cently come from the South. A large proportion of these people had been drawn to Washington because they felt that they could lead a life of ease there. Others had secured minor government positions, and still another large class was there in the hope of securing Federal positions. A number of colored mensome of them very strong and brilliantwere in the House of Representatives at that time, and one, the Hon. B. K. Bruce, was in the Senate. All this tended to make Washington an attractive place for members of the colored race. Then, too, they knew that at all times they could have the protection of the law in the District of Columbia. The public schools in Washington for colored people were better then than they were elsewhere. I took great interest in studying the life of our people there closely at that time. I found that while among them there was a large element of substantial, worthy citizens, there

was also a super

of this class had little ambition to create a position for themselves, but wanted the Federal officials to create one for them. How many times I wished then, and have often wished since, that by some power of magic I might remove the great bulk of these people into the country districts and plant them upon the soil, upon the solid and never deceptive foundation of Mother Nature, where all nations and races that have ever succeeded have gotten their start, a start that at first may be slow and toilsome, but one that nevertheless is real.

In Washington I saw girls whose

mothers were earning their living by laundrying. These girls were taught by their mothers, in rather a crude way it is true, the industry of laundrying. Later, these girls entered the public schools and remained there perhaps six or eight years. When the public-school course was finally finished, they wanted more costly dresses, more costly hats and

the life of a large

class that greatly alarmed me. I saw young colored men who were not earning more than four dollars a week spend two dollars or more for a buggy on Sunday to ride up and down Pennsylvania Avenue in, in order that they might try to convince the world that they were worth thousands. I saw other young men who received seventy-five or one hundred dollars per month from the Government, who were in debt at the end of every month. I saw men who but a few months previous were members of Congress, then without employment and in poverty. Among a large class there seemed to be a dependence upon the Government for every conceivable thing. The members

word, while their wants had been increased, their ability to supply their wants had not been increased in the same degree. On the other hand, their six or eight years of book education had weaned them away from the occupation of their mothers. The result of this was in too many cases that the girls went to the bad. I often thought how much wiser it would have been to give these girls the same amount of mental training and I favor any kind of training, whether in the languages or mathematics, that gives strength and culture to the mind-but at the same time to give them the most thorough training in the latest and best methods of laundrying and other kindred occupations.

W

ITHIN the Kremlin of Tula, the Russian Sheffield, stand hundreds of Russian laborers with saw or pickax, mason's or locksmith's tools, waiting a chance to earn their daily bread. I stepped among these men, who live but some ten miles from Count Tolstoï's residence at Yasna Polyana, and asked one after the other if he knew Count Tolstoï and what he knew about him. One said, "Yes; I see him walking in Tula many a time. He is a nice old man. They say he writes books, but I have never read any of them, and I do not know what they are about." Another, who scarcely knew his name, was very much astonished when I told him that I came from America to visit this man whose name had gone all over the world. Another threw up his hands in astonishment when I told him that Count Tolstoï lives the life of a poor man, though he might be rich, and that he could earn countless rubles by his pen, but that,

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instead, he prefers to let his books go out into the world without money and without price. One man, who seemed more intelligent than the rest, after being assured, by careful scrutiny of me, that I was not a Russian spy, told me that he and his comrades, who had read something of the Social Democratic movement, and had secretly organized themselves into a society, had gone out to see Count Tolstoï because they considered him one of their own. When they laid before him their programme and asked his advice, he said to them, as he says to all: "The first thing for you to do is to sacrifice; to ask nothing and give everything." "And, of course,' continued the workingman, "we went away disappointed."

The advice one receives in Tula as to the best way to reach Count Tolstoï's home varies with the persons you ask about him. The police will tell you that you must not go at all; the hack-drivers will tell you that it is an endless distance out in the

country; and Baedeker, faultless Baedeker, will lead you astray. The best way to go is to take the train to Yasna, where dozens of drivers are ready to take you to Yasna Polyana, and who instinctively know that you are an American and that you wish to see the Count. I was fortunate enough to be recognized by the driver who took me the selfsame way five years ago-the same burly, good-natured Istvornick, whose telega had seemingly not been dusted or oiled since I last used it, and certainly not washed, which last thing might be said of the driver also.

