shelves filled from end to end with the ponderous tomes of the two great government bureaus that he controlled, he said:  “Most people regard this as my life-work, and outwardly it is.  Yet I say to you in all sincerity that the real, inner, secret force working through all this, has been that I might satisfy my own soul on the subject of religion.”  Then, picking up two small volumes, he said:  “In these two books I have recorded the results of my years of agonizing struggle.  I don’t suppose ten men have ever read them through, or, perhaps, ever will, but these are the real story of the chief work of my inner life.”

I am one of the few men who have read both these books with scrupulous care, and yet were it not for what my friend told me of their profound significance to him, I should scarcely have been interested enough in their contents to read them through.  At the same time, I know that the men who, from the standpoint of their professionally religious complacency would have condemned Major Powell, never spent one-thousandth part the time, nor felt one ten-thousandth the real solicitude that he did about seeking “the way, the truth, and the life.”

Another friend in Chicago was Dr. M.H.  Lackersteen, openly denounced as an agnostic, and even as an infidel, by some zealous sectaries.  Yet Dr. Lackersteen had personally translated the whole of the Greek Testament, and several other sacred books of the Hebrews and Hindoos, in his intense desire to satisfy the demands of his own soul for the Truth.  He was the soul of honor, the very personification of sincerity, and as much above some of his critics—­whom I well knew—­in these virtues, as they were above the scum of the slums.

The longer I live and study men the more I am compelled to believe that religion is a personal matter between oneself and God and is more of the spirit than most people have yet conceived.  It is well known to those who have read my books and heard my lectures on the Old Franciscan Missions of California, that I revere the memory of Padres Junipero Serra, Palou, Crespi, Catala, Peyri, and others of the founders of these missions.  I have equal veneration for the goodness of many Catholic priests, nuns, and laymen of to-day.  Yet I am not a Catholic, though zealous sectaries of Protestantism—­even of the church to which I am supposed to belong—­sometimes fiercely assail me for my open commendation of these men of that faith.  They are worried lest I lean too closely towards Catholicism, and ultimately become one of that fold.  Others, who hear my good words in favor of what appeals to me as noble and uplifting in the lives of those of other faiths of which they do not approve, worry over and condemn my “breadth” of belief.  Indeed, I have many friends who give themselves an immense lot of altogether unnecessary worry about this matter.  They have labelled themselves according to some denominational tag, and accept some form of belief that, to them,