rushed out crying vengeance. When Mr. Gandhi left the Hall they were waiting at the door. They struck him with iron bars and knives, and beat him down to the ground. Then, thinking he was dead, they fled away.

It was at that hour of black disaster that the deed occurred which every South African Indian remembers. Mr. Gandhi's seemingly lifeless body had been carried into a small room close by, out of the seething crowd. Mr. Doke, who had stood by him before in many an hour of trial, had felt that morning an unaccountable instinct of impending danger to his friend. He was restless and could not settle down to anything. As the morning passed by the restlessness increased. At last he went out, scarcely knowing where he was going. Suddenly he saw in front of him the crowd scattering and heard the cry raised that Mr. Gandhi was dead. At that cry, he was on the scene in a moment and took his place at once by his friend's side. Consciousness had just returned to Mr. Gandhi when he arrived, and after the few necessary questions had been asked by the police, Mr. Doke carried his friend in his own arms to a carriage which was waiting at the door and brought him to his own house to be nursed by his wife and daughter.

There, night and day, through long delirium of pain, Mrs. Doke watched over him. She made her house absolutely open and free to all Indians who came, rich and poor alike. She placed the lower rooms, the drawing-room and study, at their disposal at all hours of the day and night. There they sat and waited in silence for the doctor's report, while upstairs she nursed back slowly into life the spirit of their leader. Mr. Gandhi told me how he used to open his eyes after some paroxysm of pain, or fit of delirium, and see her face like that of a mother bending over him. He is certain that the saving of his life is due to her love alone. alone. "Without her love," he said to me, "I should not be living today." What that gentle English lady herself went through in those long nights and days of watching and nursing, keeping her whole household going all the while, attending to the Indians who crowded to her house as her guests, soothing with her own hands the sufferer's pain,-all this none can possibly tell. But the Indians in South Africa

relate the story of her great love wherever they gather together. It has become an epic tale among them, a part of the folklore of the people. I heard it recalled by them in Pretoria and Durban, in Capetown and Kimberley, places as far distant from one another as Madras is from Lahore, or Calcutta from Bombay.

A few years went by and Mrs. Doke herself was left a widow. Her husband, Mr. Gandhi's staunchest friend, had heard the call to leave home and kindred and take up a work of love and service among some aboriginal tribes in a wild jungle to the west of Rhodesia. Though well past middle age, he had gone with a glad hope and faith, full of life and vigour and courage. If his work were successful and a home could be made for his family, then the brave lady, his wife, and her two children were to join him. That was the plan arranged. But the news came, a year after his departure, of repeated attacks of junglefever. Then further news arrived that he was returning home to recover strength. His wife at once prepared to go and meet him and had already got far on the journey. But the last sad tidings reached her in a brief telegram from Salisbury telling her that he had died, on the march, in a strange land, far away from all he loved. Since that day, when the fatal news came, she had been living all alone with her two children, her son and daughter. Though in straitened circumstances she had not been obliged to leave the house where she had lived with her husband.

When we went together that evening on our pilgrimage to give our reverence to the widowed Mother, we were silent all the way. When we came to the house itself it was with the sense of approaching a hallowed temple. There in that room above, my dear friend, who was with me by my side, had been nursed back into life. There, waiting for him in the porch, was the Mother, the widow. Her face was bright as she greeted him and she gazed at him with love while he paid her reverence in Hindu manner as a son pays reverence to a mother. When I watched her eyes I could see they were full of tears. We sat down together in her drawing-room,that same room where day after day during that time of trouble her Indian visitors had gathered-Tamil coolies, Guzerati Musalmans, Hindu mothers with their babies, men and women, young

and old, waiting, waiting for the news. I could picture them there, crowding the room to the very door,-waiting, waiting, always waiting.

into

All the motherhood came out in the widowed lady's eyes as Mr. Gandhi sat on a stool beside her looking up her face. She poured out questions eagerly about himself and his own health. With a mother's anxious care she noticed how thin he had become and urged him to take more care of his frail body. Then she heard of Mrs. Gandhi's weakness and her face brimmed over with sympathy. It was wonderful to note her utter unselfishness. Not a word had been spoken of her own private grief. She was lost to thoughts of self in the sufferings and trials of her friend.

While we were seated talking with Mrs. Doke her son entered the room. A pale, worn look had already come into his young face and it was easy to see how he had shared his mother's bereavement. He was hoping to gather together, so he told me, some writings of his father, intending to publish them. I urged him to do so, saying that many in India would be glad to read the words of so good a man. The boy, for he was still a boy, had not yet finished his studies; but he had already determined his own future. He would go where his Father had gone, to Western Rhodesia: he would live among the aboriginal tribes where his Father had lived; and he hoped (as his Father had hoped before him) to prepare there a home for his mother and his sister where they might dwell and work together. Meanwhile he had been obliged to take up office-work in a Johannesburg Bank in order to provide money for his mother and sister. The burden of the household had fallen upon him even thus early, and he was bearing it bravely. But though he had to work through the day he was continuing his

studies in the evenings and the early mornings, preparing for his future work. As I looked into his face, so white and pale and worn, yet so full of strong determination, I could understand the spirit of his Father and the devotion and sacrifice which had made him instinctively draw close to Mr. Gandhi as a trusted friend. His sister, who sat silent most of the time while we were talking, had the tender face of her mother, and the mother's look was also in her eyes. She was younger than her brother, and looked up to him with a sister's reverence, as he talked to me about his future plans.

