"My soul soars up the atmosphere

And sings aloud where God may hear."

To the tired and weary soul encumbered with much serving, anxious about many things, worrying from sheer lack of self-control, Riley comes like a breath from Galilee:

"O heart of mine, we shouldn't worry so.

His "There, Little Girl, Don't Cry" is in reality a "don't worry" parable. How simple to say to the little girl with her broken doll, childish troubles will soon pass by! or to the schoolgirl with her broken slate, life and love will soon come by! And just as truly may we say to the broken hearted,

"Heaven holds all for which you sigh,

There, little girl, don't cry."

Be the skies dark or fair, the midnight black or midday blue, the prophet of joy cheers with his song,

"There's ever a song somewhere, my dear,

There's ever a song somewhere."

To the chronic weather grumbler he says, in homely dialect but in manner gentle like Him who drew his lesson from the lilies:

"It hain't no use to grumble and complain,

It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice.

When God sorts out the weather and sends rain,

W'y rain's my choice."

Again he assures us "Some One's running this concern that's got nothing else to learn," and to a "Discouraged Farmer" he says,

"O let us fill our hearts up with the glory of the day,
And banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow fur away!
Whatever be our station, with Providence for guide,
Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied;
For the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew
And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips for me

and you."

In his "Prayer Perfect" he prays the Father to scatter every care down a wake of angel wings winnowing the air, and shows that, like the great apostle, he has learned whatever state he is in therewith to be content, and a like desire to share this joy with the less fortunate:

"O divide, I pray,

This vast treasure of content
That is mine today."

And it is this spirit which makes him to millions the Prophet of Good Cheer; it is this spirit which enables him to sympathize so deeply and helpfully with suffering and bereavement. Joy is only a sham unless it blossoms forth in sympathy, and he "who knows not pain knows not, alas! what pleasure is." Who has with tenderer pathos touched this chord than Riley, when he pictures the sorrow of one who feels the deprivation of not even knowing the joy of having a little child to mourn ?—

"Let me come in where you sit weeping-aye,

Let me, who have not any child to die,

Weep with you for the little one whose love

I have known nothing of."

To the unfailing Comforter the Hoosier points the way:

"Make us to feel, when times looks bad

And tears in pity melts,

Thou wast the only help we had

When they was nothin' else."

With unswerving faith and fondest trust he looks into the great beyond:

"I cannot say, and I will not say,
That he is dead-he is just away!

Think of him faring on as dear

In the love of the There as the love of the Here."

Riley is a true prophet. The Source of joy is known to him. He has taken knowledge of a kingdom that is righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Ghost.

ART. VI. THE MODERN "FEUDAL STATE"

KENTUCKY is the most fascinating state in the Union from many points of view. Perhaps no state is so little understood. No state is more varied in formation or population. Old inhabitants say that it is impossible to ride on horseback in any direction, for the daylight hours, without in that period passing from one kind of country into another entirely different. It has mountains and natural bridges and mammoth caves; it has lowlands and alluvial plains; it has foothills and rolling country; it has the richest soil that seems to have no bottom and the poorest soil from which no amount of cultivating can coax a crop. There is as much difference in the inhabitants.

One of the things for which the state is noted is the feud. Many persons do not understand the feud, and yet it is one of the simplest things in the world. Primarily, it is a characteristic of childhood. Some real or imaginary offense is committed; the sense of justice, which is strong at that period, is stirred; indignation, resentment, retaliation follow. It begins mildly:

"I don't like you any more,

You won't like it when you see me
Sliding down our cellar door."

It is fanned into a flame; at last the boy tingles to "get even with" his enemy and is apt to "lay for him." It is wise to study these phases of childhood. A knowledge of child psychology makes easier the psychology of the mature mind. The child stands for the normal state of nature-the savage, if you please—and the civilized adult is little different except in the degree of his selfcontrol:

"Men are only boys grown tall

Not much change of heart, after all."

In every man there are times when the passions of the child, of the savage, sweep across his soul; if he is a true product of the type of civilization known to the world as "Christian," he may be able to keep his hand on the throttle and control the mighty forces within; or, if he permits them to escape, it is in refined channels

of subtle though cutting retaliation. But the nearer to nature a man is the more sudden, the more open-the more lasting is the expression of his resentment. Thus the feud is explained. It has been exhibiting itself in the human family, in one form or another, since that original feud between the first sons of Adam in the Garden of Eden; it exists today, whether in the mountains of Kentucky, between two great nations, or in the hearts of the highstrung votaries of modern society. In the last-named case the thrusts that follow are heart thrusts, but none the less cruel and lasting though the society feud is seldom written up and turned over to the page of history. In the case of nations they fight it out till one cries "enough," or till some younger brother among the nations of the world compels them to shake hands whether they want to or not. But off in the mountains of Kentucky, isolated from the world, the feud goes on from generation to generation. The boy inherits it from his father as he does his cabin and gun, and he accepts it as solemnly. It is easy for one who dwells at a distance to cry out against this terrible thing. But before passing judgment on the state some things ought to be known. First, this feudal condition is not that of the whole commonwealth any more than the condition of the dives in New York or Chicago is that of the city as a whole. It is an excrescence. Yet some persons seem to think there is but one county in the stateBreathitt-that Jackson is the capital, and that a man who moves into Kentucky takes his life in his hands. It is true that feud people sometimes rise to political prominence and are sent to Frankfort, or to business importance and visit Lexington and Louisville, where chapters of ancient feuds have sometimes been enacted which have given emphasis to the current opinion concerning Kentucky. This brings to the surface another thing that ought to be known by those who do not dwell in the state; namely, that the inhabitants of the commonwealth are not homogeneous though they are all intensely loyal. The state might be separated into five distinct divisions containing as many different kinds of people. These are the mountain region, in the extreme east, the Blue Grass, coming next; then the Bear Grass; the "Pennyrial" district and Jackson's Purchase. In the mountains dwell the

descendants of the early immigrants, who have been as isolated for generations as if they had been on an island of the sea. But the land was poor and from the beginning there has been a struggle for existence. The inhabitants of the Blue Grass, of which Lexington is the social capital, have in their veins the blood of some of the first families of the South with just enough of the blood of some of the best families of the North to give them that peculiar grace and charm known the world over. Moreover, the land in this section is unsurpassed for fertility, and the stock grown thereon is the standard for excellence. The inhabitants of the other sections have characteristics and individuality just as strongly marked and fully as creditable, but it is the people of these first two divisions that impress themselves on the rest of the world as the types of Kentucky. A third thing must be borne in mind by the student of this state, and that is her condition during the war. Kentucky was a border state. She never seceded. She was the tramping ground for two armies, first one and then the other of which would be in control. Communities were broken up, homes were disrupted, churches were riven, as the conscientious youth espoused the one side or the other. It was no uncommon thing for two brothers to shake hands at the crossroads, the one riding North to join the army of the Blue, the other South to join the army of the Gray. Sometimes a father fought on one side knowing that his boys, just as true to the voice within, were somewhere on the other side. This state of affairs had its effect upon the whole commonwealth for years after the war. Kentucky had more difficulty in "finding herself," as Kipling might put it, on this account, than many of the Southern states. This was especially true of the mountain division, and it made another reason for feuds. The war was supposed to have ceased when Lee surrendered to Grant, but up in the mountains they went on fighting it out in slow and easy campaigns for years; and I am told that there are many there yet who do not seem to know that the war is over. Still one other thing must be remembered, and that is the political situation. There is a machine in the state that is heartless. It owns the commonwealth in all its borders. It elevates whom it will elevate, it humiliates whom it will humiliate, and whoever resists