founded on an international conscience and an international public opinion. LYMAN ABBOTT.

A

LAYING-UP TIME

SHIPYARD in the fall is a place to evoke long, long thoughts. It is a spot where philosophy and labor can go happily hand in hand.

few this hour arrives in the cpen sea and the ship goes down breasting to the last the gales from the ends of the world.

For men, as for ships, this same inexorable hour arrives. There might be more of us to meet this hour with honor and without despair if we kept in our hearts a vision of the winter haven we prepare for our ships.

qualities. A certain aloofness and austerity is desirable in the great exemplars of morals, ethics, and theology. For in their case their doctrines and principles are greater than the men themselves.

But there is also a great virtue in simple personality. It was not his doctrines but his indefinable personal quality that made Cardinal Mercier one of the greatest figures of the World War. It was not his theology but

homing pigeons, come the fleets of pleasure and of commerce. Sturdy fishermen out of Friendship, schooners and sloops which have made the name of Bristol famous through the Seven Seas, rakish power yachts from the Hudson River and snub-nosed catboats from the Cape, are then to be found perched high and dry above the element wherein they become the most animate of man's inanimate creations. Yet these children of the sea do not lose all vitality when they ascend from the water. Least of all do they lose the personality with which they had been endowed. Rather it seems that they are but entering upon a period of healthful rest, of " sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care,' a time of literal (and littoral) rebuilding and renewal. To the members of this fleet rebuilding and renewal means various things. Your power yacht from the Hudson will bring unhappiness to its owner if so much as a scratch appears on the varnished mahogany of its hull. Your catboat and your Friendship sloop may not lose caste if it be decided that their rigging will "do" for another year. But your Bristol schooner will be consoled with no such decision. Hers is an imperious demand for perfection of tackle and gear. The yard will render to each daughter of the sea the tribute that is her due.

Somehow these waiting ships lay strong hold upon the imagination, for to each of these creations of wood and iron comes a season of rest and repair which we too often deny to our own minds and bodies. Shall we ever see the time when to each of us is given a chance to "lay up" for a period of renewal and spiritual repair, a time of leisure wherein old beliefs may be tested, old faiths reborn, and new hopes and new courage shaped against the hour of need? If there is a time for the rebuilding of ships, there should be a time for the rebuilding of minds and bodies, a time for the renewing of spiritual and physical strength, and a time of self-accounting.

To all ships there inevitably comes a day of final dissolution under the hammer of the wrecker or the fiercer blows of surf upon lee shore. To a gallant and happy

a

TH

BORN OCTOBER 27, 1858
DIED JANUARY 6, 1919

HE three great outstanding personalities of American political history are unquestionably Washington, Lincoln, and Roosevelt. Some careful critics may say that it is too early to put Roosevelt in this category; that it is scarcely two years since he passed out of life; that there are still remnants of partisan feeling both for him and against him which affect the judgment; and that many years must elapse before his statesmanship can be seen and estimated in its true perspective.

Let this be cheerfully granted. He would be a man of rash courage who should venture to-day to define the exact effect of Roosevelt's political doctrines, acts, and policies upon the struc ture and course of American life. Roosevelt would have been the last man to compare himself to Washington and Lincoln. He once said of Washington and Lincoln, in a letter to the historian James Ford Rhodes, that "in the history of civilized nations there have been other men as good-men like Timoleon and John Hampden; but no other good men have been as great." And often in letters and in conversation he referred to Lincoln with a kind of deferential respect and affection that is characteristic of the attitude of a disciple towards his master.

But observe that in bracketing Roosevelt with Washington we are not speak ing of them as statesmen or even as great men, but as personalities.

The test of personality is the human interest in the daily incidents, reac tions, and manners of the man. How did he smile; how did he frown; what were his tricks of speech and gesture; how did he live in his own household; in what spirit did he meet the petty troubles, perplexities, and trials that are common to all men? In this sense nobody cares about the personalities of Moses and Marcus Aurelius. It is their doctrines that interest us. Indeed, perhaps too intimate a knowledge of their daily human relations might detract from the influence of their noble and lofty

in the daily conduct of life that made St. Francis of Assisi one of the most lovable and most influential of the saints of the Church.

