{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_38812/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_38812","id":"gutenberg_38812","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38812","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Free thought"],"text":"Produced by David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE WORKS OF ROBERT G. INGERSOLL\n\nBy Robert G. Ingersoll\n\n\"MY CREED IS THIS: HAPPINESS IS THE ONLY GOOD. THE PLACE TO BE HAPPY IS\nHERE. THE TIME TO BE HAPPY IS NOW. THE WAY TO BE HAPPY IS TO HELP MAKE\nOTHERS SO.\"\n\nIN TWELVE VOLUMES, VOLUME XII.\n\nMISCELLANY\n\n1900\n\n\nDresden Edition\n\n\n\n\nPROF. VAN BUREN DENSLOW'S \"MODERN THINKERS.\"\n\n\nIF others who read this book get as much information as I did from the\nadvance sheets, they will feel repaid a hundred times. It is perfectly\ndelightful to take advantage of the conscientious labors of those who go\nthrough and through volume after volume, divide with infinite patience\nthe gold from the dross, and present us with the pure and shining coin.\nSuch men may be likened to bees who save us numberless journeys by\ngiving us the fruit of their own.\n\nWhile this book will greatly add to the information of all who read it,\nit may not increase the happiness of some to find that Swedenborg was\nreally insane. But when they remember that he was raised by a bishop,\nand disappointed in love, they will cease to wonder at his mental\ncondition. Certainly an admixture of theology and \"dis-prized love\"\nis often sufficient to compel reason to abdicate the throne of the\nmightiest soul.\n\nThe trouble with Swedenborg was that he changed realities into dreams,\nand then out of the dreams made facts upon which he built, and with\nwhich he constructed his system.\n\nHe regarded all realities as shadows cast by ideas. To him the material\nwas the unreal, and things were definitions of the ideas of God. He\nseemed to think that he had made a discovery when he found that ideas\nwere back of words, and that language had a subjective as well as an\nobjective origin; that is that the interior meaning had been clothed\nupon. Of course, a man capable of drawing the conclusion that natural\nreason cannot harmonize with spiritual truth because in a dream, he had\nseen a beetle that could not use its feet, is capable of any absurdity\nof which the imagination can conceive. The fact is, that Swedenborg\nbelieved the Bible. That was his misfortune. His mind had been\noverpowered by the bishop, but the woman had not utterly destroyed his\nheart. He was shocked by the liberal interpretation of the Scriptures,\nand sought to avoid the difficulty by giving new meanings consistent\nwith the decency and goodness of God. He pointed out a way to preserve\nthe old Bible with a new interpretation. In this way Infidelity could\nbe avoided; and, in his day, that was almost a necessity. Had Swedenborg\ntaken the ground that the Bible was not inspired, the ears of the\nworld would have been stopped. His readers believed in the dogma of\ninspiration, and asked, not how to destroy the Scriptures, but for some\nway in which they might be preserved. He and his followers unconsciously\nrendered immense service to the cause of intellectual enfranchisement\nby their efforts to show the necessity of giving new meanings to the\nbarbarous laws, and cruel orders of Jehovah. For this purpose they\nattacked with great fury the literal text, taking the ground that if the\nold interpretation was right, the Bible was the work of savage men. They\nheightened in every way the absurdities, cruelties and contradictions of\nthe Scriptures for the purpose of showing that a new interpretation must\nbe found, and that the way pointed out by Swedenborg was the only one by\nwhich the Bible could be saved.\n\nGreat men are, after all the instrumentalities of their time. The heart\nof the civilized world was beginning to revolt at the cruelties ascribed\nto God, and was seeking for some interpretation of the Bible that kind\nand loving people could accept. The method of interpretation found by\nSwedenborg was suitable for all. Each was permitted to construct his own\n\"science of correspondence\" and gather such fruits as he might prefer.\nIn this way the ravings of revenge can instantly be changed to mercy's\nmelting tones, and murder's dagger to a smile of love. In this way and\nin no other, can we explain the numberless mistakes and crimes ascribed\nto God. Thousands of most excellent people, afraid to throw away the\nidea of inspiration, hailed with joy a discovery that allowed them to\nwrite a Bible for themselves.\n\nBut, whether Swedenborg was right or not, every man who reads a book,\nnecessarily gets from that book all that he is capable of receiving.\nEvery man who walks in the forest, or gathers a flower, or looks at a\npicture, or stands by the sea, gets all the intellectual wealth he is\ncapable of receiving. What the forest, the flower, the picture or the\nsea is to him, depends upon his mind, and upon the stage of development\nhe has reached. So that after all, the Bible must be a different book to\neach person who reads it, as the revelations of nature depend upon the\nindividual to whom they are revealed, or by whom they are discovered.\nAnd the extent of the revelation or discovery depends absolutely upon\nthe intellectual and moral development of the person to whom, or by\nwhom, the revelation or discovery is made. So that the Bible cannot be\nthe same to any two people, but each one must necessarily interpret it\nfor himself. Now, the moment the doctrine is established that we can\ngive to this book such meanings as are consistent with our highest\nideals; that we can treat the old words as purses or old stockings\nin which to put our gold, then, each one will, in effect, make a new\ninspired Bible for himself, and throw the old away. If his mind is\nnarrow, if he has been raised by ignorance and nursed by fear, he\nwill believe in the literal truth of what he reads. If he has a little\ncourage he will doubt, and the doubt will with new interpretations\nmodify the literal text; but if his soul is free he will with scorn\nreject it all.\n\nSwedenborg did one thing for which I feel almost grateful. He gave an\naccount of having met John Calvin in hell. Nothing connected with the\nsupernatural could be more perfectly natural than this. The only thing\ndetracting from the value of this report is, that if there is a hell, we\nknow without visiting the place that John Calvin must be there.\n\nAll honest founders of religions have been the dreamers of dreams, the\nsport of insanity, the prey of visions, the deceivers of others and of\nthemselves. All will admit that Swedenborg was a man of great intellect,\nof vast acquirements and of honest intentions; and I think it equally\nclear that upon one subject, at least, his mind was touched, shattered\nand shaken.\n\nMisled by analogies, imposed upon by the bishop, deceived by the woman,\nborne to other worlds upon the wings of dreams, living in the twilight\nof reason and the dawn of insanity, he regarded every fact as a patched\nand ragged garment with a lining of the costliest silk, and insisted\nthat the wrong side, even of the silk, was far more beautiful than the\nright.\n\nHerbert Spencer is almost the opposite of Swedenborg. He relies upon\nevidence, upon demonstration, upon experience, and occupies himself with\none world at a time. He perceives that there is a mental horizon that\nwe cannot pierce, and that beyond that is the unknown--possibly the\nunknowable. He endeavors to examine only that which is capable of being\nexamined, and considers the theological method as not only useless,\nbut hurtful. After all, God is but a guess, throned and established by\narrogance and assertion. Turning his attention to those things that\nhave in some way affected the condition of mankind, Spencer leaves the\nunknowable to priests and to the believers in the \"moral government\" of\nthe world. He sees only natural causes and natural results, and seeks to\ninduce man to give up gazing into void and empty space, that he may give\nhis entire attention to the world in which he lives. He sees that right\nand wrong do not depend upon the arbitrary will of even an infinite\nbeing, but upon the nature of things; that they are relations, not\nentities, and that they cannot exist, so far as we know, apart from\nhuman experience.\n\nIt may be that men will finally see that selfishness and self-sacrifice\nare both mistakes; that the first devours itself; that the second is\nnot demanded by the good, and that the bad are unworthy of it. It may be\nthat our race has never been, and never will be, deserving of a martyr.\nSometime we may see that justice is the highest possible form of mercy\nand love, and that all should not only be allowed, but compelled to reap\nexactly what they sow; that industry should not support idleness, and\nthat they who waste the spring and summer and autumn of their lives\nshould bear the winter when it comes. The fortunate should assist\nthe victims of accident; the strong should defend the weak, and the\nintellectual should lead, with loving hands, the mental poor; but\nJustice should remove the bandage from her eyes long enough to\ndistinguish between the vicious and the unfortunate.\n\nMr. Spencer is wise enough to declare that \"acts are called good or bad\naccording as they are well or ill adjusted to ends;\" and he might have\nadded, that ends are good or bad according as they affect the happiness\nof mankind.\n\nIt would be hard to over-estimate the influence of this great man. From\nan immense intellectual elevation he has surveyed the world of thought.\nHe has rendered absurd the idea of special providence, born of the\negotism of savagery. He has shown that the \"will of God\" is not a rule\nfor human conduct; that morality is not a cold and heartless tyrant;\nthat by the destruction of the individual will, a higher life cannot\nbe reached, and that after all, an intelligent love of self extends the\nhand of help and kindness to all the human race.\n\nBut had it not been for such men as Thomas Paine, Herbert Spencer could\nnot have existed for a century to come. Some one had to lead the way,\nto raise the standard of revolt, and draw the sword of war. Thomas Paine\nwas a natural revolutionist. He was opposed to every government existing\nin his day. Next to establishing a wise and just republic based upon\nthe equal rights of man, the best thing that can be done is to destroy a\nmonarchy.\n\nPaine had a sense of justice, and had imagination enough to put himself\nin the place of the oppressed. He had, also, what in these pages is so\nfelicitously expressed, \"a haughty intellectual pride, and a willingness\nto pit his individual thought against the clamor of a world.\"\n\nI cannot believe that he wrote the letters of \"Junius,\" although the two\ncritiques combined in this volume, entitled \"Paine\" and \"Junius,\" make\nby far the best argument upon that subject I have ever read. First,\nPaine could have had no personal hatred against the men so bitterly\nassailed by Junius. Second, He knew, at that time, but little of English\npoliticians, and certainly had never associated with men occupying the\nhighest positions, and could not have been personally acquainted with\nthe leading statesmen of England. Third., He was not an unjust man. He\nwas neither a coward, a calumniator, nor a sneak. All these delightful\nqualities must have lovingly united in the character of Junius. Fourth,\nPaine could have had no reason for keeping the secret after coming to\nAmerica.\n\nI have always believed that Junius, after having written his letters,\naccepted office from the very men he had maligned, and at last became\na pensioner of the victims of his slander. \"Had he as many mouths as\nHydra, such a course must have closed them all.\" Certainly the author\nmust have kept the secret to prevent the loss of his reputation.\n\nIt cannot be denied that the style of Junius is much like that of Paine.\nShould it be established that Paine wrote the letters of Junius, it\nwould not, in my judgment, add to his reputation as a writer. Regarded\nas literary efforts they cannot be compared with \"Common Sense,\" \"The\nCrisis,\" or \"The Rights of Man.\"\n\nThe claim that Paine was the real author of the Declaration of\nIndependence is much better founded. I am inclined to think that he\nactually wrote it; but whether this is true or not, every idea contained\nin it had been written by him long before. It is now claimed that the\noriginal document is in Paine's handwriting. It certainly is not in\nJefferson's. Certain it is, that Jefferson could not have written\nanything so manly, so striking, so comprehensive, so clear, so\nconvincing, and so faultless in rhetoric and rhythm as the Declaration\nof Independence.\n\nPaine was the first man to write these words, \"The United States of\nAmerica.\" He was the first great champion of absolute separation\nfrom England. He was the first to urge the adoption of a Federal\nConstitution; and, more clearly than any other man of his time, he\nperceived the future greatness of this country.\n\nHe has been blamed for his attack on Washington. The truth is, he was\nin prison in France. He had committed the crime of voting, against the\nexecution of the king It was the grandest act of his life, but at that\ntime to be merciful was criminal. Paine; being an American citizen,\nasked Washington, then President, to say a word to Robespierre in\nhis behalf. Washington remained silent. In the calmness of power, the\nserenity, of fortune, Washington the President, read the request of\nPaine, the prisoner, and with the complacency of assured fame, consigned\nto the wastebasket of forgetfulness the patriot's cry for help.\n\n     \"Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,\n     Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,\n     A great-sized monster of ingratitudes.\n     Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devour'd\n     As fast as they are made, forgot as soon\n     As done.\"\n\nIn this controversy, my sympathies are with the prisoner.\n\nPaine did more to free the mind, to destroy the power of ministers and\npriests in the New World, than any other man. In order to answer his\narguments, the churches found it necessary to attack his character.\nThere was a general resort to falsehood. In trying to destroy the\nreputation of Paine, the churches have demoralized themselves. Nearly\nevery minister has been a willing witness against the truth. Upon the\ngrave of Thomas Paine, the churches of America have sacrificed their\nhonor. The influence of the Hero author increases every day, and there\nare more copies of the \"Age of Reason\" sold in the United States, than\nof any work written in defence of the Christian religion. Hypocrisy,\nwith its forked tongue, its envious and malignant heart, lies coiled\nupon the memory of Paine, ready to fasten its poisonous fangs in the\nreputation of any man who dares defend the great and generous dead.\n\nLeaving the dust and glory of revolutions, let us spend a moment of\nquiet with Adam Smith. I was glad to find that a man's ideas upon the\nsubject of protection and free trade depend almost entirely upon the\ncountry in which he lives, or the business in which he happens to\nbe engaged, and that, after all, each man regards the universe as a\ncircumference of which he is the center. It gratified me to learn that\neven Adam Smith was no exception to this rule, and that he regarded\nall \"protection as a hurtful and ignorant interference,\" except when\nexercised for the good of Great Britain. Owing to the fact that his\nnationality quarreled with his philosophy, he succeeded in writing\na book that is quoted with equal satisfaction by both parties. The\nprotectionists rely upon the exceptions he made for England, and the\nfree traders upon the doctrines laid down for other countries.\n\nHe seems to have reasoned upon the question of money precisely as we\nhave, of late years, in the United States; and he has argued both sides\nequally well. Poverty asks for inflation. Wealth is conservative, and\nalways says there is money enough.\n\nUpon the question of money, this volume contains the best thing I have\never read: \"The only mode of procuring the service of others, on any\nlarge scale, in the absence of money, is by force, which is slavery.\nMoney, by constituting a medium in which the smallest services can be\npaid for, substitutes wages for the lash, and renders the liberty of\nthe individual consistent with the maintenance and support of society.\"\nThere is more philosophy in that one paragraph than Adam Smith expresses\nin his whole work. It may truthfully be said, that without money,\nliberty is impossible. No one, whatever his views may be, can read the\narticle on Adam Smith without profit and delight.\n\nThe discussion of the money question is in every respect admirable, and\nis as candid as able. The world will sooner or later learn that there is\nnothing miraculous in finance; that money is a real and tangible thing,\na product of labor, serving not merely as a medium of exchange but as\na basis of credit as well; that it cannot be created by an act of the\nLegislature; that dreams cannot be coined, and that only labor, in some\nform, can put, upon the hand of want, Alladin's magic ring.\n\nAdam Smith wrote upon the wealth of nations, while Charles Fourier\nlabored for the happiness of mankind. In this country, few seem\nto understand communism. While here, it may be regarded as vicious\nidleness, armed with the assassin's knife and the incendiary's torch, in\nEurope, it is a different thing. There, it is a reaction from Feudalism.\nNobility is communism in its worst possible form. Nothing can be worse\nthan for idleness to eat the bread of industry. Communism in Europe\nis not the \"stand and deliver\" of the robber, but the protest of the\nrobbed. Centuries ago, kings and priests, that is to say, thieves and\nhypocrites, divided Europe among themselves. Under this arrangement, the\nfew were masters and the many slaves. Nearly every government in the\nOld World rests upon simple brute force. It is hard for the many to\nunderstand why the few should own the soil. Neither can they clearly\nsee why they should give their brain and blood to those who steal their\nbirthright and their bread. It has occurred to them that they who do the\nmost should not receive the least, and that, after all, an industrious\npeasant is of far more value to the world than a vain and idle king.\n\nThe Communists of France, blinded as they were, made the Republic\npossible. Had they joined with their countrymen, the invaders would have\nbeen repelled, and some Napoleon would still have occupied the throne.\nSocialism perceives that Germany has been enslaved by victory, while\nFrance found liberty in defeat. In Russia the Nihilists prefer chaos to\nthe government of the bayonet, Siberia and the knout, and these intrepid\nmen have kept upon the coast of despotism one beacon fire of hope.\n\nAs a matter of fact, every society is a species of communism--a kind\nof co-operation in which selfishness, in spite of itself, benefits the\ncommunity. Every industrious man adds to the wealth, not only of his\nnation, but to that of the world. Every inventor increases human power,\nand every sculptor, painter and poet adds to the value of human life.\nFourier, touched by the sufferings of the poor as well as by the barren\njoys of hoarded wealth, and discovering the vast advantages of combined\neffort, and the immense economy of co-operation, sought to find some way\nfor men to help themselves by helping each other. He endeavored to do\naway with monopoly and competition, and to ascertain some method by\nwhich the sensuous, the moral, and the intellectual passions of man\ncould be gratified.\n\nFor my part I can place no confidence in any system that does away, or\ntends to do away, with the institution of marriage. I can conceive of no\ncivilization of which the family must not be the unit.\n\nSocieties cannot be made; they must grow. Philosophers may predict, but\nthey cannot create. They may point out as many ways as they please; but\nafter all, humanity will travel in paths of its own.\n\nFourier sustained about the same relation to this world that Swedenborg\ndid to the other. There must be something wrong about the brain of one\nwho solemnly asserts that, \"the elephant, the ox and the diamond, were\ncreated by the sun; the horse, the lily and the ruby, by Saturn; the\ncow, the jonquil and the topaz by Jupiter; and the dog, the violet and\nthe opal stones by the earth itself.\"\n\nAnd yet, forgetting these aberrations of the mind, this lunacy of a\ngreat and loving soul, for one, I hold in tender-est regard the memory\nof Charles Fourier, one of the best and noblest of our race.\n\nWhile Fourier was in his cradle, Jeremy Bentham, who read history when\nthree years old, played on the violin at five, \"and at fifteen detected\nthe fallacies of Blackstone,\" was demonstrating that the good was the\nuseful; that a thing was right because it paid in the highest and best\nsense; that utility was the basis of morals; that without allowing\ninterest to be paid upon money commerce could not exist; and that\nthe object of all human governments should be to secure the greatest\nhappiness of the greatest number. He read Hume and Helvetius, threw away\nthe Thirty-nine Articles, and endeavored to impress upon the English\nLaw the fact that its ancestor was a feudal savage. He held the past in\ncontempt, hated Westminster and despised Oxford. He combated the\nidea that governments were originally founded on contract. Locke and\nBlackstone talked as though men originally lived apart, and formed\nsocieties by agreement. These writers probably imagined that at one time\nthe trees were separated like telegraph poles, and finally came together\nand made groves by agreement. I believe that it was Pufendorf who said\nthat slavery was originally founded on contract. To which Voltaire\nreplied:--\"If my lord Pufendorf will produce the original contract\n_signed by the party who was to be the slave_, I will admit the truth of\nhis statement.\"\n\nA contract back of society is a myth manufactured by those in power to\nserve as a title to place, and to impress the multitude with the\nidea that they are, in some mysterious way, bound, fettered, and even\nbenefited by its terms.\n\nThe glory of Bentham is, that he gave the true basis of morals, and\nfurnished statesmen with the star and compass of this sentence:--\"The\ngreatest happiness of the greatest number.\"\n\nMost scientists have deferred to the theologians. They have admitted\nthat some questions could not, at present, be solved. These admissions\nhave been thankfully received by the clergy, who have always begged for\nsome curtain to be left, behind which their God could still exist. Men\ncalling themselves \"scientific\" have tried to harmonize the \"apparent\"\ndiscrepancies between the Bible and the _other_ works of Jehovah. In\nthis way they have made reputations. They were at once quoted by\nthe ministers as wonderful examples of piety and learning. These men\ndiscounted the future that they might enjoy the ignorant praise of the\npresent. Agassiz preferred the applause of Boston, while he lived, to\nthe reverence of a world after he was dead. Small men appear great only\nwhen they agree with the multitude.\n\nThe last Scientific Congress in America was opened with prayer. Think\nof a science that depends upon the efficacy of words addressed to the\nUnknown and Unknowable!\n\nIn our country, most of the so-called scientists are professors in\nsectarian colleges, in which Moses is considered a geologist, and\nJoshua an astronomer. For the most part their salaries depend upon\nthe ingenuity with which they can explain away facts and dodge\ndemonstration.\n\nThe situation is about the same in England. When Mr. Huxley saw fit to\nattack the Mosaic account of the creation, he did not deem it advisable\nto say plainly what he meant. He attacked the account of creation as\ngiven by Milton, although he knew that the Mosaic and Miltonic were\nsubstantially the same. Science has acted like a guest without a wedding\ngarment, and has continually apologized for existing. In the presence\nof arrogant absurdity, overawed by the patronizing airs of a successful\ncharlatan, it has played the role of a \"poor relation,\" and accepted,\nwhile sitting below the salt, insults as honors.\n\nThere can be no more pitiable sight than a scientist in the employ of\nsuperstition dishonoring himself without assisting his master. But there\nare a multitude of brave and tender men who give their honest thoughts,\nwho are true to nature, who give the facts and let consequences shirk\nfor themselves, who know the value and meaning of a truth, and who have\nbravely tried the creeds by scientific tests.\n\nAmong the bravest, side by side with the greatest of the world, in\nGermany, the land of science, stands Ernst Haeckel, who may be said\nto have not only demonstrated the theories of Darwin, but the Monistic\nconception of the world. Rejecting all the puerile ideas of a personal\nCreator, he has had the courage to adopt the noble words of Bruno:--\"A\nspirit exists in all things, and no body is so small but it contains a\npart of the divine substance within itself, by which it is animated.\" He\nhas endeavored--and I think with complete success--to show that there is\nnot, and never was, and never can be the _Creator_ of anything. There\nis no more a personal Creator than there is a personal destroyer. Matter\nand force must have existed from eternity, all generation must have been\nspontaneous, and the simplest organisms must have been the ancestors of\nthe most perfect and complex.\n\nHaeckel is one of the bitterest enemies of the church, and is,\ntherefore, one of the bravest friends of man.\n\nCatholicism was, at one time, the friend of education--of an education\nsufficient to make a Catholic out of a barbarian. Protestantism was also\nin favor of education--of an education sufficient to make a Protestant\nout of a Catholic. But now, it having been demonstrated that real\neducation will make Freethinkers, Catholics and Protestants both are the\nenemies of true learning.\n\nIn all countries where human beings are held in bondage, it is a crime\nto teach a slave to read and write. Masters know that education is an\nabolitionist, and theologians know that science is the deadly foe of\nevery creed in Christendom.\n\nIn the age of Faith, a personal god stood at the head of every\ndepartment of ignorance, and was supposed to be the King of kings, the\nrewarder and punisher of individuals, and the governor of nations.\n\nThe worshipers of this god have always regarded the men in love with\nsimple facts, as Atheists in disguise. And it must be admitted that\nnothing is more Atheistic than a fact. Pure science is necessarily\ngodless, It is incapable of worship. It investigates, and cannot afford\nto shut its eyes even long enough to pray. There was a time when those\nwho disputed the divine right of kings were denounced as blasphemous;\nbut the time came when liberty demanded that a personal god should be\nretired from politics. In our country this was substantially done in\n1776, when our fathers declared that all power to govern came from\nthe consent of the governed. The cloud-theory was abandoned, and one\ngovernment has been established for the benefit of mankind. Our fathers\ndid not keep God out of the Constitution from principle, but from\njealousy. Each church, in colonial times, preferred to live in single\nblessedness rather than see some rival wedded to the state. Mutual\nhatred planted our tree of religious liberty. A constitution without a\ngod has at last given us a nation without a slave.\n\nA personal god sustains the same relation to religion as to politics.\nThe Deity is a master, and man a serf; and this relation is inconsistent\nwith true progress. The Universe ought to be a pure democracy--an\ninfinite republic without a tyrant and without a chain.\n\nAuguste Comte endeavored to put humanity in the place of Jehovah, and no\nconceivable change can be more desirable than this. This great man did\nnot, like some of his followers, put a mysterious something called law\nin the place of God, which is simply giving the old master a new name.\nLaw is this side of phenomena, not the other. It is not the cause,\nneither is it the result of phenomena. The fact of succession and\nresemblance, that is to say, the same thing happening under the same\nconditions, is all we mean by law. No one can conceive of a law\nexisting apart from matter, or controlling matter, any more than he can\nunderstand the eternal procession of the Holy Ghost, or motion apart\nfrom substance. We are beginning to see that law does not, and cannot\nexist as an entity, but that it is only a conception of the mind to\nexpress the fact that the same entities, under the same conditions,\nproduce the same results. Law does not produce the entities, the\nconditions, or the results, or even the sameness of the results.\nNeither does it affect the relations of entities, nor the result of such\nrelations, but it stands simply for the fact that the same causes, under\nthe same conditions, eternally have produced and eternally will produce\nthe same results.\n\nThe metaphysicians are always giving us explanations of phenomena which\nare as difficult to understand as the phenomena they seek to explain;\nand the believers in God establish their dogmas by miracles, and then\nsubstantiate the miracles by assertion.\n\nThe Designer of the teleologist, the First Cause of the religious\nphilosopher, the Vital Force of the biologist, and the law of the\nhalf-orthodox scientist, are all the shadowy children of ignorance and\nfear.\n\nThe Universe is all there is. It is both subject and object;\ncontemplator and contemplated; creator and created; destroyer and\ndestroyed; preserver and preserved; and within itself are all causes,\nmodes, motions and effects.\n\nUnable in some things to rise above the superstitions of his day,\nComte adopted not only the machinery, but some of the prejudices, of\nCatholicism. He made the mistake of Luther. He tried to reform the\nChurch of Rome. Destruction is the only reformation of which that church\nis capable. Every religion is based upon a misconception, not only of\nthe cause of phenomena, but of the real object of life; that is to say,\nupon falsehood; and the moment the truth is known and understood, these\nreligions must fall. In the field of thought, they are briers, thorns,\nand noxious weeds; on the shores of intellectual discovery, they are\nsirens, and in the forests that the brave thinkers are now penetrating,\nthey are the wild beasts, fanged and monstrous.\n\nYou cannot reform these weeds. Sirens cannot be changed into good\ncitizens; and such wild beasts, even when tamed, are of no possible use.\nDestruction is the only remedy. Reformation is a hospital where the new\nphilosophy exhausts its strength nursing the old religion.\n\nThere was, in the brain of the great Frenchman, the dawn of that happy\nday in which humanity will be the only religion, good the only god,\nhappiness the only object, restitution the only atonement, mistake the\nonly sin, and affection, guided by intelligence, the only savior of\nmankind. This dawn enriched his poverty, illuminated the darkness of\nhis life, peopled his loneliness with the happy millions yet to be, and\nfilled his eyes with proud and tender tears.\n\nA few years ago I asked the superintendent of Pere La Chaise if he knew\nwhere I could find the tomb of Auguste Comte. He had never heard even\nthe name of the author of the \"Positive Philosophy.\" I asked him if\nhe had ever heard of Napoleon Bonaparte. In a half-insulted tone,\nhe replied, \"Of course I have, why do you ask me such a question?\"\n\"Simply,\" was my answer, \"that I might have the opportunity of saying,\nthat when everything connected with Napoleon, except his crimes, shall\nhave been forgotten, Auguste Comte will be lovingly remembered as a\nbenefactor of the human race.\"\n\nThe Jewish God must be dethroned! A personal Deity must go back to\nthe darkness of barbarism from whence he came. The theologians must\nabdicate, and popes, priests, and clergymen, labeled as \"extinct\nspecies,\" must occupy the mental museums of the future.\n\nIn my judgment, this book, filled with original thought, will hasten the\ncoming of that blessed time.\n\nWashington, D. C., Nov. 29,1879.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE TO DR. EDGAR C. BEALL'S \"THE BRAIN AND THE BIBLE.\"\n\n\nTHIS book, written by a brave and honest man, is filled with brave and\nhonest thoughts. The arguments it presents can not be answered by all\nthe theologians in the world. The author is convinced that the universe\nis natural, that man is naturally produced, and that there is a\nnecessary relation between character and brain. He sees, and clearly\nsees, that the theological explanation of phenomena is only a plausible\nabsurdity, and, at best, as great a mystery as it tries to solve. I\nthank the man who breaks, or tries to break, the chains of custom,\ncreed, and church, and gives in plain, courageous words, the product of\nhis brain.\n\nIt is almost impossible to investigate any subject without somewhere\ntouching the religious prejudices of ourselves or others. Most people\njudge of the truth of a proposition by the consequences upon some\npreconceived opinion. Certain things they take as truths, and with this\nlittle standard in their minds, they measure all other theories. If\nthe new facts do not agree with the standard, they are instantly thrown\naway, because it is much easier to dispose of the new facts than to\nreconstruct an entire philosophy.\n\nA few years ago, when men began to say that character could be\ndetermined by the form, quantity, and quality of the brain, the\nreligious world rushed to the conclusion that this fact might destroy\nwhat they were pleased to call the free moral agency of man. They\nadmitted that all things in the physical world were links in the\ninfinite chain of causes and effects, and that not one atom of the\nmaterial universe could, by any possibility, be entirely exempt from\nthe action of every other. They insisted that, if the motions of the\nspirit--the thoughts, dreams, and conclusions of the brain, were as\nnecessarily produced as stones and stars, virtue became necessity, and\nmorality the result of forces capable of mathematical calculation.\nIn other words, they insisted that, while there were causes for all\nmaterial phenomena, a something called the Will sat enthroned above\nall law, and dominated the phenomena of the intellectual world. They\ninsisted that man was free; that he controlled his brain; that he was\nresponsible for thought as well as action; that the intellectual world\nof each man was a universe in which his will was king. They were\nafraid that phrenology might, in some way, interfere with the scheme of\nsalvation, or prevent the eternal torment of some erring soul.\n\nIt is insisted that man is free, and is responsible, because he knows\nright from wrong. But the compass does not navigate the ship; neither\ndoes it, in any way, of itself, determine the direction that is taken.\nWhen winds and waves are too powerful, the compass is of no importance.\nThe pilot may read it correctly, and may know the direction the ship\nought to take, but the compass is not a force. So men, blown by the\ntempests of passion, may have the intellectual conviction that\nthey should go another way; but, of what use, of what force, is the\nconviction?\n\nThousands of persons have gathered curious statistics for the purpose of\nshowing that man is absolutely dominated by his surroundings. By these\nstatistics is discovered what is called \"the law of average.\" They show\nthat there are about so many suicides in London every year, so many\nletters misdirected at Paris, so many men uniting themselves In marriage\nwith women older than themselves in Belgium, so many burglaries to one\nmurder in France, or so many persons driven insane by religion in the\nUnited States. It is asserted that these facts conclusively show\nthat man is acted upon; that behind each thought, each dream, is the\nefficient cause, and that the doctrine of moral responsibility has been\ndestroyed by statistics.\n\nBut, does the fact that about so many crimes are committed on the\naverage, in a given population, or that so many any things are done,\nprove that there is no freedom in human action?\n\nSuppose a population of ten thousand persons; and suppose, further, that\nthey are free, and that they have the usual wants of mankind. Is it not\nreasonable to say that they would act in some way? They certainly would\ntake measures to obtain food, clothing, and shelter. If these people\ndiffered in intellect, in surroundings, in temperament, in strength, it\nis reasonable to suppose that all would not be equally successful. Under\nsuch circumstances, may we not safely infer that, in a little while, if\nthe statistics were properly taken, a law of average would appear? In\nother words, free people would act; and, being different in mind, body,\nand circumstances, would not all act exactly alike. All would not be\nalike acted upon. The deviations from what might be thought wise, or\nright, would sustain such a relation to time and numbers that they could\nbe expressed by a law of average.\n\nIf this is true, the law of average does not establish necessity.\n\nBut, in my supposed case, the people, after all, are not free. They have\nwants. They are under the necessity of feeding, clothing, and sheltering\nthemselves. To the extent of their actual wants, they are not free.\nEvery limitation is a master. Every finite being is a prisoner, and no\nman has ever yet looked above or beyond the prison walls.\n\nOur highest conception of liberty is to be free from the dictation of\nfellow prisoners.\n\nTo the extent that we have wants, we are not free. To the extent that we\ndo not have wants, we do not act.\n\nIf we are responsible for our thoughts, we ought not only to know how\nthey are formed, but we ought to form them. If we are the masters of our\nown minds, we ought to be able to tell what we are going to think at any\nfuture time. Evidently, the food of thought--its very warp and woof--is\nfurnished through the medium of the senses. If we open our eyes, we\ncannot help seeing. If we do not stop our ears, we cannot help hearing.\nIf anything touches us, we feel it. The heart beats in spite of us.\nThe lungs supply themselves with air without our knowledge. The blood\npursues its old accustomed rounds, and all our senses act without our\nleave. As the heart beats, so the brain thinks. The will is not its\nking. As the blood flows, as the lungs expand, as the eyes see, as the\nears hear, as the flesh is sensitive to touch, so the brain thinks.\n\nI had a dream, in which I debated a question with a friend. I thought\nto myself: \"This is a dream, and yet I can not tell what my opponent is\ngoing to say. Yet, if it is a dream, I am doing the thinking for both\nsides, and therefore ought to know in advance what my friend will urge.\"\nBut, in a dream, there is some one who seems to talk to us. Our own\nbrain tells us news, and presents an unexpected thought. Is it not\npossible that each brain is a field where all the senses sow the seeds\nof thought? Some of these fields are mostly barren, poor, and hard,\nproducing only worthless weeds; and some grow sturdy oaks and stately\npalms; and some are like the tropic world, where plants and trees and\nvines seem royal children of the soil and sun.\n\nNothing seems more certain than that the capacity of a human being\ndepends, other things being equal, upon the amount, form, and quality\nof his brain. We also know that health, disposition, temperament,\noccupation, food, surroundings, ancestors, quality, form, and texture\nof the brain, determine what we call character. Man is, collectively and\nindividually, what his surroundings have made him. Nations differ from\neach other as greatly as individuals in the same nation. Nations depend\nupon soil, climate, geographical position, and countless other facts.\nShakespeare would have been impossible without the climate of England.\nThere is a direct relation between Hamlet and the Gulf Stream. Dr.\nDraper has shown that the great desert of Sahara made negroes possible\nin Africa. If the Caribbean Sea had been a desert, negroes might have\nbeen produced in America.\n\nAre the effects of climate upon man necessary effects? Is it possible\nfor man to escape them? Is he responsible for what he does as a\nconsequence of his surroundings? Is the mind dependent upon causes?\nDoes it act without cause? Is every thought a necessity? Can man choose\nwithout reference to any quality in the thing chosen?\n\nNo one will blame Mr. Brown or Mr. Jones for not writing like\nShakespeare. Should they be blamed for not acting like Christ? We say\nthat a great painter has genius. Is it not possible that a certain\ngenius is required to be what is called \"good\"? All men cannot be\ngreat. All men cannot be successful. Can all men be kind? Can all men be\nhonest?\n\nIt may be that a crime appears terrible in proportion as we realize\nits consequences. If this is true, morality may depend largely upon the\nimagination. Man cannot have imagination at will; that, certainly, is\na natural product. And yet, a man's action may depend largely upon the\nwant of imagination. One man may feel that he really wishes to kill\nanother. He may make preparations to commit the deed; and yet, his\nimagination may present such pictures of horror and despair; he may so\nvividly see the widow clasping the mangled corpse; he may so plainly\nhear the cries and sobs of orphans, while the clods fall upon the\ncoffin, that his hand is stayed. Another, lacking imagination, thirsting\nonly for revenge, seeing nothing beyond the accomplishment of the deed,\nburies, with blind-and thoughtless hate, the dagger in his victim's\nheart.\n\nMorality, for the most part, is the verdict of the majority.\nThis verdict depends upon the intelligence of the people; and the\nintelligence depends upon the amount, form, and quality of the average\nbrain.\n\nIf the mind depends upon certain organs for the expression of its\nthought, does it have thought independently of those organs? Is there\nany mind without brain? Does the mind think apart from the brain, and\nthen express its thought through the instrumentality of the brain?\nTheologians tell us that insanity is not a disease of the soul, but of\nthe brain; that the soul is perfectly untouched; but that the instrument\nwith which, and through which, it manifests itself, is impaired. The\nfact, however, seems to be, that the mind, the something that is the\nman, is unconscious of the fact that anything is out of order in the\nbrain. Insane people insist that they are sane.\n\nIf we should find a locomotive off the track, and the engineer using the\nproper appliances to put it back, we would say that the machine is\nout of order, but the engineer is not. But, if we found the locomotive\nupside down, with wheels in air, and the engineer insisting that it\nwas on the track, and never running better, we would then conclude\nthat something was wrong, not only with the locomotive, but with the\nengineer.\n\nWe are told in medical books of a girl, who, at about the age of nine\nyears, was attacked with some cerebral disease. When she recovered, she\nhad forgotten all she ever knew, and had to relearn the alphabet, and\nthe names of her parents and kindred. In this abnormal state, she was\nnot a good girl; in the normal state, she was. After having lived in the\nsecond state for several years, she went back to the first; and all she\nhad learned in the second state was forgotten, and all she had learned\nin the first was remembered.\n\nI believe she changed once more, and died in the abnormal state. In\nwhich of these states was she responsible? Were her thoughts and\nactions as free in one as in the other? It may be contended that, in her\ndiseased state, the mind or soul could not correctly express itself. If\nthis is so, it follows that, as no one is perfectly healthy, and as\nno one has a perfect brain, it is impossible that the soul should ever\ncorrectly express itself. Is the soul responsible for the defects of the\nbrain? Is it not altogether more rational to say, that what we call mind\ndepends upon the brain, and that the child--mind, inherits the defects\nof its parent--brain?\n\nAre certain physical conditions necessary to the production of what\nwe call virtuous actions? Is it possible for anything to be produced\nwithout what we call cause, and, if the cause was sufficient, was it not\nnecessarily produced? Do not most people mistake for freedom the right\nto examine their own chains? If morality depends upon conditions, should\nit not be the task of the great and good to discover such conditions?\nMay it not be possible so to understand the brain that we can stop\nproducing criminals?\n\nIt may be insisted that there is something produced by the brain besides\nthought--a something that takes cognizance of thoughts--a something\nthat weighs, compares, reflects and pronounces judgment. This something\ncannot find the origin of itself. Does it exist independently of the\nbrain? Is it merely a looker-on? If it is a product of the brain, then\nits power, perception, and judgment depend upon the quantity, form, and\nquality of the brain.\n\nMan, including all his attributes, must have been necessarily produced,\nand the product was the child of conditions.\n\nMost reformers have infinite confidence in creeds, resolutions, and\nlaws. They think of the common people as raw material, out of which\nthey propose to construct institutions and governments, like mechanical\ncontrivances, where each person will stand for a cog, rope, wheel,\npulley, bolt, or fuel, and the reformers will be the managers and\ndirectors. They forget that these cogs and wheels have opinions of their\nown; that they fall out with other cogs, and refuse to turn with other\nwheels; that the pulleys and ropes have ideas peculiar to themselves,\nand delight in mutiny and revolution. These reformers have theories that\ncan only be realized when other people have none.\n\nSome time, it will be found that people can be changed only by changing\ntheir surroundings. It is alleged that, at least ninety-five per cent.\nof the criminals transported from England to Australia and other penal\ncolonies, became good and useful citizens in a new world. Free from\nformer associates and associations, from the necessities of a hard,\ncruel, and competitive civilization, they became, for the most part,\nhonest people. This immense fact throws more light upon social questions\nthan all the theories of the world. All people are not able to support\nthemselves. They lack intelligence, industry, cunning--in short,\ncapacity. They are continually falling by the way. In the midst of\nplenty, they are hungry. Larceny is born of want and opportunity. In\npassion's storm, the will is wrecked upon the reefs and rocks of crime.\n\nThe complex, tangled web of thought and dream, of perception and memory,\nof imagination and judgment, of wish and will and want--the woven wonder\nof a life--has never yet been raveled back to simple threads.\n\nShall we not become charitable and just, when we know that every act is\nbut condition's fruit; that Nature, with her countless hands, scatters\nthe seeds of tears and crimes--of every virtue and of every joy; that\nall the base and vile are victims of the Blind, and that the good and\ngreat have, in the lottery of life, by chance or fate, drawn heart and\nbrain?\n\nWashington, December 21, 1881.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE TO \"MEN, WOMEN AND GODS.\"\n\n\nNOTHING gives me more pleasure, nothing gives greater promise for the\nfuture, than the fact that woman is achieving intellectual and physical\nliberty.\n\nIt is refreshing to know that here, in our country, there are thousands\nof women who think, and express their thoughts--who are thoroughly\nfree and thoroughly conscientious--who have neither been narrowed nor\ncorrupted by a heartless creed--who do not worship a being in heaven\nwhom they would shudderingly loathe on earth--women who do not stand\nbefore the altar of a cruel faith, with downcast eyes of timid\nacquiescence, and pay to impudent authority the tribute of a thoughtless\nyes. They are no longer satisfied with being told. They examine for\nthemselves. They have ceased to be the prisoners of society--the\nsatisfied serfs of husbands, or the echoes of priests. They demand the\nrights that naturally belong to intelligent human beings. If wives, they\nwish to be the equals of husbands. If mothers, they wish to rear their\nchildren in the atmosphere of love, liberty and philosophy. They believe\nthat woman can discharge all her duties without the aid of superstition,\nand preserve all that is true, pure, and tender, without sacrificing in\nthe temple of absurdity the convictions of the soul.\n\nWoman is not the intellectual inferior of man. She has lacked, not mind,\nbut opportunity. In the long night of barbarism, physical strength and\nthe cruelty to use it, were the badges of superiority. Muscle was more\nthan mind. In the ignorant age of Faith, the loving nature of woman was\nabused. Her conscience was rendered morbid and diseased. It might almost\nbe said that she was betrayed by her own virtues. At best she secured,\nnot opportunity, but flattery--the preface to degradation. She was\ndeprived of liberty, and without that, nothing is worth the having. She\nwas taught to obey without question, and to believe without thought.\nThere were universities for men before the alphabet had been taught to\nwomen. At the intellectual feast, there were no places for wives and\nmothers. Even now they sit at the second table and eat the crusts and\ncrumbs. The schools for women, at the present time, are just far enough\nbehind those for men, to fall heirs to the discarded; on the same\nprinciple that when a doctrine becomes too absurd for the pulpit, it is\ngiven to the Sunday-school.\n\nThe ages of muscle and miracle--of fists and faith--are passing away.\nMinerva occupies at last a higher niche than Hercules. Now a word\nis stronger than a blow. At last we see women who depend upon\nthemselves--who stand, self poised, the shocks of this sad world,\nwithout leaning for support against a church--who do not go to the\nliterature of barbarism for consolation, or use the falsehoods and\nmistakes of the past for the foundation of their hope--women brave\nenough and tender enough to meet and bear the facts and fortunes of this\nworld.\n\nThe men who declare that woman is the intellectual inferior of man, do\nnot, and cannot, by offering themselves in evidence, substantiate their\ndeclaration.\n\nYet, I must admit that there are thousands of wives who still have\nfaith in the saving power of superstition--who still insist on attending\nchurch while husbands prefer the shores, the woods, or the fields. In\nthis way, families are divided. Parents grow apart, and unconsciously\nthe pearl of greatest price is thrown away. The wife ceases to be\nthe intellectual companion of the husband. She reads _The Christian\nRegister_, sermons in the Monday papers, and a little gossip about\nfolks and fashions, while he studies the works of Darwin, Haeckel, and\nHumboldt. Their sympathies become estranged. They are no longer mental\nfriends. The husband smiles at the follies of the wife, and she weeps\nfor the supposed sins of the husband. Such wives should read this book.\nThey should not be satisfied to remain forever in the cradle of thought,\namused with the toys of superstition.\n\nThe parasite of woman is the priest.\n\nIt must also be admitted that there are thousands of men who believe\nthat superstition is good for women and children--who regard falsehood\nas the fortress of virtue, and feel indebted to ignorance for the purity\nof daughters and the fidelity of wives. These men think of priests\nas detectives in disguise, and regard God as a policeman who prevents\nelopements. Their opinions about religion are as correct as their\nestimate of woman.\n\nThe church furnishes but little food for the mind. People of\nintelligence are growing tired of the platitudes of the pulpit--the\niterations of the itinerants. The average sermon is \"as tedious as a\ntwice told tale vexing the ears of a drowsy man.\"\n\nOne Sunday a gentleman, who is a great inventor, called at my house.\nOnly a few words had passed between us, when he arose, saying that he\nmust go as it was time for church. Wondering that a man of his mental\nwealth could enjoy the intellectual poverty of the pulpit, I asked for\nan explanation, and he gave me the following: \"You know that I am an\ninventor. Well, the moment my mind becomes absorbed in some difficult\nproblem, I am afraid that something may happen to distract my attention.\nNow, I know that I can sit in church for an hour without the slightest\ndanger of having the current of my thought disturbed.\"\n\nMost women cling to the Bible because they have been taught that to give\nup that book is to give up all hope of another life--of ever meeting\nagain the loved and lost. They have also been taught that the Bible is\ntheir friend, their defender, and the real civilizer of man.\n\nNow, if they will only read this book--these three lectures, without\nfear, and then read the Bible, they will see that the truth or falsity\nof the dogma of inspiration has nothing to do with the question of\nimmortality. Certainly the Old Testament does not teach us that there is\nanother life, and upon that question even the New is obscure and vague.\nThe hunger of the heart finds only a few small and scattered crumbs.\nThere is nothing definite, solid, and satisfying. United with the idea\nof immortality we find the absurdity of the resurrection. A prophecy\nthat depends for its fulfillment upon an impossibility, cannot satisfy\nthe brain or heart.\n\nThere are but few who do not long for a dawn beyond the night. And\nthis longing is born of and nourished by the heart. Love wrapped in\nshadow--bending with tear-filled eyes above its dead, convulsively\nclasps the outstretched hand of hope.\n\nI had the pleasure of introducing Miss Gardener to her first audience,\nand in that introduction said a few words that I will repeat.\n\n\"We do not know, we cannot say, whether death is a wall or a door; the\nbeginning or end of a day; the spreading of pinions to soar, or the\nfolding forever of wings; the rise or the set of a sun, or an endless\nlife that brings the rapture of love to every one.\n\n\"Under the seven-hued arch of hope let the dead sleep.\"\n\nThey will also discover, as they read the \"Sacred Volume,\" that it is\nnot the friend of woman. They will find that the writers of that book,\nfor the most part, speak of woman as a poor beast of burden, a serf, a\ndrudge, a kind of necessary evil--as mere property. Surely, a book that\nupholds polygamy is not the friend of wife and mother.\n\nEven Christ did not place woman on an equality with man. He said not\none word about the sacredness of home, the duties of the husband to the\nwife--nothing calculated to lighten the hearts of those who bear the\nsaddest burdens of this life.\n\nThey will also find that the Bible has not civilized mankind. A book\nthat establishes and defends slavery and wanton war is not calculated to\nsoften the hearts of those who believe implicitly that it is the work of\nGod. A book that not only permits, but commands, religious persecution,\nhas not, in my judgment, developed the affectional nature of man.\nIts influence has been bad and bad only. It has filled the world with\nbitterness, revenge and crime, and retarded in countless ways the\nprogress of our race.\n\nThe writer of this volume has read the Bible with open eyes. The mist\nof sentimentality has not clouded her vision. She has had the courage\nto tell the result of her investigations. She has been quick to discover\ncontradictions. She appreciates the humorous side of the stupidly\nsolemn. Her heart protests against the cruel, and her brain rejects the\nchildish, the unnatural and absurd. There is no misunderstanding between\nher head and heart. She says what she thinks, and feels what she says.\n\nNo human being can answer her arguments. There is no answer. All the\npriests in the world cannot explain away her objections. There is no\nexplanation. They should remain dumb, unless they can show that the\nimpossible is the probable--that slavery is better than freedom--that\npolygamy is the friend of woman--that the innocent can justly suffer for\nthe guilty, and that to persecute for opinion's sake is an act of love\nand worship.\n\nWives who cease to learn--who simply forget and believe--will fill the\nevening of their lives with barren sighs and bitter tears.\n\nThe mind should outlast youth. If when beauty fades, Thought, the deft\nand unseen sculptor, hath not left his subtle lines upon the face,\nthen all is lost. No charm is left. The light is out. There is no flame\nwithin to glorify the wrinkled clay.\n\nHoffman House, New York, July, 22, 1885.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE TO \"FOR HER DAILY BREAD.\"\n\n\nI HAVE read, this story, this fragment of a life mingled with fragments\nof other lives, and have been pleased, interested, and instructed. It\nis filled with the pathos of truth, and has in it the humor that\naccompanies actual experience. It has but little to do with the world\nof imagination; certain feelings are not attributed to persons born\nof fancy, but it is the history of a heart and brain interested in the\ncommon things of life. There are no kings, no lords, no titled ladies,\nbut there are real people, the people of the shop and street whom every\nreader knows, and there are lines intense and beautiful, and scenes\nthat touch the heart. You will find no theories of government, no hazy\noutlines of reform, nothing but facts and folks, as they have been, as\nthey are, and probably will be for many centuries to come.\n\nIf you read this book you will be convinced that men and women are good\nor bad, charitable or heartless, by reason of something within, and not\nby virtue of any name they bear, or any trade or profession they follow,\nor of any creed they may accept. You will also find that men sometimes\nare honest and mean; that women may be very virtuous and very cruel;\nthat good, generous and sympathetic men are often disreputable, and that\nsome exceedingly worthy citizens are extremely mean and uncomfortable\nneighbors.\n\nIt takes a great deal of genius and a good deal of selfdenial to be\nvery bad or to be very good. Few people understand the amount of energy,\nindustry, and self-denial it requires to be consistently vicious. People\nwho have a pride in being good and fail, and those who have a pride in\nbeing bad and fail, in order to make their records consistent generally\nrely upon hypocrisy. The people that live and hope and fear in this\nbook, are much like the people who live and hope and fear in the actual\nworld. The professor is much like the professor in the ordinary college.\nYou will find the conscientious, half-paid teacher, the hopeful poor,\nthe anxious rich, the true lover, the stingy philanthropist, who cares\nfor people only in the aggregate,--the individual atom being too small\nto attract his notice or to enlist his heart; the sympathetic man who\nloves himself, and gives, not for the sake of the beggar, but for\nthe sake of getting rid of the beggar, and you will also find the man\ngenerous to a fault--with the money of others. And the reader will find\nthese people described naturally, truthfully and without exaggeration,\nand he will feel certain that all these people have really lived.\n\nThe reader of this story will get some idea as to what is encountered\nby a girl in an honest effort to gain her daily bread. He will find how\nsteep, how devious and how difficult is the path she treads.\n\nThere are so few occupations open to woman, so few things in which she\ncan hope for independence, that to be thrown upon her own resources\nis almost equivalent to being cast away. Besides, she is an object of\ncontinual suspicion, watched not only by men but by women. If she does\nanything that other women are not doing, she is at once suspected,\nher reputation is touched, and other women, for fear of being stained\nthemselves, withdraw not only the hand of help, but the smile of\nrecognition. A young woman cannot defend herself without telling the\ncharge that has been made against her. This, of itself, gives a kind of\ncurrency to slander. To speak of the suspicion that has crawled across\nher path, is to plant the seeds of doubt in other minds; to even deny\nit, admits that it exists. To be suspected, that is enough. There is no\nway of destroying this suspicion. There is no court in which suspicions\nare tried; no juries that can render verdicts of not guilty. Most women\nare driven at last to the needle, and this does not allow them to live;\nit simply keeps them from dying.\n\nIt is hard to appreciate the dangers and difficulties that lie in wait\nfor woman. Even in this Christian country of ours, no girl is safe in\nthe streets of any city after the sun has gone down. After all, the sun\nis the only god that has ever protected woman. In the darkness she has\nbeen the prey of the wild beast in man.\n\nNearly all charitable people, so-called, imagine that nothing is easier\nthan to obtain work. They really feel that anybody, no matter what his\ncircumstances may be, can get work enough to do if he is only willing to\ndo the work. They cannot understand why any healthy human being should\nlack food or clothes. Meeting the unfortunate and the wretched in the\nstreets of the great city, they ask them in a kind of wondering way, why\nthey do not go to the West, why they do not cultivate the soil, and why\nthey are so foolish, stupid, and reckless as to remain in the town. It\nwould be just as sensible to ask a beggar why he does not start a bank\nor a line of steamships, as to ask him why he does not cultivate the\nsoil, or why he does not go to the West. The man has no money to pay his\nfare, and if his fare were paid he would be, when he landed in the\nWest, in precisely the same condition as he was when he left the East.\nSocieties and institutions and individuals supply the immediate wants\nof the hungry and the ragged, but they afford only the relief of the\nmoment.\n\nArticles by the thousand have been written for the purpose of showing\nthat women should become servants in houses, and the writers of these\narticles are filled with astonishment that any girl should hesitate to\nenter domestic service. They tell us that nearly every family needs a\ngood cook, a good chambermaid, a good sweeper of floors and washer of\ndishes, a good stout girl to carry the baby and draw the wagon, and\nthese good people express the greatest astonishment that all girls\nare not anxious to become domestics. They tell them that they will be\nsupplied with good food, that they will have comfortable beds and warm\nclothing, and they ask, \"What more do you want?\" These people have\nnot, however, solved the problem. If girls, as a rule, keep away from\nkitchens and chambers, if they hate to be controlled by other women,\nthere must be a reason. When we see a young woman prefer a clerkship in\na store,--a business which keeps her upon her feet all day, and sends\nher to her lonely room, filled with weariness and despair, and when we\nsee other girls who are willing to sew for a few cents a day rather than\nbecome the maid of \"my lady,\" there must be some reason, and this reason\nmust be deemed sufficient by the persons who are actuated by it. What is\nit?\n\nEvery human being imagines that the future has something in store for\nhim. It is natural to build these castles in Spain. It is natural for\na girl to dream of being loved by the noble, by the superb, and it is\nnatural for the young man to dream of success, of a home, of a good, a\nbeautiful and loving wife. These dreams are the solace of poverty; they\nkeep back the tears in the eyes of the young and the hungry. To engage\nin any labor that degrades, in any work that leaves a stain, in any\nbusiness the mention of which is liable to redden the cheek, seems to be\na destruction of the foundation of hope, a destruction of the future; it\nseems to be a crucifixion of his or her better self. It assassinates the\nideal.\n\nIt may be said that labor is noble, that work is a kind of religion, and\nwhoever says this tells the truth, But after all, what has the truth\nto do with this question? What is the opinion of society?--What is the\nresult? It cures no wound to say that it was wrongfully inflicted.\nThe opinion of sensible people is one way, the action of society is\ninconsistent with that opinion. Domestic servants are treated as\nthough their employment was and is a degradation. Bankers, merchants,\nprofessional men, ministers of the gospel, do not want their sons\nto become the husbands of chambermaids and cooks. Small hands are\nbeautiful; they do not tell of labor.\n\nI have given one reason; there is another. The work of a domestic is\nnever done. She is liable to be called at any moment, day or night. She\nhas no time that she can call her own. A woman who works by the piece\ncan take a little rest; if she is a clerk she has certain hours of labor\nand the rest of the day is her own.\n\nAnd there is still another reason that I almost hate to give, and that\nis this: As a rule, woman is exacting with woman. As a rule, woman does\nnot treat woman as well as man treats man, or as well as man treats\nwoman. There are many other reasons, but I have given enough.\n\nFor many years, women have been seeking employment other than that of\ndomestic service. They have so hated this occupation, that they have\nsought in every possible direction for other ways to win their bread.\nAt last hundreds of employments are open to them, and, as a consequence,\ndomestic servants are those who can get nothing else to do.\n\nIn the olden time, servants sat at the table with the family; they were\ntreated something like human beings, harshly enough to be sure, but\nin many cases almost as equals. Now the kitchen is far away from the\nparlor. It is another world, occupied by individuals of a different\nrace. There is no bond of sympathy--no common ground. This is especially\ntrue in a Republic. In the Old World, people occupying menial places\naccount for their positions by calling attention to the laws--to the\nhereditary nobility and the universal spirit of caste. Here, there are\nno such excuses. All are supposed to have equal opportunities, and those\nwho are compelled to labor for their daily bread, in avocations that\nrequire only bodily strength, are regarded as failures. It is this fact\nthat stabs like a knife. And yet in the conclusion drawn, there is but\nlittle truth. Some of the noblest and best pass their lives in daily\ndrudgery and unremunerative toil--while many of the mean, vicious and\nstupid reach place and power.\n\nThis story is filled with sympathy for the destitute, for the\nstruggling, and tends to keep the star of hope above the horizon of the\nunfortunate. After all, we know but little of the world, and have but a\nfaint conception of the burdens that are borne, and of the courage and\nheroism displayed by the unregarded poor. Let the rich read these pages;\nthey will have a kinder feeling toward those who toil; let the workers\nread them, and they will think better of themselves.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE TO \"AGNOSTICISM AND OTHER ESSAYS.\"\n\n\nI.\n\nEDGAR FAWCETT--a great poet, a metaphysician and logician--has been for\nyears engaged in exploring that strange world wherein are supposed to\nbe the springs of human action. He has sought for something back of\nmotives, reasons, fancies, passions, prejudices, and the countless tides\nand tendencies that constitute the life of man.\n\nHe has found some of the limitations of mind, and knows that beginning\nat that luminous centre called consciousness, a few short steps bring\nus to the prison wall where vision fails and all light dies. Beyond this\nwall the eternal darkness broods. This gloom is \"the other world\" of the\nsupernaturalist. With him, real vision begins where the sight fails. He\nreverses the order of nature. Facts become illusions, and illusions the\nonly realities. He believes that the cause of the image, the reality, is\nbehind the mirror.\n\nA few centuries ago the priests said to their followers: The other world\nis above you; it is just beyond where you see. Afterward, the astronomer\nwith his telescope looked, and asked the priests: Where is the world\nof which you speak? And the priests replied: It has receded--it is just\nbeyond where you see.\n\nAs long as there is \"a beyond,\" there is room for the priests' world.\nTheology is the geography of this beyond.\n\nBetween the Christian and the Agnostic there is the difference of\nassertion and question--between \"There is a God\" and \"Is there a\nGod?\" The Agnostic has the arrogance to admit his ignorance, while the\nChristian from the depths of humility impudently insists that he knows.\n\nMr. Fawcett has shown that at the root of religion lies the coiled\nserpent of fear, and that ceremony, prayer, and worship are ways and\nmeans to gain the assistance or soften the heart of a supposed deity.\n\nHe also shows that as man advances in knowledge he loses confidence in\nthe watchfulness of Providence and in the efficacy of prayer.\n\n\nII.\n\nSCIENCE.\n\nThe savage is certain of those things that cannot be known. He is\nacquainted with origin and destiny, and knows everything except that\nwhich is useful. The civilized man, having outgrown the ignorance, the\narrogance, and the provincialism of savagery, abandons the vain search\nfor final causes, for the nature and origin of things.\n\nIn nearly every department of science man is allowed to investigate, and\nthe discovery of a new fact is welcomed, unless it threatens some creed.\n\nOf course there can be no advance in a religion established by infinite\nwisdom. The only progress possible is in the comprehension of this\nreligion.\n\nFor many generations, what is known under a vast number of disguises\nand behind many masks as the Christian religion, has been propagated\nand preserved by the sword and bayonet--that is to say, by force. The\ncredulity of man has been bribed and his reason punished. Those who\nbelieved without the slightest question, and whose faith held evidence\nin contempt, were saints; those who investigated were dangerous, and\nthose who denied were destroyed.\n\nEvery attack upon this religion has been made in the shadow of human and\ndivine hatred--in defiance of earth and heaven. At one time Christendom\nwas beneath the ignorant feet of one man, and those who denied his\ninfallibility were heretics and Atheists. At last, a protest was\nuttered. The right of conscience was proclaimed, to the extent of making\na choice between the infallible man and the infallible book. Those\nwho rejected the man and accepted the book became in their turn\nas merciless, as tyrannical and heartless, as the followers of the\ninfallible man. The Protestants insisted that an infinitely wise and\ngood God would not allow criminals and wretches to act as his infallible\nagents.\n\nAfterward, a few protested against the infallibility of the book, using\nthe same arguments against the book that had formerly been used against\nthe pope. They said that an infinitely wise and good God could not be\nthe author of a cruel and ignorant book. But those who protested against\nthe book fell into substantially the same error that had been fallen\ninto by those who had protested against the man. While they denounced\nthe book, and insisted that an infinitely wise and good being could not\nhave been its author, they took the ground that an infinitely wise and\ngood being was the creator and governor of the world.\n\nThen was used against them the same argument that had been used by the\nProtestants against the pope and by the Deists against the Protestants.\nAttention was called to the fact that Nature is as cruel as any pope or\nany book--that it is just as easy to account for the destruction of the\nCanaanites consistently with the goodness of Jehovah as to account for\npestilence, earthquake, and flood consistently with the goodness of the\nGod of Nature.\n\nThe Protestant and Deist both used arguments against the Catholic that\ncould in turn be used with equal force against themselves. So that there\nis no question among intelligent people as to the infallibility of the\npope, as to the inspiration of the book, or as to the existence of the\nChristian's God--for the conclusion has been reached that the human mind\nis incapable of deciding as to the origin and destiny of the universe.\n\nFor many generations the mind of man has been traveling in a circle. It\naccepted without question the dogma of a First Cause--of the existence\nof a Creator--of an Infinite Mind back of matter, and sought in many\nways to define its ignorance in this behalf. The most sincere worshipers\nhave declared that this being is incomprehensible,--that he is \"without\nbody, parts, or passions\"--that he is infinitely beyond their grasp, and\nat the same time have insisted that it was necessary for man not only\nto believe in the existence of this being, but to love him with all his\nheart.\n\nChristianity having always been in partnership with the state,--having\ncontrolled kings and nobles, judges and legislators--having been\nin partnership with armies and with every form of organized\ndestruction,--it was dangerous to discuss the foundation of its\nauthority. To speak lightly of any dogma was a crime punishable by\ndeath. Every absurdity has been bastioned and barricaded by the power of\nthe state. It has been protected by fist, by club, by sword and cannon.\n\nFor many years Christianity succeeded in substantially closing the\nmouths of its enemies, and lived and flourished only where investigation\nand discussion were prevented by hypocrisy and bigotry. The church still\ntalks about \"evidence,\" about \"reason,\" about \"freedom of conscience\"\nand the \"liberty of speech,\" and yet denounces those who ask for\nevidence, who appeal to reason, and who honestly express their thoughts.\n\nTo-day we know that the miracles of Christianity are as puerile and\nfalse as those ascribed to the medicine-men of Central Africa or the\nFiji Islanders, and that the \"sacred Scriptures\" have the same claim to\ninspiration that the Koran has, or the Book of Mormon--no less, no more.\nThese questions have been settled and laid aside by free and intelligent\npeople. They have ceased to excite interest; and the man who now really\nbelieves in the truth of the Old Testament is regarded with a smile--\nlooked upon as an aged child--still satisfied with the lullabys and toys\nof the cradle.\n\n\nIII.\n\nMORALITY.\n\nIt is contended that without religion--that is to say, without\nChristianity--all ideas of morality must of necessity perish, and that\nspirituality and reverence will be lost.\n\nWhat is morality?\n\nIs it to obey without question, or is it to act in accordance with\nperceived obligation? Is it something with which intelligence has\nnothing to do? Must the ignorant child carry out the command of the wise\nfather--the rude peasant rush to death at the request of the prince?\n\nIs it impossible for morality to exist where the brain and heart are\nin partnership? Is there no foundation for morality except punishment\nthreatened or reward promised by a superior to an inferior? If this be\ntrue, how can the superior be virtuous? Cannot the reward and the threat\nbe in the nature of things? Can they not rest in consequences perceived\nby the intellect? How can the existence or non-existence of a deity\nchange my obligation to keep my hands out of the fire?\n\nThe results of all actions are equally certain, but not equally known,\nnot equally perceived. If all men knew with perfect certainty that to\nsteal from another was to rob themselves, larceny would cease. It\ncannot be said too often that actions are good or bad in the light of\nconsequences, and that a clear perception of consequences would control\nactions. That which increases the sum of human happiness is moral; and\nthat which diminishes the sum of human happiness is immoral. Blind,\nunreasoning obedience is the enemy of morality. Slavery is not the\nfriend of virtue. Actions are neither right nor wrong by virtue of what\nmen or gods can say--the right or wrong lives in results--in the nature\nof things, growing out of relations violated or caused.\n\nAccountability lives in the nature of consequences--in their absolute\ncertainty--in the fact that they cannot be placated, avoided, or bribed.\n\nThe relations of human life are too complicated to be accurately and\nclearly understood, and, as a consequence, rules of action vary from age\nto age. The ideas of right and wrong change with the experience of\nthe race, and this change is wrought by the gradual ascertaining of\nconsequences--of results. For this reason the religion of one age fails\nto meet the standard of another, precisely as the laws that satisfied\nour ancestors are repealed by us; so that, in spite of all efforts,\nreligion itself is subject to gradual and perpetual change.\n\nThe miraculous is no longer the basis of morals. Man is a sentient\nbeing--he suffers and enjoys. In order to be happy he must preserve the\nconditions of well-being--must live in accordance with certain facts by\nwhich he is surrounded. If he violates these conditions the result is\nunhappiness, failure, disease, misery.\n\nMan must have food, roof, raiment, fireside, friends--that is to say,\nprosperity; and this he must earn--this he must deserve. He is no\nlonger satisfied with being a slave, even of the Infinite. He wishes to\nperceive for himself, to understand, to investigate, to experiment; and\nhe has at last the courage to bear the consequences that he brings upon\nhimself. He has also found that those who are the most religious are not\nalways the kindest, and that those who have been and are the worshipers\nof God enslave their fellow-men. He has found that there is no necessary\nconnection between religion and morality.\n\nMorality needs no supernatural assistance--needs neither miracle nor\npretence. It has nothing to do with awe, reverence, credulity, or blind,\nunreasoning faith. Morality is the highway perceived by the soul, the\ndirect road, leading to success, honor, and happiness.