ENTER in the late evening a country town or a small city. Street lamps have become dim; store fronts are dark; the windows of the fifteen-cent restaurants are faintly outlined; here and there a weary horse whinnies in longing for its stable. It is a picture of lonesomeness, save for one inevitable bright spot. Over a stairway leading to a second story hall shines a triangular transparency sending its gleam far into the night. On its painted glass sides facing the main thoroughfares are pictured two hands clasped in token of brotherhood, and this message greets you: “Hiram Chapter No. 673, A. O. of T. K. Meets Wednesday evening. Visitors welcome.”

If you possess the sign and password, and seek entrance to the haven of the followers of Trustful Knighthood, you will find gathered there above the hardware store most of the men of the village who do things. Doctors, lawyers, politicians, laborers, editors, teachers, farmers, railroad agents, are engaged in the exciting diversion of “ work in the second degree, ” or are debating earnestly with keen argument the “good of the order,” which may be almost anything from the fining of an absent-minded brother who at the last meeting wore home his official decorations, to a protest against an increase in the lodge dues.

If you wait long enough, there may come “an alarm at the door,” and with much solemnity the outside watchman (a bank cashier) will inform the inside watchman (a lumberman), who will inform the Exalted Worthy Patron (a carpenter), that the members of the ladies’ auxiliary of the Ancient Order of Trustful Knights are without, and the Exalted Worthy Patron will declare the lodge closed and the visitors given entrance. Headed by the Exalted Worthy Matron (the wife of the dry-goods merchant), the auxiliary will bring in baskets of sandwiches, pots of steaming coffee, and heaps of doughnuts and apples. The whole company will resolve itself into a merry social gathering; dancing will follow the feast; and when the Exalted Worthy Scribe sends a report to the lodge paper he will say that “all went home in the wee sma’ hours, feeling that a good time had been had.”

The lodge has become the social focus of many a town. It is so to a greater degree, perhaps, in the West than in the East. On the plains distances between population centres are greater; the ties of old family acquaintance are lacking; the fraternal order is the one thing that knows no barrier of wealth or position. The fact that many of the orders admit men and women to their membership on the same terms adds to the strength of the social claim, — it also brings about odd situations.

“I am going down town to-night,” remarked a country town banker one evening to his wife. “The lodge meets this evening.”

“That will leave me alone,” was the response, “for Anna” (their one servant) “is going to lodge, too.”

“Yes,” agreed the husband. “We belong to the same lodge.”

This very equality brings about a comradeship that in the newer communities makes easier the ways of life. You have an employee in your office or store. He works with his coat off, and through the day you consider him but little. You do not ask his opinion nor defer to his judgment. But on lodge night, when you enter the portals, — a lodge door, though it may admit only to the second floor of an unpainted frame building, is always a “portal,” — you make your obeisance and mystic signs before a dignified potentate in robes of red and yellow whom you recognize as your employee.

You are surprised to see that he is completely master of the situation. To be sure, most of his work is written down in the ritual, but he rises to the occasion; and if you would sit in his place you must serve a long apprenticeship through the “chairs” until you are worthy. He gains thus a training, not possible elsewhere, in dealing with men. Somehow you have a greater respect for him the next day; he holds himself a little straighter. The democracy that politics does not give, that the church scarcely accomplishes to the same degree, comes through the mutual knowledge of the secret work of a fraternal order to whose tenets both have sworn allegiance.

What the old-fashioned “literary” or lyceum did in making its attendants ready debaters, capable of thinking on their feet, the lodge does in these days. The many matters of more or less moment that come before the order, the certainty of diversity of views, insure to all an opportunity for taking part in freeand-easy discussion under parliamentary rules. It is a school not to be despised, and for many it is the only one in which can be acquired this sort of knowledge.

Versatility is engendered by the rivalry of orders, and it is natural for the leader in one to take a commanding place in the management of others, for a broad similarity runs through the lodge ritualism, and there is a temptation to shine in many ceremonies that becomes often almost a passion. In every town are “joiners,” who pride themselves on their many degrees and their multitude of grips and signs.

The candidate for a county office in a Western community who cannot wear a half-dozen different lodge pins on his waistcoat feels handicapped. The traveler who does not display on his lapel some fanciful design of dagger, scimiter, or battle-axe is a rarity. The book agent comes into your office and gives you the hailing signal before asking your subscription for a new-fangled encyclopaedia in twenty-two volumes. The fellow passenger in the smoking-room of the Pullman glances meaningly at your emblem, which matches his own, and with “ Where do you belong ? ” begins a friendly conversation.