The nearer you come to the village, which lies asleep behind beech woods, the more you feel how sacred each spot has become to any one who has kept in touch with the life and literature of the Count. The village showed some improvement. There were a number of brick houses in course of erection, and the inhabitants seemed to me a little more washed than they did five years ago. The residence of the Count lies at the foot of the village, buried within the park where giant oaks hide it completely.

I hardly had jumped from my telega when the Count, surrounded by his family,

appeared, and, after a hearty greeting, asked me immediately to accompany him upon his evening walk. I gladly acquiesced, and side by side we walked through the park, across fields and pastures, accompanied by the Count's favorite dog-" his only sin," as he calls it, whose welcome to the stranger was no less hearty than that of the master. Peace, which is more than happiness, was everywhere. The village laborers were coming from their fields, and, with happy, smiling faces, gave us their evening greetings. These strong children of the soil seemed to revere their master who called himself their brother, but before whom, nevertheless, they bowed respectfully and reverently. Every word they spoke to him in answer to his questions seemed freighted by love, and each man and woman seemed to be anxious about his health. Although the Count is now seventy-three years of age, his step is still elastic and firm, and he showed no traces of his recent illness. I gave him greetings from friends. in America, and expressed my delight at his recovery. "Oh, why are you glad? Life is a passing away, and my time will come too." He said this with no sadness

in his tone, and with a look toward the sinking sun, which look revealed no fear of the future and some longing for it. "Did you say," he continued, "that some of my friends want to know what I think about the future life? True life is immortal, and I have no fear of the grave."

When I told him a great many complimentary things regarding his books and his influence upon men, he seemed pleased, but anxious to change the subject of our conversation. To the question in regard to his present literary activity he answered that he had just finished a book which will be called "The New Slavery," and which will deal with industrial and social problems. It will be a direct attack upon the German Social Democratic movement, and he will try to prove that if they succeed in carrying out their programme they will fall into a worse slavery. The Count thinks Socialists great enemies of the kingdom of God, and after I expressed my astonishment at this assertion he replied: "Socialism differs from the slavery of the past only in this: the priests and masters of the past said,

words: "I just parted from a number of workers from Tula who have been impregnated by Marxism, and they came to me with a question akin to that asked of Christ, 'Master, what shall we do to inherit freedom and property?' and I could say nothing to them but what Christ said, 'Sacrifice.' There is the only solution; not laws, not organizations, not force of any kind-only sacrifice. Just as soon as a man is working for himself only, he is working for this new slavery. Socialism is organized selfishness. The future belongs, not to what you call Christian Socialism, but to what I call Christian Anarchy." He saw a look of disapproval

on my face, and quickly said, "Oh, no; not terrorismthat is not Christian, certainly; but anarchy. The word," he said, "sounds terrible, but we will get used to it, as we have gotten used to the just as terrible word socialism. In future years there will be no king, no president, no soldiers, no force of any kind, and that is anarchy: where a man does everything because he wants to, and nothing because he has to. At the root of all evil is the use of force. It begets strikes and wars, it makes prisons and gallows necessary, and just as soon as you obey the commandment of Jesus we will have no war, no prisons, no police, and the perfect Christian society. Just as if you should say, 'There shall be no interest on money,' all the banks would disappear; just so soon will all social evil disappear when you say, and mean all you say, Thou shalt not kill.' It is a pity," he continued, "that Moses gave ten commandments. It would have been much better if he had given only these three, Thou shalt not kill,' Thou shalt not steal,' and then the seventh commandment-what is that seventh commandment?"-he said, and beat himself upon the forehead, saying, "Oh,

'You are slaves now and must remain slaves; but there is a future life; there you will be free and happy regardless of what kind of life you live here.' The Socialist also promises a heaven for the future, and Bellamy's apocalyptic vision is his promise to his followers. The Socialist says in substance, It doesn't matter what you do now and how you live now; some day in the future, when we make laws enough, you will have a heaven upon earth, streets of gold and gates of pearl.' That, certainly, is no solution of the social problem," he continued. "It is not what a man will get out of society now, or in the future. It is what will he sacrifice now for the future." He then narrated to me the story I had heard from the lips of the Tula workingmen, and these are his