\n\nThe best thing to do under the circumstances is moral.\n\nThe highest possible standard is human. We put ourselves in the places\nof others. We are made happy by the kindness of others, and we feel that\na fair exchange of good actions is the wisest and best commerce. We know\nthat others can make us miserable by acts of hatred and injustice,\nand we shrink from inflicting the pain upon others that we have felt\nourselves; this is the foundation of conscience.\n\nIf man could not suffer, the words right and wrong could never have been\nspoken.\n\nThe Agnostic, the Infidel, clearly perceives the true basis of morals,\nand, so perceiving, he knows that the religious man, the superstitious\nman, caring more for God than for his fellows, will sacrifice his\nfellows, either at the supposed command of his God, or to win his\napprobation. He also knows that the religionist has no basis for morals\nexcept these supposed commands. The basis of morality with him lies not\nin the nature of things, but in the caprice of some deity. He seems to\nthink that, had it not been for the Ten Commandments, larceny and murder\nmight have been virtues.\n\n\nIV.\n\nSPIRITUALITY.\n\nWhat is it to be spiritual?\n\nIs this fine quality of the mind destroyed by the development of the\nbrain? As the domain wrested by science from ignorance increases--as\nisland after island and continent after continent are discovered--as\nstar after star and constellation after constellation in the\nintellectual world burst upon the midnight of ignorance, does the\nspirituality of the mind grow less and less? Like morality, is it only\nfound in the company of ignorance and superstition? Is the spiritual man\nhonest, kind, candid?--or dishonest, cruel and hypocritical? Does he\nsay what he thinks? Is he guided by reason? Is he the friend of the\nright?--the champion of the truth? Must this splendid quality called\nspirituality be retained through the loss of candor? Can we not\ntruthfully say that absolute candor is the beginning of wisdom?\n\nTo recognize the finer harmonies of conduct--to live to the ideal--to\nseparate the incidental, the evanescent, from the perpetual--to be\nenchanted with the perfect melody of truth--open to the influences of\nthe artistic, the beautiful, the heroic--to shed kindness as the sun\nsheds light--to recognize the good in others, and to include the world\nin the idea of self--this is to be spiritual.\n\nThere is nothing spiritual in the worship of the unknown and unknowable,\nin the self-denial of a slave at the command of a master whom he fears.\nFastings, prayings, mutilations, kneelings, and mortifications are\neither the results of, or result in, insanity.\n\nThis is the spirituality of Bedlam, and is of no kindred with the soul\nthat finds its greatest joy in the discharge of obligation perceived.\n\n\nV.\n\nREVERENCE.\n\nWhat is reverence?\n\nIt is the feeling produced when we stand in the presence of our ideal,\nor of that which most nearly approaches it--that which is produced by\nwhat we consider the highest degree of excellence.\n\nThe highest is reverenced, praised, and admired without qualification.\n\nEach man reverences according to his nature, his experience, his\nintellectual development. He may reverence' Nero or Marcus Aurelius,\nJehovah or Buddha, the author of Leviticus or Shakespeare. Thousands of\nmen reverence John Calvin, Torquemada, and the Puritan fathers; and some\nhave greater respect for Jonathan Edwards than for Captain Kidd.\n\nA vast number of people have great reverence for anything that is\ncovered by mould, or moss, or mildew. They bow low before rot and rust,\nand adore the worthless things that have been saved by the negligence of\noblivion.\n\nThey are enchanted with the dull and fading daubs of the old masters,\nand hold in contempt those miracles of art, the paintings of to-day.\n\nThey worship the ancient, the shadowy, the mysterious, the wonderful.\nThey doubt the value of anything that they understand.\n\nThe creed of Christendom is the enemy of morality. It teaches that the\ninnocent can justly suffer for the guilty, that consequences can be\navoided by repentance, and that in the world of mind the great fact\nknown as cause and effect does not apply.\n\nIt is the enemy of spirituality, because it teaches that credulity is of\nmore value than conduct, and because it pours contempt upon human love\nby raising far above it the adoration of a phantom.\n\nIt is the enemy of reverence. It makes ignorance the foundation of\nvirtue. It belittles the useful, and cheapens the noblest of! the\nvirtues. It teaches man to live on mental alms, and glorifies the\nintellectual pauper. It holds candor in contempt, and is the malignant\nfoe of mental manhood.\n\n\nVI.\n\nEXISTENCE OF GOD.\n\nMr. Fawcett has shown conclusively that it is no easier to establish the\nexistence of an infinitely wise and good being by the existence of what\nwe call \"good\" than to establish the existence of an infinitely bad\nbeing by what we call \"bad.\"\n\nNothing can be surer than that the history of this world furnishes no\nfoundation on which to base an inference that it has been governed by\ninfinite wisdom and goodness. So terrible has been the condition of\nman, that religionists in all ages have endeavored to excuse God by\naccounting for the evils of the world by the wickedness of men. And the\nfathers of the Christian Church were forced to take the ground that this\nworld had been filled with briers and thorns, with deadly serpents\nand with poisonous weeds, with disease and crime and earthquake and\npestilence and storm, by the curse of God.\n\nThe probability is that no God has cursed, and that no God will bless,\nthis earth. Man suffers and enjoys according to conditions. The sun\nshines without love, and the lightning blasts without hate. Man is the\nProvidence of man.\n\nNature gives to our eyes all they can see, to our ears all they can\nhear, and to the mind what it can comprehend. The human race reaps the\nfruit of every victory won on the fields of intellectual or physical\nconflict. We have no right to expect something for nothing. Man will\nreap no harvest the seeds of which he has not sown.\n\nThe race must be guided by intelligence, must be free to investigate,\nand must have the courage and the candor not only to state what is\nknown, but to cheerfully admit the limitations of the mind.\n\nNo intelligent, honest man can read what Mr. Fawcett has written and\nthen say that he knows the origin and destiny of things--that he knows\nwhether an infinite Being exists or not, and that he knows whether the\nsoul of man is or is not immortal.\n\nIn the land of--------, the geography of which is not certainly known,\nthere was for many years a great dispute among the inhabitants as to\nwhich road led to the city of Miragia, the capital of their country, and\nknown to be the most delightful city on the earth. For fifty generations\nthe discussion as to which road led to the city had been carried on with\nthe greatest bitterness, until finally the people were divided into a\ngreat number of parties, each party claiming that the road leading\nto the city had been miraculously made known to the founder of that\nparticular sect. The various parties spent most of their time putting up\nguide-boards on these roads and tearing down the guide-boards of others.\nHundreds of thousands had been killed, prisons were filled, and the\nfields had been ravaged by the hosts of war.\n\nOne day, a wise man, a patriot, wishing to bring peace to his country,\nmet the leaders of the various sects and asked them whether it was\nabsolutely certain that the city of Miragia existed. He called their\nattention to the facts that no resident of that city had ever visited\nthem and that none of their fellow-men who had started for the capital\nhad ever returned, and modestly asked whether it would not be better\nto satisfy themselves beyond a doubt that there was such a city, adding\nthat the location of the city would determine which of all the roads was\nthe right one.\n\nThe leaders heard these words with amazement. They denounced the speaker\nas a wretch without morality, spirituality, or reverence, and thereupon\nhe was torn in pieces.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE TO \"FAITH OR FACT.\"\n\n\nI LIKE to know the thoughts, theories and conclusions of an honest,\nintelligent man; candor is always charming, and it is a delight to feel\nthat you have become acquainted with a sincere soul.\n\nI have read this book with great pleasure, not only because I know, and\ngreatly esteem the author, not only because he is my unwavering friend,\nbut because it is full of good sense, of accurate statement, of sound\nlogic, of exalted thoughts happily expressed, and for the further reason\nthat it is against tyranny, superstition, bigotry, and every form of\ninjustice, and in favor of every virtue.\n\nHenry M. Taber, the author, has for many years taken great interest\nin religious questions. He was raised in an orthodox atmosphere, was\nacquainted with many eminent clergymen from whom he endeavored to\nfind out what Christianity is--and the facts and evidence relied on to\nestablish the truth of the creeds. He found that the clergy of even the\nsame denomination did not agree--that some of them preached one way\nand talked another, and that many of them seemed to regard the creed as\nsomething to be accepted whether it was believed or not. He found that\neach one gave his own construction to the dogmas that seemed heartless\nor unreasonable. While some insisted that the Bible was absolutely true\nand the creed without error, others admitted that there were mistakes in\nthe sacred volume and that the creed ought to be revised. Finding these\ndifferences among the ministers, the shepherds, and also finding that\nno one pretended to have any evidence except faith, or any facts but\nassertions, he concluded to investigate the claims of Christianity for\nhimself.\n\nFor half a century he has watched the ebb and flow of public opinion,\nthe growth of science, the crumbling of creeds--the decay of the\ntheological spirit, the waning influence of the orthodox pulpit, the\nloss of confidence in special providence and the efficacy of prayer.\n\nHe has lived to see the church on the defensive--to hear faith asking\nfor facts--and to see the shot and shell of science batter into\nshapelessness the fortresses of superstition. He has lived to see\nInfidels, blasphemers and Agnostics the leaders of the intellectual\nworld. In his time the supernaturalists have lost the sceptre and have\ntaken their places in the abject rear.\n\nFifty years ago the orthodox Christians believed their creeds. To them\nthe Bible was an actual revelation from God. Every word was true.\nMoses and Joshua were regarded as philosophers and scientists. All the\nmiracles and impossibilities recorded in the Bible were accepted as\nfacts. Credulity was the greatest of virtues. Everything, except the\nreasonable, was believed, and it was considered wickedly presumptuous\nto doubt anything except facts. The reasonable things in the Bible could\nsafely be doubted, but to deny the miracles was like the sin against\nthe Holy Ghost. In those days the preachers were at the helm. They spoke\nwith authority. They knew the origin and destiny of the soul. They were\non familiar terms with the Trinity--the three-headed God. They knew the\nnarrow path that led to heaven and the great highway along which the\nmultitude were traveling to the Prison of Pain.\n\nWhile these reverend gentlemen were busy trying to prevent the\ndevelopment of the brain and to convince the people that the good in\nthis life were miserable, that virtue wore a crown of thorns and carried\na cross, while the wicked and ungodly walked in the sunshine of joy,\nyet that after death the wicked would be eternally tortured and the\ngood eternally rewarded. According to the pious philosophy the good\nGod punished virtue, and rewarded vice, in this world--and in the next,\nrewarded virtue and punished vice. These divine truths filled their\nhearts with holy peace--with pious resignation. It would be difficult\nto determine which gave them the greater joy--the hope of heaven for\nthemselves, or the certainty of hell for their enemies. For the grace of\nGod they were fairly thankful, but for his \"justice\" their gratitude\nwas boundless. From the heights of heaven they expected to witness the\neternal tragedy in hell.\n\nWhile these good divines, these doctors of divinity, were busy\nmisinterpreting the Scriptures, denying facts and describing the glories\nand agonies of eternity, a good many other people were trying to find\nout something about this world. They were busy with retort and crucible,\nsearching the heavens with the telescope, examining rocks and craters,\nreefs and islands, studying plant and animal life, inventing ways to\nuse the forces of nature for the benefit of man, and in every direction\nsearching for the truth. They were not trying to destroy religion or to\ninjure the clergy. Many of them were members of churches and believed\nthe creeds. The facts they found were honestly given to the world. Of\ncourse all facts are the enemies of superstition. The clergy, acting\naccording to the instinct of self-preservation, denounced these \"facts\"\nas dangerous and the persons who found and published them, as Infidels\nand scoffers.\n\nTheology was arrogant and bold. Science was timid. For some time\nthe churches seemed to have the best of the controversy. Many of the\nscientists surrendered and did their best to belittle the facts and\npatch up a cowardly compromise between Nature and Revelation--that is,\nbetween the true and the false.\n\nDay by day more facts were found that could not be reconciled with the\nScriptures, or the creeds. Neither was it possible to annihilate facts\nby denial. The man who believed the Bible could not accept the facts,\nand the man who believed the facts could not accept the Bible. At\nfirst, the Bible was the standard, and all facts inconsistent with that\nstandard were denied. But in a little while science became the standard,\nand the passages in the Bible contrary to the standard had to be\nexplained or given up. Great efforts were made to harmonize the mistakes\nin the Bible with the demonstrations of science. It was difficult to be\ningenious enough to defend them both. The pious professors twisted and\nturned but found it hard to reconcile the creation of Adam with the slow\ndevelopment of man from lower forms. They were greatly troubled about\nthe age of the universe. It seemed incredible that until about six\nthousand years ago there was nothing in existence but God--and nothing.\nAnd yet they tried to save the Bible by giving new meanings to the\ninspired texts, and casting a little suspicion on the facts.\n\nThis course has mostly been abandoned, although a few survivals, like\nMr. Gladstone, still insist there is no conflict between Revelation and\nScience. But these champions of Holy Writ succeed only in causing the\nlaughter of the intelligent and the amazement of the honest. The more\nintelligent theologians confessed that the inspired writers could not\nbe implicitly believed. As they personally know nothing of astronomy or\ngeology and were forced to rely entirely on inspiration, it is wonderful\nthat more mistakes were not made. So it was claimed that Jehovah cared\nnothing about science, and allowed the blunders and mistakes of the\nignorant people concerning everything except religion, to appear in his\nsupernatural book as inspired truths.\n\nThe Bible, they said, was written to teach religion in its highest and\npurest form--to make mankind fit to associate with God and his angels.\nTrue, polygamy was tolerated and slavery established, yet Jehovah\nbelieved in neither, but on account of the wickedness of the Jews was in\nfavor of both.\n\nAt the same time quite a number of real scholars were investigating\nother religions, and in a little while they were enabled to show that\nthese religions had been manufactured by men--that their Christs and\napostles were myths and that all their sacred books were false and\nfoolish. This pleased the Christians. They knew that theirs was the only\ntrue religion and that their Bible was the only inspired book.\n\nThe fact that there is nothing original in Christianity, that all the\ndogmas, ceremonies and festivals had been borrowed, together with some\nmouldy miracles used as witnesses, weakened the faith of some and sowed\nthe seeds of doubt in many minds. But the pious petrifactions, the\nfossils of faith, still clung to their book and creed. While they were\nquick to see the absurdities in other sacred books, they were either\nunconsciously blind or maliciously shut their eyes to the same\nabsurdities in the Bible. They knew that Mohammed was an impostor,\nbecause the citizens of Mecca, who knew him, said he was, and they knew\nthat Christ was not an impostor, because the people of Jerusalem who\nknew him, said he was. The same fact was made to do double duty. When\nthey attacked other religions it was a sword and when their religion was\nattacked it became a shield.\n\nThe men who had investigated other religions turned their attention to\nChristianity. They read our Bible as they had read other sacred books.\nThey were not blinded by faith or paralyzed by fear, and they found that\nthe same arguments they had used against other religions destroyed our\nown.\n\nBut the real old-fashioned orthodox ministers denounced the\ninvestigators as Infidels and denied every fact that was inconsistent\nwith the creed. They wanted to protect the young and feeble minded. They\nwere anxious about the souls of the \"thoughtless.\"\n\nSome ministers changed their views just a little, not enough to be\ndriven from their pulpits--but just enough to keep sensible people\nfrom thinking them idiotic. These preachers talked about the \"higher\ncriticism\" and contended that it was not necessary to believe every word\nin the Bible, that some of the miracles might be given up and some of\nthe books discarded. But the stupid doctors of divinity had the Bible\nand the creeds on their side and the machinery of the churches was in\ntheir control. They brought some of the offending clergymen to the bar,\nand had them tried for heresy, made some recant and closed the mouths\nof others. Still, it was not easy to put the heretics down. The\ncongregations of ministers found guilty, often followed the shepherds.\nHeresy grew popular, the liberal preachers had good audiences, while the\northodox addressed a few bonnets, bibs and benches.\n\nFor many years the pulpit has been losing influence and the sacred\ncalling no longer offers a career to young men of talent and ambition.\n\nWhen people believed in \"special providence,\" they also believed that\npreachers had great influence with God. They were regarded as celestial\nlobbyists and they were respected and feared because of their supposed\npower.\n\nNow no one who has the capacity to think, believes in special\nprovidence. Of course there are some pious imbeciles who think that\npestilence and famine, cyclone and earthquake, flood and fire are the\nweapons of God, the tools of his trade, and that with these weapons,\nthese tools, he kills and starves, rends and devours, drowns and burns\ncountless thousands of the human race.\n\nIf God governs this world, if he builds and destroys, if back of every\nevent is his will, then he is neither good nor wise, He is ignorant and\nmalicious.\n\nA few days ago, in Paris, men and women had gathered together in the\nname of Charity. The building in which they, were assembled took fire\nand many of these men and women perished in the flames.\n\nA French priest called this horror an act of God.\n\nIs it not strange that Christians speak of their God as an assassin?\n\nHow can they love and worship this monster who murders, his children?\n\nIntelligence seems to be leaving the orthodox church. The great divines\nare growing smaller, weaker, day by day. Since the death of Henry Ward\nBeecher no man of genius has stood in the orthodox pulpit. The ministers\nof intelligence are found in the liberal churches where they are allowed\nto express their thoughts and preserve their manhood. Some of these\npreachers keep their faces toward the East and sincerely welcome the\nlight, while their orthodox brethren stand with their backs to the\nsunrise and worship the sunset of the day before.\n\nDuring these years of change, of decay and growth, the author of this\nbook looked and listened, became familiar with the questions raised, the\narguments offered and the results obtained. For his work a better man\ncould not have been found. He has no prejudice, no hatred. He is by\nnature candid, conservative, kind and just. He does not attack persons.\nHe knows the difference between exchanging epithets and thoughts. He\ngives the facts as they appear to him and draws the logical conclusions.\nHe charges and proves that Christianity has not always been the friend\nof morality, of civil liberty, of wives and mothers, of free though and\nhonest speech. He shows that intolerance is its nature, that it always\nhas, and always will persecute to the extent of its power, and that\nChristianity will always despise the doubter.\n\nYet we know that doubt must inhabit every finite mind. We know that\ndoubt is as natural as hope, and that man is no more responsible for his\ndoubts than for the beating of his heart. Every human being who knows\nthe nature of evidence, the limitations of the mind, must have \"doubts\"\nabout gods and devils, about heavens and hells, and must know that there\nis not the slightest evidence tending to show that gods and devils ever\nexisted.\n\nGod is a guess.\n\nAn undesigned designer, an uncaused cause, is as incomprehensible to the\nhuman mind as a circle without a diameter.\n\nThe dogma of the Trinity multiplies the difficulty by three.\n\nTheologians do not, and cannot believe that the authority to govern\ncomes from the consent of the governed. They regard God as the monarch,\nand themselves as his agents. They always have been the enemies of\nliberty.\n\nThey claim to have a revelation from their God, a revelation that is the\nrightful master of reason. As long as they believe this, they must be\nthe enemies of mental freedom. They do not ask man to think, but command\nhim to obey.\n\nIf the claims of the theologians are admitted, the church becomes the\nruler of the world, and to support and obey priests will be the business\nof mankind. All these theologians claim to have a revelation from their\nGod, and yet they cannot agree as to what the revelation reveals. The\nother day, looking from my window at the bay of New York, I saw many\nvessels going in many directions, and yet all were moved by the same\nwind. The direction in which they were going did not depend on the\ndirection of the breeze, but on the set of the sails. In this way the\nsame Bible furnishes creeds for all the Christian sects. But what would\nwe say if the captains of the boats I saw, should each swear that his\nboat was the only one that moved in the same direction the wind was\nblowing?\n\nI agree with Mr. Taber that all religions are founded on mistakes,\nmisconceptions and falsehoods, and that superstition is the warp and\nwoof of every creed.\n\nThis book will do great good. It will furnish arguments and facts\nagainst the supernatural and absurd. It will drive phantoms from the\nbrain, fear from the heart, and many who read these pages will be\nemancipated, enlightened and ennobled.\n\nChristianity, with its ignorant and jealous God--its loving and\nrevengeful Christ--its childish legends--its grotesque miracles--its\n\"fall of man\"--its atonement--its salvation by faith--its heaven for\nstupidity and its hell for genius, does not and cannot satisfy the free\nbrain and the good heart.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GRANT BANQUET.\n\nChicago, November 13, 1879.\n\n\nTWELFTH TOAST.\n\n     * The meteoric display predicted to take place last Thursday\n     night did not occur, but there did occur on that evening a\n     display of oratorical brilliancy at Chicago seldom if ever\n     surpassed. The speeches at the banquet of the Army of the\n     Tennessee, taken together, constitute one of the most\n     remarkable collections of extemporaneous eloquence on\n     record. The principal speakers of the evening were Gen. U.\n     S. Grant, Gen. John A. Logan Col. Win, F. Vilas, Gen.\n     Stewart L. Woodford, General Pope, Col. R. G. Ingersoll,\n     Gen. J. H. Wilson, and \"Mark Twain.\" In an oratorical\n     tournament General Grant is, of course, better as a listener\n     than as a talker; he is a man of deeds rather than of words.\n     The same might be said of General Sherman, though, as\n     presiding officer and toast-master of the occasion, his\n     impromptu remarks were always pertinent and keen. His advice\n     to speakers not to talk longer than they could hold their\n     audience, and to the auditors not to drag out their applause\n     or to drawl out their laughter, would serve as a good\n     standing rule for all similar occasions Colonel Ingersoll\n     responded to the twelfth toast, \"The Volunteer Soldiers of\n     the Union Army, whose Valor and Patriotism saved to the\n     world a Government of the People, by the People, and for the\n     people.\"\n\n     Colonel Ingersoll's position was a difficult one. His\n     reputation as the first orator in America caused the\n     distinguished audience to expect a wonderful display of\n     oratory from him. He proved fully equal to the occasion and\n     delivered a speech of wonderful eloquence, brilliancy and\n     power. To say it was one of the best he ever delivered is\n     equivalent to saying it was one of the best ever delivered\n     by any man, for few greater orators have ever lived than\n     Colonel Ingersoll. The speech is both an oration and a poem.\n     It bristles with ideas and sparkles with epigrammatic\n     expressions. It is full of thoughts that breathe and words\n     that burn. The closing sentences read like blank verse. It\n     is wonderful oratory, marvelous eloquence. Colonel\n     Ingersoll fully sustained his reputation as the finest\n     orator In America.\n\n     Editorial from The Journal Indianapolis, Ind., November\n     17,1879.\n\n     The Inter-Ocean remarked yesterday that the gathering and\n     exercises at the Palmer House banquet on Thursday evening\n     constituted one of the most remarkable occasions known in\n     the history of this country. This was not alone because of\n     the distinguished men who lent their presence to the scone;\n     they were indeed illustrious; but they only formed a part of\n     the grand picture that must endure while the memory of our\n     great conflict survives. To the eminent men assembled may be\n     traced the signal success of the affair, for they gave\n     inspiration to the minds and the tongues of others; but it\n     was the fruit of that inspiration that rolled like a glad\n     surprise across the banqueting sky, and made the 13th of\n     November renowned in the calendar of days... When Robert G.\n     Ingersoll rose after the speech of General Pope, to respond\n     to the toast, \"The Volunteer Soldiers,\" a large part of the\n     audience rose with him, and the cheering was long and loud.\n     Colonel Ingersoll may fairly be regarded as the foremost\n     orator of America, and there was the keenest interest to\n     hear him after all the brilliant speeches that had preceded;\n     and this interest was not unnmixed with a fear that he would\n     not be able to successfully strive against both his own\n     great reputation and the fresh competitors who had leaped\n     suddenly into the oratorical arena like mighty gladiators\n     and astonished the audience by their unexpected eloquence.\n     But Ingersoll had not proceeded far when the old fire broke\n     out, and flashing metaphor, bold denunciation, and all the\n     rich imagery and poetical beauty which mark his great\n     efforts stood revealed before the delighted listeners: Long\n     before the last word was uttered, all doubt as to the\n     ability of the great orator to sustain himself had departed,\n     and rising to their feet, the audience cheered till the hall\n     rang with shouts. Like Henry, \"The forest-born Demosthenes,\n     whose thunder shook the Philip of the seas,\" Ingersoll still\n     held the crown within his grasp.\n\n     Editorial from The Inter-Ocean, Chicago, November 15, 1879.\n\n\nThe Volunteer Soldiers of the Union Army, whose Valor and Patriotism\nsaved to the world \"a Government of the People, by the People, and for\nthe People.\"\n\nWHEN the savagery of the lash, the barbarism of the chain, and the\ninsanity of secession confronted the civilization of our country, the\nquestion \"Will the great Republic defend itself?\" trembled on the lips\nof every lover of mankind.\n\nThe North, filled with intelligence and wealth--children of\nliberty--marshaled her hosts and asked only for a leader. From civil\nlife a man, silent, thoughtful, poised and calm, stepped forth, and\nwith the lips of victory voiced the Nation's first and last demand:\n\"Unconditional and immediate surrender.\" From that 'moment' the end was\nknown. That utterance was the first real declaration of real war, and,\nin accordance with the dramatic unities of mighty events, the great\nsoldier who made it, received the final sword of the Rebellion.\n\nThe soldiers of the Republic were not seekers after vulgar glory. They\nwere not animated by the hope of plunder or the love of conquest. They\nfought to preserve the homestead of liberty and that their children\nmight have peace. They were the defenders of humanity, the destroyers\nof prejudice, the breakers of chains, and in the name of the future\nthey slew the monster of their time. They finished what the soldiers of\nthe Revolution commenced. They re-lighted the torch that fell from their\naugust hands and filled the world again with light. They blotted\nfrom the statute-book laws that had been passed by hypocrites at\nthe instigation of robbers, and tore with indignant hands from the\nConstitution that infamous clause that made men the catchers of their\nfellow-men. They made it possible for judges to be just, for statesmen\nto be humane, and for politicians to be honest. They broke the shackles\nfrom the limbs of slaves, from the souls of masters, and from the\nNorthern brain. They kept our country on the map of the world, and our\nflag in heaven. They rolled the stone from the sepulchre of progress,\nand found therein two angels clad in shining garments--Nationality and\nLiberty.\n\nThe soldiers were the saviors of the Nation; they were the liberators of\nmen. In writing the Proclamation of Emancipation, Lincoln, greatest\nof our mighty dead, whose memory is as gentle as the summer air when\nreapers, sing amid the gathered sheaves, copied with the pen what Grant\nand his brave comrades wrote with swords.\n\nGrander than the Greek, nobler than the Roman, the soldiers of the\nRepublic, with patriotism as shoreless as the air, battled for the\nrights of others, for the nobility of labor; fought that mothers might\nown their babes, that arrogant idleness should not scar the back of\npatient toil, and that our country should not be a many-headed monster\nmade of warring States, but a Nation, sovereign, great, and free.\n\nBlood was water, money was leaves, and life, was only common air until\none flag floated over a Republic without a master and without a slave.\n\nAnd then was asked the question: \"Will a free, people tax themselves to\npay a Nation's debt?\"\n\nThe soldiers went home to their waiting wives, to their glad children,\nand to the girls they loved--they went back-to the fields, the shops,\nand mines. They had not been demoralized. They had been ennobled.\nThey were as honest in peace as they had been brave in war. Mocking at\npoverty, laughing at reverses, they made a friend of toil. They said:\n\"We saved the Nation's life, and what is life without honor?\" They\nworked and wrought with all of labor's royal sons that every pledge\nthe Nation gave might be redeemed. And their great leader, having put a\nshining band of friendship--a girdle of clasped and happy hands--around\nthe globe, comes home and finds that every promise made in war has now\nthe ring and gleam of gold.\n\nThere is another question still:--Will all the wounds of war be healed?\nI answer, Yes. The Southern people must submit,--not to the dictation of\nthe North, but to the Nation's will and to the verdict of mankind. They\nwere wrong, and the time will come when they will say that they are\nvictors who have been vanquished by the right. Freedom conquered them,\nand freedom will cultivate their fields, educate their children, weave\nfor them the robes of wealth, execute their laws, and fill their land\nwith happy homes.\n\nThe soldiers of the Union saved the South as well as the North. They\nmade us a Nation. Their victory made us free and rendered tyranny in\nevery other land as insecure as snow upon volcanoes' lips.\n\nAnd now let us drink to the volunteers--to those who sleep in unknown,\nsunken graves, whose names are only in the hearts of those they loved\nand left--of those who only hear in happy dreams the footsteps of\nreturn. Let us drink to those who died where lipless famine mocked at\nwant; to all the maimed whose scars give modesty a tongue; to all who\ndared and gave to chance the care and keeping of their lives; to all the\nliving and to all the dead,--to Sherman, to Sheridan, and to Grant, the\nlaureled soldier of the world, and last, to Lincoln, whose loving life,\nlike a bow of peace, spans and arches all the clouds of war.\n\n\n\n\nTHIRTEEN CLUB DINNER.\n\n     * Response of Col. R. G. Ingersoll to the sentiment \"The\n     Superstitions of Public Men,\" at the regular monthly dinner\n     of the Thirteen Club. Monday evening, December 18, 1886.\n\nNew York, December 13, 1886,\n\n\nTHE SUPERSTITIONS OF PUBLIC MEN,\n\nMR. CHIEF RULER-AND GENTLEMEN: I suppose that the superstition most\nprevalent with public men, is the idea that they are of great importance\nto the public. As a matter of fact, public men,--that is to say, men in\noffice,--reflect the average intelligence of the people, and no more.\nA public man, to be successful, must not assert anything unless it is\nexceedingly popular. And he need not deny anything unless everybody is\nagainst it. Usually he has to be like the center of the earth,--draw all\nthings his way, without weighing anything himself.\n\nOne of the difficulties, or rather, one of the objections, to a\ngovernment republican in form, is this: Everybody imagines that he is\neverybody's: master. And the result has been to make most of our public\nmen exceedingly conservative in the expression of their real opinions.\nA man, wishing to be elected to an office, generally agrees with 'most\neverybody he meets. If he meets a Prohibitionist, he says: \"Of course I\nam a temperance man. I am opposed to all excesses; my dear friend,\nand no one knows better than myself the evils that have been caused by\nintemperance.\" The next man happens to keep a saloon, and happens to\nbe quite influential in that part of the district, and the candidate\nimmediately says to him:--\"The idea that these Prohibitionists can take\naway the personal liberty of the citizen is simply monstrous!\" In a\nmoment after, he is greeted by a Methodist, and he hastens to say, that\nwhile he does not belong to that church himself, his wife does; that he\nwould gladly be a member, but does not feel that he is good enough. He\ntells a Presbyterian that his grandfather was of that faith, and that he\nwas a most excellent man, and laments from the bottom of his heart that\nhe himself is not within that fold. A few moments after, on meeting a\nskeptic, he declares, with the greatest fervor, that reason is the only\nguide, and that he looks forward to the time when superstition will be\ndethroned. In other words, the greatest superstition now entertained by\npublic men is, that hypocrisy is the royal road to success.\n\nOf course, there are many other superstitions, and one is, that the\nDemocratic party has not outlived its usefulness. Another is, that the\nRepublican party should have power for what it has done, instead of what\nit proposes to do.\n\nIn my judgment, these statesmen are mistaken. The people of the United\nStates, after all, admire intellectual honesty and have respect for\nmoral courage. The time has come for the old ideas and superstitions in\npolitics to be thrown away--not in phrase, not in pretence, but in fact;\nand the time has come when a man can safely rely on the intelligence and\ncourage of the American people.\n\nThe most significant fact in this world to-day, is, that in nearly every\nvillage under the American flag the school-house is larger than the\nchurch. People are beginning to have a little confidence in intelligence\nand in facts. Every public man and every private man, who is actuated\nin his life by a belief in something that no one can prove,--that no one\ncan demonstrate,--is, to that extent, a superstitious man.\n\nIt may be that I go further than most of you, because if I have any\nsuperstition, it is a superstition against superstition. It seems to\nme that the first things for every man, whether in or out of office, to\nbelieve in,--the first things to rely on, are demonstrated facts.\nThese are the corner stones,--these are the columns that nothing can\nmove,--these are the stars that no darkness can hide,--these are the\ntrue and only foundations of belief.\n\nBeyond the truths that have been demonstrated is the horizon of the\nProbable, and in the world of the Probable every man has the right to\nguess for himself. Beyond the region of the Probable is the Possible,\nand beyond the Possible is the Impossible, and beyond the Impossible are\nthe religions of this world. My idea is this: Any man who acts in\nview of the Improbable or of the Impossible--that is to say of the\nSupernatural--is a superstitious man. Any man who believes that he can\nadd to the happiness of the Infinite, by depriving himself of innocent\npleasure, is superstitious. Any man who imagines that he can make some\nGod happy, by making himself miserable, is superstitious. Any one who\nthinks he can gain happiness in another world, by raising hell with his\nfellow-men in this, is simply superstitious. Any man who believes in a\nBeing of infinite wisdom and goodness, and yet belives that that\nBeing has peopled a world with failures, is superstitious. Any man who\nbelieves that an infinitely wise and good God would take pains to make\na man, intending at the time that the man should be eternally damned, is\nabsurdly superstitious. In other words, he who believes that there is,\nor that there can be, any other religious duty than to increase the\nhappiness of mankind, in this world, now and here, is superstitious.\n\nI have known a great many private men who were not men of genius. I\nhave known some men of genius about whom it was kept private, and I have\nknown many public men, and my wonder increased the better I knew them,\nthat they occupied positions of trust and honor.\n\nBut, after all, it is the people's fault. They who demand hypocrisy\nmust be satisfied with mediocrity... Our public men will be better and\ngreater, and less superstitious, when the people become greater and\nbetter and less superstitious. There is an old story, that we have all\nheard, about Senator Nesmith. He was elected a Senator from Oregon. When\nhe had been in Washington a little while, one of the other Senators said\nto him: \"How did you feel when you found yourself sitting here in the\nUnited States Senate?\" He replied: \"For the first two months, I just\nsat and wondered how a damned fool like me ever, broke into the Senate.\nSince that, I have done nothing but wonder how the other fools got\nhere.\"\n\nTo-day the need of our civilization is public men who have the courage\nto speak as they think. We need a man for President who will not\npublicly thank God for earthquakes. We need somebody with the courage to\nsay that all that happens in nature happens without design, and without\nreference to man; somebody who will say that the men and women killed\nare not murdered by supernatural beings, and that everything that\nhappens in nature, happens without malice and without mercy. We want\nsomebody who will have courage enough not to charge, an infinitely good\nand wise Being with all the cruelties and agonies and sufferings of this\nworld. We want such men in public places,--men who will appeal to the\nreason of their fellows, to the highest intelligence of the people; men\nwho will have courage enough, in this the nineteenth century, to agree\nwith the conclusions of science. We want some man who will not\npretend to believe, and who does not in fact believe, the stories that\nSuperstition has told to Credulity.\n\nThe most important thing in this world is the destruction of\nsuperstition. Superstition interferes with the happiness of mankind.\nSuperstition is a terrible serpent, reaching in frightful coils from\nheaven to earth and thrusting its poisoned fangs into the hearts of men.\nWhile I live, I am going to do what little I can for the destruction of\nthis monster. Whatever may happen in another world--and I will take my\nchances there,--I am opposed to superstition in this. And if, when I\nreach that other world, it needs reforming, I shall do what little I can\nthere for the destruction of the false.\n\nLet me tell you one thing more, and I am done. The only way to have\nbrave, honest, intelligent, conscientious public men, men without\nsuperstition, is to do what we can to make the average citizen brave,\nconscientious and intelligent. If you wish to see courage in the\npresidential chair, conscience upon the bench, intelligence of the\nhighest order in Congress; if you expect public men to be great enough\nto reflect honor upon the Republic, private citizens must have the\ncourage and the intelligence to elect, and to sustain, such men. I have\nsaid, and I say it again, that never while I live will I vote for any\nman to be President of the United States, no matter if he does belong\nto my party, who has not won his spurs on some field of intellectual\nconflict. We have had enough mediocrity, enough policy, enough\nsuperstition, enough prejudice, enough provincialism, and the time has\ncome for the American citizen to say: \"Hereafter I will be represented\nby men who are worthy, not only of the great Republic, but of the\nNineteenth Century.\"\n\n\n\n\nROBSON AND CRANE DINNER.\n\nNew York, November 21, 1887.\n\n     * The theatre party and supper given by Charles P. Palmer,\n     brother of Courtlandt Palmer, on Monday evening were\n     unusually attractive in many ways. Mr Palmer has recently\n     returned from Europe, and took this opportunity to gather\n     around him his old club associates and friends, and to show\n     his admiration of the acting of Messrs. Robson and Crane.\n     The appearance of Mr. Palmer's fifty guests in the theatre\n     excited much interest in all parts of the house. It is not\n     often that theatre-goers have the opportunity of seeing in a\n     single row, Channcey M. Depew, Gen. William T. Sherman, Gen.\n     Horace Porter and Robert G. Ingersoll, with Leonard Jerome\n     and his brother Lawrence, Murat Halstead and other well-\n     known men in close proximity\n\n     The supper table at Delmonico's was decorated with a lavish\n     profusion of flowers rarely approached even at that famous\n     restaurant.\n\n     Mr. Palmer was a charming host, full of humor, jollity and\n     attention to every guest. He opened the speaking with a few\n     apt words. Then Stuart Rodson made some witty remarks, and\n     called upon William H. Crane, whose well-rounded speech was\n     heartily applauded General Sherman, Chauncey M. Depew,\n     General Porter, Lawrence Jerome and Colonel Ingersoll were\n     all in their best moods, and the sallies of wit and the\n     abundance of genuine humor in their informal addresses kept\n     their hearers in almost continuous laughter. Lawrence Jerome\n     was in especially fine form. He sang songs, told stories and\n     said: \"Depew and Ingersoll know so much that intelligence\n     has become a drag in the market, and it's no use to tell you\n     what a good speech I would have made.\" J. Seaver Page made\n     an uncommonly witty and effective speech. Murat Halstead\n     related some reminiscences of his last European tour and of\n     his experiences in London with Lawrence and Leonard Jerome,\n     which were received with shouts of laughter. Altogether the\n     supper was one to be long remembered by all present.--The\n     Tribune, New York, November 23, 1887;\n\n\nTOAST: COMEDY AND TRAGEDY.\n\nI BELIEVE in the medicine of mirth, and in what I might call the\nlongevity of laughter. Every man who has caused real, true, honest\nmirth, has been a benefactor of the human race. In a world like this,\nwhere there is so much trouble--a world gotten up on such a poor\nplan--where sometimes one is almost inclined to think that the Deity, if\nthere be one, played a practical joke--to find, I say, in such a world,\nsomething that for the moment allows laughter to triumph over sorrow,\nis a great piece of good fortune. I like the stage, not only because\nGeneral Sherman likes it--and I do not think I was ever at the theatre\nin my life but I saw him--I not only like it because General Washington\nliked it, but because the greatest man that ever touched this grain of\nsand and tear we call the world, wrote for the stage, and poured out\na very Mississippi of philosophy and pathos and humor, and everything\ncalculated to raise and ennoble mankind.\n\nI like to see the stage honored, because actors are the ministers, the\napostles, of the greatest man who ever lived, and because they put\nflesh upon and blood and passion within the greatest characters that\nthe greatest man drew. This is the reason I like the stage. It makes us\nhuman. A rascal never gained applause on the stage. A hypocrite never\ncommanded admiration, not even when he was acting a clergyman--except\nfor the naturalness of the acting. No one has ever yet seen any play\nin which, in his heart, he did not applaud honesty, heroism, sincerity,\nfidelity, courage, and self-denial. Never. No man ever heard a great\nplay who did not get up a better, wiser, and more humane man; and no man\never went to the theatre and heard Robson and Crane, who did not go home\nbetter-natured, and treat his family that night a little better than on\na night when he had not heard these actors.\n\nI enjoy the stage; I always did enjoy it. I love the humanity of it. I\nhate solemnity; it is the brother of stupidity--always. You never knew a\nsolemn man who was not stupid, and you never will. There never was a\nman of true genius who had not the simplicity of a child, and over whose\nlips had not rippled the river of laughter--never, and there never will\nbe. I like, I say, the stage for its wit and for its humor. I do not\nlike sarcasm; I do not like mean humor. There is as much difference\nbetween humor and malicious wit as there is between a bee's honey and\na bee's sting, and the reason I like Robson and Crane is that they have\nthe honey without the sting.\n\nAnother thing that makes me glad is, that I live in an age and\ngeneration and day that has sense enough to appreciate the stage; sense\nenough to appreciate music; sense enough to appreciate everything\nthat lightens the burdens of this life. Only a few years ago our dear\nancestors looked upon the theatre as the vestibule of hell; and every\nactor was going \"the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire.\" In those\ngood old days, our fathers, for the sake of relaxation, talked about\ndeath and graves and epitaphs and worms and shrouds and dust and hell.\nIn those days, too, they despised music, cared nothing for art; and\nyet I have lived long enough to hear the world--that is, the civilized\nworld--say that Shakespeare wrote the greatest book that man has ever\nread. I have lived long enough to see men like Beethoven and Wagner put\nside by side with the world's greatest men--great in imagination--and we\nmust remember that imagination makes the great difference between men.\nI have lived long enough to see actors placed with the grandest and\nnoblest, side by side with the greatest benefactors of the human race.\n\nThere is one thing in which I cannot quite agree with what has been\nsaid. I like tragedy, because tragedy is only the other side of the\nshield and I like both sides. I love to spend an evening on the twilight\nboundary line between tears and smiles. There is nothing that pleases me\nbetter than some scene, some act, where the smile catches the tears\nin the eyes; where the eyes are almost surprised by the smile, and the\nsmile touched and softened by the tears. I like that. And the greatest\ncomedians and the greatest tragedians have that power; and, in\nconclusion, let me say, that it gives me more than pleasure to\nacknowledge the debt of gratitude I owe, not only to the stage, but to\nthe actors whose health we drink to-night.\n\n\n\n\nTHE POLICE CAPTAINS' DINNER.\n\nNew York, January 24, 1888.\n\n\nTOAST: DUTIES AND PRIVILEGES OF THE PRESS.\n\nONLY a little while ago, the nations of the world were ignorant and\nprovincial. Between these nations there were the walls and barriers of\nlanguage, of prejudice, of custom, of race and of religion. Each\nlittle nation had the only perfect form of government--the only genuine\nreligion--all others being adulterations or counterfeits.\n\nThese nations met only as enemies. They had nothing to exchange but\nblows--nothing to give and take but wounds.\n\nMovable type was invented, and \"civilization was thrust into the brain\nof Europe on the point of a Moorish lance.\" The Moors gave to our\nancestors paper, and nearly all valuable inventions that were made for a\nthousand years.\n\nIn a little while, books began to be printed--the nations began to\nexchange thoughts instead of blows. The classics were translated. These\nwere read, and those who read them began to imitate them--began to write\nthemselves; and in this way there was produced in each nation a local\nliterature. There came to be an exchange of facts, of theories, of\nideas.\n\nFor many years this was accomplished by books, but after a time the\nnewspaper was invented, and the exchange increased.\n\nBefore this, every peasant thought his king the greatest being in the\nworld. He compared this king--his splendor, his palace--with the\npeasant neighbor, with his rags and with his hut. All his thoughts were\nprovincial, all his knowledge confined to his own neighborhood--the\ngreat world was to him an unknown land.\n\nLong after papers were published, the circulation was small, the means\nof intercommunication slow, painful, few and costly.\n\nThe same was true in our own country, and here, too, was in a great\ndegree, the provincialism of the Old World.\n\nFinally, the means of intercommunication increased, and they became\nplentiful and cheap.\n\nThen the peasant found that he must compare his king with the kings\nof other nations--the statesmen of his country with the statesmen of\nothers--and these comparisons were not always favorable to the men of\nhis own country.\n\nThis enlarged his knowledge and his vision, and the tendency of this was\nto make him a citizen of the world.\n\nHere in our own country, a little while ago, the citizen of each State\nregarded his State as the best of all. To love that State more than all\nothers, was considered the highest evidence of patriotism.\n\nThe Press finally informed him of the condition of other States. He\nfound that other States were superior to his in many ways--in climate,\nin production, in men, in invention, in commerce and in influence.\nSlowly he transferred the love of State, the prejudice of locality--what\nI call mud patriotism--to the Nation, and he became an American in the\nbest and highest sense.\n\nThis, then, is one of the greatest things to be accomplished by\nthe Press in America--namely, the unification of the country--the\ndestruction of provincialism, and the creation of a patriotism broad as\nthe territory covered by our flag.\n\nThe same ideas, the same events, the same news, are carried to millions\nof homes every day. The result of this is to fix the attention of\nall upon the same things, the same thoughts and theories, the same\nfacts--and the result is to get the best judgment of a nation.\n\nThis is a great and splendid object, but not the greatest.\n\nIn Europe the same thing is taking place. The nations are becoming\nacquainted with each other. The old prejudices are dying out. The people\ncf each nation are beginning to find that they are not the enemies of\nany other. They are also beginning to suspect that where they have no\ncause of quarrel, they should neither be called upon to fight, nor to\npay the expenses of war.\n\nAnother thing: The kings and statesmen no longer act as they\nformerly did. Once they were responsible only to their poor and\nwretched-subjects, whose obedience they compelled at the point of the\nbayonet. Now a king knows, and his minister knows, that they must give\naccount for what they do to the civilized world. They know that kings\nand rulers must be tried before the great bar of public opinion--a\npublic opinion that has been formed by the facts given to them in the\nPress of the world. They do not wish to be condemned at that great bar.\nThey seek not only not to be condemned--not only to be acquitted--but\nthey seek to be crowned. They seek the applause, not simply of their own\nnation, but of the civilized world.\n\nThere was for uncounted centuries a conflict between civilization and\nbarbarism. Barbarism was almost universal, civilization local. The torch\nof progress was then held by feeble hands, and barbarism extinguished it\nin the blood of its founders. But civilizations arose, and kept rising,\none after another, until now the great Republic holds and is able to\nhold that torch against a hostile world.\n\nBy its invention, by its weapons of war, by its intelligence,\ncivilization became capable of protecting itself, and there came a time\nwhen in the struggle between civilization and barbarism the world passed\nmidnight.\n\nThen came another struggle,--the struggle between the people and their\nrulers.\n\nMost peoples sacrificed their liberty through gratitude to some great\nsoldier who rescued them from the arms of the barbarian. But there came\na time when the people said: \"We have a right to govern ourselves.\" And\nthat conflict has been waged for centuries.\n\nAnd I say, protected and corroborated by the flag of the greatest of all\nRepublics, that in that conflict the world has passed midnight.\n\nDespotisms were softened by parliaments, by congresses--but at last the\nworld is beginning to say: \"The right to govern rests upon the consent\nof the governed. The power comes from the people--not from kings. It\nbelongs to man, and should be exercised by man.\"\n\nIn this conflict we have passed midnight. The world is destined to be\nrepublican. Those who obey the laws will make the laws.\n\nOur country--the United States--the great Republic--owns the fairest\nportion of half the world. We have now sixty millions of free people.\nLook upon the map of our country. Look upon the great valley of the\nMississippi--stretching from the Alleghenies to the Rockies. See the\ngreat basin drained by that mighty river. There you will see a territory\nlarge enough to feed and clothe and educate five hundred millions of\nhuman beings.\n\nThis country is destined to remain as one. The Mississippi River is\nNature's protest against secession and against division.\n\nWe call that nation civilized when its subjects submit their differences\nof opinion, in accordance with the forms of law, to fellow-citizens who\nare disinterested and who accept the decision as final.\n\nThe nations, however, sustain no such relation to each other. Each\nnation concludes for itself. Each nation defines its rights and its\nobligations; and nations will not be civilized in respect of their\nrelations to each other, until there shall have been established a\nNational Court to decide differences between nations, to the judgment of\nwhich all shall bow.\n\nIt is for the Press--the Press that photographs the human activities\nof every day--the Press that gives the news of the world to each\nindividual--to bend its mighty energies to the unification and the\ncivilization of mankind; to the destruction of provincialism, of\nprejudice--to the extirpation of ignorance and to the creation of a\ngreat and splendid patriotism that embraces the human race.\n\nThe Press presents the daily thoughts of men. It marks the progress\nof each hour, and renders a relapse into ignorance and barbarism\nimpossible. No catastrophe can be great enough, no ruin wide-spread\nenough, to engulf or blot out the wisdom of the world.\n\nFeeling that it is called to this high destiny, the Press should appeal\nonly to the highest and to the noblest in the human heart.\n\nIt should not be the bat of suspicion, a raven, hoarse with croaking\ndisaster, a chattering jay of gossip, or a vampire fattening on the\nreputations of men.\n\nIt should remain the eagle, rising and soaring high in the cloudless\nblue, above all mean and sordid things, and grasping only the bolts and\narrows of justice.\n\nLet the Press have the courage always to defend the right, always\nto defend the people--and let it always have the power to clutch and\nstrangle any combination of men, however intellectual or cunning or\nrich, that feeds and fattens on the flesh and blood of honest men.\n\nIn a little while, under our flag there will be five hundred millions\nof people. The great Republic will then dictate to the world--that is to\nsay, it will succor the oppressed--it will see that justice is done--it\nwill say to the great nations that wish to trample upon the weak: \"You\nmust not--you shall not--strike.\" It will be obeyed.\n\nAll I ask is--all I hope is--that the Press will always be worthy of the\ngreat Republic.\n\n\n\n\nGENERAL GRANT'S BIRTHDAY DINNER\n\nNew York, April 27, 1888.\n\n\n     * The tribute at Delmonico's last night was to the man\n     Grant as a supreme type of the confidence of the American\n     Republic in its own strength and destiny. Soldiers over\n     whose lost cause the wheels of a thousand cannons rolled,\n     and whose doctrines were ground to dust under the heels of\n     conquering legions, poured out their souls at the feet of\n     the great commander. Magnanimity, mercy, faith--these were\n     the themes of every orator. Christian and Infidel, blue and\n     gray, Republican and Democrat talked of Grant almost as men\n     have come to talk of Washington.\n\n     And, alas! In the midst of it all, with its soft glow of\n     lights, its sweet breath of flowers, its throb of music and\n     bewildering radiance of banners,  there was a vacant chair.\n     Upon it hung a wreath of green, tied with a knot of white\n     ribbon. Soldier and statesman and orator walked past that\n     chair and seemed to reverence it. It was the seat intended\n     for the trumpet tongued advocate of Grant in war, Grant in\n     victory, Grant in peace, Grant in adversity--the seat of\n     Roscoe Conkling. A little later and a clergyman jostled into\n     the vacant chair and brushed the green circlet to the floor.\n\n     Gray and grim old General Sherman presided. About the nine\n     round, flower heaped tables were grouped the long list of\n     distinguisned men from every walk or life and from every\n     section of the country.\n\n     Among the speakers was Ex-Minister Edwards Pierrepont who\n     was one of Grant's cabinet and who made a long speech, part\n     of which was devoted to explaining the court etiquette of\n     dukes and earls and ministers in England, and how an ex-\n     President of the United States ranks in Europe when an\n     American Minister helps him out. The rest of the speech\n     seemed to be an attempt to get up a presidential boom for\n     the Prince of Wales.\n\n     When Mr. Pierrepont sat down, General Sherman explained that\n     Col. Robert Ingersoll did not want to speak, but a group of\n     gentlemen lifted the orator up and carried him forward by\n     main force.--New York Herald, April 28,1888.\n\n\nTOAST: GENERAL GRANT\n\nGEN. SHERMAN and Gentlemen: I firmly believe that any nation great\nenough to produce and appreciate a great and splendid man is great\nenough to keep his memory green. No man admires more than I do men who\nhave struggled and fought for what they believed to be right. I admire\nGeneral Grant, as well as every soldier who fought in the ranks of the\nUnion,--not simply because they were fighters, not simply because they\nwere willing to march to the mouth of the guns, but because they fought\nfor the greatest cause that can be expressed in human language--the\nliberty of man. And to-night while General Mahone was speaking, I could\nnot but think that the North was just as responsible for the war as the\nSouth. The South upheld and maintained what is known as human slavery,\nand the North did the same; and do you know, I have always found in my\nheart a greater excuse for the man who held the slave, and lived on his\nlabor, and profited by the rascality, than I did for a Northern man that\nwent into partnership with him with a distinct understanding that he was\nto have none of the profits and half of the disgrace. So I say, that,\nin a larger sense--that is, when we view the question from a philosophic\nheight--the North was as responsible as the South; and when I remember\nthat in this very city, _in this very city_, men were mobbed simply for\nadvocating the abolition of slavery, I cannot find it in my heart to lay\na greater blame upon the South than upon the North. If this had been a\nwar of conquest, a war simply for national aggrandizement, then I should\nnot place General Grant side by side with or in advance of the greatest\ncommanders of the world. But when I remember that every blow was to\nbreak a chain, when I remember that the white man was to be civilized\nat the same time the black man was made free, when I remember that this\ncountry was to be made absolutely free, and the flag left without a\nstain, then I say that the great General who commanded the greatest army\never marshaled in the defence of human rights, stands at the head of the\ncommanders of this world.\n\nThere is one other idea,--and it was touched upon and beautifully\nillustrated by Mr. Depew. I do not believe that a more merciful general\nthan Grant ever drew his sword. All greatness is merciful. All greatness\nlongs to forgive. All true grandeur and nobility is capable of shedding\nthe divine tear of pity.\n\nLet me say one more word in that direction. The man in the wrong\ndefeated, and who sees the justice of his defeat, is a victor; and in\nthis view--and I say it understanding my words fully--the South was as\nvictorious as the North.\n\nNo man, in my judgment, is more willing to do justice to all parts\nof this country than I; but, after all, I have a little sentiment--a\nlittle. I admire great and splendid deeds, the dramatic effect of great\nvictories; but even more than that I admire that \"touch of nature which\nmakes the whole world kin.\" I know the names of Grant's victories. I\nknow that they shine like stars in the heaven of his fame. I know them\nall. But there is one thing in the history of that great soldier that\ntouched me nearer and more deeply than any victory he ever won, and that\nis this: When about to die, he insisted that his dust should be laid in\nno spot where his wife, when she sleeps in death, could not lie by his\nside. That tribute to the great and splendid institution that rises\nabove all others, the institution of the family, touched me even more\nthan the glories won upon the fields of war.\n\nAnd now let me say, General Sherman, as the years go by, in America, as\nlong as her people are great, as long as her people are free, as long\nas they admire patriotism and courage, as long as they admire deeds of\nself-denial, as long as they can remember the sacred blood shed for\nthe good of the whole nation, the birthday of General Grant will be\ncelebrated. And allow me to say, gentlemen, that there is another with\nus to-night whose birthday will be celebrated. Americans of the future,\nwhen they read the history of General Sherman, will feel the throb and\nthrill that all men feel in the presence of the patriotic and heroic.\n\nOne word more--when General Grant went to England, when he sat down\nat the table with the Ministers of her Britannic Majesty, he conferred\nhonor upon them. There is one change I wish to see in the diplomatic\nservice--and I want the example to be set by the great Republic--I want\nprecedence given here in Washington to the representatives of Republics.\nLet us have some backbone ourselves. Let the representatives of\nRepublics come first and the ambassadors of despots come in next day. In\nother words, let America be proud of American institutions, proud of a\nGovernment by the people. We at last have a history, we at last are a\ncivilized people, and on the pages of our annals are found as glorious\nnames as have been written in any language.\n\n\n\n\nLOTOS CLUB DINNER, TWENTIETH ANNIVERSARY.\n\nNew York, March 22, 1890.\n\nYOU have talked so much of old age and gray hairs and thin locks,\nso much about the past, that I feel sad. Now, I want to destroy the\nimpression that baldness is a sign of age. The very youngest people I\never saw were bald.\n\nSometimes I think, and especially when I am at a meeting where they\nhave what they call reminiscences, that a world with death in it is a\nmistake. What would you think of a man who built a railroad, knowing\nthat every passenger was to be killed--knowing that there was no escape?\nWhat would you think of the cheerfulness of the passengers if every one\nknew that at some station, the name of which had not been called out,\nthere was a hearse waiting for him; backed up there, horses fighting\nflies, driver whistling, waiting for you? Is it not wonderful that the\npassengers on that train really enjoy themselves? Is it not magnificent\nthat every one of them, under perpetual sentence of death, after all,\ncan dimple their cheeks with laughter; that we, every one doomed to\nbecome dust, can yet meet around this table as full of joy as spring is\nfull of life, as full of hope as the heavens are full of stars?\n\nI tell you we have got a good deal of pluck.\n\nAnd yet, after all, what would this world be without death? It may be\nfrom the fact that we are all victims, from the fact that we are all\nbound by common fate; it may be that friendship and love are born of\nthat fact; but Whatever the fact is, I am perfectly satisfied that\nthe highest possible philosophy is to enjoy to-day, not regretting\nyesterday, and not fearing to-morrow. So, let us suck this orange of\nlife dry, so that when death does come, we can politely say to him, \"You\nare welcome to the peelings. What little there was we have enjoyed.\"\n\nBut there is one splendid thing about the play called Life. Suppose that\nwhen you die, that is the end. The last thing that you will know is\nthat you are alive, and the last thing that will happen to you is the\ncurtain, not falling, but the curtain rising on another thought, so\nthat as far as your consciousness is concerned you will and must live\nforever. No man can remember when he commenced, and no man can remember\nwhen he ends. As far as we are concerned we live both eternities,\nthe one past and the one to come, and it is a delight to me to feel\nsatisfied, and to feel in my own heart, that I can never be certain that\nI have seen the faces I love for the last time.\n\nWhen I am at such a gathering as this, I almost wish I had had the\nmaking of the world. What a world I would have made! In that world\nunhappiness would have been the only sin; melancholy the only crime;\njoy the only virtue. And whether there is another world, nobody knows.\nNobody can affirm it; nobody can deny it. Nobody can collect tolls from\nme, claiming that he owns a turnpike, and nobody can certainly say that\nthe crooked path that I follow, beside which many roses are growing,\ndoes not lead to that place. He doesn't know. But if there is such a\nplace, I hope that all good fellows will be welcome.\n\n\n\n\nMANHATTAN ATHLETIC CLUB DINNER.\n\nNew York, December 27, 1890.\n\n\nTOAST: ATHLETICS AMONG THE ANCIENTS.\n\nTHE first record of public games is found in the twentythird Book of the\nIliad. These games were performed at the funeral of Patroclus, and there\nwere:\n\nFirst. A chariot race, and the first prize was:\n\n\"A woman fair, well skilled in household care.\"\n\nSecond. There was a pugilistic encounter, and the first prize,\nappropriately enough, was a mule.\n\nIt gave me great pleasure to find that Homer did not hold in high esteem\nthe victor. I have reached this conclusion, because the poet put these\nwords in the mouth of Eppius, the great boxer winding up with the\nfollowing refined declaration concerning his opponent:\n\n\"I mean to pound his flesh and smash his bones.\"\n\nAfter the battle, the defeated was helped from the field. He spit\nforth clotted gore. His head rolled from side to side, until he fell\nunconscious.\n\nThird, wrestling; fourth, foot-race; fifth, fencing; sixth, throwing the\niron mass or bar; seventh, archery, and last, throwing the javelin.\n\nAll of these games were in honor of Patroclus. This is the same\nPatroclus who, according to Shakespeare, addressed Achilles in these\nwords:\n\n     \"In the battle-field I claim no special praise;\n     'Tis not for man in all things to excel--\"\n\n     \"Rouse yourself, and the weak wanton Cupid\n     Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold,\n     And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,\n     Be shook to air.\"\n\nThese games were all born of the instinct of self-defence. The chariot\nwas used in war. Man should know the use of his hands, to the end that\nhe may repel assault. He should know the use of the sword, to the end\nthat he may strike down his enemy. He should be skillful with the arrow,\nto the same end. If overpowered, he seeks safety in flight--he should\ntherefore know how to run. So, too, he could preserve himself by the\nskillful throwing of the javelin, and in the close encounter a knowledge\nof wrestling might save his life.\n\nMan has always been a fighting animal, and the art of self-defence is\nnearly as important now as ever--and will be, until man rises to that\nsupreme height from which he will be able to see that no one can commit\na crime against another without injuring himself.\n\nThe Greeks knew that the body bears a certain relation to the soul--that\nthe better the body--other things being equal--the greater the\nmind. They also knew that the body could be developed, and that such\ndevelopment would give or add to the health, the courage, the endurance,\nthe self-confidence, the independence and the morality of the human\nrace. They knew, too, that health was the foundation, the corner-stone,\nof happiness.\n\nThey knew that human beings should know something about themselves,\nsomething of the capacities of body and mind, to the end that they might\nascertain the relation between conduct and happiness, between temperance\nand health.\n\nIt is needless to say that the Greeks were the most intellectual of all\nraces, and that they were in love with beauty, with proportion, with the\nsplendor of the body and of mind; and so great was their admiration\nfor the harmoniously developed, that Sophocles had the honor of walking\nnaked at the head of a great procession.\n\nThe Greeks, through their love of physical and mental development, gave\nus the statues--the most precious of all inanimate things--of far more\nworth than all the diamonds and rubies and pearls that ever glittered in\ncrowns and tiaras, on altars or thrones, or, flashing, rose and fell on\nwoman's billowed breast. In these marbles we find the highest types of\nlife, of superb endeavor and supreme repose. In looking at them we feel\nthat blood flows, that hearts throb and souls aspire. These miracles of\nart are the richest legacies the ancient world has left our race.\n\nThe nations in love with life, have games. To them existence is\nexultation. They are fond of nature. They, seek the woods and streams.\nThey love the winds and waves of the sea. They enjoy the poem of the\nday, the drama of the year.\n\nOur Puritan fathers were oppressed with a sense of infinite\nresponsibility. They were disconsolate and sad, and no more thought\nof sport, except the flogging of; Quakers, than shipwrecked wretches\nhuddled on a raft would turn their attention to amateur theatricals.\n\nFor many centuries the body was regarded as a decaying; casket, in\nwhich had been placed the gem called the soul, and the nearer rotten the\ncasket the more brilliant the jewel.\n\nIn those blessed days, the diseased were sainted and insanity born\nof fasting and self-denial and abuse of the body, was looked upon as\nevidence of inspiration. Cleanliness was not next to godliness--it\nwas the opposite; and in those days, what was known as \"the odor of\nsanctity\" had a substantial foundation. Diseased bodies produced all\nkinds of mental maladies. There is a direct relation between sickness\nand superstition. Everybody knows that Calvinism was the child of\nindigestion.\n\nSpooks and phantoms hover about the undeveloped and diseased, as\nvultures sail above the dead.\n\nOur ancestors had the idea that they ought to be spiritual, and that\ngood health was inconsistent with the highest forms of piety. This\nheresy crept into the minds even of secular writers, and the novelists\ndescribed their heroines as weak and languishing, pale as lilies, and in\nthe place of health's brave flag they put the hectic flush.\n\nWeakness was interesting, and fainting captured the hearts of all.\nNothing was so attractive as a society belle with a drug-store\nattachment.\n\nPeople became ashamed of labor, and consequently, of the evidences\nof labor. They avoided \"sun-burnt mirth\"--were proud of pallor, and\nregarded small, white hands as proof that they had noble blood within\ntheir veins. It was a joy to be too weak to work, too languishing to\nlabor.\n\nThe tide has turned. People are becoming sensible enough to desire\nhealth, to admire physical development, symmetry of form, and we now\nknow that a race with little feet and hands has passed the climax and is\ntraveling toward the eternal night.\n\nWhen the central force is strong, men and women are full of life to\nthe finger tips. When the fires burn low, they begin to shrivel at the\nextremities--the hands and feet grow small, and the mental flame wavers\nand wanes.\n\nTo be self-respecting we must be self-supporting.\n\nNobility is a question of character, not of birth.\n\nHonor cannot be received as alms--it must be earned.\n\nIt is the brow that makes the wreath of glory green.\n\nAll exercise should be for the sake of development--that is to say, for\nthe sake of health, and for the sake of the mind--all to the end that\nthe person may become better, greater, more useful. The gymnast or the\nathelete should seek for health as the student should seek for truth;\nbut when athletics degenerate into mere personal contests, they become\ndangerous, because the contestants lose sight of health, as in the\nexcitement of debate the students prefer personal victory to the\nascertainment of truth.\n\nThere is another thing to be avoided by all athletic clubs, and that is,\nanything that tends to brutalize, destroy or dull the finer feelings.\nNothing is more disgusting, more disgraceful, than pugilism--nothing\nmore demoralizing than an exhibition of strength united with ferocity,\nand where the very body developed by exercise is mutilated and\ndisfigured.\n\nSports that can by no possibility give pleasure, except to the\nunfeeling, the hardened and the really brainless, should be avoided.\nNo gentleman should countenance rabbit-coursing, fighting of dogs, the\nshooting of pigeons, simply as an exhibition of skill.\n\nAll these things are calculated to demoralize and brutalize not only\nthe actors, but the lookers on. Such sports are savage, fit only to be\nparticipated in and enjoyed by the cannibals of Central Africa or the\nanthropoid apes.\n\nFind what a man enjoys--what he laughs at--what he calls diversion--and\nyou know what he is. Think of a man calling himself civilized, who is in\nraptures at a bull fight--who smiles when he sees the hounds pursue and\ncatch and tear in pieces the timid hare, and who roars with laughter\nwhen he watches the pugilists pound each other's faces, closing each\nother's eyes, breaking jaws and smashing noses. Such men are beneath\nthe animals they torture--on a level with the pugilists they applaud.\nGentlemen should hold such sports in unspeakable contempt. No man finds\npleasure in inflicting pain.\n\nIn every public school there should be a gymnasium.\n\nIt is useless to cram minds and deform bodies. Hands should be educated\nas well as heads. All should be taught the sports and games that require\nmind, muscle, nerve and judgment.\n\nEven those who labor should take exercise, to the end that the whole\nbody may be developed. Those who work at one employment become deformed.\nProportion is lost. But where harmony is preserved by the proper\nexercise, even old age is beautiful.\n\nTo the well developed, to the strong, life seems rich, obstacles small,\nand success easy. They laugh at cold and storm. Whatever the season may\nbe their hearts are filled with summer.\n\nMillions go from the cradle to the coffin without knowing what it is\nto live. They simply succeed in postponing death. Without appetites,\nwithout passions, without struggle, they slowly rot in a waveless pool.\nThey never know the glory of success, the rapture of the fight.\n\nTo become effeminate is to invite misery. In the most delicate bodies\nmay be found the most degraded souls. It was the Duchess Josiane whose\npampered flesh became so sensitive that she thought of hell as a place\nwhere people were compelled to sleep between coarse sheets.\n\nWe need the open air--we need the experience of heat and cold. We need\nnot only the rewards and caresses, but the discipline of our mother\nNature. Life is not all sunshine, neither is it all storm, but man\nshould be enabled to enjoy the one and to withstand the other.