
and virtues are the _essential_ part of life's business, but it is sure
that _some_ positive part is also played by the adjuncts of the show. If
it is idiotic in romanticism to