India's civilisation, however, is not dead but dormant; and the spell of its long sleep is at last being broken. The renaissance of the present day seeks inspiration and guidance at its source. But with the reaction against the passive inertia of generations comes a certain danger from emotionalism-the mesmerism of bygone glories and the tendency to perpetuate past failings and ignorance because they form a part of sacred tradition. As it is the province of woman to guard and to preserve, so it must be the task of enlightened women to select that which is worthy of preservation and reject all that is no longer relevant. It is theirs to save and defend the vital element in tradition, the living heritage of faith and understanding, the special aspect of truth and beauty which finds separate embodiment in every people, grows with their growth and progresses with their progress.

With the awakening of a national consciousness, the motives for national reform have now become insistent. The outward expression of these motives-a symptom of all pioneer work-remains hitherto isolated and spasmodic. The tendency to theorise and debate, to discuss political actions and reactions, to deal with symptoms and externals, is still somewhat exaggerated. It is in the nurseries of to-day that the forces must be fostered and organised which will hereafter work out the regeneration of India in harmony and cooperation; and this child-nurture should be made the first and permanent charge upon the time, energy, and expenditure of all the reforming zeal which now seeks an outlet.

Finally, we must remember that, though the building up of India's future in the light of the present national revival must incontestably be planned and carried out by Indians and for Indians, the experience touches not India alone but all mankind. The world at large will be not only spectator but partaker of its results. When the light of Classic thought and Classic culture-the rediscovered treasures of Hellenic genius-dawned upon the darkened understanding of medieval Europe, the day of a new era was born, and modern civilisation came into being. So, to complete the cycle, the impulse of modern thought and modern progress was carried in the last century to the Classic East. The normal effects of such a contact were, for the time being, delayed through

artifice and experiment on the part of Anglo-Indian opinion. The 'Orientalists' would hear of no contamination of the new-found treasures of Eastern learning; the 'Anglicists' had no thought but to clean the slate and inscribe upon it the writing of the West. In the event, India has, to the outward eye, lain dormant under the imposition of an alien culture, substituted for her own, but never adapted to her needs. Yet the fruit of an unwilling union was maturing, in spite of conflict and reluctance; and the rebirth of to-day, however ardently national in form, owes its incentive to the direct influence of the West upon the East.

Throughout all recorded history the great civilisations of East and West have held singularly aloof from one another in all their inmost experiences. Conquest, invasion, and trade have effected an intercourse between the two in external dealings which has but deepened the instincts of mutual reserve. To-day we must learn a new lesson-that a freer interchange of thought and ideas between different peoples endangers nothing of permanent value, and obliterates only those characteristics which accident has fostered, while enriching the elements of their several strength. In its response to the stimulus of an outside influence, the culture of a people, no less than the character of an individual, can best realise its own purposes and powers, and achieve its highest self-development. Therefore, if the destinies of East and West are knit together at the present day, and for so long as the partnership may continue, let each see to it that the union may be productive of the best results, without compromise of sentiment or of conviction on either side, and lay the foundations of a larger development and a wider achievement than the world has yet witnessed.

E. AGNES R. HAIGH.

Art. 13.-STOPFORD BROOKE.

The Life and Letters of Stopford Brooke. By Lawrence Pearsall Jacks. Two vols. John Murray, 1917.

STOPFORD BROOKE died in 1916 at the age of eighty-four. His remarkable faculties were alert, serenely untouched by age, to the end; less than a week before his death he wrote a letter to Mr Rothenstein, summarising a philosophy of life, giving brave encouragement to the painter in his work, rejoicing in the white frost that for three weeks had etched his Surrey landscape, and speaking with critical distinction of the poetry of Thomas Hardy— 'one of the few men who cut into the quick of humanity.' In spite of a good deal of ill-health, few men have spent as many days as he of vigorous life, or touched experience so widely or so robustly. In the sense of being responsive to every manifestation of the earth and humanity, it would be difficult to find anywhere a richer nature than that recorded in this book. Mr Jacks has done his work with almost flawless tact. It is, perhaps, to be wished that a biographer who knew Brooke so intimately and with such sympathy had given his own impressions a little wider scope; but, since it has clearly been his wish to allow his subject to speak for himself with as little commentary as possible, it would be ungracious to complain of a method that can point to the highest examples. The material for the writing of a life so long and active as Brooke's must have been very voluminous; it is here selected and arranged with a skill and discretion that leave before us a personality complete in every feature.

