Church a large following among the youth, and impaired its influence with men and women of strong convictions. Let us be admonished by the ancient word: "If the trumpet give forth an uncertain sound, who shall prepare himself to the battle?" At such a time as the present the very security of the Church as an institution is imperiled and no undue conceit or assurance can save it from loss of prestige and power. Says a brilliant English preacher as he surveys the situation: "Unless the Church is a means towards the sanctifying of common life, unless our worship here is a means to make every place and every time a time with God in His presence, unless our prayers and our sacraments help us to hallow the whole of the rest of our lives, unless our Eucharist helps us to see every common meal as a sacrament, unless the consecration of our churches helps us to consecrate every house and dwelling and shop and street, then we had better not have a church at all; for we are falling into the grievous error of making certain things sacred at the cost of making everything else profane." Startling words these, but not too startling to one who really senses the situation. Only as we evaluate the facts in the case, only as we come to fully realize the comparatively small influence which the Church is exercising over the habits and customs of the time, can we appreciate the demand for a bolder presentation of its claims.

You and I believe that Jesus Christ is the supremest need of the hour, that without Him, civilization with all its accumulated treasures is jeopardized. We believe that His teachings, unobscured and undiluted by our conceits, we are solemnly bound to present to men, whether they like them or not.

The demand for more and better preaching, for more courageous preaching, is urgently recognized. It has lost none of its power, and where it is exercised men heed it. It is a first century gospel adapted to twentieth century needs, and interpreted in twentieth century language that is demanded. The Archbishop of Canterbury has, in a memorable utterance, set this before the clergy of the English Church, and even the gloomy Dean of St. Paul's makes bold to say that, even if the golden age of preaching is past, there is an insistent demand for the informed, equipped and inspired prophets to-day. So

far as in me lies, I call my brethren to a fresh recognition of the prophet's place and power. I beg them to give increasing heed to their pulpit ministry. I urge them to attack with the vitalizing gospel of Christ, the body and soul destroying evils of the present hour. I press upon them the high and holy claims of a ministry that demands, first of all, a passion for souls. I plead with the great body of laity to be true to their Church's ideals, to avoid all appearance of evil; to boldly rebuke habits and practices, however popular they may be, that contravene the law of Christ; to stand forth against any and all customs that are unwholesome, unclean and indecent. The salt has not lost its savor, and a small group of high minded and courageous men and women have repeatedly saved a situation that was grave and threatening. The hour has struck for an aggressive crusade for Christ and His Church; it calls for the most complete consecration, the highest and finest and most discriminating intelligence, and a courage that reckons not life dear unto itself, that His Kingdom may come and His will may be done among men.

CASS GILBERT

SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN

The following address is a tribute from a great American architect of the present to the greatest English architect of the past. It was given at the College of William and Mary, Williamsburg, Virginia, October 20, 1923. Cass Gilbert stands at the head of the profession of architects. He is most widely known as the creator of the Woolworth building, but many great and beautiful buildings throughout the country testify to his skill. He has received many honors at home and abroad, among them the gold medal of the National Institute of Arts and Letters.

WHEN one approaches London, from any direction, the great dominant note in the landscape is St. Paul's Cathedral. From afar its huge gray dome and golden cross is flung aloft above all of its surroundings. Be it in the early morning when the first glowing ray of the sun forms it into something more than a vast pattern against the sky, gives it rotundity and color and molds its noble lines anew in light and shade. Or, be it at noonday when the roaring human tide of traffic sweeps around its base and high above the crowded street it rises serene and still, perchance in the full glare of a summer sky, perchance shrouded in mists like some great headland on the coast. Or, be it in the evening when the setting sun rests lovingly and gently on its venerable form and it seems to proclaim a benediction of peace on the vast multitude below, or, yet at last in the stillness of the night, when, rising into the dark, its vast bulk seems to melt away into the starry sky; the street lamps at its base casting shadows upward that prolong its height and increase the sense of solemn mystery and power that is there. By day or night, in sunshine or in mist, visible or veiled it looms there still, as the very symbol of London. There enshrined lie many of the heroic dead of England and rever