\n\nI believe in the religion of the body--of physical development--in\ndevotional exercise--in the beatitudes of cheerfulness, good health,\ngood food, good clothes, comradeship, generosity, and above all, in\nhappiness. I believe in salvation here and now. Salvation from deformity\nand disease--from weakness and pain--from ennui and insanity. I believe\nin heaven here and now--the heaven of health and good digestion--of\nstrength and long life--of usefulness and joy. I believe in the builders\nand defenders of homes.\n\nThe gentlemen whom we honor to-night have done a great work. To their\nenergy we are indebted for the nearest perfect, for the grandest\nathletic clubhouse in the world. Let these clubs multiply. Let the\nexample be followed, until our country is filled with physical and\nintellectual athletes--superb fathers, perfect mothers, and every child\nan heir to health and joy.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LIEDERKRANZ CLUB, SEIDL-STANTON BANQUET.\n\nNew York, April 2, 1891\n\n\nTOAST: MUSIC, NOBLEST OF THE ARTS.\n\nIT is probable that I was selected to speak about music, because, not\nknowing one note from another, I have no prejudice on the subject.\n\nAll I can say is, that I know what I like, and, to tell the truth, I\nlike every kind, enjoy it all, from the hand organ to the orchestra.\n\nKnowing nothing of the science of music, I am not always looking for\ndefects, or listening for discords. As the young robin cheerfully\nswallows whatever comes, I hear with gladness all that is played.\n\nMusic has been, I suppose, a gradual growth, subject to the law\nof evolution; as nearly everything, with the possible exception of\ntheology, has been and is under this law.\n\nMusic may be divided into three kinds: First, the music of simple time,\nwithout any particular emphasis--and this may be called the music of\nthe heels; second, music in which time is varied, in which there is\nthe eager haste and the delicious delay, that is, the fast and slow, in\naccordance with our feelings, with our emotions--and this may be\ncalled the music of the heart; third, the music that includes time and\nemphasis, the hastening and the delay, and something in addition, that\nproduces not only states of feeling, but states of thought. This may be\ncalled the music of the head,--the music of the brain.\n\nMusic expresses feeling and thought, without language. It was below and\nbefore speech, and it is above and beyond all words. Beneath the waves\nis the sea--above the clouds is the sky.\n\nBefore man found a name for any thought, or thing, he had hopes and\nfears and passions, and these were rudely expressed in tones.\n\nOf one thing, however, I am certain, and that is, that Music was born of\nLove. Had there never been any human affection, there never could have\nbeen uttered a strain of music. Possibly some mother, looking in the\neyes of her babe, gave the first melody to the enraptured air.\n\nLanguage is not subtle enough, tender enough, to express all that we\nfeel; and when language fails, the highest and deepest longings are\ntranslated into music. Music is the sunshine--the climate--of the soul,\nand it floods the heart with a perfect June.\n\nI am also satisfied that the greatest music is the most marvelous\nmingling of Love and Death. Love is the greatest of all passions, and\nDeath is its shadow. Death gets all its terror from Love, and Love\ngets its intensity, its radiance, its glory and its rapture, from the\ndarkness of Death. Love is a flower that grows on the edge of the grave.\n\nThe old music, for the most part, expresses emotion, or feeling-,\nthrough time and emphasis, and what is known as melody. Most of the\nold operas consist of a few melodies connected by unmeaning recitative.\nThere should be no unmeaning music. It is as though a writer should\nsuddenly leave his subject and write a paragraph consisting of nothing\nbut a repetition of one word like \"the,\" \"the,\" \"the,\" or \"if,\" \"if.\"\n\"if,\" varying the repetition of these words, but without meaning,--and\nthen resume the subject of his article.\n\nI am not saying that great music was not produced before Wagner, but\nI am simply endeavoring to show-the steps that have been taken. It was\nnecessary that all the music should have been written, in order that the\ngreatest might be produced. The same is true of the drama, Thousands\nand thousands prepared the way for the supreme dramatist, as millions\nprepared the way for the supreme composer.\n\nWhen I read Shakespeare, I am astonished that he has expressed so much\nwith common words, to which he gives new meaning; and so when I hear\nWagner, I exclaim: Is it possible that all this is done with common air?\n\nIn Wagner's music there is a touch of chaos that suggests the infinite.\nThe melodies seem strange and changing forms, like summer clouds, and\nweird harmonies come like sounds from the sea brought by fitful winds,\nand others moan like waves on desolate shores, and mingled with these,\nare shouts of joy, with sighs and sobs and ripples of laughter, and the\nwondrous voices of eternal love.\n\nWagner is the Shakespeare of Music.\n\nThe funeral march for Siegfried is the funeral music for all the dead;\nShould all the gods die, this music would be perfectly appropriate. It\nis elemental, universal, eternal.\n\nThe love-music in Tristan and Isolde is, like Romeo and Juliet, an\nexpression of the human heart for all time. So the love-duet in The\nFlying Dutchman has in it the consecration, the infinite self-denial,\nof love. The whole heart is given; every note has wings, and rises and\npoises like an eagle in the heaven of sound.\n\nWhen I listen to the music of Wagner, I see pictures, forms, glimpses of\nthe perfect, the swell of a hip, the wave of a breast, the glance of\nan eye. I am in the midst of great galleries. Before me are passing,\nthe endless panoramas. I see vast landscapes with valleys of verdure\nand vine, with soaring crags, snow-crowned. I am on the wide seas, where\ncountless billows burst into the white caps of joy. I am in the depths\nof caverns roofed with mighty crags, while through some rent I see the\neternal stars. In a moment the music, becomes a river of melody, flowing\nthrough some wondrous land; suddenly it falls in strange chasms, and the\nmighty cataract is changed to seven-hued foam. .\n\nGreat music is always sad, because it tells us of the perfect; and such\nis the difference between what we are and that which music suggests,\nthat even in the vase of joy we find some tears.\n\nThe music of Wagner has color, and when I hear the violins, the morning\nseems to slowly come. A horn puts a star above the horizon. The night,\nin the purple hum of the bass, wanders away like some enormous bee\nacross wide fields of dead clover. The light grows whiter as the\nviolins increase. Colors come from other instruments, and then the full\norchestra floods the world with day.\n\nWagner seems not only to have given us new tones, new combinations, but\nthe moment the orchestra begins to play his music, all the instruments\nare transfigured. They seem to utter the sounds that they have been\nlonging to utter. The horns run riot; the drums and cymbals join in\nthe general joy; the old bass viols are alive with passion; the 'cellos\nthrob with love; the violins are seized with a divine fury, and the\nnotes rush out as eager for the air as pardoned prisoners for the roads\nand fields.\n\nThe music of Wagner is filled with landscapes. There are some strains,\nlike midnight, thick with constellations, and there are harmonies like\nislands in the far seas, and others like palms on the desert's edge. His\nmusic satisfies the heart and brain. It is not only for memory; not only\nfor the present, but for prophecy.\n\nWagner was a sculptor, a painter, in sound. When he died, the greatest\nfountain of melody that ever enchanted the world, ceased. His music will\ninstruct and refine forever.\n\nAll that I know about the operas of Wagner I have learned from Anton\nSeidl. I believe that he is the noblest, tenderest and the most artistic\ninterpreter of the great composer that has ever lived.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FRANK B. CARPENTER DINNER.\n\nNew York, December 1, 1891\n\n     * There was a notable gathering of leading artists, authors,\n     scientists, journalists, lawyer, clergymen and other\n     professional men at Sherry's last evening. The occasion was\n     a dinner tendered to Mr. F. B. Carpenter, the famous\n     portrait and portrait group artist, by his immediate friends\n     to celebrate the completion of his new historical painting,\n     entitled \"International Arbitration,\" which is to be sent to\n     Queen Victoria next week as the gift of a wealthy American\n     lady. No such tribute has ever been paid before to an artist\n     of-this country. Let us hope that the extraordinary\n     attention thus paid to Mr. Carpenter will give our \"English\n     cousins\" some idea of how he is prized and his work indorsed\n     at home. The dinner to Mr. Carpenter was a great success--\n     most enjoyable in every way. The table was laid in the form\n     ol a horse shoe with a train of smilax, and sweet flowers\n     extending the entire length of the table, amid pots of\n     chrysanthemums and roses. Ex-Minister Andrew D White\n     presided in the absence of John Russell\n\n     Young..........Mr. White said: \"During the entire course of\n     these proceedings we have been endeavoring to find a\n     representative of the great Fourth Estate who would present\n     its claims in relation to arbitration on this occasion.\n     There are present men whose names are household words in\n     connection with the press throughout this land. There is\n     certainly one distinguished as orator: there is another\n     distinguished as a scholar. But they prefer to be silent. We\n     will therefore consider that the toast of 'The Press in\n     Connection with War and Peace' has been duly honored\n     although it has not been responded to, and now there is one\n     subject which I think you will consider as coming strangely\n     at this late hour. It is a renewal of the subject with which\n     we began, and I am to ask to speak to it a man who is\n     admired and feared throughout the country. At one moment he\n     smashes the most cherished convictions of the country, and\n     at another he raises our highest aspirations for the future\n     of humanity.\n\n     \"It happened several years ago that I was crossing the\n     Atlantic, and when I had sufficiently recovered from\n     seasickness to sit out on the deck I came across Colonel\n     Ingersoll, and of all subjects of discussion you can imagine\n     we fell upon the subject of art, and we went at it hot and\n     heavy. So I said to him to-night that I had a rod in pickle\n     for him and that he was not to know anything about it until\n     it was displayed.\n\n     \"I now call upon him to talk to us about art, and if he\n     talks now as he talked on the deck of the steamer I do not\n     know whether it would clear the room, but it would make a\n     sensation in this State and country. I have great pleasure\n     in announcing Colonel Ingersoll, to speak on the subject of\n     art--or on any other subject, for no matter upon what he\n     speaks his words are always welcome.\"\n\n     New York Press, December 2, 1891.\n\n\nTOAST: ART.\n\nI PRESUME I take about as much interest in what that picture represents\nas anybody else. I believe that it has been said this evening that the\nworld will never be civilized so long as differences between nations\nare settled by gun or cannon or sword. Barbarians still settle their\npersonal differences with clubs or arms, and finally, when they agree\nto submit their differences to their peers, to a court, we call them\ncivilized. Now, nations sustain the same relations to each other that\nbarbarians sustain; that is, they settle their differences by force;\neach nation being the judge of the righteousness of its cause, and its\njudgment depending entirely--or for the most part--on its strength; and\nthe strongest nation is the nearest right. Now, until nations submit\ntheir differences to an international court--a court with the power to\ncarry its judgment into effect by having the armies and navies of all\nthe rest of the world pledged to support it--the world will not be\ncivilized. Our differences will not be settled by arbitration until more\nof the great nations set the example, and until that is done, I am in\nfavor of the United States being armed. Until that is done it will give\nme joy to know that another magnificent man-of-war has been launched\nupon our waters. And I will tell you why. Look again at that picture.\nThere is another face; it is not painted there, and yet without it\nthat picture would not have been painted, and that is the face of U.\nS. Grant. The olive branch, to be of any force, to be of any beneficent\npower, must be offered by the mailed hand. It must be offered by a\nnation which has back of the olive branch the force. It cannot be\noffered by weakness, because then it will excite only ridicule. The\npowerful, the imperial, must offer that branch. Then it will be accepted\nin the true spirit; otherwise not. So, until the world is a little more\ncivilized I am in favor of the largest guns that can be made and the\nbest navy that floats. I do not want any navy unless we have the best,\nbecause if you have a poor one you will simply make a present of it to\nthe enemy as soon as war opens. We should be ready to defend ourselves\nagainst the world. Not that I think there is going to be any war, but\nbecause I think that is the best way to prevent it. Until the whole\nworld shall have entered into the same spirit as the artist when he\npainted that picture, until that spirit becomes general we have got to\nbe prepared for war. And we cannot depend upon war suasion. If a fleet\nof men-of-war should sail into our harbor, talk would not be of any\ngood; we must be ready to answer them in their own way.\n\nI suppose I have been selected to speak on art because I can speak on\nthat subject without prejudice, knowing nothing about it. I have on this\nsubject no hobbies, no pet theories, and consequently will give you not\nwhat I know, but what I think. I am an Agnostic in many things, and the\nway I understand art is this: In the first place we are all invisible\nto each other. There is something called soul; something that thinks and\nhopes and loves. It is never seen. It occupies a world that we call the\nbrain, and is forever, so far as we know, invisible. Each soul lives in\na world of its own, and it endeavors to communicate with another soul\nliving in a world of its own, each invisible to the other, and it does\nthis in a variety of ways. That is the noblest art which expresses the\nnoblest thought, that gives to another the noblest emotions that this\nunseen soul has. In order to do this we have to seize upon the seen, the\nvisible. In other words, nature is a vast dictionary that we use simply\nto convey from one invisible world to another what happens in our\ninvisible world. The man that lives in the greatest world and succeeds\nin letting other worlds know what happens in his world, is the greatest\nartist.\n\nI believe that all arts have the same father and the same mother, and no\nmatter whether you express what happens in these unseen worlds in mere\nwords--because nearly all pictures have been made with words--or whether\nyou express it in marble, or form and color in what we call painting, it\nis to carry on that commerce between these invisible worlds, and he is\nthe greatest artist who expresses the tenderest, noblest thoughts to\nthe unseen worlds about him. So that all art consists in this commerce,\nevery soul being an artist and every brain that is worth talking about\nbeing an art gallery, and there is no gallery in this world, not in the\nVatican or the Louvre or any other place, comparable with the gallery\nin every great brain. The millions of pictures that are in every\nbrain to-night; the landscapes, the faces, the groups, the millions of\nmillions of millions of things that are now living here in every brain,\nall unseen, all invisible forever! Yet we communicate with each other by\nshowing each other these pictures, these studies, and by inviting others\ninto our galleries and showing them what we have, and the greatest\nartist is he who has the most pictures to show to other artists.\n\nI love anything in art that suggests the tender, the beautiful. What is\nbeauty? Of course there is no absolute beauty. All beauty is relative.\nProbably the most beautiful thing to a frog is the speckled belly of\nanother frog, or to a snake the markings of another snake. So there\nis no such thing as absolute beauty. But what I call beauty is what\nsuggests to me the highest and the tenderest thought; something that\nanswers to something in my world. So every work of art has to be born in\nsome brain, and it must be made by the unseen artist we call the soul.\nNow, if a man simply copies what he sees, he is nothing but a copyist.\nThat does not require genius. That requires industry and the habit of\nobservation. But it is not genius; it is not art. Those little daubs and\nshreds and patches we get by copying, are pieces of iron that need to be\nput into the flame of genius to be molten and then cast in noble forms;\notherwise there is no genius.\n\nThe great picture should have, not only the technical part of art, which\nis neither moral nor immoral, but in addition some great thought, some\ngreat event. It should contain not only a history but a prophecy. There\nshould be in it soul, feeling, thought I love those little pictures of\nthe home, of the fireside, of the old lady, boiling the kettle, the\nvine running over the cottage door, scenes suggesting to me happiness,\ncontentment. I think more of them than of the great war pieces, and I\nhope I shall have a few years in some such scenes, during which I shall\nnot care what time it is, what day of the week or month it is. Just that\nfeeling of content when it is enough to live, to breathe, to have the\nblue sky above you and to hear the music of the water. All art that\ngives us that content, that delight, enriches this world and makes life\nbetter and holier.\n\nThat, in a general kind of way, as I said before, is my idea of art, and\nI hope that the artists of America--and they ought to be as good here as\nin any place on earth--will grow day by day and year by year independent\nof all other art in the world, and be true to the American or republican\nspirit always. As to this picture, it is representative, it is American.\nThere is one word Mr. Daniel Dougherty said to which I would like to\nrefer. I have never said very much in my life in defence of England, at\nthe same time I have never blamed England for being against us during\nour war, and I will tell you why. We had been a nation of hypocrites. We\npretended to be in favor of liberty and yet we had four or five millions\nof our people enslaved. That was a very awkward position. We had\nbloodhounds to hunt human beings and the apostles setting them on; and\nwhile this was going on these poor wretches sought and found liberty\non British soil. Now, why not be honest about it? We were rather a\ncontemptible people, though Mr. Dougherty thinks the English were wholly\nat fault. But England abolished the slave-trade in 1803; she abolished\nslavery in her colonies in 1833. We were lagging behind. That is all\nthere is about it. No matter why, we put ourselves in the position of\npretending to be a free people while we had millions of slaves, and it\nwas only natural that England should dislike it.\n\nI think the chairman said that there had been no great historic picture\nof the signing of the Constitution. There never should be, never! It was\nfit, it was proper, to have a picture of the signing of the Declaration\nof Independence. That was an honest document. Our people wanted to give\na good reason for fighting Great Britain, and in order to do that they\nhad to dig down to the bed-rock of human rights, and then they said all\nmen are created equal. But just as soon as we got our independence\nwe made a Constitution that gave the lie to the Declaration of\nIndependence, and that is why the signing of the Constitution never\nought to be painted. We put in that Constitution a clause that the\nslave-trade should not be interfered with for years, and another clause\nthat this entire Government was pledged to hand back to slavery any poor\nwoman with a child at her breast, seeking freedom by flight. It was a\nvery poor document. A little while ago they celebrated the one hundredth\nanniversary of that business and talked about the Constitution being\nsuch a wonderful thing; yet what was in that Constitution brought on the\nmost terrible civil war ever known, and during that war they said: \"Give\nus the Constitution as it is and the Union as it was.\" And I said then:\n\"Curse the Constitution as it is and the Union as it was. Don't talk\nto me about fighting for a Constitution that has brought on a war like\nthis; let us make a new one.\" No, I am in favor of a painting that\nwould celebrate the adoption of the amendment to the Constitution that\ndeclares that there shall be no more slavery on this soil.\n\nI believe that we are getting a little more free every day--a little\nmore sensible all the time. A few years ago a woman in Germany made a\nspeech, in which she asked: \"Why should the German mother in pain and\nagony give birth to a child and rear that child through industry and\npoverty, and teach him that when he arrives at the age of twenty-one it\nwill be his duty to kill the child of the French mother? And why should\nthe French mother teach her son, that it will be his duty sometime to\nkill the child of the German mother?\" There is more sense in that than\nin all the diplomacy I ever read, and I think the time is coming when\nthat question will be asked by every mother--Why should she raise a\nchild to kill the child of another mother?\n\nThe time is coming when we will do away with all this. Man has been\ntaught that he ought to fight for the country where he was born; no\nmatter about that country being wrong, whether it supported him or not,\nwhether it enslaved him and trampled on every right he had, still it was\nhis duty to march up in support of that country. The time will come when\nthe man will make up his mind himself whether the country is worth\nwhile fighting for, and he is the greatest patriot who seeks to make\nhis country worth fighting for, and not he who says, I am for it anyhow,\nwhether it is right or not. These patriots will be the force Mr. George\nwas speaking about. If war between this country and Great Britain were\ndeclared, and there were men in both countries sufficient to take a\nright view of it, that would be the end of war. The thing would be\nsettled by arbitration--settled by some court--and no one would dream of\nrushing to the field of battle. So, that is my hope for the world; more\npolicy, more good, solid, sound sense and less mud patriotism.\n\nI think that this country is going to grow. I think it will take in Mr.\nWiman's country. I do not mean that we are going to take any country.\nI mean that they are going to come to us. I do not believe in conquest.\nCanada will come just as soon as it is to her interest to come, and I\nthink she will come or be a great country to herself. I do not believe\nin those people, intelligent as they are, sending three thousand miles\nfor information they have at home. I do not believe in their being\ngoverned by anybody except themselves. So if they come we shall be glad\nto have them, if they don't want to come I don't want them.\n\nYes, we are growing. I don't know how many millions of people we have\nnow, probably over sixty-two if they all get counted; and they are still\ncoming. I expect to live to see one hundred millions here. I know some\nsay that we are getting too many foreigners, but I say the more that\ncome the better. We have got to have somebody to take the places of the\nsons of our rich people. So I say let them come. There is plenty of land\nhere, everywhere. I say to the people of every country, come; do your\nwork here, and we will protect you against other countries. We will give\nyou all the work to supply yourselves and your neighbors.\n\nThen if we have differences with another country we shall have a strong\nnavy, big ships, big guns, magnificent men and plenty of them, and if we\nput out the hand of fellowship and friendship they will know there is\nno foolishness about it. They will know we are not asking any favor. We\nwill just say: We want peace, and we tell you over the glistening leaves\nof this olive branch that if you don't compromise we will mop the earth\nwith you.\n\nThat is the sort of arbitration I believe in, and it is the only sort,\nin my judgment, that will be effectual for all time. And I hope that we\nmay still grow, and grow more and more artistic, and more and more\nin favor of peace, and I pray that we may finally arrive at being\nabsolutely worthy of having presented that picture, with all that it\nimplies, to the most warlike nation in the world--to the nation that\nfirst sends the gospel and then the musket immediately after, and says:\nYou have got to be civilized, and the only evidence of civilization that\nyou can give is to buy our goods and to buy them now, and to pay for\nthem. I wish us to be worthy of the picture presented to such a nation,\nand my prayer is that America may be worthy to have sent such a token\nin such a spirit, and my second prayer is that England may be worthy\nto receive it and to keep it, and that she may receive it in the same\nspirit that it is sent.\n\nI am glad that it is to be sent by a woman. The gentleman who spoke to\nthe toast, \"Woman as a Peacemaker,\" seemed to believe that woman brought\nall the sorrows that ever happened, not only of war, but troubles of\nevery kind. I want to say to him that I would rather live with the woman\nI love in a world of war, in a world full of troubles and sorrows,\nthan to live in heaven with nobody but men. I believe that woman is a\npeacemaker, and so I am glad that a woman presents this token to another\nwoman; and woman is a far higher title than queen, in my judgment; far\nhigher. There are no higher titles than woman, mother, wife, sister, and\nwhen they come to calling them countesses and duchesses and queens, that\nis all rot. That adds nothing to that unseen artist who inhabits the\nworld called the brain. That unseen artist is great by nature and cannot\nbe made greater by the addition of titles. And so one woman gives to\nanother woman the picture that prophesies war is finally to cease,\nand the civilized nations of the world will henceforth arbitrate their\ndifferences and no longer strew the plains with corpses of brethren.\nThat is the supreme lesson that is taught by this picture, and I\ncongratulate Mr. Carpenter that his name is associated with it and\nalso with the \"Proclamation of Emancipation.\" In the latter work he has\nassociated his name with that of Lincoln, which is the greatest name\nin history, and the gentlest memory in this world. Mr. Carpenter has\nassociated his name with that and with this and with that of General\nGrant, for I say that this picture would never have been possible had\nthere not been behind it Grant; if there had not been behind it the\nvictorious armies of the North and the great armies of the South, that\nwould have united instantly to repel any foreign foe.\n\n\n\n\nUNITARIAN CLUB DINNER.\n\nNew York, January 15,1892.\n\n\nTOAST: THE IDEAL.\n\nMR. PRESIDENT, Ladies and Gentlemen: In the first place, I wish to\ntender my thanks to this club for having generosity and sense enough to\ninvite me to speak this evening. It is probably the best thing the club\nhas ever done. You have shown that you are not afraid of a man simply\nbecause he does not happen to agree entirely with you, although in a\nvery general way it may be said that I come within one of you.\n\nSo I think, not only that you have honored me--that, I most cheerfully\nand gratefully admit--but, upon my word, I think that you have honored\nyourselves. And imagine the distance the religious world has traveled\nin the last few years to make a thing of this kind possible! You know--I\npresume every one of you knows--that I have no religion--not enough to\nlast a minute--none whatever--that is, in the ordinary sense of that\nword. And yet you have become so nearly civilized that you are willing\nto hear what I have to say; and I have become so nearly civilized that I\nam willing to say what I think.\n\nAnd, in the second place, let me say that I have great respect for\nthe Unitarian Church. I have great respect for the memory of Theodore\nParker. I have great respect for every man who has assisted in reaving\nthe heavens of an infinite monster. I have great respect for every man\nwho has helped to put out the fires of hell. In other words, I have\ngreat respect for every man who has tried to civilize my race.\n\nThe Unitarian Church has done more than any other church--and may be\nmore than all other churches--to substitute character for creed, and\nto say that a man should be judged by his spirit; by the climate of his\nheart; by the autumn of his generosity; by the spring of his hope; that\nhe should be judged by what he does; by the influence that he exerts,\nrather than by the mythology he may believe. And whether there be one\nGod or a million, I am perfectly satisfied that every duty that devolves\nupon me is within my reach; it is something that I can do myself,\nwithout the help of anybody else, either in this world or any other.\n\nNow, in order to make myself plain on this subject--I think I was to\nspeak about the Ideal--I want to thank the Unitarian Church for what\nit has done; and I want to thank the Universalist Church, too. They at\nleast believe in a God who is a gentleman; and that is much more than\nwas ever done by an orthodox church. They believe, at least, in a\nheavenly father who will leave the latch string out until the last\nchild gets home; and as that lets me in--especially in reference to the\n\"last\"--I have great respect for that church.\n\nBut now I am coming to the Ideal; and in what I may say you may not all\nagree. I hope you won't, because that would be to me evidence that I am\nwrong. You cannot expect everybody to agree in the right, and I cannot\nexpect to be always in the right myself. I have to judge with the\nstandard called my reason, and I do not know whether it is right or\nnot; I will admit that. But as opposed to any other man's, I will bet\non mine. That is to say, for home use. In the first place, I think it\nis said in some book--and if I am wrong there are plenty here to correct\nme--that \"the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.\" I think\na knowledge of the limitations of the human mind is the beginning of\nwisdom, and, I may almost say, the end of it--really to understand\nyourself.\n\nNow, let me lay down this proposition. The imagination of man has the\nhorizon of experience; and beyond experience or nature man cannot\ngo, even in imagination. Man is not a creator. He combines; he adds\ntogether; he divides; he subtracts; he does not create, even in the\nworld of imagination. Let me make myself a little plainer: Not one\nhere--not one in the wide, wide world can think of a color that he never\nsaw. No human being can imagine a sound that he has not heard, and\nno one can think of a taste that he has not experienced. He can add\nto--that is add together--combine; but he cannot, by any possibility,\ncreate.\n\nMan originally, we will say--go back to the age of barbarism, and you\nwill not have to go far; our own childhood, probably, is as far as is\nnecessary--but go back to what is called the age of savagery; every man\nwas an idealist, as every man is to-day an idealist. Every man in savage\nor civilized time, commencing with the first that ever crawled out of\na cave and pushed the hair back from his forehead to look at the\nsun--commence with him and end with Judge Wright--the last expression\non the God question--and from that cave to the soul that lives in this\ntemple, everyone has been an idealist and has endeavored to account in\nsome way for what he saw and for what he felt; in other words, for the\nphenomena of nature. The easiest way to account for it by the rudest\nsavage, is the way it has been accounted for to-night. What makes the\nriver run? There's a god in it. What makes the tree grow? There's a god\nin it. What makes the star shine? There's a god in it. What makes the\nsun rise? Why, he is a god himself. And what makes the nightingale sing\nuntil the air is faint with melody? There's a god in it.\n\nThey commenced making gods to account for everything that happens; gods\nof dreams and gods of love and friendship, and heroism and courage.\nSplendid! They kept making more and more. The more they found out in\nnature, up to a certain point, the more gods they needed; and they kept\non making gods until almost every wave of the sea bore a god. Gods on\nevery mountain, and in every vale and field, and by every stream! Gods\nin flowers, gods in grass; gods everywhere! All accounting for this\nworld and for what happened in this world.\n\nThen, when they had got about to the top, when their ingenuity had been\nexhausted, they had not produced anything, and they did not produce\nanything beyond their own experience. We are told that they were\nidolaters. That is a mistake, except in the sense that we are all\nidolaters. They said, \"Here is a god; let us express our idea of him.\nHe is stronger than a man; let us give him the body of a lion. He is\nswifter than a man; let us give him the wings of an eagle. He is wiser\nthan a man\"--and when a man was very savage he said, \"let us give\nhim the head of a serpent;\" a serpent is wonderfully wise; he travels\nwithout feet; he climbs without claws; he lives without food, and he is\nof the simplest conceivable form.\n\nAnd that was simply to represent their idea of power, of swiftness, of\nwisdom. And yet this impossible monster was simply made of what man had\nseen in nature, and he put the various attributes or parts together\nby his imagination. He created nothing. He simply took these parts of\ncertain beasts, when beasts were supposed to be superior to man in some\nparticulars, and in that way expressed his thought.\n\nYou go into the territory of Arizona to-day, and you will find there\npictures of God. He was clothed in stone, through which no arrow could\npierce, and so they called God the Stone-Shirted whom no Indian could\nkill. That was for the simple and only reason that it was impossible to\nget an arrow through his armor. They got the idea from the armadillo.\n\nNow, I am simply saying this to show that they were making gods for all\nthese centuries, and making them out of something they found in nature.\nThen, after they got through with the beast business, they made gods\nafter the image of man; and they are the best gods, so far as I know,\nthat have been made.\n\nThe gods that were first made after the image of man were not made after\nthe pattern of very good men; but they were good men according to the\nstandard of that time, because, as I will show you in a moment, all\nthese things are relative. The qualities or things that we call mercy,\njustice, charity and religion are all relative. There was a time when\nthe victor on the field of battle was exceedingly merciful if he failed\nto eat his prisoner; he was regarded as a very charitable gentleman if\nhe refused to eat the man he had captured in battle. Afterward he\nwas regarded as an exceedingly benevolent person if he would spare a\nprisoner's life and make him a slave.\n\nSo that--but you all know it as well as I do or you would not be\nUnitarians--all this has been simply a growth from year to year, from\ngeneration to generation, from age to age. And let me tell you the first\nthing about these gods that they made after the image of men. After\na time there were men on the earth who were better than these gods in\nheaven.\n\nThen those gods began to die, one after another, and dropped from their\nthrones. The time will probably come in the history of this world when\nan insurance company can calculate the average life of gods as well as\nthey do now of men; because all these gods have been made by folks. And,\nlet me say right here, the folks did the best they could. I do not blame\nthem. Everybody in the business has always done his best. I admit it. I\nadmit that man has traveled from the first conception up to Unitarianism\nby a necessary road. Under the conditions he could have come up in no\nother way. I admit all that. I blame nobody. But I am simply trying to\ntell, in a very feeble manner, how it is.\n\nNow, in a little while, I say, men got better than their gods. Then the\ngods began to die. Then we began to find out a few things in nature, and\nwe found out that we were supporting more gods than were necessary--that\nfewer gods could do the business--and that, from an economical point of\nview, expenses ought to be cut down. There were too many temples, too\nmany priests, and you always had to give tithes of something to each\none, and these gods were about to eat up the substance of the world.\n\nAnd there came a time when it got to that point that either the gods\nwould eat up the people or the people must destroy some gods, and of\ncourse they destroyed the gods--one by one and in their places they put\nforces of nature to do the business--forces of nature that needed no\nchurch, that needed no theologians; forces of nature that you are under\nno obligation to; that you do not have to pay anything to keep working.\nWe found that the attraction of gravitation would attend to its\nbusiness, night and day, at its own expense. There was a great saving.\nI wish it were the same with all kinds of law, so that we could all go\ninto some useful business, including myself.\n\nSo day by day, they dispensed with this expense of deities; and the\nworld got along just as well--a good deal better. They used to think--a\ncommunity thought--that if a man was allowed to say a word against a\ndeity, the god would visit his vengeance upon the entire nation. But\nthey found out, after a while, that no harm came of it; so they went on\ndestroying the gods. Now, all these things are relative; and they made\ngods a little better all the time--I admit that--till we struck the\nPresbyterian, which is probably the worst ever made. The Presbyterians\nseem to have bred back.\n\nBut no matter. As man became more just, or nearer just, as he became\nmore charitable, or nearer charitable, his god grew to be a little\nbetter and a little better. He was very bad in Geneva--the three that\nwe then had. They were very bad in Scotland--horrible! Very bad in New\nEngland--infamous! I might as well tell the truth about it--very bad!\nAnd then men went to work, finally, to civilize their gods, to civilize\nheaven, to give heaven the benefit of the freedom of this brave world.\nThat's what we did. We wanted to civilize religion--civilize what is\nknown as Christianity. And nothing on earth needed civilization more;\nand nothing needs it more than that to-night. Civilization! I am not so\nmuch for the freedom of religion as I am for the religion of freedom.\n\nNow, there was a time when our ancestors--good people, away back, all\ndead, no great regret expressed at this meeting on that account--there\nwas a time when our ancestors were happy in their belief that nearly\neverybody was to be lost, and that a few, including themselves, were\nto be saved. That religion, I say, fitted that time. It fitted their\ngeology. It was a very good running mate for their astronomy. It was a\ngood match for their chemistry. In other words, they were about equal in\nevery department of human ignorance.\n\nAnd they insisted that there lived up there somewhere--generally\nup--exactly where nobody has, I believe, yet said--a being, an infinite\nperson \"without body, parts, or passions,\" and yet without passions he\nwas angry at the wicked every day; without body he inhabited a certain\nplace; and without parts he was, after all, in some strange and\nmiraculous manner, organized so that he thought.\n\nAnd I don't know that it is possible for anyone here--I don't know that\nanyone here is gifted with imagination enough--to conceive of such a\nbeing. Our fathers had not imagination enough to do so, at least, and\nso they said of this God, that he loves and he hates; he punishes and he\nrewards; and that religion has been described perfectly tonight by Judge\nWright as really making God a monster, and men poor, helpless victims.\nAnd the highest possible conception of the orthodox man was, finally,\nto be a good servant--just lucky enough to get in--feathers somewhat\nsinged, but enough left to fly. That was the idea of our fathers. And\nthen came these divisions, simply because men began to think.\n\nAnd why did they begin to think? Because in every direction, in all\ndepartments, they were getting more and more information. And then the\nreligion did not fit. When they found out something of the history of\nthis globe they found out that the Scriptures were not true. I will not\nsay not inspired, because I do not know whether they are inspired or\nnot. It is a question, to me, of no possible importance, whether they\nare inspired or not. The question is: Are they true? If they are true,\nthey do not need inspiration; and if they are not true, inspiration will\nnot help them. So that is a matter that I care nothing about.\n\nOn every hand, I say, they studied and thought. They began to grow--to\nhave new ideas of mercy, kindness, justice; new ideas of duty--new ideas\nof life. The old gods, after we got past the civilization of the Greeks,\npast their mythology--and it is the best mythology that man has ever\nmade--after we got past that, I say, the gods cared very little about\nwomen. Women occupied no place in the state--no place by the hearth,\nexcept one of subordination, and almost of slavery. So the early\nchurches made God after that image who held women in contempt. It was\nonly natural--I am not blaming anybody--they had to do it, it was part\nof the _must!_\n\nNow, I say that we have advanced up to the point that we demand not only\nintelligence, but justice and mercy, in the sky; we demand that--that\nidea of God. Then comes my trouble. I want to be honest about it. Here\nis my trouble--and I want it also understood that if I should see a man\npraying to a stone image or to a stuffed serpent, with that man's wife\nor daughter or son lying at the point of death, and that poor savage on\nhis knees imploring that image or that stuffed serpent to save his\nchild or his wife, there is nothing in my heart that could suggest the\nslightest scorn, or any other feeling than that of sympathy; any other\nfeeling than that of grief that the stuffed serpent could not answer the\nprayer and that the stone image did not feel; I want that understood.\nAnd wherever man prays for the right--no matter to whom or to what he\nprays; where he prays for strength to conquer the wrong, I hope his\nprayer may be heard; and if I think there is no one else to hear it I\nwill hear it, and I am willing to help answer it to the extent of my\npower.\n\nSo I want it distinctly understood that that is my feeling. But here is\nmy trouble: I find this world made on a very cruel plan. I do not say it\nis wrong--I just say that that is the way it seems to me. I may be wrong\nmyself, because this is the only world I was ever in; I am provincial.\nThis grain of sand and tear they call the earth is the only world I have\never lived in. And you have no idea how little I know about the rest of\nthis universe; you never will know how little I know about it until you\nexamine your own minds on the same subject.\n\nThe plan is this: Life feeds on life. Justice does not always triumph:\nInnocence is not a perfect shield. There is my trouble. No matter now,\nwhether you agree with me or not; I beg of you to be honest and fair\nwith me in your thought, as I am toward you in mine.\n\nI hope, as devoutly as you, that there is a power somewhere in this\nuniverse that will finally bring everything as it should be. I take a\nlittle consolation in the \"perhaps\"--in the guess that this is only one\nscene of a great drama, and that when the curtain rises on the fifth\nact, if I live that long, I may see the coherence and the relation of\nthings. But up to the present writing--or speaking--I do not. I do not\nunderstand it--a God that has life feed on life; every joy in the world\nborn of some agony! I do not understand why in this world, over the\nNiagara of cruelty, should run this ocean of blood. I do not understand\nit. And, then, why does not justice always triumph? Why is not innocence\na perfect shield? These are my troubles.\n\nSuppose a man had control of the atmosphere, knew enough of the secrets\nof nature, had read enough in \"nature's infinite book of secrecy\" so\nthat he could control the wind and rain; suppose a man had that power,\nand suppose that last year he kept the rain from Russia and did not\nallow the crops to ripen when hundreds of thousands were famishing and\nwhen little babes were found with their lips on the breasts of dead\nmothers! What would you think of such a man? Now, there is my trouble.\nIf there be a God he understood this. He knew when he withheld his rain\nthat the famine would come. He saw the dead mothers, he saw the empty\nbreasts of death, and he saw the helpless babes. There is my trouble. I\nam perfectly frank with you and honest. That is my trouble.\n\nNow, understand me! I do not say there is no God. I do not know. As I\ntold you before, I have traveled but very little--only in this world.\n\nI want it understood that I do not pretend to know. I say I think.\nAnd in my mind the idea expressed by Judge Wright so eloquently and\nso beautifully is not exactly true. I cannot conceive of the God he\nendeavors to describe, because he gives to that God will, purpose,\nachievement, benevolence, love, and no form--no organization--no wants.\nThere's the trouble. No wants. And let me say why that is a trouble. Man\nacts only because he wants. You civilize man by increasing his wants,\nor, as his wants increase he becomes civilized. You find a lazy savage\nwho would not hunt an elephant tusk to save your life. But let him have\na few tastes of whiskey and tobacco, and he will run his legs off for\ntusks. You have given him another want and he is willing to work. And\nthey nearly all started on the road toward Unitarianism--that is to say,\ntoward civilization--in that way. You must increase their wants.\n\nThe question arises: Can an infinite being want anything? If he does and\ncannot get it, he is not happy. If he does not want anything, I cannot\nhelp him. I am under no obligation to do anything for anybody who does\nnot need anything and who does not want anything. Now, there is my\ntrouble. I may be wrong, and I may get paid for it some time, but that\nis my trouble.\n\nI do not see--admitting that all is true that has been said about the\nexistence of God--I do not see what I can do for him; and I do not see\neither what he can do for me, judging by what he has done for others.\n\nAnd then I come to the other point, that religion so-called, explains\nour duties to this supposed being, when we do not even know that he\nexists; and no human being has got imagination enough to describe him,\nor to use such words that you understand what he is trying to say. I\nhave listened with great pleasure to Judge Wright this evening, and I\nhave heard a great many other beautiful things on the same subject--none\nbetter than his. But I never understood them--never.\n\nNow, then, what is religion? I say, religion is all here in this\nworld--right here--and that all our duties are right here to our\nfellow-men; that the man that builds a home; marries the girl that he\nloves; takes good care of her; likes the family; stays home nights, as\na general thing; pays his debts; tries to find out what he can; gets all\nthe ideas and beautiful things that his mind will hold; turns a part\nof his brain into a gallery of fine arts; has a host of paintings and\nstatues there; then has another niche devoted to music--a magnificent\ndome, filled with winged notes that rise to glory--now, the man who does\nthat gets all he can from the great ones dead; swaps all the thoughts he\ncan with the ones that are alive; true to the ideal that he has here in\nhis brain--he is what I call a religious man, because he makes the world\nbetter, happier; he puts the dimples of joy in the cheeks of the ones he\nloves, and he lets the gods run heaven to suit themselves. And I am not\nsaying that he is right; I do not know.\n\nThis is all the religion that I have; to make somebody else happier if I\ncan.\n\nI divide this world into two classes--the cruel and the kind; and I\nthink a thousand times more of a kind man than I do of an intelligent\nman. I think more of kindness than I do of genius, I think more of real,\ngood, human nature in that way--of one who is willing to lend a helping\nhand and who goes through the world with a face that looks as if its\nowner were willing to answer a decent question--I think a thousand times\nmore of that than I do of being theologically right; because I do not\ncare whether I am theologically right or not. It is something that is\nnot worth talking about, because it is something that I never, never,\nnever shall understand; and every one of you will die and you won't\nunderstand it either--until after you die at any rate. I do not know\nwhat will happen then.\n\nI am not denying anything. There is another ideal, and it is a beautiful\nideal. It is the greatest dream that ever entered the heart or brain of\nman--the Dream of Immortality. It was born of human affection. It did\nnot come to us from heaven. It was born of the human heart. And when\nhe who loved, kissed the lips of her who was dead, there came into his\nheart the dream: We may meet again.\n\nAnd, let me tell you, that hope of immortality never came from any\nreligion. That hope of immortality has helped make religion. It has\nbeen the great oak around which have climbed the poisonous vines of\nsuperstition--that hope of immortality is the great oak.\n\nAnd yet the moment a man expresses a doubt about the truth of Joshua or\nJonah or the other three fellows in a furnace, up hops some poor little\nwretch and says, \"Why, he doesn't want to live any more; he wants to\ndie and go down like a dog, and that is the end of him and his wife and\nchildren.\" They really seem to think that the moment a man is what\nthey call an Infidel he has no affections, no heart, no feeling, no\nhope--nothing--nothing. Just anxious to be annihilated! But, if the\northodox creed be true, I make my choice to-night. I take hell. And if\nit is between hell and annihilation, I take annihilation.\n\nI will tell you why I take hell in making the first choice. We have\nheard from both of those places--heaven and hell. According to the New\nTestament there was a rich man in hell, and a poor man, Lazarus, in\nheaven. And there was another gentleman by the name of Abraham. The rich\nman in hell was in flames, and he called for water, and they told him\nthey couldn't give him any. No bridge! But they did not express the\nslightest regret that they could not give him any water. Mr. Abraham was\nnot decent enough to say he would if he could; no, sir; nothing. It\ndid not make any difference to him. But this rich man in hell--in\ntorment--his heart was all right, for he remembered his brothers; and\nhe said to this Abraham, \"If you cannot go, why, send a man to my five\nbrethren, so that they will not come to this place!\" Good fellow, to\nthink of his five brothers when he was burning up. Good fellow. Best\nfellow we ever heard from on the other side--in either world.\n\nSo, I say there is my place. And, incidentally, Abraham at that time\ngave his judgment as to the value of miracles. He said, \"Though one\nshould arise from the dead he wouldn't help your five brethren!\" \"There\nare Moses and the prophets.\" No need of raising people from the dead.\n\nThat is my idea, in a general way, about religion; and I want the\nimagination to go to work upon it, taking the perfections of one church,\nof one school, of one system, and putting them together, just as the\nsculptor makes a great statue by taking the eyes from one, the nose from\nanother, the limbs from another, and so on; just as they make a great\npainting from a landscape by putting a river in this place, instead of\nover there, changing the location of a tree and improving on what they\ncall nature--that is to say, simply by adding to, taking from; that is\nall we can do. But let us go on doing that until there shall be a church\nin sympathy with the best human heart and in harmony with the best human\nbrain.\n\nAnd, what is more, let us have that religion for the world we live in.\nRight here! Let us have that religion until it cannot be said that they\nwho do the most work have the least to eat. Let us have that religion\nhere until hundreds and thousands of women are not compelled to make a\nliving with the needle that has been called \"the asp for the breast\nof the poor,\" and to live in tenements, in filth, where modesty is\nimpossible.\n\nI say, let us preach that religion here until men will be ashamed to\nhave forty or fifty millions, or any more than they need, while their\nbrethren lack bread--while their sisters die from want. Let us preach\nthat religion here until man will have more ambition to become wise and\ngood than to become rich and powerful. Let us preach that religion\nhere among ourselves until there are no abused and beaten wives. Let us\npreach that religion until children are no longer afraid of their own\nparents and until there is no back of a child bearing the scars of a\nfather's lash. Let us preach it, I say, until we understand and know\nthat every man does as he must, and that, if we want better men and\nwomen, we must have better conditions.\n\nLet us preach this grand religion until everywhere, the world over, men\nare just and kind to each other. And then, if there be another world,\nwe shall be prepared for it. And if I come into the presence of an\ninfinite, good, and wise being, he will say, \"Well, you did the best you\ncould. You did very well, indeed. There is plenty of work for you to do\nhere. Try and get a little higher than you were before.\" Let us preach\nthat one drop of restitution is worth an ocean of repentance.\n\nAnd if there is a life of eternal progress before us, I shall be as glad\nas any other angel to find that out.\n\nBut I will not sacrifice the world I have for one I know not of. I will\nnot live here in fear, when I do not know that that which I fear lives.\n\nI am going to live a perfectly free man. I am going to reap the harvest\nof my mind, no matter how poor it is, whether it is wheat or corn or\nworthless weeds. And I am going to scatter it. Some may \"fall on stony\nground.\" But I think I have struck good soil to-night.\n\nAnd so, ladies and gentlemen, I thank you a thousand times for your\nattention. I beg that you will forgive the time that I have taken, and\nallow me to say, once more, that this event marks an epoch in Religious\nLiberty in the United States.\n\n\n\n\nWESTERN SOCIETY OF THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC BANQUET.\n\nChicago, January 31, 1894.\n\n     * Every soldier of the Army of the Potomac: remembers, the\n     colors that for two years floated over the headquarters of\n     Gen. Meade. Last night when one hundred and fifty men who\n     fought in that army gathered around the banquet board at the\n     Grand Pacific hotel a fac-simile of that flag floated over\n     them. It was a handsome guidon, on one side a field of\n     solferino red bearing a life-sized golden eagle surrounded\n     by a silver wreath of laurel; on the other were the national\n     colors with the names of the corps of the army.\n\n     The fifth annual banquet of the Western Society of the Army\n     of the Potomac will be remembered on account of the presence\n     of many distinguished men. The cigars had not been lighted\n     when Col. Robert G. Ingersoll, escorted by Gen. Newberry and\n     Col. Burbanks, came in. The bald head and sparse gray hair\n     of the famous orator were recognized by all, and he was\n     given a mighty welcome.\n\n     Save for the emblems of the Union and the fac-simile of Gen.\n     Meade's flag the decorations were simple. There were no\n     flowers, but the soldiers could read on little signs stuck\n     up around the tables such names as \"Petersburg,\" \"White\n     Oak,\" \"Mine Run,\" \"Cold Harbor,\" \"Fair Oaks\" and \"South\n     Mountain.\" The exercises began and ended with bugle call and\n     military song, and the heroes of the Potomac showed that\n     they still remembered the words of the songs sung in camp.\n\n     Col. Freeman Connor, the retiring president, acted as\n     toastmaster. Seated near him were Maj.-Gen. Nelson Miles,\n     United States army; Gen. Newberry, Col. Ingersoll, Thomas B.\n     Bryan, Col. James A.. Sexton, Maj. E. A. Blodgett, Fred W.\n     Spink, Col. Williston and Maj. Heyle.\n\n     The exercises began with the singing of \"America\" by all\n     Col. Conner made a few remarks and then Col. C. S. McEntee\n     presented the new-comer to the society. When Colonel\n     Ingersoll was introduced, the veterans jumped up on chairs,\n     waved their handkerchiefs and greeted him with a mighty\n     shout. The Colonel spoke only fifteen minutes.\n\n     At the conclusion of Colonel Ingersoll's speech he was again\n     cheered for several minutes. A motion was made to make him\n     an honorary member of the Western Society of the Army of the\n     Potomac. The toastmaster in putting the question said: \"All\n     who are in favor will rise and yell,\" and every comrade\n     yelled.\n\n     --Chicago Record, February 1, 1894.\n\n\nFIRST of all, I wish to thank you for allowing me to be present. Next, I\nwish to congratulate you that you are all alive. I congratulate you\nthat you were born in this century, the greatest century in the world's\nhistory, the greatest century of intellectual genius and of physical,\nmental and moral progress that the world ever knew. I congratulate you\nall that you are members of the Army of the Potomac. I believe that\nno better army ever marched under the flag of any nation. There was no\ndifficulty that discouraged you; no defeat that disheartened you. For\nyears you bore the heat and burden of battle; for years you saw your\ncomrades torn by shot and shell, but wiping the tears, from your cheeks\nyou marched on with greater determination than ever to fight to the end.\n\nTo the Army of the Potomac belongs the eternal honor of having obtained\nfinally the sword of Rebellion. I congratulate you because you fought\nfor the Republic, and I thank you for your courage. For by you the\nUnited States was kept on the map of the world, and our flag was kept\nfloating. If not for your work, neither would have been there. You\nremoved from it the only stain that was ever on it. You fought not only\nthe battle of the Union, but of the whole world.\n\nI congratulate you that you live in a period when the North has attained\na higher moral altitude than was ever attained by any nation. You now\nlive in a country which believes in absolute freedom for all. In this\ncountry any man may reap what he sows and may give his honest thought to\nhis fellow-men. It is wonderful to think what this Nation was before the\nArmy of the Potomac came into existence. It believed in liberty as the\nconvict believes in liberty. It was a country where men that had honest\nthoughts were ostracized. I thank you and your courage for what we are.\nNothing ennobles a man so much as fighting for the right. Whoever fights\nfor the wrong wounds himself. I believe that every man who fought in the\nUnion army came out a stronger and a better and a nobler man.\n\nI believe in this country. I am so young and so full of enthusiasm\nthat I am a believer in National growth. I want this country to be\nterritorial and to become larger than it is. I want a country worthy of\nChicago. I want to pick up the West Indies, take in the Bermudas,\nthe Bahamas and Barbadoes. They are our islands. They belong to this\ncontinent and it is a piece of impudence for any other nation to think\nof owning them. We want to grow. Such is the extravagance of my ambition\nthat I even want the Sandwich Islands. They say that these islands are\ntoo far away from us; that they are two thousand miles from our shores.\nBut they are nearer to our shores than to any other. I want them. I want\na naval station there. I want America to be mistress of the Pacific.\nThen there is another thing in my mind. I want to grow North and South.\nI want Canada--good people--good land. I want that country. I do not\nwant to steal it, but I want it. I want to go South with this Nation. My\nidea is this: There is only air enough between the Isthmus of Panama and\nthe North Pole for one flag. A country that guarantees liberty to\nall cannot be too large. If any of these people are ignorant, we\nwill educate them; give them the benefit of our free schools. Another\nthing--I might as well sow a few seeds for next fall. I have heard many\nreasons why the South failed in the Rebellion, and why with the help of\nNorthern dissensions and a European hatred the South did not succeed. I\nwill tell you. In my judgment, the South failed, not on account of its\narmy, but from other conditions. Luckily for us, the South had always\nbeen in favor of free trade.\n\nSecondly--The South raised and sold raw material, and when the war came\nit had no foundries, no factories, and no looms to weave the cloth for\nuniforms; no shops to make munitions of war, and it had to get what\nsupplies it could by running the blockade. We of the North had the\ncloth to clothe our soldiers, shops to make our bayonets; we had all the\ncurious wheels that invention had produced, and had labor and genius,\nthe power of steam, and the water to make what we needed, and we did\nnot require anything from any other country. Suppose this whole country\nraised raw material and shipped it out, we would be in the condition\nthat the South was. We want this Nation to be independent of the whole\nworld. A nation to be ready to settle questions of dispute by war should\nbe in a condition of absolute independence. For that reason I want all\nthe wheels turning in this country, all the chimneys full of fire,\nall the looms running, the iron red hot everywhere. I want to see all\nmechanics having plenty of work with good wages and good homes for their\nfamilies, good food, schools for their children, plenty of clothes, and\nenough to take care of a child if it happens to take sick. I am for the\nindependence of America, the growth of America physically, mentally,\nand every other way. The time will come when all nations combined cannot\ntake that flag out of the sky. I want to see this country so that if\na deluge sweeps every other nation from the face of the globe we would\nhave all we want made right here by our factories, by American brain and\nhand.\n\nI thank you that the Republic still lives. I thank you that we are all\nlovers of freedom. I thank you for having helped establish a Government\nwhere every child has an opportunity, and where every avenue of\nadvancement if open to all.\n\n\n\n\nLOTOS CLUB DINNER IN HONOR OF ANTON SEIDL.\n\nNew York, February 2, 1895.\n\n\nMR. PRESIDENT, Mr. Anton Seidl, and Gentlemen: I was enjoying myself\nwith music and song; why I should be troubled, why I should be called\nupon to trouble you, is a question I can hardly answer. Still, as the\npresident has remarked, the American people like to hear speeches. Why,\nI don't know. It has always been a matter of amazement that anybody\nwanted to hear me. Talking is so universal; with few exceptions--the\ndeaf and dumb--everybody seems to be in the business. Why they should be\nso anxious to hear a rival I never could understand. But, gentlemen,\nwe are all pupils of nature; we are taught by the countless things that\ntouch us on every side; by field and flower and star and cloud and river\nand sea, where the waves break into whitecaps, and by the prairie, and\nby the mountain that lifts its granite forehead to the sun; all things\nin nature touch us, educate us, sharpen us, cause the heart to bud, to\nburst, it may be, into blossom; to produce fruit. In common with the\nrest of the world I have been educated a little that way; by the things\nI have seen and by the things I have heard and by the people I have met.\nBut there are a few things that stand out in my recollection as having\ntouched me more deeply than others, a few men to whom I feel indebted\nfor the little I know, and for the little I happen to be. Those men,\nthose things, are forever present in my mind. But I want to tell you\nto-night that the first man that let up the curtain in my mind, that\never opened a blind, that ever allowed a little sunshine to straggle in,\nwas Robert Burns. I went to get my shoes mended, and I had to go with\nthem. And I had to wait till they were done. I was like the fellow\nstanding by the stream naked washing his shirt. A lady and gentleman\nwere riding by in a carriage, and upon seeing him the man indignantly\nshouted, \"Why don't you put on another shirt when you are washing one?\"\nThe fellow said, \"I suppose you think I've got a hundred shirts!\"\n\nWhen I went into the shop of the old Scotch shoemaker he was reading\na book, and when he took my shoes in hand I took his book, which was\n\"Robert Burns.\" In a few days I had a copy; and, indeed, gentlemen, from\nthat time if \"Burns\" had been destroyed I could have restored more than\nhalf of it. It was in my mind day and night. Burns you know is a little\nvalley, not very wide, but full of sunshine; a little stream runs down\nmaking music over the rocks, and children play upon the banks; narrow\nroads overrun with vines, covered with blossoms, happy children, the hum\nof bees, and little birds pour out their hearts and enrich the air. That\nis Burns. Then, you must know that I was raised respectably. Certain\nbooks were not thought to be good for the young person; only such books\nas would start you in the narrow road for the New Jerusalem. But one\nnight I stopped at a little hotel in Illinois, many years ago, when we\nwere not quite civilized, when the footsteps of the red man were still\nin the prairies. While I was waiting for supper an old man was reading\nfrom a book, and among others who were listening was myself. I was\nfilled with wonder. I had never heard anything like it. I was ashamed to\nask him what he was reading; I supposed that an intelligent boy ought to\nknow. So I waited, and when the little bell rang for supper I hung back\nand they went out. I picked up the book; it was Sam Johnson's edition of\nShakespeare. The next day I bought a copy for four dollars. My God!\nmore than the national debt. You talk about the present straits of the\nTreasury! For days, for nights, for months, for years, I read those\nbooks, two volumes, and I commenced with the introduction. I haven't\nread that introduction for nearly fifty years, certainly forty-five, but\nI remember it still. Other writers are like a garden diligently planted\nand watered, but Shakespeare a forest where the oaks and elms toss their\nbranches to the storm, where the pine towers, where the vine bursts into\nblossom at its foot. That book opened to me a new world, another nature.\nWhile Burns was the valley, here was a range of mountains with thousands\nof such valleys; while Burns was as sweet a star as ever rose into the\nhorizon, here was a heaven filled with constellations. That book has\nbeen a source of perpetual joy to me from that day to this; and whenever\nI read Shakespeare--if it ever happens that I fail to find some new\nbeauty, some new presentation of some wonderful truth, or another\nword that bursts into blossom, I shall make up my mind that my mental\nfaculties are failing, that it is not the fault of the book. Those,\nthen, are two things that helped to educate me a little.\n\nAfterward I saw a few paintings by Rembrandt, and all at once I was\noverwhelmed with the genius of the man that could convey so much thought\nin form and color. Then I saw a few landscapes by Corot, and I began to\nthink I knew something about art. During all my life, of course, like\nother people, I had heard what they call music, and I had my favorite\npieces, most of those favorite pieces being favorites on account of\nassociation; and nine-tenths of the music that is beautiful to the world\nis beautiful because of the association, not because the music is good,\nbut because of association.. We cannot write a very poetic thing about a\npump or about water works; they are not old enough.\n\nWe can write a poetic thing about a well and a sweep and an old\nmoss-covered bucket, and you can write a poem about a spring, because\na spring seems a gift of nature, something that cost no trouble and no\nwork, something that will sing of nature under the quiet stars of June.\nSo, it is poetic on account of association. The stage coach is more\npoetic than the car, but the time will come when cars will be poetic,\nbecause human feelings, love's remembrances, will twine around them, and\nconsequently they will become beautiful. There are two pieces of music,\n\"The Last Rose of Summer,\" and \"Home Sweet Home,\" with the music a\nlittle weak in the back; but association makes them both beautiful. So,\nin the \"Marseillaise\" is the French Revolution, that whirlwind and flame\nof war, of heroism the highest possible, of generosity, of self-denial,\nof cruelty, of all of which the human heart and brain are capable; so\nthat music now sounds as though its notes were made of stars, and it is\nbeautiful mostly by association.\n\nNow, I always felt that there must be some greater music somewhere,\nsomehow. You know this little music that comes back with recurring\nemphasis every two inches or every three-and-a-half inches; I thought\nthere ought to be music somewhere with a great sweep from horizon to\nhorizon, and that could fill the great dome of sound with winged notes\nlike the eagle; if there was not such music, somebody, sometime, would\nmake it, and I was waiting for it. One day I heard it, and I said, \"What\nmusic is that?\" \"Who wrote that?\" I felt it everywhere. I was cold. I\nwas almost hysterical. It answered to my brain, to my heart; not only to\nassociation, but to all there was of hope and aspiration, all my future;\nand they said this is the music of Wagner. I never knew one note from\nanother--of course I would know it from a promissory note--and\nwas utterly and absolutely ignorant of music until I heard Wagner\ninterpreted by the greatest leader, in my judgment, in the world--Anton\nSeidl. He not only understands Wagner in the brain, but he feels him in\nthe heart, and there is in his blood the same kind of wild and splendid\nindependence that was in the brain of Wagner. I want to say to-night,\nbecause there are so many heresies, Mr. President, creeping into this\nworld, I want to say and say it with all my might, that Robert Burns was\nnot Scotch. He was far wider than Scotland: he had in him the universal\ntide, and wherever it touches the shore of a human being it finds\naccess. Not Scotch, gentlemen, but a man, a man! I can swear to it,\nor rather affirm, that Shakespeare was not English, but another man,\nkindred of all, of all races and peoples, and who understood the\nuniversal brain and heart of the human race, and who had imagination\nenough to put himself in the place of all.\n\nAnd so I want to say to-night, because I want to be consistent, Richard\nWagner was not a German, and his music is not German; and why? Germany\nwould not have it. Germany denied that it was music. The great German\ncritics said it was nothing in the world but noise. The best interpreter\nof Wagner in the world is not German, and no man has to be German to\nunderstand Richard Wagner. In the heart of nearly every man is an AEolian\nharp, and when the breath of true genius touches that harp, every man\nthat has one, or that knows what music is or has the depth and height\nof feeling necessary to appreciate it, appreciates Richard Wagner. To\nunderstand that music, to hear it as interpreted by this great leader,\nis an education. It develops the brain; it gives to the imagination\nwings; the little earth grows larger; the people grow important; and\nnot only that, it civilizes the heart; and the man who understands\nthat music can love better and with greater intensity than he ever did\nbefore. The man who understands and appreciates that music, becomes in\nthe highest sense spiritual--and I don't mean by spiritual, worshiping\nsome phantom, or dwelling upon what is going to happen to some of us--I\nmean spiritual in the highest sense; when a perfume arises from the\nheart in gratitude, and when you feel that you know what there is of\nbeauty, of sublimity, of heroism and honor and love in the human heart.\nThis is what I mean by being spiritual. I don't mean denying yourself\nhere and living on a crust with the expectation of eternal joy--that is\nnot what I mean. By spiritual I mean a man that has an ideal, a great\nideal, and who is splendid enough to live to that ideal; that is what I\nmean by spiritual. And the man who has heard the music of Wagner, that\nmusic of love and death, the greatest music, in my judgment, that ever\nissued from the human brain, the man who has heard that and understands\nit has been civilized.\n\nAnother man to whom I feel under obligation whose name I do not know--I\nknow Burns, Shakespeare, Rembrandt and Wagner, but there are some other\nfellows whose names I do not know--is he who chiseled the Venus de Milo.\nThis man helped to civilize the world; and there is nothing under the\nsun so pathetic as the perfect. Whoever creates the perfect has thought\nand labored and suffered; and no perfect thing has ever been done except\nthrough suffering and except through the highest and holiest thought,\nand among this class of men is Wagner. Let me tell you something\nmore. You know I am a great believer. There is no man in the world who\nbelieves more in human nature than I do. No man believes more in the\nnobility and splendor of humanity than I do; no man feels more grateful\nthan I to the self-denying, heroic, splendid souls who have made this\nworld fit for ladies and gentlemen to live in. But I believe that the\nhuman mind has reached its top in three departments. I don't believe\nthe human race--no matter if it lives millions of years more upon this\nwheeling world--I don't believe the human race will ever produce in the\nworld anything greater, sublimer, than the marbles of the Greeks. I do\nnot believe it. I believe they reach absolutely the perfection of form\nand the expression of force and passion in stone. The Greeks made marble\nas sensitive as flesh and as passionate as blood. I don't believe that\nany human being of any coming race--no matter how many suns may rise and\nset, or how many religions may rise and fall, or how many languages\nbe born and decay--I don't believe any human being will ever excel the\ndramas of Shakespeare. Neither do I believe that the time will ever come\nwhen any man with such instruments of music as we now have, and having\nnothing but the common air that we now breathe, will ever produce\ngreater pictures in sound, greater music, than Wagner. Never! Never! And\nI don't believe he will ever have a better interpreter than Anton Seidl.\nSeidl is a poet in sound, a sculptor in sound. He is what you might call\nan orchestral orator, and as such he expresses the deepest feelings,\nthe highest aspirations and the in-tensest and truest love of which the\nbrain and heart of man are capable.\n\nNow, I am glad, I am delighted, that the people here in this city and in\nvarious other cities of our great country are becoming civilized enough\nto appreciate these harmonies; I am glad they are civilized at last\nenough to know that the home of music is tone, not tune; that the home\nof music is in harmonies where you braid them like rainbows; I am glad\nthey are great enough and civilized enough to appreciate the music\nof Wagner, the greatest music in this world. Wagner sustains the same\nrelation to other composers that Shakespeare does to other dramatists,\nand any other dramatist compared with Shakespeare is like one tree\ncompared with an immeasurable forest, or rather like one leaf compared\nwith a forest; and all the other composers of the world are embraced in\nthe music of Wagner.\n\n\"Nobody has written anything more tender than he, nobody anything\nsublimer than he. Whether it is the song of the deep, or the warble of\nthe mated bird, nobody has excelled Wagner; he has expressed all that\nthe human heart is capable of appreciating. And now, gentlemen, having\ntroubled you long enough, and saying long live Anton Seidl, I bid you\ngood-night.\"\n\n\n\n\nLOTOS CLUB DINNER IN HONOR OF REAR ADMIRAL SCHLEY.\n\nNew York, November 26, 1898.\n\n     * The Lotos Club did honor to Rear Admiral Winfield Scott\n     Schley, and incidentally, to the United States, at its\n     clubhouse in Fifth Avenue last night. All day long the\n     square, blue pennant, blazoned with the two stars of a Rear\n     Admiral, snapped in the wind, signifying to all who saw it\n     that the Lotos Clubhouse was for the time being the flagship\n     of the erstwhile Flying Squadron.\n\n     Within the home of the club were gathered men who like the\n     guest of the evening were prominent in the war with Spain,\n     The navy was represented by Capt. Charles D. Sigs-Dee, Capt.\n     A. T. Mahan and Captain Goodrich. From the army there was\n     Brig. Gen. W F. Randolph, and from civil life many men\n     prominent in the business, professional and social life of\n     the city. The one impulse that led these men to brave the\n     storm was their desire to pay their respects to one of the\n     men who had done so much to win laurels for the American\n     arms.\n\n     The parlors and dining rooms of the clubhouse wore thrown\n     into one in order to accommodate the three hundred men\n     present fit the dinner. Smilax covered the walls, save hero\n     and there where the American flag was draped in graceful\n     folds. From the archway under which the table of honor was\n     spread, hung a large National ensign and a Rear Admiral's\n     pennant.