Theodore Roosevelt was neither aloof nor austere. His life was like an open book. Enough is known of it in every detail-political, personal, and domestic --and enough human interest is shown in hearing and reading of these details, to demonstrate that his greatest influence will be exercised through his personality. Roosevelt was singularly fortunate in this respect, for he has left in his letters and in his Autobiography a unique personal record.

This issue of The Outlook is a kind of Roosevelt number, and appropriately so, because the date of its publication, October 27, is the date of the anniversary of his birthday, and because for five years the distinguished ex-President was a member of its editorial board. We print this week two contributions which confirm and strengthen our belief in the extraordinary and often unexpected influence of his personality.

His intimate friends are familiar with this singularly vital influence. Those who did not know him personally, but are interested to understand what there was about him that drew to him by a kind of indefinable magnetism men and women and children of all sorts in all parts of the world, have only to read three books to find themselves also attracted by this magnetic power-his Autobiography, his "Letters to His Children," and his "Life and Letters," edited by Joseph Bucklin Bishop. All three are from the press of Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons, New York. Mr. Bishop's work, admirably arranged and edited, has just been published in two handsomely printed volumes, and contains a collection of vivid and vivacious letters on an extraordinary variety of subjects. These letters, not a line of which is dull reading, taken in connection witla the companion volume of "Roosevelt's Letters to His Children," are unsurpassed in epistolary literature as a selfrevelation of a sparkling and dynamie and yet a tender and human personality.

W

HAT sort of business man is it who calmly throws up his job because he's tired of tired of crooking his legs under a desk? Or who refuses to let any one talk business to him at lunch? Or who instructs his secretary some afternoon to let no one see him, because, forsooth, he wishes to set down. some ideas on immortality that have just come into his head? Or who selects the busy season in which to go fishing? Or who habitually leaves the office for afternoon musical programmes ?

One risks one's own business reputation to connect him with business at all. He sounds like a mooning incompetent who is mere driftwood in the tide of business-the kind of man whom Professor Holt, of Harvard University, recently said was a failure because he had two personalities-a business personality and a cultural personality.

But he doesn't look like that. He is a bit stout, but he carries his head backward with a peculiar tilt which gives a rakish cut to his entire figure. His mouth is large, but taut, with expressive corners. His gray eyes, set wide apart under a particularly steep forehead, look none too practical, nor yet too dreamy-but certainly they look confident and poised.

And why not? It is a fact that somebody is always willing to pay Parker around $15,000 a year. Just for what I'd really like to know. His title is usually sales and advertising manager. He is the prince of business paradoxes, for he gives less of himself to business and gets more out of it than any one I know. The annoying thing is that he refuses to take business seriously. If you and a group of most earnest, ambitious young business men gather some evening at the club to listen to a professor of psychology whom you have induced to help you unravel the tangled web of selling psychology, and, meeting Parker there, you invite him to sit in with you, he will wave you off gayly. "Run along, you professional business fellows,' he will say; "I'm only an amateur.'

Whereat you will be mocked, for he makes more money than you.

Again, when, in the approved New York custom, you find a ten-hour day too short for your ideas of intensive business success, and you adjourn your conference to the club for the evening, you will most likely find Parker in the library reading the "Edinburgh Review" or dipping into Molière or Montaigne.

If you adjourn to a restaurant, you may find him dining there, exchanging badinage and ideas with an effervescent, good-looking girl. The merry peal

BY J. GEORGE FREDERICK

of their laughter may reach you in the middle of your dramatic emphasis to your business associates on the importance of using bone buttons rather than metal ones, or the seriousness of the rise in the price of wrapping paper. You will then experience a peculiar intellectual or might it be emotional? irritation, which will pique you to take Parker out to lunch some time to get further light on his general point of view and on his business.

