A doubt as to the correctness of the reading xóσuov (the world) is natural, though it is hazardous to try and amend the work of two experienced readers of papyri: I frankly allow that I can suggest nothing better. Yet something in the nature of a parallel to "the Sabbath" in the second clause is rather neededsay, the name of a day of the month or week, or of some Jewish fast. However, as the name of a day (analogous to τεσσαρακοστή) would in all cases require the feminine gender, and, as no name of a fast will suit the ductus litterarum, κόσμον must stand for the present. If it stands, and if the saying is to be looked upon as genuine, we must assign to it, I think, a spiritual and not a temporal meaning. The finding of the kingdom is contingent upon keeping the true fast-the fast that God has chosen; the sight of the Father is to be attained by keeping the true Sabbath. On the other hand, literally interpreted, these words are not the teaching of Christ. He who said, "The Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath," could never have made the Jewish observance which He broke down the necessary step to the attainment of the heavenly life. Rather, in that case, must the words embody the principle of some Judaising or JewishGnostic sect; they can never have been uttered by our Lord.

all have their scenes laid in these days.

It is perhaps significant that a rather striking reminder of this saying does occur in the "Pistis Sophia":

Now when the disciples heard this, they fell down and worshipped Him, saying: "Help us, our Lord, have pity on us, that we may be delivered from these evil chastisements, which are prepared for the sinners. Woe unto them, woe unto them, the sons of men, for they shall be as blind men groping in darkness, not seeing. Have pity upon us, Lord, in this great blindness wherein we are, and have pity upon the whole race of men," etc.

(Schwartze's translation, p. 232.)

The notion of the blindness of the whole human race, and of the compassion of Christ for them, is what is common to the two passages.

But I do not feel certain that this saying is necessarily to be placed on the post-Resurrection period. It might, I think, be of the nature of a parable. It reminds one of the words of our Lord (Matt. xxiv. 28; Luke xvii. 26) about the condition of the world in the days of Noah (and Lot). The point of these sayings is, of course, a different one; it lies in the suddenness of the destruction that came upon the careless livers; yet a certain similarity exists.

The difficulty of regarding the words as uttered before the Resurrection lies in the past tense used, and in the phrase,

"Jesus saith: I stood in the midst of the world, and in flesh was I seen of them: and I found all men drunken, and none found I athirst among them, and my soul grieveth over the sons of man, because they are blind in their heart." Where must we suppose these words to have been said? Must they be placed in the days after the Resurrection? If so, the presumption that they came from a Gnostic source is very strong; for the early heretical teachers and writers of Apocalypses appropriated that period to themselves, and represented it as the time par excellence when Christ communicated His most important revelation to His chosen disciples. The "Pistis Sophia," the "Books of Jeû," the "Questions of Bartholomew," and the "Apocalypse of Peter" (as it seems)

by the way, which has a markedly Johannine look. Even this, however, would be tolerable in a parable such as that in Matthew xxv., in which the Son of Man says, "I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat," etc. It is not, certainly, often that our Lord refers to His coming upon earth as a past event; still, He does so refer to it; and I would submit that it is very possible that in this saying we have a reminiscence, perhaps garbled, but preserving a genuine element, of a parable or simile actually uttered by Christ. In any case, the saying is a very beautiful one.

The last of these "Logia" to which I can here refer is that puzzling sentence, "Raise up the stone, and there thou shalt find me; cleave the wood, and there am I."

It seems to me that there are three

possible lines of interpretation for this: (1) Christ is everywhere and in everything. This, as Messrs. Grenfell and Hunt have said, is favored by the near neighborhood of what seems to be a form of the utterance, "Where two or three are gathered together, there am I in the midst of them," and the sentence from the "Gospel of Eve," which Epiphanius has preserved, supplies an attractive illustration.

(2) The emphasis is to be laid upon the hard and laborious character of the acts prescribed-the heaving up of the stone and the cleaving of the wood. We should then have a parallel to the precept, "Ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you;" an utterance in which the command seems to me quite as important an element as the promise. Effort is necessary if the knowledge of Christ is to be won.

(3) The "stone" and the "wood" may just possibly be the important factors in the saying. Both of them are familiar types of the Lord. But I cannot give a satisfactory meaning to the whole clause on this hypothesis, though it seems just worth mentioning.