\n\n     The menu was unique. Etched on a cream-tinted paper appeared\n     an open nook, and on the tops of the pages was inscribed,\n     \"Logge of the Goode Ship Lotos.\" \"Dinner to Rear Admiral\n     Winfield Scott Schley, given in the cabin of ye Shippe, Nov.\n     26, l898, Lat. 40 degrees 42 minutes 43 seconds north;\n     longitude, 74 degrees 3 seconds west.\"\n\n     On each side of the menu was stretched a string of signal\n     flags, giving the orders made famous by Admiral Schley in\n     the naval engagement of July 3, 1898. On the second page of\n     the menu was a fine etching of the Brooklyn, Admiral\n     Schley's flagship. The souvenir menu was inclosed in blue\n     paper, upon which were two white stars, the whole\n     representing Rear Admiral Schley's pennant.\n\n\nMR.PRESIDENT, Gentlemen of the Club--Boys: I congratulate all of you and\nI congratulate myself, and I will tell you why. In the first place, we\nwere well born, and we were all born rich, all of us. We belong to a\ngreat race. That is something; that is having a start, to feel that in\nyour veins flows heroic blood, blood that has accomplished great things\nand has planted the flag of victory on the field of war. It is a great\nthing to belong to a great race.\n\nI congratulate you and myself on another thing; we were born in a great\nnation, and you can't be much of a man without having a nation behind\nyou, with you; Just think about it! What would Shakespeare have been, if\nhe had been born in Labrador? I used to know an old lawyer in southern\nIllinois, a smart old chap, who mourned his unfortunate surroundings.\nHe lived in Pinkneyville, and occasionally drank a little too freely of\nIllinois wine; and when in his cups he sometimes grew philosophic and\negotistic. He said one day, \"Boys, I have got more brains than you have,\nI have, but I have never had a chance. I want you just to think of\nit. What would Daniel Webster have been, by God, if he had settled in\nPinkneyville?\"\n\nSo I congratulate you all that you were born in a great nation,\nborn rich; and why do I say rich? Because you fell heir to a great,\nexpressive, flexible language; that is one thing. What could a man do\nwho speaks a poor language, a language of a few words that you could\nalmost count on your fingers? What could he do? You were born heirs to\na great literature, the greatest in the world--in all the world. All the\nliterature of Greece and Rome would not make one act of \"Hamlet.\" All\nthe literature of the ancient world added to all of the modern world,\nexcept England, would not equal the literature that we have. We were\nborn to it, heirs to that vast intellectual possession.\n\nSo I say you were all born rich, all. And then you were very fortunate\nin being born in this country, where people have some rights, not as\nmany as they should have, not as many as they would have if it were not\nfor the preachers, may be, but where we have some; and no man yet was\never great unless a great drama was being played on some great stage and\nhe got a part. Nature deals you a hand, and all she asks is for you to\nhave the sense to play it. If no hand is dealt to you, you win no money.\nYou must have the opportunity, must be on the stage, and some great\ndrama must be there. Take it in our own country. The Revolutionary\nwar was a drama, and a few great actors appeared; the War of 1812 was\nanother, and a few appeared; the Civil war another. Where would have\nbeen the heroes whose brows we have crowned with laurel had there been\nno Civil war? What would have become of Lincoln, a lawyer in a country\ntown? What would have become of Grant? He would have been covered with\nthe mantle of absolute obscurity, tucked in at all the edges, his name\nnever heard of by any human being not related to him.\n\nNow, you have got to have the chance, and you cannot create it. I heard\na gentleman say here a few minutes ago that this war could have been\naverted. That is not true. I am not doubting his veracity, but rather\nhis philosophy. Nothing ever happened beneath the dome of heaven that\ncould have been avoided. Everything that is possible happens. That may\nnot suit all the creeds, but it is true. And everything that is possible\nwill continue to happen. The war could not have been averted, and the\nthing that makes me glad and proud is that it was not averted. I will\ntell you why.\n\nIt was the first war in the history of this world that was waged\nunselfishly for the good of others; the first war. Almost anybody will\nfight for himself; a great many people will fight for their country,\ntheir fellow-men, their fellow-citizens; but it requires something\nbesides courage to fight for the rights of aliens; it requires not only\ncourage, but principle and the highest morality. This war was waged to\ncompel Spain to take her bloody hands from the throat of Cuba. That\nis exactly what it was waged for. Another great drama was put upon\nthe boards, another play was advertised, and the actors had their\nopportunity. Had there been no such war, many of the actors would never\nhave been heard of.\n\nBut the thing is to take advantage of the occasion when it arrives. In\nthis war we added to the greatness and the glory of our history. That is\nanother thing that we all fell heirs to--the history of our people, the\nhistory of our Nation. We fell heirs to all the great and grand things\nthat had been accomplished, to all the great deeds, to the splendid\nachievements either in the realm of mind or on the field of battle.\n\nThen there was another great drama. The first thing we knew, a man in\nthe far Pacific, a gentleman from Vermont, sailed one May morning into\nthe bay of Manila, and the next news was that the Spanish fleet had been\nbeached, burned, destroyed, and nothing had happened to him. I have read\na little history, not much, and a good deal that I have read was not\ntrue. I have read something about our own navy, not much. I recollect\nwhen I was a boy my hero was John Paul Jones; he covered the ocean; and\nafterward I knew of Hull and Perry and Decatur and Bainbridge and a good\nmany others that I don't remember now. And then came the Civil war, and\nI remember a little about Farragut, a great Admiral, as great as ever\ntrod a deck, in my judgment. And I have also read about other admirals\nand sailors of the world. I knew something of Drake and I have read the\n\"Life of Nelson\" and several other sea dogs; but when I got the news\nfrom Manila I said, \"There is the most wonderful victory ever won upon\nthe sea;\" and I did not think it would ever be paralleled. I thought\nsuch things come one in a box. But a little while afterward another of\nSpain's fleets was heard from. Oh, those Spaniards! They have got the\ncourage of passion, but that is not the highest courage. They have got\nplenty of that; but it is necessary to be coolly courageous, and to have\nthe brain working with the accuracy of an engine--courageous, I don't\ncare how mad you get, but there must not be a cloud in the heaven of\nyour judgment. That is Anglo-Saxon courage, and there is no higher type.\nThe Spaniards sprinkled the holy water on their guns, then banged away\nand left it to the Holy Ghost to direct the rest.\n\nAnother fleet, at Santiago, ventured out one day, and another great\nvictory was won by the American Navy. I don't know which victory was\nthe more wonderful, that at Manila Bay or that at Santiago. The Spanish\nships were, some of them, of the best class and type, and had fine guns,\nyet in a few moments they were wrecks on the shore of defeat, gone,\nlost.\n\nNow, when I used to read about these things in the olden times, what\nideas I had of the hero! I never expected to see one; and yet to-night I\nhave the happiness of dining with one, with one whose name is associated\nwith as great a victory, in my judgment, as was ever won; a victory that\nrequired courage, intelligence, that power of will that holds itself\nfirm until the thing sought has been accomplished; and that has my\ngreatest admiration. I thank Admiral Schley for having enriched my\ncountry, for having added a little to my own height, to my own pride, so\nthat I utter the word America with a little more unction than I ever\ndid before, and the old flag looks a little brighter, better, and has\nan added glory. When I see it now, it looks as if the air had burst into\nblossom, and it stands for all that he has accomplished.\n\nAdmiral Schley has added not only to our wealth, but to the wealth of\nthe children yet unborn that are going to come into the great heritage\nnot only of wealth, but of the highest possible riches, glory, honor,\nachievement. That is the reason I congratulate you to-night. And I\ncongratulate you on another thing, that this country has entered upon\nthe great highway, I believe, of progress. I believe that the great\nnation has the sentiment, the feeling of growth. The successful farmer\nwants to buy the land adjoining him; the great nation loves to see its\nterritory increase. And what has been our history? Why, when we bought\nLouisiana from Napoleon, in 1803, thousands of people were opposed to\n\"imperialism,\" to expansion; the poor old moss-backs were opposed to it.\nWhen we bought Florida, it was the same. When we took the vast West from\nMexico in 1848 it was the same. When we took Alaska it was the same.\nNow, is anybody in favor of modifying that sentiment?\n\nWe have annexed Hawaii, and we have got the biggest volcano in the\nbusiness. A man I know visited that volcano some years ago and came back\nand told me about his visit. He said that at the little hotel they had\na guest-book in which the people wrote their feelings on seeing the\nvolcano in action. \"Now,\" he said, \"I will tell you this so that you\nmay know how you are spreading out yourself. One man had written in\nthat book, 'if Bob Ingersoll were here, I think he would change his mind\nabout hell.'\"\n\nI want that volcano. I want the Philippines. It would be simply infamous\nto hand those people back to the brutality of Spain. Spain has been\nChristianizing them for about four hundred years. The first thing the\npoor devils did was to sign a petition asking for the expulsion of the\npriests. That was their idea of the commencement of liberty. They are\nnot quite so savage as some people imagine. I want those islands; I want\nall of them, and I don't know that I disagree with the Rev. Mr. Slicer\nas to the use we can put them to. I don't know that they will be of any\nuse, but I want them; they might come handy. And I wanted to pick up\nthe small change, the Ladrones and the Carolines. I am glad we have got\nPorto Rico. I don't know as it will be of any use, but there's no harm\nin having the title. I want Cuba whenever Cuba wants us, and I favor\nthe idea of getting her in the notion of wanting us. I want it in the\ninterest, as I believe, of humanity, of progress; in other words, of\nhuman liberty. That is what the war was waged for, and the fact that it\nwas waged for that, gives an additional glory to these naval officers\nand to the officers in the army. They fought in the first righteous war;\nI mean righteous in the sense that we fought for the liberty of others.\n\nNow, gentlemen, I feel that we have all honored ourselves to-night by\nhonoring Rear Admiral Schley. I want you to know that long after we\nare dead and long after the Admiral has ceased to sail, he will be\nremembered, and in the constellation of glory one of the brightest stars\nwill stand for the name of Winfield Scott Schley, as brave an officer as\never sailed a ship. I am glad I am here to-night, and again, gentlemen,\nI congratulate you all upon being here. I congratulate you that you\nbelong to this race, to this nation, and that you are equal heirs in the\nglory of the great Republic.\n\n\n\n\nADDRESS TO THE ACTORS' FUND OF AMERICA.\n\nNew York, June 5, 1888.\n\n\nMR. PRESIDENT, Ladies and Gentlemen: I have addressed, or annoyed, a\ngreat many audiences in my life and I have not the slightest doubt that\nI stand now before more ability, a greater variety of talent, and more\nreal genius than I ever addressed in my life.\n\nI know all about respectable stupidity, and I am perfectly acquainted\nwith the brainless wealth and success of this life, and I know, after\nall, how poor the world would be without that divine thing that we call\ngenius--what a worthless habitation, if you take from it all that genius\nhas given.\n\nI know also that all joy springs from a love of nature. I know that all\njoy is what I call Pagan. The natural man takes delight in everything\nthat grows, in everything that shines, in everything that enjoys--he has\nan immense sympathy with the whole human race.\n\nOf that feeling, of that spirit, the drama is born. People must first be\nin love with life before they can think it worth representing. They\nmust have sympathy with their fellows before they can enter into their\nfeelings and know what their heart throbs about. So, I say, back of the\ndrama is this love of life, this love of nature. And whenever a country\nbecomes prosperous--and this has been pointed cut many times--when a\nwave of wealth runs over a land,--behind it you will see all the sons\nand daughters of genius. When a man becomes of some account he is worth\npainting. When by success and prosperity he gets the pose of a victor,\nthe sculptor is inspired; and when love is really in his heart, words\nburst into blossom and the poet is born. When great virtues appear, when\nmagnificent things are done by heroines and heroes, then the stage is\nbuilt, and the life of a nation is compressed into a few hours, or--to\nuse the language of the greatest--\"turning the accomplishment of many\nyears into an hour-glass\"; the stage is born, and we love it because we\nlove life--and he who loves the stage has a kind of double life.\n\nThe drama is a crystallization of history, an epitome of the human\nheart. The past is lived again and again, and we see upon the stage,\nlove, sacrifice, fidelity, courage--all the virtues mingled with all the\nfollies.\n\nAnd what is the great thing that the stage does? It cultivates the\nimagination. And let me say now, that the imagination constitutes the\ngreat difference between human beings.\n\nThe imagination is the mother of pity, the mother of generosity, the\nmother of every possible virtue. It is by the imagination that you are\nenabled to put yourself in the place of another. Every dollar that has\nbeen paid into your treasury came from an imagination vivid enough\nto imagine himself or herself lying upon the lonely bed of pain, or\nas having fallen by the wayside of life, dying alone. It is this\nimagination that makes the difference in men.\n\nDo you believe that a man would plunge the dagger into the heart of\nanother if he had imagination enough to see him dead--imagination enough\nto see his widow throw her arms about the corpse and cover his face with\nsacred tears--imagination enough to see them digging his grave, and to\nsee the funeral and to hear the clods fall upon the coffin and the sobs\nof those who stood about--do you believe he would commit the crime?\nWould any man be false who had imagination enough to see the woman that\nhe once loved, in the darkness of night, when the black clouds were\nfloating through the sky hurried by the blast as thoughts and memories\nwere hurrying through her poor brain--if he could see the white flutter\nof her garment as she leaped to the eternal, blessed sleep of death--do\nyou believe that he would be false to her? I tell you that he would be\ntrue.\n\nSo that, in my judgment, the great mission of the stage is to cultivate\nthe human imagination. That is the reason fiction has done so much good.\nCompared with the stupid lies-called history, how beautiful are the\nimagined things with painted wings. Everybody detests a thing that\npretends to be true and is not; but when it says, \"I am about to\ncreate,\" then it is beautiful in the proportion that it is artistic, in\nthe proportion that it is a success.\n\nImagination is the mother of enthusiasm. Imagination fans the little\nspark into a flame great enough to warm the human race; and enthusiasm\nis to the mind what spring is to the world. .\n\nNow I am going to say a few words because I want to, and because I have\nthe chance.\n\nWhat is known as \"orthodox religion\" has always been the enemy of the\ntheatre. It has been the enemy of every possible comfort, of every\nrational joy--that is to say, of amusement. And there is a reason for\nthis. Because, if that religion be true, there should be no amusement.\nIf you believe that in every moment is the peril of eternal pain--do\nnot amuse yourself. Stop the orchestra, ring down the curtain, and be as\nmiserable as you can. That idea puts an infinite responsibility upon the\nsoul--an infinite responsibility--and how can there be any art, how can\nthere be any joy, after that? You might as well pile all the Alps on one\nunfortunate ant, and then say, \"Why don't you play? Enjoy yourself.\"\n\nIf that doctrine be true, every one should regard time as a kind of\ndock, a pier running out into the ocean of eternity, on which you sit\non your trunk and wait for the ship of death--solemn, lugubrious,\nmelancholy to the last degree.\n\nAnd that is why I have said joy is Pagan. It comes from a love of\nnature, from a love of this world, from a love of this life. According\nto the idea of some good people, life is a kind of green-room, where you\nare getting ready for a \"play\" in some other country.\n\nYou all remember the story of \"Great Expectations,\" and I presume you\nhave all had them. That is another thing about this profession of acting\nthat I like--you do not know how it is coming out--and there is this\ndelightful uncertainty.\n\nYou have all read the book called \"Great Expectations,\" written, in\nmy judgment, by the greatest novelist that ever wrote the English\nlanguage--the man who created a vast realm of joy. I love the\njoy-makers--not the solemn, mournful wretches. And when I think of the\nchurch asking something of the theatre, I remember that story of \"Great\nExpectations.\" You remember Miss Haversham--she was to have been\nmarried some fifty or sixty years before that time--sitting there in the\ndarkness, in all of her wedding finery, the laces having turned yellow\nby time, the old wedding cake crumbled, various insects having made\nit their palatial residence--you remember that she sent for that poor\nlittle boy Pip, and when he got there in the midst of all these horrors,\nshe looked at him and said, \"Pip, play!\" And if their doctrine be true,\nevery actor is in that situation.\n\nI have always loved the theatre--loved the stage, simply because it has\nadded to the happiness of this life. \"Oh, but,\" they say, \"is it moral?\"\nA superstitious man suspects everything that is pleasant. It seems\ninbred in his nature, and in the nature of most people. You let such a\nman pull up a little weed and taste it, and if it is sweet and good, he\nsays, \"I'll bet it is poison.\" But if it tastes awful, so that his\nface becomes a mask of disgust, he says, \"I'll bet you that it is good\nmedicine.\"\n\nNow, I believe that everything in the world that tends to make man\nhappy, is moral. That is my definition of morality. Anything that bursts\ninto bud and blossom, and bears the fruit of joy, is moral.\n\nSome people expect to make the world good by destroying desire--by a\nkind of pious petrifaction, feeling that if you do not want anything,\nyou will not want anything bad. In other words, you will be good\nand moral if you will only stop growing, stop wishing, turn all your\nenergies in the direction of repression, and if from the tree of life\nyou pull every leaf, and then every bud--and if an apple happens to get\nripe in spite of you, don't touch it--snakes!\n\nI insist that happiness is the end--virtue the means--and anything\nthat wipes a tear from the face of man is good. Everything that gives\nlaughter to the world--laughter springing from good nature, that is the\nmost wonderful music that has ever enriched the ears of man. And let me\nsay that nothing can be more immoral than to waste your own life, and\nsour that of others.\n\nIs the theatre moral? I suppose you have had an election to-day. They\nhad an election at the Metropolitan Opera House for bishops, and they\nvoted forged tickets; and after the election was over, I suppose they\nasked the old question in the same solemn tone: \"Is the theatre moral?\"\n\nAt last, all the intelligence of the world admits that the theatre is a\ngreat, a splendid instrumentality for increasing the well-being of man.\nBut only a few years ago our fathers were poor barbarians. They only\nwanted the essentials of life, and through nearly all the centuries\nGenius was a vagabond--Art was a servant. He was the companion of the\nclown. Writers, poets, actors, either sat \"below the salt\" or devoured\nthe \"remainder biscuit,\" and drank what drunkenness happened to leave,\nor lived on crumbs, and they had less than the crumbs of respect. The\npainter had to have a patron, and then in order to pay the patron, he\ntook the patron's wife for Venus--and the man, he was the Apollo! So the\nwriter had to have a patron, and he endeavored to immortalize him in a\npreface of obsequious lies. The writer had no courage. The painter,\nthe sculptor--poor wretches--had \"patrons.\" Some of the greatest of the\nworld were treated as servants, and yet they were the real kings of the\nhuman race.\n\nNow the public is the patron. The public has the intelligence to see\nwhat it wants. The stage does not have to flatter any man. The actor now\ndoes not enroll himself as the servant of duke or lord. He has the great\npublic, and if he is a great actor, he stands as high in the public\nestimation as any other man in any other walk of life.\n\nAnd these men of genius, these \"vagabonds,\" these \"sturdy vagrants\" of\nthe old law--and let me say one thing right here: I do not believe\nthat there ever was a man of genius that had not a little touch of the\nvagabond in him somewhere--just a little touch of chaos--that is to\nsay, he must have generosity enough now and then absolutely to forget\nhimself--he must be generous to that degree that he starts out without\nthinking of the shore and without caring for the sea--and that is that\ntouch of chaos. And yet, through all those years the poets and the\nactors lacked bread. Imagine the number of respectable dolts who felt\nabove them. The men of genius lived on the bounty of the few, grudgingly\ngiven.\n\nNow, just think what would happen, what we would be, if you could blot\nfrom this world what these men have done. If you could take from the\nwalls the pictures; from the niches the statues; from the memory of man\nthe songs that have been sung by \"The Plowman\"--take from the memory of\nthe world what has been done by the actors and play-writers, and this\ngreat globe would be like a vast skull emptied of all thought.\n\nAnd let me say one word more, and that is as to the dignity of your\nprofession.\n\nThe greatest genius of this world has produced your literature. I am not\nnow alluding simply to one--but there has been more genius lavished upon\nthe stage--more real genius, more creative talent, than upon any\nother department of human effort. And when men and women belong to a\nprofession that can count Shakespeare in its number, they should feel\nnothing but pride.\n\nNothing gives me more pleasure than to speak of\nShakespeare--Shakespeare, in whose brain were the fruits of all thoughts\npast, the seeds of all to be--Shakespeare, an intellectual ocean toward\nwhich all rivers ran, and from which now the isles and continents of\nthought receive their dew and rain.\n\nA profession that can boast that Shakespeare was one of its members, and\nthat from his brain poured out that mighty intellectual cataract--that\nMississippi that will enrich all coming generations--the man that\nbelongs to that profession--should feel that no other man by reason of\nbelonging to some other, can be his superior.\n\nAnd such a man, when he dies--or the friend of such a man, when that man\ndies--should not imagine that it is a very generous and liberal thing\nfor some minister to say a few words above the corpse--and I do not want\nto see this profession cringe before any other.\n\nOne word more. I hope that you will sustain this splendid charity. I do\nnot believe that more generous people exist than actors. I hope you will\nsustain this charity. And yet, there was one little thing I saw in\nyour report of last year, that I want to call attention to. You had\n\"benefits\" all over this country, and of the amount raised, one hundred\nand twenty-five thousand dollars were given to religious societies and\ntwelve thousand dollars to the Actors' Fund--and yet they say actors are\nnot Christians! Do you not love your enemies? After this, I hope that\nyou will also love your friends.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHILDREN OF THE STAGE.\n\nNew York, March 23, 1899.\n\n     * Col. Robert G. Ingersoll was the special star among stars\n     at the benefit given yesterday afternoon at the Fifth Avenue\n     Theatre for the Actors' Fund. There were a great many other\n     stars and a very long programme. The consequence was that\n     the performance began before one o'clock and was not over\n     until almost dinner time.\n\n     Usually in such cases the least important performers are\n     placed at the beginning and the audience straggles in\n     leisurely without worrying a great deal over what it has\n     missed. Yesterday, however, it had been announced in advance\n     that Col. Ingersoll would start the ball a-rolling and the\n     result was that before the overture was finished the house\n     was packed to the doors.\n\n     Col. Ingersoll's contribution was a short address delivered\n     in his characteristic style of florid eloquence.--The World,\n     New York, March 24, 1899.\n\n\nDisguise it as we may, we live in a frightful world, with evils, with\nenemies, on every side. From the hedges along the path of life, leap the\nbandits that murder and destroy; and every human being, no matter how\noften he escapes, at last will fall beneath the assassin's knife.\n\nTo change the figure: We are all passengers on the train of life. The\ntickets give the names of the stations where we boarded the car, but\nthe destination is unknown. At every station some passengers, pallid,\nbreathless, dead, are put away, and some with the light of morning in\ntheir eyes, get on.\n\nTo change the figure again: On the wide sea of life we are all on ships\nor rafts or spars, and some by friendly winds are borne to the fortunate\nisles, and some by storms are wrecked on the cruel rocks. And yet upon\nthe isles the same as upon the rocks, death waits for all. And death\nalone can truly say, \"All things come to him who waits.\"\n\nAnd yet, strangely enough, there is in this world of misery, of\nmisfortune and of death, the blessed spirit of mirth. The travelers on\nthe path, on the train, on the ships, the rafts and spars, sometimes\nforget their perils and their doom.\n\nAll blessings on the man whose face was first illuminated by a smile!\n\nAll blessings on the man who first gave to the common air the music\nof laughter--the music that for the moment drove fears from the heart,\ntears from the eyes, and dimpled cheeks with joy!\n\nAll blessings on the man who sowed with merry hands the seeds of humor,\nand at the lipless skull of death snapped the reckless fingers of\ndisdain! Laughter is the blessed boundary line between the brute and\nman.\n\nWho are the friends of the human race? They who hide with vine and\nflower the cruel rocks of fate--the children of genius, the sons and\ndaughters of mirth and laughter, of imagination, those whose thoughts,\nlike moths with painted wings, fill the heaven of the mind.\n\nAmong these sons and daughters are the children of the stage, the\ncitizens of the mimic world--the world enriched by all the wealth of\ngenius--enriched by painter, orator, composer and poet. The world\nof which Shakespeare, the greatest of human beings, is still the\nunchallenged emperor. These children of the stage have delighted the\nweary travelers on the thorny path, amused the passengers on the fated\ntrain, and filled with joy the hearts of the clingers to spars, and the\nfloaters on rafts.\n\nThese, children of the stage, with fancy's wand rebuild the past. The\ndead are brought to life and made to act again the parts they played.\nThe hearts and lips that long ago were dust, are made to beat and speak\nagain. The dead kings are crowned once more, and from the shadows of the\npast emerge the queens, jeweled and sceptred as of yore. Lovers leave\ntheir graves and breathe again their burning vows; and again the white\nbreasts rise and fall in passion's storm. The laughter that died away\nbeneath the touch of death is heard again and lips that fell to ashes\nlong ago are curved once more with mirth. Again the hero bares his\nbreast to death; again the patriot falls, and again the scaffold,\nstained with noble blood, becomes a shrine.\n\nThe citizens of the real world gain joy and comfort from the stage.\nThe broker, the speculator ruined by rumor, the lawyer baffled by the\nintelligence of a jury or the stupidity of a judge, the doctor who lost\nhis patience because he lost his patients, the merchant in the dark days\nof depression, and all the children of misfortune, the victims of hope\ndeferred, forget their troubles for a little while when looking on\nthe mimic world. When the shaft of wit flies like the arrow of Ulysses\nthrough all the rings and strikes the centre; when words of wisdom\nmingle with the clown's conceits; when folly laughing shows her pearls,\nand mirth holds carnival; when the villain fails and the right triumphs,\nthe trials and the griefs of life for the moment fade away.\n\nAnd so the maiden longing to be loved, the young man waiting for\nthe \"Yes\" deferred; the unloved wife, hear the old, old story told\nagain,--and again within their hearts is the ecstasy of requited love.\n\nThe stage brings solace to the wounded, peace to the troubled, and with\nthe wizard's wand touches the tears of grief and they are changed to the\nsmiles of joy.\n\nThe stage has ever been the altar, the pulpit, the cathedral of the\nheart. There the enslaved and the oppressed, the erring, the fallen,\neven the outcast, find sympathy, and pity gives them all her tears--and\nthere, in spite of wealth and power, in spite of caste and cruel pride,\ntrue love has ever triumphed over all.\n\nThe stage has taught the noblest lesson, the highest truth, and that is\nthis: It is better to deserve without receiving than to receive without\ndeserving. As a matter of fact, it is better to be the victim of\nvillainy than to be a villain. Better to be stolen from than to be\na thief, and in the last analysis the oppressed, the slave, is less\nunfortunate than the oppressor, the master.\n\nThe children of the stage, these citizens of the mimic world, are\nnot the grasping, shrewd and prudent people of the mart; they are\nimprovident enough to enjoy the present and credulous enough to believe\nthe promises of the universal liar known as Hope. Their hearts and hands\nare open. As a rule genius is generous, luxurious, lavish, reckless and\nroyal. And so, when they have reached the ladder's topmost round, they\nthink the world is theirs and that the heaven of the future can have\nno cloud. But from the ranks of youth the rival steps. Upon the veteran\nbrows the wreaths begin to fade, the leaves to fall; and failure sadly\nsups on memory. They tread the stage no more. They leave the mimic\nworld, fair fancy's realm; they leave their palaces and thrones; their\ncrowns are gone, and from their hands the sceptres fall. At last, in age\nand want, in lodgings small and bare, they wait the prompter's call;\nand when the end is reached, maybe a vision glorifies the closing scene.\nAgain they are on the stage; again their hearts throb high; again they\nutter perfect words; again the flowers fall about their feet; and as the\ncurtain falls, the last sound that greets their ears, is the music of\napplause, the \"bravos\" for an encore.\n\nAnd then the silence falls on darkness.\n\nSome loving hands should close their eyes, some loving lips should leave\nupon their pallid brows a kiss; some friends should lay the breathless\nforms away, and on the graves drop blossoms jeweled with the tears of\nlove.\n\nThis is the work of the generous men and women who contribute to the\nActors' Fund. This is charity; and these generous men and women have\ntaught, and are teaching, a lesson that all the world should learn, and\nthat is this: The hands that help are holier than the lips that pray.\n\n\n\n\nADDRESS TO THE PRESS CLUB.\n\nNew Orleans, February 1, 1898.\n\n\nLADIES AND GENTLEMEN of the New Orleans\n\nPress Club: I do not remember to have agreed or consented to make any\nremarks about the press or anything else on the present occasion, but I\nam glad of this opportunity to say a word or two. Of course, I have the\nvery greatest respect for this profession, the profession of the press,\nknowing it, as I do, to be one of the greatest civilizers of the\nworld. Above all other institutions and all other influences, it is the\ngreatest agency in breaking down the hedges of provincialism. In olden\ntimes one nation had no knowledge or understanding of another nation,\nand no insight or understanding into its life; and, indeed, various\nparts of one nation held the other parts of it somewhat in the attitude\nof hostility, because of a lack of more thorough knowledge; and,\ncuriously enough, we are prone to look upon strangers more or less in\nthe light of enemies. Indeed, enemy and stranger in the old vocabularies\nare pretty much of the same significance. A stranger was an enemy. I\nthink it is Darwin who alludes to the instinctive fear a child has of\na stranger as one of the heritages of centuries of instinctive\ncultivation, the handed-down instinct of years ago. And even now it is\na fact that we have very little sympathy with people of a different\ncountry, even people speaking the same language, having the same god\nwith a different name, or another god with the same name, recognizing\nthe same principles of right and wrong.\n\nBut the moment people began to trade with each other, the moment they\nbegan to enjoy the results of each other's industry and brain, the\nmoment that, through this medium, they began to get an insight into\neach other's life, people began to see each other as they were; and\nso commerce became the greatest of all missionaries of civilization,\nbecause, like the press, it tended to do away with provincialism.\n\nYou know there is no one else in the world so egotistic as the man who\nknows nothing. No man is more certain than the man who knows nothing.\nThe savage knows everything. The moment man begins to be civilized he\nbegins to appreciate how little he knows, how very circumscribed in its\nvery nature human knowledge is.\n\nNow, after commerce came the press. From the Moors, I believe, we\nlearned the first rudiments of that art which has civilized the world.\nWith the invention of movable type came an easy and cheap method of\npreserving the thoughts and history of one generation to another and\ntransmitting the life of one nation to another. Facts became immortal,\nand from that day to this the intelligence of the world has rapidly and\nsteadily increased.\n\nAnd now, if we are provincial, it is our own fault, and if we are\nhateful and odious and circumscribed and narrow and peevish and limited\nin the light we get from the known universe, it is our own fault.\n\nDay by day the world is growing smaller and men larger. But a few years\nago the State of New York was as large as the United States is to-day.\nIt required as much time to reach Albany from New York as it now\nrequires to reach San Francisco from the same city, and so far as the\ntransmission of thought goes the world is but a hamlet.\n\nI count as one of the great good things of the modern press--as one\nof the specific good things--that the same news, the same direction of\nthought is transmitted to many millions of people each day. So that the\nthoughts of multitudes of men are substantially tending at the same time\nalong the same direction. It tends more and more to make us citizens\nin the highest sense of the term, and that is the reason that I have so\nmuch respect for the press.\n\nOf course I know that the news and opinions are written by folks liable\nto the same percentage of error as characterizes all mankind. No one\nmakes no mistakes but the man who knows everything--no one makes no\nmistakes but the hypocrite.\n\nI must confess, however, that there are things about the press of to-day\nthat I would have changed--that I do not like.\n\nI hate to see brain the slave of the material god. I hate to see money\nown genius. So I think that every writer on every paper should be\ncompelled to sign his name to everything he writes. There are many\nreasons why he has a right to the reputation he makes. His reputation\nis his property, his capital, his stock in trade, and it is not just\nor fair or right that it should be absorbed by the corporation which\nemploys him. After giving great thoughts to the world, after millions of\npeople have read his thoughts with delight, no one knows this lonely\nman or his solitary name. If he loses the good will of his employer, he\nloses his place and with it all that his labor and time and brain have\nearned for himself as his own inalienable property, and his corporation\nor employer reaps the benefit of it.\n\nThere is another reason establishing the absolute equity of this\nproposition, a reason pointing in other directions than to the writer\nand his rights. It is no more than right to the reader that the opinion\nor the narrative should be that of Mr. Smith or Mr. Brown or Mr. So and\nSo, and not that of, say, the _Picayune_. That is too impersonal. It is\nno more than right that a single man should have his honor at stake for\nwhat is said, and not an impersonal something. I know that we are all\nliable to believe it if the _Picayune_ says it, and yet, after all,\nit is the individual man who is saying it and it is in the interest of\njustice that the reader be apprised of the fact.\n\nI believe I have just a little fault to find with the tendency of\nthe modern press to go into personal affairs--into so-called private\naffairs. In saying this, I have no complaint to lodge on my own behalf,\nfor I have no private affairs. I am not so much opposed to what\nis called sensationalism, for that must exist as long as crime is\nconsidered news, and believe me, when virtue becomes news it can only be\nwhen this will have become an exceedingly bad world. At the same time I\nthink that the publication of crime may have more or less the tendency\nof increasing it.\n\nI read not long ago that if some heavy piece of furniture were dropped\nin a room in which there was a string instrument, the strings in harmony\nwith the vibrations of the air made by that noise would take up the\nsound. Now a man with a tendency to crime would pick up that criminal\nfeeling inspiring the act which he sees blazoned forth in all its detail\nin the press. In that view of the matter it seems to me better not to\ngive details of all offences.\n\nNow, as to the matter of being too personal, I think that one of the\nresults of that sort of journalism is to drive a great many capable and\nexcellent men out of public life. I heard a little story quite recently\nof a man who was being urged for the Legislature, and yet hesitated\nbecause of his fear of newspaper criticism of this character. \"I\ndon't want to run,\" said he to his wife, who urged that this was an\nopportunity to do himself and his friends honor, and that it was a sort\nof duty in him. \"I would if I were you,\" said his wife. \"Well, but there\nis no saying,\" he responded, \"what the newspapers might print about me.\"\n\"Why, your life has always been honorable,\" said she; \"they could not\nsay anything to your disparagement.\" \"But they might attack my father.\"\n\"Well, there was nothing in his career of which any one might feel\nashamed. He was as irreproachable as you.\" \"Ay, but they might attack\nyou and tell of some devilment you went into before we were married.\"\n\"Then you better not run,\" said his wife promptly. I think this fear on\nthe part of husband and wife is identical with that which keeps many a\ngreat man out of public service.\n\nNow, there is another thing which every one ought to abhor. All men and\nnewspapers are entirely too apt to criticise the motives of men. It is\na fault common to all good men--except the clergy, of course--this habit\nof attacking motives. And whenever we see a man do something which is\ngreat and praiseworthy, let us talk about the act itself and not go\ninto a speculation or an attack upon the motive which prompted the act.\nAttack what a man actually does.\n\nBut these are only small matters. The press is the most powerful of all\nagencies for the dissemination of intelligence, and as such I hail\nit always. It has nearly always been very friendly and kind to me\nand certainly I have received at the hands of the New Orleans press a\ntreatment I shall never forget.\n\nOur Sunday newspapers, to my mind, rank among the greatest institutions\nof the present day. One finds in them matter that could not be found in\nseveral hundreds of books,--beautiful thoughts, broad intelligence, a\nrange of information perfectly startling in its usefulness and perfectly\ncharming in its entertainment. Contrast, please, how we are enabled by\ntheir good offices to spend the Sabbath, with the descriptions of hell\nwith all its terrors and all the gloom characterizing the Sabbaths our\nforefathers had to spend. The Sunday newspaper is an absolute blessing\nto the American people, a picture gallery, short stories, little poems,\na symposium of brain and intelligence and refinement and--divorce\nproceedings.\n\nAs I have said, the good will and the fair treatment of the American\npress have nearly always been my lot. There have been some misguided\npeople who have said harsh things, but when I remember all the\nmisguided things I have done, I am inclined to be charitable for their\nshortcomings.\n\nI do not know that I have anything else to say, except that I wish you\nall good luck and sunshine and prosperity, and enough of it to last you\nthrough a long life.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CIRCULATION OF OBSCENE LITERATURE.\n\n     * From \"Ingersoll As He Is,\" by E. M. Macdonald.\n\n\"ONE of the charges most persistently made against Colonel Ingersoll is\nthat during and after the trial of D. M. Bennett, persecuted by Anthony\nComstock, the Colonel endeavored to have the law against sending obscene\nliterature through the mail repealed. That the charge is maliciously\nfalse is fully shown by the following brief history of events connected\nwith the prosecution of D. M. Bennett, and Mr. Ingersoll's efforts in\nhis behalf....\n\n\"After Mr. Bennett's arrest in 1877, he printed a petition to Congress,\nwritten by T. B. Wakeman, asking for the _repeal or modification_ of\nComstock's law by which he expected to stamp out the publications of\nFreethinkers....\n\n\"The connection of Mr. Ingersoll with this petition is soon explained.\nMr. Ingersoll knew of Comstock's attempts to suppress heresy by means of\nthis law, and when called upon by the Washington committee in charge\nof the petition, he allowed his name to go on the petition for\nmodification, but he told them distinctly and plainly that he was _not_\nin favor of the _repeal_ of the law, as he was willing and anxious that\nobscenity should be suppressed by all legal means. His sentiments are\nbest expressed by himself in a letter to the _Boston Journal_. He says:\n\n\"'Washington, March 18, 1878.\n\n\"'To the Editor of the Boston Journal:\n\n\"'My attention has been called to the following article that recently\nappeared in your paper:\n\n\"'Col. Robert G. Ingersoll, and others, feel aggrieved because Congress,\nin 1873, enacted a law for the suppression of obscene literature, and,\nbelieving it an infringement of the rights of certain citizens, and an\neffort to muzzle the press and conscience, petition for its repeal. When\na man's conscience permits him to spread broadcast obscene literature,\nit is time that conscience was muzzled. The law is a terror only to\nevil-doers.\"\n\n\"'No one wishes the repeal of any law for the suppression of obscene\nliterature. For my part, I wish all such laws rigidly enforced. The only\nobjection I have to the law of 1873 is, that it has been construed to\ninclude books and pamphlets written against the religion of the day,\nalthough containing nothing that can be called obscene or impure.\nCertain religious fanatics, taking advantage of the word \"immoral\" in\nthe law, have claimed that all writings against what they are pleased to\ncall orthodox religion are immoral, and such books have been seized and\ntheir authors arrested. To this, and this only, I object.\n\n\"'Your article does me great injustice, and I ask that you will have the\nkindness to publish this note.\n\n\"'From the bottom of my heart I despise the publishers of obscene\nliterature. Below them there is no depth of filth. And I also despise\nthose, who, under the pretence of suppressing obscene literature,\nendeavor to prevent honest and pure men from writing and publishing\nhonest and pure thoughts. Yours truly.\n\n\"'R. G. Ingersoll.'\n\n\n\"This is sufficiently easy of comprehension even for ministers, but of\ncourse they misrepresented and lied about the writer. From that day\nto this he has been accused of favoring the dissemination of obscene\nliterature. That the friends of Colonel Ingersoll may know just\nhow infamous this is, we will give a brief history of the repeal or\nmodification movement....\n\n\"On October 26, the National Liberal League held its Congress in\nSyracuse. At this Congress the League left the matter of repeal or\nmodification of the laws open, taking no action as an organization,\neither way, but elected officers known to be in favor of repeal. On\nDecember 10, Mr. Bennett was again arrested. He was tried, and found\nguilty; he appealed, the conviction was affirmed, and he was sentenced\nto thirteen months' imprisonment at hard labor.\n\n\"After the trial Colonel Ingersoll interposed, and endeavored to get\na pardon for Mr. Bennett, who was held in Ludlow street jail pending\nPresident Hayes's reply. The man who occupied the President's office\npromised to pardon the Infidel editor; then he went back on his word,\nand Mr. Bennett served his term of imprisonment.\n\n\"Then preachers opened the sluiceways of vituperation and billingsgate\nupon Colonel Ingersoll for having interceded for a man convicted of\nmailing obscene literature. The charges were as infamously false then\nas they are now, and to show it, it is only necessary to quote\nColonel Ingersoll's words during the year or two succeeding, when\nthe Freethinkers and the Christians were not only opposing each\nother vigorously, but the Freethinkers themselves were divided on the\nquestion. In 1879, while Mr. Bennett was in prison, a correspondent of\nthe Nashville, Tenn., _Banner_ said that the National Liberal League and\nColonel Ingersoll were in favor of disseminating obscene literature. To\nthis Colonel Ingersoll replied in a letter to a friend:\n\n\"1417 G St., Washington, Aug. 21, 1879.\n\n\"'My Dear Sir: The article in the Nashville _Banner_ by \"J. L.\" is\nutterly and maliciously false.\n\n\"'A petition was sent to Congress praying for the repeal or modification\nof certain postal laws, to the end that the freedom of conscience and of\nthe press should not be abridged.\n\n\"'Nobody holds in greater contempt than I the writers, publishers, or\ndealers in obscene literature. One of my objections to the Bible is that\nit contains hundreds of grossly obscene passages not fit to be read by\nany decent man, thousands of passages, in my judgment, calculated to\ncorrupt the minds of youth. I hope the time will soon come when the\ngood sense of the American people will demand a Bible with all obscene\npassages left out.\n\n\"'The only reason a modification of the postal laws is necessary is that\nat present, under color of those laws, books and pamphlets are excluded\nfrom the mails simply because they are considered heterodox and\nblasphemous. In other words, every man should be allowed to write,\npublish, and send through the mails his thoughts upon any subject,\nexpressed in a decent and becoming manner. As to the propriety of giving\nanybody authority to overhaul mails, break seals, and read private\ncorrespondence, that is another question.\n\n\"'Every minister and every layman who charges me with directly or\nindirectly favoring the dissemination of anything that is impure,\nretails what he knows to be a wilful and malicious lie. I remain, Yours\ntruly,\n\n\"'R. G. Ingersoll.'\n\n\n\"Three weeks after this letter was written the National Liberal League\nheld its third annual Congress at Cincinnati. Colonel Ingersoll was\nchairman of the committee on resolutions and platform and unfinished\nbusiness of the League. One of the subjects to be dealt with was these\nComstock laws. The following are Colonel Ingersoll's remarks and the\nresolutions he presented:\n\n\"'It may be proper, before presenting the resolutions of the committee,\nto say a word in explanation. The committee were charged with the\nconsideration of the unfinished business of the League. It seems that\nat Syracuse there was a division as to what course should be taken in\nregard to the postal laws of the United States. These laws were used\nas an engine of oppression against the free circulation of what we\nunderstand to be scientific literature. Every honest man in this country\nis in favor of allowing every other human being every right that he\nclaims for himself. The majority at Syracuse were at that time simply\nin favor of the absolute repeal of those laws, believing them to be\nunconstitutional--not because they were in favor of anything obscene,\nbut because they were opposed to the mails of the United States being\nunder the espionage and bigotry of the church. They therefore demanded\nan absolute repeal of the law. Others, feeling that they might be\nmisunderstood, and knowing that theology can coin the meanest words\nto act as the vehicle of the lowest lies, were afraid of being\nmisunderstood, and therefore they said, Let us amend these laws so that\nour literature shall be upon an equality with that of theology. I know\nthat there is not a Liberal here, or in the United States, that is in\nfavor of the dissemination of obscene literature. One of the objections\nwhich we have to the book said to be written by God is that it is\nobscene.\n\n\"'The Liberals of this country believe in purity, and they believe that\nevery fact in nature and in science is as pure as a star. We do not need\nto ask for any more than we want. We simply want the laws of our country\nso framed that we are not discriminated against. So, taking that view of\nthe vexed question, we want to put the boot upon the other foot. We want\nto put the charge of obscenity where it belongs, and the committee, of\nwhich I have the honor to be one of the members, have endeavored to do\njust that thing. Men have no right to talk to me about obscenity who\nregard the story of Lot and his daughters as a fit thing for men, women,\nand children to read, and who worship a God in whom the violation of\n[_Cheers drowned the conclusion of this sentence so the reporters could\nnot hear it._] Such a God I hold in infinite contempt.\n\n\"'Now I will read you the resolutions recommended by the committee.\n\n\"'RESOLUTIONS.\n\n\"'Your committee have the honor to submit the following report: \"'First,\nAs to the unfinished business of the League, your committee submits the\nfollowing resolutions:\n\n\"'Resolved., That we are in favor of such postal laws as will allow the\nfree transportation through the mails of the United States of all books,\npamphlets, and papers, irrespective of the religious, irreligious,\npolitical, and scientific views they may contain, so that the literature\nof science may be placed upon an equality with that of superstition.\n\n\"'Resolved, That we are utterly opposed to the dissemination, through\nthe mails, or by any other means, of obscene literature, whether\n\"inspired\" or uninspired, and hold in measureless contempt its authors\nand disseminators.\n\n\"'Resolved, That we call upon the Christian world to expunge from the\nso-called \"sacred\" Bible every passage that cannot be read without\ncovering the cheek of modesty with the blush of shame; and until such\npassages are expunged, we demand that the laws against the dissemination\nof obscene literature be impartially enforced. '...\n\n\"We believe that lotteries and obscenity should be dealt with by State\nand municipal legislation, and offenders punished in the county in which\nthey commit their offence. So in those days we argued for the repeal of\nthe Comstock laws, as did dozens of others--James Parton, Elizur Wright,\nO. B. Frothingham, T. C. Leland, Courtlandt Palmer, and many more whose\nnames we do not recall. But Colonel Ingersoll did not, and when the\nNational Liberal League met the next year at Chicago (September 17,\n1880), he was opposed to the League's making a pledge to defend every\ncase under the Comstock laws, and he was opposed to a resolution\ndemanding a repeal of those laws. The following is what Colonel\nIngersoll said upon the subject:\n\n\"'Mr. Chairman, I wish to offer the following resolution in place and\ninstead of resolutions numbered 5 and 6:\n\n\"'Resolved, That the committee of defence, whenever a person has been\nindicted for what he claims to have been an honest exercise of the\nfreedom of thought and expression, shall investigate the case, and if it\nappears that such person has been guilty of no offence, then it shall\nbe the duty of said committee to defend such person if he is unable to\ndefend himself.'\n\n\"'Now, allow me one moment to state my reasons. I do not, I have not, I\nnever shall, accuse or suspect a solitary member of the Liberal League\nof the United States of being in favor of doing any act under heaven\nthat he is not thoroughly convinced is right. We all claim freedom of\nspeech, and it is the gem of the human soul. We all claim a right to\nexpress our honest thoughts. Did it ever occur to any Liberal that\nhe wished to express any thought honestly, truly, and legally that he\nconsidered immoral? How does it happen that _we_ have any interest in\nwhat is known as immoral literature? I deny that the League has any\ninterest in that kind of literature. Whenever we mention it, whenever we\nspeak of it, we put ourselves in a false position. What do we want? We\nwant to see to it that the church party shall not smother the literature\nof Liberalism. We want to see to it that the viper of intellectual\nslavery shall not sting our cause. We want it so that every honest man,\nso that every honest woman, can express his or her honest thought upon\nany subject in the world. And the question, and the only question, as to\nwhether they are amenable to the law, in my mind, is, Were they honest?\nWas their effort to benefit mankind? Was that their intention? And no\nman, no woman, should be convicted of any offence that that man or woman\ndid not intend to commit. Now, then, suppose some person is arrested,\nand it is claimed that a work written by him is immoral, is illegal.\nThen, I say, let our committee of defence examine that case, and if\nour enemies are seeking to trample out Freethought under the name of\nimmorality, and under the cover and shield of our criminal law, then let\nus defend that man to the last dollar we have. But we do not wish to put\nourselves in the position of general defenders of all the slush that may\nbe written in this or any other country. You cannot afford to do it.\nYou cannot afford to put into the mouth of theology a perpetual and\ncontinual slur. You cannot afford to do it. And this meeting is not the\ntime to go into the question of what authority the United States may\nhave over the mails. It is a very wide question. It embraces many\nothers. Has the Government a right to say what shall go into the mails?\nWhy, in one sense, assuredly. Certainly they have a right to say you\nshall not send a horse and wagon by mail. They have a right to fix some\nlimit; and the only thing we want is that the literature of liberty, the\nliterature of real Freethought, shall not be discriminated against.\nAnd we know now as well as if it had been perfectly and absolutely\ndemonstrated, that the literature of Freethought will be absolutely\npure. We know it, We call upon the Christian world to expunge obscenity\nfrom their book, and until that is expunged we demand that the laws\nagainst obscene literature shall be executed. And how can we, in the\nnext resolution, say those laws ought all to be repealed? We cannot do\nthat. I have always been in favor of such an amendment of the law that\nby no trick, by no device, by no judicial discretion, an honest, high,\npure-minded man should be subjected to punishment simply for giving his\nbest and his honest thought. What more do we need? What more can we ask?\nI am as much opposed as my friend Mr. Wakeman can be to the assumption\nof the church that it is the guardian of morality. If our morality is\nto be guarded by that sentiment alone, then is the end come. The natural\ninstinct of self-defence in mankind and in all organized society is the\nfortress of the morality in mankind. The church itself was at one time\nthe outgrowth of that same feeling, but now the feeling has outgrown the\nchurch. Now, then, we will have a Committee of Defence. That committee\nwill examine every case. Suppose some man has been indicted, and suppose\nhe is guilty. Suppose he has endeavored to soil the human mind. Suppose\nhe has been willing to make money by pandering to the lowest passions\nin the human breast. What will that committee do with him then? We will\nsay, \"Go on; let the law take its course.\" But if, upon reading his\nbook, we find that he is all wrong, horribly wrong, idiotically wrong,\nbut make up our minds that he was honest in his error, I will give\nas much as any other living man of my means to defend that man. And I\nbelieve you will all bear me witness when I say that I have the cause of\nintellectual liberty at heart as much as I am capable of having anything\nat heart. And I know hundreds of others here just the same. I understand\nthat. I understand their motive. I believe it to be perfectly good, but\nI truly and honestly think they are mistaken.\n\nIf we have an interest in the business, I would fight for it. If our\ncause were assailed by law, then I say fight; and our cause is assailed,\nand I say fight. They will not allow me, in many States of this Union,\nto testify. I say fight until every one of those laws is repealed. They\ndiscriminate against a man simply because he is honest. Repeal such\nlaws. The church, if it had the power to-day, would trample out every\nparticle of free literature in this land. And when they endeavor to\ndo that, I say fight. But there is a distinction wide as the\nMississippi--yes, wider than the Atlantic, wider than all the\noceans--between the literature of immorality and the literature of\nFreethought. One is a crawling, slimy lizard, and the other an\nangel with wings of light. Now, let us draw this distinction, let us\nunderstand ourselves, and do not give to the common enemy a word covered\nwith mire, a word stained with cloaca, to throw at us. We thought we had\nsettled that question a year ago. We buried it then, and I say let it\nrot.\n\n\"'This question is of great importance. It is the most important one we\nhave here. I have fought this question; I am ever going to do so, and\nI will not allow anybody to put a stain upon me. This question must be\nunderstood if it takes all summer. Here is a case in point. Some lady\nhas written a work which, I am informed, is a good work, and that has\nnothing wrong about it. Her opinions may be foolish or wise. Let this\ncommittee examine that case. If they find that she is a good woman, that\nshe had good intentions, no matter how terrible the work may be, if\nher intentions are good, she has committed no crime. I want the honest\nthought. I think I have always been in favor of it. But we haven't the\ntime to go into all these questions.\n\n\"'Then comes the question for this house to decide in a moment whether\nthese cases should have been tried in the State or Federal court. I\nwant it understood that I have confidence in the Federal courts of the\nnation. There may be some bad judges, there may be some idiotic jurors.\nI think there was in that case [of Mr. Bennett]. But the Committee of\nDefence, if I understand it, supplied means, for the defence of that\nman. They did, but are we ready now to decide in a moment what courts\nshall have jurisdiction? Are we ready to say that the Federal courts\nshall be denied jurisdiction in any case arising about the mails?\nSuppose somebody robs the mails? Before whom shall we try the robber?\nTry him before a Federal judge. Why? Because he has violated a Federal\nlaw. We have not any time for such an investigation as this. What we\nwant to do is to defend free speech everywhere. What we want to do is to\ndefend the expression of thought in papers, in pamphlets, in books. What\nwe want to do is to see to it that these books, papers, and pamphlets\nare on an equality with all other books, papers, and pamphlets in the\nUnited States mails. And then the next step we want to take, if any man\nis indicted under the pretence that he is publishing immoral books,\nis to have our Committee of Defence well examine the case; and if we\nbelieve the man to be innocent we will help defend him if he is\nunable to defend himself; and if we find that the law is wrong in that\nparticular, we will go for the amendment of that law. I beg of you to\nhave some sense in this matter. We must have it. If we don't, upon that\nrock we shall split--upon that rock we shall again divide. Let us not do\nit. The cause of intellectual liberty is the highest to the human mind.\nLet us stand by it, and we can help all these people by this resolution.\nWe can do justice everywhere with it, while if we agree to the fifth and\nsixth resolutions that have been offered I say we lay ourselves open to\nthe charge, and it will be hurled against us, no matter how unjustly,\nthat we are in favor of widespread immorality.\n\n\"'Mr. Clarke: We are not afraid of it.\n\n\"'Colonel Ingersoll: You may say we are not afraid. I am not afraid. He\nonly is a fool who rushes into unnecessary danger.\n\n\"'Mr. Clarke: What are you talking about, anyway?\n\n\"'Colonel Ingersoll: I am talking with endeavor to put a little sense\ninto such men as you. Your very question shows that it was necessary\nthat I should talk. And now I move that my resolution be adopted.\n\n\"'Mr. Wakeman moved that it be added to that portion of the sixth\nresolution which recommended the constitution of the Committee of\nDefence.\n\n\"'Col. Ingersoll: I cannot agree to the sixth resolution. I think nearly\nevery word of it is wrong in principle. I think it binds us to a course\nof action that we shall not be willing to follow; and my resolution\ncovers every possible case. My resolution binds us to defend every\nhonest man in the exercise of his right. I can't be bound to say that\nthe Government hasn't control of its morals--that we cannot trust the\nFederal courts--that, under any circumstances, at any time, I am bound\nto defend, either by word or money, any man who violates the laws of\nthis country.\n\n\"'Mr. Wakeman: We do not say that.\n\n\"'Colonel Ingersoll: I beg of you, I beseech you, not to pass the sixth\nresolution. If you do, I wouldn't give that [snapping his fingers] for\nthe platform. A part of the Comstock law authorizes the vilest possible\ntrick. We are all opposed to that.\n\n\"'Mr. Leland: What is the question?\n\n\"'Colonel Ingersoll: Don't let us be silly. Don't let us say we are\nopposed to what we are not opposed to. If any man here is opposed to\nputting down the vilest of all possible trash he ought to go home.\nWe are opposed to only a part of the law--opposed to it whenever they\nendeavor to trample Freethought under foot in the name of immorality.\n\nAfterward, at the same session of the Congress, the following colloquy\ntook place between Colonel Ingersoll and T. B. Wakeman:\n\n\"'Colonel Ingersoll: You know as well as I that there are certain\nbooks not fit to go through the mails--books and pictures not fit to be\ndelivered.\n\n\"'Mr. Wakeman: That is so.\n\n\"'Colonel Ingersoll: There is not a man here who is not in favor, when\nthese books and pictures come into the control of the United States,\nof burning them up when they are manifestly obscene. You don't want any\ngrand jury there.\n\n\"'Mr. Wakeman: Yes, we do.\n\n\"'Colonel Ingersoll: No, we don't. When they are manifestly obscene,\nburn them up.\n\n\"'A delegate: Who is to be judge of that?\n\n\"'Colonel Ingersoll: There are books that nobody differs about. There\nare certain things about which we can use discretion. If that discretion\nis abused, a man has his remedy. We stand for the free thought of this\ncountry. We stand for the progressive spirit of the United States. We\ncan't afford to say that all these laws should be repealed. If we had\ntime to investigate them we could say in what they should be amended.\nDon't tie us to this nonsense--to the idea that we have an interest in\nimmoral literature. Let us remember that Mr. Wakeman is sore. He had a\ncase before the Federal courts, and he imagines, having lost that case,\nyou cannot depend on them. I have lost hundreds of cases. I have as much\nconfidence in the Federal courts as in the State courts. I am not to be\na party to throwing a slur upon the Federal judiciary. All we want is\nfair play. We want the same chance for our doctrines that others have\nfor theirs. And how this infernal question of obscenity ever got into\nthe Liberal League I could never understand. If an innocent man is\nconvicted of larceny, should we repeal all the laws on the subject? I\ndon't pretend to be better than other people.\n\nIt is easy to talk right--so easy to be right that I never care to have\nthe luxury of being wrong. I am advocating something that we can stand\nupon. I do not misunderstand Mr. Wakeman's motives. I believe they are\nperfectly good--that he is thoroughly honest. Why not just say we will\nstand by freedom of thought and its expression? Why not say that we\nare in favor of amending any law that is wrong? But do not make the\nwholesale statement that all these laws ought to be repealed. They ought\nnot to be repealed. Some of them are good.\" The law against sending\ninstruments of vice in the mails is good, as is the law against sending\nobscene books and pictures, and the law against letting ignorant hyenas\nprey upon sick people, and the law which prevents the getters up of\nbogus lotteries sending their letters through the mail.'\n\n\"At the evening session of the Congress, on the same day, Mr. Ingersoll\nmade this speech in opposition to the resolution demanding the repeal of\nthe Comstock laws:\n\n\"'I am not in favor of the repeal of those laws. I have never been, and\nI never expect to be. But I do wish that every law providing for the\npunishment of a criminal offence should distinctly define the offence.\nThat is the objection to this law, that it does not define the offence,\nso that an American citizen can readily know when he is about to violate\nit and consequently the law ought in all probability to be modified\nin that regard. I am in favor of every law defining with perfect\ndistinctness the offence to be punished, but I cannot say by wholesale\nthese laws should be repealed. I have the cause of Freethought too much\nat heart. Neither will I consent to the repeal simply because the church\nis in favor of those laws. In so far as the church agrees with me, I\ncongratulate the church. In so far as superstition is willing to help\nme, good! I am willing to accept it. I believe, also, that this League\nis upon a secular basis, and there should be nothing in our platform\nthat would prevent any Christian from acting with us. What is our\nplatform?--and we ought to leave it as it is. It needs no amendment.\nOur platform is for a secular government. Is it improper in a secular\ngovernment to endeavor to prevent the spread of obscene literature? It\nis the business of a secular government to do it, but if that government\nattempts to stamp out Freethought in the name of obscenity, it is then\nfor the friends of Freethought to call for a definition of the word, and\nsuch a definition as will allow Freethought to go everywhere through all\nthe mails of the United States. We are also in favor of secular schools.\nGood! We are in favor of doing away with every law that discriminates\nagainst a man on account of his belief. Good! We are in favor of\nuniversal education. Good! We are in favor of the taxation of church\nproperty. Good!--because the experience of the world shows that where\nyou allow superstition to own property without taxing it, it will absorb\nthe net profits. Is it time now that we should throw into the scale,\nagainst all these splendid purposes, an effort to repeal some postal\nlaws against obscenity? As well might we turn the League into an engine\nto do away with all laws against the sale of stale eggs.\n\n\"'What have we to do with those things? Is it possible that Freethought\ncan be charged with being obscene? Is it possible that, if the charge\nis made, it can be substantiated? Can you not attack any superstition\nin the world in perfectly pure language? Can you not attack anything you\nplease in perfectly pure language? And where a man intends right, no law\nshould find him guilty; and if the law is weak in that respect, let it\nbe modified. But I say to you that I cannot go with any body of men who\ndemand the unconditional repeal of these laws. I believe in liberty\nas much as any man that breathes. I will do as much, according to my\nability, as any other man to make this an absolutely free and secular\ngovernment I will do as much as any other man of my strength and of my\nintellectual power to give every human being every right that I claim\nfor myself. But this obscene law business is a stumbling block. Had it\nnot been for this, instead of the few people voting here--less than one\nhundred--we would have had a Congress numbered by thousands. Had it not\nbeen for this business, the Liberal League of the United States would\nto-night hold in its hand the political destiny of the United States.\nInstead of that, we have thrown away our power upon a question in which\nwe are not interested. Instead of that, we have wasted our resources\nand our brain for the repeal of a law that we don't want repealed. If\nwe want anything, we simply want a modification. Now, then, don't stain\nthis cause by such a course. And don't understand that I am pretending,\nor am insinuating, that anyone here is in favor of obscene literature.\nIt is a question, not of principle, but of means, and I beg pardon\nof this Convention if I have done anything so horrible as has been\ndescribed by Mr. Pillsbury. I regret it if I have ever endeavored to\ntrample upon the rights of this Convention.\n\n\"'There is one thing I have not done--I have not endeavored to cast\nfive votes when I didn't have a solitary vote. Let us be fair; let us be\nfair. I have simply given my vote. I wish to trample upon the rights\nof no one; and when Mr. Pillsbury gave those votes he supposed he had\na right to give them; and if he had a right, the votes would have been\ncounted. I attribute nothing wrong to him, but I say this: I have the\nright to make a motion in this Congress, I have the right to argue that\nmotion, but I have no more rights than any other member, and I claim\nnone. But I want to say to you--and I want you to know and feel it--that\nI want to act with every Liberal man and woman in this world. I want you\nto know and feel it that I want to do everything I can to get every one\nof these statutes off our books that discriminates against a man because\nof his religious belief--that I am in favor of a secular government,\nand of all these rights. But I cannot, and I will not, operate with any\norganization that asks for the unconditional repeal of those laws. I\nwill stand alone, and I have stood alone. I can tell my thoughts to my\ncountrymen, and I will do it, and whatever position you take, whether\nI am with you or not, you will find me battling everywhere for the\nabsolute freedom of the human mind. You will find me battling everywhere\nto make this world better and grander; and whatever my personal conduct\nmay be, I shall endeavor to keep my theories right. I beg of you,\nI implore you, do not pass the resolution No. 6. It is not for our\ninterest; it will do us no good. It will lose us hosts of honest,\nsplendid friends. Do not do it; it will be a mistake; and the only\nreason I offered the motion was to give the members time to think this\nover. I am not pretending to know more than other people. I am perfectly\nwilling to say that in many things I know less. But upon this subject I\nwant you to think. No matter whether you are afraid of your sons, your\ndaughters, your wives, or your husbands, that isn't it--I don't want the\nsplendid prospects of this League put in jeopardy upon such an issue\nas this. I have no more to say. But if that resolution is passed, all I\nhave to say is that, while I shall be for liberty everywhere, I cannot\nact with this organization, and I will not.'\n\n\"The resolution was finally adopted, and Colonel Ingersoll resigned his\noffice of vice-president in the League, and never acted with it again\nuntil the League dropped all side issues, and came back to first\nprinciples--the enforcement of the Nine Demands of Liberalism.\"\n\nIn 1892, writing upon this subject in answer to a minister who had\nrepeated these absurd charges, Colonel Ingersoll made this offer:\n\n\"I will pay a premium of one thousand dollars a word for each and every\nword I ever said or wrote in favor of sending obscene publications\nthrough the mails.\"\n\n\n\n\nCONVENTION OF THE NATIONAL LIBERAL LEAGUE.\n\nCincinnati, O., September 14.1878.\n\nLADIES AND GENTLEMEN: Allow me to say that the cause nearest my heart,\nand to which I am willing to devote the remainder of my life, is the\nabsolute, the _absolute_, enfranchisement of the human mind. I believe\nthat the family is the unit of good government, and that every good\ngovernment is simply an aggregation of good families. I therefore not\nonly believe in perfect civil and religious liberty, but I believe in\nthe one man loving the one woman. I believe the real temple of the human\nheart is the hearthstone, and that there is where the sacrifice of life\nshould be made; and just in proportion as we have that idea in this\ncountry, just in that proportion we shall advance and become a great,\nglorious and splendid nation. I do not want the church or the state to\ncome between the man and wife. I want to do what little I can while I\nlive to strengthen and render still more sacred the family relation. I\nam also in favor of granting every right to every other human being that\nI claim for myself; and when I look about upon the world and see how the\nchildren that are born to-day, or this year, or this age, came into a\nworld that has nearly all been taken up before their arrival; when I see\nthat they have not even an opportunity to labor for bread; when I see\nthat in our splendid country some who do the most have the least,\nand others who do the least have the most; I say to myself there is\nsomething wrong somewhere, and I hope the time will come when every\nchild that nature has invited to our feast will have an equal right with\nall the others. There is only one way, in my judgment, to bring that\nabout; and that is, first, not simply by the education of the head, but\nby the universal education of the heart. The time will come when a man\nwith millions in his possession will not be respected unless with those\nmillions he improves the condition of his fellow-men.\n\nThe time will come when it will be utterly impossible for a man to go\ndown to death, grasping millions in the clutch of avarice. The time will\ncome when it will be impossible for such a man to exist, for he will be\nfollowed by the scorn and execration of mankind. The time will come\nwhen such a man when stricken by death, cannot purchase the favor of\nposterity by leaving a portion of the gains which he has wrung from the\npoor, to some church or Bible society for the glory of God.\n\nNow, let me say that we have met together as a Liberal League. We have\npassed the same platform again; but if you will read that platform you\nwill see that it covers nearly every word that I have spoken--universal\neducation--the laws of science included, not the guesses of\nsuperstition--universal education, not for the next world but for\nthis--happiness, not so much for an unknown land beyond the clouds as\nfor this life in this world. I do not say that there is not another\nlife. If there is any God who has allowed his children to be oppressed\nin this world he certainly needs another life to reform the blunders he\nhas made in this.\n\nNow, let us all agree that we will stand by each other splendidly,\ngrandly; and when we come into convention let us pass resolutions that\nare broad, kind, and genial, because, if you are true Liberals, you will\nhold in a kind of tender pity the most outrageous superstitions in\nthe world. I have said some things in my time that were not altogether\ncharitable; but, after all, when I think it over, I see that men are as\nthey are, because they are the result of every thing that has ever been.\n\nSometimes I think the clergy a necessary evil; but I say, let us be\ngenial and kind, and let us know that every other person has the same\nright to be a Catholic or a Presbyterian, and gather consolation\nfrom the doctrine of reprobation, that he has the same right to be\na Methodist or a Christian Disciple or a Baptist; the same right to\nbelieve these phantasies and follies and superstitions--[_A voice--\"And\nto burn heretics?\"_]\n\nNo--The same right that we have to believe that it is all superstition.