We went back, all too soon, leaving Mrs. Doke's house quite early. For Martial Law was strictly in force, and no one was allowed out after eight o'clock on penalty of being shot for refusing to answer when challenged: and this was no idle threat in that city of blood and gold, for only last July riot and murder had been rife and many innocent people had been shot down. The ferment of the great strike was all around us: the miners were standing about in little knots sullen and gloomy and angry: the blasting, from those mines which were still working, sounded intermittently like thunder: the very air seemed full of threatening storm. Every now and then a mounted rifleman would gallop past at full speed, or a troop of Boer burghers, armed to the teeth, would swing round the corner riding to patrol duty. Outside, in that mining capital, were war and violence and strife. Outside, the streets through which we walked were marked by the foul ugliness of ill-gotten wealth. of ill-gotten wealth. Outside, bitterness and hard anger were in the faces of those we passed by. But within, in our own hearts, had blossomed a tender and beautiful peace. For we had made our pilgrimage: we had visited our shrine: we had offered our gift.

those that have gone before. In the evolution of human ideas a curious cycle is observable. Beliefs and tendencies that have once appeared and that have been

rejected or outgrown tend to reappear, sometimes in a new guise, with all the freshness of youth, and they are then acclaimed by those unfamiliar with their history as symbols of an advancing civilization. Probably the greatest waste recorded anywhere in human history is that which results from the attempt to do over again that which has once been done and found disappointing or harmful. If the study of history were more real and more vital than it is ordinarily made, and if it showed ideas, tendencies and institutions in their unfolding and orderly development, and if the lessons of history so studied were really learned and hearkened to, the world would be saved an almost infinite amount of loss, of suffering, and of discouragement.

One hundred years ago the word that rose oftenest and instinctively to the lips was liberty. Men were then everywhere seeking for ways and means to throw off trammels which had been placed upon them by institutions of long standing, but which were found to hamper them at every turn and to hem them in on every side. Liberty in those days meant not one thing, but many things. It meant freedom of speech, and of the press, it meant participation in the acts of government and in the choice of governing agents; it meant freedom to move about over the world, to seek one's own fortune under strange skies and in foreign lands, there to live the life that one's own mind and conscience selected as most suitable. Liberty was then the watchword, not in the New World alone by any means, but in the Old World as well, and particularly in France, which has so often pointed the way of advance in the march of ideas. Standing in his place in the convention during the fateful spring of 1793, Robespierre pronounced this definition of liberty, which is almost the best of its kind: "Liberty is the power which of right belongs to every man to use all his faculties as he may choose. Its rule is justice; its limits are the rights of others; its principles are drawn from Nature itself; its protector is the law." Whatever judgment may be passed upon Robespierre's conduct, certainly his thought on this fundamental question of liberty was clear and sound.

But during the years that have passed we have moved far away from this view of

what is important in life. There has grown up, not alone in America, but throughout the world, an astonishingly widespread belief in the value of regulation and restriction not only as a substitute for liberty, but directly in opposition to it. That against which the leaders of the race revolted a century and more ago is now pressed upon us in another form as a desirable end at which to aim. Not liberty, but regulation and restriction are the watchwords of today, and they are made so in what is sincerely believed to be the greater public interest. John Stuart Mill, in his classic essay "On Liberty," saw and described these tendencies nearly fifty years ago, but even his clear vision did not foresee the length to which restrictions on liberty have now been carried.

Just as the driving force of an engine is to be found in the steam chest and not in the brake, so the driving force in civilization will be found in liberty and not in restriction. The cycle will, in due time and after a colossal waste of energy and of accomplishment, complete itself, and liberty will once more displace regulation and restriction as the dominant idea in the minds of men. It is worth your while to take note, therefore, that while liberty is not now in the foreground of human thinking and human action, it cannot long be kept out of the place which of right and of necessity belongs to it.

The only logical and legitimate restric tion upon liberty is that which is drawn from the like liberty of others. That men may live together in family, in society, and in the State, liberty must be so self-disciplined and so self-controlled that it avoids even the appearance of license or of tyranny.

There are three possible ways of viewing and of stating the relationship between the individual and the group or mass of which he forms a part.

In the first place, each individual may be regarded as an end in himself whose purposes are to be accomplished at all hazards and quite regardless of what happens to his fellows. This is that extreme form of individualism which has always ended, and must always end, in physical conflict, in cruel bloodshed, in violent anarchy, and in the triumph of brute force. It does not provide a soil in which ideas can flourish.