The first interpretation has a flavor of Pantheism about it, of something far removed from the ordinary lines of our Lord's genuine sayings. If the interpretation be correct, the words would better suit a "Gnostic" milieu than an orthodox one. But I doubt its correctness. Would any sect which is likely to have produced this mystical saying have put it in such a form? Were they not an too deeply imbued with a belief in the inherent evil of matter? Stone and wood, the productions of an ignorant or evil Creator, with whose works it is the object of every enlightened soul to have as little to do as possible, could they be spoken of in so emphatic a manner as this? I do not think that a Gnostic would thus conceive of the presence of Christ in created things. The Lord "is everywhere and heareth every one of us," say the docetic "Acts of John," it is true; but there is no hint to show that He is present in inanimate things of

sense.

I incline rather to the second of the interpretations suggested above. It is

direct and simple, and it is in accordance with Christ's known teaching. Possibly the collector of the "Logia" may have understood the sentence differently, and therefore placed it in the position in which we find it. If he did, he acted, I believe, under a misapprehension.

With these scattered suggestions I must leave the fragment. The interest of this first-fruit of the Oxyrhynchus find cannot easily be exaggerated. Messrs. Grenfell and Hunt have already earned our warmest thanks by the way in which they have dealt with it; and during many years to come, one is glad to think, they will be constantly increasing our obligations alike to themselves and to the Egyptian Exploration Fund.

M. R. JAMES.

From Chambers's Journal.

A TRAPPIST MONASTERY IN NATAL, Durban, the port of Natal, is, like Jerusalem, "beautiful for situation," despite the fact that the alleged port is nothing but an open roadstead where passengers are always landed in a sort of marine lift, a small wicker-work chamber constructed to hold four inside, and rigged to a derrick. By this comfortable contrivance one is lowered with ease and safety from the steamer to the tender.

The city, which is not the capital of the colony, although the largest town, lies just a little below the tropic of Capricorn, and thus enjoys a temperately warm climate, and is graced with a rich tropical vegetation that justifies the town's unchallenged claim to be the garden city of South Africa. Indeed, in this respect the whole colony of Natal stands out in precise contrast to the surrounding states, a bright green gem in the weary waste of the monotonous brown veldt. It is the Wales of South Africa, and with a sturdy spirit of independence has paddled its own canoe against that of its bigger and richer rival, the Cape Colony. Possibly the large leaven of Scot, particularly in Durban, is responsible for this solidarity and stubbornness in a contest where

the odds were certainly not equal. The population is of a very mixed description, and there is a distinct Oriental touch about it that is pleasant and refreshing. The ricksha is the favorite public conveyance; but instead of the small vehicle of Ceylon and Japan, that of Natal, although still light in structure, is capable of carrying two persons. Only a race of giants, such as the Basuto and his kindred tribes are, could manage a double-seated ricksha up the inclines round about the city. In stature and physique the Bantu tribes are probably the finest specimens of humanity on the globe. Certainly they are superior to the Maori, although perhaps the latter is the bigger brained creature of the two. But strong as he is, the native of Natal is disinclined to work any more than is necessary for keeping body and soul together. Consequently, although he is the common and convenient means of haulage, he is not the representative working-man of the colony. Thousands of Hindus, chiefly Madrasis, have been imported under government auspices, as servants and laborers; and with such satisfactory results that what was once a thin stream of immigration has assumed the proportions of a tidal bore. So great indeed is the increase that there is every reason to fear some serious complication of the gravest question which the government of Natal has to deal withnamely, the native question. There are now fifty thousand Indians in the colony, that is to say, they equal the whites in number; whilst there are nearly five hundred thousand natives, who, although averse to anything approaching continuous effort, are yet obliged to do some work in order to pay their annual hut-tax and provide the necessaries of life. A little larger increase in the supply of Indian labor, and the native will be shut out from all employment. To be sure, the influx of Asiatics may inspire the native to less spasmodic work. That would be a result as splendid as it was unexpected; and then it would become the business of the government to hinder by a polltax (as in California and Australia) or other preventive measure, the Asiatic invasion.

