ecutes.

pression to the consciousness of all who know themselves. Everyone regards each act that he performs to be his own act and not another's. He thinks, he feels, he exHe also knows, through experience and observation, that the self comes into the consciousness of itself as a being that thinks, feels, and wills, slowly and by a process of growth or education. The purpose of all education, and, indeed, of life itself, seems to be to bring into consciousness and realize in the life, to the fullest extent attainable, the undeveloped powers of the self, to think, to feel, and to do. The ancient Greeks saw this truth and declared that the chief end of man was to know himself; i. e., bring into his own consciousness, both subjective and objective, what is potential in the undeveloped self or will.

Of course, then, this self is transcendental at every stage and in every act of its development. It is the self that is thinking, feeling, and doing, and not something else.

We discover, too, that there are certain laws, more or less clearly manifested, which the self in its development ob. serves. Pedagogy is the knowledge of these laws, and the observance of them in the practice of education. Psychology is the process by which this transcendental self or ego arises from a merely potential to an actual knowledge of itself; the process by which the self comes into a conscious mastery of itself; the process by which it arises from a nonmoral to a moral being; in short, the process by which the human soul gradually changes from a being devoid of character to a man or woman conscious of a principle of life, and obedient to it in the regulation of conduct.

In our article in the April number a a distinction was made between an actualized and a potential transcendental will. The statement there made seems to have been misleading. By an actualized transcendental will we mean that ideal development in which all of the activities of self, whether as intellect, feeling, or volition, act as a unit.

one.

In our conception of the Absolute Being, intellect, feeling, and volition are The true, the beautiful, and the good in him are not three but one and the same. These are but three names of the one absolute activity, absolutely re

alized in the universe. Now, philosophy as well as religion teaches that we are all sons of God, and heirs to all that he possesses. But education declares, with Goethe:

"What from your father's heritage is lent,
Earn it anew to really possess it."

In other words, we are only potentially sons and heirs of God. To realize his perfection, to be "perfect as the father in heaven is perfect, "must be earned through infinite ages of development. In the human soul thought, feeling, and volition are not one but three, which mutually interact and influence each other. Neither is independent of or acts apart from the others. They all constitute the self or will (using the latter word in the enlarged sense in which it was used in the former article).

When a human soul has developed to the stage of deliberate choice, what actually occurs when a moral act is performed? The writer holds that it is substantially as follows:

The self as intellect imagines itself as realizing itself along each of two or more lines of action. A feeling of worth to the self arises with reference to the imagined result in each case. This feeling

is another phase of the activity of the same self that created the images. The self, as choice, selects one or the other of these lines of self realization. That this power to choose is transcendental over the power to image results, or feel their worth to self, no one can deny who regards self-activity or self-determination as the principle by which the world of nature and of man is to be explained. In other phrase, the self is essentially a will, a doer. Conscious choice and volition are the most highly developed forms of the activity of self. They are certainly transcendental over feeling and knowledge in all matters of conduct. That is, the self or ego, when it comes to the consciousness of its own power of self-determination-the most highly developed state of the soul-sees itself as free to determine between conflicting desires or to reject all. But let it be kept in mind that this transcendental freedom cannot be active except in relation to the soul's possessions, as knowledge and feeling. There is no other realm than those of intelligence and emotion where the self can exercise this transcendental freedom

This transcendental freedom is an organic element in one's life experiences, and its development we call the growth of the reason.

In this sense it is evidently true that transcendental will "is not something to be developed in the future but is already active in choice."

But it still remains true that the self as choice, is not indifferent to the self as knowledge, and the self as feeling. This triune self, as we have said, recognizes itself in these three distinct aspects or phases of activity. Choice is not indifferent to feeling though it is transcendental to it. Knowledge and feeling of worthiness are the counselors of choice. The limitations of human knowledge and the consequent undue estimate of the worth of certain ends, cause suspended judgments upon which the volition waits. The self is undecided. If the issue is a moral one, we call the deliberation a temptation. What meaning is to be attached to the "temptation in the wilderness," if there was no deliberate choice? If there was no conflict as to the relative worth of the self between the possession of the world on the one hand, and the maintenance of His integrity on the other, then the temptation in the wilderness was not a temptation, and there was no moral victory in "dismissing the evil one without thanks."

