apologetic manner. They are rapidly acquiring the evasive air of the
conscious criminal. It is only a very hardened philanthropist, or an
unsophisticated beginner in good works, who can look a sociologist in
the eye. Most persons, when they do one thing, begin to apologize for
not doing something else. They are like a one-track railroad that has
been congested with traffic. They are not sure which train has the right
of way, and which should go on the siding. Progress is a series of
rear-end collisions.

There is little opportunity for self-satisfaction. The old-fashioned
private virtues which used to be exhibited with such innocent pride as
family heirlooms are now scrutinized with suspicion. They are subjected
to rigid tests to determine their value as public utilities.

Perhaps I may best illustrate the need of some receivership by drawing
attention to the case of my friend the Reverend Augustus Bagster.

Bagster is not by nature a spiritual genius; he is only a modern man who
is sincerely desirous of doing what is expected of him. I do not think
that he is capable of inventing a duty, but he is morally
impressionable, and recognizes one when it is pointed out to him. A
generation ago such a man would have lived a useful and untroubled life
in a round of parish duties. He would have been placidly contented with
himself and his achievements. But when he came to a city pulpit he heard
the Call of the Modern. The multitudinous life around him must be
translated into immediate action. His conscience was not merely
awakened: it soon reached a state of persistent insomnia.

When he told me that he had preached a sermon on the text, "Let him that
stole steal no more," I was interested. But shortly after, he told me