\nBut when that Catholic or Baptist or Methodist endeavors to put chains\non the bodies or intellects of men, it is then the duty of every Liberal\nto prevent it at all hazards. If we can do any good in our day and\ngeneration, let us do it.\n\nThere is no office I want in this world. I will make up my mind as to\nthe next when I get there, because my motto is--and with that motto I\nwill close what I have to say--My motto is: One world at a time!\n\n\n\n\nCONVENTION OF THE AMERICAN SECULAR UNION.\n\nAlbany, N. Y., September 13, 1885.\n\nLADIES AND GENTLEMEN: While I have never sought any place in any\norganization, and while I never intended to accept any place in any\norganization, yet as you have done me the honor to elect me president of\nthe American Secular Union, I not only accept the place, but tender to\nyou each and all my sincere thanks.\n\nThis is a position that a man cannot obtain by repressing his honest\nthought. Nearly all other positions he obtains in that way. But I\nam glad that the time has come when men can afford to preserve\ntheir manhood in this country. Maybe they cannot be elected to the\nLegislature, cannot become errand boys in Congress, cannot be placed as\nweather-vanes in the presidential chair, but the time has come when a\nman can express his honest thought and be treated like a gentleman\nin the United States. We have arrived at a point where priests do not\ngovern, and have reached that stage of our journey where we, as Harriet\nMartineau expressed it, are \"free rovers on the breezy common of the\nuniverse.\" Day by day we are getting rid of the aristocracy of the air.\nWe have been the slaves of phantoms long enough, and a new day, a day\nof glory, has dawned upon this new world--this new world which is far\nbeyond the old in the real freedom of thought.\n\nIn the selection of your officers, without referring to myself, I think\nyou have shown great good sense. The first man chosen as vice-president,\nMr. Charles Watts, is a gentleman of sound, logical mind; one who\nknows what he wants to say and how to say it; who is familiar with the\norganization of Secular societies, knows what we wish to accomplish and\nthe means to attain it. I am glad that he is about to make this country\nhis home, and I know of no man who, in my judgment, can do more for the\ncause of intellectual liberty.\n\nThe next vice-president, Mr. Remsburg, has done splendid work all over\nthe country. He is an absolutely fearless man, and tells really and\ntruly what his mind produces. We need such men everywhere.\n\nYou know it is almost a rule, or at any rate the practice, in political\nparties and in organizations generally, to be so anxious for success\nthat all the offices and places of honor are given to those who will\ncome in at the eleventh hour. The rule is to hold out these honors as\nbribes for newcomers instead of conferring them upon those who have\nborne the heat and burden of the day. I hope that the American Secular\nUnion will not be guilty of any such injustice. Bestow your honors upon\nthe men who stood by you when you had few friends, the men who enlisted\nfor the war when the cause needed soldiers. Give your places to them,\nand if others want to join your ranks, welcome them heartily to the\nplaces of honor in the rear and let them learn how to keep step.\n\nIn this particular, leaving out myself as I have said, you have done\nmagnificently well. Mrs. Mattie Krekel, another vice-president, is a\nwoman who has the courage to express her opinions, and she is all the\nmore to be commended because, as you know, women have to suffer a little\nmore punishment than men, being amenable to social laws that are more\nexacting and tyrannical than those passed by Legislatures.\n\nOf Mr. Wakeman it is not necessary to speak. You all know him to be an\nable, thoughtful, and experienced man, capable in every respect; one\nwho has been in this organization from the beginning, and who is now\npresident of the New York society. Elizur Wright, one of the patriarchs\nof Freethought, who was battling for liberty before I was born, and who\nwill be found in the front rank until he ceases to be. You have honored\nyourselves by electing James Parton, a thoughtful man, a scholar, a\nphilosopher, and a philanthropist--honest, courageous, and logical--with\na mind as clear as a cloudless sky. Parker Pillsbury, who has always\nbeen on the side of liberty, always willing, if need be, to stand\nalone--a man who has been mobbed many times because he had the goodness\nand courage to denounce the institution of slavery--a man possessed\nof the true martyr spirit. Messrs. Algie and Adams, our friends from\nCanada, men of the highest character, worthy of our fullest confidence\nand esteem--conscientious, upright, and faithful.\n\nAnd permit me to say that I know of no man of kinder heart, of gentler\ndisposition, with more real, good human feeling toward all the world,\nwith a more forgiving and tender spirit, than Horace Seaver. He and Mr.\nMendum are the editors of the _Investigator_, the first Infidel paper\nI ever saw, and I guess the first that any one of you ever saw--a paper\nonce edited by Abner Kneeland, who was put in prison for saying, \"The\nUniversalists believe in a God which I do not.\" The court decided that\nhe had denied the existence of a Supreme Being, and at that time it was\nnot thought safe to allow a remark of that kind to be made, and so, for\nthe purpose of keeping an infinite God from tumbling off his throne, Mr.\nKneeland was put in jail. But Horace Seaver and Mr. Mendum went on with\nhis work. They are pioneers in this cause, and they have been absolutely\ntrue to the principles of Freethought from the first day until now.\n\nIf there is anybody belonging to our Secular Union more enthusiastic and\nbetter calculated to impart something of his enthusiasm to others than\nSamuel P. Putnam, our secretary, I do not know him. Courtlandt Palmer,\nyour treasurer, you all know, and you will presently know him better\nwhen you hear the speech he is about to make, and that speech will speak\nbetter for him than I possibly can. Wait until you hear him, as he is\nnow waiting for me to get through that you may hear him. He will give\nyou the definition of the true gentleman, and that definition will be a\ntruthful description of himself.\n\nMr. Reynolds is on our side if anybody is or ever was, and Mr.\nMacdonald, editor of _The Truth Seeker_, aiming not only to seek the\ntruth but to expose error, has done and is doing incalculable good in\nthe cause of mental freedom.\n\nAll these men and women are men and women of character, of high purpose;\nin favor of Freethought not as a peculiarity or as an eccentricity of\nthe hour, but with all their hearts, through and through, to the very\ncenter and core of conviction, life, and purpose.\n\nAnd so I can congratulate you on your choice, and believe that you have\nentered upon the most prosperous year of your existence. I believe that\nyou will do all you can to have every law repealed that puts a hypocrite\nabove an honest mail. We know that no man is thoroughly honest who does\nnot tell his honest thought. We want the Sabbath day for ourselves and\nour families. Let the gods have the heavens. Give us the earth. If the\ngods want to stay at home Sundays and look solemn, let them do it; let\nus have a little wholesome recreation and pleasure. If the gods wish to\ngo out with their wives and children, let them go. If they want to play\nbilliards with the stars, so they don't carom on us, let them play.\n\nWe want to do what we can to compel every church to pay taxes on its\nproperty as other people pay on theirs. Do you know that if church\nproperty is allowed to go without taxation, it is only a question\nof time when they will own a large per cent, of the property of the\ncivilized world? It is the same as compound interest; only give it time.\nIf you allow it to increase without taxing it for its protection, its\ngrowth can only be measured by the time in which it has to grow. The\nchurch builds an edifice in some small town, gets several acres of land.\nIn time a city rises around it. The labor of others has added to the\nvalue of this property, until it is worth millions. If this property is\nnot taxed, the churches will have so much in their hands that they will\nagain become dangerous to the liberties of mankind. There never will be\nreal liberty in this country until all property is put upon a perfect\nequality. If you want to build a Joss house, pay taxes. If you want\nto build churches, pay taxes. If you want to build a hall or temple in\nwhich Freethought and science are to be taught, pay taxes. Let there be\nno property untaxed. When you fail to tax any species of property, you\nincrease the tax of other people owning the rest. To that extent, you\nunite church and state. You compel the Infidel to support the\nCatholic. I do not want to support the Catholic Church. It is not worth\nsupporting. It is an unadulterated evil. Neither do I want to reform\nthe Catholic Church. The only reformation of which that church or any\northodox church is capable, is destruction. I want to spend no more\nmoney on superstition. Neither should our money be taken to support\nsectarian schools. We do not wish to employ any chaplains in the navy,\nor in the army, or in the Legislatures, or in Congress. It is useless to\nask God to help the political party that happens to be in power. We want\nno President, no Governor \"clothed with a little brief authority,\" to\nissue a proclamation as though he were an agent of God, authorized to\ntell all his loving subjects to fast on a certain day, or to enter their\nchurches and pray for the accomplishment of a certain object. It is\nnone of his business. When they called on Thomas Jefferson to issue\na proclamation, he said he had no right to do it, that religion was a\npersonal, individual matter, and that the state had no right, no power,\nto interfere.\n\nI now have the pleasure of introducing Mr. Courtlandt Palmer, who will\nspeak to you on the \"Aristocracy of Freethought,\" in my judgment the\naristocracy not only of the present, but the aristocracy of the future.\n\n\n\n\nTHE RELIGIOUS BELIEF OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN.\n\nNew York, May 28, 1896.\n\n\nMY DEAR MR. SEIP: I have carefully read your article on the religious\nbelief of Abraham Lincoln, and in accordance with your request I will\nnot only give you my opinion of the evidence upon which you rely, as set\nout in your article, but my belief as to the religious opinions of Mr.\nLincoln, and the facts on which my belief rests.\n\nYou speak of a controversy between myself and General Collis upon this\nsubject. A few years ago I delivered a lecture on Mr. Lincoln, in this\ncity, and in that lecture said that Lincoln, so far as his religious\nopinions were concerned, substantially agreed with Franklin,\nJefferson, Paine and Voltaire. Thereupon General Collis wrote me a note\ncontradicting what I had said and asserting that \"Lincoln invoked the\npower of Almighty God, not the Deist God, but the God whom he worshiped\nunder the forms of the Christian church of which he was a member.\" To\nthis I replied saying that Voltaire and Paine both believed in God, and\nthat Lincoln was never a member of any Christian church.\n\nGeneral Collis wrote another letter to which, I think, I made no reply,\nfor the reason that the General had demonstrated that he knew nothing\nwhatever on the subject. It was evident that he had never read the life\nof Lincoln, because if he had, he would not have said that he was a\nmember of a church. It was also evident that he knew nothing about the\nreligious opinions of Franklin, Voltaire or Paine, or he would have\nknown that they were believers in the existence of a Supreme Being. It\ndid not seem to me that his letter was worthy of a reply.\n\nNow as to your article: I find in what you have written very little that\nis new. I do not remember ever to have seen anything about the statement\nof the daughter of the Rev. Mr. Gurley in regard to Lincoln's letters.\nThe daughter, however, does not pretend to know the contents of the\nletters and says that they were destroyed by fire; consequently these\nletters, so far as this question is concerned, are of no possible\nimportance. The only thing in your article tending to show that Lincoln\nwas a Christian is the following: \"I think I can say with sincerity that\nI hope I am a Christian. I had lived until my Willie died without\nfully realizing these things. That blow overwhelmed me. It showed me\nmy weakness as I had never felt it before, and I think I can safely say\nthat I know something of a change of heart, and I will further add that\nit has been my intention for some time, at a suitable opportunity, to\nmake a public religious profession.\"\n\nNow, if you had given the name of the person to whom this was said, and\nif that person had told you that Lincoln did utter these words, then the\nevidence would have been good; but you are forced to say that this was\nsaid to an eminent Christian lady. You do not give this lady's name. I\ntake it for granted that her name is unknown, and that the name of the\nperson to whom she told the story is also unknown, and that the name\nof the man who gave the story to the world is unknown. This falsehood,\naccording to your own showing, is an orphan, a lonely lie without\nfather or mother. Such testimony cannot be accepted. It is not even good\nhearsay.\n\nIn the next point you make, you also bring forward the remarks claimed\nto have been made by Mr. Lincoln when some colored people of Baltimore\npresented him with a Bible. You say that he said that the Bible was\nGod's best gift to man, and but for the Bible we could not know right\nfrom wrong. It is impossible that Lincoln should have uttered these\nwords. He certainly would not have said to some colored people that the\nbook that instituted human slavery was God's best gift to man; neither\ncould he have said that but for this book we could not know right from\nwrong. If he said these things he was temporarily insane. Mr. Lincoln\nwas familiar with the lives of Socrates, Epictetus, Epicurus, Zeno,\nConfucius, Zoroaster and Buddha, not one of whom ever heard of the\nBible. Certainly these men knew right from wrong. In my judgment they\nwould compare favorably with Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, David and the Jews\nthat crucified Christ. These pretended remarks must be thrown away; they\ncould have been uttered only by an ignorant and thoughtless zealot, not\nby a sensible, thoughtful man. Neither can we rely on any new evidence\ngiven by the Rev. Mr. Gurley. If Mr. Gurley at any time claimed that\nLincoln was a Christian, such claim was born of an afterthought. Mr.\nGurley preached a funeral sermon over the body of Lincoln at the White\nHouse, and in that sermon he did not claim that Mr. Lincoln was in any\nsense a Christian. He said nothing about Christ. So, the testimony of\nthe Rev. Mr. Sunderland amounts to nothing. Lincoln did not tell him\nthat he was a Christian or that he believed in Christ. Not one of the\nministers that claim that Lincoln was a Christian, not one, testifies\nthat Lincoln so said in his hearing. So, the lives that have been\nwritten of Lincoln by Holland and Arnold are of no possible authority.\nHolland knew nothing about Lincoln; he relied on gossip, and was\nexceedingly anxious to make Lincoln a Christian so that his Life would\nsell. As a matter of fact, Mr. Arnold knew little of Lincoln, and knew\nno more of his religious opinions than he seems to have known about the\nopinions of Washington.\n\nI find also in your article a claim that Lincoln said to somebody that\nunder certain conditions, that is to say, if a church had the Golden\nRule for its creed, he would join that church; but you do not give the\nname of the friend to whom Lincoln made this declaration. Still, if\nhe made it, it does not tend to show that he was a Christian. A church\nfounded on the Golden Rule, \"Do unto others as you would that others\nshould do unto you,\" would not in any sense be a Christian church.\nIt would be an ethical society. The testimony of Mr. Bateman has been\nchanged by himself, he having admitted that it was colored, that he\nwas not properly reported; so the night-walking scene given by James\nE. Murdoch, does not even tend to show that Lincoln was a Christian.\nAccording to Mr. Murdoch he was praying to the God of Solomon and he\nnever mentioned the name of Christ. I think, however, Mr. Murdoch's\nstory is too theatrical, and my own opinion is that it was a waking\ndream. I think Lincoln was a man of too much sense, too much tact, to\nhave said anything to God about Solomon. Lincoln knew that what God did\nfor Solomon ended in failure, and if he wanted God to do something for\nhim (Lincoln) he would not have called attention to the other case. So\nBishop Simpson, in his oration or funeral sermon, said nothing about\nLincoln's having been a Christian.\n\nNow, what is the testimony that you present that Lincoln was a\nChristian?\n\nFirst, Several of your witnesses say that he believed in God.\n\nSecond, Some say that he believed in the efficacy of prayer.\n\nThird, Some say that he was a believer in Providence.\n\nFourth, An unknown person says that he said to another unknown person\nthat he was a Christian.\n\nFifth, You also claim that he said the Bible was the best gift of God to\nman, and that without it we could not have known right from wrong.\n\nThe anonymous testimony has to be thrown away, so nothing is left except\nthe remarks claimed to have been made when the Bible was presented\nby the colored people, and these remarks destroy themselves. It\nis absolutely impossible that Lincoln could have uttered the words\nattributed to him on that occasion. I know of no one who heard the\nwords, I know of no witness who says he heard them or that he knows\nanybody who did. These remarks were not even heard by an \"eminent\nChristian lady,\" and we are driven to say that if Lincoln was a\nChristian he took great pains to keep it a secret.\n\nI believe that I am familiar with the material facts bearing upon the\nreligious belief of Mr. Lincoln, and that I know what he thought of\northodox Christianity. I was somewhat acquainted with him and well\nacquainted with many of his associates and friends, and I am familiar\nwith Mr. Lincoln's public utterances. Orthodox Christians have the habit\nof claiming all great men, all men who have held important positions,\nmen of reputation, men of wealth. As soon as the funeral is over\nclergymen begin to relate imaginary conversations with the deceased, and\nin a very little while the great man is changed to a Christian--possibly\nto a saint.\n\nAll this happened in Mr. Lincoln's case. Many pious falsehoods were\ntold, conversations were manufactured, and suddenly the church claimed\nthat the great President was an orthodox Christian. The truth is that\nLincoln in his religious views agreed with Franklin, Jefferson, and\nVoltaire. He did not believe in the inspiration of the Bible or the\ndivinity of Christ or the scheme of salvation, and he utterly repudiated\nthe dogma of eternal pain.\n\nIn making up my mind as to what Mr. Lincoln really believed, I do not\ntake into consideration the evidence of unnamed persons or the contents\nof anonymous letters; I take the testimony of those who knew and loved\nhim, of those to whom he opened his heart and to whom he spoke in the\nfreedom of perfect confidence.\n\nMr. Herndon was his friend and partner for many years. I knew Mr.\nHerndon well. I know that Lincoln never had a better, warmer, truer\nfriend. Herndon was an honest, thoughtful, able, studious man, respected\nby all who knew him. He was as natural and sincere as Lincoln himself.\nOn several occasions Mr. Herndon told me what Lincoln believed and what\nhe rejected in the realm of religion. He told me again and again\nthat Mr. Lincoln did not believe in the inspiration of the Bible, the\ndivinity of Christ, or in the existence of a personal God. There was no\npossible reason for Mr. Herndon to make a mistake or to color the facts.\n\nJustice David Davis was a life-long friend and associate of Mr. Lincoln,\nand Judge Davis knew Lincoln's religious opinions and knew Lincoln as\nwell as anybody did. Judge Davis told me that Lincoln was a Freethinker,\nthat he denied the inspiration of the Bible, the divinity of Christ,\nand all miracles. Davis also told me that he had talked with Lincoln on\nthese subjects hundreds of times.\n\nI was well acquainted with Col. Ward H. Lamon and had many conversations\nwith him about Mr. Lincoln's religious belief, before and after he wrote\nhis life of Lincoln. He told me that he had told the exact truth in his\nlife of Lincoln, that Lincoln never did believe in the Bible, or in the\ndivinity of Christ, or in the dogma of eternal pain; that Lincoln was a\nFreethinker.\n\nFor many years I was well acquainted with the Hon. Jesse W. Fell, one\nof Lincoln's warmest friends. Mr. Fell often came to my house and we had\nmany talks about the religious belief of Mr. Lincoln. Mr. Fell told me\nthat Lincoln did not believe in the inspiration of the Scriptures, and\nthat he denied the divinity of Jesus Christ. Mr. Fell was very liberal\nin his own ideas, a great admirer of Theodore Parker and a perfectly\nsincere and honorable man.\n\nFor several years I was well acquainted with William G. Green, who was\na clerk with Lincoln at New Salem in the early days, and who admired and\nloved Lincoln with all his heart. Green told me that Lincoln was always\nan Infidel, and that he had heard him argue against the Bible hundreds\nof times. Mr. Green knew Lincoln, and knew him well, up to the time of\nLincoln's death.\n\nThe Hon. James Tuttle of Illinois was a great friend of Lincoln, and\nhe is, if living, a friend of mine, and I am a friend of his. He knew\nLincoln well for many years, and he told me again and again that Lincoln\nwas an Infidel. Mr. Tuttle is a Freethinker himself and has always\nenjoyed the respect of his neighbors. A man with purer motives does not\nlive.\n\nSo I place great reliance on the testimony of Col. John G. Nicolay. Six\nweeks after Mr. Lincoln's death Colonel Nicolay said that he did not in\nany way change his religious ideas, opinions or belief from the time he\nleft Springfield until the day of his death.\n\nIn addition to all said by the persons I have mentioned, Mrs. Lincoln\nsaid that her husband _was not a Christian_. There are many other\nwitnesses upon this question whose testimony can be found in a book\nentitled \"Abraham Lincoln, was he a Christian?\" written by John E.\nRemsburg, and published in 1893. In that book will be found all\nthe evidence on both sides. Mr. Remsburg states the case with great\nclearness and demonstrates that Lincoln was not a Christian.\n\nNow, what is a Christian?\n\nFirst. He is a believer in the existence of God, the Creator and\nGovernor of the Universe.\n\nSecond. He believes in the inspiration of the Old and New Testaments.\n\nThird. He believes in the miraculous birth of Jesus Christ; that the\nHoly Ghost was his father.\n\nFourth. He believes that this Christ was offered as a sacrifice for the\nsins of men, that he was crucified, dead and buried, that he arose from\nthe dead and that he ascended into heaven.\n\nFifth. He believes in the \"fall of man,\" in the scheme of redemption\nthrough the atonement.\n\nSixth. He believes in salvation by faith, that the few are to be\neternally happy, and that the many are to be eternally damned.\n\nSeventh. He believes in the Trinity, in God the Father, God the Son and\nGod the Holy Ghost.\n\nNow, is there the slightest evidence to show that Lincoln believed in\nthe inspiration of the Old and New Testaments?\n\nHas anybody said that he was heard to say that he so believed?\n\nDoes anybody testify that Lincoln believed in the miraculous birth of\nJesus Christ, that the Holy Ghost was the father or that Christ was or\nis God?\n\nHas anybody testified that Lincoln believed that Christ was raised from\nthe dead?\n\nDid anyone ever hear him say that he believed in the ascension of\nJesus Christ? Did anyone ever hear him assert that he believed in the\nforgiveness of sins, or in salvation by faith, or that belief was a\nvirtue and investigation a crime?\n\nWhere, then, is the evidence that he was a Christian?\n\nThere is another reason for thinking that Lincoln never became a\nChristian.\n\nAll will admit that he was an honest man, that he discharged all\nobligations perceived, and did what he believed to be his duty. If\nhe had become a Christian it was his duty publicly to say so. He was\nPresident; he had the ear of the nation; every citizen, had he spoken,\nwould have listened. It was his duty to make a clear, explicit statement\nof his conversion, and it was his duty to join some orthodox church, and\nhe should have given his reasons. He should have endeavored to reach\nthe heart and brain of the Republic. It was unmanly for him to keep his\n\"second birth\" a secret and sneak into heaven leaving his old friends to\ntravel the road to hell.\n\nGreat pains have been taken to show that Mr. Lincoln believed in,\nand worshiped the one true God. This by many is held to have been his\ngreatest virtue, the foundation of his character, and yet, the God he\nworshiped, the God to whom he prayed, allowed him to be assassinated.\n\nIs it possible that God will not protect his friends?\n\n\n\n\nORGANIZED CHARITIES.\n\nI HAVE no great confidence in organized charities. Money is left and\nbuildings are erected and sinecures provided for a good many worthless\npeople. Those in immediate control are almost, or when they were\nappointed were almost, in want themselves, and they naturally hate other\nbeggars.\n\nThey regard persons who ask assistance as their enemies. There is an old\nstory of a tramp who begged a breakfast. After breakfast another tramp\ncame to the same place to beg his breakfast, and the first tramp with\nblows and curses drove him away, saying at the same time: \"I expect to\nget dinner here myself.\"\n\nThis is the general attitude of beggar toward beggar.\n\nAnother trouble with organized charities is the machinery, the various\nmethods they have adopted to prevent what they call fraud. They are\nexceedingly anxious that the needy, that those who ask help, who have\nbeen without fault, shall be attended to, their rule apparently being to\nassist only the unfortunate perfect.\n\nThe trouble is that Nature produces very few specimens of that kind. As\na rule, men come to want on account of their imperfections, on account\nof their ignorance, on account of their vices, and their vices are born\nof their lack of capacity, of their want of brain. In other words, they\nare failures of Nature, and the fact that they need help is not their\nown fault, but the fault of their construction, their surroundings.\n\nVery few people have the opportunity of selecting their parents, and it\nis exceedingly difficult in the matter of grandparents. Consequently,\nI do not hold people responsible for hereditary tendencies, traits and\nvices. Neither do I praise them for having hereditary virtues.\n\nA man going to one of these various charitable establishments is\ncross-examined. He must give his biography. And after he has answered\nall the supercilious, impudent questions, he is asked for references.\n\nThen the people referred to are sought out, to find whether the\nstatements made by the applicant are true. By the time the thing is\nsettled the man who asked aid has either gotten it somewhere else or\nhas, in the language of the Spiritualists, \"passed over to the other\nside.\"\n\nOf course this does not trouble the persons in charge of the organized\ncharities, because their salaries are going on.\n\nAs a rule, these charities were commenced by the best of people. Some\ngenerous, philanthropic man or woman gave a life to establish a \"home,\"\nit may be, for aged women, for orphans, for the waifs of the pavements.\n\nThese generous people, filled with the spirit of charity, raised a\nlittle money, succeeded in hiring or erecting a humble building, and the\nmoney they collected, so honestly given, they honestly used to bind up\nthe wounds and wipe away the tears of the unfortunate, and to save, if\npossible, some who had been wrecked on the rocks and reefs of crime.\n\nThen some very rich man dies who had no charity and who would not have\nleft a dollar could he have taken his money with him. This rich man, who\nhated his relatives and the people he actually knew, gives a large sum\nof money to some particular charity--not that he had any charity, but\nbecause he wanted to be remembered as a philanthropist.\n\nThen the organized charity becomes rich, and the richer the meaner, the\nricher the harder of heart and the closer of fist.\n\nNow, I believe that Trinity Church, in this city, would be called an\norganized charity. The church was started to save, if possible, a few\nsouls from eternal torment, and on the plea of saving these souls money\nwas given to the church.\n\nFinally the church became rich. It is now a landlord--has many buildings\nto rent. And if what I hear is true there is no harder landlord in the\ncity of New York.\n\nSo, I have heard it said of Dublin University, that it is about the\nhardest landlord in Ireland.\n\nI think you will find that all such institutions try to collect the very\nlast cent, and, in the name of pity, drive pity from their hearts.\n\nI think it is Shakespeare who says, \"Pity drives out pity,\" and he must\nhave had organized charities in his mind when he uttered this remark. Of\ncourse a great many really good and philanthropic people leave vast sums\nof money to charities.\n\nI find that it is sometimes very difficult to get an injured man, or one\nseized with some sudden illness, taken into a city hospital. There are\nso many rules and so many regulations, so many things necessary to be\ndone, that while the rules are being complied with the soul of the sick\nor injured man, weary of the waiting, takes its flight. And after the\nman is dead, the doctors are kind enough to certify that he died of\nheart failure.\n\nSo--in a general way--I speak of all the asylums, of all the homes for\norphans. When I see one of those buildings I feel that it is full of\npetty tyranny, of what might be called pious meanness, devout deviltry,\nwhere the object is to break the will of every recipient of public\nfavor.\n\nI may be all wrong. I hope I am. At the same time I fear that I am\nsomewhere near right.\n\nYou may take our prisons; the treatment of prisoners is often infamous.\nThe Elmira Reformatory is a worthy successor of the Inquisition, a\ndisgrace, in my judgment, to the State of New York, to the civilization\nof our day. Every little while something comes to light showing the\ncruelty, the tyranny, the meanness, of these professional distributers\nof public charity--of these professed reformers.\n\nI know that they are visited now and then by committees from the\nLegislature, and I know that the keepers of these places know when the\n\"committee\" may be expected.\n\nI know that everything is scoured and swept and burnished for the\noccasion; and I know that the poor devils that have been abused or\nwhipped or starved, fear to open their mouths, knowing that if they\ndo they may not be believed and that they will be treated afterward as\nthough they were wild beasts.\n\nI think these public institutions ought to be open to inspection at all\ntimes. I think the very best men ought to be put in control of them.\nI think only those doctors who have passed, and recently passed,\nexaminations as to their fitness, as to their intelligence and\nprofessional acquirements, ought to be put in charge.\n\nI do not think that hospitals should be places for young doctors to\npractice sawing off the arms and legs of paupers or hunting in the\nstomachs of old women for tumors. I think only the skillful, the\nexperienced, should be employed in such places. Neither do I think\nhospitals should be places where medicine is distributed by students to\nthe poor.\n\nIgnorance is a poor doctor, even for the poor, and if we pretend to be\ncharitable we ought to carry it out.\n\nI would like to see tyranny done away with in prisons, in the\nreformatories, and in all places under the government or supervision of\nthe State.\n\nI would like to have all corporal punishment abolished, and I would also\nlike to see the money that is given to charity distributed by charity\nand by intelligence. I hope all these institutions will be overhauled.\n\nI hope all places where people are pretending to take care of the poor\nand for which they collect money from the public, will be visited, and\nwill be visited unexpectedly and the truth told.\n\nIn my judgment there is some better way. I think every hospital,\nevery asylum, every home for waifs and orphans should be supported by\ntaxation, not by charity; should be under the care and control of the\nState absolutely.\n\nI do not believe in these institutions being managed by any individual\nor by any society, religious or secular, but by the State. I would no\nmore have hospitals and asylums depend on charity than I would have the\npublic school depend on voluntary contributions.\n\nI want the schools supported by taxation and to be controlled by the\nState, and I want the hospitals and asylums and charitable institutions\nfounded and controlled and carried on in the same way. Let the property\nof the State do it.\n\nLet those pay the taxes who are able. And let us do away forever with\nthe idea that to take care of the sick, of the helpless, is a charity.\nIt is not a charity. It is a duty. It is something to be done for our\nown sakes. It is no more a charity than it is to pave or light the\nstreets, no more a charity than it is to have a system of sewers.\n\nIt is all for the purpose of protecting society and of civilizing\nourselves.\n\n\n\n\nSPAIN AND THE SPANIARDS.\n\n\nSPAIN has always been exceedingly religious and exceedingly cruel. That\ncountry had an unfortunate experience. The Spaniards fought the Moors\nfor about seven hundred or eight hundred years, and during that time\nCatholicism and patriotism became synonymous. They were fighting the\nMoslems. It was a religious war. For this reason they became intense in\ntheir Catholicism, and they were fearful that if they should grant the\nleast concession to the Moor, God would destroy them. Their idea was\nthat the only way to secure divine aid was to have absolute faith, and\nthis faith was proved by their hatred of all ideas inconsistent with\ntheir own.\n\nSpain has been and is the victim of superstition. The Spaniards expelled\nthe Jews, who at that time represented a good deal of wealth and\nconsiderable intelligence. This expulsion was characterized by infinite\nbrutality and by cruelties that words can not express. They drove\nout the Moors at last. Not satisfied with this, they drove out the\nMoriscoes. These were Moors who had been converted to Catholicism.\n\nThe Spaniards, however, had no confidence in the honesty of the\nconversion, and for the purpose of gaining the good will of God, they\ndrove them out. They had succeeded in getting rid of Jews, Moors and\nMoriscoes; that is to say, of the intelligence and industry of Spain.\nNothing was left but Spaniards; that is to say, indolence, pride,\ncruelty and infinite superstition. So Spain destroyed all freedom of\nthought through the Inquisition, and for many years the sky was livid\nwith the flames of the _Auto da fe_; Spain was busy carrying fagots\nto the feet of philosophy, busy in burning people for thinking, for\ninvestigating, for expressing honest opinions. The result was that a\ngreat darkness settled over Spain, pierced by no star and shone upon by\nno rising sun.\n\nAt one time Spain was the greatest of powers, owner of half the world,\nand now she has only a few islands, the small change of her great\nfortune, the few pennies in the almost empty purse, souvenirs of\ndeparted wealth, of vanished greatness. Now Spain is bankrupt, bankrupt\nnot only in purse, but in the higher faculties of the mind, a nation\nwithout progress, without thought; still devoted to bull fights and\nsuperstition, still trying to affright contagious diseases by religious\nprocessions. Spain is a part of the mediaeval ages, belongs to an ancient\ngeneration. It really has no place in the nineteenth century.\n\nSpain has always been cruel. S. S. Prentice, many years ago, speaking\nof Spain said: \"On the shore of discovery it leaped an armed robber, and\nsought for gold even in the throats of its victims.\" The bloodiest pages\nin the history of this world have been written by Spain. Spain in Peru,\nin Mexico, Spain in the low countries--all possible cruelties come back\nto the mind when we say Philip II., when we say the Duke of Alva, when\nwe pronounce the names of Ferdinand and Isabella. Spain has inflicted\nevery torture, has practiced every cruelty, has been guilty of every\npossible outrage. There has been no break between Torquemada and\nWeyler, between the Inquisition and the infamies committed in Cuba.\n\nWhen Columbus found Cuba, the original inhabitants were the kindest and\ngentlest of people. They practiced no inhuman rites, they were good,\ncontented people. The Spaniards enslaved them or sought to enslave them.\nThe people rising, they were hunted with dogs, they were tortured, they\nwere murdered, and finally exterminated. This was the commencement of\nSpanish rule on the island of Cuba. The same spirit is in Spain to-day\nthat was in Spain then. The idea is not to conciliate, but to coerce,\nnot to treat justly, but to rob and enslave. No Spaniard regards a\nCuban as having equal rights with himself. He looks upon the island as\nproperty, and upon the people as a part of that property, both equally\nbelonging to Spain.\n\nSpain has kept no promises made to the Cubans and never will. At last\nthe Cubans know exactly what Spain is, and they have made up their minds\nto be free or to be exterminated. There is nothing in history to equal\nthe atrocities and outrages that have been perpetrated by Spain upon\nCuba. What Spain does now, all know is only a repetition of what Spain\nhas done, and this is a prophecy of what Spain will do if she has the\npower.\n\nSo far as I am concerned, I have no idea that there is to be any war\nbetween Spain and the United States. A country that can't conquer Cuba,\ncertainly has no very flattering chance of overwhelming the United\nStates. A man that cannot whip one of his own boys is foolish when he\nthreatens to clean out the whole neighborhood. Of course, there is\nsome wisdom even in Spain, and the Spaniards who know anything of this\ncountry know that it would be absolute madness and the utmost extreme\nof folly to attack us. I believe in treating even Spain with perfect\nfairness. I feel about the country as Burns did about the Devil: \"O wad\nye tak' a thought an' mend!\" I know that nations, like people, do as\nthey must, and I regard Spain as the victim and result of conditions,\nthe fruit of a tree that was planted by ignorance and watered by\nsuperstition.\n\nI believe that Cuba is to be free, and I want that island to give a new\nflag to the air, whether it ever becomes a part of the United States\nor not. My sympathies are all with those who are struggling for their\nrights, trying to get the clutch of tyranny from their throats; for\nthose who are defending their homes, their firesides, against tyrants\nand robbers.\n\nWhether the Maine was blown up by the Spaniards is still a question. I\nsuppose it will soon be decided. In my own opinion, the disaster came\nfrom the outside, but I do not know, and not knowing, I am willing\nto wait for the sake of human nature. I sincerely hope that it was an\naccident. I hate to think that there are people base and cruel enough\nto commit such an act. Still, I think that all these matters will be\nsettled without war.\n\nI am in favor of an international court, the members to be selected\nby the ruling nations of the world; and before this court I think all\nquestions between nations should be decided, and the only army and the\nonly navy should be under its direction, and used only for the purpose\nof enforcing its decrees. Were there such a court now, before which\nCuba could appear and tell the story of her wrongs, of the murders, the\nassassinations, the treachery, the starvings, the cruelty, I think that\nthe decision would instantly be in her favor and that Spain would be\ndriven from the island. Until there is such a court there is no need of\ntalking about the world being civilized.\n\nI am not a Christian, but I do believe in the religion of justice, of\nkindness. I believe in humanity. I do believe that usefulness is the\nhighest possible form of worship. The useful man is the good man, the\nuseful man is the real saint. I care nothing about supernatural myths\nand mysteries, but I do care for human beings. I have a little short\ncreed of my own, not very hard to understand, that has in it no\ncontradictions, and it is this: Happiness is the only good. The time to\nbe happy is now. The place to be happy is here. The way to be happy is\nto make others so.\n\nI think this creed if adopted, would do away with war. I think it would\ndestroy superstition, and I think it would civilize even Spain.\n\n\n\n\nOUR NEW POSSESSIONS.\n\n\nAS I understand it, the United States went into this war against Spain\nin the cause of freedom. For three years Spain has been endeavoring\nto conquer these people. The means employed were savage. Hundreds\nof thousands were starved. Yet the Cubans, with great heroism, were\ncontinuing the struggle. In spite of their burned homes, their wasted\nfields, their dead comrades, the Cubans were not conquered and still\nwaged war. Under those circumstances we said to Spain, \"You must\nwithdraw from the Western World. The Cubans have the right to be free!\"\nThey have been robbed and enslaved by Spanish officers and soldiers.\nUndoubtedly they were savages when first found, and undoubtedly they are\nworse now than when discovered--more barbarous. They wouldn't make\nvery good citizens of the United States; they are probably incapable\nof self-government, but no people can be ignorant enough to be justly\nrobbed or savage enough to be rightly enslaved. I think that we should\nkeep the islands, not for our own sake, but for the sake of these\npeople.\n\nIt was understood and declared at the time, that we were not waging war\nfor the sake of territory, that we were not trying to annex Cuba, but\nthat we were moved by compassion--a compassion that became as stern as\njustice. I did not think at the time there would be war. I supposed that\nthe Spanish people had some sense, that they knew their own condition\nand the condition of this Republic. But the improbable happened, and\nnow, after the successes we have had, the end of the war appears to be\nin sight, and the question arises: What shall we do with the Spanish\nislands that we have taken already, or that we may take before peace\ncomes?\n\nOf course, we could not, without stultifying ourselves and committing\nthe greatest of crimes, hand back Cuba to Spain. But to do that would be\nno more criminal, no more infamous, than to hand back the Philippines.\nIn those islands there are from eight to ten millions of people.\n\nAs far as the Philippines are concerned, I think that we should endeavor\nto civilize them, and to do this we should send teachers, not preachers.\nWe should not endeavor to give them our superstition in place of\nSpanish superstition. They have had superstition enough. They don't\nneed churches, they need schools. We should teach them our arts; how to\ncultivate the soil, how to manufacture the things they need. In other\nwords, we should deal honestly with them, and try our best to make them\na self-supporting and a self-governing people. The eagle should spread\nits wings over those islands for that and for no other purpose. We can\nnot afford to give them to other nations or to throw fragments of them\nto the wild beasts of Europe. We can not say to Russia, \"You may have a\npart,\" and to Germany, \"You may have a share,\" and to France, \"You take\nsomething,\" and so divide out these people as thieves divide plunder.\nThat we will never do.\n\nThere is, moreover, in my mind, a little sentiment mixed with this\nmatter. Manila Bay has been filled with American glory. There was won\none of our greatest triumphs, one of the greatest naval victories of the\nworld--won by American courage and genius. We can not allow any other\nnation to become the owner of the stage on which this American drama was\nplayed. I know that we can be of great assistance to the inhabitants of\nthe Philippines. I know that we can be an unmixed blessing to them, and\nthat is the only ambition I have in regard to those islands. I would no\nmore think of handing them back to Spain than I would of butchering the\nentire population in cold blood. Spain is unfit to govern. Spain has\nalways been a robber. She has never made an effort to civilize a human\nbeing. The history of Spain, I think, is the darkest page in the history\nof the world.\n\nAt the same time I have a kind of pity for the Spanish people. I feel\nthat they have been victims--victims of superstition. Their blood has\nbeen sucked, their energies have been wasted and misdirected, and they\nexcite my sympathies. Of course, there are many good Spaniards, good\nmen, good women. Cervera appears to be a civilized man, a gentleman, and\nI feel obliged to him for his treatment of Hobson. The great mass of\nthe Spaniards, however, must be exceedingly ignorant. Their so-called\nleaders dare not tell them the truth about the progress of this war.\nThey seem to be afraid to state the facts. They always commence with a\nlie, then change it a little, then change it a little more, and may be\nat last tell the truth. They never seem to dare to tell the truth at\nfirst, if the truth is bad. They put me in mind of the story of a man\ntelegraphing to a wife about the condition of her husband. The first\ndispatch was, \"Your husband is well, never better.\" The second was,\n\"Your husband is sick, but not very.\" The third was, \"Your husband is\nmuch worse, but we still have hope.\" The fourth was, \"You may as well\nknow the truth--we buried your husband yesterday.\" That is about the way\nthe Spanish people get their war news.\n\nThat is why it may be incorrect to assume that peace is coming quickly.\nIf the Spaniards were a normal people, who acted as other folks do, we\nmight prophesy a speedy peace, but nobody has prophetic vision enough\nto tell what such a people will do. In spite of all appearances, and all\nour successes, and of all sense, the war may drag on. But I hope not,\nnot only for our own sake, but for the sake of the Spaniards themselves.\nI can't help thinking of the poor peasants who will be killed, neither\ncan I help thinking of the poor peasants who will have to toil for many\nyears on the melancholy fields of Spain to pay the cost of this war. I\nam sorry for them, and I am sorry also for the widows and orphans, and\nno one will be more delighted when peace comes.\n\nThe argument has been advanced in the National Senate and elsewhere,\nthat the Federal Constitution makes no provision for the holding of\ncolonies or dependencies, such as the Philippines would be; that we can\nonly acquire them as territories, and eventually must take them in\nas States, with their population of mixed and inferior races. That is\nhardly an effective argument.\n\nWhen this country was an infant, still in its cradle, George Washington\ngave the child some very good advice; told him to beware of entangling\nalliances, to stay at home and attend to his own business. Under the\ncircumstances this was all very good. But the infant has been growing,\nand the Republic is now one of the most powerful nations in the world,\nand yet, from its infant days until now, good, conservative people have\nbeen repeating the advice of Washington. It was repeated again and again\nwhen we were talking about purchasing Louisiana, and many Senators and\nCongressmen became hysterical and predicted the fall of the Republic if\nthat was done. The same thing took place when we purchased Florida, and\nagain when we got one million square miles from Mexico, and still again\nwhen we bought Alaska. These ideas about violating the Constitution and\nwrecking the Republic were promulgated by our great and wise statesmen\non all these previous occasions, but, after all, the Constitution seems\nto have borne the strain. There seems to be as much liberty now as there\nwas then, and, in fact, a great deal more. Our Territories have given us\nno trouble, while they have greatly added to our population and vastly\nincreased our wealth.\n\nBeside this, the statesmen of the olden time, the wise men with whom\nwisdom was supposed to have perished, could not and did not imagine the\nimprovements that would take place after they were gone. In their time,\npractically speaking, it was farther from New York to Buffalo than it is\nnow from New York to San Francisco, and so far as the transportation of\nintelligence is concerned, San Francisco is as near New York as it would\nhave been in their day had it been just across the Harlem River. Taking\ninto consideration the railways, the telegraphs and the telephones, this\ncountry now, with its area of three million five hundred thousand square\nmiles, is not so large as the thirteen original colonies were; that is\nto say, the distances are more easily traveled and more easily overcome.\nIn those days it required months and months to cross the continent. Now\nit is the work of four or five days.\n\nYet, when we came to talk about annexing the Hawaiian Islands, the\nadvice of George Washington was again repeated, and the older the\nSenator the fonder he was of this advice. These Senators had the idea\nthat the Constitution, having nothing in favor of it, must contain\nsomething, at least in spirit, against it. Of course, our fathers had\nno idea of the growth of the Republic. We have, because with us it is a\nmatter of experience. I don't see that Alaska has imperiled any of the\nliberties of New York. We need not admit Alaska as a State unless it has\na population entitling it to admission, and we are not bound to take in\nthe Sandwich Islands until the people are civilized, until they are fit\ncompanions of free men and free women. It may be that a good many of our\ncitizens will go to the Sandwich Islands, and that, in a short time,\nthe people there will be ready to be admitted as a State. All this the\nConstitution can stand, and in it there is no danger of imperialism.\n\nI believe in national growth. As a rule, the prosperous farmer wants to\nbuy the land that adjoins him, and I think a prosperous nation has the\nambition of growth. It is better to expand than to shrivel; and, if our\nConstitution is too narrow to spread over the territory that we have\nthe courage to acquire, why we can make a broader one. It is a very easy\nmatter to make a constitution, and no human happiness, no prosperity,\nno progress should be sacrificed for the sake of a piece of paper with\nwriting on it; because there is plenty of paper and plenty of men to do\nthe writing, and plenty of people to say what the writing should be.\nI take more interest in people than I do in constitutions. I regard\nconstitutions as secondary; they are means to an end, but the dear,\nold, conservative gentlemen seem to regard constitutions as ends in\nthemselves.\n\nI have read what ex-President Cleveland had to say on this important\nsubject, and I am happy to say that I entirely disagree with him. So,\ntoo, I disagree with Senator Edmunds, and with Mr. Bryan, and with\nSenator Hoar, and with all the other gentlemen who wish to stop the\ngrowth of the Republic. I want it to grow.\n\nAs to the final destiny of the island possessions won from Spain, my\nidea is that the Philippine Islands will finally be free, protected, it\nmay be for a long time, by the United States. I think Cuba will come to\nus for protection, naturally, and, so far as I am concerned, I want\nCuba only when Cuba wants us. I think that Porto Rico and some of those\nislands will belong permanently to the United States, and I believe Cuba\nwill finally become a part of our Republic.\n\nWhen the opponents of progress found that they couldn't make the\nAmerican people take the back track by holding up their hands over the\nConstitution, they dragged in the Monroe doctrine. When we concluded not\nto allow Spain any longer to enslave her colonists, or the people who\nhad been her colonists, in the New World, that was a very humane and\nwise resolve, and it was strictly in accord with the Monroe doctrine.\nFor the purpose of conquering Spain, we attacked her fleet in Manila\nBay, and destroyed it. I can not conceive how that action of ours can\nbe twisted into a violation of the Monroe doctrine. The most that can be\nsaid is, that it is an extension of that doctrine, and that we are now\nsaying to Spain, \"You shall not enslave, you shall not rob, anywhere\nthat we have the power to prevent it.\"\n\nHaving taken the Philippines, the same humanity that dictated the\ndeclaration of what is called the Monroe doctrine, will force us to act\nthere in accordance with the spirit of that doctrine. The other day I\nsaw in the paper an extract, I think, from Goldwin Smith, in which\nhe says that if we were to bombard Cadiz we would give up the Monroe\ndoctrine. I do not see the application. We are at war with Spain, and we\nhave a right to invade that country, and the invasion would have nothing\nwhatever to do with the Monroe doctrine. War being declared, we have\nthe right to do anything consistent with civilized warfare to gain the\nvictory. The bombardment of Cadiz would have no more to do with the\nMonroe doctrine than with the attraction of gravitation. If, by the\nMonroe doctrine is meant that we have agreed to stay in this hemisphere,\nand to prevent other nations from interfering with any people\non this hemisphere, and if it is said that, growing out of this, is\nanother doctrine, namely, that we are pledged not to interfere with\nany people living on the other hemisphere, then it might be called a\nviolation of the Monroe doctrine for us to bombard Cadiz. But such is\nnot the Monroe doctrine. If, we being at war with England, she should\nbombard the city of New York, or we should bombard some city of England,\nwould anybody say that either nation had violated the Monroe doctrine? I\ndo not see how that doctrine is involved, whether we fight at sea or on\nthe territory of the enemy.\n\nThis is the first war, so far as I know, in the history of the world\nthat has been waged absolutely in the interest of humanity; the only\nwar born of pity, of sympathy; and for that reason I have taken a deep\ninterest in it, and I must say that I was greatly astonished by the\nvictory of Admiral Dewey in Manila Bay. I think it one of the most\nwonderful in the history of the world, and I think all that Dewey\nhas done shows clearly that he is a man of thought, of courage and of\ngenius. So, too, the victory over the fleet of Cervera by Commodore\nSchley, is one of the most marvelous and the most brilliant in all\nthe annals of the world. The marksmanship, the courage, the absolute\nprecision with which everything was done, is to my mind astonishing.\nNeither should we forget Wainwright's heroic exploit, as commander of\nthe Gloucester, by which he demonstrated that torpedo destroyers have\nno terrors for a yacht manned by American pluck. Manila Bay and Santiago\nboth are surpassingly wonderful. There are no words with which to\ndescribe such deeds--deeds that leap like flames above the clouds and\nglorify the whole heavens.\n\nThe Spanish have shown in this contest that they possess courage, and\nthey have displayed what you might call the heroism of desperation,\nbut the Anglo-Saxon has courage and coolness--courage not blinded by\npassion, courage that is the absolute servant of intelligence. The\nAnglo-Saxon has a fixedness of purpose that is never interfered with by\nfeeling; he does not become enraged--he becomes firm, unyielding, his\nmind is absolutely made up, clasped, locked, and he carries out his\nwill. With the Spaniard it is excitement, nervousness; he becomes\nfrantic. I think this war has shown the superiority, not simply of our\nships, or our armor, or our guns, but the superiority of our men, of\nour officers, of our gunners. The courage of our army about Santiago was\nsplendid, the steadiness and bravery of the volunteers magnificent. I\nthink that what has already been done has given us the admiration of the\ncivilized world.\n\nI know, of course, that some countries hate us. Germany is filled with\nmalice, and has been just on the crumbling edge of meanness for months,\nwishing but not daring to interfere; hateful, hostile, but keeping just\nwithin the overt act. We could teach Germany a lesson and her ships\nwould go down before ours just the same as the Spanish ships have done.\nSometimes I have almost wished that a hostile German shot might be\nfired. But I think we will get even with Germany and with France--at\nleast I hope so.\n\nAnd there is another thing I hope--that the good feeling now existing\nbetween England and the United States may be eternal. In other words,\nI hope it will be to the interests of both to be friends. I think the\nEnglish-speaking peoples are to rule this world. They are the kings of\ninvention, of manufactures, of commerce, of administration, and they\nhave a higher conception of human liberty than any other people. Of\ncourse, they are not entirely free; they still have some of the rags and\ntatters and ravelings of superstition; but they are tatters and they are\nrags and they are ravelings, and the people know it. And, besides all\nthis, the English language holds the greatest literature of the world.\n\n\n\n\nA FEW FRAGMENTS ON EXPANSION.\n\n\nA NATION rises from infancy to manhood and sinks from dotage to death.\nI think that the great Republic is in the morning of her life--the sun\njust above the horizon--the grass still wet with dew.\n\nOur country has the courage and enthusiasm of youth--her blood flows\nfull--her heart beats strong and her brow is fair. We stand on\nthe threshold of a great, a sublime career. All the conditions are\nfavorable--the environment kind. The best part of this hemisphere is\nours. We have a thousand million acres of fertile land, vast forests,\nwhole States underlaid with coal; ranges of mountains filled with\niron, silver and gold, and we have seventy-five millions of the most\nenergetic, active, inventive, progressive and practical people in the\nworld. The great Republic is a happy combination of mind and muscle, of\nhead and heart, of courage and good nature. We are growing. We have the\ninstinct of expansion. We are full of life and health. We are about to\ntake our rightful place at the head of the nations. The great powers\nhave been struggling to obtain markets. They are fighting for the trade\nof the East. They are contending for China. We watched, but we did\nnot act. They paid no attention to us or we to them. Conditions have\nchanged. We own the Hawaiian Islands. We will own the Philippines.\n\nJapan and China will be our neighbors--our customers. Our interests must\nbe protected. In China we want the \"open door,\" and we will see to it\nthat the door is kept open. The nation that tries to shut it, will get\nits fingers pinched. We have taught the Old World that the Republic must\nbe consulted. We have entered on the great highway, and we are destined\nto become the most powerful, the most successful and the most generous\nof nations. I am for expansion. The more people beneath the flag the\nbetter. Let the Republic grow..\n\n\nI BELIEVE in growth. Of course there are many moss-back conservatives\nwho fear expansion. Thousands opposed the purchase of Louisiana from\nNapoleon, thousands were against the acquisition of Florida and of the\nvast territory we obtained from Mexico. So, thousands were against the\npurchase of Alaska, and some dear old mummies opposed the annexation\nof the Sandwich Islands, and yet, I do not believe that there is an\nintelligent American who would like to part with one acre that has\nbeen acquired by the Government. Now, there are some timid, withered\nstatesmen who do not want Porto Rico--who beg us in a trembling,\npatriotic voice not to keep the Philippines. But the sensible people\nfeel exactly the other way. They love to see our borders extended.\nThey love to see the flag floating over the islands of the\ntropics,--showering its blessings upon the poor people who have been\nrobbed and tortured by the Spanish. Let the Republic grow! Let us spread\nthe gospel of Freedom! In a few years I hope that Canada will be ours--I\nwant Mexico--in other words, I want all of North America. I want to see\nour flag waving from the North Pole.\n\nI think it was a mistake to appoint a peace commission. The President\nshould have demanded the unconditional surrender of Cuba, Porto Rico\nand the Philippines. Spain was helpless. The war would have ended on our\nterms, and all this commission nonsense would have been saved. Still, I\nmake no complaint. It will probably come out right, though it would have\nbeen far better to have ended the business when we could--when Spain\nwas prostrate. It was foolish to let her get up and catch her breath and\nhunt for friends.\n\nONLY a few days ago our President, by proclamation, thanked God for\ngiving us the victory at Santiago. He did not thank him for sending the\nyellow fever. To be consistent the President should have thanked him\nequally for both. Man should think; he should use all his senses; he\nshould examine; he should reason. The man who cannot think is less than\nman; the man who will not think is a traitor to himself; the man who\nfears to think is superstition's slave. I do not thank God for the\nsplendid victory in Manila Bay. I don't know whether he had anything\nto do with it; if I find out that he did I will thank him readily.\nMeanwhile, I will thank Admiral George Dewey and the brave fellows who\nwere with him.\n\nI do not thank God for the destruction of Cervera's fleet at Santiago.\nNo, I thank Schley and the men with the trained eyes and the nerves of\nsteel, who stood behind the guns. I do not thank God because we won\nthe battle of Santiago. I thank the Regular Army, black and white--the\nVolunteers--the Rough Riders, and all the men who made the grand charge\nat San Juan Hill. I have asked, \"Why should God help us to whip Spain?\"\nand have been answered: \"For the sake of the Cubans, who have been\ncrushed and ill-treated by their Spanish masters.\" Then why did not God\nhelp the Cubans long before? Certainly, they were fighting long enough\nand needed his help badly enough. But, I am told, God's ways are\ninscrutable. Suppose Spain had whipped us; would the Christians then say\nthat God did it? Very likely they would, and would have as an excuse,\nthat we broke the Sabbath with our base-ball, our bicycles and bloomers.\n\n\n\n\nIS IT EVER RIGHT FOR HUSBAND OR WIFE TO KILL RIVAL?\n\n\nHOW far should a husband or wife go in defending the sanctity of home?\n\nIs it right for the husband to kill the paramour of his wife?\n\nIs it right for the wife to kill the paramour of her husband?\n\nThese three questions are in substance one, and one answer will be\nsufficient for all.\n\nIn the first place, we should have an understanding of the real relation\nthat exists, or should exist, between husband and wife.\n\nThe real good orthodox people, those who admire St. Paul, look upon the\nwife as the property of the husband. He owns, not only her body, but her\nvery soul. This being the case, no other man has the right to steal\nor try to steal this property. The owner has the right to defend his\npossession, even to the death. In the olden time the husband was\nnever regarded as the property of the wife. She had a claim on him for\nsupport, and there was usually some way to enforce the claim. If\nthe husband deserted the wife for the sake of some other woman, or\ntransferred his affections to another, the wife, as a rule, suffered in\nsilence. Sometimes she took her revenge on the woman, but generally she\ndid nothing. Men killed the \"destroyers\" of their homes, but the women,\nhaving no homes, being only wives, nothing but mothers--bearers of babes\nfor masters--allowed their destroyers to live.\n\nIn recent years women have advanced. They have stepped to the front.\nWives are no longer slaves. They are the equals of husbands. They have\nhomes to defend, husbands to protect and \"destroyers\" to kill. The\nrights of husbands and wives are now equal. They live under the same\nmoral code. Their obligations to each other are mutual. Both are bound,\nand equally bound, to live virtuous lives.\n\nNow, if A falls in love with the wife of B, and she returns his love,\nhas B the right to kill him? Or if A falls in love with the husband of\nB, and he returns her love, has B the right to kill her?\n\nIf the wronged husband has the right to kill, so has the wronged wife.\n\nSuppose that a young man and woman are engaged to be married, and that\nshe falls in love with another and marries him, has the first lover a\nright to kill the last?\n\nThis leads me to another question: What is marriage? Men and women\ncannot truly be married by any set or form of words, or by any\nceremonies however solemn, or by contract signed, sealed and witnessed,\nor by the words or declarations of priests or judges. All these put\ntogether do not constitute marriage. At the very best they are only\nevidences of the fact of marriage--something that really happened\nbetween the parties. Without pure, honest, mutual love there can be no\nreal marriage. Marriage without love is only a form of prostitution.\nMarriage for the sake of position or wealth is immoral. No good,\nsensible man wants to marry a woman whose heart is not absolutely his,\nand no good, sensible woman wants to marry a man whose heart is not\nabsolutely hers. Now, if there can be no real marriage without mutual\nlove, does the marriage outlast the love? If it is immoral for a woman\nto marry a man without loving him, is it moral for her to live as the\nwife of a man whom she has ceased to love? Is she bound by the words, by\nthe ceremony, after the real marriage is dead? Is she so bound that the\nman she hates has the right to be the father of her babes?\n\nIf a girl is engaged and afterward meets her ideal, a young man whose\npresence is joy, whose touch is ecstasy, is it her duty to fulfill her\nengagement? Would it not be a thousand times nobler and purer for her to\nsay to the first lover: \"I thought I loved you; I was mistaken. I belong\nheart and soul to another, and if I married you I could not be yours.\"\n\nSo, if a young man is engaged and finds that he has made a mistake, is\nit honorable for him to keep his contract? Would it not be far nobler\nfor him to tell her the truth?\n\nThe civilized man loves a woman not only for his own sake, but for\nher sake. He longs to make her happy--to fill her life with joy. He\nis willing to make sacrifices for her, but he does not want her to\nsacrifice herself for him. The civilized husband wants his wife to be\nfree--wants the love that she cannot help giving him. He does not want\nher, from a sense of duty, or because of the contract or ceremony, to\nact as though she loved him, when in fact her heart is far away. He\ndoes not want her to pollute her soul and live a lie for his sake. The\ncivilized husband places the happiness of his wife above his own. Her\nlove is the wealth of his heart, and to guard her from evil is the\nbusiness of his life.\n\nBut the civilized husband knows when his wife ceases to love him that\nthe real marriage has also ceased. He knows that it is then infamous for\nhim to compel her to remain his wife. He knows that it is her right\nto be free--that her body belongs to her, that her soul is her own. He\nknows, too, if he knows anything, that her affection is not the slave of\nher will.\n\nIn a case like this, the civilized husband would, so far as he had\nthe power, release his wife from the contract of marriage, divide his\nproperty fairly with her and do what he could for her welfare. Civilized\nlove never turns to hatred.\n\nSuppose he should find that there was a man in the case, that another\nhad won her love, or that she had given her love to another, would it\nthen be his right or duty to kill that man? Would the killing do any\ngood? Would it bring back her love? Would it reunite the family? Would\nit annihilate the disgrace or the memory of the shame? Would it lessen\nthe husband's loss?\n\nSociety says that the husband should kill the man because he led the\nwoman astray.\n\nHow do we know that he betrayed the woman? Mrs. Potiphar left many\ndaughters, and Joseph certainly had but few sons. How do we know that\nit was not the husband's fault? She may for years have shivered in the\nwinter of his neglect. She may have borne his cruelties of word and deed\nuntil her love w'as dead and buried side by side with hope. Another man\ncomes into her life. He pities her. She looks and loves. He lifts her\nfrom the grave. Again she really lives, and her poor heart is rich with\nlove's red blood. Ought this man to be killed? He has robbed no husband,\nwronged no man. He has rescued a victim, released an innocent prisoner\nand made a life worth living. But the brutal husband says that the wife\nhas been led astray; that he has been wronged and dishonored, and that\nit is his right, his duty, to shed the seducer's blood. He finds the\nfacts himself. He is witness, jury, judge and executioner. He forgets\nhis neglect, his cruelties, his faithlessness; forgets that he drove her\nfrom his heart, remembers only that she loves another, and then in the\nname of justice he takes the life of the one she loves.\n\nA husband deserts his wife, leaves her without money, without the means\nto live, with his babes in her arms. She cannot get a divorce; she must\nwait, and in the meantime she must live. A man falls in love with her\nand she with him. He takes care of her and the deserted children. The\n\"wronged\" husband returns and kills the \"betrayer\" of his wife. He\nbelieves in the sacredness of marriage, the holiness of home.\n\nIt may be admitted that the deserted wife did wrong, and that the man\nwho cared for her and her worse than fatherless children also did wrong,\nbut certainly he had done nothing for which he deserved to be murdered.\n\nA woman finds that her husband is in love with another woman, that he\nis false, and the question is whether it is her right to kill the other\nwoman. The wronged husband has always claimed that the man led his wife\nastray, that he had crept and crawled into his Eden, but now the wronged\nwife claims that the woman seduced her husband, that she spread the\nnet, wove the web and baited the trap in which the innocent husband was\ncaught. Thereupon she kills the other woman.\n\nIn the first place, how can she be sure of the facts? How does she know\nwhose fault it was? Possibly she was to blame herself.\n\nBut what good has the killing done? It will not give her back her\nhusband's love. It will not cool the fervor of her jealousy. It will not\ngive her better sleep or happier dreams.\n\nIt would have been far better if she had said to her husband: \"Go with\nthe woman you love. I do not want your body without your heart, your\npresence without your love.\"\n\nSo, it would be better for the wronged husband to say to the unfaithful\nwife: \"Go with the man you love. Your heart is his, I am not your\nmaster. You are free.\"\n\nAfter all, murder is a poor remedy. If you kill a man for one wrong, why\nnot for another? If you take the law into your own hands and kill a man\nbecause he loves your wife and your wife loves him, why not kill him for\nany injury he may inflict on you or yours?...\n\nIn a civilized nation the people are governed by law. They do not\nredress their own wrongs. They submit their differences to courts. If\nthey are wronged they appeal to the law. Savages redress what they call\ntheir wrongs. They appeal to knife or gun. They kill, they assassinate,\nthey murder; and they do this to preserve their honor. Admit that the\nseducer of the wife deserves death, that the woman who leads the husband\nastray deserves death, admit that both have justly forfeited their\nlives, the question yet remains whether the wronged husband and the\nwronged wife have the right to commit murder.\n\nIf they have this right, then there ought to be some way provided for\nascertaining the facts. Before the husband kills the \"betrayer,\" the\nfact that the wife was really led astray should be established, and the\n\"wronged\" husband who claims the right to kill, should show that he had\nbeen a good, loving and true husband.\n\nAs a rule, the wives of good and generous men are true and faithful.\nThey love their homes, they adore their children. In poverty and\ndisaster they cling the closer. But when husbands are indolent and mean,\nwhen they are cruel and selfish, when they make a hell of home, why\nshould we insist that their wives should love them still?\n\nWhen the civilized man finds that his wife loves another he does not\nkill, he does not murder. He says to his wife, \"You are free.\"\n\nWhen the civilized woman finds that her husband loves another she does\nnot kill, she does not murder. She says to her husband, \"I am free.\"\nThis, in my judgment, is the better way. It is in accordance with a far\nhigher philosophy of life, of the real rights of others. The civilized\nman is governed by his reason, his intelligence; the savage by his\npassions. The civilized, man seeks for the right, regardless of himself;\nthe savage for revenge, regardless of the rights of others.\n\nI do not believe that murder guards the sacredness of home, the purity\nof the fireside. I do not believe that crime wins victories for virtue.\nI believe in liberty and I believe in law. That country is free where\nthe people make and honestly uphold the law. I am opposed to a redress\nof grievances or the punishment of criminals by mobs and I am equally\nopposed to giving the \"wronged\" husbands and the \"wronged\" wives the\nright to kill the men and women they suspect. In other words, I believe\nin civilization.\n\nA few years ago a merchant living in the West suspected that his wife\nand bookkeeper were in love. One morning he started for a distant city,\npretending that he would be absent for a couple of weeks. He came back\nthat night and found the lovers occupying the same room. He did not kill\nthe man, but said to him: \"Take her; she is yours. Treat her well\nand you will not be troubled. Abuse or desert her and I will be her\navenger.\"\n\nHe did not kill his wife, but said: \"We part forever. You are entitled\nto one-half of the property we have accumulated. You shall have it.\nFarewell!\"\n\nThe merchant was a civilized man--a philosopher.\n\n\n\n\nPROFESSOR BRIGGS.\n\nTo the study of the Bible he has given the best years of his life. When\nhe commenced this study he was probably a devout believer in the plenary\ninspiration of the Scripture--thought that the Bible was without an\nerror; that all the so-called contradictions could be easily explained.\nHe had been educated by Presbyterians and had confidence in his\nteachers.\n\nIn spite of his early training, in spite of his prejudices, he was led,\nin some mysterious way, to rely a little on his own reason. This was\na dangerous thing to do. The moment a man talks about reason he is on\ndangerous ground. He is liable to contradict the \"Word of God.\" Then he\nloses spirituality and begins to think more of truth than creed. This is\na step toward heresy--toward Infidelity.\n\nProfessor Briggs began to have doubts about some of the miracles.\nThese doubts, like rats, began to gnaw the foundations of his faith. He\nexamined these wonderful stories in the light of what is known to have\nhappened, and in the light of like miracles found in the other sacred\nbooks of the world. And he concluded that they were not quite true. He\nwas not ready to say that they were actually false; that would be too\nbrutally candid.\n\nI once read of an English lord who had a very polite gamekeeper. The\nlord wishing to show his skill with the rifle fired at a target. He and\nthe gamekeeper went to see where the bullet had struck. The gamekeeper\nwas first at the target, and the lord cried out: \"Did I miss it?\"\n\n\"I would not,\" said the gamekeeper, \"go so far as to say that your\nlordship missed it, but--but--you didn't hit it.\"\n\nProfessor Briggs saw clearly that the Bible was the product, the growth\nof many centuries; that legends and facts, mistakes, contradictions,\nmiracles, myths and history, interpolations, prophecies and dreams,\nwisdom, foolishness, justice, cruelty, poetry and bathos were mixed,\nmingled and interwoven. In other words, that the gold of truth was\nsurrounded by meaner metals and worthless stones.\n\nHe saw that it was necessary to construct what might be called a sacred\nsmelter to divide the true from the false.\n\nUndoubtedly he reached this conclusion in the interest of what he\nbelieved to be the truth. He had the mistaken but honest idea that a\nChristian should really think. Of course, we know that all heresy\nhas been the result of thought. It has always been dangerous to grow.\nShrinking is safe.\n\nStudying the Bible was the first mistake that Professor Briggs made,\nreasoning was the second, and publishing his conclusions was the third.\nIf he had read without studying, if he had believed without reasoning,\nhe would have remained a good, orthodox Presbyterian. He probably read\nthe works of Humboldt, Darwin and Haeckel, and found that the author\nof Genesis was not a geologist, not a scientist. He seems to have his\ndoubts about the truth of the story of the deluge. Should he be blamed\nfor this? Is there a sensible man in the wide world who really believes\nin the flood?\n\nThis flood business puts Jehovah in such an idiotic light.\n\nOf course, he must have known, after the \"fall\" of Adam and Eve, that he\nwould have to drown their descendants. Certainly it would have been\nmore merciful to have killed Adam and Eve, made a new pair and kept the\nserpent out of the Garden of Eden. If Jehovah had been an intelligent\nGod he never would have created the serpent. Then there would have been\nno fall, no flood, no atonement, no hell.\n\nThink of a God who drowned a world! What a merciless monster! The\ncruelty of the flood is exceeded only by its stupidity.\n\nThousands of little theologians have tried to explain this miracle. This\nis the very top of absurdity. To explain a miracle is to destroy it.