I have been a praying man all the fifty-two years of my life. I observe stated daily times of prayer; but, far more than that, I have for years sought to maintain an attitude of prayer, by which I mean that I consciously make an effort to open my mind and spirit to any impression which the divine Spirit may be willing to make upon me.

Many of the things about which I have prayed have come to pass, but never in such a way that I could trace the relation of cause and effect and say that so and so has come to pass because I prayed. As far as I can see, the value of prayer has been altogether subjective. As far as the practical events of life are concerned, they would have come to pass as they have whether or not I have prayed. In fact, the same holds true largely in what is commonly called the spiritual sphere. And there is the whole problem of intercessory prayer! When one prays for the safety or, for that matter, for the spiritual enlightenment of some one else, is any relation between what follows and the intercessory prayer provable? P. S.

A

LL that it is possible for me to do in this brief article is to touch upon one point respecting prayer, which seems to me of vital importance, and recommend a little volume by Dr. Harry Emerson Fosdick, entitled "The Meaning of Prayer," to you and to any of my readers who are perplexed--as who has not been at times?— by your problem.

In this little volume Dr. Fosdick notes the distinction between the two prayers of the Prodigal Son, "Give me " and "Make me."

And he said, A certain man had two sons: and the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of thy substance that falleth to me. And he divided unto them his living. And not many days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country; and there he wasted his substance with riotous living. . . . But when he came to himself, he said, How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, and I perish here with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight: I am no more worthy to be called

1 The Meaning of Prayer. By Harry Emerson Fosdick. Young Men's Christian Association Press.

thy son make me as one of thy hired serv

ants.

The father in the parable gave the son what he asked for: "He divided unto them his living." But when the son returned the father made him what he had not asked for. He asked to be made a hired servant; he was made a son: "This my son was dead, and is alive again."

The Bible contains many illustrations of these two kinds of prayer. Jacob, fleeing in exile from his home, where he has cheated his aged father and robbed his twin brother, sees in his sleep a ladder reaching from earth to heaven and the angels of God ascending and descending upon it. The vision does not suggest to him that heaven and earth are one, and that the celestial spirit may be carried into earthly affairs. It only suggests to him that perhaps he can get the aid of celestial powers to win for him the successful achievement of his sordid ambitions, and he makes a vow, saying:

If God will be with me, and will keep me in this way that I go, and will give me bread to eat, and raiment to put on, so that I come again to my father's house in peace, and Jehovah will be my God, then this stone, which I have set up for a pillar, shall be God's house; and of all that thou shalt give me I will surely give the tenth unto thee.

Contrast with this Paul's prayer for his fellow-Christians in Ephesus :

For this cause I bow my knees unto the Father from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, that he would grant you, according to the riches of his glory, that ye may be strengthened with power through his spirit in the inward man, . . . that ye may be filled with all the fullness of God.

...

Jacob's prayer is, Give me; Paul's prayer is, Make me.

Paul himself illustrates both kinds of prayer: the prayer for physical succor from pain; the prayer for spiritual wisdom and strength to gain a larger life through the ministry of pain. Tormented by a thorn in the flesh, he prayed earnestly that it might depart from him. Give me, was his cry, and the relief he asked was not given. Then he changed his prayer

to a thanksgiving for the physical infirmity from which he had sought rescue, because in that physical infirmity the power of God's helpful companionship was made manifest: "Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong."

Our real prayers are cur supreme masterful desires. Not what we ask for are our prayers, but what we strive for. The masterful desire of the Preacher-King was for knowledge and pleasure and houses and vineyards and gardens and orchards and silver and gold and men singers and women singers and musical instruments of all sorts; and this lifelong prayer was granted. His life prayer was, Give me; and at the end he hated all the labor which he had taken under the sun and counted his life a vanity made of vanities. The prayer of the Psalm singer of Israel was, Make me: "Search me, O God, and know my heart; try me, and know my thoughts: and see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting." And he reports what had been the answer to this prayer:

How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God!

How great is the sum of them!

If I should count them, they are more in number than the sand:

When I awake, I am still with thee.

The Bible justifies praying for things. To substantiate this assertion we need nothing more than the petition in the Lord's Prayer, "Give us this day our daily bread." Experience is called upon in religious books and addresses on prayer to prove that this request for things is often offered not in vain. But certainly it does not always bring the thing desired.