In that ideal perfection in which absolute knowledge and love (feeling) are one with deed there can be neither deliberation nor temptation. There can be then no moral acts, in the human sense of the word moral. The acts of such a being are holy, but they cannot be classed as moral. Finite imperfect man works toward this unification of his thoughts and feelings with his will, and his advancement we call the development of his character. acter. This development is hastened, not by ignoring the influence of knowledge and feeling upon choice, but by recognizing it, and striving to so relate them that the self which the will works to realize in its own subjective consciousness, and in the external world, shall be the worthiest self possible at each stage of growth. This demands that the teelings shall center upon ideals of the highest order of worth which the self can appreciate. A desire to realize these ideals is the mainspring to action. The ends which the self seeks are those which his stage of development counts as of greatest worth to him. Education cannot get away from this idea without becoming relatively a dead, lifeless, formal thing. Any conception of will which would ignore interest and knowledge in its activ. ity would certainly be unworthy of the consideration of a serious teacher.

Upon

The reign of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette began with a season of transport and of universal joy. The more the people reviled the memory of Louis XV the more they extolled the first acts of his young successor. For Louis XVI and his charming companion there were only eulogies and benedictions. the pedestal of the statue of Henry IV on the Pont-Neuf were written Resurrexit (he has risen again). A jeweler is said to have made a fortune by selling mourning snuff-boxes in which was a portrait of the queen, placed in a black case made of peau-de-chagrin bearing this play on the words: "consolation in

chagrin." The portrait of the new king was placed between those of Louis XII and Henry IV with these words: "Twelve and four are sixteen." Public enthusiasm burst out into allegories, and poems, and ingenious images. All the metaphors and all the illusions in mythology were exhausted to extol the queen, who, fortunate in her beauty, in her youth, in her crown, wrote to her mother in an outburst of joy and of gratitude, on the fourteenth of May, 1774: "I cannot but wonder at the arrangement of Providence, who has chosen me, the last of your children, for the most beautiful kingdom in Europe." Maria Theresa herself was

swept along by the general current of enthusiasm. "All the world is in ecstacy," she wrote to her daughter, on the sixteenth of June, "and there is reason for it; a king twenty years old, and a queen nineteen, with all their actions full of humanity, generosity, prudence, and sound judgment. Religion and morals so necessary to win the benediction of God and to restrain the people, are not forgotten; at last, I am happy, and I pray God that He will preserve you for the good of your people, for the world, for your family, and for your loving mother to whom you give new life. How I love France at this moment."

The people continued to be moved by the goodness of their king. A kind of virtuous and paternal tenderness was the characteristic of that period. It was claimed that Louis XVI had said to his brothers: "Kings rarely have friends; I shall depend upon you to be mine; having, if you wish, only one house and one table."

It is told of this excellent monarch that, moved by the cries of "vive le roi!" which resounded every where on his route, he had cried: "vive mon peuple."

The following anecdote is feelingly told: "An old woman wishing to see the king had thrown herself down upon her knees near the door of the church, where he must pass her in coming out. But the guard trying to prevent her from accosting him she caught hold of the king's coat. 'What is it?' he said, turning around. 'Pardi! I want to look at

you,' she said. The king stopped, took the good woman by both hands, raised her up and said: 'Eh bien! now look at me.' And the old woman wept for joy."

To sum up, the enthusiasm was boundless at Versailles and at Paris; in the cities and in the country. The nobility, the clergy, the citizens, the whole people saluted with love Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. It would have taken a seer to distinguish any dark spots in the splendor and in the azure of that clear sky.

THE DEATH OF LOUIS XVI. BY VICTOR DURUY.