\nSome have said that the flood was local. How could water that rose over\nthe mountains remain local?\n\nWhy should we expect mercy from a God who drowned millions of men, women\nand babes? I would no more think of softening the heart of such a God\nby prayer than of protecting myself from a hungry tiger by repeating\npoetry.\n\nProfessor Briggs has sense enough to see that the story of the flood\nis but an ignorant legend. He is trying to rescue Jehovah from the\nfrightful slander. After all, why should we believe the unreasonable?\nMust we be foolish to be virtuous? The rain fell for forty days; this\ncaused the flood. The water was at least thirty thousand feet in depth.\nSeven hundred and fifty feet a day--more than thirty feet an hour, six\ninches a minute; the rain fell for forty days. Does any man with sense\nenough to eat and breathe believe this idiotic lie?\n\nProfessor Briggs knows that the Jews got the story of the flood from the\nBabylonians, and that it is no more inspired than the history of \"Peter\nWilkins and His Flying Wife.\" The destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah is\nanother legend.\n\nIf those cities were destroyed sensible people believe the phenomenon\nwas as natural as the destruction of Herculaneum and Pompeii. They do\nnot believe that in either case it was the result of the wickedness of\nthe people.\n\nNeither does any thinking man believe that the wife of Lot was changed\nor turned into a pillar of salt as a punishment for having looked back\nat her burning home. How could flesh, bones and blood be changed to\nsalt? This presupposes two miracles. First, the annihilation\nof the woman, and second, the creation of salt. A God cannot\nannihilate or create matter. Annihilation and creation are both\nimpossible--unthinkable. A grain of sand can defy all the gods. What was\nMrs. Lot turned to salt for? What good was achieved? What useful lesson\ntaught? What man with a head fertile enough to raise one hair can\nbelieve a story like this?\n\nDoes a man who denies the truth of this childish absurdity weaken the\nfoundation of virtue? Does he discourage truth-telling by denouncing\nlies? Should a man be true to himself? If reason is not the standard,\nwhat is? Can a man think one way and believe another? Of course he can\ntalk one way and think another. If a man should be honest with himself\nhe should be honest with others. A man who conceals his doubts lives a\ndishonest life. He defiles his own soul.\n\nWhen a truth-loving man reads about the plagues of Egypt, should he\nreason as he reads? Should he take into consideration the fact that like\nstories have been told and believed by savages for thousands of years?\nShould he ask himself whether Jehovah in his efforts to induce the\nEgyptian King to free the Hebrews acted like a sensible God? Should he\nask himself whether a good God would kill the babes of the people on\naccount of the sins of the king? Whether he would torture, mangle and\nkill innocent cattle to get even with a monarch?\n\nIs it better to believe without thinking than to think without\nbelieving? If there be a God can we please him by believing that he\nacted like a fiend?\n\nProbably Professor Briggs has a higher conception of God than the author\nof Exodus. The writer of that book was a barbarian--an honest barbarian,\nand he wrote what he supposed was the truth. I do not blame him for\nhaving written falsehoods. Neither do I blame Professor Briggs for\nhaving detected these falsehoods. In our day no man capable of reasoning\nbelieves the miracles wrought for the Hebrews in their flight through\nthe wilderness. The opening of the sea, the cloud and pillar, the\nquails, the manna, the serpents and hornets are no more believed than\nthe miracles of the Mormons when they crossed the plains.\n\nThe probability is that the Hebrews never were in Egypt. In the Hebrew\nlanguage there are no Egyptian words, and in the Egyptian no Hebrew.\nThis proves that the Hebrews could not have mingled with the Egyptians\nfor four hundred and thirty years. As a matter of fact, Moses is a myth.\nThe enslavement of the Hebrews, the flight, the journey through the\nwilderness existed only in the imagination of ignorance.\n\nSo Professor Briggs has his doubts about the sun and moon having been\nstopped for a day in order that Gen. Joshua might kill more heathen.\nTheologians have gathered around this miracle like moths around a flame.\nThey have done their best to make it reasonable. They have talked about\nrefraction and reflection, about the nature of the air having been\nchanged so that the sun was visible all night. They have even gone\nso far as to say that Joshua and his soldiers killed so many that\nafterward, when thinking about it, they concluded that it must have\ntaken them at least two days.\n\nThis miracle can be accounted for only in one way. Jehovah must have\nstopped the earth. The earth, turning over at about one thousand miles\nan hour--weighing trillions of tons--had to be stopped. Now we know that\nall arrested motion changes instantly to heat. It has been calculated\nthat to stop the earth would cause as much heat as could be produced by\nburning three lumps of coal, each lump as large as this world.\n\nNow, is it possible that a God in his right mind would waste all that\nforce? The Bible also tells us that at the same time God cast hailstones\nfrom heaven on the poor heathen. If the writer had known something of\nastronomy he would have had more hailstones and said nothing about the\nsun and moon.\n\nIs it wise for ministers to ask their congregations to believe this\nstory? Is it wise for congregations to ask their ministers to believe\nthis story? If Jehovah performed this miracle he must have been insane.\nThere should be some relation, some proportion, between means and ends.\nNo sane general would call into the field a million soldiers and a\nhundred batteries to kill one insect. And yet the disproportion of means\nto the end sought would be reasonable when compared with what Jehovah is\nclaimed to have done.\n\nIf Jehovah existed let us admit that he had some sense.\n\nIf it should be demonstrated that the book of Joshua is all false, what\nharm could follow? There would remain the same reasons for living a\nuseful and virtuous life; the same reasons against theft and murder.\nVirtue would lose no prop and vice would gain no crutch. Take all the\nmiracles from the Old Testament and the book would be improved. Throw\naway all its cruelties and absurdities and its influence would be far\nbetter.\n\nProfessor Briggs seems to have doubts about the inspiration of Ruth. Is\nthere any harm in that? What difference does it make whether the story\nof Ruth is fact or fiction; history or poetry? Its value is just the\nsame. Who cares whether Hamlet or Lear lived? Who cares whether\nImogen and Perdita were real women or the creation of Shakespeare's\nimagination?\n\nThe book of Esther is absurd and cruel. It has no ethical value. There\nis not a line, a word in it calculated to make a human being better. The\nking issued a decree to kill the Jews. Esther succeeded in getting this\ndecree set aside, and induced the king to issue another decree that\nthe Jews should kill the other folks, and so the Jews killed some\nseventy-five thousand of the king's subjects. Is it really important to\nbelieve that the book of Esther is inspired? Is it possible that Jehovah\nis proud of having written this book? Does he guard his copyright with\nthe fires of hell? Why should the facts be kept from the people? Every\nintelligent minister knows that Moses did not write the Pentateuch; that\nDavid did not write the Psalms, and that Solomon was not the author of\nthe song or the book of Ecclesiastes. Why not say so?\n\nNo intelligent minister believes the story of Daniel in the Lion's den,\nor of the three men who were cast into the furnace, or the story of\nJonah. These miracles seem to have done no good--seem to have convinced\nnobody and to have had no consequences. Daniel w'as miraculously saved\nfrom the lions, and then the king sent for the men who had accused\nDaniel, for their wives and their children, and threw them all into\nthe den of lions and they were devoured by beasts almost as cruel as\nJehovah. What a beautiful story! How can any man be wicked enough to\ndoubt its truth?\n\nGod told Jonah to go to Nineveh. Jonah ran away, took a boat for another\nplace. God raised a storm, the sailors became frightened, threw Jonah\noverboard, and the poor wretch was swallowed and carried ashore by a\nfish that God had prepared. Then he made his proclamation in Nineveh.\nThen the people repented and Jonah was disappointed. Then he became\nmalicious and found fault with God. Then comes the story of the gourd,\nthe worm and the east wind, and the effect of the sun on a bald-headed\nprophet. Would not this story be just as beautiful with the storm and\nfish left out? Could we not dispense with the gourd, the worm and the\neast wind?\n\nProfessor Briggs does not believe this story. He does not reject it\nbecause he is wicked or because he wishes to destroy religion, but\nbecause, in his judgment, it is not true. This may not be religious, but\nit is honest. It may not become a minister, but it certainly becomes a\nman.\n\nProfessor Briggs wishes to free the Old Testament from interpolations,\nfrom excrescences, from fungus growths, from mistakes and falsehoods.\n\nI am satisfied that he is sincere, actuated by the noblest motives.\n\nSuppose that all the interpolations in the Bible should be found and the\noriginal be perfectly restored, what evidence would we have that it was\nwritten by inspired men? How can the fact of inspiration be established?\nWhen was it established? Did Jehovah furnish anybody with a list of\nbooks he had inspired? Does anybody know that he ever said that he had\ninspired anybody? Did the writer of Genesis claim that he was inspired?\nDid any writer of any part of the Pentateuch make the claim? Did the\nauthors of Joshua, Judges, Kings or Chronicles pretend that they had\nobtained their facts from Jehovah? Does the author of Job or of the\nPsalms pretend to have received assistance from God?\n\nThere is not the slightest reference to God in Esther or in Solomon's\nSong. Why should theologians say that those books were inspired? The\ndogma of inspiration rests on no established fact. It rests only on\nassertion--the assertion of those who have no knowledge on the subject.\nProfessor Briggs calls the Bible a \"holy\" book. He seems to think that\nmuch of it was inspired; that it is in some sense a message from God.\nThe reasons he has for thinking so I cannot even guess. He seems also to\nhave his doubts about certain parts of the New Testament. He is not\ncertain that the angel who appeared to Joseph in a dream was entirely\ntruthful, or he is not certain that Joseph had the dream.\n\nIt seems clear that when the gospel according to Matthew was first\nwritten the writer believed that Christ was a lineal descendant of\nDavid, through his father, Joseph. The genealogy is given for the\npurpose of showing that the blood of David flowed in the veins of\nChrist. The man who wrote that genealogy had never heard that the Holy\nGhost was the father of Christ. That was an afterthought.\n\nHow is it possible to prove that the Holy Ghost was the father of\nChrist? The Holy Ghost said nothing on the subject. Mary wrote nothing\nand we have no evidence that Joseph had a dream.\n\nThe divinity of Christ rests upon a dream that somebody said Joseph had.\n\nAccording to the New Testament, Mary herself called Joseph the father\nof Christ. She told Christ that Joseph, his father, had been looking for\nhim. Her statement is better evidence than Joseph's dream--if he really\nhad it. If there are legends in Holy Scripture, as Professor Briggs\ndeclares, certainly the divine parentage of Christ is one of them. The\nstory lacks even originality. Among the Greeks many persons had gods for\nfathers. Among Hindoos and Egyptians these god-men were common. So in\nmany other countries the blood of gods was in the veins of men. Such\nwonders, told in Sanscrit, are just as reasonable as when told in\nHebrew--just as reasonable in India as in Palestine. Of course, there\nis no evidence that any human being had a god for a father, or a goddess\nfor a mother. Intelligent people have outgrown these myths. Centaurs,\nsatyrs, nymphs and god-men have faded away. Science murdered them all.\n\nThere are many contradictions in the gospels. They differ not only on\nquestions of fact, but as to Christianity itself. According to Matthew,\nMark and Luke, if you will forgive others God will forgive you. This\nis the one condition of salvation. But in John we find an entirely\ndifferent religion. According to John you must be born again and\nbelieve in Jesus Christ. There you find for the first time about\nthe atonement--that Christ died to save sinners. The gospel of John\ndiscloses a regular theological system--a new one. To forgive others is\nnot enough. You must have faith. You must be born again.\n\nThe four gospels cannot be harmonized. If John is true the others are\nfalse. If the others are true John is false. From this there is no\nescape. I do not for a moment suppose that Professor Briggs agrees with\nme on these questions. He probably regards me as a very bad and wicked\nman, and my opinions as blasphemies. I find no fault with him for that.\nI believe him to be an honest man; right in some things and wrong in\nmany. He seems to be true to his thought and I honor him for that.\n\nHe would like to get all the stumbling-blocks out of the Bible, so\nthat a really thoughtful man can \"believe.\" If theologians cling to\nthe miracles recorded in the New Testament the entire book will be\ndisparaged and denied. The \"Gospel ship\" is overloaded. Somethings must\nbe thrown overboard or the boat will go down. If the churches try to\nsave all they will lose all.\n\nThey must throw the miracles away. They must admit that Christ did not\ncast devils out of the bodies of men and women--that he did not cure\ndiseases with a word, or blindness with spittle and clay; that he had no\npower over winds and waves; that he did not raise the dead; that he was\nnot raised from the dead himself, and that he did not ascend bodily to\nheaven. These absurdities must be given up, or in a little while the\northodox ministers will be preaching the \"tidings of great joy\" to\nbenches, bonnets and bibs.\n\nProfessor Briggs, as I understand him, is willing to give up the\nabsurdest absurdities, but wishes to keep all the miracles that\ncan possibly be believed. He is anxious to preserve the important\nmiracles--the great central falsehoods--but the little lies that were\ntold just to embellish the story--to furnish vines for the columns--he\nis willing to cast aside.\n\nBut Professor Briggs was honest enough to say that we do not know the\nauthors of most of the books in the Bible; that we do not know who wrote\nthe Psalms or Job or Proverbs or the Song of Songs or Ecclesiastes or\nthe Epistle to the Hebrews. He also said that no translation can ever\ntake the place of the original Scriptures, because a translation is at\nbest the work of men. In other words, that God has not revealed to us\nthe names of the inspired books. That this must be determined by us.\nProfessor Briggs puts reason above revelation. By reason we are to\ndecide what books are inspired. By reason we are to decide whether\nanything has been improperly added to those books. By reason we are to\ndecide the real meaning of those books.\n\nIt therefore follows that if the books are unreasonable they are\nuninspired. It seems to me that this position is absolutely correct.\nThere is no other that can be defended. The Presbyterians who pretend to\nanswer Professor Briggs seem to be actuated by hatred.\n\nDr. Da Costa answers with vituperation and epithet. He answers no\nargument; brings forward no fact; points out no mistake. He simply\nattacks the man. He exhibits the ordinary malice of those who love their\nenemies.\n\nPresident Patton, of Princeton, is a despiser of reason; a hater of\nthought. Progress is the only thing that he fears. He knows that\nthe Bible is absolutely true. He knows that every word is inspired.\nAccording to him, all questions have been settled, and criticism said\nits last word when the King James Bible was printed. The Presbyterian\nChurch is infallible, and whoever doubts or denies will be damned.\nMorality is worthless without the creed. This, is the religion, the\nphilosophy, of Dr. Patton. He fights with the ancient weapons, with\nstone and club. He is a private in Captain Calvin's company, and he\nmarches to defeat with the courage of invincible ignorance.\n\nI do not blame the Presbyterian Church for closing the mouth of\nProfessor Briggs. That church believes the Bible--all of it--and the\nmembers did not feel like paying a man for showing that it was not all\ninspired. Long ago the Presbyterians stopped growing. They have been\npetrified for many years. Professor Briggs had been growing. He had\nto leave the church or shrink. He left. Then he joined the Episcopal\nChurch. He probably supposed that that church preferred the living to\nthe dead. He knew about Colenso, Stanley, Temple, Heber Newton, Dr.\nRainsford and Farrar, and thought that the finger and thumb of authority\nwould not insist on plucking from the mind the buds of thought.\n\nWhether he was mistaken or not remains to be seen.\n\nThe Episcopal Church may refuse to ordain him, and by such refusal put\nthe bigot brand upon its brow.\n\nThe refusal cannot injure Professor Briggs. It will leave him where\nit found him--with too much science for a churchman and too much\nsuperstition for a scientist; with his feet in the gutter and his head\nin the clouds.\n\nI admire every man who is true to himself, to his highest ideal, and who\npreserves unstained the veracity of his soul.\n\nI believe in growth. I prefer the living to the dead. Men are superior\nto mummies. Cradles are more beautiful than coffins. Development is\ngrander than decay. I do not agree with Professor Briggs. I do not\nbelieve in inspired books, or in the Holy Ghost, or that any God has\never appeared to man. I deny the existence of the supernatural. I know\nof no religion that is founded on facts.\n\nBut I cheerfully admit that Professor Briggs appears to be candid, good\ntempered and conscientious--the opposite of those who attack him. He is\nnot a Freethinker, but he honestly thinks that he is free.\n\n\n\n\nFRAGMENTS.\n\n\nCLOVER.\n\n     * A letter written to Col. Thomas Donaldson, of Philadelphia,\n     declining an invitation to be a guest of the Clover Club of\n     that city.\n\nI regret that I cannot be \"in clover\" with you on the 28th instant.\n\nA wonderful thing is clover! It means honey and cream,--that is to say,\nindustry and contentment,--that is to say, the happy bees in perfumed\nfields, and at the cottage gate \"bos\" the bountiful serenely chewing\nsatisfaction's cud, in that blessed twilight pause that like a\nbenediction falls between all toil and sleep.\n\nThis clover makes me dream of happy hours; of childhood's rosy cheeks;\nof dimpled babes; of wholesome, loving wives; of honest men; of springs\nand brooks and violets and all there is of stainless joy in peaceful\nhuman life.\n\nA wonderful word is \"clover\"! Drop the \"c,\" and you have the happiest\nof mankind. Drop the \"r,\" and \"c,\" and you have left the only thing that\nmakes a heaven of this dull and barren earth. Drop the \"r,\" and there\nremains a warm, deceitful bud that sweetens breath and keeps the peace\nin countless homes whose masters frequent clubs. After all, Bottom was\nright:\n\n\"Good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.\"\n\nYours sincerely and regretfully,\n\nR. G. INGERSOLL.\n\nWashington, D. C., January 16, 1883.\n\n*****\n\nSUPERSTITION puts belief above goodness--credulity above virtue.\n\nHere are two men. One is industrious, frugal, honest, generous. He has\na happy home--loves his wife and children--fills their lives with\nsunshine. He enjoys study, thoughts, music, and all the subtleties of\nArt--but he does not believe the creed--cares nothing for sacred books,\nworships no god and fears no devil.\n\nThe other is ignorant, coarse, brutal, beats his wife and children--but\nhe believes--regards the Bible as inspired--bows to the priests, counts\nhis beads, says his prayers, confesses and contributes, and the Catholic\nChurch declares and the Protestant Churches declare that he is the\nbetter man.\n\nThe ignorant believer, coarse and brutal as he is, is going to heaven.\nHe will be washed in the blood of the Lamb. He will have wings--a harp\nand a halo.\n\nThe intelligent and generous man who loves his fellow-men--who develops\nhis brain, who enjoys the beautiful, is going to hell--to the eternal\nprison.\n\nSuch is the justice of God--the mercy of Christ.\n\n*****\n\nWHILE reading the accounts of the coronation of the Czar, of the\npageants, processions and feasts, of the pomp and parade, of the\nbarbaric splendor, of cloth of gold and glittering gems, I could not\nhelp thinking of the poor and melancholy peasants, of the toiling,\nhalf-fed millions, of the sad and ignorant multitudes who belong body\nand soul to this Czar.\n\nI thought of the backs that have been scarred by the knout, of the\nthousands in prisons for having dared to say a whispered word for\nfreedom, of the great multitude who had been driven like cattle along\nthe weary roads that lead to the hell of Siberia.\n\nThe cannon at Moscow were not loud enough, nor the clang of the bells,\nnor the blare of the trumpets, to drown the groans of the captives.\n\nI thought of the fathers that had been torn from wives and children for\nthe crime of speaking like men.\n\nAnd when the priests spoke of the Czar as the \"God-selected man,\" the\n\"God-adorned man,\" my blood grew warm.\n\nWhen I read of the coronation of the Czarina I thought of Siberia. I\nthought of girls working in the mines, hauling ore from the pits with\nchains about their waists; young girls, almost naked, at the mercy\nof brutal officials; young girls weeping and moaning their lives away\nbecause between their pure lips the word Liberty had burst into blossom.\n\nYet law neglects, forgets them, and crowns the Czarina. The injustice,\nthe agony and horror in this poor world are enough to make mankind\ninsane.\n\nIgnorance and superstition crown impudence and tyranny. Millions of\nmoney squandered for the humiliation of man, to dishonor the people.\n\nBack of the coronation, back of all the ceremonies, back of all the\nhypocrisy there is nothing but a lie.\n\nIt is not true that God \"selected\" this Czar to rule and rob a hundred\nmillions of human beings.\n\nIt is all an ignorant, barbaric, superstitious lie--a lie that pomp and\npageant, and flaunting flags, and robed priests, and swinging censers,\ncannot change to truth.\n\nThose who are not blinded by the glare and glitter at Moscow see\nmillions of homes on which the shadows fall; see millions of weeping\nmothers, whose children have been stolen by the Czar; see thousands of\nvillages without schools, millions of houses without books, millions and\nmillions of men, women and children in whose future there is no star and\nwhose only friend is death.\n\nThe coronation is an insult to the nineteenth century.\n\nLong live the people of Russia!\n\n*****\n\nMUSIC.--The savage enjoys noises--explosion--the imitation of thunder.\nThis noise expresses his feeling. He enjoys concussion. His ear and\nbrain are in harmony. So, he takes cognizance of but few colors. The\nneutral tints make no impression on his eyes. He appreciates the flames\nof red and yellow. That is to say, there is a harmony between his brain\nand eye. As he advances, develops, progresses, his ear catches other\nsounds, his eye other colors. He becomes a complex being, and there has\nentered into his mind the idea of proportion. The music of the drum no\nlonger satisfies him. He sees that there is as much difference between\nnoises and melodies as between stones and statues. The strings in\nCorti's Harp become sensitive and possibly new ones are developed.\n\nThe eye keeps pace with the ear, and the worlds of sound and sight\nincrease from age to age.\n\nThe first idea of music is the keeping of time--a recurring emphasis at\nintervals of equal length or duration. This is afterward modified--the\nmusic of joy being fast, the emphasis at short intervals, and that of\nsorrow slow.\n\nAfter all, this music of time corresponds to the action of the blood and\nmuscles. There is a rise and fall under excitement of both. In joy the\nheart beats fast, and the music corresponding to such emotion is quick.\nIn grief--in sadness, the blood is delayed. In music the broad division\nis one of time. In language, words of joy are born of light--that which\nshines--words of grief of darkness and gloom. There is still another\ndivision: The language of happiness comes also from heat, and that of\nsadness from cold.\n\nThese ideas or divisions are universal. In all art are the light and\nshadow--the heat and cold.\n\n*****\n\nOF COURSE ENGLAND has no love for America. By England I mean the\ngoverning class. Why should monarchy be in love with republicanism, with\ndemocracy? The monarch insists that he gets his right to rule from\nwhat he is pleased to call the will of God, whereas in a republic the\nsovereign authority is the will of the people. It is impossible that\nthere should be any real friendship between the two forms of government.\n\nWe must, however, remember one thing, and that is, that there is an\nEngland within England--an England that does not belong to the titled\nclasses--an England that has not been bribed or demoralized by those\nin authority; and that England has always been our friend, because that\nEngland is the friend of liberty and of progress everywhere. But the\nlackeys, the snobs, the flatterers of the titled, those who are willing\nto crawl that they may rise, are now and always have been the enemies of\nthe great Republic.\n\nIt is a curious fact that in monarchical governments the highest\nand lowest are generally friends. There may be a foundation for this\nfriendship in the fact that both are parasites--both live on the labor\nof honest men. After all, there is a kinship between the prince and the\npauper. Both extend the hand for alms, and the fact that one is jeweled\nand the other extremely dirty makes no difference in principle--and the\nowners of these hands have always been fast friends, and, in accordance\nwith the great law of ingratitude, both have held in contempt the people\nwho supported them.\n\nOne thing we must not forget, and that is that the best people of\nEngland are our friends. The best writers, the best thinkers are on our\nside. It is only natural that all who visit America should find some\nfault. We find fault ourselves, and to be thin-skinned is almost a plea\nof guilty. For my part, I have no doubt about the future of America.\nIt not only is, but is to be for many, many generations, the greatest\nnation of the world.\n\nI DO not care so much where, as with whom, I live. If the right folks\nare with me I can manage to get a good deal of happiness in the city or\nin the country. Cats love places and become attached to chimney-corners\nand all sorts of nooks--but I have but little of the cat in me, and\nam not particularly in love with places. After all, a palace without\naffection is a poor hovel, and the meanest hut with love in it is a\npalace for the soul.\n\nIf the time comes when poverty and want cease for the most part to\nexist, then the city will be far better than the country. People\nare always talking about the beauties of nature and the delights of\nsolitude, but to me some people are more interesting than rocks and\ntrees. As to city and country life I think that I substantially agree\nwith Touchstone:\n\n\"In respect that it is solitary I like it very well; but in respect\nthat it is private it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it is in the\nfields it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court it is\ntedious.\"\n\n*****\n\nWHAT do I think of the lynchings in Georgia?\n\nI suppose these outrages--these frightful crimes--make the same\nimpression on my mind that they do on the minds of all civilized\npeople. I know of no words strong enough, bitter enough, to express my\nindignation and horror. Men who belong to the \"superior\" race take a\nnegro--a criminal, a supposed murderer, one alleged to have assaulted a\nwhite woman--chain him to a tree, saturate his clothing with kerosene,\npile fagots about his feet. This is the preparation for the festival.\nThe people flock in from the neighborhood--come in special trains from\nthe towns. They are going to enjoy themselves.\n\nLaughing and cursing they gather about the victim. A man steps from the\ncrowd--a man who hates crime and loves virtue. He draws his knife, and\nin a spirit of merry sport cuts off one of the victim's ears. This he\nkeeps for a trophy--a souvenir. Another gentlemen fond of a jest cuts\noff the other ear. Another cuts off the nose of the chained and\nhelpless wretch. The victim suffered in silence. He uttered no groan, no\nword--the one man of the two thousand who had courage.\n\nOther white heroes cut and slashed his flesh. The crowd cheered. The\npeople were intoxicated with joy. Then the fagots were lighted and the\nbleeding and mutilated man was clothed in flame.\n\nThe people were wild with hideous delight. With greedy eyes they watched\nhim burn; with hungry ears they listened for his shrieks--for the music\nof his moans and cries. He did not shriek. The festival was not quite\nperfect.\n\nBut they had their revenge. They trampled on the charred and burning\ncorpse. They divided among themselves the broken bones. They wanted\nmementos--keepsakes that they could give to their loving wives and\ngentle babes.\n\nThese horrors were perpetrated in the name of justice. The savages who\ndid these things belong to the superior race. They are citizens of the\ngreat Republic. And yet, it does not seem possible that such fiends are\nhuman beings. They are a disgrace to our country, our century and the\nhuman race.\n\nEx-Governor Atkinson protested against this savagery. He was threatened\nwith death. The good people were helpless. While these lynchers murder\nthe blacks they will destroy their own country. No civilized man wishes\nto live where the mob is supreme. He does not wish to be governed by\nmurderers.\n\nLet me say that what I have said is flattery compared with what I feel.\nWhen I think of the other lynching--of the poor man mutilated and hanged\nwithout the slightest evidence, of the negro who said that these murders\nwould be avenged, and who was brutally murdered for the utterance of a\nnatural feeling--I am utterly at a loss for words.\n\nAre the white people insane? Has mercy fled to beasts? Has the United\nStates no power to protect a citizen? A nation that cannot or will not\nprotect its citizens in time of peace has no right to ask its citizens\nto protect it in time of War.\n\n*****\n\nOUR COUNTRY.--Our country is all we hope for--all we are. It is the\ngrave of our father, of our mother, of each and every one of the sacred\ndead.\n\nIt is every glorious memory of our race. Every heroic deed. Every act of\nself-sacrifice done by our blood. It is all the accomplishments of the\npast--all the wise things said--all the kind things done--all the poems\nwritten and all the poems lived--all the defeats sustained--all the\nvictories won--the girls we love--the wives we adore--the children we\ncarry in our hearts--all the firesides of home--all the quiet springs,\nthe babbling brooks, the rushing rivers, the mountains, plains and\nwoods--the dells and dales and vines and vales.\n\n*****\n\nGIFT GIVING.--I believe in the festival called Christmas--not in the\ncelebration of the birth of any man, but to celebrate the triumph of\nlight over darkness--the victory of the sun.\n\nI believe in giving gifts on that day, and a real gift should be given\nto those who cannot return it; gifts from the rich to the poor, from the\nprosperous to the unfortunate, from parents to children.\n\nThere is no need of giving water to the sea or light to the sun. Let us\ngive to those who need, neither asking nor expecting return, not even\nasking gratitude, only asking that the gift shall make the receiver\nhappy--and he who gives in that way increases his own joy.\n\n*****\n\nWe have no right to enslave our children. We have no right to bequeath\nchains and manacles to our heirs. We have no right to leave a legacy of\nmental degradation.\n\nLiberty is the birthright of all. Parents should not deprive their\nchildren of the great gifts of nature. We cannot all leave lands and\ngold to those we love; but we can leave Liberty, and that is of more\nvalue than all the wealth of India.\n\nThe dead have no right to enslave the living. To worship ancestors is to\ncurse posterity. He who bows to the Past insults the Future; and allows,\nso to speak, the dead to rob the unborn. The coffin is good enough in\nits way, but the cradle is far better. With the bones of the fathers\nthey beat out the brains of the children.\n\n*****\n\nRANDOM THOUGHTS.--The road is short to anything we fear.\n\n     Joy lives in the house beyond the one we reach.\n     In youth the time is halting, slow and lame.\n     In age the time is winged and eager as a flame.\n     The sea seems narrow as we near the farther shore.\n\nYouth goes hand in hand with hope--old age with fear. .\n\nYouth has a wish--old age a dread.\n\nIn youth the leaves and buds seem loath to grow.\n\nYouth shakes the glass to speed the lingering sands.\n\nYouth says to Time: O crutched and limping laggard, get thee wings.\n\nThe dawn comes slowly, but the Westering day leaps like a lover to the\ndusky bosom of the Ethiop night.\n\n*****\n\nI THINK that all days are substantially alike in the long run. It is no\nworse to drink on Sunday than on Monday. The idea that one day in the\nweek is holy is wholly idiotic. Besides, these closing laws do no good.\n\nLaws are not locks and keys. Saloon doors care nothing about laws. Law\nor no law, people will slip in, and then, having had so much trouble\ngetting there, they will stay until they stagger out. These nasty,\nmeddlesome, Pharisaic, hypocritical laws make sneaks and hypocrites. The\nchildren of these laws are like the fathers of the laws. Ever since I\ncan remember, people have been trying to make other people temperate by\nintemperate laws. I have never known of the slightest success. It is\na pity that Christ manufactured wine, a pity that Paul took heart and\nthanked God when he saw the sign of the Three Taverns; a pity that\nJehovah put alcohol in almost everything that grows; a great pity that\nprayer-meetings are not more popular than saloons; a pity that our\nworkingmen do not amuse themselves reading religious papers and the\ngenealogies in the Old Testament.\n\nRum has caused many quarrels and many murders.\n\nReligion has caused many wars and covered countless fields with dead.\n\nOf course, all men should be temperate,--should avoid excess--should\nkeep the golden path between extremes--should gather roses, not thorns.\nThe only way to make men temperate is to develop the brain.\n\nWhen passions and appetites are stronger than the intellect, men are\nsavages; when the intellect governs the passions, when the\npassions are servants, men are civilized. The people need\neducation--facts--philosophy. Drunkenness is one form of intemperance,\nprohibition is another form. Another trouble is that these little laws\nand ordinances can not be enforced.\n\nBoth parties want votes, and to get votes they will allow unpopular laws\nto sleep, neglected, and finally refuse to enforce them. These spasms of\nvirtue, these convulsions of conscience are soon over, and then comes a\nlong period of neglectful rest.\n\n*****\n\nTHE OLD AND NEW YEAR.--For countless ages the old earth has been making,\nin alternating light and shade, in gleam and gloom, the whirling circuit\nof the sun, leaving the record of its flight in many forms--in leaves of\nstone, in growth of tree and vine and flower, in glittering gems of many\nhues, in curious forms of monstrous life, in ravages of flood and flame,\nin fossil fragments stolen from decay by chance, in molten masses hurled\nfrom lips of fire, in gorges worn by waveless, foamless cataracts of\nice, in coast lines beaten back by the imprisoned sea, in mountain\nranges and in ocean reefs, in islands lifted from the underworld--in\ncontinents submerged and given back to light and life.\n\nAnother year has joined his shadowy fellows in the wide and voiceless\ndesert of the past, where, from the eternal hour-glass forever fall the\nsands of time. Another year, with all its joy and grief, of birth and\ndeath, of failure and success--of love and hate. And now, the first day\nof the new o'er arches all. Standing between the buried and the babe, we\ncry, \"Farewell and Hail!\"--January 1,1893.\n\n*****\n\nKNOWLEDGE consists in the perception of facts, their\nrelations--conditions, modes and results of action. Experience is the\nfoundation of knowledge--without experience it is impossible to know.\nIt may be that experience can be transmitted--inherited. Suppose that an\ninfinite being existed in infinite space. He being the only existence,\nwhat knowledge could he gain by experience? He could see nothing, hear\nnothing, feel nothing. He would have no use for what we call the senses.\nCould he use what we call the faculties of the mind? He could not\ncompare, remember, hope or fear. He could not reason. How could he\nknow that he existed? How could he use force? There was in the universe\nnothing that would resist--nothing.\n\n*****\n\nMost men are economical when dealing with abundance, hoarding gold and\nwasting time--throwing away the sunshine of life--the few remaining\nhours, and hugging to their shriveled hearts that which they do not and\ncannot even expect to use. Old age should enjoy the luxury of giving.\nHow divine to live in the atmosphere, the climate of gratitude! The men\nwho clutch and fiercely hold and look at wife and children with eyes\ndimmed by age and darkened by suspicion, giving naught until the end,\nthen give to death the gratitude that should have been their own.\n\n*****\n\nDEATH OF THE AGED.\n\n     * From a letter of condolence written to a friend on the\n     death of his mother.\n\nAfter all, there is something tenderly appropriate in the serene death\nof the old. Nothing is more touching than the death of the young, the\nstrong. But when the duties of life have all been nobly done; when the\nsun touches the horizon; when the purple twilight falls upon the past,\nthe present, and the future; when memory, with dim eyes, can scarcely\nspell the blurred and faded records of the vanished days--then,\nsurrounded by kindred and by friends, death comes like a strain of\nmusic. The day has been long, the road weary, and the traveler gladly\nstops at the welcome inn.\n\nNearly forty-eight years ago, under the snow, in the little town\nof Cazenovia, my poor mother was buried. I was but two years old. I\nremember her as she looked in death. That sweet, cold face has kept my\nheart warm through all the changing years.\n\n*****\n\n     There is no cunning art to trace\n     In any feature, form or face,\n\n     Or wrinkled palm, with criss-cross lines\n     The good or bad in peoples' minds.\n\n     Nor can we guess men's thoughts or aims\n     By seeing how they write their names.\n\n     We could as well foretell their acts\n     By getting outlines of their tracks.\n\n     Ourselves we do not know--how then\n     Can we find out our fellow-men?\n\n     And yet--although the reason laughs--\n\n     We like to look at autographs--\n\n     And almost think that we can guess\n     What lines and dots of ink express.\n\n\n     * From the autograph collection of Miss Eva Ingersoll\n     Farrell.\n\n     August 11, 1892. R. G. Ingersoll.\n\n*****\n\nThe World is Growing Poor.--Darwin the naturalist, the observer,\nthe philosopher, is dead. Wagner the greatest composer the world has\nproduced, is silent. Hugo the poet, patriot and philanthropist, is at\nrest. Three mighty rivers have ceased to flow. The smallest insect was\nmade interesting by Darwin's glance; the poor blind worm became the\nfarmer's friend--the maker of the farm,--and even weeds began to dream\nand hope.\n\n*****\n\nBut if we live beyond life's day and reach the dusk, and slowly travel\nin the shadows of the night, the way seems long, and being weary we ask\nfor rest, and then, as in our youth, we chide the loitering hours. When\neyes are dim and memory fails to keep a record of events; when ears are\ndull and muscles fail to obey the will; when the pulse is low and the\ntired heart is weak, and the poor brain has hardly power to think,\nthen comes the dream, the hope of rest, the longing for the peace of\ndreamless sleep.\n\n*****\n\nSAINTS.--The saints have poisoned life with piety. They have soured the\nmother's milk. They have insisted that joy is crime--that beauty is a\nbait with which the Devil captures the souls of men--that laughter leads\nto sin--that pleasure, in its every form, degrades, and that love itself\nis but the loathsome serpent of unclean desire. They have tried to\ncompel men to love shadows rather than women--phantoms rather than\npeople.\n\nThe saints have been the assassins of sunshine,--the skeletons at\nfeasts. They have been the enemies of happiness. They have hated the\nsinging birds, the blossoming plants. They have loved the barren and\nthe desolate--the croaking raven and the hooting owl--tombstones, rather\nthan statues.\n\nAnd yet, with a strange inconsistency, happiness was to be enjoyed\nforever, in another world. There, pleasure, with all its corrupting\ninfluences, was to be eternal. No one pretended that heaven was to be\nfilled with self-denial, with fastings and scourgings, with weepings and\nregrets, with solemn and emaciated angels, with sad-eyed seraphim, with\nlonely parsons, with mumbling monks, with shriveled nuns, with days of\npenance and with nights of prayer.\n\nYet all this self-denial on the part of the saints was founded in the\npurest selfishness. They were to be paid for all their sufferings in\nanother world. They were \"laying up treasures in heaven.\" They had made\na bargain with God. He had offered eternal joy to those who would make\nthemselves miserable here. The saints gladly and cheerfully accepted the\nterms. They expected pay for every pang of hunger, for every groan,\nfor every tear, for every temptation resisted; and this pay was to bean\neternity of joy. The selfishness of the saints was equaled only by the\nstupidity of the saints.\n\nIt is not true that character is the aim of life. Happiness should be\nthe aim--and as a matter of fact is and always has been the aim,\nnot only of sinners, but of saints. The saints seemed to think that\nhappiness was better in another world than here, and they expected this\nhappiness beyond the clouds. They looked upon the sinner as foolish to\nenjoy himself for the moment here, and in consequence thereof to suffer\nforever. Character is not an end, it is a means to an end. The object of\nthe saint is happiness hereafter--the means, to make himself miserable\nhere. The object of the philosopher is happiness here and now, and\nhereafter,--if there be another world.\n\nIf struggle and temptation, misery and misfortune, are essential to\nthe formation of what you call character, how do you account for the\nperfection of your angels, or for the goodness of your God? Were the\nangels perfected through misfortune? If happiness is the only good in\nheaven, why should it not be considered the only good here?\n\nIn order to be happy, we must be in harmony with the conditions of\nhappiness. It cannot be obtained by prayer,--it does not come from\nheaven--it must be found here, and nothing should be done, or left\nundone, for the sake of any supernatural being, but for the sake of\nourselves and other natural beings.\n\nThe early Christians were preparing for the end of the world. In their\nview, life was of no importance except as it gave them time to prepare\nfor \"The Second Coming.\" They were crazed by fear. Since that time, the\nworld not coming to the expected end, they have been preparing for \"The\nDay of Judgment,\" and have, to the extent of their ability, filled the\nworld with horror. For centuries, it was, and still is, their business\nto destroy the pleasures of this life. In the midst of prosperity they\nhave prophesied disaster. At every feast they have spoken of famine, and\nover the cradle they have talked of death. They have held skulls before\nthe faces of terrified babes. On the cheeks of health they see the worms\nof the grave, and in their eyes the white breasts of love are naught but\ncorruption and decay.\n\n*****\n\nTHE WASTE FORCES OF NATURE.--For countless years the great cataracts, as\nfor instance, Niagara, have been singing their solemn songs, filling the\nsavage with terror, the civilized with awe; recording its achievements\nin books of stone--useless and sublime; inspiring beholders with the\nmajesty of purposeless force and the wastefulness of nature.\n\nForce great enough to turn the wheels of the world, lost, useless.\n\nSo with the great tides that rise and fall on all the shores of the\nworld--lost forces. And yet man is compelled to use to exhaustion's\npoint the little strength he has.\n\nThis will be changed.\n\nThe great cataracts and the great tides will submit to the genius of\nman. They are to be for use. Niagara will not be allowed to remain a\nbarren roar. It must become the servant of man. It will weave robes\nfor men and women. It will fashion implements for the farmer and the\nmechanic. It will propel coaches for rich and poor. It will fill streets\nand homes with light, and the old barren roar will be changed to songs\nof success, to the voices of love and content and joy.\n\nScience at last has found that all forces are convertible into each\nother, and that all are only different aspects of one fact.\n\nSo the flood is still a terror, but, in my judgment, the time will\ncome when the floods will be controlled by the genius of man, when the\ntributaries of the great rivers and their tributaries will be dammed\nin such a way as to collect the waters of every flood and give them\nout gradually through all the year, maintaining an equal current at all\ntimes in the great rivers.\n\nWe have at last found that force occupies a circle, that Niagara is a\nchild of the Sun--that the sun shines, the mist rises, clouds form, the\nrain falls, the rivers flow to the lakes, and Niagara fills the heavens\nwith its song. Man will arrest the falling flood; he will change its\nforce to electricity; that is to say, to light, and then force will have\nmade the circuit from light to light.\n\n*****\n\nARE Men's characters fully determined at the age of thirty?\n\nIt depends, first, on what their opportunities have been--that is to\nsay, on their surroundings, their education, their advantages; second,\non the shape, quality and quantity of brain they happen to possess;\nthird, on their mental and moral courage; and, fourth, on the character\nof the people among whom they live.\n\nThe natural man continues to grow. The longer he lives, the more he\nought to know, and the more he knows, the more he changes the views and\nopinions held by him in his youth. Every new fact results in a change of\nviews more or less radical. This growth of the mind may be hindered\nby the \"tyrannous north wind\" of public opinion; by the bigotry of\nhis associates; by the fear that he cannot make a living if he becomes\nunpopular; and it is to some extent affected by the ambition of the\nperson; that is to say, if he wishes to hold office the tendency is to\nagree with his neighbor, or at least to round off and smooth the corners\nand angles of difference. If a man wishes to ascertain the truth,\nregardless of the opinions of his fellow-citizens, the probability is\nthat he will change from day to day and from year to year--that is, his\nintellectual horizon will widen--and that what he once deemed of great\nimportance will be regarded as an exceedingly small segment of a greater\ncircle.\n\nGrowth means change. If a man grows after thirty years he must\nnecessarily change. Many men probably reach their intellectual height\nlong before they have lived thirty years, and spend the balance of their\nlives in defending the mistakes of their youth. A great man continues to\ngrow until his death, and growth--as I said before--means change. Darwin\nwas continually finding new facts, and kept his mind as open to a new\ntruth as the East is to the rising of another sun. Humboldt at the age\nof ninety maintained the attitude of a pupil, and was, until the moment\nof his death, willing to learn.\n\nThe more a man knows, the more willing he is to learn. The less a man\nknows, the more positive, a? is that he knows everything.\n\nThe smallest minds mature the earliest. The less there is to a man the\nquicker he attains his growth. I have known many people who reached\ntheir intellectual height while in their mother's arms. I have known\npeople who were exceedingly smart babies to become excessively stupid\npeople. It is with men as with other things. The mullein needs only a\nyear, but the oak a century, and the greatest men are those who have\ncontinued to grow as long as they have lived. Small people delight in\nwhat they call consistency--that is, it gives them immense pleasure to\nsay that they believe now exactly as they did ten years ago. This simply\namounts to a certificate that they have not grown--that they have not\ndeveloped--and that they know just as little now as they ever did.\nThe highest possible conception of consistency is to be true to the\nknowledge of to-day, without the slightest reference to what your\nopinion was years ago.\n\nThere is another view of this subject. Few men have settled opinions\nbefore or at thirty. Of course, I do not include persons of genius. At\nthirty the passions have, as a rule, too much influence; the intellect\nis not the pilot. At thirty most men have prejudices rather than\nopinions--that is to say, rather than judgments--and few men have lived\nto be sixty without materially modifying the opinions they held at\nthirty.\n\nAs I said in the first place, much depends on the shape, quality and\nquantity of brain; much depends on mental and moral courage. There are\nmany people with great physical courage who are afraid to express their\nopinions; men who will meet death without a tremor and will yet hesitate\nto express their views.\n\nSo, much depends on the character of the people among whom we live. A\nman in the old times living in New England thought several times before\nhe expressed any opinion contrary to the views of the majority. But\nif the people have intellectual hospitality, then men express their\nviews--and it may be that we change somewhat in proportion to the\ndecency of our neighbors. In the old times it was thought that God was\nopposed to any change of opinion, and that nothing so excited the auger\nof the deity as the expression of a new thought. That idea is fading\naway.\n\nThe real truth is that men change their opinions as long as they grow,\nand only those remain of the same opinion still who have reached the\nintellectual autumn of their lives; who have gone to seed, and who are\nsimply waiting for the winter of death. Now and then there is a brain\nin which there is the climate of perpetual spring--men who never grow\nold--and when such a one is found we say, \"Here is a genius.\"\n\nTalent has the four seasons: spring, that is to say, the sowing of the\nseeds; summer, growth; autumn, the harvest; winter, intellectual death.\nBut there is now and then a genius who has no winter, and, no matter\nhow many years he may live, on the blossom of his thought no snow falls.\nGenius has the climate of perpetual growth.\n\n*****\n\nTHE MOIETY SYSTEM.--The Secretary of the Treasury recommends a revival\nof the moiety system. Against this infamous step every honest citizen\nought to protest.\n\nIn this country, taxes cannot be collected through such\ninstrumentalities. An _informer_ is not indigenous to our soil. He\nalways has been and always will be held in merited contempt.\n\nEvery inducement, by this system, is held out to the informer to become\na liar. The spy becomes an officer of the Government. He soon becomes\nthe terror of his superior. He is a sword without a hilt and without a\nscabbard. Every taxpayer becomes the lawful prey of a detective whose\nproperty depends upon the destruction of his prey.\n\nThese informers and spies are corrupters of public morals. They resort\nto all known dishonest means for the accomplishment of what they pretend\nto be an honest object. With them perjury becomes a fine art. Their\nwords are a commodity bought and sold in courts of justice.\n\nThis is the first phase. In a little while juries will refuse to believe\nthem, and every suit in which they are introduced will be lost by the\nGovernment. Of this the real thieves will be quick to take advantage. So\nmany honest men will have been falsely charged by perjured informers and\nmoiety miscreants, that to convict the guilty will become impossible.\nIf the Government wishes to collect the taxes it must set an honorable\nexample. It must deal kindly and honestly with the people. It must\nnot inaugurate a vampire system of espionage. It must not take it for\ngranted that every manufacturer and importer is a thief, and that all\nspies and informers are honest men.\n\nThe revenues of this country are as honestly paid as they are expended.\nThere has been as much fair dealing outside as inside of the Treasury\nDepartment.\n\nBut, however that may be, the informer system will not make them honest\nmen, but will in all probability produce exactly the opposite result.\nIf our system of taxation is so unpopular that the revenues cannot be\ncollected without bribing men to tell the truth; if our officers must\nbe offered rewards beyond their salaries to state the facts; if it is\nimpossible to employ men to discharge their duties honestly, then let\nus change the system. The moiety system makes the Treasury Department\na vast vampire sucking the blood of the people upon shares. Americans\ndetest informers, spies, detectives, turners of State's evidence,\neavesdroppers, paid listeners, hypocrites, public smellers, trackers,\nhuman hounds and ferrets. They despise men who \"suspect\" for a living;\nthey hate legal lyers-in-wait and the highwaymen of the law. They abhor\nthe betrayers of friends and those who lead and tempt others to commit\na crime in order that they may detect it. In a monarchy, the detective\nsystem is a necessity. The great thief has to be sustained by smaller\nones.--December 4,1877.\n\n*****\n\nLANGUAGE.--Most people imagine that men have always talked; that\nlanguage is as old as the race; and it is supposed that some language\nwas taught by some mythological god to the first pair. But we now know,\nif we know anything, that language is a growth; that every word had to\nbe created by man, and that back of every word is some want, some wish,\nsome necessity of the body or mind, and also a genius to embody that\nwant or that wish, to express that thought in some sound that we call a\nword.\n\nAt first, the probability is that men uttered sounds of fear, of\ncontent, of anger, or happiness. And the probability is that the first\nsounds or cries expressed such feelings, and these sounds were nouns,\nadjectives, and verbs.\n\nAfter a time, man began to give his ideas to others by rude pictures,\ndrawings of animals and trees and the various other things with which he\ncould give rude thoughts. At first he would make a picture of the whole\nanimal. Afterward some part of the animal would stand for the whole, and\nin some of the old picture-writings the curve of the nostril of a horse\nstands for the animal. This was the shorthand of picture-writing. But it\nwas a long journey to where marks would stand, not for pictures, but for\nsounds. And then think of the distance still to the alphabet. Then to\nwriting, so that marks took entirely the place of pictures. Then the\ninvention of movable type, and then the press, making it possible to\nsave the wealth of the brain; making it possible for a man to leave not\nsimply his property to his fellow-man, not houses and lands and dollars,\nbut his ideas, his thoughts, his theories, his dreams, the poetry and\npathos of his soul. Now each generation is heir to all the past.\n\nIf we had free thought, then we could collect the wealth of the\nintellectual world. In the physical world, springs make the creeks and\nbrooks, and they the rivers, and the rivers empty into the great sea. So\neach brain should add to the sum of human knowledge. If we deny freedom\nof thought, the springs cease to gurgle, the rivers to run, and the\ngreat ocean of knowledge becomes a desert of barren, ignorant sand.\n\n*****\n\nTHIS IS AN AGE OF MONEY-GETTING, of materialism, of cold, unfeeling\nscience. The question arises, Is the world growing less generous, less\nheroic, less chivalric?\n\nLet us answer this. The experience of the individual is much like the\nexperience of a generation, or of a race. An old man imagines that\neverything was better when he was young; that the weather could then be\ndepended on; that sudden changes are recent inventions. So he will tell\nyou that people used to be honest; that the grocers gave full weight and\nthe merchants full measure, and that the bank cashier did not spend the\nevening of his days in Canada.\n\nHe will also tell you that the women were handsome and virtuous. There\nwere no scandals then, no divorces, and that in religion all were\northodox--no Infidels. Before he gets through, he will probably tell you\nthat the art of cooking has been lost--that nobody can make biscuit now,\nand that he never expects to eat another slice of good bread.\n\nHe mistakes the twilight of his own life for the coming of the night\nof universal decay and death. He imagines that that has happened to the\nworld, which has only happened to him. It does not occur to him that\nmillions at the moment he is talking are undergoing the experience of\nhis youth, and that when they become old they will praise the very days\nthat he denounces.\n\nThe Garden of Eden has always been behind us. The Golden Age, after all,\nis the memory of youth--it is the result of remembered pleasure in the\nmidst of present pain.\n\nTo old age youth is divine, and the morning of life cloudless.\n\nSo now thousands and millions of people suppose that the age of true\nchivalry has gone by and that honesty has about concluded to leave the\nworld. As a matter of fact, the age known as the age of chivalry was the\nage of tyranny, of arrogance and cowardice. Men clad in complete armor\ncut down the peasants that were covered with leather, and these soldiers\nof the chivalric age armored themselves to that degree that if they fell\nin battle they could not rise, held to the earth by the weight of\niron that their bravery had got itself entrenched within. Compare the\ndifference in courage between going to war in coats of mail against\nsword and spear, and charging a battery of Krupp guns!\n\nThe ideas of justice have grown larger and nobler. Charity now does,\nwithout a thought, what the average man a few centuries ago was\nincapable of imagining. In the old times slavery was upheld, and\nimprisonment for debt. Hundreds of crimes--or rather misdemeanors--were\npunishable by death. Prisons were loathsome beyond description.\nThousands and thousands died in chains. The insane were treated like\nwild beasts; no respect was paid to sex or age. Women were burned and\nbeheaded and torn asunder as though they had been hyenas, and children\nwere butchered with the greatest possible cheerfulness.\n\nSo it seems to me that the world is more chivalric, more generous,\nnearer just and fair, more charitable, than ever before.\n\n*****\n\nTHE COLORED MAN is doing well. He is hungry for knowledge. Their\nchildren are going to school. Colored boys are taking prizes in the\ncolleges. A colored man was the orator of Harvard. They are industrious,\nand in the South many are becoming rich. As the people, black and white,\nbecome educated they become better friends. The old prejudice is the\nchild of ignorance. The colored man will succeed if the South succeeds.\nThe South is richer to-day than ever before, more prosperous, and both\nraces are really improving. The greatest danger in the South, and for\nthat matter all over the country, is the mob. It is the duty of every\ngood citizen to denounce the mob. Down with the mob.\n\n*****\n\nFREEDOM OF RELIGION is the destruction of religion. In Rome, after\npeople were allowed to worship their own gods, all gods fell into\ndisrepute. It will be so in America. Here is freedom of religion, and\nall devotees find that the gods of other devotees are just as good as\ntheirs. They find that the prayers of others are answered precisely as\ntheir prayers are answered.\n\nThe Protestant God is no better than the Catholic, and the Catholic is\nno better than the Mormon, and the Mormon is no better than Nature for\nanswering prayers. In other words, all prayers die in the air which they\nuselessly agitate. There is undoubtedly a tendency among the Protestant\ndenominations to unite. This tendency is born of weakness, not of\nstrength. In a few years, if all should unite, they would hardly have\npower enough to obstruct, for any considerable time, the march of the\nintellectual host destined to conquer the world. But let us all be\ngood natured; let us give to others all the rights that we claim for\nourselves. The future, I believe, has both hands full of blessings for\nthe human race.\n\n*****\n\nTHE DEISTS AND NATURE.--We who deny the supernatural origin of the\nBible, must admit not only that it exists, but that it was naturally\nproduced. If it is not supernatural, it is natural. It will hardly\ndo for the worshipers of Nature to hold the Bible in contempt, simply\nbecause it is not a supernatural book.\n\nThe Deists of the last century made a mistake. They proceeded to show\nthat the Bible is immoral, untrue, cruel and absurd, and therefore came\nto the conclusion that it could not have been written by a being of\ninfinite wisdom and goodness,--the being whom they believed to be the\nauthor of Nature. Could not infinite wisdom and goodness just as easily\ncommand crime as to permit it? Is it really any worse to order the\nstrong to slay the weak, than to stand by and refuse to protect the\nweak?\n\nAfter all, is Nature, taken together, any better than the Bible? If God\ndid not command the Jews to murder the Canaanites, Nature, to say\nthe least, did not prevent it. If God did not uphold the practice of\npolygamy, Nature did. The moment we deny the supernatural origin of the\nBible, we declare that Nature wrote its every word, commanded all its\ncruelties, told all its falsehoods. The Bible is, like Nature, a mixture\nof what we call \"good\" and \"bad,\"--of what appears, and of what in\nreality is.\n\nThe Bible must have been a perfectly natural production not only, but\na necessary one. There was, and is, no power in the universe that could\nhave changed one word. All the mistakes in translation were necessarily\nmade, and not one, by any possibility, could have been avoided. That\nbook, like all other facts in Nature, could not have been otherwise than\nit is. The fact being that Nature has produced all superstitions, all\npersecution, all slavery, and every crime, ought to be sufficient to\ndeter the average man from imagining that this power, whatever it may\nbe, is worthy of worship.\n\nThere is good in Nature. It is the nature in us that perceives the evil,\nthat pursues the right. In man, Nature not only contemplates herself,\nbut approves or condemns her actions. Of course, \"good\" and \"bad\" are\nrelative terms, and things are \"good\" or \"bad\" as they affect man well\nor ill.\n\nInfidels, skeptics,--that is to say, Freethinkers, have opposed the\nBible on account of the bad things in it, and Christians have upheld it,\nnot on account of the bad, but on account of the good. Throw away the\ndoctrine of inspiration, and the Bible will be more powerful for good\nand far less for evil. Only a few years ago, Christians looked upon the\nBible as the bulwark of human slavery. It was the word of God, and for\nthat reason was superior to the reason of uninspired man. Had it been\nconsidered simply as the work of man, it would not have been quoted to\nestablish that which the man of this age condemns. Throw away the idea\nof inspiration, and all passages in conflict with liberty, with science,\nwith the experience of the intelligent part of the human race, instantly\nbecome harmless. They are no longer guides for man. They are simply\nthe opinions of dead barbarians. The good passages not only remain, but\ntheir influence is increased, because they are relieved of a burden.\n\nNo one cares whether the truth is inspired or not. The truth is\nindependent of man, not only, but of God. And by truth I do not mean\nthe absolute, I mean this: Truth is the relation between things and\nthoughts, and between thoughts and thoughts. The perception of this\nrelation bears the same relation to the logical faculty in man, that\nmusic does to some portion of the brain--that is to say, it is a\nmental melody. This sublime strain has been heard by a few, and I am\nenthusiastic enough to believe that it will be the music of the future.\n\nFor the good and for the true in the Old and New Testaments I have the\nsame regard that I have for the good and true, no matter where they may\nbe found. We who know how false the history of to-day is; we who know\nthe almost numberless mistakes that men make who are endeavoring to tell\nthe truth; we who know how hard it is, with all the facilities we now\nhave--with the daily press, the telegraph, the fact that nearly all can\nread and write--to get a truthful report of the simplest occurrence,\nmust see that nothing short of inspiration (admitting for the moment the\npossibility of such a thing,) could have prevented the Scriptures from\nbeing filled with error.\n\n*****\n\nAT LAST, THE SCHOOLHOUSE is larger than the church. The common people\nhave, through education, become uncommon. They now know how little is\nreally known by kings, presidents, legislators, and professors. At last,\nthey are capable of not only understanding a few questions, but they\nhave acquired the art of discussing those that no one understands. With\nthe facility of the cultured, they can now hide behind phrases and make\nbarricades of statistics. They understand the sophistries of the upper\nclasses; and while the cultured have been turning their attention to\nthe classics, to the dead languages, and the dead ideas that they\ncontain,--while they have been giving their attention to ceramics,\nartistic decorations, and compulsory prayers, the common people have\nbeen compelled to learn the practical things. They are acquainted with\nfacts, because they have done the work of the world.\n\n*****\n\nCRUELTY.--Sometimes it has seemed to me that cruelty is the climate of\ncrime, and that generosity is the Spring, Summer and Autumn of virtue.\nEvery form of wickedness, of meanness, springs from selfishness, that is\nto say, from cruelty. Every good man hates and despises the wretch who\nabuses wife and child--who rules by curses and blows and makes his home\na kind of hell. So, no generous man wishes to associate with one who\noverworks his horse and feeds the lean and fainting beast with blows.\n\nThe barbarian delights in inflicting pain. He loves to see his victim\nbleed,--but the civilized man staunches blood, binds up wounds and\ndecreases pain. He pities the suffering animal as well as the suffering\nman.\n\nHe would no more inflict wanton wounds upon a dog than on a man. The\nheart of the civilized man speaks for the dumb and helpless.\n\nA good man would no more think of flaying a living animal than of\nmurdering his mother. The man who cuts a hoof from the leg of a horse is\ncapable of committing any crime that does not require courage. Such an\nexperiment can be of no use. Under no circumstances are hoofs taken from\nhorses for the good of the horses any more than their heads would be cut\noff.\n\nThink of the pain inflicted by separating the hoof of a living horse\nfrom the flesh! If the poor beast could speak what would he say? The\nsame knowledge could be obtained by cutting away the hoof of a dead\nhorse. Knowledge of every bone, ligament, artery and vein, of every\ncartilage and joint can be obtained by the dissection of the dead.\n\"But,\" says the biologist, \"we must dissect the living.\"\n\nWell, millions of living animals have been cut in pieces; millions of\nexperiments have been tried; all the nerves have been touched; every\npossible agony has been inflicted that ingenuity could invent and\ncruelty accomplish. Many volumes have been published filled with\naccounts of these experiments, giving all the details and the results.\nPeople who are curious about such things can read these reports. There\nis no need of repeating these savage experiments. It is now known how\nlong a dog can live with all the pores of his skin closed, how long he\ncan survive the loss of his skin, or one lobe of his brain, or both of\nhis kidneys, or part of his intestines, or without his liver, and there\nis no necessity of mutilating and mangling thousands of other dogs to\nsubstantiate what is already known.\n\nOf what possible use is it to know just how long an animal can live\nwithout water--at what time he becomes insane from thirst, or blind or\ndeaf?\n\n*****\n\nTHE WORLD'S FAIR will do great good. A great many thousand people of the\nOld World will for the first time understand the new; will for the first\ntime appreciate what a free people can do. For the first time they will\nknow the value of free institutions, of individual independence, of\na country where people express their thoughts, are not afraid of\neach other, not afraid to try--a people so accustomed to success\nthat disaster is not taken into calculation. Of course, we have great\nadvantages. We have a new half of the world. We have soil better than is\nfound in other countries, and the soil is new and generous and anxious\nto be cultivated. So we have everything in hill and mountain that\nman can need--silver, and gold, and iron beyond computation--and, in\naddition to all that, our people are the most inventive. We sustain\nabout the same relation to invention that Italy in her palmy days did to\nart, or that Spain did to superstition.\n\nAnd right here it may be well enough to say that I think it was\nexceedingly unfortunate that this country was discovered under the\nauspices of Spain. Ferdinand and Isabella were a couple of wretches. The\nsame year that Columbus discovered America, these sovereigns expelled\nthe Jews from Spain, and the expulsion was accompanied by every outrage,\nby every atrocity to which man--that is to say, savage man--that is to\nsay, the superstitious savage--is capable of inflicting.\n\nThe Spaniards came to America and destroyed two civilizations far better\nthan their own. They were natural robbers, buccaneers, and thought\nnothing of murdering thousands for gold. I am perfectly willing to\ncelebrate the fact of discovery, but for the sovereigns of Spain I am\nnot willing to celebrate, except, perhaps their deaths. There is at\nleast some joy to be extracted from that.\n\nIn spite of the untoward circumstances under which the continent was\ndiscovered and settled, there is one thing that counteracted to a\ncertain degree the influence of the Old World in the New. Possibly we\nowe our liberty to the Indians. If there had been no hostile savages on\nthis continent, the kings and princes of the Old World would have taken\npossession and would have divided it out among their favorites. They\ntried to do that, but their favorites could not take possession. They\nhad to fight for the soil and in the conflict of centuries they found\nthat a good fighter was a good citizen, and the ideas of caste were\nslowly lost.\n\nThen another thing was of benefit to us. The settlers felt that they\nhad earned the soil; that they had fought for it, gained it by their\nsufferings, their courage, their selfdenial, and their labor; and the\nidea crept into their heads that the kings in Europe, who had done\nnothing, had no right to dictate to them.\n\nThus at first the spirit of caste was destroyed by respectability\nresting on usefulness. The spirit of subserviency to the Old World also\ndied, and the people who had rescued the land made up their minds not\nonly to own it, but to control it. They were also firmly convinced that\nthe profits belonged to them. In this way manhood was recognized in the\nNew World. In this way grew up the feeling of nationality here.\n\nWhat I wish to see celebrated in this great exposition are the triumphs\nthat have been achieved in this New World. These I wish to see above\nall. At the same time I want the best that labor and thought have\nproduced in all countries. It seems to me that in the presence of the\nwonderful machines, of those marvelous mechanical contrivances by which\nwe take advantage of the forces of nature, by which we make servants of\nthe elemental powers--in the presence, I say, of these, it seems to me\nrespect for labor must be born. We shall begin to appreciate the men of\nuse instead of those who have posed as decorations. All the beautiful\nthings, all the useful things, come from labor, and it is labor that has\nmade the world a fit habitation for the human race.\n\nTake from the World's Fair what labor has produced--the work of the\ngreat artists--and nothing will be left. What have the great conquerors\nto show in this great exhibition? What shall we get from the Caesars and\nthe Napoleons? What shall we get from popes and cardinals? What shall\nwe get from the nobility? From princes and lords and dukes? What excuse\nhave they for having existence and for having lived on the bread earned\nby honest men? They stand in the show-windows of history, lay figures,\non which fine goods are shown, but inside the raiment there is nothing,\nand never was. This exposition will be the apotheosis of labor. No man\ncan attend it without losing, if he has any sense at all, the spirit\nof caste; or, if he still maintains it, he will put the useful in the\nhighest class, and the useless, whether carrying sceptres or dishes for\nalms, in the lowest.--October, 1892.\n\n*****\n\nTHE SAVAGE made of the river, the tree, the mountain, a fetich. He put\nwithin, or behind these things, a spirit--according to Mr. Spencer, the\nspirit of a dead ancestor. This is considered by the modern Christian,\nand in fact by the modern philosopher, as the lowest possible phase of\nthe religious idea. To put behind the river or the tree, or within them,\na spirit, a something, is considered the religion of savagery; but\nto put behind the universe, or within it, the same kind of fetich, is\nconsidered the height of philosophy.\n\nFor my part, I see no possible distinction in these systems, except that\nthe view of the savage is altogether the more poetic. The _fetich_ of\nthe savage is the _noumenon_ of the Greek, the _God_ of the theologian,\nthe _First Cause_ of the metaphysician, the _Unknowable_ of Spencer.\n\n*****\n\nTHE UNTHINKABLE.--It is admitted by all who have thought upon the\nquestion that a First Cause is unthinkable--that a creative power\nis beyond the reach of human thought. It therefore follows that the\nmiraculous is unthinkable. There is no possible way in which the human\nmind can even think of a miracle. It is infinitely beyond our power of\nconception. We can conceive of the statement, but not of the thing. It\nis impossible for the intellect to conceive of a clay pot producing oil.\nIt is impossible to conceive even, of human life being perpetuated in\nthe midst of fire. This is just as unthinkable as that twice two are\ntwenty-seven. A man can say that three times three are two, but it\nis impossible to think of any such thing--that is, to think of such a\nstatement as true. A man may say that he heard a stone sing a song and\nheard it afterward repeat a part of Milton's \"Paradise Lost.\" Now, I can\nconceive of a man telling such a falsehood, but I cannot conceive of the\nthing having happened.\n\n*****\n\nCAN HUMAN TESTIMONY Overcome the Apparently Impossible Without\nExplanation?--It can only be believed by a philosophic mind when\nexplained--that is to say, by being destroyed as a miracle, and\npersisting simply as a fact.\n\nNow, I say that a miracle is unthinkable because a power above Nature,\na power that created Nature, is unthinkable. And if a power above\nNature be unthinkable, the miracles claiming to be supernatural are\nunthinkable. In other words, all consequences flowing from a belief in\nan infinite Creator are necessarily unthinkable.\n\n*****\n\nEDOUARD REMENYI.--This week the great violinist, Edouard Remenyi, as my\nguest, visited the Bass Rocks House, Cape Ann, Mass., and for three days\ndelighted and entranced the fortunate idlers of the beach. He played\nnearly all the time, night and day, seemingly carried away with his own\nmusic. Among the many selections given, were the andante from the Tenth\nSonata in E flat, also from the Twelfth Sonata in G minor, by Mozart.\nNothing could exceed the wonderful playing of the selections from the\nTwelfth Sonata. A hush as of death fell upon the audience, and when he\nceased, tears fell upon applauding hands. Then followed the Elegie from\nErnst; then \"The Ideal Dance\" composed by himself--a fairy piece, full\nof wings and glancing feet, moonlight and melody, where fountains fall\nin showers of pearl, and waves of music die on sands of gold--then came\nthe \"Barcarole\" by Schubert, and he played this with infinite spirit,\nin a kind of inspired frenzy, as though music itself were mad with joy;\nthen the grand Sonata in G, in three movements, by Beethoven.--August,\n1880.\n\nRemenyi's Playing.--In my mind the old tones are still rising and\nfalling--still throbbing, pleading, beseeching, imploring, wailing like\nthe lost--rising winged and triumphant, superb and victorious--then\ncaressing, whispering every thought of love--intoxicated, delirious with\njoy--panting with passion--fading to silence as softly and imperceptibly\nas consciousness is lost in sleep.\n\n*****\n\nTHE KINDERGARTEN is perfectly adapted to the natural needs and desires\nof children. Most children dislike the old system and go \"unwillingly\nto school.\" They feel imprisoned and wait impatiently for their liberty.