If the Master taught us that we may ask our heavenly Father for good gifts, he also taught us in more than one par

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able that the kingdom of heaven is like an estate which the landlord puts in the charge of his servants while he goes into a far country, leaving the responsibilities of the estate upon them. God often throws us on our own resources. Even the prayer, Give us our daily bread, he answers by giving us, not a loaf, but a fruitful soil. I think it is Mrs. Stowe who has said that "No" is as much an answer as "Yes." God often answers our request with "No" and we mistakenly call our prayers 66 unanswered prayers." The Master in Gethsemane prayed, "Let this cup pass from me," and the answer was, "It cannot pass from thee;" and the Master accepted the answer, though it was brought to him by the traitor Judas.

But that the other prayer, the prayer "Make me what thou desirest me to be," is answered by wisdom, strength, and comfort bestowed is attested by a mass of testimony quite sufficient to establish the fact in any court of justice or for any expert in historical research. The question most discussed by skeptics is, Docs God give us things in answer to prayer? The faith of the devout soul is that God is our great companion, with whom we may live in intimate fellowship and from whose unvoiced but not unexpressed friendship we derive a clearness of vision freed from our low and selfish desires, a strength which makes us wish to share with our Master the pains and perils of our great campaign, and that soldierly joy in self-sacrifice which is more than comfort. The Father does not promise that his children, if they cry unto him, shall not pass through cleansing waters and purging fires; what he promises is, "When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee; when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee."

Of intercessory prayer for others I may write at some future time.

The Knoll, Cornwall-on-Hudson.

T

HE boys called themselves "the Push," and it seemed an appropriate name, as they wedged themselves through to the front of any crowd-" Dago," "Sheeny," "Mick," and "Nigger "-forced on in a jammed mass by pressure from behind.

The Push was made up of very individual entities, closely as these might stick together against a common enemy. Their nicknames indicated this individuality. "Happy Hooligan," "Chicken," "Stilts, "Chicken," "Stilts," "Buffalo," "Monkey," were recognizable at a glance. Other names were easily explained-" Beeswax for the son of a German cobbler, "Duds" for the small boy from the rag-shop, "Pickles" for the lad from the Heinz factory, "Hoochty Woocht," a satirical substitute for an unpronounceable Slavic name, and "Streaks" for the Irish messenger boy. They were a formidable group, whose deeds were often done in darkness. Their language was such as might be acquired by eavesdropping around saloons, umpiring teamsters' fights, and culling the pages of sport and crime in the yellow journals of fact and fiction. Many of their games were savage, especially the "Indian Gauntlet," in which one by one they would run between a double line of braves who took "cracks" at their defenseless faces and heads with caps, leather ball-gloves, book-straps, geographies, or other implements of torture ruled "fair" by the "Big Chief." When first we knew them they seemed friendly Indians, glad to help in community tasks, such as cleaning up and fencing in a vacant lot for gardening purposes. They knew where to get implements of peace as well as of war. Wheelbarrows, spades, brooms, baskets, and boards were easily available in a neighborhood used to doing its own work. Hammers, saws, putty, rope, nails, and wire seemed to drop like gentle rain from heaven. It was well to question the sources of these supplies before utilizing them, however. And eagerness to help sometimes rose to a frenzy which was impossible to control from the outside and must be directed by the "strong men" of the Push itself. A lack of tact

or justice in a neighbor resulted in broken windows, mud-clogged doors, derailed fences, tarred sidewalks. A popular neighbor, on the other hand, had but to step to the door to enlist from three to ten willing and efficient servants. On the whole, in the beginning, the Push was a just, nay, a generous body, though kindergarten methods were neither practiced nor understood by its members.

Streaks was their acknowledged leader. Although only twelve when first we knew him, he was streaking in the wrong direction. Wan, thin, and hoarse, he usually was without an overcoat and wore shoes split so that the cold slush oozed through. The sole support of a mother and two younger children, he ran errands as district messenger from four in the afternoon until twelve, one, and two o'clock at night, his sharp little greenish eyes missing none of the sights of the night life to which he ministered. His plausible speech foretold an easy following in his father's footsteps down the side-cuts of life to the bridewell. Having a vivid mind and opportunities for observation in extraordinary realms, Streaks was easily the center of interest in the few hours he could spend with his pals. His influence, powerful from the first, became supreme after he acquired the cigarette habit and a police court record.