But pretty as Durban itself was, and interesting as was its labor problem, there was yet something outside the city that possessed stronger attractions for me. About sixteen miles from the town was a Trappist monastery, and a day's excursion to this home of silence remains in my mind as the most salient experience during my brief sojourn in Natal. I believe that strictly speaking there is no longer any such congregation as a Trappist brotherhood, since by a decree of the present Pope the order has been amalgamated with the Carthusians; but it is simpler to adhere for present purposes to the old appellation, not in any measure as a rigid Protestant's dissent from a papal decree, but because the place and the order are so widely known under the old style. About fourteen years ago some Trappist brothers purchased twelve thousand acres near the very small village of Pinetown, christening the property Marianhill, and here, unaided except by the lay brothers, they began their stupendous work. They made their own bricks, cut their own timber, and contrived their own water supply, buying nothing except galvanized iron and machinery, which were obviously beyond their powers of construction. Yet they have been able to make a system of roads through the property, build bridges, erect a large brick church capable of holding six hundred persons, also a still larger building that comprises the refectory and monks' cells; and finally, in addition to all this, they have constructed several substantial houses, schools, and workshops. Among the latter are to be seen an ironfoundry, a tannery, a large carpenters' shop, bootmaking and tailoring establishments, a bakery, a flour-mill, and, most surprising of all, a vast printing office, which includes not only the most modern printers' plant but also stereotyping and book-binding departments; whilst attached to it is another building where the monks found their own type. The produce of all these factories is not of course limited to the needs of the brothers any more than is the liquor manufactured at either the Grande Chartreuse or St. Elmo. From the tannery, for instance, where the pelt is

treated in all its stages from the raw hide to the finished article in leather, the monks send saddles, bags, and straps away even into the heart of Matabeleland or anywhere else where there may be a demand. In the carpenters' shop, wheels, doors, and window-sashes are manufactured for the contractors of Durban; whilst the printing office, at the time of my visit, was busily employed on a government contract.

All these edifices and works are the result of but fourteen years' labor, and at no time have the monks gone outside their own ranks for assistance. How has it been accomplished? Monks, novices, and lay-brothers retire at eight and rise at midnight or one in the morning according to the season of the year; whilst the rest of the twenty-four hours, except where the offices are being said and during the half-hours devoted to meals, they work at their several tasks. At all times unbooted and unbonneted, and, except in the schools, where the nature of the vocation makes it impossible, in absolute silence, the monks go through their daily round of incessant toil. The Trappists are vegetarians of ne strictest sort. I was present at the principal meal of the day-dinner-and partly partook of it. The menu consisted of a thick barley-broth without either fat or any extract of meat, and a mash made of turnips, carrots, pumpkins, and beans, without condiment or seasoning of any kind, but there was plenty of beautifully-baked brown bread, and the whole was washed down with a cup of tamarind wine, an agreeable unfermented drink. The brethren ate the meal in silence, and the stillness of the huge refectory was broken only by the intermittent clink of a knife on some tin plate and the droning voice of the brother whose turn it was, whilst the others dined, to read aloud some passage from the Vulgate. When the meal was finished, each taking his plate and cup, handed them to the brother who acted as cook; and, thanking him, not in words, but with a grateful smile and bowed head, passed out immediately to some appointed task. To me it was altogether a touching sight. Here were over one hundred and fifty strongly

built men who had not only left father and mother in some far land for His sake, but had denied themselves all the comforts and solaces of this world, even to the sweet sound of the human voice. All, except the youthful novices (who were still plump and rosy), bore traces, in the pallid complexion and hollow cheek, of the austerity of their life; most of them also wore spectacles. To what purpose is this stern devotion mainly directed? Simply to the end that a few hundred black brethren may be taught the knowledge of God and the consolations of the Church. I am not a Catholic, nor have I much sympathy with some of the practices and tenets of that church; but I should like to feel that the congregation to which I do belong could actively testify, as eloquently as the Trappist monastery of Marianhill does for the Catholic, how much selfsacrifice and real suffering can be endured, how high an example can be set when one is thus securely "mailed in the perfect panoply of faith." The Roman may be wrong in his solutions of the deep problem of life and the still deeper one of futurity. Such are matters which we may not know with certainty; the most plausible solution is, after all, a mere groping in the dark; but in the deeds that find words, in the examples that move us on to nobler ends, these white-robed brothers of St. Bernard may teach Protestants not a few salutary lessons.