66

"Why talk about business?" he balks, true to his form; you know more about it than I. I'm only a business vagabond. I've had six positions. in as many years-bad business record, now isn't it? I'm a business failure."

I look him over at this point. There is the familiar mocking turn at the corners of his lips. He looks well fed and well groomed, he lives better than I. He looks like a well-to-do head of a business. His business ability is everywhere admitted. I smile.

"But, I repeat, I am a failure," he insists-still holding the mocking smile. "By every business standard you respect I'm a failure. I am thirty-seven and I have no fixed place in business. I practically get fired in two out of five positions I take because I won't play the business game their way, and resign within eighteen months in the other three positions for sheer lack of further interest in the job. I have no set business ambition, and I haven't laid away much money.'

and resign

"What about that $25,000 job offered you last year?" I query.

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But, my dear fellow," he replies, reproachfully, "surely you know what that job meant! The head of that company was a pack-peddler seventeen years ago, and he's a time annihilator in his idea of business. He would compel me to work with him morning, noon, nights, and Sundays-three years' service rolled in one. Calculate it that way, and you see he was offering me less than I was earning. Besides, I'd have had all the crude sharp edges of a successful ignorant man to deal with."

"But," I complain, "you knock the props out from under all the business copybooks. I shudder to think of having you advise young fellows what to do with their careers.

Parker smiled the same mocking smile. "Heaven forbid that I advise them! They want to be professionals; I could only teach them how to be amateurs. Say, old man, run uptown with me and hear Leo Ornstein this afternoon, won't you?"

I actually ignore the invitation. As a business man. I quite writhe at the notion of yielding up my office hours

to hear a chit of a Russian boy play the piano. It just isn't done in business, that's all-any more than fouro'clock tea.

"You irritate me with your gag about amateurs," I shoot back at him. "What do you mean, anyhow?"

Parker reclines in his chair with that superlative air of ease and leisure which I admire but dare not imitate for fear of losing my carefully cultivated business edge," and answers me very slowly :

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Well, Gilbert Murray, of Oxford, drew on his recent visit to this country a distinction between professional and amateur in a way you won't fail to understand. He says the Germans in all their pursuits are professionalsthey love to specialize and focus their every thought on one special sphere, and give all their vitality and power to it. The English, on the other hand, are chronic amateurs. Balfour, the recent head of their navy and former Premier, writes fine books on philosophy and is several other things besides. Gladstone was an amateur Greek scholar. The English have been amateur soldiers and amateur athletes and never have professionalized business or athletics, as Americans do. And would you dare hold that we get more out of life than they? An amateur in anything simply does not care to have one interest own and control his body, mind, and soul."

Still I am impatient. "Granted that we Americans tie up mind, body, and soul in business, how in thunder can one get away with the more leisurely amateur idea when the business world expects intense concentration ?"

"Become a business amateur and vagabond like myself," smiled Parker; "quit expecting to become a partner in the firm, or to buy houses and autos, or to make your old age fat with wealth, or leave your family an inheritance. What's there to it?"

"Fine way to please the women," I grumble, endeavoring to puncture his armor. "What'll the future Mrs. Parker say to such an outlook for your family?"

Parker's face breaks out into a slow, dreamy smile. Then he leans forward. "This'll be the right place to tell you the news. I'm to marry very soon, and we've definitely planned to go to a little Spanish coast town to live for a year or two. I've already resigned my job.'

I am stunned. "And the future of the Parker family finances?" I begin.

"Bah!" says Parker, rising; "who can't earn his keep these times? Besides, an amateur plays for the fun of the game, never merely to win.”

And that's all I can get out of him on the subject.

BY MARY PRESCOTT PARSONS

It spreads a circle of cool shade around,
And spatters bits of sunlight on the grass.
Some people, walking softly as they pass,
Will hear, high up among its leaves, the sound
Of little, summer winds ;-and some have found
It is a tree to look through at a star,-
And thought how light its fretted patterns are
Against the moon, above a snowy ground.