In the second place, each individual

may be regarded as a mere nothing, a egligible quantity, while the group or ass, with its traditions, its beliefs, and is rituals, is exalted to the place of honor nd almost of worship. The logical and ecessary result of this view has always een, and must always be, from the standoint of human accomplishment in instituons, stagnation, powerlessness, ailure. It is this view of life which has rom time immemorial held so many of the great peoples of the Orient in its grip and which has set them in sharp contrast with he active and advancing life of the West For nearly two thousand years past.

and

The third view of the relationship of the ndividual man to the group or mass is he one that I would press upon you as offering the fullest measure of individual happiness and achievement and the greatest amount of public good. It stands between the philosophy of self-assertion, of disorder, of brute force, and of anarchy on the one hand, and stagnation of an unprogressive civilization on the other. It is the

view which emphasizes the individual to the utmost, but which finds the conception of each individual's personality and accomplishment in his relation to his fellows and in his service to his kind. "He that loseth his life shall find it" is alike the last word of ethical philosophy and the supreme appeal of morals. The enrichment and the development of the individual, in order, not that he may antagonize, but that he may conciliate; in order, not that he may overcome and trample under foot, but that he may help and serve-this, as distinguished from the philosophy of disorder on the one hand and the philosophy of stagnation on the other, I call the constructive philosophy of the institutional life. It is built upon human individuality as a cornerstone and a foundation. higher and loftier the structure rises, the more plainly it points upward, the heavier is the burden that the foundation bears and the greater is its service to God and to man.

The

S

I

OME two thousand years ago, and even earlier, India played in the West in regard to trade somewhat the part which the West now plays in the East. Pliny bitterly complains of the drain from Rome to India, as Indians now complain of the drain from India to the West. Says

he:

Indians displayed in their manufacturing industries. Offerings were made to the gods in the costliest of plate; armour and arms richly decorated with gold and silver, and costly jewellery and dresses of the finest web adorned the persons of the higher classes; and gems, rich brocades, and found their way from India to the markets muslins of the most delicate workmanship of China, Persia, Egypt and Rome. There are references in the Manusamhita to vessels made not only of copper, iron, brass, pewter, tin and lead, but also of gold and silver. Household utensils made of leather, cane, horn, shells, and ivory were not uncommon. From the frequent mention of gems and ornaments made of the precious metals as well as from the tax levied upon them, they seem to have been in no small

demand. Perfumes, honey, iron, indigo, lac, medical substances, wax, sugar, spices, etc., formed some of the ordinary articles of trade. There are references not only to clothes made of cotton and jute, but also to silk and woollen manufactures.

The Hindus had during the period under consideration made considerable advance in the chemical and metallurgical industries. Varahamihira, who flourished early in the sixth century A. D., mentions several preparations of cements "strong as the thunderbolt", and of dyes, cosmetics and scents. He also refers to mechanical experts. India had already made three important discoveries which for a long time secured her a foremost place in the commercial world-(1) the preparation of fast dyes; (2) the extraction of the principle of indigotin from the indigo plant, and (3) the tempering of steel by advanced metallurgical processes. Indian handicrafts did not suffer from the Mahomedan conquest. Four centuries had passed away since Mahomed preached the doctrine of the Fatherhood of God and the Brotherhood of man, and the simple desert life of the Arabs had changed to a life of and luxury culture, before India first began to feel the Mahomedan influence. Fanaticism was now softening in the Mahomedan mind, and giving place to a sense of appreciation for ancient philosophy and art, and to a love of comfort and luxury. The prohibition against decoration in architecture by forms of living things was got over by substituting in their place geometrical figures and patterns of foliage and flower, and a way of escape from the injunction against the use of silk was found in the device of mixing it with a nominal quantity of cotton or wool. Thus the obstacles that stood in the way of the progress of arts and manufactures were gradually removed either by slight modification of existing methods, or by favourable interpretation of inconvenient rules and regulations. The anxiety. for moderating the effects of hard religious rules against luxury, which has always accompanied the progress of civilization, has has nowhere been better illustrated than in the remark made by the young daughter of Aurangzib "Father! I have strictly followed the dictates of religion: I have worn the cloth seven folded," when he gave vent to his wrath at

the sight of her dress, made of that variety of Dacca muslin which was famous for the thinness of its texture, and known by the name of "morning dew." Instead of crushing the indigenous arts, the Mahomedan conquerors of India became their ardent patrons; and the household of every chief or noble formed, in imitation of that of the Hindu Princes around, the centre for skilful artisans. Not only did indigenous manufactures flourish under Mahomedan patronage, but many new industries were imported from beyond the confines of India, such as the carpetweaving of Kurdistan weaving of Kurdistan and the glazed pottery of Ispahan. The material condi tion of the people under the Mogul Empire was on the whole, one of ease and comfort.* Making allowance for condiments and other little things, an adult labourer could live comfortably during the reign of Akbar on six annas

The following table taken from the writer's "History of Hindu Civilization during British Rule" Vol. I, p. lxxiii, gives the wages of some labourers during the reign of Akbar :