It sometimes happens, of course, that some fall under the burden; the cross is too heavy and the habit is renounced. In this connection there was a curious and somewhat beautiful incident that came under my notice on that visit. In our tour round the well-cared-for grounds, the brother-there is always one who has a speaking part for the sake of the visitors-told me that only the week before they had buried one of the monks who had grown gray in the service of the order, and who had planned and cultivated the grounds, in which he had always taken the deepest pride, but his part now,

In all the pomp that fills The circuit of the summer hills, Is that his grave is green.

In telling this there was no note of sadness in the monk's voice, but rather of happiness that one more of them had been bound into the sheaf of kindred souls. A little later on, however, when in the carpenters' shop, seeing one evidently of the outer world, for he wore neither habit nor clerical mark, I inquired who he was. "Ah, poor fellow!" said the monk, "for nearly three years he was a Trappist, and then sought permission to retire. He left us; but he returned two months ago seeking help; so we are teaching him a trade in which he can surely earn a living in the world." This confession of a failure was in a sad key, and there was emotion in the eyes of the speaker. The dead brother was not lost to them, but merely separated and resting from his labors and happy. This man, on the contrary, who was once in the ranks, had failed in strength and courage; and although the monks ungrudgingly assisted him, they were sad in the belief that he was a strayed sheep and in peril.

With delightful prescience, the Prior, concluding that the lenten entertainment of the refectory might not be sufficient nourishment for his worldly visitors, had arranged by telephonejust think of that for one moment, a telephone in a Trappist monastery-for us to take luncheon at the convent, which was situate about a mile from the monastery. In our walk towards the convent we were met by a brother, who, I was told, enjoyed quite a celebrity in the community-he was the engineering genius of the place, and in his case, for a reason I could not ascertain, the law of silence had been considerably relaxed, so we stopped to barter a few words. In the course of conversation, a young journalist, who had conducted our party from Durban, happened to say that he was showing Mark Twain over the monastery, explainly briefly who Mark Twain was, and ended by asking the brother if he had ever heard of the author of "The Innocents Abroad." "What! Mark Twain?" exclaimed the monk; "the real Mark Twain? Where is he? which is he? I must speak to him;" and then in a whisper, as if he were confessing some horrible sin, "I've read all his books. Yes, everything he

has published." He had his desire granted and accompanied the Tramp Abroad as far as the convent. The fellow had a magnificent laugh, such as that of Herr Teufelsdröckh, a “laugh of the whole man from head to heel." This brother was the one worldly note in those sad and silent surroundings, and his laugh appears almost incredible in the retrospect. Unlike the other monks whom we had seen, and who were all foreigners, chiefly Austrians and Germans, this one was an Englishman, and his bright address and cheery speech seemed to rouse us all out of a depression that had subdued our own conversation almost to whispers. Amidst the brotherhood of pathetic and grim-visaged ascetics it was very pleasant to meet this apostle of cheerful godliness; and I should like to think—what might really be-that his hearty laugh was mainly the result of long practice over the healthy pages of Mark Twain.

The convent was of most modest dimensions compared with the monastery; but from the many plain wooden crosses in the acre alongside there was ample evidence that in the short span of ten years many a sister had given her life for the colored children of that region. Here was just the same air of abstinence and incessant toil as prevailed among the brothers, but the industry was naturally directed into appropriate channels, such as needlework, laundry, and the manufacture of straw hats. The Superior was a Canadian; and it was noticeable that the law of silence was not insisted upon in the convent. This was perhaps a humane, not to say inevitable, concession to a congregation of women.

By the time luncheon was prepared we were all quite famished, and I, for one, still had the nauseous flavor of the monkish fare in my mouth. The meal, which was plain but satisfying, consisted of an exceptionally tough chicken, over a portion of which I spent a considerable amount of unavailing labor-vegetarians, however, cannot be regarded as experts in the choice of even a fowl; a peculiar salad made with oil extracted from monkey-nuts and vinegar manufactured from pineapple; great square, thick slices of bread, some