“Suppose, for a moment, that the Christ were to appear in the heart of that ‘Christian’ city. Most certainly He would be found among the poor, ministering to their needs, and comforting them in their sorrows, and bringing life and hope among them. I can imagine His perplexity at sight of the man-inflicted suffering and degradation, and the Godless tyranny of men over their brother men, in the very stronghold of Christianity and two thousand years after He had taught that, under the Fatherhood of God, to love our neighbor as ourselves is the fulfilling of the law to all who have need of our sympathy and help. “I hear Him ask in His amazement for some authoritative head of the brotherhood which He established upon earth. I hear men tell Him that He must see the Archbishop of Canterbury. I watch Him as He walks to the palace of the Archbishop, along narrow streets which thunder to the din of mammon-worship and which are blackened with the smoke from off its countless altars, seeing everywhere the hideous contrasts between rich and poor, and the lives of His toiling ones worn out in ceaseless labor. “Weighed down with the heartless misery of the world, I see Him stand patiently at the palace-gate. A footman in rich livery answers to His knock. “‘I would see the Archbishop,’ says the Christ. “‘And who shall I say wishes to see his Lordship?’ asks the flunky. “‘Tell him that his Master is at the gate.’ “‘Oh,’ replies the servant, ‘but his Lordship has no “master”; he is the primate of all England!’” Here the speaker abruptly ceased, but for that gathered company the picture was complete, and the cheers with which the hall had rung at the mention of Christ, the social teacher, were changed to hisses against the church which calls itself by His name. On the crowded stairs, as we descended to the street, I found myself beside a young German mechanic whose acquaintance I had made in these meetings. My knowledge of him was limited to the fact that he was a Socialist and was employed in a large factory on the North Side. “What are you going to do, this evening?” he asked, after our exchange of greetings. “I have no definite plan,” I said. “Then come home with me,” he suggested, and I assented gladly. We were a long time getting there, but when, at last, we reached his door, the journey was quickly forgotten. As flat as the untroubled sea, the open prairie lay about us, browned and seared by frosts and gleaming faintly under the winter stars. Long parallels of street-lamps, cutting one another at right angles, marked the outlines of city “blocks,” and threw into stronger relief the deep black of clustered trees and the forms of lonely cottages with lights glancing dimly from their windows.