\nThey learn without understanding and take no interest in their lessons.\nIn the Kindergarten there is perfect liberty, and study is transformed\ninto play. To learn is a pleasure. There are no wearisome tasks--no\nmental drudgery--nothing but enjoyment,--the enjoyment of natural\ndevelopment in natural ways. Children do not have to be driven to the\nKindergarten. To be kept away is a punishment.\n\nThe experience in many towns and cities justifies our belief that the\nKindergarten is the only valuable school for little children. They are\nbrought in contact with actual things--with forms and colors--things\nthat can be seen and touched, and they are taught to use their hands and\nsenses--to understand qualities and relations, and all is done under\nthe guise of play. We agree with Froebel who said: \"Let us live for our\nchildren.\"\n\n*****\n\nTHE METHODIST CHURCH STATISTICS.--First. In 1800, a resolution in favor\nof gradual emancipation was defeated.\n\nSecond. In 1804, resolutions passed requiring ministers to exhort slaves\nto be obedient to their masters.\n\nThird. In 1808, everything about laymen owning slaves Stricken out.\n\nFourth. In 1820, a resolution that ministers should not hold slaves was\ndefeated.\n\nFifth. In 1836, a resolution passed that the Methodist Church opposed,\nabolition of slavery--one hundred and twenty to fourteen.\n\nSixth. In 1845-1846, the Methodist Church divided--Bishop Andrews owned\nslaves.\n\nSeventh. As late as 1860 there were over ten thousand Methodists who\nwere slaveholders in the M. E. Church, North.\n\n*****\n\n117 East 21st Str., N. Y.\n\n     * Response to an invitation to a dinner and a billiard\n     tournament at the Manhattan Athletic Club, New York City.\n\nFeby. 18, 1899.\n\nMy Dear Dr. Ranney:\n\nI go to Boston to-morrow. So, you see it is impossible for me to be with\nyou on the 22d inst. I would like to make a few remarks on \"orthodox\nbilliards.\" The fact is that the whole world is a table, we are the\nballs and Fate plays the game. We are knocked and whacked against each\nother,--followed and drawn--whirled and twisted, pocketed and spotted,\nand all the time we think that we are doing the playing. But no matter,\nwe feel that we are in the game, and a real good illusion is, after all,\nit may be, the only reality that we know. At the same time, I feel\nthat Fate is a careless player--that he is always a little nervous and\ngenerally forgets to chalk his cue. I know that he has made lots of\nmistakes with me--lots of misses.\n\nWith many thanks, I remain, yours always.\n\nR. G. Ingersoll.\n\n*****\n\nTHOUGHTS ON CHRISTMAS, 1891.--It is beautiful to give one day to the\nideal--to have one day apart; one day for generous deeds, for good will,\nfor gladness; one day to forget the shadows, the rains, the storms of\nlife; to remember the sunshine, the happiness of youth and health; one\nday to forget the briers and thorns of the winding path, to remember the\nfruits and flowers; one day in which to feed the hungry, to salute\nthe poor and lowly; one day to feel the brotherhood of man; one day\nto remember the heroic and loving deeds of the dead; one day to get\nacquainted with children, to remember the old, the unfortunate and the\nimprisoned; one day in which to forget yourself and think lovingly of\nothers; one day for the family, for the fireside, for wife and children,\nfor the love and laughter, the joy and rapture, of home; one day in\nwhich bonds and stocks and deeds and notes and interest and mortgages\nand all kinds of business and trade are forgotten, and all stores and\nshops and factories and offices and banks and ledgers and accounts and\nlawsuits are cast aside, put away and locked up, and the weary heart and\nbrain are given a voyage to fairyland.\n\nLet us hope that such a day is a prophecy of what all days will be.\n\n*****\n\nTHE ORTHODOX PREACHERS are several centuries in the rear. They all love\nthe absurd, and glory in believing the impossible. They are also as\nconservative as though they were dead--good people--the leaders of those\nwho are going backward.\n\n*****\n\n     The Man who builds a home erects a temple.\n     The flame upon the hearth is the sacred fire.\n     He who loves wife and children is the true worshiper.\n     Forms and ceremonies, kneelings and fastings are born of selfish fear.\n     A good deed is the best prayer.\n     A loving life is the best religion.\n     No one knows whether the Unknown is worthy of worship or not.\n\n*****\n\nWE TWO, THE DOUBTING BRAIN AND HOPING HEART, with somber thought and\nradiant wish, in dusk and dawn, in light and shade 'neath star and\nsun, together journeying toward the night. And then the end, sighs the\ndoubting brain--but there is no end, says the hoping heart. O Brain! if\nyou knew, you would not doubt. O Heart! if you knew, you would not hope.\n\n*****\n\nRIGHTS AND DUTIES spring from the same source. He who has no rights\nhas no duties. Without liberty there can be no responsibility and no\nconscience. Man calls himself to an account for the use of his power,\nand passes judgment upon himself. The standard of such judgment we call\nconscience. In the proportion that man uses his liberty, his power, for\nthe good of all, he advances, becomes civilized. Civilization does not\nconsist merely in invention, discovery, material advancement, but\nin doing justice. By civilization is meant all discoveries, facts,\ntheories, agencies, that add to the happiness of man.\n\n*****\n\nAT BAY.--Sometimes in the darkness of night I feel as though surrounded\nby the great armies of effacement--that the horizon is growing\nsmaller every moment--that the final surrender is only postponed--that\neverything is taking something from me--that Nature robs me with her\ncountless hands--that my heart grows weaker with every beat--that even\nkisses wear me away, and that every thought takes toll of my brief life.\n\n*****\n\nTHE FIRST ANNIVERSARY.*--One year of perfect health--of countless\nsmiles--of wonder and surprise--of growing thought and love--was duly\ncelebrated on this day, and all paid tribute to the infant queen. There\nwere whirling things that scattered music as they turned--and boxes\nfilled with tunes--and curious animals of whittled wood--and ivory rings\nwith tinkling bells--and little dishes for a fairy-feast--horses that\nrocked, and bleating sheep and monstrous elephants of painted tin. A\nbaby-tender, for a tender babe, garments of silk and cushions wrought\nwith flowers, and pictures of her mother when a babe--and silver dishes\nfor another year--and coach and four and train of cars--and bric-a-brac\nfor a baby's house--and last of all, a pearl, to mark her first round\nyear of life and love.\n\n     * Written on the first anniversary of his grandchild, Eva\n     Ingersoll-Brown, August 27, 1892.\n\n*****\n\nSHELLEY.--The light of morn beyond the purple hills--a palm that lifts\nits coronet of leaves above the desert's sands--an isle of green in some\nfar sea--a spring that waits for lips of thirst--a strain of music heard\nwithin some palace wrought of dreams--a cloud of gold above a setting\nsun--a fragrance wafted from some unseen shore.\n\n*****\n\nFATE.--Never hurried, never delayed, passionless, pitiless, patient,\nkeeping the tryst--neither early nor late--there, on the very stroke and\ncenter of the instant fixed.\n\n*****\n\nQUIET, and introspective calm come with the afternoon. Toward evening\nthe mind grows satisfied and still. The flare and flicker of youth are\ngone, and the soul is like the flame of a lamp where the air is at rest.\nAge discards the superfluous, the immaterial, the straw and chaff, and\nhoards the golden grain. The highway is known, and the paths no longer\nmislead. Clouds are not mistaken for mountains.\n\n*****\n\nTHE OLD MAN has been long at the fair. He is acquainted with the\njugglers at the booths. His curiosity has been satisfied. He no longer\ncares for the exceptional, the monstrous, the marvelous and deformed. He\nlooks through and beyond the gilding, the glitter and gloss, not only\nof things, but of conduct, of manners, theories, religions and\nphilosophies. He sees clearer. The light no longer shines in his eyes.\n\n*****\n\nThe time will come when even selfishness will be charitable for its own\nsake, because at that time the man will have grown and developed to that\ndegree that selfishness demands generosity and kindness and justice. The\nself becomes so noble that selfishness is a virtue. The lowest form of\nselfishness is when one is willing to be happy, or wishes to be happy,\nat the expense or the misery of another. The highest form of selfishness\nis when a man becomes so noble that he finds his happiness in making\nothers so. This is the nobility of selfishness.\n\n*****\n\nCUBA fell upon her knees--stretched her thin hands toward the great\nRepublic. We saw her tear-filled eyes--her withered breasts--her dead\nbabes--her dying--her buried and unburied dead. We heard her voice, and\npity, roused to action by her grief, became as stern as justice, and\nthe great Republic cried to Spain: \"Sheathe the dagger of assassination;\ntake your bloody hand from the throat of the helpless; and take your\nflag from the heaven of the Western World.\"\n\n*****\n\nPerhaps I have reached the years of discretion. But it may be that\ndiscretion is the enemy of happiness. If the buds had discretion there\nmight be no fruit. So it may be that the follies committed in the spring\ngive autumn the harvest.--August 11,1892.\n\n*****\n\nDickens wrote for homes--Thackeray for clubs. Byron did not care for the\nfireside--for the prattle of babes--for the smiles and tears of humble\nlife. He was touched by grandeur rather than goodness,--loved storm and\ncrag and the wild sea. But Burns lived in the valley, touched by the\njoys and griefs of lowly lives.\n\nImagine amethysts, rubies, diamonds, emeralds and opals mingled as\nliquids--then imagine these marvelous glories of light and color changed\nto a tone, and you have the wondrous, the incomparable voice of Scalchi.\n\n*****\n\nTHE ORGAN.--The beginnings--the timidities--the half\nthoughts--blushes--suggestions--a phrase of grace and feeling--a\nsustained note--the wing on the wind--confidence--the flight--rising\nwith many harmonies that unite in the voluptuous swell--in the\npassionate tremor--rising still higher--flooding the great dome with the\nsoul of enraptured sound.\n\n*****\n\nNEW MEXICO is a most wonderful country. It is a ragged miser with\nbillions of buried treasure. It looks as if Nature had guarded her\nsilver and gold with enough desolation to deter all but the brave.\n\n*****\n\nWHY SHOULD THE INDIAN SUMMER of a life be lost--the long, serene, and\ntender days when earth and sky are friends? The falling leaves disclose\nthe ripened fruit--and so the flight of youth with dreams and fancies\nshould show the wealth of bending bough.\n\n*****\n\nGive milk to babes, and wine to youth. But for old age, when ghosts\nof more than two-score years are wandering on the traveled road, the\nfragrant tea, that loosens gossip's tongue, is best.--December 25,1892.\n\n     [From a letter thanking a friend for a Christmas present of\n     a chest of tea.]\n\n*****\n\nON MEMORIAL DAY our hearts blossom in gratitude as we lovingly remember\nthe brave men upon whose brows Death, with fleshless hands, placed the\nlaurel wreath of fame.\n\n*****\n\nTHE SOUL IS AN ARCHITECt--it builds a habitation for itself--and as the\nsoul is, is the habitation. Some live in dens and caves, and some in\nlowly homes made rich with love, and overrun with vine and flower.\n\n*****\n\nSCIENCE at last holds with honest hand the scales wherein are weighed\nthe facts and fictions of the world. She neither kneels nor prays, she\nstands erect and thinks. Her tongue is not a traitor to her brain. Her\nthought and speech agree.\n\n*****\n\nTHE NEGRO who can pass me in the race of life will receive my\nadmiration, and he can count on my friendship. No man ever lived who\nproved his superiority by trampling on the weak.\n\n*****\n\nRELIGION is like a palm tree--it grows at the top. The dead leaves are\nall orthodox, while the new ones and the buds are all heretics.\n\n*****\n\nMEMORY is the miser of the mind; forgetfulness the spendthrift.\n\n*****\n\nHOPE is the only bee that makes honey without flowers.\n\n*****\n\nTHE FIRES OF THE NEXT WORLD sustain the same relation to churches that\nthose in this world sustain to insurance companies.\n\n*****\n\nNow and then there arises a man who on peril's edge draws from the\nscabbard of despair the sword of victory.\n\n*****\n\nThe falling leaf that tells of autumn's death is, in a subtler sense, a\nprophecy of spring.\n\n*****\n\nVice lives either before Love is born, or after Love is dead.\n\n*****\n\nIntellectual freedom is only the right to be honest.\n\n*****\n\nI believe that finally man will go through the phase of religion before\nbirth.\n\n*****\n\nWhen shrill chanticleer pierces the dull ear of morn.\n\n*****\n\nOrthodoxy is the refuge of mediocrity.\n\n*****\n\nThe ocean is the womb of all that will be, the tomb of all that has\nbeen.\n\n*****\n\nJealousy never knows the value of a fact.\n\nEnvy cannot reason, malice cannot prophesy.\n\n*****\n\nLove has a kind of second sight.\n\n*****\n\nI have never given to any one a sketch of my life. According to my idea\na life should not be written until it has been lived.--July 1, 1888.\n\n\n\n\nEFFECT OF THE WORLD'S FAIR ON THE HUMAN RACE.\n\n\nTHE Great Fair should be for the intellectual, mechanical, artistic,\npolitical and social advancement of the world. Nations, like small\ncommunities, are in danger of becoming provincial, and must become\nso, unless they exchange commodities, theories, thoughts, and ideals.\nIsolation is the soil of ignorance, and ignorance is the soil of\negotism; and nations, like individuals who live apart, mistake\nprovincialism for perfection, and hatred of all other nations for\npatriotism. With most people, strangers are not only enemies, but\ninferiors. They imagine that they are progressive because they know\nlittle of others, and compare their present, not with the present of\nother nations, but with their own past.\n\nFew people have imagination enough to sympathize with those of a\ndifferent complexion, with those professing another religion or speaking\nanother language, or even wearing garments unlike their own. Most people\nregard every difference between themselves and others as an evidence of\nthe inferiority of the others. They have not intelligence enough to put\nthemselves in the place of another if that other happens to be outwardly\nunlike themselves.\n\nCountless agencies have been at work for many years destroying the\nhedges of thorn that have so long divided nations, and we at last are\nbeginning to see that other people do not differ from us, except in the\nsame particulars that we differ from them. At last, nations are becoming\nacquainted with each other, and they now know that people everywhere are\nsubstantially the same. We now know that while nations differ outwardly\nin form and feature, somewhat in theory, philosophy and creed,\nstill, inwardly--that is to say, so far as hopes and passions are\nconcerned--they are much the same, having the same fears, experiencing\nthe same joys and sorrows. So we are beginning to find that the virtues\nbelong exclusively to no race, to no creed, and to no religion; that the\nhumanities dwell in the hearts of men, whomever and whatever they\nmay happen to worship. We have at last found that every creed is of\nnecessity a provincialism, destined to be lost in the universal.\n\nAt last, Science extends an invitation to all nations, and places at\ntheir disposal its ships and its cars; and when these people meet--or\nrather, the representatives of these people--they will find that, in\nspite of the accidents of birth, they are, after all, about the same;\nthat their sympathies, their ideas' of right and wrong, of virtue and\nvice, of heroism and honor, are substantially alike. They will find that\nin every land honesty is honored, truth respected and admired, and that\ngenerosity and charity touch all hearts.\n\nSo it is of the greatest importance that the inventions of the world\nshould be brought beneath one roof. These inventions, in my judgment,\nare destined to be the liberators of mankind. They enslave forces and\ncompel the energies of nature to work for man. These forces have no\nbacks to feel the lash, no tears to shed, no hearts to break.\n\nThe history of the world demonstrates that man becomes What we call\ncivilized by increasing his wants. As his necessities increase, he\nbecomes industrious and energetic. If his heart does not keep pace with\nhis brain, he is cruel, and the physically or mentally strong enslave\nthe physically or mentally weak. At present these inventions, while they\nhave greatly increased the countless articles needed by man, have to\na certain extent enslaved mankind. In a savage state there are few\nfailures. Almost any one succeeds in hunting and fishing. The wants are\nfew, and easily supplied. As man becomes civilized, wants increase; or\nrather as wants increase, man becomes civilized. Then the struggle for\nexistence becomes complex; failures increase.\n\nThe first result of the invention of machinery has been to increase the\nwealth of the few. The hope of the world is that through invention man\ncan finally take such advantage of these forces of nature, of the weight\nof water, of the force of wind, of steam, of electricity, that they will\ndo the work of the world; and it is the hope of the really civilized\nthat these inventions will finally cease to be the property of the few,\nto the end that they may do the work of all for all.\n\nWhen those who do the work own the machines, when those who toil control\nthe invention, then, and not till then, can the world be civilized or\nfree. When these forces shall do the bidding of the individual, when\nthey become the property of the mechanic instead of the monopoly, when\nthey belong to labor instead of what is called capital, when these great\npowers are as free to the individual laborer as the air and light\nare now free to all, then, and not until then, the individual will be\nrestored and all forms of slavery will disappear.\n\nAnother great benefit will come from the Fair. Other nations in some\ndirections are more artistic than we, but no other nation has made\nthe common as beautiful as we have. We have given beauty of form to\nmachines, to common utensils, to the things of every day, and have thus\nlaid the foundation for producing the artistic in its highest possible\nforms. It will be of great benefit to us to look upon the paintings and\nmarbles of the Old World. To see them is an education.\n\nThe great Republic has lived a greater poem than the brain and heart of\nman have as yet produced, and we have supplied material for artists and\npoets yet unborn; material for form and color and song. The Republic is\nto-day Art's greatest market.\n\nNothing else is so well calculated to make friends of all nations as\nreally to become acquainted with the best that each has produced.\n\nThe nation that has produced a great poet, a great artist, a great\nstatesman, a great thinker, takes its place on an equality with other\nnations of the world, and transfers to all of its citizens some of the\ngenius of its most illustrious men.\n\nThis great Fair will be an object lesson to other nations. They will see\nthe result of a government, republican in form, where the people are the\nsource of authority, where governors and presidents are servants--not\nrulers. We want all nations to see the great Republic as it is, to study\nand understand its growth, development and destiny. We want them to know\nthat here, under our flag, are sixty-five millions of people and that\nthey are the best fed, the best clothed and the best housed in the\nworld. We want them to know that we are solving the great social\nproblems, and that we are going to demonstrate the right and power of\nman to govern himself. We want the subjects of other nations to see\naland filled with citizens--not subjects; aland in which the pew is\nabove the pulpit; where the people are superior to the state; where\nlegislators are representatives and where authority means simply the\nduty to enforce the people's will.\n\nLet us hope above all things that this Fair will bind the nations\ntogether closer and stronger; and let us hope that this will result in\nthe settlement of all national difficulties by arbitration instead of\nwar. In a savage state, individuals settle their own difficulties by\nan appeal to force. After a time these individuals agree that their\ndifficulties shall be settled by others. This is the first great step\ntoward civilization. The result is the establishment of courts. Nations\nat present sustain to each other the same relation that savage does\nto savage. Each nation is left to decide for itself, and it generally\ndecides according to its strength--not the strength of its side of the\ncase, but the strength of its army. The consequence is that what is\ncalled \"the Law of Nations\" is a savage code. The world will never be\ncivilized until there is an international court. Savages begin to be\ncivilized when they submit their difficulties to their peers. Nations\nwill become civilized when they submit their difficulties to a great\ncourt, the judgments of which can be carried out, all nations pledging\nthe co-operation of their armies and their navies for that purpose.\n\nIf the holding of the great Fair shall result in hastening the coming of\nthat time it will be a blessing to the whole world.\n\nAnd here let me prophesy: The Fair will be worthy of Chicago, the\nmost wonderful city of the world--of Illinois, the best State in the\nUnion--of the United States, the best country on the earth. It will\neclipse all predecessors in every department. It will represent the\nprogressive spirit of the nineteenth century. Beneath its ample roofs\nwill be gathered the treasures of Art, and the accomplishments of\nScience. At the feet of the Republic will be laid the triumphs of our\nrace, the best of every land.--The illustrated World's Fair, Chicago,\nNovember, 1891.\n\n\n\n\nSABBATH SUPERSTITION.\n\n\nTHE idea that one day in the week is better than the others and should\nbe set apart for religious purposes; that it should be considered holy;\nthat no useful work should be done on that day; that it should be given\nover to pious idleness and sad ceremonies connected with the worship of\na supposed Being, seems to have been originated by the Jews.\n\nAccording to the Old Testament, the Sabbath was marvelously sacred for\ntwo reasons; the first being, that Jehovah created the universe in six\ndays and rested on the seventh: and the second, because the Jews had\nbeen delivered from the Egyptians.\n\nThe first of these reasons we now know to be false; and the second has\nnothing, so far as we are concerned, to do with the question.\n\nThere is no reason for our keeping the seventh day because the Hebrews\nwere delivered from the Egyptians.\n\nThe Sabbath was a Jewish institution, and, according to the Bible, only\nthe Jews were commanded to keep that day. Jehovah said nothing to the\nEgyptians on that subject; nothing to the Philistines, nothing to the\nGentiles.\n\nThe Jews kept that day with infinite strictness, and with them this\nspace of time known as the Sabbath became so holy that he who violated\nit by working was put to death. Sabbath-breaking and murder were equal\ncrimes. On the Sabbath the pious Jew would not build a fire in his\nhouse. He ate cold victuals and thanked God. The gates of the city were\nclosed. No business was done, and the traveler who arrived at the city\non that day remained outside until evening. If he happened to fall, he\nremained where he fell until the sun had gone done.\n\nThe early Christians did not hold the seventh day in such veneration.\nAs a matter of fact, they ceased to regard it as holy, and changed the\nsacred day from the seventh to the first. This change was really made\nby Constantine, because the first day of the week was the Sunday of the\nPagans; and this day had been given to pleasure and recreation and to\nreligious ceremonies for many centuries.\n\nAfter Constantine designated the first day to be kept and observed by\nChristians, our Sunday became the sacred time.\n\nThe early Christians, however, kept the day much as it had been kept by\nthe Pagans. They attended church in the morning, and in the afternoon\nenjoyed themselves as best they could..\n\nThe Catholic Church fell in with the prevailing customs, and to\naccommodate itself to Pagan ways and superstitions, it agreed, as far as\nit could, with the ideas of the Pagan.\n\nUp to the time of the Reformation, Sunday had been divided between the\ndischarge of religious duties and recreation.\n\nLuther did not believe in the sacredness of the Sabbath. After church he\nenjoyed himself by playing games, and wanted others to do the same.\n\nEven John Calvin, whose view had been blurred by the \"Five Points,\"\nallowed the people to enjoy themselves on Sunday afternoon.\n\nThe reformers on the continent never had the Jewish idea of the\nsacredness of the Sabbath.\n\nIn Geneva, Germany and France, all kinds of innocent amusement were\nallowed on that day; and I believe the same was true of Holland.\n\nBut in Scotland the Jewish idea was adopted to the fullest extent. There\nSabbath-breaking was one of the blackest and one of the most terrible\ncrimes. Nothing was considered quite as sacred as the Sabbath.\n\nThe Scotch went so far as to take the ground that it was wrong to save\npeople who were drowning on Sunday, the drowning being a punishment\ninflicted by God. Upon the question of keeping the Sabbath most of the\nScottish people became insane.\n\nThe same notions about the holy day were adopted by the Dissenters in\nEngland, and it became the principal tenet in their creed.\n\nThe Puritans and Pilgrims were substantially crazy about the sacredness\nof Sunday. With them the first day of the week was set apart for\npreaching, praying, attending church, reading the Bible and studying\nthe catechism. Walking, riding, playing on musical instruments, boating,\nswimming and courting, were all crimes.\n\nNo one had the right to be happy on that blessed day. It was a time of\ngloom, sacred, solemn and religiously stupid.\n\nThey did their best to strip their religion of every redeeming feature.\nThey hated art and music--everything calculated to produce joy. They\ndespised everything except the Bible, the church, God, Sunday and the\ncreed.\n\nThe influence of these people has been felt in every part of our\ncountry. The Sabbath superstition became almost universal. No laughter,\nno smiles on that day; no games, no recreation, no riding, no walking\nthrough the perfumed fields or by the winding streams or the shore of\nthe sea. No communion with the subtile beauties of nature; no wandering\nin the woods with wife and children, no reading of poetry and fiction;\nnothing but solemnity and gloom, listening to sermons, thinking about\nsin, death, graves, coffins, shrouds, epitaphs and ceremonies and the\nmarvelous truths of sectarian religion, and the weaknesses of those\nwho were natural enough and sensible enough to enjoy themselves on the\nSabbath day.\n\nSo universal became the Sabbath superstition that the Legislatures of\nall the States, or nearly all, passed laws to prevent work and enjoyment\non that day, and declared all contracts void relating to business\nentered into on Sunday.\n\nThe Germans gave us the first valuable lesson on this subject. They\ncame to this country in great numbers; they did not keep the American\nSabbath. They listened to music and they drank beer on that holy day.\nThey took their wives and children with them and enjoyed themselves;\nyet they were good, kind, industrious people. They paid their debts and\ntheir credit was the best.\n\nOur people saw that men could be good and women virtuous without\n\"keeping\" the Sabbath.\n\nThis did us great good, and changed the opinions of hundreds of\nthousands of Americans.\n\nBut the churches insisted on the old way. Gradually our people began\nto appreciate the fact that one-seventh of the time was being stolen by\nsuperstition. They began to ask for the opening of libraries, for music\nin the parks and to be allowed to visit museums and public places on the\nSabbath.\n\nIn several States these demands were granted, and the privileges have\nnever been abused. The people were orderly, polite to officials and to\neach other.\n\nIn 1876, when the Centennial was held at Philadelphia, the Sabbatarians\nhad control. Philadelphia was a Sunday city, and so the gates of the\nCentennial were closed on that day.\n\nThis was in Philadelphia where the Sabbath superstition had been so\nvirulent that chains had been put across the streets to prevent stages\nand carriages from passing at that holy time.\n\nAt that time millions of Americans felt that a great wrong was done by\nclosing the Centennial to the laboring people; but the managers--most\nof them being politicians--took care of themselves and kept the gates\nclosed.\n\nIn 1876 the Sabbatarians triumphed, and when it was determined to hold a\nworld's fair at Chicago they made up their minds that no one should look\nupon the world's wonders on the Sabbath day.\n\nTo accomplish this pious and foolish purpose committees were appointed\nall over the country; money was raised to make a campaign; persons were\nemployed to go about and arouse the enthusiasm of religious people;\npetitions by the thousand were sent to Congress and to the officers\nof the World's Fair, signed by thousands of people who never saw them;\nresolutions were passed in favor of Sunday closing by conventions,\npresbyteries, councils and associations. Lobbyists were employed to\ninfluence members of Congress. Great bodies of Christians threatened to\nboycott the fair and yet the World's Fair is open on Sunday.\n\nWhat is the meaning of this? Let me tell you. It means that in this\ncountry the Scotch New England Sabbath has ceased to be; it means that\nit is dead. The last great effort for its salvation has been put forth,\nand has failed. It belonged to the creed of Jonathan Edwards and the\nbelief of the witch-burners, and in this age it is out of place.\n\nThere was a time when the minister and priest were regarded as the\nfoundation of wisdom; when information came from the altar, from the\npulpit; and when the sheep were the property of the shepherd.\n\nThat day in intelligent communities has passed. We no longer go to the\nminister or the church for information. The orthodox minister is\nlosing his power, and the Sabbath is now regarded as a day of rest, of\nrecreation and of pleasure.\n\nThe church must keep up with the people. The minister must take another\nstep. The multitude care but little about controversies in churches, but\nthey do care about the practical questions that directly affect their\ndaily lives.\n\nMust we waste one day in seven; must we make ourselves unhappy or\nmelancholy one-seventh of the time?\n\nThese are important questions and for many years the church in our\ncountry has answered them both in the affirmative, and a vast number of\npeople not Christians have also said \"yes\" because they wanted votes, or\nbecause they feared to incite the hatred of the church.\n\nNow in this year of 1893 a World's Fair answered this question in the\nnegative, and a large majority of the citizens of the Republic say that\nthe officers of the Fair have done right.\n\nThis marks an epoch in the history of the Sabbath. It is to be sacred\nin a religious sense in this country no longer. Henceforth in the United\nStates the Sabbath is for the use of man.\n\nMany of those who labored for the closing of the Fair on Sunday took the\nground that if the gates were opened, God would visit this nation with\nfamine, flood and fire.\n\nIt hardly seems possible that God will destroy thousands of women and\nchildren who had nothing to do with the opening of the Fair; still, if\nhe is the same God described in the Christian Bible, he may destroy our\nbabes as he did those of the Egyptians. It is a little hard to tell in\nadvance what a God of that kind will do.\n\nIt was believed for many centuries that God punished the\nSabbath-breaking individual and the Sabbath-breaking nation. Of course\nfacts never had anything to do with this belief, and the prophecies\nof the pulpit were never fulfilled. People who were drowned on Sunday,\naccording to the church, lost their lives by the will of God. Those\ndrowned on other days were the victims of storm or accident. The nations\nthat kept the Sabbath were no more prosperous than those that broke the\nsacred day. Certainly France is as prosperous as Scotland.\n\nLet us hope, however, that these zealous gentlemen who have predicted\ncalamities were mistaken; let us be glad that hundreds of thousands of\nworkingmen and women will be delighted and refined by looking at the\nstatues, the paintings, the machinery, and the countless articles of use\nand beauty gathered together at the great Fair, and let us be glad that\non the one day that they can spare from toil, the gates will be open to\nthem.\n\n\n\n\nA TRIBUTE TO GEORGE JACOB HOLYOAKE.\n\n\nTWO articles have recently appeared attacking the motives of George\nJacob Holyoake. He is spoken of as a man governed by a desire to please\nthe rich and powerful, as one afraid of public opinion and who in the\nperilous hour denies or conceals his convictions.\n\nIn these attacks there is not one word of truth. They are based upon\nmistakes and misconceptions.\n\nThere is not in this world a nobler, braver man. In England he has done\nmore for the great cause of intellectual liberty than any other man\nof this generation. He has done more for the poor, for the children of\ntoil, for the homeless and wretched than any other living man. He has\nattacked all abuses, all tyranny and all forms of hypocrisy. His weapons\nhave been reason, logic, facts, kindness, and above all, example. He has\nlived his creed. He has won the admiration and respect of his bitterest\nantagonists. He has the simplicity of childhood, the enthusiasm of\nyouth and the wisdom of age. He is not abusive, but he is clear and\nconclusive.. He is intense without violence--firm without anger. He has\nthe strength of perfect kindness. He does not hate--he pities. He does\nnot attack men and women, but dogmas and creeds. And he does not attack\nthem to get the better of people, but to enable people to get the better\nof them. He gives the light he has. He shares his intellectual wealth\nwith the orthodox poor. He assists without insulting, guides without\narrogance, and enlightens without outrage. Besides, he is eminent for\nthe exercise of plain common sense. He knows that there are wrongs\nbesides those born of superstition--that people are not necessarily\nhappy because they have renounced the Thirty-nine Articles--and that\nthe priest is not the only enemy of mankind. He has for forty years been\npreaching and practicing industry, economy, self-reliance, and kindness.\nHe has done all within his power to give the workingman a better home,\nbetter food, better wages, and better opportunities for the education\nof his children. He has demonstrated the success of co-operation--of\nintelligent combination for the common good. As a rule, his methods have\nbeen perfectly legal. In some instances he has knowingly violated the\nlaw, and did so with the intention to take the consequences. He would\nneither ask nor accept a pardon, because to receive a pardon carries\nwith it the implied promise to keep the law, and an admission that\nyou were in the wrong. He would not agree to desist from doing what he\nbelieved ought to be done, neither would he stain his past to brighten\nhis future, nor imprison his soul to free his body. He has that happy\nmingling of gentleness and firmness found only in the highest type of\nmoral heroes. He is an absolutely just man, and will never do an act\nthat he would condemn in another. He admits that the most bigoted\nchurchman has a perfect right to express his opinions not only, but\nthat he must be met with argument couched in kind and candid terms. Mr.\nHolyoake is not only the enemy of a theological hierarchy, but he is\nalso opposed to mental mobs. He will not use the bludgeon of epithet.\n\nPerfect fairness is regarded by many as weakness. Some people have\naltogether more confidence in their beliefs than in their own arguments.\nThey resort to assertion. If what they assert be denied, the \"debate\"\nbecomes a question of veracity. On both sides of most questions there\nare plenty of persons who imagine that logic dwells only in adjectives,\nand that to speak kindly of an opponent is a virtual surrender.\n\nMr. Holyoake attacks the church because it has been, is, and ever will\nbe the enemy of mental freedom, but he does not wish to deprive the\nchurch even of its freedom to express its opinion against freedom. He\nis true to his own creed, knowing that when we have freedom we can take\ncare of all its enemies.\n\nIn one of the articles to which I have referred it is charged that Mr.\nHolyoake refused to sign a petition for the pardon of persons convicted\nof blasphemy. If this is true, he undoubtedly had a reason satisfactory\nto himself. You will find that his action, or his refusal to act, rests\nupon a principle that he would not violate in his own behalf.\n\nWhy should we suspect the motives of this man who has given his life\nfor the good of others? I know of no one who is his mental or moral\nsuperior. He is the most disinterested of men. His name is a synonym\nof candor. He is a natural logician--an intellectual marksman. Like an\nunerring arrow his thought flies to the heart and center. He is\ngoverned by principle, and makes no exception in his own favor. He is\nintellectually honest. He shows you the cracks and flaws in his own\nwares. He calls attention to the open joints and to the weakest links.\nHe does not want a victory for himself, but for truth. He wishes to\nexpose and oppose, not men, but error. He is blessed with that cloudless\nmental vision that appearances cannot deceive, that interest cannot\ndarken, and that even ingratitude cannot blur. Friends cannot induce\nand enemies cannot drive this man to do an act that his heart and brain\nwould not applaud. That such a character was formed without the aid\nof the church, without the hope of harp or fear of flame, is a\ndemonstration against the necessity of superstition.\n\nWhoever is opposed to mental bondage, to the shackles wrought by cruelty\nand worn by fear, should be the friend of this heroic and unselfish man.\n\nI know something of his life--something of what he has suffered--of what\nhe has accomplished for his fellow-men. He has been maligned, imprisoned\nand impoverished. \"He bore the heat and burden of the unregarded day\"\nand \"remembered the misery of the many.\" For years his only recompense\nwas ingratitude. At last he was understood. He was recognized as an\nearnest, honest, gifted, generous, sterling man, loving his country,\nsympathizing with the poor, honoring the useful, and holding in supreme\nabhorrence tyranny and falsehood in all their forms. The idea that this\nman could for a moment be controlled by any selfish motive, by the\nhope of preferment, by the fear of losing a supposed annuity, is\nsimply absurd. The authors of these attacks are not acquainted with Mr.\nHolyoake. Whoever dislikes him does not know him.\n\nRead his \"Trial of Theism\"--his history of \"Co-operation in England\"--if\nyou wish to know his heart--to discover the motives of his life--the\ndepth and tenderness of his sympathy--the nobleness of his nature--the\nsubtlety of his thought--the beauty of his spirit--the force and volume\nof his brain--the extent of his information--his candor, his kindness,\nhis genius, and the perfect integrity of his stainless soul.\n\nThere is no man for whom I have greater respect, greater reverence,\ngreater love, than George Jacob Holyoake.--\n\nAugust 8, 1883.\n\n\n\n\nAT THE GRAVE OF BENJAMIN W. PARKER.\n\n     * This was the first tribute ever delivered by Colonel\n     Ingersoll at a grave. Mr. Parker himself was an Agnostic,\n     was the father of Mrs. Ingersoll, and was always a devoted\n     friend and admirer of the Colonel even before the latter's\n     marriage with his daughter.\n\n\nPeoria, Ill., May 24, 1876.\n\nFRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS: To fulfill a promise made many years ago, I wish\nto say a word.\n\nHe whom we are about to lay in the earth, was gentle, kind and loving\nin his life. He was ambitious only to live with those he loved. He was\nhospitable, generous, and sincere. He loved his friends, and the friends\nof his friends. He returned good for good. He lived the life of a child,\nand died without leaving in the memory of his family the record of an\nunkind act. Without assurance, and without fear, we give him back to\nNature, the source and mother of us all.\n\nWith morn, with noon, with night; with changing clouds and changeless\nstars; with grass and trees and birds, with leaf and bud, with flower\nand blossoming vine,--with all the sweet influences of nature, we leave\nour dead.\n\nHusband, father, friend, farewell.\n\n\n\n\nA TRIBUTE TO EBON C. INGERSOLL\n\nWashington, D. C., May 31, 1879.\n\n     * The funeral of the Hon. E. C. Ingersoll took place\n     yesterday afternoon at four o'clock, from his late\n     residence, 1403 K Street The only ceremony at the house,\n     other than the viewing of the remains, was a most affecting\n     pathetic, and touching address by Col. Robert G. ingersoll,\n     brother of the deceased. Not only the speaker, but every one\n     of his hearers were deeply affected. When he began to read\n     his eloquent characterization of the dead man his eyes at\n     once filled with tears. He tried to hide them, but he could\n     not do it, and finally he bowed his head upon the dead man's\n     coffin in uncontrollable grief It was only after some delay,\n     and the greatest efforts a self-mastery, that Colonel\n     Ingersoll was able to finish reading his address. When he\n     had ceased speaking, the members of the bereaved family\n     approached the casket and looked upon the form which it\n     contained, for the last time. The scene was heartrending.\n     The devotion of all connected with the household excited\n     the sympathy of all and there was not a dry eye to be seen.\n     The pall-bearers--Senator William B. Allison, Senator James\n     G. Blaine, Senator David Davis, Senator Daniel W Voorhees.\n     Representative James A. Garfield, Senator A. S Paddock,\n     Representative Thomas Q. Boyd of Illinois, the Hon. Ward H.\n     Lermon, ex-Congressman Jere Wilson, and Representative Adlai\n     E. Stevenson of Illinois--then bore the remains to the\n     hearse, and the lengthy cortege proceeded to the Oak Hill\n     Cemetery, where the remains were interred, in the presence\n     of the family and friends, without further ceremony.--\n     National Republican, Washington, D. C., June 3, 1879.\n\n\nDEAR FRIENDS: I am going to do that which the dead oft promised he would\ndo for me.\n\nThe loved and loving brother, husband, father, friend, died where\nmanhood's morning almost touches noon, and while the shadows still were\nfalling toward the west.\n\nHe had not passed on life's highway the stone that marks the highest\npoint; but being weary for a moment, he lay down by the wayside, and\nusing his burden for a pillow, fell into that dreamless sleep that\nkisses down his eyelids still. While yet in love with life and raptured\nwith the world, he passed to silence and pathetic dust.\n\nYet, after all, it may be best, just in the happiest, sunniest hour\nof all the voyage, while eager winds are kissing every sail, to dash\nagainst the unseen rock, and in an instant hear the billows roar above a\nsunken ship. For whether in mid-sea or 'mong the breakers of the farther\nshore, a wreck at last must mark the end of each and all. And every\nlife, no matter if its every hour is rich with love and every moment\njeweled with a joy, will, at its close, become a tragedy as sad and deep\nand dark as can be woven of the warp and woof of mystery and death.\n\nThis brave and tender man in every storm of life was oak and rock; but\nin the sunshine he was vine and flower. He was the friend of all heroic\nsouls. He climbed the heights, and left all superstitions far below,\nwhile on his forehead fell the golden dawning of the grander day.\n\nHe loved the beautiful, and was with color, form, and music touched to\ntears. He sided with the weak, the poor, and wronged, and lovingly\ngave alms. With loyal heart and with the purest hands he faithfully\ndischarged all public trusts.\n\nHe was a worshiper of liberty, a friend of the oppressed. A thousand\ntimes I have heard him quote these words: \"_For Justice all place a\ntemple, and all season, summer_.\" He believed that happiness is the only\ngood, reason the only torch, justice the only worship, humanity the only\nreligion, and love the only priest. He added to the sum of human joy;\nand were every one to whom he did some loving service to bring a blossom\nto his grave, he would sleep tonight beneath a wilderness of flowers.\n\nLife is a narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two\neternities. We strive in vain to look beyond the heights. We cry aloud,\nand the only answer is the echo of our wailing cry. From the voiceless\nlips of the unreplying dead there comes no word; but in the night of\ndeath hope sees a star and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing.\n\nHe who sleeps here, when dying, mistaking the approach of death for the\nreturn of health, whispered with his latest breath, \"I am better now.\"\nLet us believe, in spite of doubts and dogmas, of fears and tears, that\nthese dear words are true of all the countless dead.\n\nThe record of a generous life runs like a vine around the memory of our\ndead, and every sweet, unselfish act is now a perfumed flower.\n\nAnd now, to you, who have been chosen, from among the many men he loved,\nto do the last sad office for the dead, we give his sacred dust.\n\nSpeech cannot contain our love. There was, there is, no gentler,\nstronger, manlier man.\n\n\n\n\nA TRIBUTE TO THE REV. ALEXANDER CLARK.\n\nWashington, D. C. July 13, 1879.\n\n\nUPON the grave of the Reverend Alexander Clark I wish to place one\nflower. Utterly destitute of cold, dogmatic pride, that often passes for\nthe love of God; without the arrogance of the \"elect;\" simple, free, and\nkind--this earnest man made me his friend by being mine. I forgot that\nhe was a Christian, and he seemed to forget that I was not, while each\nremembered that the other was at least a man.\n\nFrank, candid, and sincere, he practiced what he preached, and looked\nwith the holy eyes of charity upon the failings and mistakes of men. He\nbelieved in the power of kindness, and spanned with divine sympathy the\nhideous gulf that separates the fallen from the pure.\n\nGiving freely to others the rights that he claimed for himself, it never\noccurred to him that his God hated a brave and honest unbeliever. He\nremembered that even an Infidel had rights that love respects; that\nhatred has no saving power, and that in order to be a Christian it is\nnot necessary to become less than a human being. He knew that no one can\nbe maligned into kindness; that epithets cannot convince; that curses\nare not arguments, and that the finger of scorn never points toward\nheaven. With the generosity of an honest man, he accorded to all the\nfullest liberty of thought, knowing, as he did, that in the realm of\nmind a chain is but a curse.\n\nFor this man I felt the greatest possible regard. In spite of the taunts\nand jeers of his brethren, he publicly proclaimed that he would treat\nInfidels with fairness and respect; that he would endeavor to convince\nthem by argument and win them with love. He insisted that the God\nhe worshiped loved the well-being even of an Atheist. In this grand\nposition he stood almost alone. Tender, just, and loving where others\nwere harsh, vindictive, and cruel, he challenged the admiration of every\nhonest man. A few more such clergymen might drive calumny from the lips\nof faith and render the pulpit worthy of esteem.\n\nThe heartiness and kindness with which this generous man treated me can\nnever be excelled. He admitted that I had not lost, and could not lose,\na single right by the expression of my honest thought. Neither did he\nbelieve that a servant could win the respect of a generous master by\npersecuting and maligning those whom the master would willingly forgive.\n\nWhile this good man was living, his brethren blamed him for having\ntreated me with fairness. But, I trust, now that he has left the shore\ntouched by the mysterious sea that never yet has borne, on any wave, the\nimage of a homeward sail, this crime will be forgiven him by those who\nstill remain to preach the love of God.\n\nHis sympathies were not confined within the prison, of a creed, but ran\nout and over the walls like vines, hiding the cruel rocks and rusted\nbars with leaf and flower. He could not echo with his heart the fiendish\nsentence of eternal fire. In spite of book and creed, he read \"between\nthe lines\" the words of tenderness and love, with promises for all the\nworld.. Above, beyond, the dogmas of his church--humane even to the\nverge of heresy--causing some to doubt his love of God because he\nfailed to hate his unbelieving fellow-men, he labored for the welfare of\nmankind and to his work gave up his life with all his heart.\n\n\n\n\nAT A CHILD'S GRAVE.\n\nWashington, D. C., January 8, 1882.\n\n\nMY FRIENDS: I know how vain it is to gild a grief with words, and yet I\nwish to take from every grave its fear. Here in this world, where life\nand death are equal kings, all should be brave enough to meet what all\nthe dead have met. The future has been filled with fear, stained and\npolluted by the heartless past. From the wondrous tree of life the buds\nand blossoms fall with ripened fruit, and in the common bed of earth,\npatriarchs and babes sleep side by side.\n\nWhy should we fear that which will come to all that is? We cannot tell,\nwe do not know, which is the greater blessing--life or death. We cannot\nsay that death is not a good. We do not know whether the grave is the\nend of this life, or the door of another, or whether the night here\nis not somewhere else a dawn. Neither can we tell which is the more\nfortunate--the child dying in its mother's arms, before its lips have\nlearned to form a word, or he who journeys all the length of life's\nuneven road, painfully taking the last slow steps with staff and crutch.\n\nEvery cradle asks us \"Whence?\" and every coffin \"Whither?\" The poor\nbarbarian, weeping above his dead, can answer these questions just\nas well as the robed priest of the most authentic creed. The tearful\nignorance of the one, is as consoling as the learned and unmeaning words\nof the other. No man, standing where the horizon of a life has touched a\ngrave, has any right to prophesy a future filled with pain and tears.\n\nMay be that death gives all there is of worth to life. If those we press\nand strain within our arms could never die, perhaps that love would\nwither from the earth. May be this common fate treads from out the paths\nbetween our hearts the weeds of selfishness and hate. And I had rather\nlive and love where death is king, than have eternal life where love is\nnot. Another life is nought, unless we know and love again the ones who\nlove us here.\n\nThey who stand with breaking hearts around this little grave, need have\nno fear. The larger and the nobler faith in all that is, and is to be,\ntells us that death, even at its worst, is only perfect rest. We know\nthat through the common wants of life--the needs and duties of each\nhour--their grief will lessen day by day, until at last this grave will\nbe to them a place of rest and peace--almost of joy. There is for them\nthis consolation: The dead do not suffer. If they live again, their\nlives will surely be as good as ours. We have no fear. We are all\nchildren of the same mother, and the same fate awaits us all. We, too,\nhave our religion, and it is this: Help for the living--Hope for the\ndead.\n\n\n\n\nA TRIBUTE TO JOHN G. MILLS.\n\nWashington, D. C., April 15, 1883.\n\n\nMY FRIENDS: Again we are face to face with the great mystery that\nshrouds this world. We question, but there is no reply. Out on the wide\nwaste seas, there drifts no spar. Over the desert of death the sphinx\ngazes forever, but never speaks.\n\nIn the very May of life another heart has ceased to beat. Night has\nfallen upon noon. But he lived, he loved, he was loved. Wife and\nchildren pressed their kisses on his lips. This is enough. The longest\nlife contains no more. This fills the vase of joy.\n\nHe who lies here, clothed with the perfect peace of death, was a kind\nand loving husband, a good father, a generous neighbor, an honest\nman,--and these words build a monument of glory above the humblest\ngrave. He was always a child, sincere and frank, as full of hope as\nSpring. He divided all time into to-day and to-morrow. To-morrow was\nwithout a cloud, and of to-morrow he borrowed sunshine for to-day. He\nwas my friend. He will remain so. The living oft become estranged; the\ndead are true. He was not a Christian. In the Eden of his hope there\ndid not crawl and coil the serpent of eternal pain. In many languages\nhe sought the thoughts of men, and for himself he solved the problems of\nthe world. He accepted the philosophy of Auguste Comte. Humanity was his\nGod; the human race was his Supreme Being. In that Supreme Being he put\nhis trust. He believed that we are indebted for what we enjoy to the\nlabor, the self-denial, the heroism of the human race, and that as we\nhave plucked the fruit of what others planted, we in thankfulness should\nplant for others yet to be.\n\nWith him immortality was the eternal consequences of his own acts. He\nbelieved that every pure thought, every disinterested deed, hastens the\nharvest of universal good. This is a religion that enriches poverty;\nthat enables us to bear the sorrows of the saddest life; that peoples\neven solitude with the happy millions yet to live,--a religion born\nnot of selfishness and fear, but of love, of gratitude, and hope,--a\nreligion that digs wells to slake the thirst of others, and gladly bears\nthe burdens of the unborn.\n\nBut in the presence of death, how beliefs and dogmas wither and decay!\nHow loving words and deeds burst into blossom! Pluck from the tree\nof any life these flowers, and there remain but the barren thorns of\nbigotry and creed.\n\nAll wish for happiness beyond this life. All hope to meet again\nthe loved and lost. In every heart there grows this sacred flower.\nImmortality is a word that Hope through all the ages has been whispering\nto Love. The miracle of thought we cannot understand. The mystery of\nlife and death we cannot comprehend. This chaos called the world has\nnever been explained. The golden bridge of life from gloom emerges, and\non shadow rests. Beyond this we do not know. Fate is speechless, destiny\nis dumb, and the secret of the future has never yet been told. We love;\nwe wait; we hope. The more we love, the more we fear. Upon the tenderest\nheart the deepest shadows fall. All paths, whether filled with thorns\nor flowers, end here. Here success and failure are the same. The rag of\nWretchedness and the purple robe of power all difference and distinction\nlose in this democracy of death. Character survives; goodness lives;\nlove is immortal.\n\nAnd yet to all a time may come when the fevered lips of life will long\nfor the cool, delicious kiss of death--when tired of the dust and glare\nof day we all shall hear with joy the rustling garments of the night.\n\nWhat can we say of death? What can we say of the dead? Where they have\ngone, reason cannot go, and from thence revelation has not come. But let\nus believe that over the cradle Nature bends and smiles, and lovingly\nabove the dead in benediction holds her outstretched hands.\n\n\n\n\nA TRIBUTE TO ELIZUR WRIGHT.\n\nNew York. December 19, 1885.\n\n\nANOTHER hero has fallen asleep--one who enriched the world with an\nhonest life.\n\nElizur Wright was one of the Titans who attacked the monsters, the\nGods, of his time--one of the few whose confidence in liberty was never\nshaken, and who, with undimmed eyes, saw the atrocities and barbarisms\nof his day and the glories of the future.\n\nWhen New York was degraded enough to mob Arthur Tappan, the noblest of\nher citizens; when Boston was sufficiently infamous to howl and hoot at\nHarriet Martineau, the grandest Englishwoman that ever touched our soil;\nwhen the North was dominated by theology and trade, by piety and piracy;\nwhen we received our morals from merchants, and made merchandise of our\nmorals, Elizur Wright held principle above profit, and preserved his\nmanhood at the peril of his life.\n\nWhen the rich, the cultured, and the respectable,--when church members\nand ministers, who had been \"called\" to preach the \"glad tidings,\" and\nwhen statesmen like Webster joined with bloodhounds, and in the name\nof God hunted men and mothers, this man rescued the fugitives and gave\nasylum to the oppressed.\n\nDuring those infamous years--years of cruelty and national\ndegradation--years of hypocrisy and greed and meanness beneath the reach\nof any English word, Elizur Wright became acquainted with the orthodox\nchurch. He found that a majority of Christians were willing to enslave\nmen and women for whom they said that Christ had died--that they would\nsteal the babe of a Christian mother, although they believed that the\nmother would be their equal in heaven forever. He found that those who\nloved their enemies would enslave their friends--that people who when\nsmitten on one cheek turned the other, were ready, willing and anxious\nto mob and murder those who simply said: \"The laborer is worthy of his\nhire.\"\n\nIn those days the church was in favor of slavery, not only of the body\nbut of the mind. According to the creeds, God himself was an infinite\nmaster and all his children serfs. He ruled with whip and chain, with\npestilence and fire. Devils were his bloodhounds, and hell his place of\neternal torture.\n\nElizur Wright said to himself, why should we take chains from bodies and\nenslave minds--why fight to free the cage and leave the bird a prisoner?\nHe became an enemy of orthodox religion--that is to say, a friend of\nintellectual liberty.\n\nHe lived to see the destruction of legalized larceny; to read the\nProclamation of Emancipation; to see a country without a slave, a flag\nwithout a stain. He lived long enough to reap the reward for having\nbeen an honest man; long enough for his \"disgrace\" to become a crown of\nglory; long enough to see his views adopted and his course applauded by\nthe civilized world; long enough for the hated word \"abolitionist\" to\nbecome a title of nobility, a certificate of manhood, courage and true\npatriotism.\n\nOnly a few years ago, the heretic was regarded as an enemy of the human\nrace. The man who denied the inspiration of the Jewish Scriptures was\nlooked upon as a moral leper, and the Atheist as the worst of criminals.\nEven in that day, Elizur Wright was grand enough to speak his honest\nthought, to deny the inspiration of the Bible; brave enough to defy\nthe God of the orthodox church--the Jehovah of the Old Testament, the\nEternal Jailer, the Everlasting Inquisitor.\n\nHe contended that a good God would not have upheld slavery and polygamy;\nthat a loving Father would not assist some of his children to enslave or\nexterminate their brethren; that an infinite being would not be unjust,\nirritable, jealous, revengeful, ignorant, and cruel.\n\nAnd it was his great good fortune to live long enough to find the\nintellectual world on his side; long enough to know that the greatest'\nnaturalists, philosophers, and scientists agreed with him; long enough\nto see certain words change places, so that \"heretic\" was honorable\nand \"orthodox\" an epithet. To-day, the heretic is known to be a man of\nprinciple and courage--one blest with enough mental independence to\ntell his thought. To-day, the thoroughly orthodox means the thoroughly\nstupid.\n\nOnly a few years ago it was taken for granted that an \"unbeliever\" could\nnot be a moral man; that one who disputed the inspiration of the legends\nof Judea could not be sympathetic and humane, and could not really love\nhis fellow-men. Had we no other evidence upon this subject, the noble\nlife of Elizur Wright would demonstrate the utter baselessness of these\nviews.\n\nHis life was spent in doing good--in attacking the hurtful, in defending\nwhat he believed to be the truth. Generous beyond his means; helping\nothers to help themselves; always hopeful, busy, just, cheerful; filled\nwith the spirit of reform; a model citizen--always thinking of the\npublic good, devising ways and means to save something for posterity,\nfeeling that what he had he held in trust; loving Nature, familiar\nwith the poetic side of things, touched to enthusiasm by the beautiful\nthought, the brave word, and the generous deed; friendly in manner,\ncandid and kind in speech, modest but persistent; enjoying leisure\nas only the industrious can; loving and gentle in his family;\nhospitable,--judging men and women regardless of wealth, position or\npublic clamor; physically fearless, intellectually honest, thoroughly\ninformed; unselfish, sincere, and reliable as the attraction of\ngravitation. Such was Elizur Wright,--one of the staunchest soldiers\nthat ever faced and braved for freedom's sake the wrath and scorn and\nlies of place and power.\n\nA few days ago I met this genuine man. His interest in all human\nthings was just as deep and keen, his hatred of oppression, his love of\nfreedom, just as intense, just as fervid, as on the day I met him first.\nTrue, his body was old, but his mind was young, and his heart, like\na spring in the desert, bubbled over as joyously as though it had the\nsecret of eternal youth. But it has ceased to beat, and the mysterious\nveil that hangs where sight and blindness are the same--the veil that\nrevelation has not drawn aside--that science cannot lift, has fallen\nonce again between the living and the dead.\n\nAnd yet we hope and dream. May be the longing for another life is but\nthe prophecy forever warm from Nature's lips, that love, disguised as\ndeath, alone fulfills. We cannot tell. And yet perhaps this Hope is but\nan antic, following the fortunes of an uncrowned king, beguiling grief\nwith jest and satisfying loss with pictured gain. We do not know.\n\nBut from the Christian's cruel hell, and from his heaven more heartless\nstill, the free and noble soul, if forced to choose, should loathing\nturn, and cling with rapture to the thought of endless sleep.\n\nBut this we know: good deeds are never childless. A noble life is never\nlost. A virtuous action does not die. Elizur Wright scattered with\ngenerous hand the priceless seeds, and we shall reap the golden grain.\nHis words and acts are ours, and all he nobly did is living still.\n\nFarewell, brave soul! Upon thy grave I lay this tribute of respect and\nlove. When last our hands were joined, I said these parting words: \"Long\nlife!\" And I repeat them now.\n\n\n\n\nA TRIBUTE TO MRS. IDA WHITING KNOWLES.\n\nNew York, Dec, 16, 1887.\n\n\nMY FRIENDS: Again we stand in the shadow of the great mystery--a shadow\nas deep and dark as when the tears of the first mother fell upon the\npallid face of her lifeless babe--a mystery that has never yet been\nsolved.\n\nWe have met in the presence of the sacred dead, to speak a word of\npraise, of hope, of consolation.\n\nAnother life of love is now a blessed memory--a lingering strain of\nmusic.\n\nThe loving daughter, the pure and consecrated wife, the sincere friend,\nwho with tender faithfulness discharged the duties of a life, has\nreached her journey's end.\n\nA braver, a more serene, a more chivalric spirit--clasping the loved and\nby them clasped--never passed from life to enrich the realm of death.\nNo field of war ever witnessed greater fortitude, more perfect, smiling\ncourage, than this poor, weak and helpless woman displayed upon the bed\nof pain and death.\n\nHer life was gentle and her death sublime. She loved the good and all\nthe good loved her.\n\nThere is this consolation: she can never suffer more; never feel again\nthe chill of death; never part again from those she loves. Her heart can\nbreak no more. She has shed her last tear, and upon her stainless brow\nhas been set the wondrous seal of everlasting peace.\n\nWhen the Angel of Death--the masked and voiceless--enters the door of\nhome, there come with her all the daughters of Compassion, and of these\nLove and Hope remain forever.\n\nYou are about to take this dear dust home--to the home of her girlhood,\nand to the place that was once my home. You will lay her with neighbors\nwhom I have loved, and who are now at rest. You will lay her where my\nfather sleeps.\n\n     \"Lay her i' the earth,\n     And from her fair and unpolluted flesh\n     May violets spring.\"\n\nI never knew, I never met, a braver spirit than the one that once\ninhabited this silent form of dreamless clay.\n\n\n\n\nA TRIBUTE TO HENRY WARD BEECHER.\n\nNew York, June 26,1887.\n\n\nHENRY WARD BEECHER was born in a Puritan penitentiary, of which\nhis father was one of the wardens--a prison with very narrow and\nclosely-grated windows. Under its walls were the rayless, hopeless and\nmeasureless dungeons of the damned, and on its roof fell the shadow of\nGod's eternal frown. In this prison the creed and catechism were primers\nfor children, and from a pure sense of duty their loving hearts were\nstained and scarred with the religion of John Calvin.\n\nIn those days the home of an orthodox minister was an inquisition in\nwhich babes were tortured for the good of their souls. Children then,\nas now, rebelled against the infamous absurdities and cruelties of the\ncreed. No Calvinist was ever able, unless with blows, to answer the\nquestions of his child. Children were raised in what was called \"the\nnurture and admonition of the Lord\"--that is to say, their wills were\nbroken or subdued, their natures were deformed and dwarfed, their\ndesires defeated or destroyed, and their development arrested or\nperverted. Life was robbed of its Spring, its Summer and its Autumn.\nChildren stepped from the cradle into the snow. No laughter, no\nsunshine, no joyous, free, unburdened days. God, an infinite detective,\nwatched them from above, and Satan, with malicious leer, was waiting\nfor their souls below. Between these monsters life was passed. Infinite\nconsequences were predicated of the smallest action, and a burden\ngreater than a God could bear was placed upon the heart and brain of\nevery child. To think, to ask questions, to doubt, to investigate,\nwere acts of rebellion. To express pity for the lost, writhing in the\ndungeons below, was simply to give evidence that the enemy of souls had\nbeen at work within their hearts.\n\nAmong all the religions of this world--from the creed of cannibals who\ndevoured flesh, to that of Calvinists who polluted souls--there is none,\nthere has been none, there will be none, more utterly heartless and\ninhuman than was the orthodox Congregationalism of New England in the\nyear of grace 1813. It despised every natural joy, hated pictures,\nabhorred statues as lewd and lustful things, execrated music, regarded\nnature as fallen and corrupt, man as totally depraved and woman as\nsomewhat worse. The theatre was the vestibule of perdition, actors the\nservants of Satan, and Shakespeare a trifling wretch whose words\nwere seeds of death. And yet the virtues found a welcome, cordial and\nsincere; duty was done as understood; obligations were discharged; truth\nwas told; self-denial was practiced for the sake of others, and many\nhearts were good and true in spite of book and creed.\n\nIn this atmosphere of theological miasma, in this hideous dream of\nsuperstition, in this penitentiary, moral and austere, this babe first\nsaw the imprisoned gloom. The natural desires ungratified, the laughter\nsuppressed, the logic brow-beaten by authority, the humor frozen by\nfear--of many generations--were in this child, a child destined to rend\nand wreck the prison's walls.\n\nThrough the grated windows of his cell, this child, this boy, this man,\ncaught glimpses of the outer world, of fields and skies. New thoughts\nwere in his brain, new hopes within his heart. Another heaven bent above\nhis life. There came a revelation of the beautiful and real.\n\nTheology grew mean and small. Nature wooed and won and saved this mighty\nsoul.\n\nHer countless hands were sowing seeds within his tropic brain. All\nsights and sounds--all colors, forms and fragments--were stored within\nthe treasury of his mind. His thoughts were moulded by the graceful\ncurves of streams, by winding paths in woods, the charm of quiet country\nroads, and lanes grown indistinct with weeds and grass--by vines that\ncling and hide with leaf and flower the crumbling wall's decay--by\ncattle standing in the summer pools like statues of content.\n\nThere was within his words the subtle spirit of the season's change--of\neverything that is, of everything that lies between the slumbering seeds\nthat, half awakened by the April rain, have dreams of heaven's blue, and\nfeel the amorous kisses of the sun, and that strange tomb wherein the\nalchemist doth give to death's cold dust the throb and thrill of life\nagain. He saw with loving eyes the willows of the meadow-streams grow\nred beneath the glance of Spring--the grass along the marsh's edge--the\nstir of life beneath the withered leaves--the moss below the drip of\nsnow--the flowers that give their bosoms to the first south wind that\nwooes--the sad and timid violets that only bear the gaze of love from\neyes half closed--the ferns, where fancy gives a thousand forms with but\na single plan--the green and sunny slopes enriched with daisy's silver\nand the cowslip's gold.\n\nAs in the leafless woods some tree, aflame with life, stands like a rapt\npoet in the heedless crowd, so stood this man among his fellow-men.\n\nAll there is of leaf and bud, of flower and fruit, of painted insect\nlife, and all the winged and happy children of the air that Summer holds\nbeneath her dome of blue, were known and loved by him. He loved the\nyellow Autumn fields, the golden stacks, the happy homes of men, the\norchard's bending boughs, the sumach's flags of flame, the maples\nwith transfigured leaves, the tender yellow of the beech, the wondrous\nharmonies of brown and gold--the vines where hang the clustered spheres\nof wit and mirth. He loved the winter days, the whirl and drift of\nsnow--all forms of frost--the rage and fury of the storm, when in the\nforest, desolate and stripped, the brave old pine towers green and\ngrand--a prophecy of Spring. He heard the rhythmic sounds of Nature's\nbusy strife, the hum of bees, the songs of birds, the eagle's cry, the\nmurmur of the streams, the sighs and lamentations of the winds, and all\nthe voices of the sea. He loved the shores, the vales, the crags and\ncliffs, the city's busy streets, the introspective, silent plain, the\nsolemn splendors of the night, the silver sea of dawn, and evening's\nclouds of molten gold. The love of nature freed this loving man.\n\nOne by one the fetters fell; the gratings disappeared, the sunshine\nsmote the roof, and on the floors of stone, light streamed from open\ndoors. He realized the darkness and despair, the cruelty and hate, the\nstarless blackness of the old, malignant creed. The flower of pity grew\nand blossomed in his heart. The selfish \"consolation\" filled his eyes\nwith tears. He saw that what is called the Christian's hope is, that,\namong the countless billions wrecked and lost, a meagre few perhaps\nmay reach the eternal shore--a hope that, like the desert rain, gives\nneither leaf nor bud--a hope that gives no joy, no peace, to any great\nand loving soul. It is the dust on which the serpent feeds that coils in\nheartless breasts.\n\nDay by day the wrath and vengeance faded from the sky--the Jewish God\ngrew vague and dint--the threats of torture and eternal pain grew vulgar\nand absurd, and all the miracles seemed strangely out of place. They\nclad the Infinite in motley garb, and gave to aureoled heads the cap and\nbells.\n\nTouched by the pathos of all human life, knowing the shadows that fall\non every heart--the thorns in every path, the sighs, the sorrows, and\nthe tears that lie between a mother's arms and death's embrace--this\ngreat and gifted man denounced, denied, and damned with all his heart\nthe fanged and frightful dogma that souls were made to feed the eternal\nhunger--ravenous as famine--of a God's revenge.\n\nTake out this fearful, fiendish, heartless lie--compared with which all\nother lies are true--and the great arch of orthodox religion crumbling\nfalls.\n\nTo the average man the Christian hell and heaven are only words. He has\nno scope of thought. He lives but in a dim, impoverished now. To him the\npast is dead--the future still unborn. He occupies with downcast eyes\nthat narrow line of barren, shifting sand that lies between the flowing\nseas. But Genius knows all time. For him the dead all live and breathe,\nand act their countless parts again. All human life is in his now, and\nevery moment feels the thrill of all to be.\n\nNo one can overestimate the good accomplished by this marvelous,\nmany-sided man. He helped to slay the heart-devouring monster of the\nChristian world. He tried to civilize the church, to humanize the\ncreeds, to soften pious breasts of stone, to take the fear from mothers'\nhearts, the chains of creed from every brain, to put the star of hope\nin every sky and over every grave. Attacked on every side, maligned\nby those who preached the law of love, he wavered not, but fought\nwhole-hearted to the end.\n\nObstruction is but virtue's foil. From thwarted light leaps color's\nflame. The stream impeded has a song.\n\nHe passed from harsh and cruel creeds to that serene philosophy that has\nno place for pride or hate, that threatens no revenge, that looks on sin\nas stumblings of the blind and pities those who fall, knowing that in\nthe souls of all there is a sacred yearning for the light. He ceased\nto think of man as something thrust upon the world--an exile from\nsome other sphere. He felt at last that men are part of Nature's\nself--kindred of all life--the gradual growth of countless years; that\nall the sacred books were helps until outgrown, and all religions rough\nand devious paths that man has worn with weary feet in sad and painful\nsearch for truth and peace. To him these paths were wrong, and yet all\ngave the promise of success. He knew that all the streams, no matter how\nthey wander, turn and curve amid the hills or rocks, or linger in the\nlakes and pools, must some time reach the sea. These views enlarged his\nsoul and made him patient with the world, and while the wintry snows of\nage were falling on his head, Spring, with all her wealth of bloom, was\nin his heart.\n\nThe memory of this ample man is now a part of Nature's wealth. He\nbattled for the rights of men. His heart was with the slave. He stood\nagainst the selfish greed of millions banded to protect the pirate's\ntrade. His voice was for the right when freedom's friends were few. He\ntaught the church to think and doubt. He did not fear to stand\nalone. His brain took counsel of his heart. To every foe he offered\nreconciliation's hand. He loved this land of ours, and added to its\nglory through the world. He was the greatest orator that stood within\nthe pulpit's narrow curve. He loved the liberty of speech. There was no\ntrace of bigot in his blood. He was a brave and generous man.\n\nWith reverent hands, I place this tribute on his tomb.\n\n\n\n\nA TRIBUTE TO ROSCOE CONKLING.\n\n     Delivered before the New York State Legislature, at Albany,\n     N. Y, May 9,1888.\n\n\nROSCOE CONKLING--a great man, an orator, a statesman, a lawyer, a\ndistinguished citizen of the Republic, in the zenith of his fame and\npower has reached his journey's end; and we are met, here in the city of\nhis birth, to pay our tribute to his worth and work. He earned and held\na proud position in the public thought. He stood for independence, for\ncourage, and above all for absolute integrity, and his name was known\nand honored by many millions of his fellow-men.\n\nThe literature of many lands is rich with the tributes that gratitude,\nadmiration and love have paid to the great and honored dead. These\ntributes disclose the character of nations, the ideals of the human\nrace. In them we find the estimates of greatness--the deeds and lives\nthat challenged praise and thrilled the hearts of men.\n\nIn the presence of death, the good man judges as he would be judged. He\nknows that men are only fragments--that the greatest walk in shadow, and\nthat faults and failures mingle with the lives of all.\n\nIn the grave should be buried the prejudices and passions born of\nconflict. Charity should hold the scales in which are weighed the deeds\nof men. Peculiarities, traits born of locality and surroundings--these\nare but the dust of the race--these are accidents, drapery, clothes,\nfashions, that have nothing to do with the man except to hide his\ncharacter. They are the clouds that cling to mountains. Time gives us\nclearer vision. That which was merely local fades away. The words of\nenvy are forgotten, and all there is of sterling worth remains. He who\nwas called a partisan is a patriot. The revolutionist and the outlaw are\nthe founders of nations, and he who was regarded as a scheming, selfish\npolitician becomes a statesman, a philosopher, whose words and deeds\nshed light.\n\nFortunate is that nation great enough to know the great.\n\nWhen a great man dies--one who has nobly fought the battle of a life,\nwho has been faithful to every trust, and has uttered his highest,\nnoblest thought--one who has stood proudly by the right in spite of jeer\nand taunt, neither stopped by foe nor swerved by friend--in honoring\nhim, in speaking words of praise and love above his dust, we pay a\ntribute to ourselves.\n\nHow poor this world would be without its graves, without the memories of\nits mighty dead. Only the voiceless speak forever.\n\nIntelligence, integrity and courage are the great pillars that support\nthe State.