After the 10th of August, 1792, the royal family were shut up in the Temple, a gloomy fortress whose great tower served as a prison. The king occupied

At

one story; the queen, Madam Elizabeth, the dauphin and his sister, another. They were together during the day. nine o'clock they breakfasted in the king's chamber. At ten the king worked with his son; the queen with her daughter. At one o'clock, if the weather permitted, all the family went to the garden, where they remained till two o'clock. Then the dinner was served, after which the king took a nap. Then they read together till supper, and after that the separation, always sad, because the adieu of each evening might be the last. All communication with the outside world was strictly prohibited. A single domestic, Cléry, performed the service within the prison and never went outside. So the prisoners could only learn. what the officers wished them to know, such as the death of their most faithful followers, or the victories of the republic, which took from them all hope. Such was the existence of the royal family in the Temple, under a painful and often outrageous surveillance. Louis XVI, better qualified for domestic life than for the throne, showed in this captivity a calmness and virtue that often touched the most hardened jailors.

The constitution declared the king inviolable and authorized no punishment against him but dethronement. Now, dethronement had already been pronounced; the legal right was then exhausted against Louis. But the situation was extreme. England menaced them; the Austrians were making the greatest efforts, and a coalition of the whole of Europe was imminent. There is a kind

of intoxication in peril; minds that are not held by an inflexible character are excited and lose themselves in the face of danger. Danton uttered these sinister words in the Assembly: "Let us throw the head of the king at them for a challenge," and the convention, acting both as accuser and judge, cited the king to appear before it on the third of December, 1792. The venerable Malesherbes, to crown a beautiful life by a beautiful action, demanded and obtained the honor of defending his old master. A young lawyer, of Sèze was the advocate. I look for judges in you," he said, "and I see only accusers. SaintJust and Robespierre accepted the situation as thus described. They did not

trouble themselves to know whether the accusations against the king were true or false; they demanded aloud his death as a measure of public safety. The Girondists made but timid efforts to save him.

Four questions had been successively submitted to vote: First, Is Louis guilty of conspiracy against public liberty; of criminal attempt against the public safety? Answered, "Yes," unanimously. Second, Shall the people be allowed to sanction by vote the act of the convention? 276 yeas out of 745 votes. Third, What punishment shall be inflicted? 387 votes for death as a common citizen; 338 for imprisonment or a royal death; 28 absent or not voting. Fourth, Shall there be any delay in the execution? 310 yeas, 380 nays. The convention ordered the execution in twenty-four hours, and on the 21st of January, 1793, Louis XVI, with a courage and a Christian resignation that posterity will never cease to admire, mounted the scaffold. He wished to say

a few words to the people, but the beating of drums drowned his voice.

Thus a prince who sincerely wished the happiness of his subjects died by the hand of those subjects, the victim of á hatred all the more implacable that they thought it just. They believed that this royal head in falling would dig an impassable gulf between the old France and the new; that it was not the king so much as royalty that was beheaded. On signing the sentence of Louis, Carnot had wept! The fatal doctrine of public safety counted, in history, one more crime, because they forgot again that true safety comes from. great souls, not from the executioner. The scaffold raised for Louis was not long unused. How many of his judges mounted it, and, following the cart that bore the body of the king, what a long train of blood! A terrorist said: "The dead only do not return." He was mistaken, and the surest way to make them return is to place the aureole of the martyr upon their brows.

I made my first visit to the German Reichstag in February, 1889. The sitting proved to be an occasion of rare interest. The leaders were shown to the best advantage. Bismarck, still in power, was not there; all the other chief personages were. The three hundred and ninety seats of the three hundred and ninety deputies were full. The ministers were in their seats, the chancellor excepted. Amongst them was Count Herbert Bismarck, of whom there was at that time so much being said and in regard to whom, his father had said that if he had been as hard a worker as his son he might have amounted to something,

The restlessness of the ministers and the full attendance of the members indicated that something of more than usual importance was on hand. There are times when the very atmosphere seems to become oracular, and it was so that afternoon, although I did not dream of

what was going to be when I gave up my ticket of admission and found my way to a seat in the chamber.

The celebrated Geffchen case, then occupying the press and the private thought of Germany, was to be sprung. Before this was brought up, there was a great deal of artillery practice and sharpshooting from all quarters of the chamber.