In times of special wonder, when soft snow
Bends down its branches, or ice storms make bright
Each glistening branch and twig, or in the glow
Of sudden lightning-flashes in the night,
Almost it seems a poet among trees,
Interpreting these ancient mysteries.

E

VERY shred of testimony relating to Roosevelt will increase in value with time, and blame will surely attach to his classmates if their only excuse for silence is modesty, provided only the incidents described are characteristic.

I was one of his Harvard classmates, having a pleasant but far from intimate acquaintance with him. We addressed each other by first names, but rarely exchanged calls. I enjoyed, however, an occasional walk and a good many talks with him at the gymnasium, where, excepting some boxing bouts (as I recall in senior year), I never saw him do anything more strenuous than skip rope and pull himself backward and forward between two parallel upright bars while rising on his toes. I remember how proud I was of my own magnanimity and tact in refraining from expressing the contempt I felt for these elementary exercises. Not only had I rowed on my freshman crew and was headed for the top place on the college list of Dr. Sargent's strong men, but I had early grasped the idea of health and resistance to disease as distinguished from muscle, boasted of having never owned an overcoat, and one winter wore no undershirt.

We had in common the ideal of selfdevelopment to be achieved through stern training, and also the ideal of devotion to the State; but so marked was his intellectual maturity and general grasp on life that I felt myself a pygmy in thought even while trying to big-brother him in gymnastics.

One bitterly cold winter afternoon we spent skating at Fresh Pond, and as a test and illustration of his vitality the

BY RICHARD WELLING

impression made upon me was deep and lasting. With the mercury near zero, the wind blew a small hurricane and there seemed to be no refuge from it. Our hands and ears and toes were miserably cold, the ice was very rough, and we both skated abominably. There was no chance for a good talk, but he kept saying, "Isn't this perfectly bully?" and I, not to be outdone, lied and grinned and declared it was great sport. Plainly by his actions he was afraid the frost would deprive him of a toe or an ear, and he cautioned me to watch my own (as though the pain I suffered were not enough). Perhaps for the first quarter hour I was buoyed up with the preconceived idea that this was a "bully time." After that I grit my teeth, resolved not to be the first to quit. It took every ounce of grit in me. One hour we skated or scuffled about, then a second hour, and not until well on into the third with obvious regret did he suggest home.

His boxing bout with Richard Trimble further illustrated the vitality as well as also the courage and restraint that marked him through life. The bout was much discussed in college and the prediction freely made that one good tap on the nose would mark the end of all sparring, would find Roosevelt with temper lost and lowered head rushing in to finish the fight. He received not only one good tap on the nose, but so many and so fast and hard that it was obvious he was hopelessly outclassed. The exhibition was distinctly gory, and I remember wondering whether in addition to his shorter reach and height and lesser weight defective sight was not also a factor in

his poor defense. In the midst of so much punishment we looked in vain for the slightest sign of distress. He was full of animation and attack to the very end, and completely disappointed our prophecy that he would lose his temper. Just before he entered the ring I asked him how he felt, and he said he felt all right, only much annoyed for several days by a nervous in testinal disturbance common to people afflicted with stage fright. Fighting under such conditions would sap to the point of exhaustion the vitality of the ordinary youngster. I remember thinking of the exhibition he had given me the day we skated on Fresh Pond, and I told him I had no misgivings as to the result. Nor do I mean to give the impression that he had any misgivings, only keenly enjoyed the bout from beginning to

end.

In those days, when youngsters at college sometimes watched each other with a hypercritical eye, I often heard the criticism that Roosevelt's greeting of men that he knew but slightly was unusually effusive and cordial. From the skating and boxing incidents I be came conscious of an exuberant vitality that more than explained this manner of greeting.

Of escapades as to wine or women there simply were none. A man's classmates know.

My interest in certifying to this is to bring out the Aristotelian quality of pure virtue performed without conscious effort, evil overcome by good, no time for mischief, no time even to develop a little Puritan asceticism or priggishness, but always striding forward toward the accomplishment of