The first reflexion that comes to the mind of the reader, on reaching the end of these two substantial volumes, is that it is not a little strange that a career which, in spite of its many remarkable aspects, was not quite of the rarest distinction in its relation to its own time, and finally left little in the way of durable and tangible addition to the sum of human achievement, should justify so exhaustive an analysis. For that this biography is justified, not only for its own shapely composition, but by the quality of its subject, there can be no doubt. It may be interesting to enquire why this is

so, since by usual standards it might be in question. It is possible for a poor subject to inspire a brilliant biography, but Mr Jacks in his grave simplicity of manner makes no claim to brilliance; also it is possible for a poorly executed record to acquire some permanent interest through the importance of its subject, but in this case there is never for a moment the feeling that the writer is supporting rather than being directed by his theme. As a biography the book is, in the generous use of the word, adequate; it scores no points outside Brooke's personality, it never falls below that personality's demands. And yet, while the book does this, we are left with a strange feeling of difficulty when we seek exactly to define the qualities in Brooke that called for this elaborate treatment.

In his Irish blood Stopford Brooke carried a strain of English, Scottish and Welsh descent. Childhood spent in a devoted family, with enough substance to make for the liberal decencies but without the excess that saps independent effort, was followed by a life that in its external movement was one of almost unbroken success. At twenty-five he was freely accepted if not already courted by intellectual and fashionable London, and working at the same time with tireless energy as a parish priest in a slum neighbourhood. Already the Broad Church party considered him to be a suitable person to entrust with the writing of F. W. Robertson's Life, a task that they looked upon as of critical importance to their position in the ecclesiastical controversies of the time. He had all the natural gifts that make at once for popularity and respect. A splendid appearance -'My word! you are a strapper!' said a poor woman of his congregation on his arrival in London-a fine voice, a ready turn of speech, a very courteous wit, a love of gallant manners and a fearless regard for the truth springing from a passionate realisation of the dignity of life, made him one of the most notable and welcome figures in the more thoughtful social world of his long day. A pleasant instance of the humorous good sense that gave him so just a popularity in a large circle of friends may be gathered from an entry in his diary made when he was an old man :

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'Morris I first knew in 1867, forty years ago. I met him first at a dinner given by Colvin. He didn't care for parsons, and he glared at me when I said something about good manners. Leaning over the table, with his eyes set, and his fist clenched, he shouted at me, "I am a boor, and a son of a boor." As he meant to be rude I was excessively polished. "I couldn't have believed it," I said. Afterwards he was always harmonious. There never lived a truer man.'

Finding that his inclination as a clergyman lay rather towards preaching than towards parish-work, he was directly able to gratify his instinct. He rapidly became famous as a preacher. His congregation, including many distinguished men and women, quickened to his own intellectual and spiritual vigour. For the rest of his life the announcement that he was to be in the pulpit was enough to pack any church in the country to the doors; and his later preaching tours were almost like the triumphal progresses of a successful and popular Cabinet Minister. Your house is one where I am always happy,' wrote Burne-Jones to him, and where I never know a dull moment'; and among his closer acquaintances were many writers and artists, in whose company he was always most at home. He had the means charmingly to indulge his generosity as a host, and to fill the house to which his friends were so often bidden with the treasures of art and craftsmanship that it delighted him to possess. His family life preserved for all its members both affectionate intimacy and individual freedom with rare balance; and his days were singularly free of the accidental troubles that fall to so many men to double the inevitable burden of natural griefs.

In his chosen calling any preferment seemed open to him, unless it should be closed by the liberal doctrinal views that finally led to a denial of dogma and caused his secession from the Church of England at the age of forty-eight. This secession was the only incalculable event of his life that had in it the elements of suffering; and even here he was spared the more distressing consequences of his action. To come to a spiritual decision must be in itself, in spite even of the most tormenting period of doubt that may precede it, an exhilarating thing. But it is often accompanied by the very real pain of broken personal friendships. In Brooke's case the