The Extreme Left or Freisinnige (Free Thought) party, as it is called, was out in full force. There was Richter, a big burly man with a large head and silken black hair, coarse in expression, but full of rude determination, and the others who had pestered the great chancellor at every step of his way. There were the ten Social Democrats, suggesting anarchy and lawlessness, with Liebknecht, their leader. On the Extreme Right were the members of the strict imperial party, and between these two wings were the various groups of Conserva

tives and Liberals, with the Roman Catholics occupying the central tier of seats just in front of the presiding officer, von Levetzow.

The two men who attracted my attention the most sat in the front row of the center-Dr. Windhorst, and in the front row of the Imperial party, Count von Moltke. Next after Bismarck they were of all men the marked men of the parliament.

If stature determined intellectual force, Windhorst would have been put down as the least able man of that body. He was undersize-not so tall as the late Henry Ward Beecher. He was the foremost parliamentary master of debate of his day in Germany-always in the opposition by force of circumstances, but in many qualities that make up the parliamentary leader, the chief Teuton of his age. He had broad shoulders, a deep chest, a mouth any orator might have envied, a massive forehead, broad enough to admit of a respectable narrow-gauge track being laid down without any expense for clearing the way, as a scant fringe of white hair at the base was all that was left. He wore small side whiskers, made white with age. His vision was weak and he had on glasses. His dress was broadcloth and faultless in fit. As he sat in his seat he kept his legs crossed, one swaying to and fro restlessly. His head was for the most part bent forward, his chin sunken in the folds of a copious black necktie.

That little man seemed to have the respect of all. As he arose and walked down the aisle (as he frequently did) and back again to his seat, all seemed to give him, as by one consent, right of way. His seat was constantly sought after and was often the center of a little group engaged with him in eager conversation. Nothing, however, seemed to escape him. He was quick as a flash in passing from what seemed to be the most abstract meditation to active interest in the debate.

That man was the leader of the Ultramontane and Catholic party in the German parliament-one hundred strong. He marshalled and held his party with a strong hand. He was loyal to the pope and the most doughty and able parlia mentary antagonist that Bismarck had to contend with, and as a tactician and

master of all arts of the parliamentarian and debater his superior. Of all the avowed loyal laymen in the Catholic church, he was perhaps in activity the foremost in the world. A few years before he had been obliged at the command of the pope to yield support to the military bill presented and urged with all the resources at his control by the chancellor. But for the papal command, he would have defeated Bismarck. But now that the pope spoke, he yielded, bore his humiliation and remained in the arena of politics. He was a Hanoverian by birth, political education and high preferment. It was quite natural for him to antagonize to the death the man who had helped Prussia to swallow up the little Hanoverian kingdom.

Graf von Moltke had the aspect of a weather-beaten, dauntless military veteran-and that he was, if anything. His face was pale, clean shaven and furrowed with many wrinkles, his hair a silver gray and brushed with care, his eye bright and keen, his military dress plain and altogether devoid of ornament-not even a decoration visible nor a watch chain; only the epaulets of his rank on his shoulders. He was utterly devoid of ostentation, but every inch a soldier in his erect bearing and calm expression. He used a pair of glasses which he folded up and put under his tightly buttoned coat into the right pocket of his pantaloons. From the left pocket he occasionally took a gold snuff box upon whose contents he drew. He was apparently a man of great reserve. The Germans called him after the Franco-German war of 1870 der grosse Schweiger (the man of silence).

As men these two towered above all the rest in the chamber.

Muncker, the shrewd Berlin attorney, in a biting attack on Bismarck, bitterly exclaimed: "Ist denn dieser Kanzler eine ervige Institution?" (Is this Chancellor business to last forever?) Bismarck has since gone and Caprivi too.

Liebknecht, the Socialist, in a written address from the tribune, with great ability antagonized the German military system and the heavy taxation it necessitated. He denounced the war with

France and the appropriation by Prussia of Alsace and Lorraine. Now that the territory had been taken from France,