The Push had arrived at the lead-pipestealing stage when Policeman O'Dowd was assigned to our beat. "Cheese the new cop!" cried they.

The "new cop" was especially detailed to a settlement playground just opened for the district. At once he enlisted the brains and brawn of every boy in our parts for the construction of additions to the meager original equipment of the place. Soon it became a common ambition to evoke the reluctant approval of the taciturn and mighty O'Dowd, whose standards of efficiency were high. There were swing-seats, " teeter-tauters," and turning bars to be planed and sand-papered; ropes to be fitted and fastened; benches to be built; short-jump and long-jump markers measured for, sunk, and braced; tally-boards to be propped. A day's work with O'Dowd

left the group "all in" as to physical strength, and mentally entirely absorbed with reminiscences of past humiliations and triumphs, or anticipation of future accomplishments and glory.

Next followed tests for the "strength grades." Right here it was that Streaks lost his grip on the popular imagination. With mortification he "fluked the stunts" which even "third-class men" could "pull off." Competitors in running and jumping contests developed a lofty scorn for the "cigarette fiend." Vainly he hung around the outskirts of the playground sounding his shrill, once magic, finger-whistle. Sorrowfully he slunk off alone to reflect upon the fickleness of the crowd. To achieve the height, breadth, and chestiness of O'Dowd had become the paramount aim of his former admirers.

O'Dowd, biding the proper time, at length went in search of his fallen rival to ask his aid in hammock-making. Years before the big policeman had been a sailor, and now came his chance to utilize an old knack, to point the moral that strength was not all a "feller" needs. Deftness, too, he demonstrated, was worth cultivating. Soon Streaks

became an adept in weaving hammocks and basket-ball nets. The Push paused in its running, turning, climbing, and hand-springing to form an envious ring awaiting an opportunity to get in on the new game." Gradu

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ally each was pressed into service. There were rope ladders to be constructed, tennis nets and rackets to be mended, cradle-swings to be woven, May-pole twists to be fashioned, besides innumerable sailors' knots to be practiced and mastered.

All the while the imagination of the youths was stirred by old sailors' tales, full of the color and music and poetry of the sea, with its hidden depths and mystical treasures; and yarns of bravery and unselfish devotion held the circle wonder-struck, while new veins of interest and character were opened up in the minds of the maturing lads.

Streaks excelled all the rest in skill with string and rope. Moreover, his superior imagination, responding to the stimulus of O'Dowd's sea tales, wove romances that later formed the basis of games and corner vaudeville" stunts" through which first he regained leadership over his companions and later acquired a position in the "movies."

My last recollection of the boys was of a much washed and combed group, sitting by right of conquest in the front row of a settlement "movie and serving as fans for Streaks, who was shown on the screen enacting a highly moral part. As I studied their alert faces and sturdy forms that evening O'Dowd's influence was plainly discernible. I was ready to agree with him that at last the chances in life of the Push had become fully "fifty-fifty."

BEER NO CURE FOR ALCOHOLISM

We, the undersigned members of the Unitarian Temperance Society, ask space in your pages to enter a protest against articles now flooding the press written apparently to keep intact the business of the breweries by constantly affirming that prohibition is always a failure and beer well-nigh harmless. Typical of such literature is "Alcohol and Society," by John Koren, written originally for the "Atlantic Monthly."

We protest against the idea that beer is the cure for the drink evil. Distilled liquors were not used to any extent for beverage purposes in England until about the time of Henry VIII, and yet we all know that England was cursed with drunkenness from ale and wine long ere this. Not only does beer cause drunkenness, it also leads to immoderate drinking. Take, for example, the fact that in Germany the extreme accessibility of beer has so fostered the taste

for alcohol that Germany is no longer primarily a beer-drinking country, forty-nine per cent of her consumption being (according to Gabrielssohn's well-known figures) distilled liquors. Says Professor Gustav von Bunge, “Beer in Germany is worse than the whisky pest, because more apt to lead to immoderate drinking."

As for the non-hygienic, disease-making quality of beer, we refer the reader to Professor Bollinger's researches; he found, among other things, that in Munich, Germany, one out of every sixteen hospital patients died of beerdrinker's heart.

