judging, and more anxious to understand what they see than either to criticize or to flatter. Doubtless, however, the majority of these spectators are secretly conscious of their real incapacity to pronounce judgment, and the wisest of them will refrain from doing so, however willingly they may express whatever pleasure or preference they feel. They know they are there for their own gratification or improvement, not to pass sentence upon works which they can only dimly fathom. Yet as they pass out of the gallery into the world of living men and women how quickly is this respectful diffidence removed! He who would not presume to criticize a picture, of which he knows but little, will not hesitate to criticize a man or woman of whom he knows far less. Willing to admit his inability to estimate the work of the painter, he yet feels competent, without study or experience, to estimate the noblest and most complex work of infinite wisdom.—Philadelphia Ledger.
(627)
See Christianity, Criticism of.
Criticism, Indifference to—See Modesty.
Criticism of Christianity—See Christianity,
Criticism of.
CRITICISM, UNHELPFUL
One of the most brilliant of our younger
poets was descanting on the Chinook vocabulary,
in which a Chinook calls an Englishman
a Chinhog to this day, in memory of
King George. And this writer says that
when they have a young chief whose warpaint
is very perfect, whose blanket is thoroughly
embroidered, whose leggings are tied
up with exactly the right colors, and who
has the right kind of star upon his forehead
and cheeks, but who never took a scalp, never
fired an arrow, and never smelled powder,
but was always found at home in the lodges
whenever there was anything that scented of
war—he says the Chinooks called that man
by the name of "Boston Cultus." You have
seen these people, as I have seen them, as
everybody has seen them—people who sat
in Parker's and discust every movement of
the campaign in the late war, and told us that
it was all wrong, that we were going to
the bad, but who never shouldered a musket.
They are people who tell us that the immigration,
that the pope of Rome, or the German
element, or the Irish element, is going to
play the dogs with our social system, and
yet they never met an immigrant on the
wharf or had a word of comfort to say to
a foreigner.—Edward Everett Hale.
(628)
Cross Anticipated—See Calvary, Anticipating.
CROSS CENTRAL
It is said that two famous enemies of
Christianity were once talking together of a
plan for the reconstruction of religion. They
believed only in the enjoyment of the life
that now is. They talked of the building of
a temple which would express the religious
impulse and yet lay stress on the glory of
the life that now is. And after they had
talked of marvelous music, forever in the
major key, they admitted that something was
lacking in their scheme. "I know what it
is," finally declared one. "It is that hymn,
'O Sacred Head Now Wounded.' Without
that there is a fatal lack of beauty and of
power." And this goes down pretty far
toward the center. The compelling beauty
of Christianity is in its doctrine of self-sacrifice.
The cross sets the Christian teaching
on high.—Francis J. McConnell.
(629)
CROSS, CHARM OF THE
Rev. Edward Payson Scott, Baptist missionary
in Assam, was strongly moved to
visit a wild hill tribe—the Nagas—three
days' journey from his station, whereas yet
he had made only a start in the Naga language
and had to take a Naga teacher along.
He was strongly urged by the British resident
officer not to run such risk, but he could
not be deterred; and, when an escort of soldiers
was offered him, he firmly declined, as
it would defeat the very end in view, which
was to go as a messenger of peace. A military
escort would give a false impression of
his whole spirit and motive.
So with a native companion he set out, and when they reached the base of the mountain ridge where the native village crowned the summit, and began the ascent, the alarmed villagers forming in battle-line, waved their spears in menace, the chief crying out, "Halt! we know you! You are the man of the British Queen, come to make us prisoners and carry off our children. Come no nearer!"
The missionary drew out his violin, and began to sing in the native tongue, "Alas, and did my Savior bleed!" When he had sung one verse, the chief and his warriors had already thrust their spears into the ground and broken ranks. As Mr. Scott sang
