and vote in the council, and the proposal will be heard on its own merits until someone says, "That violates the principles of 'separation of powers.' There you have legislative and executive functions united," and with the advent of the catch phrase, it is deemed the duty of the proposer to bow in awed silence, as if the argument were ended.

Propose to make the office of state engineer appointive on the ground that the plan of having him elected has worked badly, and the word "undemocratic" falls like a gavel to end the discussion. Plead that a referendum on a technical subject is little better than leaving the decision to chance, and the query, "Don't you trust the people?" is supposed to retire you in confusion. Robert Louis Stevenson was right when he said, "Man shall not live by bread alone, but principally by catch phrases." Take, for example, the greatest of all catch phrases— namely, "the people," pronounced "pee-pul"! Or, worse yet, "the plain peepul," who I believe have certain supernatural virtues not possessed by others. It is lese majesté to allege that there are any limitations to the people in either morals or learning. How can one get a viewpoint from which only the fundamental features are in view-as long as people hold such ideas?

They are the architects of greatness. Their vision lies within their souls. They never see the mirages of fact, but peer beyond the veil and mist of doubt. They are the Argonauts-the seekers of the priceless fleece. They dare uncharted seas, for they are the makers of charts; and with only cloth of courage at their masts, and with no compass save their dreams, they sail undaunted to the far, blind shore.

Makers of empire, they fought for bigger things than crowns, for higher seats than thrones. Fanfare, pageant, the right to rule, the will to love, are not the fires that wrought their resolution into steel. Their brains have wrought all human miracles. In lace of stone their spires stab the old-world skies, and with their crosses kiss the sun. The belted wheel, the trail of steel, the churning screw—are but the shuttle of the loom on which they weave their magic tapestries. A flash of light in the darkness leaps league on league of snarling seas and cries to shore for help. Their tunnels bore the river-beds and join the islands to the mother-land. Their wings of canvas beat the air and add the highway of the eagle to the paths of men. A God-hewn voice wells from a disc of glue and swells from out a throat of brass to live beyond the maker of the song-because a dreamer dreamed.

They are the chosen few, the blazers of the way, who never wear doubt's bandage on their eyes, who chill and starve and hurt, but hold to courage and to hope, because they know that there is always proof of truth to him who will but try; and that only cowardice and lack of faith can keep a seeker from his chosen goal; and that if he be strong enough, and dream enough, and dream it hard enough, he can attain, no matter where men have failed before.

Walls crumble, empires pass away, the tidal wave sweeps in and tears away the fortress from its rock. The rotting nations drop from off time's bough,-and only things which dreamers make live on.

280. AN ALLEGORY OF THE CENTURIES

When the Nineteenth Century died, its Spirit descended into the vaulted chambers of the past, where the

Spirits of dead centuries sit on granite thrones together. When the newcomer entered, all turned toward him and the Spirit of the Eighteenth Century spoke: "Tell thy tale, brother. Give us word of the human kind we left to thee.

"I am the Spirit of the Wonderful Century. I gave men the mastery over nature. Discoveries and inventions, which lighted the black spaces of the past like lonely stars, have clustered in a milky way of radiance under my rule. One man now does by the touch of his hand what the toil of a thousand slaves never did. Knowledge has unlocked the mines of wealth, and the hoarded wealth of today creates the vaster wealth of tomorrow. Man has escaped the slavery of Necessity, and is free.

"I freed the thoughts of men. They face the facts and know. Their knowledge is common to all. The deeds of the East at eve are known to the West at morn. They send their whispers under the seas and across the clouds.

"I broke the chains of Bigotry and Despotism. I made men free and equal. Every man feels the worth of his manhood.

"I have touched the summit of History. I did for mankind what none of you did before. They are rich. They are wise. They are free."

The Spirits of the dead Centuries sat silent, with troubled eyes. At last the Spirit of the First Century spoke for them all.

"We all spoke proudly when we came here in the flush of our deeds; and thou more proudly than we all. But as we sit and think of what was before us and what has come after us, shame and guilt bear down our pride. Your words sound as if the redemption of man had come at last. Has it come?

"You have made men rich. Tell us, are none in pain with hunger today, and none in fear of hunger for tomorrow? Do all children grow up fair of limb and trained for thought and action? Do none die before their time? Has the mastery over nature made men free to enjoy their lives and loves, and to live the higher life of the mind?

"You have made men wise. Are they wise or cunning? Have they learned to restrain their bodily passions? Have they learned to deal with their fellows in justice and love?

"You have set men free. Are there none, then, who toil for others against their will? Are all men free to do the work they love the best?

"You have made men one. Are there no barriers of class to keep man and maid apart? Do none rejoice in the cause that makes the many moan? Do men no longer spill the blood of men for their ambition, and the sweat of men for their greed?"

As the Spirit of the Nineteenth Century listened, his head sank to his breast.

"Your shame is already upon me," he said. "My great cities are as yours were; my millions live from hand to mouth. Those who toil longest have least. My thousands sink exhausted before their days are half spent. My human wreckage multiplies. Class faces class in sullen distrust. Their freedom and knowledge have only made men keener to suffer. Give me a seat among you, and let me think why it has been so."

The others turned to the Spirit of the First Century. "Your promised redemption is long in coming." "But it will come," he replied.

For a long time he lived in peace and contentment; but by degrees rumors began to reach him that he was regarded on all sides as a vulgar idiot.

The fool was abashed and began to ponder gloomily how he might put an end to these unpleasant rumors. A sudden idea, at last, illuminated his dull little brain. And, without the slightest delay, he put it into practice. A friend met him in the street, and fell to praising a well-known painter.

"Upon my word!" cried the fool, "that painter was out of date long ago. You didn't know it? I should never have expected it of you. You are quite behind the times."

The friend was alarmed, and promptly agreed with the fool.

"Such a splendid book I read yesterday," said another friend to him.

"Upon my word!" cried the fool, "I wonder you're not ashamed. That book's good for nothing; everyone's seen through it long ago. Didn't you know it? You're quite behind the times."

This friend too was alarmed, and he agreed with the fool.

"What a wonderful man N. is!" said a third friend to the fool. "Now there's a really generous creature!"

"Upon my word!" cried the fool. "N.! N., the notorious scoundrel! He swindled all his relations. Everyone knows that. You're quite behind the times."

The third friend too was alarmed, and he agreed with the fool and deserted his friend. And whoever and