We note in some of these articles that beer below two and one-fourth per cent becomes harmless. But Mr. Mjven, from whom the " Brewers' Year Book" draws this conclusion, says that he found this solution apparently harmless as far as digestion went, but adds that the point where alcohol becomes altogether harmless is a purely

technical one and should in no way stay the hand of temperance workers. The amount is so small as to be practically negligible for ordinary beverage purposes.

Moreover, Georgia tried from 1908-16 a 66 near or light beer experiment, but gave it up, because, according to Judge Broyles, of Atlanta, a light-beer law is unenforceable, as you cannot have a chemist with every barrel to see that the beer is light.

As for assertions giving the impression that the case against moderate drinking is not proved, we believe that Dr. Benedict, at the Carnegie Nutrition Laboratory, Boston, has proved beyond cavil that thirty to forty-five cubic centimeters of alcohol (about a wineglass of whisky) "slows down " neuro-muscular action. As for prohibition being nowhere successful, we refer our friends to the recent survey made by the State University at Kansas showing that in 1913-14 the per capita consumption of Kansas was eighty-six per cent less than that of the country at large.

Charles Stearns.
Christopher R. Eliot.
Courtenay Guild.
John J. Holmes.
Charles F. Dale.
Alice Higgins Lothrop.
Frederick Gill.
William H. Parker.

Elizabeth Tilton.

Lyman Rutledge.
Eugene Shippen.
Joseph Crooker.
Samuel Maxwell.
Elmer Forbes.
Thomas Elliot.
Abbot Peterson.
Mrs. Frank L. Young.
Edgar Weirs.

"DARKNESS MADE LIGHT"

Thursday evening, August 3, the Exchange and Training School for the Blind, 110 Livingston Street, Brooklyn, New York, was totally destroyed by fire. Many blind people of Brooklyn have received financial benefit from this agency. The darkness which has fallen upon the blind youth and the blind man has not obliterated the eagerness for self-support.

The blind workers must have another workshop. Making a living is not an easy thing for any young person. To any one who has found the way especially hard the fight of the sight-. less for self-support must make a strong appeal. Contributions may be sent to the Brooklyn Association for Improving the Condition of the Poor, 104 Livingston Street, under the auspices of which Association the workshop is maintained.

THAT LITTLE COUNTRY SCHOOL As a summer resident of many years a few miles from the country school of which Miss Smith writes so pleasantly [The Outlook, July 26, 1916] and which she has taught so well, I should like to give my testimony to her ability as seen in one result.

Through these years I have watched the development of one scholar in many ways, but

last summer I was most agreeably surprised in one of our conversations-well, suppose I repeat it for you as nearly as I can recall it; the child was then ten years old:

"We have a good teacher now. We have pictures; one of them is 'Aurora.'

"The only Aurora' I know is Guido's."

"This is Guido's. Some of them like it best because it has bright colors, but I like 'Sir Galahad' best."

"Do you know who wrote about Sir Galahad ?"

"Oh, yes, Tennyson. My strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure.' And we have The Sower.'" When this was described and the artist's name given, I spoke of

"Do you know what nations are at war?" Instantly came the names of the Central Powers, and just as easily those of the Allies. And when I spoke of the relationship of the sovereigns, saying how much the Czar resembled King George, "Don't he, though!" came promptly, showing that she knew for herself. "Have you studied about this in school?" Oh, we have 'Current Events."" There was more in like fashion, with all of which I entertained our club at home later.

Not until I saw Miss Smith's article in a late Outlook did I know who had done all this for these children.

Later, one bright, beautiful morning, when the child came on an errand for her father, and I said, "Isn't it good to be alive!" her face lighted up. She said, "I know some lines that end so," but they wouldn't come at her call. I told her how they were nicely laid away in her brain and would come, and then she could tell me. So a day or two ago she came joyfully in, saying, "They came while I was washing dishes." Here they are:

"Here and yonder, high and low,
Goldenrod and sunflowers glow.
Here and there a maple flushes,
Sumach reddens, woodbine blushes,
Purple asters bloom and thrive.
I am glad that I'm alive!"

Tolland, Massachusetts.

C. A. H.

RUSSIAN AND AMERICAN HIGH SCHOOLS

In The Outlook of July 19 I read an article by Isaac Levine on the relative values of the Russian and American high schools that interested me very much, for I also have been a student in the Russian gymnasia, and am now a student in an American high school.

The chief points in the article are these two: (1) the American school needs a new force of teachers and a centralized form of government; (2) the American school is governed by a spirit