Sometimes the recognition is merely preliminary to working a graft; sometimes the conductor is besought to pass the ticketless traveler because of a claim of brotherhood in the order, — but this is rare. The great mass of the lodge members hold their fraternal relations higher, and condemn the one who trades on knowledge thus obtained. It is a vastknit sympathy that has grown to proportions unrealized save by those who know the people in the smaller communities and understand the comprehensiveness of the lodge membership network.

Take a typical Western town, a county-seat community of 4000 population, whose directory, issued a few months ago, lies before me. It has sixteen churches, with a membership of about 1500. But there are twenty-eight lodges, with a membership of 2400. There is, however, this difference: a person may belong to many lodges; he can join but one church. The lodges are in no sense rivals of the sanctuary; they inculcate similar principles of manliness and good citizenship and morality, but they do not undertake the regenerative work that is the province of the church. Yet many sects consider the lodge antagonistic to their ideals, and refuse to allow their members the privilege of belonging to secret orders.

In the minds of some the accomplishments of church and lodge are confused, perhaps naturally so. I remember an instance: a farmer living on a rather lonely road became ill, and after some weeks died, leaving his family with a mortgaged bit of land, many debts, barely furniture enough for its daily needs and a life insurance benefit due from oneof the fraternal orders. An evangelist holding meetings in the neighboring schoolhouse, accompanied by two of his elders, came to the widow.

“It is unfortunate that your husband did not belong to the church instead of to the lodge,” said the preacher.

The widow, loyal to her husband, and remembering the bitterness of long days of suffering and poverty, resented the insinuation.

“No, it is not,” she declared. “We have lived in this neighborhood two years, but not an elder of the church came to help us when he was sick or offered me help when he was gone. The members of the lodge came here two at a time and stayed with him every night; they brought to me and the children things we needed, and they have paid me two thousand dollars, every cent I have in the world, and which will give me a little start to make a home for the children. I am glad he belonged to the lodge.”

While she was perhaps not clear as to the ethics of the situation, and overlooked the business basis of the fraternal order, her view is shared by tens of thousands to whom the material welfare brought by the union of forces in secret affiliations brings a frank admiration of the outward expression of fraternity, shown in the friendliness engendered by association within lodge-room walls.

Indeed, the question often arises, might not some of the methods that make lodges successful be adapted to the needs of the church, to bring the material advantages of cooperation closer home to the members, holding them with firmer grasp ? Even in orders that have no business basis, existing solely as promoters of the benefits of fraternity and for the care of those members to whom come affliction or penury, there is a loyalty that any church might envy. The privilege of fellowship is a strong incentive to every member to lead an upright life, — for not only is any other course certain to bring upon him the reprobation of his lodge brothers, but, if continued, it will end in disgraceful expulsion.

Assessment life insurance is the foundation of the larger number of fraternal orders. Be the members called knights, pilgrims, workmen, foresters, or patricians, they are engaged merely in a business venture, paying at given periods certain assessments to meet death claims as brother after brother is called away. The report of a “congress” of fraternal orders gives some startling statistics. For instance, ten years ago there were thirtyfour societies in the organization; now there are over sixty. The insurance represented by the outstanding certificates is almost $5,600,000,000; the annual distribution of benefits $55,000,000. This is but one combination of orders. Another has as large a membership, and many orders are outside of both. Fraternal insurance includes something like one third of all that is written in this country, and at a cost not one twentieth of that necessary in the management of old-line companies, because it is so largely a freewill offering of time and effort on the part of the men and women in the union of cooperation.

Does the membership of the Trustful Knights show sign of lethargy, there comes an immediate response to the crisis. On some meeting night two brothers, standing at opposite stations in the hall, choose sides until the entire membership is divided into rival parties. Then begins a campaign for new members, and the community is ransacked for available material. A deputy from the grand lodge may assist in the work, utilizing his welltrained arts of persuasion and argument. Each member receives credit for the application cards on which his name is found, and a prize of worth is awarded to the one having the largest number of candidates on his record.

But the real fun comes when the harvest is ended and all the innocent joiners have been ridden on the lodge goat. Then it is that the Exalted Worthy Patron decides which group has made the greatest gains for the order, and assesses as the penalty of the opposition the furnishing of an oyster supper for the whole lodge. The entire gathering is at once transformed into a social company, wives and daughters and sweethearts appear, and there is merry-making long after the lamp in the triangular sign above the hallway has flickered and gone out.

What can stand against such effort as that ? While such is the sentiment of sociability and loyalty, how can there come an end to the lodge as a typical American institution ? Little wonder that it exerts so strong an influence. Here and there come failures because the assessments are not sufficient to meet the obligations, but new orders are all the time arising, and the spirit of the lodge survives with increasing strength.