\n\nAbove all, the citizens of a free nation should honor the brave\nand independent man--the man of stainless integrity, of will and\nintellectual force. Such men are the Atlases on whose mighty shoulders\nrest the great fabric of the Republic. Flatterers, cringers, crawlers,\ntime-servers are the dangerous citizens of a democracy. They who gain\napplause and power by pandering to the mistakes, the prejudices and\npassions of the multitude, are the enemies of liberty.\n\nWhen the intelligent submit to the clamor of the many, anarchy begins\nand the Republic reaches the edge of chaos. Mediocrity, touched with\nambition, flatters the base and calumniates the great, while the true\npatriot, who will do neither, is often sacrificed.\n\nIn a government of the people a leader should be a teacher--he should\ncarry the torch of truth.\n\nMost people are the slaves of habit--followers of custom--believers in\nthe wisdom of the past--and were it not for brave and splendid souls,\n\"the dust of antique time would lie unswept, and mountainous error be\ntoo highly heaped for truth to overpeer.\" Custom is a prison, locked\nand barred by those who long ago were dust, the keys of which are in the\nkeeping of the dead.\n\nNothing is grander than when a strong, intrepid man breaks chains,\nlevels walls and breasts the many-headed mob like some great cliff that\nmeets and mocks the innumerable billows of the sea.\n\nThe politician hastens to agree with the majority--insists that their\nprejudice is patriotism, that their ignorance is wisdom;--not that\nhe loves them, but because he loves himself. The statesman, the\nreal reformer, points out the mistakes of the multitude, attacks the\nprejudices of his countrymen, laughs at their follies, denounces\ntheir cruelties, enlightens and enlarges their minds and educates the\nconscience--not because he loves himself, but because he loves and\nserves the right and wishes to make his country great and free.\n\nWith him defeat is but a spur to further effort. He who refuses to\nstoop, who cannot be bribed by the promise of success, or the fear of\nfailure--who walks the highway of the right, and in disaster stands\nerect, is the only victor. Nothing is more despicable than to reach fame\nby crawling,--position by cringing.\n\nWhen real history shall be written by the truthful and the wise, these\nmen, these kneelers at the shrines of chance and fraud, these brazen\nidols worshiped once as gods, will be the very food of scorn, while\nthose who bore the burden of defeat, who earned and kept their\nself-respect, who would not bow to man or men for place or power, will\nwear upon their brows the laurel mingled with the oak.\n\nRoscoe Conkling was a man of superb courage.\n\nHe not only acted without fear, but he had that fortitude of soul that\nbears the consequences of the course pursued without complaint. He was\ncharged with being proud. The charge was true--he was proud. His knees\nwere as inflexible as the \"unwedgeable and gnarled oak,\" but he was\nnot vain. Vanity rests on the opinion of others--pride, on our own. The\nsource of vanity is from without--of pride, from within. Vanity is a\nvane that turns, a willow that bends, with every breeze--pride is\nthe oak that defies the storm. One is cloud--the other rock. One is\nweakness--the other strength.\n\nThis imperious man entered public life in the dawn of the\nreformation--at a time when the country needed men of pride, of\nprinciple and courage. The institution of slavery had poisoned all\nthe springs of power. Before this crime ambition fell upon its\nknees,--politicians, judges, clergymen, and merchant-princes bowed low\nand humbly, with their hats in their hands. The real friend of man was\ndenounced as the enemy of his country--the real enemy of the human race\nwas called a statesman and a patriot. Slavery was the bond and pledge of\npeace, of union, and national greatness. The temple of American liberty\nwas finished--the auction-block was the corner-stone.\n\nIt is hard to conceive of the utter demoralization, of the political\nblindness and immorality, of the patriotic dishonesty, of the\ncruelty and degradation of a people who supplemented the incomparable\nDeclaration of Independence with the Fugitive Slave Law.\n\nThink of the honored statesmen of that ignoble time who wallowed in this\nmire and who, decorated with dripping filth, received the plaudits of\ntheir fellow-men. The noble, the really patriotic, were the victims of\nmobs, and the shameless were clad in the robes of office.\n\nBut let us speak no word of blame--let us feel that each one acted\naccording to his light--according to his darkness.\n\nAt last the conflict came. The hosts of light and darkness prepared\nto meet upon the fields of war. The question was presented: Shall the\nRepublic be slave or free? The Republican party had triumphed at the\npolls. The greatest man in our history was President elect. The victors\nwere appalled--they shrank from the great responsibility of success. In\nthe presence of rebellion they hesitated--they offered to return the\nfruits of victory. Hoping to avert war they were willing that slavery\nshould become immortal. An amendment to the Constitution was proposed,\nto the effect that no subsequent amendment should ever be made that in\nanyway should interfere with the right of man to steal his fellow-men.\n\nThis, the most marvelous proposition ever submitted to a Congress of\ncivilized men, received in the House an overwhelming majority, and the\nnecessary two-thirds in the Senate. The Republican party, in the moment\nof its triumph, deserted every principle for which it had so gallantly\ncontended, and with the trembling hands of fear laid its convictions on\nthe altar of compromise.\n\nThe Old Guard, numbering but sixty-five in the House, stood as firm\nas the three hundred at Thermopylae. Thad-deus Stevens--as maliciously\nright as any other man was ever wrong--refused to kneel. Owen Lovejoy,\nremembering his brother's noble blood, refused to surrender, and on the\nedge of disunion, in the shadow of civil war, with the air filled with\nsounds of dreadful preparation, while the Republican party was retracing\nits steps, Roscoe Conkling voted No. This puts a wreath of glory on his\ntomb. From that vote to the last moment of his life he was a champion of\nequal rights, staunch and stalwart.\n\nFrom that moment he stood in the front rank. He never wavered and he\nnever swerved. By his devotion to principle--his courage, the splendor\nof his diction,--by his varied and profound knowledge, his conscientious\ndevotion to the great cause, and by his intellectual scope and grasp, he\nwon and held the admiration of his fellow-men.\n\nDisasters in the field, reverses at the polls, did not and could not\nshake his courage or his faith. He knew the ghastly meaning of defeat.\nHe knew that the great ship that slavery sought to strand and wreck was\nfreighted with the world's sublimest hope.\n\nHe battled for a nation's life--for the rights of slaves--the dignity\nof labor, and the liberty of all. He guarded with a father's care the\nrights of the hunted, the hated and despised. He attacked the savage\nstatutes of the reconstructed States with a torrent of invective, scorn\nand execration. He was not satisfied until the freedman was an American\nCitizen--clothed with every civil right--until the Constitution was his\nshield--until the ballot was his sword.\n\nAnd long after we are dead, the colored man in this and other lands will\nspeak his name in reverence and love. Others wavered, but he stood\nfirm; some were false, but he was proudly true--fearlessly faithful unto\ndeath.\n\nHe gladly, proudly grasped the hands of colored men who stood with him\nas makers of our laws, and treated them as equals and as friends. The\ncry of \"social equality\" coined and uttered by the cruel and the base,\nwas to him the expression of a great and splendid truth. He knew that no\nman can be the equal of the one he robs--that the intelligent and unjust\nare not the superiors of the ignorant and honest--and he also felt, and\nproudly felt, that if he were not too great to reach the hand of help\nand recognition to the slave, no other Senator could rightfully refuse.\n\nWe rise by raising others--and he who stoops above the fallen, stands\nerect.\n\nNothing can be grander than to sow the seeds of noble thoughts and\nvirtuous deeds--to liberate the bodies and the souls of men--to earn\nthe grateful homage of a race--and then, in life's last shadowy hour,\nto know that the historian of Liberty will be compelled to write your\nname.\n\nThere are no words intense enough,--with heart enough--to express my\nadmiration for the great and gallant souls who have in every age and\nevery land upheld the right, and who have lived and died for freedom's\nsake.\n\nIn our lives have been the grandest years that man has lived, that Time\nhas measured by the flight of worlds.\n\nThe history of that great Party that let the oppressed go free--that\nlifted our nation from the depths of savagery to freedom's cloudless\nheights, and tore with holy hands from every law the words that\nsanctified the cruelty of man, is the most glorious in the annals of our\nrace. Never before was there such a moral exaltation--never a party with\na purpose so pure and high. It was the embodied conscience of a nation,\nthe enthusiasm of a people guided by wisdom, the impersonation of\njustice; and the sublime victory achieved loaded even the conquered with\nall the rights that freedom can bestow.\n\nRoscoe Conkling was an absolutely honest man. Honesty is the oak around\nwhich all other virtues cling. Without that they fall, and groveling\ndie in weeds and dust. He believed that a nation should discharge its\nobligations. He knew that a promise could not be made often enough, or\nemphatic enough, to take the place of payment. He felt that the promise\nof the Government was the promise of every citizen--that a national\nobligation was a personal debt, and that no possible combination of\nwords and pictures could take the place of coin. He uttered the splendid\ntruth that \"the higher obligations among men are not set down in writing\nsigned and sealed, but reside in honor.\" He knew that repudiation was\nthe sacrifice of honor--the death of the national soul. He knew that\nwithout character, without integrity, there is no wealth, and that\nbelow poverty, below bankruptcy, is the rayless abyss of repudiation.\nHe upheld the sacredness of contracts, of plighted national faith, and\nhelped to save and keep the honor of his native land. This adds another\nlaurel to his brow.\n\nHe was the ideal representative, faithful and incorruptible. He believed\nthat his constituents and his country were entitled to the fruit of\nhis experience, to his best and highest thought. No man ever held the\nstandard of responsibility higher than he. He voted according to his\njudgment, his conscience. He made no bargains--he neither bought nor\nsold.\n\nTo correct evils, abolish abuses and inaugurate reforms, he believed was\nnot only the duty, but the privilege, of a legislator. He neither sold\nnor mortgaged himself. He was in Congress during the years of vast\nexpenditure, of war and waste--when the credit of the nation was loaned\nto individuals--when claims were thick as leaves in June, when the\namendment of a statute, the change of a single word, meant millions, and\nwhen empires were given to corporations. He stood at the summit of his\npower--peer of the greatest--a leader tried and trusted. He had the\ntastes of a prince, the fortune of a peasant, and yet he never swerved.\nNo corporation was great enough or rich enough to purchase him. His vote\ncould not be bought \"for all the sun sees, or the close earth wombs, or\nthe profound seas hide.\" His hand was never touched by any bribe, and\non his soul there never was a sordid stain. Poverty was his priceless\ncrown.\n\nAbove his marvelous intellectual gifts--above all place he ever\nreached,--above the ermine he refused,--rises his integrity like some\ngreat mountain peak--and there it stands, firm as the earth beneath,\npure as the stars above.\n\nHe was a great lawyer. He understood the frame-work, the anatomy, the\nfoundations of law; was familiar with the great streams and currents and\ntides of authority.\n\nHe knew the history of legislation--the principles that have\nbeen settled upon the fields of war. He knew the maxims,--those\ncrystallizations of common sense, those hand-grenades of argument. He\nwas not a case-lawyer--a decision index, or an echo; he was original,\nthoughtful and profound. He had breadth and scope, resource, learning,\nlogic, and above all, a sense of justice. He was painstaking and\nconscientious--anxious to know the facts--preparing for every attack,\nready for every defence. He rested only when the end was reached. During\nthe contest, he neither sent nor received a flag of truce. He was\ntrue to his clients--making their case his. Feeling responsibility, he\nlistened patiently to details, and to his industry there were only the\nlimits of time and strength. He was a student of the Constitution. He\nknew the boundaries of State and Federal jurisdiction, and no man\nwas more familiar with those great decisions that are the peaks and\npromontories, the headlands and the beacons, of the law.\n\nHe was an orator,--logical, earnest, intense and picturesque. He laid\nthe foundation with care, with accuracy and skill, and rose by \"cold\ngradation and well balanced form\" from the corner-stone of statement\nto the domed conclusion. He filled the stage. He satisfied the eye--the\naudience was his. He had that indefinable thing called presence. Tall,\ncommanding, erect--ample in speech, graceful in compliment, Titanic\nin denunciation, rich in illustration, prodigal of comparison and\nmetaphor--and his sentences, measured and rhythmical, fell like music on\nthe enraptured throng.\n\nHe abhorred the Pharisee, and loathed all conscientious fraud. He had a\nprofound aversion for those who insist on putting base motives back\nof the good deeds of others. He wore no mask. He knew his friends--his\nenemies knew him.\n\nHe had no patience with pretence--with patriotic reasons for unmanly\nacts. He did his work and bravely spoke his thought.\n\nSensitive to the last degree, he keenly felt the blows and stabs of the\nenvious and obscure--of the smallest, of the weakest--but the greatest\ncould not drive him from conviction's field. He would not stoop to\nask or give an explanation. He left his words and deeds to justify\nthemselves.\n\nHe held in light esteem a friend who heard with half-believing ears the\nslander of a foe. He walked a highway of his own, and kept the company\nof his self-respect. He would not turn aside to avoid a foe--to greet or\ngain a friend.\n\nIn his nature there was no compromise. To him there were but two\npaths--the right and wrong. He was maligned, misrepresented and\nmisunderstood--but he would not answer. He knew that character speaks\nlouder far than any words. He was as silent then as he is now--and his\nsilence, better than any form of speech, refuted every charge.\n\nHe was an American--proud of his country, that was and ever will be\nproud of him. He did not find perfection only in other lands. He did\nnot grow small and shrunken, withered and apologetic, in the presence\nof those upon whom greatness had been thrust by chance. He could not\nbe overawed by dukes or lords, nor flattered into vertebrate-less\nsubserviency by the patronizing smiles of kings. In the midst of\nconventionalities he had the feeling of suffocation. He believed in the\nroyalty of man, in the sovereignty of the citizen, and in the matchless\ngreatness of this Republic.\n\nHe was of the classic mould--a figure from the antique world. He had\nthe pose of the great statues--the pride and bearing of the intellectual\nGreek, of the conquering Roman, and he stood in the wide free air as\nthough within his veins there flowed the blood of a hundred kings.\n\nAnd as he lived he died. Proudly he entered the darkness--or the\ndawn--that we call death. Unshrinkingly he passed beyond our horizon,\nbeyond the twilight's purple hills, beyond the utmost reach of human\nharm or help--to that vast realm of silence or of joy where the\ninnumerable dwell, and he has left with us his wealth of thought and\ndeed--the memory of a brave, imperious, honest man, who bowed alone to\ndeath.\n\n\n\n\nA TRIBUTE TO RICHARD H. WHITING.\n\nNew York, May 24., 1888.\n\n\nMY FRIENDS: The river of another life has reached the sea.\n\nAgain we are in the presence of that eternal peace that we call death.\n\nMy life has been rich in friends, but I never had a better or a truer\none than he who lies in silence here. He was as steadfast, as faithful,\nas the stars.\n\nRichard H. Whiting was an absolutely honest man. His word was gold--his\npromise was fulfillment--and there never has been, there never will be,\non this poor earth, any thing nobler than an honest, loving soul.\n\nThis man was as reliable as the attraction of gravitation--he knew\nno shadow of turning. He was as generous as autumn, as hospitable as\nsummer, and as tender as a perfect day in June. He forgot only himself,\nand asked favors only for others. He begged for the opportunity to\ndo good--to stand by a friend, to support a cause, to defend what he\nbelieved to be right.\n\nHe was a lover of nature--of the woods, the fields and flowers. He was\na home-builder. He believed in the family and the fireside--in the\nsacredness of the hearth.\n\nHe was a believer in the religion of deed, and his creed was to do good.\nNo man has ever slept in death who nearer lived his creed.\n\nI have known him for many years, and have yet to hear a word spoken of\nhim except in praise.\n\nHis life was full of honor, of kindness and of helpful deeds. Besides\nall, his soul was free. He feared nothing, except to do wrong. He was\na believer in the gospel of help and hope. He knew how much better, how\nmuch more sacred, a kind act is than any theory the brain has wrought.\n\nThe good are the noble. His life filled the lives of others with\nsunshine. He has left a legacy of glory to his children. They can\ntruthfully say that within their veins is right royal blood--the blood\nof an honest, generous man, of a steadfast friend, of one who was true\nto the very gates of death.\n\nIf there be another world, another life beyond the shore of this,--if\nthe great and good who died upon this orb are there,--then the noblest\nand the best, with eager hands, have welcomed him--the equal in honor,\nin generosity, of any one that ever passed beyond the veil.\n\nTo me this world is growing poor. New friends can never fill the places\nof the old.\n\nFarewell! If this is the end, then you have left to us the sacred memory\nof a noble life. If this is not the end, there is no world in which you,\nmy friend, will not be loved and welcomed. Farewell!\n\n\n\n\nA TRIBUTE TO COURTLANDT PALMER.\n\nNew York, July 26, 1888.\n\nMY FRIENDS: A thinker of pure thoughts, a speaker of brave words, a doer\nof generous deeds has reached the silent haven that all the dead have\nreached, and where the voyage of every life must end; and we, his\nfriends, who even now are hastening after him, are met to do the last\nkind acts that man may do for man--to tell his virtues and to lay with\ntenderness and tears lay ashes in the sacred place of rest and peace.\n\nSome one has said, that in the open hands of death we find only what\nthey gave away.\n\nLet us believe that pure thoughts, brave words and generous deeds can\nnever die. Let us believe that they bear fruit and add forever to the\nwell-being of the human race. Let us believe that a noble, self-denying\nlife increases the moral wealth of man, and gives assurance that the\nfuture will be grander than the past.\n\nIn the monotony of subservience, in the multitude of blind followers,\nnothing is more inspiring than a free and independent man--one who gives\nand asks reasons; one who demands freedom and gives what he demands; one\nwho refuses to be slave or master. Such a man was Courtlandt Palmer, to\nwhom we pay the tribute of respect and love.\n\nHe was an honest man--he gave the rights he claimed. This was the\nfoundation on which he built. To think for himself--to give his thought\nto others; this was to him not only a privilege, not only a right, but a\nduty.\n\nHe believed in self-preservation--in personal independence--that is to\nsay, in manhood.\n\nHe preserved the realm of mind from the invasion of brute force, and\nprotected the children of the brain from the Herod of authority.\n\nHe investigated for himself the questions, the problems and the\nmysteries of life. Majorities were nothing to him. No error could be old\nenough--popular, plausible or profitable enough--to bribe his judgment\nor to keep his conscience still.\n\nHe knew that, next to finding truth, the greatest joy is honest search.\n\nHe was a believer in intellectual hospitality, in the fair exchange of\nthought, in good mental manners, in the amenities of the soul, in the\nchivalry of discussion.\n\nHe insisted that those who speak should hear; that those who question\nshould answer; that each should strive not for a victory over others,\nbut for the discovery of truth, and that truth when found should be\nwelcomed by every human soul.\n\nHe knew that truth has no fear of investigation--of being understood.\nHe knew that truth loves the day--that its enemies are ignorance,\nprejudice, egotism, bigotry, hypocrisy, fear and darkness, and that\nintelligence, candor, honesty, love and light are its eternal friends.\n\nHe believed in the morality of the useful--that the virtues are the\nfriends of man--the seeds of joy.\n\nHe knew that consequences determine the quality of actions, and \"that\nwhatsoever a man sows that shall he also reap.\"\n\nIn the positive philosophy of Auguste Comte he found the framework of\nhis creed. In the conclusions of that great, sublime and tender soul he\nfound the rest, the serenity and the certainty he sought.\n\nThe clouds had fallen from his life. He saw that the old faiths were\nbut phases in the growth of man--that out from the darkness, up from\nthe depths, the human race through countless ages and in every land had\nstruggled toward the ever-growing light.\n\nHe felt that the living are indebted to the noble dead, and that each\nshould pay his debt; that he should pay it by preserving to the extent\nof his power the good he has, by destroying the hurtful, by adding to\nthe knowledge of the world, by giving better than he had received; and\nthat each should be the bearer of a torch, a giver of light for all that\nis, for all to be.\n\nThis was the religion of duty perceived, of duty within the reach of\nman, within the circumference of the known--a religion without mystery,\nwith experience for the foundation of belief--a religion understood by\nthe head and approved by the heart--a religion that appealed to reason\nwith a definite end in view--the civilization and development of the\nhuman race by legitimate, adequate and natural means--that is to say, by\nascertaining the conditions of progress and by teaching each to be noble\nenough to live for all.\n\nThis is the gospel of man; this is the gospel of this world; this is the\nreligion of humanity; this is a philosophy that comtemplates not with\nscorn, but with pity, with admiration and with love all that man has\ndone, regarding, as it does, the past with all its faults and virtues,\nits sufferings, its cruelties and crimes, as the only road by which the\nperfect could be reached.\n\nHe denied the supernatural--the phantoms and the ghosts that fill\nthe twilight-land of fear. To him and for him there was but one\nreligion--the religion of pure thoughts, of noble words, of self-denying\ndeeds, of honest work for all the world--the religion of Help and Hope.\n\nFacts were the foundation of his faith; history was his prophet; reason\nhis guide; duty his deity; happiness the end; intelligence the means.\n\nHe knew that man must be the providence of man.\n\nHe did not believe in Religion and Science, but in the Religion of\nScience--that is to say, wisdom glorified by love, the Savior of our\nrace--the religion that conquers prejudice and hatred, that drives all\nsuperstition from the mind, that ennobles, lengthens and enriches life,\nthat drives from every home the wolves of want, from every heart the\nfiends of selfishness and fear, and from every brain the monsters of the\nnight.\n\nHe lived and labored for his fellow-men. He sided with the weak and poor\nagainst the strong and rich. He welcomed light. His face was ever toward\nthe East.\n\nAccording to his light he lived. \"The world was his country--to do good\nhis religion.\" There is no language to express a nobler creed than this;\nnothing can be grander, more comprehensive, nearer perfect. This was the\ncreed that glorified his life and made his death sublime.\n\nHe was afraid to do wrong, and for that reason was not afraid to die.\n\nHe knew that the end was near. He knew that his work was done. He stood\nwithin the twilight, within the deepening gloom, knowing that for the\nlast time the gold was fading from the West and that there could not\nfall again within his eyes the trembling lustre of another dawn. He knew\nthat night had come, and yet his soul was filled with light, for in that\nnight the memory of his generous deeds shone out like stars.\n\nWhat can we say? What words can solve the mystery of life, the mystery\nof death? What words can justly pay a tribute to the man who lived\nto his ideal, who spoke his honest thought, and who was turned aside\nneither by envy, nor hatred, nor contumely, nor slander, nor scorn, nor\nfear?\n\nWhat words will do that life the justice that we know and feel?\n\nA heart breaks, a man dies, a leaf falls in the far forest, a babe is\nborn, and the great world sweeps on.\n\nBy the grave of man stands the angel of Silence.\n\nNo one can tell which is better--Life with its gleams and shadows, its\nthrills and pangs, its ecstasy and tears, its wreaths and thorns, its\ncrowns, its glories and Golgothas, or Death, with its peace, its rest,\nits cool and placid brow that hath within no memory or fear of grief or\npain.\n\nFarewell, dear friend. The world is better for your life--The world is\nbraver for your death.\n\nFarewell! We loved you living, and we love you now.\n\n\n\n\nA TRIBUTE TO MRS. MARY H. FISKE.\n\nAt Scottish Rite Hall, New York, February 6, 1889.\n\n\nMY FRIENDS: In the presence of the two great mysteries, Life and Death,\nwe are met to say above this still, unconscious house of clay, a few\nwords of kindness, of regret, of love, and hope.\n\nIn this presence, let us speak of the goodness, the charity, the\ngenerosity and the genius of the dead.\n\nOnly flowers should be laid upon the tomb. In life's last pillow there\nshould be no thorns.\n\nMary Fiske was like herself--she patterned after none. She was a genius,\nand put her soul in all she did and wrote. She cared nothing for roads,\nnothing for beaten paths, nothing for the footsteps of others--she went\nacross the fields and through the woods and by the winding streams, and\ndown the vales, or over crags, wherever fancy led. She wrote lines that\nleaped with laughter and words that were wet with tears. She gave us\nquaint thoughts, and sayings filled with the \"pert and nimble spirit of\nmirth.\" Her pages were flecked with sunshine and shadow, and in every\nword were the pulse and breath of life.\n\nHer heart went out to all the wretched in this weary world--and yet she\nseemed as joyous as though grief and death were nought but words. She\nwept where others wept, but in her own misfortunes found the food of\nhope. She cared for the to-morrow of others, but not for her own. She\nlived for to-day.\n\nSome hearts are like a waveless pool, satisfied to hold the image of a\nwondrous star--but hers was full of motion, life and light and storm.\n\nShe longed for freedom. Every limitation was a prison's wall. Rules were\nshackles, and forms were made for serfs and slaves.\n\nShe gave her utmost thought. She praised all generous deeds; applauded\nthe struggling and even those who failed.\n\nShe pitied the poor, the forsaken, the friendless. No one could fall\nbelow her pity, no one could wander beyond the circumference of her\nsympathy. To her there were no outcasts--they were victims. She knew\nthat the inhabitants of palaces and penitentiaries might change\nplaces without adding to the injustice of the world. She knew that\ncircumstances and conditions determine character--that the lowest and\nthe worst of our race were children once, as pure as light, whose cheeks\ndimpled with smiles beneath the heaven of a mother's eyes. She thought\nof the road they had traveled, of the thorns that had pierced their\nfeet, of the deserts they had crossed, and so, instead of words of scorn\nshe gave the eager hand of help.\n\nNo one appealed to her in vain. She listened to the story of the poor,\nand all she had she gave. A god could do no more.\n\nThe destitute and suffering turned naturally to her. The maimed and hurt\nsought for her open door, and the helpless put their hands in hers.\n\nShe shielded the weak--she attacked the strong.\n\nHer heart was open as the gates of day. She shed kindness as the sun\nsheds light. If all her deeds were flowers, the air would be faint with\nperfume. If all her charities could change to melodies, a symphony would\nfill the sky.\n\nMary Fiske had within her brain the divine fire called genius, and in\nher heart the \"touch of nature that makes the whole world kin.\"\n\nShe wrote as a stream runs, that winds and babbles through the shadowy\nfields, that falls in foam of flight and haste and laughing joins the\nsea.\n\nA little while ago a babe was found--one that had been abandoned by\nits mother--left as a legacy to chance or fate. The warm heart of Mary\nFiske, now cold in death, was touched. She took the waif and held it\nlovingly to her breast and made the child her own.\n\nWe pray thee, Mother Nature, that thou wilt take this woman and hold her\nas tenderly in thy arms, as she held and pressed against her generous,\nthrobbing heart, the abandoned babe.\n\nWe ask no more.\n\nIn this presence, let us remember our faults, our frailties, and the\ngenerous, helpful, self-denying, loving deeds of Mary Fiske.\n\n\n\n\nA TRIBUTE TO HORACE SEAVER.\n\nAt Paine Hall, Boston, August 25, 1889.\n\n     * The eulogy pronounced at the funeral of Horace Shaver In\n     Paine Hall last Sunday was the tribute of one great man to\n     another. To have Robert G. Ingersoll speak words of praise\n     above the silent form is fame; to deserve these words is\n     immortality.--The Boston Investigator, August 28, 1889.\n\n\nHORACE SEAVER was a pioneer, a torch-bearer, a toiler in that great\nfield we call the world--a worker for his fellow-men. At the end of his\ntask he has fallen asleep, and we are met to tell the story of his long\nand useful life--to pay our tribute to his work and worth.\n\nHe was one who saw the dawn while others lived in night. He kept his\nface toward the \"purpling east\" and watched the coming of the blessed\nday.\n\nHe always sought for light. His object was to know--to find a reason for\nhis faith--a fact on which to build.\n\nIn superstition's sands he sought the gems of truth; in superstition's\nnight he looked for stars.\n\nBorn in New England--reared amidst the cruel superstitions of his age\nand time, he had the manhood and the courage to investigate, and he had\nthe goodness and the courage to tell his honest thoughts.\n\nHe was always kind, and sought to win the confidence of men by sympathy\nand love. There was no taint or touch of malice in his blood. To him\nhis fellows did not seem depraved--they were not wholly bad--there was\nwithin the heart of each the seeds of good. He knew that back of every\nthought and act were forces uncontrolled. He wisely said: \"Circumstances\nfurnish the seeds of good and evil, and man is but the soil in which\nthey grow.\" Horace Seaver was crowned with the wreath of his own deeds,\nwoven by the generous hand of a noble friend. He fought the creed, and\nloved the man. He pitied those who feared and shuddered at the thought\nof death--who dwelt in darkness and in dread.\n\nThe religion of his day filled his heart with horror.\n\nHe was kind, compassionate, and tender, and could not fall upon his\nknees before a cruel and revengeful God--he could not bow to one\nwho slew with famine, sword and fire--to one pitiless as pestilence,\nrelentless as the lightning stroke. Jehovah had no attribute that he\ncould love.\n\nHe attacked the creed of New England--a creed that had within it\nthe ferocity of Knox, the malice of Calvin, the cruelty of Jonathan\nEdwards--a religion that had a monster for a God--a religion whose\ndogmas would have shocked cannibals feasting upon babes.\n\nHorace Seaver followed the light of his brain--the impulse of his heart.\nHe was attacked, but he answered the insulter with a smile; and even he\nwho coined malignant lies was treated as a friend misled. He did not\nask God to forgive his enemies--he forgave them himself. He was sincere.\nSincerity is the true and perfect mirror of the mind. It reflects the\nhonest thought. It is the foundation of character, and without it there\nis no moral grandeur.\n\nSacred are the lips from which has issued only truth. Over all wealth,\nabove all station, above the noble, the robed and crowned, rises the\nsincere man. Happy is the man who neither paints nor patches, veils nor\nveneers. Blessed is he who wears no mask.\n\nThe man who lies before us wrapped in perfect peace, practiced no art to\nhide or half conceal his thought. He did not write or speak the double\nwords that might be useful in retreat. He gave a truthful transcript of\nhis mind, and sought to make his meaning clear as light.\n\nTo use his own words, he had \"the courage which impels a man to do\nhis duty, to hold fast his integrity, to maintain a conscience void\nof offence, at every hazard and at every sacrifice, in defiance of the\nworld.\"\n\nHe lived to his ideal. He sought the approbation of himself. He did not\nbuild his character upon the opinions of others, and it was out of the\nvery depths of his nature that he asked this profound question:\n\n\"What is there in other men that makes us desire their approbation, and\nfear their censure more than our own?\"\n\nHorace Seaver was a good and loyal citizen of the mental republic--a\nbeliever in, intellectual hospitality, one who knew that bigotry is\nborn of ignorance and fear--the provincialisms of the brain. He did\nnot belong to the tribe, or to the nation, but to the human race. His\nsympathy was wide as want, and, like the sky, bent above the suffering\nworld.\n\nThis man had that superb thing called moral courage--courage in its\nhighest form. He knew that his thoughts were not the thoughts of\nothers--that he was with the few, and that where one would take his\nside, thousands would be his eager foes. He knew that wealth would\nscorn and cultured ignorance deride, and that believers in the creeds,\nbuttressed by law and custom, would hurl the missiles of revenge and\nhate. He knew that lies, like snakes, would fill the pathway of his\nlife--and yet he told his honest thought--told it without hatred and\nwithout contempt--told it as it really was. And so, through all his\ndays, his heart was sound and stainless to the core.\n\nWhen he enlisted in the army whose banner is light, the honest\ninvestigator was looked upon as lost and cursed, and even Christian\ncriminals held him in contempt. The believing embezzler, the orthodox\nwife-beater, even the murderer, lifted his bloody hands and thanked God\nthat on his soul there was no stain of unbelief.\n\nIn nearly every State of our Republic, the man who denied the\nabsurdities and impossibilities lying at the foundation of what is\ncalled orthodox religion, was denied his civil rights. He was not\ncanopied by the aegis of the law. He stood beyond the reach of sympathy.\nHe was not allowed to testify against the invader of his home, the\nseeker for his life--his lips were closed. He was declared dishonorable,\nbecause he was honest. His unbelief made him a social leper, a pariah,\nan outcast. He was the victim of religious hate and scorn. Arrayed\nagainst him were all the prejudices and all the forces and hypocrisies\nof society. All mistakes and lies were his enemies. Even the Theist was\ndenounced as a disturber of the peace, although he told his thoughts in\nkind and candid words. He was called a blasphemer, because he sought to\nrescue the reputation of his God from the slanders of orthodox priests.\n\nSuch was the bigotry of the time, that natural love was lost. The\nunbelieving son was hated by his pious sire, and even the mother's heart\nwas by her creed turned into stone.\n\nHorace Seaver pursued his way. He worked and wrought as best he could,\nin solitude and want. He knew the day would come. He lived to be\nrewarded for his toil--to see most of the laws repealed that had made\noutcasts of the noblest, the wisest, and the best. He lived to see the\nforemost preachers of the world attack the sacred creeds. He lived to\nsee the sciences released from superstition's clutch. He lived to see\nthe orthodox theologian take his place with the professor of the\nblack art, the fortune-teller, and the astrologer. He lived to see\nthe greatest of the world accept his thought--to see the theologian\ndisplaced by the true priests of Nature--by Humboldt and Darwin, by\nHuxley and Haeckel.\n\nWithin the narrow compass of his life the world was changed. The\nrailway, the steamship, and the telegraph made all nations neighbors.\nCountless inventions have made the luxuries of the past the necessities\nof to-day. Life has been enriched, and man ennobled. The geologist has\nread the records of frost and flame, of wind and wave--the astronomer\nhas told the story of the stars--the biologist has sought the germ of\nlife, and in every department of knowledge the torch of science sheds\nits sacred light.\n\nThe ancient creeds have grown absurd. The miracles are small and mean.\nThe inspired book is filled with fables told to please a childish world,\nand the dogma of eternal pain now shocks the heart and brain.\n\nHe lived to see a monument unveiled to Bruno in the city of Rome--to\nGiordano Bruno--that great man who two hundred and eighty-nine years ago\nsuffered death for having proclaimed the truths that since have\nfilled the world with joy. He lived to see the victim of the church a\nvictor--lived to see his memory honored by a nation freed from papal\nchains.\n\nHe worked knowing what the end must be--expecting little while he\nlived--but knowing that every fact in the wide universe was on his side.\nHe knew that truth can wait, and so he worked patient as eternity.\n\nHe had the brain of a philosopher and the heart of a child.\n\nHorace Seaver was a man of common sense.\n\nBy that I mean, one who knows the law of average. He denied the Bible,\nnot on account of what has been discovered in astronomy, or the length\nof time it took to form the delta of the Nile--but he compared the\nthings he found with what he knew.\n\nHe knew that antiquity added nothing to probability--that lapse of time\ncan never take the place of cause, and that the dust can never gather\nthick enough upon mistakes to make them equal with the truth.\n\nHe knew that the old, by no possibility, could have been more wonderful\nthan the new, and that the present is a perpetual torch by which we know\nthe past.\n\nTo him all miracles were mistakes, whose parents were cunning and\ncredulity. He knew that miracles were not, because they are not.\n\nHe believed in the sublime, unbroken, and eternal march of causes and\neffects--denying the chaos of chance, and the caprice of power.\n\nHe tested the past by the now, and judged of all the men and races of\nthe world by those he knew.\n\nHe believed in the religion of free thought and good deed--of character,\nof sincerity, of honest endeavor, of cheerful help--and above all, in\nthe religion of love and liberty--in a religion for every day--for\nthe world in which we live--for the present--the religion of roof and\nraiment, of food, of intelligence, of intellectual hospitality--the\nreligion that gives health and happiness, freedom and content--in the\nreligion of work, and in the ceremonies of honest labor.\n\nHe lived for this world; if there be another, he will live for that.\n\nHe did what he could for the destruction of fear--the destruction of\nthe imaginary monster who rewards the few in heaven--the monster who\ntortures the many in perdition.\n\nHe was a friend of all the world, and sought to civilize the human race.\n\nFor more than fifty years he labored to free the bodies and the souls\nof men--and many thousands have read his words with joy. He sought the\nsuffering and oppressed. He sat by those in pain--and his helping hand\nwas laid in pity on the brow of death.\n\nHe asked only to be treated as he treated others. He asked for only what\nhe earned, and had the manhood cheerfully to accept the consequences of\nhis actions. He expected no reward for the goodness of another.\n\nBut he has lived his life. We should shed no tears except the tears of\ngratitude. We should rejoice that he lived so long.\n\nIn Nature's course, his time had come. The four seasons were complete\nin him. The Spring could never come again. The measure of his years was\nfull.\n\nWhen the day is done--when the work of a life is finished--when the gold\nof evening meets the dusk of night, beneath the silent stars the tired\nlaborer should fall asleep. To outlive usefulness is a double death.\n\"Let me not live after my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff of younger\nspirits.\"\n\nWhen the old oak is visited in vain by Spring--when light and rain no\nlonger thrill--it is not well to stand leafless, desolate, and alone. It\nis better far to fall where Nature softly covers all with woven moss and\ncreeping vine.\n\nHow little, after all, we know of what is ill or well! How little of\nthis wondrous stream of cataracts and pools--this stream of life, that\nrises in a world unknown, and flows to that mysterious sea whose shore\nthe foot of one who comes has never pressed! How little of this life we\nknow--this struggling ray of light 'twixt gloom and gloom--this strip of\nland by verdure clad, between the unknown wastes--this throbbing moment\nfilled with love and pain--this dream that lies between the shadowy\nshores of sleep and death!\n\nWe stand upon this verge of crumbling time. We love, we hope, we\ndisappear. Again we mingle with the dust, and the \"knot intrinsicate\"\nforever falls apart.\n\nBut this we know: A noble life enriches all the world.\n\nHorace Seaver lived for others. He accepted toil and hope deferred.\nPoverty was his portion. Like Socrates, he did not seek to adorn his\nbody, but rather his soul with the jewels of charity, modesty, courage,\nand above all, with a love of liberty.\n\nFarewell, O brave and modest man!\n\nYour lips, between which truths burst into blossom, are forever closed.\nYour loving heart has ceased to beat. Your busy brain is still, and from\nyour hand has dropped the sacred torch.\n\nYour noble, self-denying life has honored us, and we will honor you.\n\nYou were my friend, and I was yours. Above your silent clay I pay this\ntribute to your worth.\n\nFarewell!\n\n\n\n\nA TRIBUTE TO LAWRENCE BARRETT.\n\nAt the Broadway Theatre, New York, March 22, 1891.\n\n\nMY heart tells me that on the threshold of my address it will be\nappropriate for me to say a few words about the great actor who has\njust fallen into that sleep that we call death. Lawrence Barrett was my\nfriend, and I was his. He was an interpreter of Shakespeare, to whose\ncreations he gave flesh and blood. He began at the foundation of his\nprofession, and rose until he stood next to his friend--next to one who\nis regarded as the greatest tragedian of our time--next to Edwin Booth.\n\nThe life of Lawrence Barrett was a success, because he honored himself\nand added glory to the stage.\n\nHe did not seek for gain by pandering to the thoughtless, ignorant or\nbase. He gave the drama in its highest and most serious form. He shunned\nthe questionable, the vulgar and impure, and gave the intellectual,\nthe pathetic, the manly and the tragic. He did not stoop to conquer--he\nsoared. He was fitted for the stage. He had a thoughtful face, a vibrant\nvoice and the pose of chivalry, and besides he had patience, industry,\ncourage and the genius of success.\n\nHe was a graceful and striking Bassanio, a thoughtful Hamlet, an intense\nOthello, a marvelous Harebell, and the best Cassius of his century.\n\nIn the drama of human life, all are actors, and no one knows his part.\nIn this great play the scenes are shifted by unknown forces, and the\ncommencement, plot and end are still unknown--are still unguessed. One\nby one the players leave the stage, and others take their places. There\nis no pause--the play goes on. No prompter's voice is heard, and no one\nhas the slightest clue to what the next scene is to be.\n\nWill this great drama have an end? Will the curtain fall at last? Will\nit rise again upon some other stage? Reason says perhaps, and Hope still\nwhispers yes. Sadly I bid my friend farewell, I admired the actor, and I\nloved the man.\n\n\n\n\nA TRIBUTE TO WALT WHITMAN.\n\nCamden, N. J., March 30, 1892.\n\nMY FRIENDS: Again we, in the mystery of Life, are brought face to face\nwith the mystery of Death. A great man, a great American, the most\neminent citizen of this Republic, lies dead before us, and we have met\nto pay a tribute to his greatness and his worth.\n\nI know he needs no words of mine. His fame is secure. He laid the\nfoundations of it deep in the human heart and brain. He was, above all\nI have known, the poet of humanity, of sympathy. He was so great that he\nrose above the greatest that he met without arrogance, and so great\nthat he stooped to the lowest without conscious condescension. He never\nclaimed to be lower or greater than any of the sous of men.\n\nHe came into our generation a free, untrammeled spirit, with sympathy\nfor all. His arm was beneath the form of the sick. He sympathized with\nthe imprisoned and despised, and even on the brow of crime he was great\nenough to place the kiss of human sympathy.\n\nOne of the greatest lines in our literature is his, and the line is\ngreat enough to do honor to the greatest genius that has ever lived.\nHe said, speaking of an outcast: \"Not till the sun excludes you do I\nexclude you.\"\n\nHis charity was as wide as the sky, and wherever there was human\nsuffering, human misfortune, the sympathy of Whitman bent above it as\nthe firmament bends above the earth.\n\nHe was built on a broad and splendid plan--ample, without appearing to\nhave limitations--passing easily for a brother of mountains and seas and\nconstellations; caring nothing for the little maps and charts with which\ntimid pilots hug the shore, but giving himself freely with recklessness\nof genius to winds and waves and tides; caring for nothing as long as\nthe stars were above him. He walked among men, among writers, among\nverbal varnishers and veneerers, among literary milliners and tailors,\nwith the unconscious majesty of an antique god.\n\nHe was the poet of that divine democracy which gives equal rights to\nall the sons and daughters of men. He uttered the great American voice;\nuttered a song worthy of the great Republic. No man ever said more\nfor the rights of humanity, more in favor of real democracy, of real\njustice. He neither scorned nor cringed, was neither tyrant nor slave.\nHe asked only to stand the equal of his fellows beneath the great flag\nof nature, the blue and stars.\n\nHe was the poet of Life. It was a joy simply to breathe. He loved the\nclouds; he enjoyed the breath of morning, the twilight, the wind, the\nwinding streams. He loved to look at the sea when the waves burst into\nthe whitecaps of joy. He loved the fields, the hills; he was acquainted\nwith the trees, with birds, with all the beautiful objects of the earth.\nHe not only saw these objects, but understood their meaning, and he used\nthem that he might exhibit his heart to his fellow-men.\n\nHe was the poet of Love. He was not ashamed of that divine passion that\nhas built every home in the world; that divine passion that has painted\nevery picture and given us every real work of art; that divine passion\nthat has made the world worth living in and has given some value to\nhuman life.\n\nHe was the poet of the natural, and taught men not to be ashamed of that\nwhich is natural. He was not only the poet of democracy, not only the\npoet of the great Republic, but he was the poet of the human race. He\nwas not confined to the limits of this country, but his sympathy went\nout over the seas to all the nations of the earth.\n\nHe stretched out his hand and felt himself the equal of all kings and of\nall princes, and the brother of all men, no matter how high, no matter\nhow low.\n\nHe has uttered more supreme words than any writer of our century,\npossibly of almost any other. He was, above all things, a man, and above\ngenius, above all the snow-capped peaks of intelligence, above all art,\nrises the true man. Greater than all is the true man, and he walked\namong his fellow-men as such.\n\nHe was the poet of Death. He accepted all life and all death, and he\njustified all. He had the courage to meet all, and was great enough and\nsplendid enough to harmonize all and to accept all there is of life as a\ndivine melody.\n\nYou know better than I what his life has been, but let me say one\nthing. Knowing, as he did, what others can know and what they cannot,\nhe accepted and absorbed all theories, all creeds, all religions, and\nbelieved in none. His philosophy was a sky that embraced all clouds and\naccounted for all clouds. He had a philosophy and a religion of his own,\nbroader, as he believed--and as I believe--than others. He accepted all,\nhe understood all, and he was above all.\n\nHe was absolutely true to himself. He had frankness and courage, and he\nwas as candid as light. He was willing that all the sons of men should\nbe absolutely acquainted with his heart and brain. He had nothing to\nconceal. Frank, candid, pure, serene, noble, and yet for years he was\nmaligned and slandered, simply because he had the candor of nature.\nHe will be understood yet, and that for which he was condemned--his\nfrankness, his candor--will add to the glory and greatness of his fame.\n\nHe wrote a liturgy for mankind; he wrote a great and splendid psalm of\nlife, and he gave to us the gospel of humanity--the greatest gospel that\ncan be preached.\n\nHe was not afraid to live, not afraid to die. For many years he and\ndeath were near neighbors. He was always willing and ready to meet\nand greet this king called death, and for many months he sat in the\ndeepening twilight waiting for the night, waiting for the light.\n\nHe never lost his hope. When the mists filled the valleys, he looked\nupon the mountain tops, and when the mountains in darkness disappeared,\nhe fixed his gaze upon the stars.\n\nIn his brain were the blessed memories of the day, and in his heart were\nmingled the dawn and dusk of life.\n\nHe was not afraid; he was cheerful every moment. The laughing nymphs of\nday did not desert him. They remained that they might clasp the hands\nand greet with smiles the veiled and silent sisters of the night. And\nwhen they did come, Walt Whitman stretched his hand to them. On one side\nwere the nymphs of the day, and on the other the silent sisters of the\nnight, and so, hand in hand, between smiles and tears, he reached his\njourney's end.\n\nFrom the frontier of life, from the western wave-kissed shore, he\nsent us messages of content and hope, and these messages seem now like\nstrains of music blown by the \"Mystic Trumpeter\" from Death's pale\nrealm.\n\nTo-day we give back to Mother Nature, to her clasp and kiss, one of the\nbravest, sweetest souls that ever lived in human clay.\n\nCharitable as the air and generous as Nature, he was negligent of all\nexcept to do and say what he believed he should do and should say.\n\nAnd I to-day thank him, not only for you but for myself, for all the\nbrave words he has uttered. I thank him for all the great and splendid\nwords lie has said in favor of liberty, in favor of man and woman, in\nfavor of motherhood, in favor of fathers, in favor of children, and I\nthank him for the brave words that he has said of death.\n\nHe has lived, he has died, and death is less terrible than it was\nbefore. Thousands and millions will walk down into the \"dark valley of\nthe shadow\" holding Walt Whitman by the hand. Long after we are dead the\nbrave words he has spoken will sound like trumpets to the dying.\n\nAnd so I lay this little wreath upon this great mans tomb. I loved him\nliving, and I love him still.\n\n\n\n\nA TRIBUTE TO PHILO D. BECKWITH.\n\nDowagiac, Mich., January 25, 1893.\n\n\nLADIES and Gentlemen: Nothing is nobler than to plant the flower of\ngratitude on the grave of a generous man--of one who labored for the\ngood of all--whose hands were open and whose heart was full.\n\nPraise for the noble dead is an inspiration for the noble living.\n\nLoving words sow seeds of love in every gentle heart. Appreciation is\nthe soil and climate of good and generous deeds.\n\nWe are met to-night not to pay, but to acknowledge a debt of gratitude\nto one who lived and labored here--who was the friend of all and who for\nmany years was the providence of the poor. To one who left to those who\nknew him best, the memory of countless loving deeds--the richest legacy\nthat man can leave to man.\n\nWe are here to dedicate this monument to the stainless memory of Philo\nD. Beckwith--one of the kings of men.\n\nThis monument--this perfect theatre--this beautiful house of\ncheerfulness and joy--this home and child of all the arts--this temple\nwhere the architect, the sculptor and painter united to build and\ndecorate a stage whereon the drama with a thousand tongues will tell\nthe frailties and the virtues of the human race, and music with her\nthrilling voice will touch the source of happy tears.\n\nThis is a fitting monument to the man whose memory we honor--to one,\nwho broadening with the years, outgrew the cruel creeds, the heartless\ndogmas of his time--to one who passed from superstition to science--from\nreligion to reason--from theology to humanity--from slavery to\nfreedom--from the shadow of fear to the blessed light of love and\ncourage. To one who believed in intellectual hospitality--in the perfect\nfreedom of the soul, and hated tyranny, in every form, with all his\nheart.\n\nTo one whose head and hands were in partnership constituting the firm\nof Intelligence and Industry, and whose heart divided the profits with\nhis fellow-men. To one who fought the battle of life alone, without the\naid of place or wealth, and yet grew nobler and gentler with success.\n\nTo one who tried to make a heaven here and who believed in the blessed\ngospel of cheerfulness and love--of happiness and hope.\n\nAnd it is fitting, too, that this monument should be adorned with the\nsublime faces, wrought in stone, of the immortal dead--of those who\nbattled for the rights of man--who broke the fetters of the slave--of\nthose who filled the minds of men with poetry, art, and light--of\nVoltaire, who abolished torture in France and who did more for liberty\nthan any other of the sons of men--of Thomas Paine, whose pen did as\nmuch as any sword to make the New World free--of Victor Hugo, who wept\nfor those who weep--of Emerson, a worshiper of the Ideal, who filled\nthe mind with suggestions of the perfect--of Goethe, the\npoet-philosopher--of Whitman, the ample, wide as the sky--author of the\ntenderest, the most pathetic, the sublimest poem that this continent has\nproduced--of Shakespeare, the King of all--of Beethoven, the divine,--of\nChopin and Verdi and of Wagner, grandest of them all, whose music\nsatisfies the heart and brain and fills imagination's sky--of George\nEliot, who wove within her brain the purple robe her genius wears--of\nGeorge Sand, subtle and sincere, passionate and free--and with\nthese--faces of those who, on the stage, have made the mimic world as\nreal as life and death.\n\nBeneath the loftiest monuments may be found ambition's worthless dust,\nwhile those who lived the loftiest lives are sleeping now in unknown\ngraves.\n\nIt may be that the bravest of the brave who ever fell upon the field of\nruthless war, was left without a grave to mingle slowly with the land he\nsaved.\n\nBut here and now the Man and Monument agree, and blend like sounds that\nmeet and melt in melody--a monument for the dead--a blessing for the\nliving--a memory of tears--a prophecy of joy.\n\nFortunate the people where this good man lived, for they are all his\nheirs--and fortunate for me that I have had the privilege of laying this\nlittle laurel leaf upon his unstained brow.\n\nAnd now, speaking for those he loved--for those who represent the\nhonored dead--I dedicate this home of mirth and song--of poetry and\nart--to the memory of Philo D. Beckwith--a true philosopher--a real\nphilanthropist.\n\n\n\n\nA TRIBUTE TO ANTON SEIDL.\n\n     A telegram read at the funeral services in the Metropolitan\n     Opera House, New York City, March 31, 1898.\n\nIN the noon and zenith of his career, in the flush and glory of success,\nAnton Seidl, the greatest orchestral leader of all time, the perfect\ninterpreter of Wagner, of all his subtlety and sympathy, his heroism and\ngrandeur, his intensity and limitless passion, his wondrous harmonies\nthat tell of all there is in life, and touch the longings and the hopes\nof every heart, has passed from the shores of sound to the realm of\nsilence, borne by the mysterious and resistless tide that ever ebbs but\nnever flows.\n\nAll moods were his. Delicate as the perfume of the first violet, wild as\nthe storm, he knew the music of all sounds, from the rustle of leaves,\nthe whisper of hidden springs, to the voices of the sea.\n\nHe was the master of music, from the rhythmical strains of irresponsible\njoy to the sob of the funeral march.\n\nHe stood like a king with his sceptre in his hand, and we knew that\nevery tone and harmony were in his brain, every passion in his breast,\nand yet his sculptured face was as calm, as serene as perfect art. He\nmingled his soul with the music and gave his heart to the enchanted air.\n\nHe appeared to have no limitations, no walls, no chains. He seemed to\nfollow the pathway of desire, and the marvelous melodies, the sublime\nharmonies, were as free as eagles above the clouds with outstretched\nwings.\n\nHe educated, refined, and gave unspeakable joy to many thousands of his\nfellow-men. He added to the grace and glory of life. He spoke a language\ndeeper, more poetic than words--the language of the perfect, the\nlanguage of love and death.\n\nBut he is voiceless now; a fountain of harmony has ceased. Its inspired\nstrains have died away in night, and all its murmuring melodies are\nstrangely still.\n\nWe will mourn for him, we will honor him, not in words, but in the\nlanguage that he used.\n\nAnton Seidl is dead. Play the great funeral march. Envelop him in music.\nLet its wailing waves cover him. Let its wild and mournful winds sigh\nand moan above him. Give his face to its kisses and its tears.\n\nPlay the great funeral march, music as profound as death. That will\nexpress our sorrow--that will voice our love, our hope, and that will\ntell of the life, the triumph, the genius, the death of Anton Seidl.\n\n\n\n\nA TRIBUTE TO DR. THOMAS SETON ROBERTSON.\n\nNew York September 8, 1898.\n\n\nIN the pulseless hush of death, silence seems more expressive, more\nappropriate--than speech. In the presence of the Great Mystery, the\ngreat mystery that waits to enshroud us all, we feel the uselessness of\nwords. But where a fellow-mortal has reached his journey's end--where\nthe darkness from which he emerged has received him again, it is but\nnatural for his friends to mingle with their grief, expressions of their\nlove and loss.\n\nHe who lies before us in the sleep of death was generous to his\nfellow-men. His hands were always stretched to help, to save. He pitied\nthe friendless, the unfortunate, the hopeless--proud of his skill--of\nhis success. He was quick to decide--to act--prompt, tireless, forgetful\nof self. He lengthened life and conquered pain--hundreds are well and\nhappy now because he lived. This is enough. This puts a star above the\ngloom of death.\n\nHe was sensitive to the last degree--quick to feel a slight--to resent\na wrong--but in the warmth of kindness the thorn of hatred blossomed. He\nwas not quite fashioned for this world. The flints and thorns on life's\nhighway bruised and pierced his flesh, and for his wounds he did\nnot have the blessed balm of patience. He felt the manacles, the\nlimitations--the imprisonments of life and so within the walls and bars\nhe wore his very soul away. He could not bear the storms. The tides,\nthe winds, the waves, in the morning of his life, dashed his frail bark\nagainst the rocks.\n\nHe fought as best he could, and that he failed was not his fault.\n\nHe was honest, generous and courageous. These three great virtues were\nhis. He was a true and steadfast friend, seeing only the goodness of the\nones he loved. Only a great and noble heart is capable of this.\n\nBut he has passed beyond the reach of praise or blame--passed to the\nrealm of rest--to the waveless calm of perfect peace.\n\nThe storm is spent--the winds are hushed--the waves have died along the\nshore--the tides are still--the aching heart has ceased to beat, and\nwithin the brain all thoughts, all hopes and fears--ambitions, memories,\nrejoicings and regrets--all images and pictures of the world, of\nlife, are now as though they had not been. And yet Hope, the child of\nLove--the deathless, beyond the darkness sees the dawn. And we who knew\nand loved him, we, who now perform the last sad rites--the last that\nfriendship can suggest--\"will keep his memory green.\"\n\nDear Friend, farewell! \"If we do meet again we shall smile indeed--if\nnot, this parting is well made.\" Farewell!\n\n\n\n\nA TRIBUTE TO THOMAS CORWIN.\n\nLebanon, Ohio, March 5, 1899.\n\n     * An Impromptu preface to Colonel Ingersoll's lecture at\n     Lebanon, Ohio.\n\n\nLADIES and Gentlemen: Being for the first time where Thomas Corwin lived\nand where his ashes rest, I cannot refrain from saying something of\nwhat I feel. Thomas Corwin was a natural orator--armed with the sword of\nattack and the shield of defence.\n\nNature filled his quiver with perfect arrows. He was the lord of logic\nand laughter. He had the presence, the pose, the voice, the face\nthat mirrored thoughts, the unconscious gesture of the orator. He had\nintelligence--a wide horizon--logic as unerring as mathematics--humor as\nrich as autumn when the boughs and vines bend with the weight of ripened\nfruit, while the forests flame with scarlet, brown and gold. He had wit\nas quick and sharp as lightning, and like the lightning it filled the\nheavens with sudden light.\n\nIn his laughter there was logic, in his wit wisdom, and in his humor\nphilosophy and philanthropy. He was a supreme artist. He painted\npictures with words. He knew the strength, the velocity of verbs, the\ncolor, the light and shade of adjectives.\n\nHe was a sculptor in speech--changing stones to statues. He had in\nhis heart the sacred something that we call sympathy. He pitied the\nunfortunate, the oppressed and the outcast His words were often wet\nwith tears--tears that in a moment after were glorified by the light of\nsmiles. All moods were his. He knew the heart, its tides and currents,\nits calms and storms, and like a skillful pilot he sailed emotion's\ntroubled sea. He was neither solemn nor dignified, because he was\nneither stupid nor egotistic. He was natural, and had the spontaneity\nof winds and waves. He was the greatest orator of his time, the grandest\nthat ever stood beneath our flag. Reverently I lay this leaf upon his\ngrave.\n\n\n\n\nA TRIBUTE TO ISAAC H. BAILEY.\n\nNew York, March 27, 1899.\n\n\nMY FRIENDS: When one whom we hold dear has reached the end of life and\nlaid his burden down, it is but natural for us, his friends, to pay the\ntribute of respect and love; to tell his virtues, to express our sense\nof loss and speak above the sculptured clay some word of hope.\n\nOur friend, about whose bier we stand, was in the highest, noblest sense\na man. He was not born to wealth--he was his own providence, his own\nteacher. With him work was worship and labor was his only prayer. He\ndepended on himself, and was as independent as it is possible for man to\nbe. He hated debt, and obligation was a chain that scarred his flesh. He\nlived a long and useful life. In age he reaped with joy what he had cown\nin youth. He did not linger \"until his flame lacked oil,\" but with his\nsenses keen, his mind undimmed, and with his arms filled with gathered\nsheaves, in an instant, painlessly, unconsciously, he passed from\nhappiness and health to the realm of perfect peace. We need not mourn\nfor him, but for ourselves, for those he loved.\n\nHe was an absolutely honest man--a man who kept his word, who fulfilled\nhis contracts, gave heaped and rounded measure and discharged all\nobligations with the fabled chivalry of ancient knights. He was\nabsolutely honest, not only with others but with himself. To his last\nmoment his soul was stainless. He was true to his ideal--true to his\nthought, and what his brain conceived his lips expressed. He refused to\npretend. He knew that to believe without evidence was impossible to\nthe sound and sane, and that to say you believed when you did not, was\npossible only to the hypocrite or coward. He did not believe in the\nsupernatural. He was a natural man and lived a natural life. He had no\nfear of fiends. He cared nothing for the guesses of inspired savages;\nnothing for the threats or promises of the sainted and insane.\n\nHe enjoyed this life--the good things of this world--the clasp and\nsmile of friendship, the exchange of generous deeds, the reasonable\ngratification of the senses--of the wants of the body and mind. He was\nneither an insane ascetic nor a fool of pleasure, but walked the\ngolden path along the strip of verdure that lies between the deserts of\nextremes.\n\nWith him to do right was not simply a duty, it was a pleasure. He had\nphilosophy enough to know that the quality of actions depends upon\ntheir consequences, and that these consequences are the rewards and\npunishments that no God can give, inflict, withhold or pardon.\n\nHe loved his country, he was proud of the heroic past, dissatisfied\nwith the present, and confident of the future. He stood on the rock\nof principle. With him the wisest policy was to do right. He would not\ncompromise with wrong. He had no respect for political failures who\nbecame reformers and decorated fraud with the pretence of philanthropy,\nor sought to gain some private end in the name of public good. He\ndespised time-servers, trimmers, fawners and all sorts and kinds of\npretenders.\n\nHe believed in national honesty; in the preservation of public faith.\nHe believed that the Government should discharge every obligation--the\nimplied as faithfully as the expressed. And I would be unjust to his\nmemory if I did not say that he believed in honest money, in the best\nmoney in the world, in pure gold, and that he despised with all his\nheart financial frauds, and regarded fifty cents that pretended to be a\ndollar, as he would a thief in the uniform of a policeman, or a criminal\nin the robe of a judge.\n\nHe believed in liberty, and liberty for all. He pitied the slave and\nhated the master; that is to say, he was an honest man. In the dark days\nof the Rebellion he stood for the right. He loved Lincoln with all his\nheart--loved him for his genius, his courage and his goodness. He\nloved Conkling--loved him for his independence, his manhood, for his\nunwavering courage, and because he would not bow or bend--loved him\nbecause he accepted defeat with the pride of a victor. He loved Grant,\nand in the temple of his heart, over the altar, in the highest niche,\nstood the great soldier.\n\nNature was kind to our friend. She gave him the blessed gift of humor.\nThis filled his days with the climate of Autumn, so that to him even\ndisaster had its sunny side. On account of his humor he appreciated and\nenjoyed the great literature of the world. He loved Shakespeare, his\nclowns and heroes. He appreciated and enjoyed Dickens. The characters of\nthis great novelist were his acquaintances. He knew them all; some were\nhis friends and some he dearly loved. He had wit of the keenest\nand quickest. The instant the steel of his logic smote the flint of\nabsurdity the spark glittered. And yet, his wit was always kind.\nThe flower went with the thorn. The targets of his wit were not made\nenemies, but admirers.\n\nHe was social, and after the feast of serious conversation he loved the\nwine of wit--the dessert of a good story that blossomed into mirth. He\nenjoyed games--was delighted by the relations of chance--the curious\ncombinations of accident. He had the genius of friendship. In his nature\nthere was no suspicion. He could not be poisoned against a friend.\nThe arrows of slander never pierced the shield of his confidence. He\ndemanded demonstration. He defended a friend as he defended himself.\nAgainst all comers he stood firm, and he never deserted the field until\nthe friend had fled. I have known many, many friends--have clasped the\nhands of many that I loved, but in the journey of my life I have never\ngrasped the hand of a better, truer, more unselfish friend than he who\nlies before us clothed in the perfect peace of death. He loved me living\nand I love him now.\n\nIn youth we front the sun; we live in light without a fear, without a\nthought of dusk or night. We glory in excess. There is no dread of loss\nwhen all is growth and gain. With reckless hands we spend and waste and\nchide the flying hours for loitering by the way.\n\nThe future holds the fruit of joy; the present keeps us from the feast,\nand so, with hurrying feet we climb the heights and upward look with\neager eyes. But when the sun begins to sink and shadows fall in front,\nand lengthen on the path, then falls upon the heart a sense of loss, and\nthen we hoard the shreds and crumbs and vainly long for what was cast\naway. And then with miser care we save and spread thin hands before\nDecember's half-fed flickering flames, while through the glass of time\nwe moaning watch the few remaining grains of sand that hasten to their\nend. In the gathering gloom the fires slowly die, while memory dreams of\nyouth, and hope sometimes mistakes the glow of ashes for the coming of\nanother morn.\n\nBut our friend was an exception. He lived in the present; he enjoyed\nthe sunshine of to-day. Although his feet had touched the limit of\nfour-score, he had not reached the time to stop, to turn and think:\nabout the traveled road. He was still full of life and hope, and had the\ninterest of youth in all the affairs of men.\n\nHe had no fear of the future--no dread. He was ready for the end. I have\noften heard him repeat the words of Epicurus: \"Why should I fear death?\nIf I am, death is not. If death is, I am not. Why should I fear that\nwhich cannot exist when I do?\"\n\nIf there is, beyond the veil, beyond the night called death, another\nworld to which men carry all the failures and the triumphs of this life;\nif above and over all there be a God who loves the right, an honest man\nhas naught to fear. If there be another world in which sincerity is a\nvirtue, in which fidelity is loved and courage honored, then all is well\nwith the dear friend whom we have lost.\n\nBut if the grave ends all; if all that was our friend is dead, the\nworld is better for the life he lived. Beyond the tomb we cannot see. We\nlisten, but from the lips of mystery there comes no word. Darkness and\nsilence brooding over all. And yet, because we love we hope. Farewell!\nAnd yet again, Farewell!\n\nAnd will there, sometime, be another world? We have our dream. The idea\nof immortality, that like a sea has ebbed and flowed in the human heart,\nbeating with its countless waves against the sands and rocks of time\nand fate, was not born of any book or of any creed. It was born of\naffection. And it will continue to ebb and flow beneath the mists and\nclouds of doubt and darkness, as long as love kisses the lips of death.\nWe have our dream!\n\n\n\n\nJESUS CHRIST.\n\n     * An unfinished lecture which Colonel Ingersoll commenced a\n     few days before his death.\n\n\nFOR many centuries and by many millions of people, Christ has been\nworshiped as God. Millions and millions of eulogies on his character\nhave been pronounced by priest and layman, in all of which his praises\nwere measured only by the limitations of language--words were regarded\nas insufficient to paint his perfections.\n\nIn his praise it was impossible to be extravagant. Sculptor, poet and\npainter exhausted their genius in the portrayal of the peasant, who was\nin fact the creator of all worlds.\n\nHis wisdom excited the wonder, his sufferings the pity and his\nresurrection and ascension the astonishment of the world.\n\nHe was regarded as perfect man and infinite God. It was believed that\nin the gospels was found the perfect history of his life, his words and\nworks, his death, his triumph over the grave and his return to heaven.\nFor many centuries his perfection, his divinity--have been defended by\nsword and fire.\n\nBy the altar was the scaffold--in the cathedral, the dungeon--the\nchamber of torture.\n\nThe story of Christ was told by mothers to their babes. For the most\npart his story was the beginning and end of education. It was wicked to\ndoubt--infamous to deny.\n\nHeaven was the reward for belief and hell the destination of the denier.\n\nAll the forces of what we call society, were directed against\ninvestigation. Every avenue to the mind was closed. On all the highways\nof thought, Christians placed posts and boards, and on the boards were\nthe words \"No Thoroughfare,\" \"No Crossing.\" The windows of the soul\nwere darkened--the doors were barred. Light was regarded as the enemy of\nmankind.\n\nDuring these Christian years faith was rewarded with position,\nwealth and power. Faith was the path to fame and honor. The man who\ninvestigated was the enemy, the assassin of souls. The creed was\nbarricaded on every side, above it were the glories of heaven--below\nwere the agonies of hell. The soldiers of the cross were strangers to\npity. Only traitors to God were shocked by the murder of an unbeliever.\nThe true Christian was a savage. His virtues were ferocious, and\ncompared with his vices were beneficent. The drunkard was a better\ncitizen than the saint. The libertine and prostitute were far nearer\nhuman, nearer moral, than those who pleased God by persecuting their\nfellows.\n\nThe man who thought, and expressed his thoughts, died in a dungeon--on\nthe scaffold or in flames.\n\nThe sincere Christian was insane. His one object was to save his soul.\nHe despised all the pleasures of sense. He believed that his nature was\ndepraved and that his desires were wicked.\n\nHe fasted and prayed--deserted his wife and children--inflicted tortures\non himself and sought by pain endured to gain the crown. * * *\n\n\n\n\nLIFE.\n\n     * Written for Mr. Harrison Grey Fiske, editor of The New\n     York Dramatic Mirror, December 18,1886.\n\n\nBORN of love and hope, of ecstasy and pain, of agony and fear, of tears\nand joy--dowered with the wealth of two united hearts--held in happy\narms, with lips upon life's drifted font, blue-veined and fair, where\nperfect peace finds perfect form--rocked by willing feet and wooed to\nshadowy shores of sleep by siren mother singing soft and low--looking\nwith wonder's wide and startled eyes at common things of life and\nday--taught by want and wish and contact with the things that touch the\ndimpled flesh of babes--lured by light and flame, and charmed by color's\nwondrous robes--learning the use of hands and feet, and by the love\nof mimicry beguiled to utter speech--releasing prisoned thoughts from\ncrabbed and curious marks on soiled and tattered leaves--puzzling the\nbrain with crooked numbers and their changing, tangled worth--and so\nthrough years of alternating day and night, until the captive grows\nfamiliar with the chains and walls and limitations of a life.\n\nAnd time runs on in sun and shade, until the one of all the world is\nwooed and won, and all the lore of love is taught and learned again.\nAgain a home is built with the fair chamber wherein faint dreams, like\ncool and shadowy vales, divide the billowed hours of love. Again the\nmiracle of a birth--the pain and joy, the kiss of welcome and the\ncradle-song drowning the drowsy prattle of a babe.\n\nAnd then the sense of obligation and of wrong--pity for those who toil\nand weep--tears for the imprisoned and despised--love for the generous\ndead, and in the heart the rapture of a high resolve.\n\nAnd then ambition, with its lust of pelf and place and power, longing to\nput upon its breast distinction's worthless badge. Then keener thoughts\nof men, and eyes that see behind the smiling mask of craft--flattered no\nmore by the obsequious cringe of gain and greed--knowing the uselessness\nof hoarded gold--of honor bought from those who charge the usury of\nself-respect--of power that only bends a coward's knees and forces\nfrom the lips of fear the lies of praise. Knowing at last the unstudied\ngesture of esteem, the reverent eyes made rich with honest thought, and\nholding high above all other things--high as hope's great throbbing star\nabove the darkness of the dead--the love of wife and child and friend.\n\nThen locks of gray, and growing love of other days and half-remembered\nthings--then holding withered hands of those who first held his, while\nover dim and loving eyes death softly presses down the lids of rest.\n\nAnd so, locking in marriage vows his children's hands and crossing\nothers on the breasts of peace, with daughters' babes upon his knees,\nthe white hair mingling with the gold, he journeys on from day to day to\nthat horizon where the dusk is waiting for the night.--At last, sitting\nby the holy hearth of home as evening's embers change from red to gray,\nhe falls asleep within the arms of her he worshiped and adored, feeling\nupon his pallid lips love's last and holiest kiss.\n\n*****\n\nFac-simile of the Last Letter written by Ingersoll\n\n\nUrn Containing the Ashes of Ingersoll","title":"The Works of Robert G. Ingersoll, Vol. 12 (of 12): Dresden Edition\u2014Miscellany","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":110781}