FOKEWORD. WITH most appropriate fidelity, Dr. Marshall sends forth this message as the proper application of the Christian law to society. He stands in the role of a prophet. It is possible for society to dispense with poets and still live Plato did in his Ideal Republic. Development in the sciences might stop, and the old world fare toler ably well. Sculpture and painting might cease to be, and still the earth move forward. But prophets we must have for their functions are to lift society out of the ruts of stagnation, con ventionalism, and formalities. The message of this volume is the song of the New Humanity, couched in romance. On the wings of Love what a sweet idolatry Truth, enamored of Fidelity, to a sublime con is borne viction. Herein is not the toying of fancy, nor the heat of imagination but, with an ingenious touch, the author has joined the hands of the Ideal and the Real. He bears not so much a keen sword, as a simple plowshare in the field of the common world, and moves breast forward. The note of truth is not born of awomans smile, nor of the woes of frowning fortune, but it leaps forward from the conditions and experiences of every-day life. Social extremes meet. The oak of the one is as hollow as the hemlock of the other. Dr. Goodfellow is sketched in the strength of a giant and in the tenderness of a child. He is oak and lily. He moves in the presence of sublime convictions yet when he yields, it is not the submission of a weakling, but the devotion of a splendid will. He is the forerunner of the new era. His romance with Josephine McCord is conducted on the mountain-plane. It strength ens daily. It is a communion of hopes and as pirations, the fervent breathings ofthe secret of the soul. It is a sweet interchange of the treasures of love, mined in the depths of the human heart. It is the voice of the uncommon common. Love is npt rudely pushed to the front. It is free from the blighting touch of unseemli ness that maketh concessions, yet it is as familiar as it is sweet, and as sweet as it is familiar. Bud a jewel in a rough casket Help us, Lord, to rub our eyes, that we may see all such to rummage among the wreckage of life, and gather them in. Crowned sovereignties there are we pass them every day, like ships in the night, and we keep playing owls. May the story of Bud help us to move about in the spirit of homage, and ever stoop in grateful regard to reclaim Gods own The sweet love-tale of Bud and Jennie Patterson is the natural evolution of two lives beautifully blended. They journey along in the hearts own country, keeping tender step to its own sweet chord. Love, the king of words, is engraved on both hearts, and its height, length, and breadth are equal. They are Loves budding beauties. Jennies mother gives mild re bukes, and turns again and again to cut the roots of the perplexing evil but the extract is poured into the ear of innocence, in love. The opposition not. She grinds, but without remedy Love weeps moves on to her own world, in which lives and destinies are united, where criticisms are strangers to the tongue, and Love the dweller of the heart. The Unknown Man is under the dominant desire and im sway of the Holy Bible. Every pulse are hallowed by the Divine Word. His questions and answers are the kindled light of this golden candlestick. He always applies the truth with level and impartial sweep against every form of sin, andprophesies not smooth things. He is so dreadfully sane and so horribly unanswer able that he attracts and holds us to the end. The McCords, with a devotion that bleeds with earnestness, roll the stone away from the sepulcher of human misery...