While the death benefit to be received from a single order seldom exceeds $3000, hence making it the insurance of the moderately well-to-do, the multi-membership of the average citizen gives him a full complement of protection. Sagacious business men are found who carry large amounts of fraternal insurance, believing that in the end they are gainers over those who invest in old-line policies. Others make a judicious combination of both kinds, and so are preparing for their families along more than one line, as well as acquiring the social benefits that accrue from the possession of many secret signs and passwords.

A story is told of the most conspicuous joiner in a thriving Western city noted for its many lodge members. Indeed, it is said that everybody belongs to at least one lodge and nearly everybody to two or three. Recently a new family came to town, and located just across the street from the past master of all the organizations. One day, a week later, he caught the five-year-old son of the neighbor as the lad was passing, and with a few preliminary remarks led up to: —

“ Say, my boy, is your father a Mason ? “

“No, sir,” was the sharp reply.

“Probably, then, he is an Odd Fellow?”

“No, sir, he ain’t.”

“Knight of Pythias? Woodman? Workman ? Pyramid ? Forester ? Maccabee ?”

The boy shook his head.

“Is n’t your father a member of any lodge?” demanded the questioner in a puzzled tone.

“Not a one,” replied the boy.

“Then why on earth does he make all those signs when he comes out in the front yard every morning?”

“Oh, that ain’t lodge,” cheerfully explained the lad. “Pa’s got St. Vitus’s dance.”

The social influence of the lodge is by no means confined to the lodge room. It extends to the intimate life of the community in many of the recreative and serious affairs of mankind. Perhaps you would not care to have the Ancient Order of Trustful Knights storm your home some winter evening just as you had settled beside the fireplace with a good book ; but that sort of “surprise” is the height of enjoyment for the small town. The laughing, happy group of members, having gathered at Sir Knight Smith’s, marches in close order to the door of the victim’s home. If possible, the brother has been inveigled from the house, and is brought back to find his dwelling in the hands of his friends. It is probably a birthday or wedding anniversary, and a gaudy red plush rocker stands in the middle of the parlor, a mute testimonial of the esteem in which the members hold the host.

After the lunch brought by the callers has been served, the Exalted Worthy Patron makes a few appropriate remarks, extolling the virtues and standing of the recipient, and presents the chair, hoping for many prosperous returns of the day. And when they are gone, when the last “good-night” has died out, the honored brother rests in red plush luxury and is glad he joined the Trustful Knights.

Sometimes the venture is a larger one, and a whole lodge visits the castle of the order in a neighboringvillage. That is a gala occasion for both visitors and guests. Everybody turns out, and the hall is crowded. “Work” in the most hairraising degree is “put on ” by the team of the visiting lodge. Dignity and impressiveness mark the initiation, and the interested audience watches the proceedings closely, — part with pride and part with critical eyes. When the ability of the team has been exhibited in the exemplification of the “work,” come speeches, recitations, and songs.

Perhaps one of the grand officers will be there. Now the Grand Exalted Worthy Patron may be when at home only a drygoods clerk or a mender of shoes, but on his round of official visitation he takes on a prominence scarcely exceeded by the governor of the state. He is received with the honors of a potentate; salaams and genuflections mark his progress through the lodge room; and the robes he wears are dazzling in their beauty. But he brings something of the outside world to his fellows, and his address following the formal ceremonies is usually helpful both to the lodge life and to the individual.

Supper — or perhaps a banquet at the principal hotel of the town, with flurried waiters, many courses, and toast responses — follows, and dancing ends the evening. The gathering has done more to foster intercommunity friendliness than could a whole volume of resolutions by the respective city councils.

At stated times the grand lodge meets, and to it travel several delegates and Past Exalted Worthy Patrons from the various subordinate branches. The multiplicity of titles here becomes rather confusing, and the proceedings assume something of the nature of a conference on the Field of the Cloth of Gold. However, it gives the visitors a state-wide acquaintance that they otherwise might not attain, and introduces them into a broader life than they would find in their home towns. Then there is the supreme lodge. To the average lowly lodge member who does not hold official position this august body ranks with the United States Senate and the English Parliament. The titles dwarf the imagination. To members of the order the pomp is awe-inspiring; others are likely to smile a little at it all, — but that may be because they belong to a rival organization whose supreme lodge meets a month later.

Once a year, at least, in most lodges comes a pilgrimage to some church to listen to a sermon especially prepared for the order. It is impressive to see a hundred men, all good citizens, all carrying themselves with the feeling that they must do nothing to discredit the society, march into the meeting-house and take pews for the service.

So is it inspiring to see two members chosen by the lodge tramp sturdily to a sick brother’s dwelling and remain with the family in its time of need; or to see the generous response when some one tells the assembly of trouble and want in any home. These good deeds do not reach the public; they are not enforced actions by the rules of the order; they are the out-flowing of charity and everyday good will on the part of the members. No credit is claimed therefor; it is a mutual helpfulness in which all are united.

