them both, even though we cannot reduce them to harmony. That is the attitude of Calvinism toward the doctrines of the sovereignty of God and the freedom of man. It can hardly be denied that upon the face of Scripture both appear, and that to eliminate either is, if not to do violence to the words of Scripture, at least to turn them from their natural and obvious meaning. There are three possible positions that may be assumed. I. Fatalism. God's sovereignty denies man's freedom. Hyper-Calvinism approaches the faith of Islam. 2. Arminianism. Man's freedom abridges God's sovereignty. 3. Calvinism. God's purpose respects man's freedom, man's freedom fulfils God's purpose. God is sovereign, man is free. Without entering upon the vexed question of the nature and limits of the freedom of the human will, or rather of the human soul, of which the will is only a single faculty, it is sufficient for our purpose to observe that the Calvinist goes with the Arminian in carrying the freedom of man to the point of moral responsibility. It is further true, indeed, that Calvinism recognizes the freedom of man, emphasizes the sovereignty of God. That it does not undertake to reconcile these apparently discordant doctrines is a weakness, if such it be, that Calvinism must be content to share with the Word of God.

But while these questions are important, they are not vital either to religion or to theology, the science of religion. The essential truths of the Gospel are few and simple, and in them the Church of Christ must find its unity. The greater number of the branches into which the Church is divided can show no sufficient reason for existence. There are possible only a very few distinct forms of polity. All besides are only modifications of one or other of these original types. There are simply not enough points of doctrine or of polity to go round, unless we accept the mathematical definition of a point, as that which has no magnitude. Set the Confession over against any other evangeli

cal creed, even those which diverge most widely from the system which it embodies, and the points of agreement are far more numerous and weighty than the points of differTo the greater part of the teaching of our Confession the staunchest Arminian will respond with a hearty Amen.

ence.

Time will not suffer me to speak of the Catechisms, which present the same system of doctrine in the form of question and answer. The definitions which they furnish of such conceptions as God, sin, effectual calling, faith, repentance, justification, adoption, sanctification, sacrament, baptism, the Lord's Supper, prayer, are models of accuracy, clearness and precision. He who has mastered them is in possession of a theological equipment of the highest value. And it must be remarked that the catechetical method of instruction has been approved and employed by the wisest teachers of all time and of every people, and is commended by universal experience. To train our children in the Catechism is to set them in the way of clear thinking and holy living.

The Confession is not a polemic tractate. In spirit and intent it is not merely or mainly controversial. If that had been its character, it might long since have been remanded to that historical museum where so many pieces of theological ordinance are stored away, that have fought their battles, and are consigned to silence and oblivion. Because it is more than a controversial pamphlet, because it is a compact, logical, complete exposition of that system of doctrine which was taught by Calvin, by Augustine, by Paul, inwrought as we believe with the whole texture of Scripture truth, however it may be modified in detail, in its essential features it will remain unshaken while the world stands, to magnify the wisdom and the grace of God.

Baltimore, Md.

J. RITCHIE SMITH.

III. LANIER AS A POET.

Poetry in the South since the Civil War has been almost a neglected field of literature. Prose writers such as Joel Chandler Harris, George W. Cable, James Lane Allen, Richard Malcolm Johnston, Thomas Nelson Page and others of less note have flourished and seem to have absorbed the entire interest of the reading public. But of poetry there has been a dearth. Of the few poets who have warbled forth their songs only two or three have risen to anything like a conspicuous place in American literature.

Whether Poe's conviction that there was no equal chance for the native Southern poets be the true explanation of this fact or not, it would be idle here to discuss. The fact remains that since the Civil War there has been but one poet of renown in the South, and that poet was Sidney Lanier. Perhaps the ardent admirers of Timrod and of Paul Hamilton Hayne, "the poet laureate of the South," as his enthusiastic devotees, with more zeal than knowledge, are pleased to style him, would not permit this statement to pass unchallenged. Timrod's claim may be dismissed with the remark that he cannot properly be considered, as his premature death in 1867 closed his brief but promising career almost synchronously with the war. Of Hayne it may be said that he is not known outside of his own country and not very widely known even in America. It is significant to note here that when a few years ago Mr. Edmund Gosse, an eminent English critic and literateur, contributed to the Forum an essay upon the somewhat invidious question, "Has America produced a poet?" he made no mention whatsoever of Hayne (or of Timrod either, for the matter of that), but he did consider Lanier's claim to the distinction of being a poet.

It is the purpose of the present paper to consider Sidney Lanier as a poet.

Lanier was born at Macon, Georgia, on the third of February, 1842. From his parents he inherited his passion for music and poetry, for both on father's and mother's side the love of these two kindred arts dates so far back in the families as to amount to a traditional characteristic. So pronounced was Sidney's love for music that when only a child, his biographer tells us, "he learned to play almost without instruction, on every kind of instrument he could find; and while yet a boy he played the flute, organ, piano, violin, guitar and banjo, especially devoting himself to the flute in deference to his father, who feared for him the powerful fascination of the violin. For it was the violin-voice that, above all others, commanded his soul. He has related that during his college days, it would sometimes so exalt him in rapture that presently he would sink from his solitary music-worship into a deep trance, thence to awaken, alone, on the floor of his room, sorely shaken in nerve." It is not, therefore, surprising that Lanier followed music as his profession in life, since his love for it even from childhood amounted to a passion. The effect, too, of his all-absorbing passion for music upon his poetry is quite pronounced. Whether he would have devoted himself wholly to music or to poetry, had he found some Maecenas to provide for his material wants, it would be impossible to say. Certain it is that his res augusta domi prevented the full fruition of his passionate love of either music or poetry, by degrading the products of his genius to the sordid level of their commercial value, in order to enable him to eke out a living for himself and his family. Alas, too often has nature imposed so severe a condition of existence upon her sons of genius.

Even in his college days he felt the drawing influence of the two kindred arts of music and poetry upon his soul; and concerning his vocation in life he says in his college

note-book: "The point I wish to settle is merely, by what method shall I ascertain what I am fit for, as preliminary to ascertaining God's will with reference to me; or what my inclinations are as preliminary to ascertaining what my capacities are; that is, what I am fit for. I am more than all perplexed by this fact, that the prime inclination, that is, natural bent (which I have checked, though) of my nature is to music; and for that I have the greatest talent; indeed, not boasting, for God gave it me, I have an extraordinary musical talent and feel it within me plainly that I could rise as high as any composer. But I cannot bring myself to believe that I was intended for a musician, because it seems so small a business in comparison with other things which, it seems to me, I might do."

I think it was Lanier's weakness, if that is not too strong a word to use, that he could not definitely make up his mind whether he was intended for a musician or a poet. He felt both passions in his soul struggling for utterance. Or, as Stedman has beautifully expressed it, “in him the sister-spirits of Music and Poesy contended with a rivalry as strong as that between 'twin daughters of one race,' both loving and both worshipped by one whom death too soon removed while he strove to perfect their reconciliation." Had he been able to determine in his early life, once for all, that nature intended him for a musician, like Paganini, he might have moved vast audiences to rapturous delight by the soul-stirring music of his violin. But then we should have been deprived of much fine, graceful poetry which adorns and enriches American literature. On the other hand, if he had followed, untrammelled, his literary bent and poetic taste, he would probably have produced more copious and spontaneous verses and of a supernal beauty. In short, had he been less of a musician, he would probably have been more of a poet. Even as it was, he has left us much poetry that is destined to something more than a fugitive existence, yea to an immortality as endur