Let us imagine our watchman to be a railway signalman. High up in his signal-box he has a clear view of the line in both directions. But he has much more than that—he has also certain warning bells, telegraphic signals which give him sure information, in advance of that afforded by his personal vision. By these he sets his signals and adjusts matters over that part of the line for which he is responsible.

Our signalman knows that certain trains (or events) are due to pass at certain times quite definitely known to him beforehand, and as the time for their advent approaches they are confirmed by signal and known to be close at hand.

HERE it is necessary to depart a little from our analogy; for, if the line be not clear, the signalman can, and must, halt the oncoming train. In the present case the train cannot be halted or stayed. The line is not clear, and all we can do is to attempt to clear it. Humanity is, for the most part, like a drunkard who has strayed upon the track, and lies there more or less comfortably, “sleeping it off.” Others are like a party of pleasure seekers—no more than children in their knowledge of the facts of life—and these stray idly, unaware of that which is advancing.

If our signalman (departing, with your permission, yet a little further from strict analogy) sounds the alarm, shall we damn him for an alarmist? Yet that is precisely the position taken by our second class of critics. The watchman is accused of precipitating the danger because he gives timely warning of its approach. This accusation is the accusation of self interest, of those who have something to lose by approaching change, of those who are so