When death comes to a brother there arises a new opportunity for the lodge’s kind offices. Many a family has met multiplied sadness in its new frontier home. Neighbors were few and acquaintances rare. But the father wore a tiny button or pin that told of his affiliation with a leading order, and more than one evidence of its significance came to them. There were offers of assistance, flowers, carriages. At the hour of the funeral, coming down the street two by two, each man with a band of crape on his coat sleeve, appears the entire membership. Like a guard of honor the lodge lines a pathway for the family as the home is left for the lonesome drive to the cemetery. Behind the hearse the members march to God’s acre, and in solemn circle surround the open grave as the dead is laid to his final rest. They walk slowly past the gash in the green sod, with tender symbolism throwing upon the coffin sprigs of evergreen, that are for remembrance. As their ritual follows that of the church, it is difficult to see where in the relation of form to humanity’s earthly needs one greatly surpasses the other.

And who shall say that grief is not assuaged when the family proudly reads in the country paper the following week “ resolutions of respect ” inspired by the sad event ? Beginning with, “ Whereas, the Supreme Exalted Trustful Knight of the Universe has in His omnipotent wisdom seen fit to call Knight Jones from his earthly labors to the Great Lodge above; and, whereas, Hiram Chapter has lost a noble brother and the community a useful citizen,” and so on, to “ Resolved, that these resolutions be spread on the records of the lodge and a copy be given to the afflicted family,” they make a public testimonial of worth not to be despised. Naturally, in the card of thanks, along with “ the kind friends and neighbors who assisted us in our late bereavement,” are mentioned directly and specifically the “ brothers of Hiram Chapter ” as worthy of recognition by the grateful widow and children. There be those who profess to see something ridiculous in the wearing of robes and plumes. They sneer at the sight of lodge parade, each participant adorned in a conventionalized mediaeval armament, or sporting semi-military gorgeousness. They say it is silly for grown men to refer to each other in grandiose terms, and to assume dignities that are neither of state nor church. And sometimes this side of it does appeal even to the most hardened joiner. The average man grows weary of too much gold lace and fancy dress, hence there is a tendency to-day toward simpler uniforms and less ostentatious display. The stronger the order, the less is it likely to seek undue adornment.

After all, it is not the ritual nor the robes that make a lodge strong; it is the teaching that is behind it. In even the avowedly beneficiary orders is taught something higher than paying monthly assessments. The underlying principles of charity, hope, and brotherhood are linked with protection in a way that cannot fail to make an impression upon the candidate for lodge honors. Here and there is a touch of fun; some of the degrees have trials that test men’s good nature to the utmost, but they are usually taken “ on the side,” or as separate functions from the regular initiation, and have nothing to do with the real work of the lodge. The horse-play of the college fraternity finds little encouragement in the modern idea of good lodge management. It is realized that an order to be successful must appeal to men’s reason and intelligence rather than to their love of amusement.

The past seven years have been a time of remarkable growth in lodge membership. Prosperity influences this as other things. To many the price of a lodge membership is a luxury; in hard times the assessments often become a burden. Not to mention the various brotherhoods of workers, which are properly labor unions rather than secret societies, the increase in strength has been notable. More frequent than ever before has been the call to “ work ” in initiation of petitioners for degrees. With an abundance of funds, the citizen is a much more willing subject for the solicitor of the lodge, and he finds more time to enjoy whatever benefits may be derived. Wealth pours into the coffers of the organizations. Costly temples, owned by the orders and equipped with every appliance for the conduct of the sessions as well as for the comfort of the members, have been erected in the larger cities.

To the far Western farms, where the dwellers were a few years ago working out their material destiny through trial and tribulation, the lodge has reached, and thousands of prosperous husbandmen drive into the nearest town once a week, or every fortnight, to mingle with the village residents in a society’s halls. Efforts to conduct permanently lodges exclusively for farmers have not been generally successful, though in parts of the country such orders have met with considerable prosperity.

From the president of the nation down to the humblest citizen the fascination of grip and password enthralls. It is not that the lodge is a secret organization, although that is a part; it is not that its membership is chosen with caution, although such exclusiveness undoubtedly makes it more eagerly sought; it is not that it gives direct benefits or that it offers protection to the family when the bread earner has departed, — not these things alone make the lodge popular. Greater than they is the desire for social companionship, the love of fellowship, the power of community of interest. Not a substitute for club or church, yet filling a place in men’s lives that neither occupies, the lodge has developed the oldtime guild idea and fitted it to modern conditions, and is an institution that exerts a tremendous power in business, in politics, and in society. So rapidly does it increase in popularity that it show’s little indication of ever wielding less power over men’s destinies than it does to-day.